#a of all the mcu had to do something to not die and bringing back the three tentpole white men is objectively a funny move

[beingfacetious]

it's me, your token friend who is obnoxiously excited about the rdj news out of comic-con

[findafight]

I need. NEED. Y'all to understand that in a MCU captain america au Bucky and Steve would be Steve and Robin. Like. The unhinged amount of devotion? Yes. Soviet torture? Yes.

But it also MUST be understood that Steve is Bucky, and Robin is Steve. DO YOU SEE MY VISION.

Steve, charming and charasmatic, looks out for his awkward but good hearted and mildly unhinged (he's no better) bestie until he goes off to war. Robin, a bit of a weirdo, wants to do something to help fight. She ends up in an experimental program, and getting super strength etc.

She gets shipped around as propoganda. She ends up in Italy. She finds out Steve's unit has been captured. Her best friend, the only one who really knows her, the guy she's probably going to end up bearded by. Her sweet cheese.

She goes to save him.

Against all odds she does. He's strapped to a table and muttering to himself and thinks he's hallucinating when he sees her. But she saves him.

They form a strike team, blow up bases, punch Nazis etc. The war in Europe is almost over. Then Steve falls from a train. Then Robin crashes a plane. They both die heroes.

Except.

Robin wakes up. She wakes up in a world not her own and she's scared and frightened and told she has to fight again except this time she's alone.

And she does. She follows orders and fights and tries to figure out how to live when anyone who would understand her is in their eighties at the youngest or dead. How to exist in a world where the only person, even in their own time, who actually knew her, was dead. Dead for a long time. Deified alongside her by America.

So she follows orders. Until she doesn't. Until fury dies and someone with a metal arm and long brown hair shoots at her but holds their own against her enhanced strength. Pushes her, actually, being broader than her.

And she has allies, yes, but when it comes down to it, it's just her and the Soldier. Fighting under the overpass, and there's something about the Soldiers brow, the possible cowlick on his hairline where his long hair should be parted, that pings something in the back of her mind.

The mask slips off. And Robin thinks she's died again.

He doesn't recognize her, but his eyebrows scruntch together in a way she's known for what feels like eons. She's missed him.

A long time ago, longer for some than for her, he had been strapped to a table. She saved him then. She is going to save him now.

On a helicarrier, she can't bring herself to fight him. She knows him, how many hits he's taken, and even after whatever's been done to him, she knows him. Knows he's confused and scared and fighting it. Whatever's taken him away from her.

He knows her too. She can tell by the way he hesitated, pulls back. He's in there. She just has to find him.

She falls.

A strong hand pulls her out of the river.

[marvels-meme]

Canon worldbuilding lore on the MCU Kree to help you with your fanfic

They rule over multiple planets. Hala is the capital.

Hala's star is called Pama

In the comics there are around five known planets in Hala's system - it's unclear if Hala is 4th or 5th planet because it's been confused with another planet, Turunal.

Hala is located in the Larger Magellanic Cloud

Hala had oceans and forests (rip to those tho lol)

Leader of the Empire is called the "Supremor"

The Supreme Intelligence was basically god

The collective is one idea of the afterlife — if your brain is worthy it joins the Supreme Intelligences database when you die.

The spiritual afterlife is called the Etherplex or something idk

Their technology is somewhat water based (need more info on this)

Architecture is heavy on metal and stone and is very geometric. Buildings are detailed but there generally isn't too much furniture.

Cyan and purplish lights for a big chunk of Hala, golden lights for the Supreme Intelligence.

No hanging paintings... If you want art you have to hire someone to paint your wall lol

Starforce generally have one room apartments, I couldn't see a kitchen in them.

Stuff like wardrobes, book shelves, cupboards and drawers are more likely to be inserted into the wall to save space.

Like Carol literally lived in a single room with a bed, nightstand and a hexagonal cup. The ideal female living space.

They have hexagonal cups (I just thought that was cute)

The military is a big deal! Other respectable careers involve teaching, medicine, typically intelligent jobs that give something to society.

Kids are trained from a young age in the military. They're called "recruits". There's a deleted scene of Yon-Rogg teaching some.

The military hierarchy is likely Supremor > Accuser > Starforce > Kree Army > Non Kree Army > War slaves.

The Accusers aren't just extra bad military. They uphold the law, make arrests, hold trials, decide punishments, etc. I'd imagine that this is typically done for more important criminals or prisoners of war. That's why Dar-Benn holds an Accuser hammer as Supremor — she's upholding the law.

Kree Law is vaguely structured around the Tablets of Koth — they aren't definitive but they are the main basis.

Questioning your leaders is technically illegal

The worst crime of all is being "un-Kree".

Kree supremacy is big. In the comics it's illegal for Kree to have children with other species. They will tolerate other races if they’re feeling nice about it, but ultimately the Kree come first. This is important in the context of Carol's relationship with Yon-Rogg.

There's racism of blue Kree > non blue Kree in the comics but it doesn't appear to be present in the MCU. Keep it in mind though.

The Kree originally evolved to have blue skin because of low oxygen levels on Hala. Non blue kree came later as a result of mixing with other species. Since making babies with another species has been illegality for probably millenia, non blue Kree are now just another skin tone of the species.

Sexism isn't a thing. Yon-Rogg isn't sexist to Carol he's being racist too her lol

There are groups of noble families with some quite strict rules about battle. If a noble is cornered in battle with no way out they have to drink the special suicide juice or else they are shamed.

The suicide juice is called Odium, which means hate in Latin. If you sip it you go crazy with rage, get super strength and start trying to fight everything until it makes your heart explode

In the comics the Kree have double that of human organs — ie two hearts, four lungs. Brain is probably an exception. They have stronger bones and heavier muscle mass.

Kree blood has healing properties strong enough to bring a species with simple DNA (like humans) back from the dead but it's super duper painful and like 7/8 of the people that have received it have been given some kind of amnesia afterwards

Carol was one of those humans lol rip queen

Apparently the amnesia thing isn't even hard to do? In Agents of Shield a Kree had a tiny little hammer and he'd slap people with it and they'd loose their memories (I doubt that Carol was slapped with a tiny hammer but you never know this might help you)

Propaganda art - there are some gorgeous statues and murals in the Captain Marvel concept art.

Fashion is generally dark. Black, grey and brown for most people. It's not too complicated. White appears to be for underclothes/sleeping wear.

Well it's not too complicated unless you are the Supremor. Remember, Dar-Benn is succeeding the position from their idea of god. She's dressed to the tens and stands out the most from literally everyone. Her stuff is more detailed and metallic and she's wearing a lot more jewellery.

Also notice how Dar-Benn changes outfits literally every ten minutes. I need Marvel to stop killing all the cunty villains because I deserved to study her entire wardrobe thank you very much

A few Kree women (including Carol) have the style of one side being braided and the other let down.

The Kree are encouraged to experiment with as many genders as possible

So technically Carol Danvers lesbian sex canon

Some people grow babies in big tanks. Why? To make them strong or something idk. Carol's comic half sister was born in a big tank bc they wanted her to be strong asf to serve as an Accuser

Swear words — I only know da'st. No idea what it means

They don't have a word for candy </3

Normal space currency is called credits. Kree currency is called kreedits. If that's not the funniest fucking thing ever I don't know what is.

Kree names are "your name-family name". Eg Yon-Roggs given name is Yon, but his surname is Rogg. His daughters name is Una-Rogg.

You generally don't separate the name. Yon-Roggs name isn't Yon, it's Yon-Rogg. Obviously there's exceptions, but that's the general naming rule. It wouldn't be outright wrong to call him Yon, it would just be uncommon and slightly weird.

The Kree have beef with every species ever. They had multiple wars with the Asgardians and the Xandarians.

I've probably missed something lol

Anyways: Arab.org daily click to help Palestine 🍉

[gavillain]

Agatha All Along season finale discussion because AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Spoilers on the road ahead!

So a LOT happened in this two parter, so I'm just gonna hit the major points in order...

So despite my thinking that two of the Salem Seven survived because of the number of sword fall sounds last episode, they are apparently all dead. Which, y'know what, I don't mind. They weren't really meant to be actual characters, mostly just Nazgul-esque opponents to add some extra stakes, and having Lilia successful destroy them all with her sacrifice is the most earned ending for them.

When we get to the final trial, it's more or less the three remaining witches stuck in a room having to resolve their purposes on the Road. For Jen, we had her unbinding herself and the reveal that Agatha was the one who bound her. Admittedly, I kinda feel like that reveal was underdone, and it mostly just seemed like a quick asspull to resolve Jen's storyline at the eleventh hour. However, I really felt for Jen and the catharsis of unbinding herself, so I can't complain too terribly much.

Secondly, we resolve Billy's ambitions to restore Tommy, and this one, I was generally more favorable about than Jen's. Billy basically helped put Tommy into the body of another boy who died prematurely, one who was being drowned in an apparently very toxic environment. In the comics, Tommy was in and out of juvie all his life, and the Young Avengers find him in a supermax prison because of his powers. So, I'm assuming Thomas Shepherd, the boy whose body Billy hijacks, is in juvie or some correctional facility, and that's where we're gonna pick up with him in Vision Quest. Also, Agatha's line about "sometimes boys just die" was a fucking ARROW TO THE HEART, especially with the backstory in the following episode.

Then for Agatha, she completes the road's test by growing a sapling that she finds in her locket holding Nicholas's hair and emerges from the road back in Westview, where Rio is waiting for her. And DAMN was the final battle against Rio one of the coolest in Marvel. With Billy going FULL Wiccan mode and Agatha siphoning off his power but not enough to kill him. It was your standard Marvel final battle, but I really enjoyed the spectacle of it and how insurmountable of a foe Rio felt like. Agatha almost betraying Billy so that she can live but then changing her mind and sacrificing her life for his was such a powerful moment of full circle for her. After everything she's done to other witches and to Billy's own mother, for her to finally embrace death (and LITERALLY embrace the kiss of Death) was super powerful and showed how the road genuinely did change her. Personally, I usually hate redemption arcs, but this one, I actually really liked and supported because it wasn't about Agatha giving up her sense of self to be someone else, it was about making a choice out of love in the moment. I thought it was a beautiful way to resolve the story, and I was wondering what the heck else they were going to do with the last episode.

And then we got the reveal that I saw a few people guessing that Billy created the Witches' Road and that Agatha had never been on it, and I think that was a really well deserved reveal that hit for me exactly as it was intended. I loved that Billy created it because he has "the same tell" as Wanda with WandaVision. He made this grand fantasy adventureland, and that's SO cool! He, too, apparently is capable of spontaneous creation like Wanda, and I'm curious how they're going to tie this in with the MCU lore about the Scarlet Witch. In the comics, Billy is the Demiurge, and I'm interested in finding out if Marvel is going to bring in that concept or if they're going to do something new with the prophecy of Scarlet Witch. Maybe a secret hidden verse to the prophecy? We saw Billy's statue in Mount Wundagore in Multiverse of Madness, so maybe old Chthon knew a lil' somethin' else. I also liked the reveal that the Witches Road was a con that Agatha used to lure unsuspecting witches into giving her their powers. That was clever, as was the way that it tied in with her backstory.

SPEAKING OF, that backstory with Nicholas Scratch was the most heartbreaking thing, and I loved every minute of it. Her bond with Nicholas and the way that she showed genuine humanity to him was a side to Agatha we only saw the periphery of in her relationship with Billy, so seeing it fully realized was SO powerful and so well done. Rio giving her a good seven(ish?) extra years with Nicholas also speaks volumes because in Rio's mind, she was doing Agatha a HUGE favor that violated the cosmic order and to some extent, she DID because it showed Agatha a purpose beyond just power. However, it also probably hurt her worse than just taking Nicholas upon birth. She gave Agatha years to love and get attached to her son, and that, I'm sure, made the wound of losing him that much deeper (and Kathryn Hahn's acting with those screams of anguish upon finding Nicky dead were SOUL CRUSHING - she KILLED it). So, yeah, interesting that it was such a double edged sword. I also thought the twist that Nicholas and Agatha wrote the Ballade together as their little song and it eventually spread because of him singing it to other witches was REALLY clever and REALLY powerful.

And, finally, Agatha is back as a ghost, and she's sticking around Billy as his spirit guide/mentor, which I really like. I'm sure some people are going to take umbrage at Marvel cheating death again, but this is a show that racked up bodies of major characters left and right, and Agatha being dead and a spirit I'm sure is going to have big changes for her and her power and characterization going forward. Plus from Evanora Harkness, it's an established part of the lore. So, for me, it works, and I like it. I also like the touch of her looking more like her comics counterpart with gray hair in ghost form, and I'm honestly REALLY excited to see Billy and Agatha as a dynamic duo continue on in future Marvel properties.

Overall, I LOVED Agatha All Along. It was an incredible journey, and it was the most I've enjoyed a Marvel property in awhile. I feel optimistic about the future of this particular corner of the MCU, and I'm so glad I got to go with everyone down the Witches Road :)

[veliseraptor]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, please reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love.💛💛💛

ooh interesting interesting. I actually did this one not too long ago but I can do it again, with a different set of fics this time. these are pretty much all pulled from my Author's Favorites series on AO3

our love would live a half-life on the surface (MDZS/CQL)

Possibly I'd rate this one as the most fucked up xuexiao I've written; definitely it's the most fucked up ostensible fix-it fic. and like! I did fix it! sort of! some things anyway!

It was really fun to write because of how deeply it's set in Xue Yang's POV, and the fun of trying to convey what's going on outside of his blinkered and undeniably skewed understanding of the world. I also had a lot of fun balancing between the genuinely fucked up nature of what Xue Yang is doing throughout this fic and his genuine desire to make things better and just completely failing to understand how to go about doing that.

“Why’s it matter?” Xue Yang snapped. “It doesn’t. Or it doesn’t need to. So you killed some people. So what? I get you’re upset about it right now - obviously - but it’s not like you need to be. They weren’t anyone important.” “Everyone is important,” Xiao Xingchen said. “Bullshit,” Xue Yang said firmly. “Most people aren’t. Why do they matter so much to you anyway? It’s not like you knew them. Most of them,” he amended, before Xiao Xingchen could bring up fucking Zichen. “So just - forget about it.” Xiao Xingchen made a faint sound at the back of his throat. “Is there anything human in you at all,” he said, and Xue Yang sank his teeth into his cheek, the taste of blood spreading across his tongue. He yanked the bandage the rest of the way off. “Probably not,” he said hoarsely, and started cleaning the blood off Xiao Xingchen’s face where it’d gotten smeared all over his cheeks and around his eyes. Gently. He didn’t want to actually hurt him.

what little girls are made of (MCU)

I went back and forth on a few different MCU fics but decided on this one because it gets a little less love than a lot of them and I'm deeply fond of it. I love Natasha dearly and one of the things I love about her is the potential for how weird she can be. And also I'm always on a campaign to give her more female friends.

“Is that how you usually make friends?” she asked. Natasha cocked her head to the side like she was thinking. “I made one of them by pretending to be someone else so she’d hire me,” she said. “That’s different.” It sounded like a joke. Sharon suspected it was also serious. “Then there’s Maria – I was a hundred-ten pounds of pissed off at the world when I met her. The other ones…one I met through an alien invasion and one was trying to kill me. Then there’s Wilson – I did knock on his door first.” Sharon stared at her. Romanoff smiled, a little – still sharp but maybe a little brittle. “I don’t really do usual, Agent Carter.”

Ground Zero (MDZS/CQL)

I wrote this one in an afternoon and I'm happy enough with it that I've never written another version, which is kind of saying something. I'll often circle around pivotal events in a characters' life and write a few different versions of them, and the finger-crushening is so central to Xue Yang's story that I might've done the same, but I ended up satisfied enough with this version to pretty much leave it alone as my Definitive Account (more or less).

I think what I was trying to convey here on a visceral level was the horror and the pain of that experience, which I think sometimes gets minimized into "just lost a finger." And the surrounding circumstances that shape and define Xue Yang's understanding of the world going forward because of it.

“What’s one more dead beggar?” A sigh. “If I cut off the hand there’s good odds he’ll bleed to death. If I don’t there’s good odds it’ll go foul and he’ll die in a week. What do you want?” Don’t take my hand, he thought dazedly. Don’t. Please don’t. “Start with the finger,” said the other voice. “Then we’ll see.” “Fine, fine.” Xue Yang could feel his breathing coming faster. He opened his eyes just long enough to see the man weighing a butcher’s knife, then slammed them closed again, heart pounding in his stomach. He screamed when the man touched what was left of his little finger, pulling it away from the others. Thrashed, reflexively, trying to get away. “Hold still, you little cur,” the man said harshly, and the knife went through easy like it’d gone easy into Xiao Hu when the bodyguard had stabbed him for cutting a gentry purse. Honestly, he barely even felt the cut itself.

The Sad Heart of Ruth (A Song of Ice and Fire)

An old fic but I'm still happy with it! Which isn't always the case. Throwback to a fandom I haven't written for in years but a relationship I still have a lot of feelings about. A serious outlier, in terms of my ships, but one I'm inexplicably fond of nonetheless.

And yeah, me writing about grief again. I'm always writing about grief.

It was small things she remembered. The warmth he radiated when they lay in bed together. The way his forehead crinkled when he was thinking hard about something. The strange, shy, hesitant (naïve) joy she’d felt on their wedding day. The way he’d cried into her shoulder when he’d heard of his brother’s deaths. “The King in the North is dead,” the Blackfish said, his face like carved stone. “Oh,” she said.

The Season of Grace Coming Out of the Void (Black Jewels Trilogy)

Another throwback to an old fandom that's kind of an eternal fandom in some ways; I'm very proud of this brief snippet of an AU. I think it came out well and (surprisingly) concise for what it is; it could've gotten very elaborate but I think it's stronger as the short piece that I left it.

He’d had them back a week when Daemon turned up in his study halfway through the night and announced casually, “If you do anything to Lucivar, I’ll kill you.” Saetan set down his pen and looked at his namesake. He expected to see anger, or suspicion. He found nothing. Just blank gold eyes looking placidly back at him. A shiver crawled down his spine. Saetan nodded once. “Understood,” he said. Daemon ghosted back out the door. Saetan stared after him, and wondered if he was supposed to be happy that his boys were talking to each other.

passing this one on to @ameliarating, @brawlite, @mostfacinorous, @maester-of-spreadsheets, and @feralkwe!

[citrus-moonlight]

Salvation is a Deep Dark Well

Chapter 2: Raise Your Chin and Howl

[ Masterlist - Part Two ] -> [ Masterlist - Part One ]

Fandom: MCU - Age of Ultron, Black Panther Pairing: Ulysses Klaue x F! Reader Word count: 9.7K Chapters: 2/6 Rating: Explicit

Summary: The actions of others leads to chaos at the compound, and after Klaue returns to deal with the aftermath you're surprised to learn that his reasons for being upset aren't what you think, and you finally have to admit some things that you've been denying.

Warnings: Explicit!, Mild Age Difference, Reader is Late 30s, Use of Pet Names, Injury, Workplace Injury, Mention of Blood, Reference to Guns, Insecurity (Reader is an Idiot), Light Angst, Smut, Dirty Talk, Teasing, Reference to Masturbation (M), Finger Sucking, Spit Kink, Oral Sex (M receiving), Brief Rough Oral, Cock Worship, Messy Blowjob, Mouth Fucking, Cum Swallowing, Hair Holding/Pulling, Guided Masturbation (F), Mild Size Kink, Soft Dom, Teasing, Praise Kink, Porn With Plot, More Accidental Feelings Oh No

AN: Welcome back, friends! It's been quite a while since I updated this one, but I'm excited to finally bring you so more of these two! it wasn't so much that this one got away from me, but what I wanted (and needed) to do with it was getting more involved, and ultimately I'm happy with how this ended up turning out. Especially since I also accidentally wrote a holiday "interlude" story that comes after this but before what was supposed to be the next chapter (which is now chapter four), which was simultaneously challenging and helpful in finding the right balance in this part as things progress.

As always, thank you for reading and to everyone who has commented or reblogged so far, and I am unendingly grateful to those who have provided encouragement and support through this writing of this story. I hope that you enjoy! 💕

AO3 Link

Title is from "Hands Like Roots" by The Builders and the Butchers

And if thee should die tonight Well it won't be without a sound When your hands move like roots Making their way through the ground

The afternoon is crisp but bright when you step outside, the sun actively working to melt much of the late autumn snow that had fallen overnight. 

You’d only gone out to take a quick inventory of the oxygen and argon stock, but when you make your way past the loading dock to get to the storage cages you see something that makes you pause and do a double take.

On the compound’s property there are three industrial propane tanks that power and heat the facility, and today they were scheduled to be refilled before the snow properly settles in the mountains making the roads difficult to access during winter.

The refilling had already been completed and the tankers should have been long on their way, so you’re surprised when you see what appears to be a fuel transfer being done between the two bobtail trucks, which is illegal except in special circumstances, and making it more concerning they're also uncomfortably close to the loading dock. 

On top of that, as far as you’re aware this compound isn’t licensed to allow truck to truck transfers at all - something that would normally only be done at the refilling plant - making it doubly illegal

And while this might not be a facility where “legality” is necessarily a top concern, that doesn’t change the fact that it’s still dangerous and incredibly stupid. 

“What are you doing?” You blurt out, standing stock-still as you stare at Anatoly, the man who seems to be directing what’s happening. You weren’t necessarily on friendly terms with the Sokovian man, but you had chatted occasionally and he’d seemed to have more sense than this.

“We didn’t want to do it right next to the big tanks.” He gestures across the yard.

You continue to stare, perplexed. 

“Ok, well, you shouldn’t be doing it here at all, but now you’re right next to the building, and the five pound tanks -” 

“It was the only place flat enough for both trucks.”

“- are a lot closer than those big ones.” 

“Don’t worry, it’s fine.” He brushes you off, starting to get visibly frustrated that you won’t let it go.

Changing tacks you turn to one of the drivers who’s in conversation with Milo, a welder you recognize from another shift.

“Hey, you know you’re not supposed to be doing this here, right?”

“He doesn’t know how, so I’m doing it for him,” Anatoly replies before the driver can answer himself. “You’re making a big deal from nothing.”

“Why are you doing it at all? Unless there’s an emergency you can’t just -”

“I’ve done it before.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Listen, they both would've had to go back to their plant, but now one can go straight to the next job.”

“So let me get this straight: Doing a favour for someone whose job doesn’t have anything to do with you is a good enough reason to create a potentially dangerous situation here? I don’t think that Klaue will love hearing that.”

“You’re not going to tell him.” His annoyed demeanor quickly shifts, his expression going icy.

“No? Why wouldn’t I? You’re doing something incredibly stupid and I think that he should-”

“So you’re going to snitch on me?” He sneers.

“About this? Yeah, I guess I am. And if you’re concerned about him finding out then you must have at least enough common sense to-”

“I don’t need common sense to know that you- ”

“Jesus Christ, would you let me finish a fucking sentence!”

Your voice surprises you and to Anatoly’s credit he actually shuts up, scowling like a petulant teenager who’s realizing that they’re not going to be able to intimidate their way out of trouble. 

The other workers who had been milling around and watching half-interestedly now straighten up and turn towards the trucks.

“You.” Gesturing at both drivers, pleased that they at least appear to be somewhat chastised. 

“You are supposed to be in control at all times. These trucks are your responsibility from start to finish and you’re letting him do something that’s illegal just to save a bit of time?”

“He offered!” The first one exclaims.

“Which he shouldn’t have, but you should have said no and moved on.”

You turn back to Anatoly whose mouth is downturned in an almost comical grimace. 

“And you may think this is no big deal but I very much doubt that Klaue would appreciate you being so flippant about potentially damaging his operation.”

He looks like he wants to say something else but bites his tongue, his stare still condescending even though he knows you’re right and has no argument left. 

At this point, and while you wouldn’t be surprised to learn it, you’re not yet aware that there’s a crack in the hose near to the end connected to the receiving truck. Before you’d even gone outside propane vapour had been steadily leaking out, the only indication that there was a problem the occasional whiff of mercaptan - faint and not out of the ordinary from a typical delivery.

Normally this wouldn’t be an issue and the vapours would simply disperse since you’re outdoors, but it’s unusually calm today with next to no breeze to move the air, allowing the heavier than air propane molecules to instead pool between the trucks like an invisible low-lying fog.

As it is, you’re relieved when everything is finally disconnected and sealed up, and having abandoned your inventory you turn to make your way back inside to try to get this documented, even if others think that you really are overreacting and Anatoly doesn’t face the consequences you think he should.

“You know, maybe next time you could- ”

You’re cut off again, but instead of a condescending comment this time it's by the sudden percussion of an explosion. 

When the full truck’s engine started up an unknown faulty battery sparked and ignited the vapours that had been collecting, the flashback loud enough that your ears don’t register the sound until you’re already on the ground. 

Fortunately you manage not to hit your head but your shoulder feels like you’re lucky it didn’t dislocate when you landed. Slowly pushing yourself up onto your elbow you look around, blinking until your vision slowly comes back into focus and you realize with a sinking feeling that the truck itself is now burning, flames appearing to emerge from one of the valves at the rear.

“Goddamnit,” you curse, momentarily frozen in place as you watch the flames growing quickly in front of your eyes. 

You know that as the temperature rises the pressure inside the tanker does as well, and it needs to be stopped before the valve can no longer vent faster than the pressure is building, and  you have no way of knowing whether any of the internal mechanisms were damaged in the explosion, so you may have even less time than normal.

Finally you manage to convince your muscles to move. Sucking in a breath you grit your teeth and force yourself to standing, moving as quickly as you can to reach the cabinet that houses the fire extinguishers, and then Milo is suddenly there next to you.

“I’ll take this one,” he offers and you quickly nod your thanks. Maneuvering over to the truck you unspool your hose and get as close as you can until the heat of the flames forces you back.

Stumbling briefly from the recoil when you pull the nozzle’s lever back you grimace at the sudden jolt of pain in your shoulder but manage to recover quickly, widening your stance to better brace yourself and focus the thick white cloud on the brightest part of the fire. 

Thankfully the flames seem to be quickly smothered and you move closer as the heat begins to die down. Occasionally you or Milo alternate your focus on the truck’s own fuel tank, working to extinguish the burning propane while also trying to prevent the diesel from possibly igniting as well. 

You can see Tom in your peripheral now, dimly aware of him barking directions, relieved that someone else was there to take charge, and even when the fire appears to be doused you keep your hoses pointed at the truck until both extinguishers have been completely emptied.

Finally, after what feels like hours but was probably less than fifteen minutes since you had walked outside you take a deep, shaky breath and simply sit down right where you stand in the mess of slush and extinguisher residue.

You can almost feel the adrenaline physically draining out of your system, your jaw involuntarily clenching as you begin to shiver. You’re not sure who’s hand squeezes your shoulder, your mind feels fuzzy as mild shock sets in, and it takes conscious effort to release your grip from the hose that’s still sitting across your lap and slowly stand back up.

You're buzzing wildly between a range of emotions: anger, frustration, relief, a blanket of exhaustion settling over all of it as you waver on unsteady legs, tamping down the thoughts of how much more badly this could have gone.

Two days after the incident with the trucks and the ringing in your ears has nearly stopped, and aside from stiff muscles and a painterly bruise blooming across your shoulder you'd come out of it all more or less unscathed.

Once the chaos had wound down and things could be assessed it was fortunate that damage was minimal and the overall injuries turned out to be minor, mostly cuts and bruises from being knocked over or from the burst of gravel from the initial explosion. Even the alarming amount of blood you'd seen running down Anatoly’s face ended up just being a superficial gash.

There are already at least two versions of what happened circulating through the facility, one casting your actions more favourably and one much less so (no question where that one started), though you’re not particularly concerned which version others decide to believe. Enough people witnessed what actually happened, and regardless you know that what you did was the right thing, and you’re confident that Klaue will see that.

You haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet but he's supposed to be on his way back, abandoning the South African coast early to assess the damage and meet with the kind of investigators that a facility that doesn’t exist in the strictest sense will allow.

Although you have his return to look forward to, you can’t help still feeling on edge as the dregs of adrenaline continue to circulate in your blood, and you regularly have to force yourself to take a deep inhale when you realize that your breathing has gone shallow again.

Fortunately you’ve had a simple job the last couple of days, spending your shift taking apart scrap metal to be sent to a foundry to be melted down. Oxy acetylene cutting can be physically taxing and it's hot as hell but it doesn’t require finesse, and right now you’re happy to simply let muscle memory guide you, focusing only on regulating the flow of gas and keeping the glide of the flame’s sharp tip steady as you work. 

You’re waiting for the disassembled pieces you'd just cut to cool before moving them so that you can start on the next section when there’s a sudden burst of activity at the entrance to the shop, and when you turn towards the disturbance you see that Klaue has just walked in.

His eyes have already found you but the swell of excitement at seeing him unexpectedly is quickly replaced by confusion when you register his dark expression.

“You.” He points, singling you out from the crowd. “Come with me.”

Your mouth drops open in surprise at the anger in his tone, and when you don’t immediately move to follow he raises his eyebrows, impatience clear in the tight set of his jaw.

“Now.” He grits through clenched teeth.

“Ohh, someone’s in trouble.” 

You whip around to find the source of the taunt, the anger and frustration that you haven’t fully processed surging out in a red-hot wave, and the words are out before you can think.

“Shut the fuck up!” 

The idiot is looking at you like he’s made some world-class joke and you're ready to lay into him, but suddenly his focus moves behind you and the smirk drops away as the blood drains from his face.

Slowly turning to follow his eyes you see Klaue standing as still as a steel lathe with his arm extended, but it takes several seconds for you to register that the leather holster on his leg is empty and his gun now aimed at the center of the man's chest.

“Shit.” You gasp. 

All of the oxygen seems to have been sucked out of the room and you're rooted to the spot, your hearing gone muffled and tinny. The joker’s eyes are flashbulb wide, standing with his arms jutting into the air as though that might have any impact on what happens next.

Every inch of Klaue appears calm, you might almost say he was relaxed if it weren't for the weapon in his hand. But the unmistakable fury in his eyes colours them nearly black, an obsidian blade glinting in the shadows simply waiting for an excuse to strike, and though he speaks quietly you know that everyone watching this happen can hear every word clear as day. 

“If you ever speak to her about anything other than this job again...” 

He doesn't finish the sentence, he doesn't have to, the sound of the safety lever being flicked off is deafening. The only movement in the room is the flex of tendons in Klaue's hand as his thumb deftly finds the switch.

You’re not sure whether the man is actually breathing, and even though your own heart is pounding out of your chest you find that you’re not exactly upset about the look of abject fear in his eyes.

“No! I mean I won’t! I didn’t mean anything, I’m sorry I-” he stammers, panicked eyes flicking back and forth between the weapon and Klaue’s face, forcing his hands almost comically high until his biceps are covering his ears. 

No one else speaks.

After several more excruciating seconds you finally hear the click of the safety re-engaging and you let out the breath you’d been holding as he slowly replaces the gun in its holster.

Then he turns back to you and repeats:

“Now.”

You have to work to keep up with Klaue’s brisk pace as you make your way through the warren of hallways, eventually ending up in an area you’d only passed by before. You follow him into a room filled with various pieces of vaguely familiar military equipment, a heavy desk and a bank of monitors against one wall, and in your still flustered state it’s only when he closes the door behind you that you realize that he’s taken you to his office.

He walks over and leans on the desk, weight braced on his knuckles as his shoulders rise and fall, each breath slow and deep.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you - in fact he hasn’t looked at you since he’d turned away expecting you would follow.

“Klaue?”

You think that you note a brief hitch in his breathing, but beyond that he doesn’t respond. 

“Listen, it’s been a long couple of days and I’d really appreciate it if you’d tell me what’s going on.”

“What you did was dangerous.” He replies quietly, finally seeming to find his words.

You sigh. You’re not entirely surprised that that’s what this is about but you’re still irritated and your lingering anger is back at the surface, leaving you fighting to keep your response measured. You’re not the one who’d done anything wrong. You thought he’d understand that.

“I did what needed to be done, that whole situation was getting worse by the second.“

“You put yourself in harm's way. There was no need to get that close when there had already been an explosion.”

“So was I just supposed to stand around with my mouth hanging open like almost everyone else? Or walk away and pretend that nothing was happening?”

“You didn’t need to get yourself involved, period. Those men would have dealt with the consequences of their actions.”

You throw your hands up in resignation.

“This is perfect, I was one of the few people actually trying to help, and yet I’m the one you’re taking it out on? That seems par for the course in all of this.”

Finally Klaue turns around to face you.

“I’m not- ”

"What about Milo? Or more importantly the asshole that actually caused the whole fucking mess??" You're close to yelling now, unable to help it as your anger and disappointment finally boil over.

"Do you really think he hasn't already been dealt with?” He replies sharply. “He’s gone, and won't be stepping foot in another shop anywhere, ever again. I'll be making sure of it.”

There's something flat in his eyes that cloaks the usual sharp blue.

“Ok, well…good.” You’re happy to hear it, though you’re still only somewhat placated. “But that doesn’t change the fact that the damage could have been so much worse if that truck had kept burning. I had to do something."

"That shouldn’t be your concern. I would have handled it."

“More people would have gotten injured.”

“I’m aware.”

“Or killed!"

"You could have gotten- "

He cuts himself off with a sharp exhale, fists balled tight at his sides. 

He hasn’t raised his voice until now, but it's his tone and the way his words waver that gives you pause. As you watch Klaue collect himself you feel something trying to work its way into your chest - something that’s whispering to you what that clouded look in his eyes might have been. 

Fear.

He’s visibly tense, lips pressed in a thin line as he takes a step toward you, broad shoulders curling inwards in an almost protective posture.

“I know you didn’t have anything to do with the accident, and that you wanted to help. But what you did still wasn't-”

He stops again and it surprises you, normally so certain of his words and not exactly afraid to speak his mind, you instead watch the muscles of his jaw working as his eyes burn into yours.

“This is a risky job.” You finally break the silence, trying to reason with him, taking your own tentative step closer to him. “Even when I’m not working for an arms dealer, by the way. Anywhere in this trade mistakes like that can happen.”

There’s a soft “careful” in the quick tilt of his head, and even now you feel a spark of relief at the flash of that familiar part of him.

“And you got hurt here.” 

You only realize that your hand has been rubbing your bruised shoulder when you notice his eyes have shifted to watch your fingers.

“So did other people! Why am I being singled out? What is the concern about me?” 

A part of him seems to drift from you again, and when he doesn’t respond a vice of cold steel begins to tighten around your chest. Has he discerned the real question that was hidden in your words? Is he angry? Disappointed? Indifferent?

Damnit, you curse yourself. 

You wished you hadn’t said it  but the recent stress has eroded your filters and you couldn’t help but push. Even though you’re not going to get the answer you can barely admit that you want.

“If you had really been hurt. If you had gotten killed..” 

When his eyes focus on you again there’s a coldness in them that you’ve only seen hints of before, but now it’s right there at the surface, clear and sharp and seething.

“That man wouldn’t be gone, he would be dead.” 

Oh.

Klaue’s words are laced with a calm certainty that sets your heart racing, your skin prickling hot under the weight of his gaze as you stand there shocked silent by his admission, unsure how to respond.

Just as suddenly as it appeared the cold begins to melt away, his eyes sweeping over you as if confirming that you’re still there, still whole and standing in front of him.

“Did you think I wouldn’t be concerned about you?” He asks, a curious frown knitting his brows.

You’re not sure how to respond to that either and you’re quiet for several long moments, chewing your lower lip while you consider, nervous for a different reason now.

He’s pushing you back, and it’s what you wanted (what you needed), not letting you get away with hiding, because if you’re going to ask the question you need to answer it, too.

But he must know it’s not a simple question, and right now you can’t give him a simple answer.

“I don’t…know what this is.” You start, haltingly. 

The first threads of an admission that there’s something for this to be. 

An admission that although a part of you has known it since the first night he slowly, achingly buried himself inside you, you can no longer pretend that he hasn’t already ruined you.

”Neither do I.” He concedes, slowly closing the last steps that separate you, surprised to find yourself relaxing at his words. It's not an answer, not yet, but still an acknowledgement, that you’re both uncertain but unable to help the way that you’re drawn together. Moths lost in the dark, instinctively picking up on the invisible spark of the other.

His hand reaches up to touch the shoulder that you'd been massaging.

“Let me see.” Klaue rumbles softly as he moves to lift the edge of your shirt, and silently you help him work your arm from the sleeve before he pulls the garment the rest of the way off, leaving you in your sports bra.

“I don’t know that I have to know, but I-” 

You start to speak but then inhale a sharp breath when his palm slides over your shoulder, soothing the bruised warmth, fingers also dance along the scar on your other arm which was fortunately not the side you’d landed on.

“And I don’t know if I can tell you.” His frown deepens as he takes in the angry bloom of purpling skin. “But I haven’t been able to think about anyone else since you’ve been here.” 

You hadn’t assumed anything but you can’t help the sting of relief, even as you fight to hold back the dam of want that’s cracking open beneath your ribs.

But when his hand slides up over your shoulder, your neck, tilting your head so that you meet his eyes, you realize that it's a battle you've already lost.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, the other hand pressing flat against the firm warmth of his chest. 

“I hadn’t been seeing anyone for a while, before Utrech..” You start and then pause, your eyes slipping closed with a sigh as you sink into the sensation of his palm against your cheek. “But even when I was still trying to pretend that I didn’t…since then it hasn’t even occurred to me to think about anyone but you.” 

“Is that right?” Klaue’s voice hums with a pleased timbre though his eyes flick searchingly across your face.

“Yes. There’s no one else. Not now, not-”

Not ever.

“No one has ever come close to making me feel the way you do, Ulysses. And maybe I don’t know what this is, but…I know that I don’t want to stop.” 

The last words come out in a breathless rush, forced out before you can overthink and lock them away again. Finally admitting it as much to yourself as to him.

“I’m not going to stop, darling. Not a fucking chance.” 

You nearly laugh with giddy relief but it’s interrupted when his hand tightens around your jaw, leaning in so that his mouth is hovering over yours as you press your body flush against him, arching into the stiffening ridge of his erection that juts into your hip.

You try to angle your mouth to find the warmth of his lips against yours, but strong hands continue to hold you just there, a breath apart. The air has shifted, a charge growing in the dwindling space between you that leaves your skin tingling from the near contact, and when you feel a faint brush of his lips against yours an audible whine slides from your throat.

“That night, after the bar, I thought about you.” Klaue continues.

“You did?” 

“Yes.” He nearly groans the word. “Thought about how you'd taste when you come.” 

The wet heat that’s been building in your core surges at his words, at the sudden image of him flushed and sweaty, his fist moving in rough strokes over his swollen cock and the thought of you in his head.

One of your hands begins to slide between your bodies, needy fingers plucking at his belt, reaching beneath the waistband and tugging.

“Thought about taking you into the back, finding a quiet corner, having you on your knees in front- in front of me.” His voice hitches and he shudders when you find the now stiff curve of his cock beneath the fabric.

“And then..when you were there, kneeling, I was sure I was dreaming. But you were so much better than my dreams. Such a tease, weren’t you?” He hums, and you can hear the grin even as his voice drops to a rasp of granite and silk. 

“Thinking you could get away with that.”

Klaue’s hips rock into your touch as you squeeze more firmly, sliding your hand along the shape of him, rewarded with a harsh sigh as he pulls back and fixes his eyes fix on yours. You thrill at the heat that you find there, helplessly reaching for the flames that lick against your skin. 

That invite you to burn.

“I didn’t think that for a second. But I already apologized, didn’t I?” 

A flash of him holding you against the door, desperation on your lips as he finally let you fall apart.

“Oh, you thought that was your apology? Getting to come on my fingers?”

“I didn’t, I mean-” You stammer, the movement of your hand faltering even as his admonition sends another wave of heat through your body.

“I’m afraid not, darling. And right now..” Your eyelids flutter and it takes a moment to realize that he’s waiting to make sure he has your attention.

“Y-yes?”

“Maybe I do.”

“You do…what?” Frowning, you try to figure out his meaning through the growing haze of arousal.

“Want to take it out on you.”

Your eyes snap to his, molten sapphire when you meet them.

“And maybe,” Klaue’s thumb swipes across the corner of your lips. “I want to take it out on this mouth of yours.”

His eyes flick down to catch your tongue peeking out as you reflexively lick your lips.

“Because a day hasn’t gone by that I haven’t thought about that sweet promise you made on your knees.” 

His thumb slides against the seam of your lips, smug when they part easily beneath the pressure.

He tsks, but any response you might give is cut off when he pushes past your teeth and your tongue gratefully tastes the calloused skin. But just as you move to take his thumb deeper into your mouth he pulls back, quickly replacing it with his index and middle fingers before you can lament the loss, and you can’t help but moan around the thick digits.

Eagerly you begin to slide your mouth along them, slowly bobbing your head, taking them further until they’re far enough back that your gag reflex triggers and your body stiffens, squeezing your eyes shut as you force yourself to take slow breaths.

Eventually your eyelids flutter open again, your focus coming back to him and the pleased look in his eyes.

Once you catch your breath you increase the suction of your lips to pull his fingers a little deeper, your tongue teasing around and between his two fingers, the texture of his warm skin contrasted with the smooth edges of his ring.

The next time you pull back he takes the opportunity to add a third finger, his other hand reaching up to cup the back of your neck, gently but firmly holding your head in place as he slides them all the way into your mouth again until his thumb and pinky are cradling your jaw.

Klaue’s mouth has dropped open, his breathing gone rough as he watches your lips stretching around his fingers. Both of your hands have moved to grip his shirt, steadying yourself, your eyes beginning to water as your breath comes in quick gasps.

“Shhh,” he soothes. “Just like that.”

His fingers stay where they are until your breathing slows again, nearly wincing at the deep velvet of his gaze on you, soft but inescapable. 

You still feel the instinct to gag, but once your throat relaxes the rest of you follows, and you sigh as he withdraws a little, rubbing gentle circles against your tongue. Your inhibitions are quickly falling away as you become focused only on more, moaning as his fingers continue to move, the thumb of his hand that’s curled around your neck caressing the sensitive skin there.

A heady thrum of desire is growing, settling deep between your thighs as you watch him through heavy-lidded eyes as he alternates between slowly pumping and then pressing deep and holding there, pleased when your breathing evens out more quickly every time.

Watching his expression cloud over with lust it occurs that you’d never really thought about how much he liked this. How watching your lips, and feeling your warm, slick mouth around his fingers as they grow shiny with your spit has him barely hanging on.

“That’s my needy girl.” 

Klaue’s words are a sigh, almost a release, the tension when you had first followed him ebbing from his body, smoothing the set of his shoulders as his fingers continue to move.

You shudder again, unable to hold back the keening sounds from escaping your throat, your center already soaked and aching and you don’t even have his cock in your mouth yet.

“What’s the matter, isn’t this enough?” His words are cut with a smug glint of gold, seeming to guess what you’re thinking about.

And honestly you would let him keep doing this if he wanted, turning you into a mindless mess with just his fingers and only your eyes able to plead wordlessly for more. But he said he was going to fuck your mouth, and the narrowing of your eyes answers his question.

His unoccupied hand releases your neck and takes one of your hands, returning it to the waist of his pants where you quickly work at his belt and zipper, determined though distracted by the continued slip and drag through your lips. 

Eventually you manage to reach beneath the fabric to grip his hard length, your other hand tugging the layers down until you’re able to free his cock. The movement of his fingers falters at your touch but then he’s grinning when your moans become more plaintive, saliva spilling from the corners of your mouth as your hand hungrily strokes the intoxicating heat of him.

“Now, don’t swallow.” Klaue murmurs.

You have a split second to frown before he withdraws, realization dawning when you have to quickly close your mouth to keep from drooling.

Unable to reply, you wait a beat before your eyebrows raise in a question.

“On your knees.” His hand drops, slick fingers replacing yours where they’re wrapped around his length.

Your breath catches with anticipation, and unable and unwilling to hide how eager you are now you keep your eyes on his as you sink down slowly until the thick circle of his fist is directly in front of you, the slit already leaking as he strokes himself. 

The sight of it has you aching, desperate for your lips to replace the languid slide of his fingers, to take him deep into your mouth then and nose into the dark, grey-flecked hair that spreads from the base of him.

“Now, spit on my cock, darling.”

Your reverie suddenly broken you look up to see him watching you intently, eyes dark and commanding, his hand now gripping the thick base, holding himself out to you.

Waiting.

Still unable to reply, all you can do - all you want to do - is acquiesce. So you lean forward and slowly let the saliva slide from your parted lips until it drops onto the head of his cock, his palm quickly gathering and dragging your offering down his length, groaning at the slide of it beneath his fingers.

Only when you hear the low timbre of his laugh do you realize that you’re practically pouting as your eyes eagerly follow the movement of his hand.

You lean forward again, glossy lips parting in anticipation, but his other hand quickly reaches to grasp your hair and stops you. 

You’re agonizingly close, not caring how desperate you must look straining against his grip as your tongue flicks out, the sounds of skin on slick skin making you increasingly desperate to taste him as he holds you just out of reach of what you want.

“Look at you.” Klaue croons.“You’re always switched on. You’re strong and I can see how hard you work, and I want you to know how much I appreciate that.”

You flush at his praise, briefly distracted from your conquest.

“But when I use your mouth…then I get to watch you let go. I can tell that you don’t like to do it for yourself, so I’m going to do it for you. Going to empty that head of yours.”

His hips nudge toward you and this time when your lips drop open he lets you move to meet him.

He sucks a hiss through his teeth when you press a wet kiss against the thick head of his cock, chased by a relieved groan as you let your lips smear the glisten of precum that continues to leak there, fresh heat blooming between your legs at the sounds this draws from him.

You keep the muscles of your jaw relaxed and pliant as you press slowly forward. Not sucking yet, simply using the head of his cock to part your lips to slide over the already slick skin, slowly and thoroughly mapping the shape of him with your mouth.

And he's right, of course. You can feel yourself relaxing as you finally taste the musk of his heated skin, humming contentedly as your tongue swirls around the head and drags over the sensitive frenulum, the tension of the last few days finally draining away with every languorous slip of your mouth. 

A different kind of tension quickly swelling deep in your core.

“Jesus.” Klaue sighs above you as you gradually take him deeper, one hand braced on his thigh while the other wraps around him, his cock achingly hard beneath your fingers. 

Still loosely holding your hair he's letting you work him, your own pleased moans slipping from your throat as you lick hungrily over every ridge and vein, savouring the salty tang of his velvet-slick skin warm against your tongue

Pleasure thrums through your body, growing hotter with the attention you’re giving him, but as you take him deeper again, your lips stretching wider, realization flickers in the back of your mind that you haven’t even taken him halfway yet and you’re already growing overwhelmed by how full your mouth is. 

But, god, the ragged sound he makes when you slide down until his cock nudges the back of your throat makes your cunt throb, so you pull back so that you’re holding just the tip of him between your lips and then you do it again, reveling in every inch that you can take.

Slowly you build a steady rhythm until saliva is dripping down your chin, he's continuing to let you control the pace for now, allowing you to breathe and adjust until he’s deeper than when he was on the couch.

Your hunger is growing, though, and soon you're pushing forward with more intention and when your throat spasms you swallow reflexively, your eyes watering when this draws him in further. Klaue’s moans deepen at the ripple of the muscles around his cock but you’re unable to fight it any longer and you gag, even as his drawn out “Fuck” has your hips rocking.

Squeezing your eyes shut you just barely manage to stay where you are, tears dampening your lashes until you finally have to pull back, although you keep him in your mouth, breathing hard through your nose to catch your breath.

“It’s alright,” he rasps. ”Don’t think you’re going to be able to take all of me right now, darling. But you’ll take as much as you can, and when you can swallow every inch of my cock then you’ll get to feel me come down your throat.” 

You can’t help the muffled sound you make that’s equal parts arousal and disappointment.

“Don’t worry, I’m still going to make a pretty mess of your mouth," he teases, his heaving chest and half-lidded eyes betraying his own growing need.

Not that he isn’t doing a fair job of it already, of course, unable to properly swallow, your chin is quickly growing shiny with drool. The pressure of his other hand still cradling the back of your neck firm but soothing as he holds you in place, as the still restrained flex of his hips begins seeking the wet heat of your mouth again, and you sigh at the intoxicating weight of his cock dragging against your tongue.

As you relax your awareness drifts back down to the heat between your legs, the slick press of the seam of your pants against your sex barely relieving the ache there as you squeeze your thighs together. 

After a few more slow thrusts he presses forward into the back of your throat again, and as he holds himself there you take a shaky breath and swallow once, and then again, taking more of him than you have so far. 

“There you go, God-”

You try to hollow your cheeks to pull him in further but you gag again when he bucks suddenly, his words cut off with a growled curse.

“It’s alright,” Klaue soothes, pulling back to give you a moment to recover, though it was more startling than painful. “You’re doing so fucking well.” 

Looking up at him you see that his eyes are screwed shut, head bowed and breathing hard, concentration etched clearly across his face. When he finally opens his them he can only groan at the sight of your tear-damp reverence, his attention is first drawn first to where he's disappearing into your mouth as he starts to move again, but it’s not long before they catch instead on the needy cant of your hips.

“You do love this, don’t you? Have you soaked through your panties already?”

You can only let out a whimpered moan as you attempt to nod.

He hasn’t let you take his cock out of your mouth yet and you can feel the drool that continues to spill from your lips beginning to collect and drip off of your chin, down onto your chest where it slicks the skin between your breasts.

There’s a flicker in the back of your mind, a needling thought that you should feel…ashamed. By the mess, and your neediness, by how much you fucking adore being on your knees for this man. 

But that flicker is quickly snuffed out as Klaue continues to use your mouth, and as you take in the look of awe in his eyes, when you feel his thumb softly stroking over the curve of your cheekbone, you realize that you don’t feel below him. 

That although you're on your knees, it feels like you’re the one being worshiped.

You want to focus on him and you try, really you do, but the heated ache in your cunt is becoming unbearable and you can't  help shifting and squeezing your thighs together, made breathless by your need as much as by the fullness of him in your mouth.

He's has been watching - and clearly enjoying - this increasingly desperate movement of your hips, but finally he seems to take pity on you.

“Do you want to touch yourself, darling? Want to come while you drool all over my cock?” 

Even through his tease you can feel how his own words affect him in the quickening buck of his hips.

“Go on then, feel how wet your pussy is just from this.”

The words are barely past his lips and you’re already moving, but just as you manage to work your hand beneath the waistband of your pants he speaks again.

“Slow.” 

The word is quiet but firm, Klaue's tone softer than before yet shot through with an irresistible command and you pause, glancing back up.

His shoulders and neck are impossibly broad from this vantage, eyes bright but tinged with a smoky darkness that does away with your resistance, and you know with a thrilling certainty that as desperate as you are for relief, in this moment you’d do whatever he asked.

Keeping your eyes locked on his you begin to move again, dipping your hand down - slowly.

“That’s it. Slip your hand into your panties now. Just- just one finger, darling.” His voice is uneven and clipped like he's having to concentrate on forming the words. “Slide it along that pretty slit of yours. Barely need to press to feel it, don’t you? How wet you are.”

You can only whimper in response, the building ache between your thighs only made worse by how close you are to relief, by how you could increase the pressure just slightly and you’d be able to part yourself and find your desperate bundle of nerves.

“You have no idea how delicious that first taste of you is. So fucking sweet.” 

There’s an edge to his words, as though he were jealous of your fingers, that they get to slide and tease between your legs and not his tongue.

There’s barely any friction beneath your index finger, but the soft glide combined with his grunted breaths above you has you clenching and it's near agony to keep your movements slow and controlled, fighting against every instinct in your body not to give in as your sex quivers, pleading for more.

So instead you pull your focus back to his cock and let your mouth move the way you wish your fingers could, quickly and hungrily sliding your lips along his shaft until with a sudden movement you take him into the back of your throat again and keep him there, your hand stroking the part of him you can't take.

“Christ,” he grits through his teeth, your scalp stinging from the quick jerk of his hand in your hair. “Not yet.” 

You can't tell if this is directed at you or himself as he swallows and releases a shuddered breath, his voice strained when he speaks again.

“Slide two fingers over your clit for me, now.” 

Relief ripples up your spine as you eagerly press through your drenched folds, fingers dragging against your swollen bud, unable to let out more than a choked sound as you push forward to keep his cock where it is in your throat, hot tears spilling over.

“Again.” 

Your touch grows rougher, matching his words, feeling the inevitable swell of pleasure growing as you float there, caught in the riptide of his voice.

”Want to go faster, don’t you?” Klaue rasps. “Want to reach down to feel how soaked your needy hole is?” 

You do, trembling fingers unable to help chasing the path of his words as if they were his tongue instead, sliding along your slick cleft and down to gather more of your arousal. 

Pleasure strings tighter when your fingers slide back up and over your clit, cursing  him internally as you gasp short breaths through your nose. You try to relax your throat even as every other muscle in your body draws tight, unsure how much longer you can keep yourself from falling over the edge.

You can’t really tell him, only your eyes can plead, I’m close, I’m so close it feels so good please let me come. 

“So used to begging with that pretty mouth.” He taunts with a breathless growl, reading your desperation, his lips curled in a grin at your half-delirious expression.

“It's alright, I know how good it's making you feel to use your mouth like this instead. Just like I know you’re going to make yourself come now.”

You're so close to lost that it takes a second for you to process his command, but when you do something in you snaps.

Your fingers immediately find a tight rhythm as you chase the swollen edge of pleasure, his fist gripping your hair tight to hold you firmly in place as your movements begin to grow frantic, unable to control any part of you as the blinding heat of your climax finally shocks through you.

The muscles of your throat spasm as your cunt flutters around nothing, desperate sounds caught in your chest as your hips buck and writhe against your fingers. Your other hand is entirely lost to any sense of rhythm and it drops to grasp at the fabric covering his thigh in an attempt to find purchase, and then suddenly his hand not in your hair is there, strong fingers twining tightly with yours, holding on to you as you fall apart.

“That’s it,” Klaue pants, his voice thick with lust and awe. “Choke on my cock while you come.”

You want to curse and cry and plead as ecstasy works its way through you in eddies and purls, and it almost feels like you might be drowning but you’re powerless to want anything else but to drown in him, trembling with relief as your fingers roughly work every pulse of pleasure from your clit.

As the waves begin to soften your other senses gradually filter back in: the ache in your throat and your jaw, the sting in your knees where they press into the floor, and when your body slackens as you start to come down he allows you pull back enough to properly catch your breath. 

Slowly you’re able to focus again, eyes damp and red rimmed as you look up at him, but you only have a brief moment to appreciate his pleased expression before his eyes go storm dark.

“Going to come in your mouth, now.”

Fingers tighten in your hair once more and then he’s moving. His thrusts are rough now with surrendered control as his hips chase a harsh rhythm, a low groan rolling through his chest that's woven together with your name as he finally gives in and takes what you'd promised. 

You attempt to tighten your lips around him as his rasping curses continue above you, but it’s no use, all you can do is kneel and relent to the slide of his cock filling your mouth again and again.

You want to beg him, words that fall so easily from your lips now when you sense that he’s about to let go for you, but you can only whine for it, your plaintive noises slipping messily around his cock until the pattern of his thrusts falters. And then, finally, there's only bliss when you hear his choked gasp as he stiffens, and you feel the first warm spurts of his spend coating your tongue.

With a low, open-mouthed moan he continues to fuck into the wet suck of your mouth, spilling himself across your lips and chin as well as your tongue until pearly ropes of cum are mixing with your drool, the mess of it dripping in slick stands off of your chin.

Then suddenly Klaue pulls out completely for the first time since this started and at first you can only gasp and cough, but when his hand wraps around himself your mouth instinctively drops open. Resting the head of his cock against the offering of your tongue he slowly strokes though the last pulses of his orgasm, making sure to give you every last drop, dragging through the slick mess with slow, sated thrusts until his fist gradually stills.

Eventually he pulls back though not away, panting and heavy lidded as he looks down at you where you kneel, a shining strand strung between his tip and your swollen lips that glisten with the pearly sheen he’s painted them with.

“Now you can swallow, darling.” 

You’re not sure if you should laugh or sob, but fighting both you make sure to keep your eyes on his as you curl your tongue back into your mouth and swallow, before dragging your fingers across your chin to gather the mess he left there, too.

A lazy smile curves his lips as he watches your mouth sliding around your fingers, and once you've cleaned as much as you can your hand drops, both of them resting on the tops of your thighs. 

Gently, the backs of Klaue’s fingers brush at the streaks of tears that are beginning to dry on your cheeks, then one slowly hooks under your chin to tip your head up, not letting you hide, leaving you startled by the affection that vines its way through your ribcage, burrowing into the want that even now burns hot. 

The want that folds into a desperation to please him, to give and take everything until the only thing left is your desire. 

You wish that you could explain it to him, that you could say something coherent, but any words you try to form seem to dissipate before they can reach your mouth, and you’re unsure that you could even articulate your thoughts as you sit in the filmy haze of your afterglow. 

So when you do open your mouth you're nearly as caught off guard by the words that come out as he is, your voice an almost unfamiliar, grateful rasp.

“Thank you.” 

Klaue’s satisfied grin falls away, his lips parting with a groaned sigh and then he’s reaching down, a hand curling around your bicep to pull you up to standing. You waver against the stiffness in your legs but he supports you, his palm again finding its place against your cheek.

He pauses, really taking in the state of you: your dazed expression and cock-swollen lips, standing there bruised and mussed and shirtless and pleased, his large hand brushing across your chin to catch more of the sheen there, words seeming to hover on the tip of his tongue.

The line between his brows deepens with a purse of his lips, a barely perceptible shake of his head. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, klein Mot.”

Then he's pulling you against him, his lips suddenly on yours and he's kissing you deeply, licking hungrily into your mouth and you swiftly grow breathless as he chases the taste of himself on your tongue. But just as you’re sinking into it, he pulls away. 

“Come here.” 

He turns with you, quickly crowding you back against his desk, hands reach down to wrap around your thighs and you quickly brace against the surface as he lifts you until you’re perched on the edge of it.

Your legs fall open easily as he moves forward, his focus coming to rest on you again as his hands slide up to circle your waist.

“You did so fucking well.” A smile tugs at his lips again as thumbs trail soft patterns against your bare skin. “Are you alright?” 

Warmth blooms at his concern, an unexpected contrast with what had just transpired.

“Yes.” You’re still finding your voice, still feeling like you're catching your breath, but you’re good. More than.

“You're sure?”

Leaning forward you slide your arms around his broad waist, hitching your legs up as well, drawing him into you.

“Yes, I promise.” You assure, brushing the ghost of a smile against his lips. “And…I promise that I won’t lie to you if anything is too much.”

“Good.” Klaue pulls back to look at you, a pleased edge of gold glinting in the blue before a more serious expression settles into the creases around eyes. “Because I'm going to keep pushing you.” 

You inhale sharply, a fresh throb of heat blooming in your still slick core as your legs tighten around his hips.

“I want you to, Ulysses,” you hum, slowly arching and rolling your center against him, feeling him still half hard where he'd tucked himself back into his pants. 

“I know, my darling.” His words are knowing and smooth with the edges singed dark, hands roving slowly over the soft flesh of your waist as he continues matter-of-factly. “But right now, you’re going to have some water, and then I’m going to make you come again.”

“Yeah?” You say hopefully as you continue to move against him, chasing the heat he so easily stokes in you with just a few words.

A slow nod and a rumbled confirmation. 

“I’m going to take care of you, now, Mot. I don’t need you to make any decisions today. Except for one.”

“Oh?” 

“Not how many times you’re going to come, that's up to me. But you’re going to tell me how.”

“God, Ulysses.” You’re burning with arousal now, every inch of your skin prickling hot. “That's all?”

“Will it be my fingers?” 

His hands brush further up your waist, thumbs teasing beneath the band of your bra to just brush against the sensitive curve of your breasts before trailing back down.

“Or my mouth?”

Leaning in his lips press against your neck, a silvered shimmer of nerves swirling out from the point where his tongue flicks out to taste your skin, your body swiftly surrendering to the heat of his promise.

“Or perhaps you’d like to straddle my thigh until you’ve made a lovely mess for me.”

A needy sound rends itself from your chest as his thumbs press into the sensitive creases where your hips meet your thighs, but just as you open your mouth to reply, a loud knock sounds on the door.

“Not right now.” Klaue calls out to whoever is in the hall without pulling away from you.

“Yes, now.”

“I’m not ask-”

“It’s a call you’ve been waiting for. There's a problem.”

Jaw clenching, he exhales a sharp breath.

“Just a minute,” he replies.

“You really need to-”

“Just a minute.” Klaue snaps, his head jerking towards the door and you jump, your legs tightening around him.

“Alright, alright.” 

The man’s voice trails off and it sounds like he’s moved down the hallway, at least for now. 

When he looks back at you you’re biting your lip, the look in his eye telling you he must have noticed your reaction to his tone.

“Think about what I asked.” 

You're about to reply that you will, but something occurs to you about the suggestions he’d given you.

“Wait, is.. is your cock not an option?” You give him a coy look through your lashes, intending to tease but still a little nervous that maybe it won't be.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to fuck you, darling. If you’re good.”

A thumb grazes the corner of your mouth, distracting you momentarily from what that means as you unconsciously flick your tongue out to meet it, earning you a knowing grin when you quickly pull away with a sheepish laugh.

“So?” He says, waiting for your confirmation of his request.

“I will. I’ll…think about it.” You're nearly panting now as the rock of your hips grows needier, shocked at how quickly you can feel another orgasm building already, if you just had a few more minutes you could-

“That’s all you’ll be doing, though. Yeah?” 

Strong hands tighten around your hips, pinning their faltering movement against him and you pull back with a frown.

“Are you saying…you want me to think about how I want to come, but I can’t- ”

“Smart girl, you did hear what I said.” His gaze sweeps over your face, and you barely manage not to scoff.

“Yes, I heard you. But I mean, I did already make myself come. I made that decision.”

Klaue tilts his head, mock curiosity knitting his brows.

“Did you?”

You open your mouth to argue but then close it again, pursing your lips together in a pout. He has a point, though: It may have been your fingers, but it was his words guiding you, and you only made yourself come when he told you that you would.

“I decide,” he repeats, and you bite back a whimper when he slowly grinds you against him again. “And I've decided you're going to wait.”

There’s another, more insistent knock at the door.

“Coming.” Suddenly letting go he steps back from you, not hiding his pleasure at your pained expression as he finds and hands you your shirt which you reluctantly put back on.

“I’ll walk you back to the main corridor.” He pauses with his hand on the doorknob and raises a brow, waiting for you to follow.

“Fine. I’ll think about it.” You finally say, pushing yourself off of the desk, not bothering to hide the frustration in your voice.

“I know you will, darling.” His certainty overlaps with a challenge as he opens the door. 

Be good, and you can come on my cock. 

You shudder when his hand quickly presses against your lower back as you move past him, even the brief pressure burns hot through the fabric of your shirt, and then the door clicks shut behind you.

So, you have to wait. Again. And though you’re getting good at it now, and even knowing that it won’t be long, you’re not sure how you’re going to make it, your nerves already on fire as you part and watch him walk away.

AN: As always thank you so much for reading! 🥰 The next chapter will not be nearly as long a wait since about 75% of it was already written before I decided to split this on up! Will it be soon soon? No, but it won't be quite as long as this break as this was! Though to be fair I did write two other fics (and a drabble), flew to London, and dealt with a personal loss, and then the recovery from of all the that plus y'know, life in general. But we're finally here, and I'm glad that I made it and can finally share this with you all!

Full disclosure I am not someone who works with propane, and while much of the information is based what I've been able to find online, the accident itself is based on the events of a real explosion at a propane plant that happened in Canada several years ago. So things are likely not necessarily going to be 100% correct, but there are real variables here that would explain something like this happening.

I also want to mention that there's a line in that that was actually the first (filthy) line of not just this chapter, but also of this entire part two. I was only around halfway through part one and was just realizing there would even be a part two (the line did end up changing a bit as the story evolved, but it's still in here. 😏). Also I wrote it, closed the doc, then opened Instagram and immediately saw that Andy was coming to to Toronto. And instantly panicked. So there's that. 😂

[gunsandspaceships]

Proof that Tony Stark is not an alcoholic in the MCU. Part 2

Iron Man 2:

What’s going on: Tony is dying from palladium poisoning. Alcohol would make things worse for him. Let’s check how much he drinks there:

0:18:15 – Tony is drinking chlorophyll to reduce symptoms.

0:21:20 – Pepper asks him “Have you been drinking?”, Tony replies “Chlorophyll”. He’s completely honest (we just saw him doing it).

0:21:40 – they are drinking champagne to celebrate the new CEO of Stark Industries.

0:26:28 – Monaco. Waiter brings alcohol to Tony and Pepper. Tony takes a glass of (probably) scotch and Pepper a glass of something else.

0:26:31 – Tony says “Cheers” but moves his glass towards Natasha (as if showing her to take it), and she instantly takes both glasses from them and gave them back to the waiter. The guy looks kinda disappointed.

0:26:40 – Pepper takes her drink back, but Tony doesn’t.

0:51:40 – blood toxicity level – 89%. Tony repeats that he wants to cancel the party.

0:53:00 – Tony drinks the dirty martini that Natasha made for him.

0:53:58 – Tony seems drunk. He has a bottle in his hand.

0:55:09 - Pepper takes the bottle from him.

0:56:30 - we can see another bottle in Tony’s hands (Re­my Mar­tin Co­gnac). It's less than half full and there's no way Tony could drink it all.

Then Tony and Rhodey fight each other. See my post “Tony wasn’t drunk (or explanation of his plan to die alone in IM2)” to understand what’s going on in the scene.

Briefly: Tony’s blood contains an almost deadly amount of palladium and can’t stand much alcohol, which is toxic if you didn’t know. He wants to pass his armor to Rhodey without making him and Pepper suspect that something is wrong (see Fury’s words in the Donut scene). He needs to control what’s happening, so he can’t drink at the party, but he pretends that he does. For example, he “can’t stand” in one moment, but has no coordination problem after that. He has “slurred” speech at the party, but after the fight started, it’s back to normal. He can aim easily, something that a drunk person wouldn’t be able to do. He also hurt no one, despite seemingly reckless behavior, and drove the crowd away before blowing up the house with Rhodey.

1:14:58 – Tony drinks Dr Pepper with ice (not alcohol) – we can see the can on the table next to him at 1:14:50.

That’s it. Again we have like 50 minutes until the end of the movie and there are no more scenes where Tony drinks something.

What we can tell by now? Tony drinks 2 times throughout the movie (a glass of champagne at 0:21:40 and a glass of martini at 0:53:00), that’s even less than in his first movie. For comparison, Pepper had 2 drinks in the movie too. And she is not even the main character, accused of being an alcoholic.

He shows poisoning symptoms and “strange” behavior in the movie that others (Rhodey and Pepper) see as signs of alcohol intoxication (like at 0:21:20 or in the Alternate Opening of the movie). I’ll write about that more in the future.

Conclusion: still “normal drinker”.

If we go back from the MCU to our real world, the reason behind the fact that Tony is not an alcoholic on Earth 199999 is purely financial – we are dealing with a movie, whose audience includes kids and teenagers. And one of the main sources of profit for Marvel is merchandise for young consumers. And a guy with a drinking problem is not the most appropriate hero for them.

Here’s the screenwriter Justin Theroux’s words about the Party scene in Iron Man 2:

“…That's how we landed on his illness, that it's the metaphor for a man who's running out of steam and needs his friends to step up. Whereas, if we ran right toward the 'Demon in the Bottle' story, nobody wants to see Tony like that."

"We realized that in a comic book you can have one key-frame where it's a guy, drunk, but in a movie, that's gotta be a big scene and it's gotta be addressed," added Theroux. "A thirteen year old kid does not want to see drunken Tony."

Source: https://www.mtv.com/news/npe63j/demon-in-a-bottle-iron-man-2-justin-theroux

[lelliefant]

Here’s my theory on Loki’s “death” in The Dark World.

1. First, it’s not possible to create an illusion directly involving another person without their cooperation.

When Loki created the illusion that he’d cut off Thor’s arm, Thor was playing along. It was part of their plan to fool the Dark Elves, and it worked because Thor wasn’t lifting Mjolnir with that hand, or throwing it, or doing something else that would break the illusion or show it to be false.

So, when we see Loki get stabbed through the chest by The Cursed baddie, he really got stabbed. In the chest. The Cursed would not have collaborated with Loki to fake his death; they were in a real life-and-death struggle to kill each other.

2. Second, when Loki was dying in Thor’s arms, we saw something we’ve never seen before; his face mottled and turned grey.

We’ve seen a lot of Jotun and Aesir die in the MCU, but none of them underwent this kind of face mottling in their death throes. So, what was this? …

3. Loki is a sorcerer—the greatest sorcerer of Asgard, according to Kevin Feige.

This is Asgard, where magic is everywhere, and even Thor has some magical powers of his own. The greatest sorcerer of Asgard would be exceptionally powerful indeed.

We still haven’t seen the full extent of MCU Loki’s powers because he’s been deliberately underpowered to fit into the storylines of other characters.

(Now, let’s play along, Lellie) We haven’t seen the full extent of Loki’s powers because, as we learn in the Loki series, he, himself doesn’t know how powerful he is.

Also, remember, we are dealing with the sly and cagey God of Lies and Mischief. It’s not his way to put all his cards on the table, and he benefits from being underestimated by his enemies.

4. Loki was born a Jotun (Frost Giant).

We’ve seen him use Frost Giant powers (in Thor 1), both freezing Heimdall with the Cask of Ancient Winters and resisting the burning touch of a Jotun warrior.

We’ve seen other Frost Giants use additional powers; most notably, the ability to freeze their limbs so that ice weapons extend from their hands.

So, what do these points tell us?

Loki really was mortally wounded when the Cursed Dark Elf stabbed him through the chest.

Something strange happened to Loki when he was dying in Thor’s arms; something that flushed all color out of his face.

Loki was capable of using sorcery or some Jotun power to freeze his own body.

Loki, as a Jotun, was capable of surviving having his body frozen.

When you freeze a liquid, it turns to ice. Loki was dying of blood loss, and perhaps cardiac arrest. Since Loki was capable of turning his blood to ice, he stopped the blood loss.

Ice cold is a preservative. That’s why we have refrigerators and freezers. It’s a well known fact that freezing an amputated body part protects it from decay and improves the chances of a successful reattachment.

So, faced with death, Loki deliberately froze himself to save his own life, perhaps anticipating that Thor would have the sense to bring him to an Aesir physician, where his wound could be healed. (But Thor didn’t.)

In the cold of winter, many animals hibernate. Their body temperature drops and they fall asleep. Their heartbeat slows down, so their bodies use very little energy and can survive without food for months.

Suppose Loki went into a hibernative state—not dead, but deeply asleep. Suppose he was able to work magic, even in this state, and was able to slowly knit his wound back together.

Thor left Loki behind as a massive sandstorm approached on the Dark World. Suppose the storm covered Loki’s body in a protective mound of sand, just like a muskrat hibernating in a hole.

All Loki needed was enough time to heal himself before the Einherjar (Asgardian soldiers) found him and provided the means for him to return to Asgard in disguise.

Loki didn’t fake his death on the Dark World. He managed to save himself through his own quick wits and sorcery. And Thor was too stupid to realize what Loki was doing and too self-absorbed to think about what could have happened to Loki, rather than assuming Loki had deliberately faked his death.

No wonder Loki didn’t advertise the fact that he’d survived.

[valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn]

Every time i see something about mcu's blip i have those macabre flash thoughts of someone in-universe walks out of home and see bodies falling from the sky (people that were in planes and got snapped), people getting ran over by cars and/or kinda "flying" in a car's seat height until they hit the ground and get ran over (y'know, people that got snapped while crossing the street and driving cars), patients appearing in hospital bed all open....

OMG the last one. New fear activated 😳

I'll admit that scene of Scott in EG when he sees birds flying and singing as a sign that their plan had worked was pretty nice (a little cheesy maybe, but hey... a bit of cheesy is fine sometimes) but the repercussions of the Blip should be huge like you just mentioned.

Especially because they refused to go back in time. That would have solved so many things even if they had only wanted to go back 5 years and not more. The odds that the people who came back would die almost instantly were super high. And their main mistake was this line:

Stark: "You remember - everyone Thanos snapped away five years ago and just bringing them back to now, today. Don't change anything from the last five years."

They worded that awfully wrong. I think what Stark should have said there is "Bring them back safe to today, spread them around the entire globe because this is a huge chunk of people, and they must return in a safe space. Anyone flying, comes back on the ground. Anyone in surgery, comes back on the bed and pre/post-surgery, etc".

But they didn't say that so what they were left with is this weird as fuck attempt at convincing the audience through interviews that the people who had been snapped appeared in the same place they had disappeared prior... and that ruined it even more. But that was made canon so WV gave us just that with Monica, we also saw Yelena... but then there's May.

I don't remember right now if we have other characters talking about it, but May said in FFH that when she came back from the Blip other people were living in her home. So this is a statement that applies to every single person in the universe, which means that someone flying on a plane would appear in the same spot (but no plane), someone driving a car would appear in the same spot (but no car), etc etc.

When they could have done it so much better by either rewinding time (sure, Morgan is gone and there are other repercussions to this, but that would have made EG's story better, not worse) OR Stark words his statement better and he says a variation of what I wrote earlier: Don't change the past, just bring the people back but do so with them scattered around the globe - no need for the "they show up in the same spot they disappeared in" bullshit.

[mischief-lies-and-stories]

Why Kid Loki's Backstory in Loki Proves (More Than Anything Else) That the Writers Don't Understand Loki's Character

I've mostly already talked about this in a theory around Kid Loki, but now I'm going in a comic-heavy rant direction with it. Spoilers for Loki, Journey into Mystery, Immortal Thor, King Thor, and possibly more.

So Kid Loki in the show says he's taken in by the TVA for killing Thor. It is not clear whether Thor is also a child at this point in the timeline, or (as in my theory) this is Kid Loki from Journey into Mystery, a Kid Loki from our Loki's future (a future that hasn't happened yet in the main timeline of the MCU). Which would mean that the Thor he kills is an adult (probably. The future MCU option could deviate from Journey into Mystery and mean Thor is also a younger, reincarnated iteration of himself).

In the comics, the closest Kid Loki comes to killing Thor is 1., in Journey into Mystery, when he influences events during a battle to end the bloodshed by helping bring about Thor's sacrifice for the greater good. If he had not died, the battle would have gone on and led to more terrible destruction for Asgard. 2., In AoA, after "Kid Loki" ages up in Young Avengers, when he stabs Thor with Gram in order to free him from Loki's evil future self, who has hitched a ride inside Thor as a symbiote-like parasite.

In JiM, Loki privately and very deeply mourns Thor's death. (He also does so publicly, but in a way to avoid the suspicion of Asgard that he had something to do with Thor's death. But then the Asgardians go away and he's left alone, and he cries.) He knows what needed to be done, but he has lost his brother, his protector, his friend. He loves him. He is often shown throughout JiM to care about Thor. He calls for him instinctively when something he summons turns on him. He tries to make Thor promise to kill him if he goes bad again. He names his dog after him.

In Immortal Thor, we are reminded that Thor sought out Kid Loki, Thor awoke the piece of dormant soul inside him, Thor brought him back to himself and home to Asgard. Kid Loki would never kill Thor. Unless he had to.

Likewise, in King Thor, most of the comic is Loki, armed with the Necrosword, fighting Thor. Yet even here, even influenced by the elder god of the symbiotes themself, he cannot bring himself to annihilate Thor. (Now, he certainly does a good job of trying, even when he isn't as much under All-Black's influence. He makes an effort, I'm not discounting that. I'm not saying he's pretending to kill him, but in the end there's a shift.)

At a certain point, it stops being about Thor vs. Loki and the fight of an Asgardian lifetime. At a certain point, Loki very nearly gives it up, and Thor lets him. Loki says that it's too late, but not for their bond, not for a truce between them. It's too late to end this fight, because Loki has unleashed All-Black back into the universe, and it is too powerful even on its own for Loki to contain or control.

But the important thing here is that Loki stops. He stops fighting Thor. He stops trying to kill him. And when all hope is lost, as All-Black devours them, drowning them in despair and its own viscous, all-consuming darkness, Thor reaches for Loki, and Loki reaches back.

And this is a comic. We can make assumptions based on what we know about these characters, but at the end of the day, this is a comic, a stationary form of visual storytelling. Meaning that the panel portraying this moment does not display the first reaching hand, and so we cannot truly know who reaches for whom first. The important thing is that Loki reaches, too, but he could easily have reached out first.

Therefore, if Loki can reach for his brother, for comfort and peace and a promise of tomorrow, when all hope and light is dying around him, when he's about to die himself in a universe-ending disaster of his own making, centuries and millennia into a future of antagonism and villainy and sibling rivalry played out on a cosmic scale, then why the hell would he ever truly kill Thor as an eleven-year-old?

Aside from the shock factor (for both the main Loki and the viewers), it makes absolutely no sense. And if the writers cannot even comprehend that this would never happen, not in any universe (JiM and King Thor have nothing to do with each other, yet are connected by this one truth), no matter what Loki may claim, then why should they be expected to know anything else about Loki's character?

[cottagecorezemo]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you for the tag @zsparz :3

1. How many works do you have on ao3? 13 (one's art, so really, 12)

2. What's your total ao3 word count? 111,676

3. What fandoms do you write for? The MCU and The Alienist, mainly, but right now I'm also doing a Pokemon AU.

4. Top five fics by kudos: Shoot Through the Blur and Under the Ashes (I'm On Fire), then Hot Under the Collar, Russian Dwarf Hamster Roulette, and finally (Been An Awful Good Boy) Santa Zemo.

5. Do you respond to comments? I do :3 I really appreciate comments and the fact that it takes time and effort to leave them.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I don't really think I do angst??

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I don't really think I do happy endings?? Like, I guess I tend not to write stuff that feels like it even has a definitive ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not in this fandom.

9. Do you write smut? Yes! Love to write smut.

10. Craziest crossover: I hold that my winterbaron/Lilo & Stitch crossover is very sensical.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Yes, although not in this fandom. I had a fic get yoinked and turned into a Tony Stark x Reader fic, and have been plagiarized numerous other times. Just not under this pen name.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes, waaay back in the day, like eight pen names ago.

14. All time favorite ship? Look, I wanna be cool and say Winterbaron or Laszky, buuuut it's Wincest. There's just something really enduring and special about Wincest and it's hard to beat.

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? The third installment of Shoot Through the Blur is really hard and I'm in a weird place with writing right now (in that I can barely do it). But, never say never.

16. What are your writing strengths? I don't know my strengths, only my likes and dislikes about the writing process, and characterization is what brings me the most joy personally. Nailing a character's voice and mannerisms and making something unbelievable feel believable via the characterization. It's something I generally pay a lot of attention to.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Plot. I'm not really a plot person; it's never the primary thing that grabs my attention, even as a reader/viewer. I'm very much a character person.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language? I like it, but I have strong opinions about it too, sweatdrop.

19. First fandom you wrote in? Power Rangers, when I was a little kid. I wrote my own episode in script format.

20. Favorite fic you've written? In the WB fandom, it must surely be Russian Dwarf Hamster Roulette. It was very much a fun write. (I generally judge a fic by the writing process rather than the end product. I kinda hate my own writing. I just love to do it.) I loved writing Zemo POV. Plus for some reason people were really nice about it!!

As usual I'm where memes go to die, and I think everyone's already been tagged for this!! I'm way behind :"]

[hermesserpent-stuff]

(Accidental nephew AU) so, nwh home happens. Peter is erased from everyone’s mind. He reaches out to the sinister six, subtly cause he’s still ✨deeply traumatized and thinks everyone is better off which out him✨ who are now hitting very hard and going for kill shots like before.

He be delirious from blood loss and sleep deprivation and like the effects of not having a job or place to live with no record of your existence shows up at Montana’s apartment. Now they realize something’s off after he, tries to, drag himself away after they respectfully freak the fuck out. Montana being the holder of the singular brain cell, brings Pete into the bathroom and stitches him up, which triggers his memories. Or however else you want the memories to come back, maybe Pete manages to leave which causes them to investigate his identity yada yada cue the horror and fluff.

You can do whatever you want with this, this is a cool funky thought exercise so yeah, up to you. Sorry that this isn’t a west hope u don’t mind. I’m sorry I’m like so tired rn. Like. Sorry if I came off as rude or whatever, have a nice car ride!

lowkey, was just gonna just jot down thoughts but then it became a short. Whoops.So obviously the Mcu thing can’t happen the same way, but I vaguely recall Peter making a deal with a demon in a comic that the world would be save from like ending if his wife forgot him. So something similar happened here. No one rembers him. May died in whatever was ending the world that no one recalls. Before poisioned heartbeat for sure

And no! Not rude not at all!! Thank you!

Peter might be dying. Maybe. Ever since the world had forgotten him, everything had been so much worse. Criminals were worse than ever. At least, it felt that way because he knows they could be kind. And now they are trying to kill him again. He misses his uncles. He misses his aunt. He misses clean food and warmth. He misses Aunt May so bad it is a physical ache. He curls up on himself as he sits on a rooftop, stomach chewing at him.

His metabolism hates him. And so does his healing factor everything is so much slower to heal now and more and more scars decorate his skin. He silently chews on his lip. The sound of sirens has him moving despite the ache in his joints and the dirty bandages wrapped infected wounds. But his city needs him. And no one else could do what he could. He would have to force down the pain of not holding back for his uncles. Not his uncles. They don’t remember him. And that is the only way they are safe.

—

Bleeding out and starving are two of Peters least favorite hobbies that he is forced to participate in. The world swims as he stares at his empty first aid kit. He has to find something to wrap up his side. The burns across across his face make him feel half delirious. He stands and creeps out of the condemned building he had taken residence in.

As he moves, rain starts pounding down from the sky. A drumbeat of sorrow against his feverish skin. His fingers slip into his pocket and cling to his keys. Maybe… maybe they would be asleep. Maybe he could sneak in. The fever takes away all rationality as his feet walk a familiar path. Maybe he is just too stupidly desperate to keep going on. He might as well die at the hands of those he knows in a place he loves.

He feels bad that he bloodies the door with his hands as he shakily attempts to put the key in the lock. His fumbling is loud and his ears ring with every tink of metal on metal. He falls into the apartment when the door suddenly opens. He yelps as his decent to the floor is halted by an arm. Peter suddenly recalls this is a terrible idea and starts crying as Montana rights him on his feet.

“Kid?”

Peter sees just about everyone in the room beyond. All of his uncles minus Tombstone. And the weight of being alone for a month snaps his heart in twain. He curls into himself with a muffled sob.

“I’m sorry uncle Montana. I’ll go. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorrysorrysorry.”

He’s failed. He was supposed to be okay on his own. To be able to make that needed sacrifice. Tears cut across his bruised face as all his uncles just stare. And then Montana straightens and tugs him toward the bathroom.

“Come on son. Nothin to be sorry for. Lets clean you up. Quen, grab some spare clothes outta my room. Dan, get me some ice.”

Peter is too out of it to think of potential ramifications as he is pulled into the bathroom. Montana pauses at the sight of the Spider-Man suit, but then keeps working, hands steady even as his eyes harden. Peter whimpers and cries, but does not try to fight or get away. He is so tired, and so hungry. He knaws on his lip and Montana gently chides him. He finds a spoon full of peanut butter replacing the nervous tick.

Montana leans back after Peter is wrapped and dressed and tilts his head.

“You know me. And have a key to my house little hero. I don’t give those out lightly.”

Peter pulls knees up to his chin. He does not respond to the question directly. All his words are for a man who does not exist anymore. For without memory, are people really the same?

“I missed you. And I knew I would. But I thought I could make it. Save the city and survive alone. But I can’t and I need you unle Montana. But you’re not here anymore. You said I’d always be welcome. But that’s not true. And it’s not your fault it’s not true. I just…”

His words leave him as he is pulled into a hug. He clings tight its his fingers as his nose takes in the smell of earth and metal. For a moment he pretends everything is as it once was.

“Kid… I’m sorry.”

He holds tighter, sure he is going to be sent out again.

“But if I told you were welcome and gave you a key, then your always welcome. Even if my memory is failing me. You need someone in your corner; ain’t right for you to be beaten down and have no body.”

Peter relaxes. Montana gives a gentle squeeze and then speaks again.

“Now, son. What’s your name?”

“Peter. Peter Parker.”

The sound of a distant chime and the smell of brimstone greet his senses and the hug becomes that much tighter.

“Peter! Oh Peter!”

Recognition laces his uncle’s tone. His hair is ruffled and he is pulled closer. He is safe. He is home.

[cleabellanov]

Two weeks after the end of season 2, but I'm still there.

Part 2 (spoilers)

There are so many lines from episode 6 still lingering in my head, and that's because they're SO GOOD.

"The hard thing to do was the thing that had to be done."

Especially when this was coming from Mobius, who doesn't really show his repressed emotions, and we can imagine he has many in all this time spent at the TVA. This takes a knife that was already in your heart and twists it, reminding you it's there. This, for Loki, is the final piece of the puzzle. For us, it' s the realisation that no matter how hard the ending we got is to accept, with Loki alone on a throne he didn't want, it's the thing that had to be done.

Oftentimes, we might find ourselves coming back to this line when we don't want to do the hard thing, the thing that hurts. But ultimately, maybe it's for the better.

Could this be said for Loki's fate, too? It goes both ways. This, as Tom said in an interview, is Loki's second chance. After seeing his tragic end on the timeline, he wants to use this chance for something better, stronger. Something that future and past nemeses won't be able to swing back at the people he loves. This only brings us deeper into how crucial this end is for everything; Loki basically carries the MCU, in more ways than one. As of now, everyone got a new chance at life, and the TVA doesn't have to be subjugated under a selfish man's orders. And who knows, maybe, if not happiness, this at least brings Loki peace.

first talk

last talk. barely any differences, except an almost 3 year gap and a ton of emotional damage

"No, there's no comfort. You just choose your burden."

I can bet the Loki writers love to see us cry hahah.

Callback to being burdened with glorious purpose. Now, this isn't about glory anymore: the glory of becoming king by conquest, or just fulfilling a purpose and being done with it. This is about the burden. Purpose Is Glorious, but it's also a burden to bear, and Loki now knows that. It is a massive growth to go from the most selfish to the most selfless character, among many other things. Also, a reminder from S1E2, when, after watching his entire life literally flash before his eyes, Loki concludes with the words: "Glorious indeed". Little did anyone know how THAT wasn't the end at all, and the glory will actually be in the burden.

"We die with the dying, we're born with the dead"

I knew that sounded familiar when watching the episode, and looking it up, it is a T.S. Elliot quote, from the poem "Little Gidding". Now I'm no English major, but the overall themes of this poem are the flow of time, and the search for meaning in all the chaos that surrounds us. If that's not also the theme of season 2, then I don't know what it is. By saying this to He Who Remains, Loki acknowledges rebirth, or "reincarantion, baby" as we know it from season 1. This also refers the cyclical nature of the series, with the first and last episodes being titled Glorious Purpose, and all of it sets the scene for the Multiversal War we're going to see in future movies.

I am also going to point out a line from the First Quartet (Little Gidding being the Fourth out of four such quartets by Elliot). "If all time is eternally present/ All time is unredeemable". I can't help now but to think about this in Loki's perspective, at the end of time, where, as we saw in the finale, all those timelines are present for him, and as long as he protects them, that's eternity. More than that, in the Multiverse, things start and end with no delimited point. They just...do. And if all time is present, then it can't be bought back. It can't be unredeemed. Also, Tom said that he brought up the few first lines of the poem in the writers' room, which leads to the line "We die with the dying, we're born with the dead". That's why I also wanted to bring it to attention <3

Alright, hope this isn't too long. Have a nice day!!!

[mykingdomforapen]

For the fic writer game,#9 please?

Also it’s hard to pic a fav scene/title/line cuz I adore your fics and have for years (and maybe Hello Hurricane hit so hard I wrote it on my notebooks/shoes in my teen years) but the title In Her Garden Grew Hyacinths has really stuck with me and it sometimes sneaks up on me when I don’t expect it and idk why.

Thank you for asking, anon!

What’s your favorite line(s) or scene(s) that you have written?

A handful of favorite lines and scenes over the +10 (!!) years of writing fanfic...Whether or not they're my best scenes, they're definitely the ones that have stuck to my own mind, whether it's because of fondness or because other people bring it up.

Vash and Nai's dreamscape sequence, particularly the last three parts from under the tree to the plummet in greater love has no one than this (Trigun Stampede)

The Avengers daisy-chaining into the River Styx, as Sam Wilson likes to put it, in May you bury me (MCU)

Ginnie telling Will Schofield she will be sent overseas into war in here be dragons (1917/Dunkirk)

Zuko and Katara sitting by the turtle-duck pond and then rushing to Azula in Lovable (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

Favorite lines:

To be Sokovian was to spend your whole life burying, giving back to the earth that had fed and housed and protected you, and shall one day swallow you whole in one last loving gesture.

(irreplaceable) The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

“Are you Kermit the Frog?” said Roy. “I–what? No!” “Then it’s none of your fucking business.”

(today is such a good day) Ted Lasso

Mikey would always say, oh, shit, wait, and run to the fridge to get something like powdered parmesan cheese or sundried tomatoes. Almost forgot–and he would spoon it onto Richie’s plate as if Richie didn’t already know enough that he was loved under this roof.

(finally) The Bear

Thor would have done everything to protect his people, and die for them, wherein lies the rub, because Thor is more useful alive than dead, and the sun shines brighter when Thor is alive rather than dead. If Loki could do anything that he would be proud of, it would be to keep Thor alive, even if Thor will spend the rest of his life cursing him.

(a land flowing with milk and honey) MCU

Also omg Anon!! Thank you so much for following my fics all these years....I'm so chuffed <3.

Fic writer ask meme!

[caatws]

Thank you so much for your post about Gamora and the way grief has been portrayed for her compared to other characters like vision. I have felt all alone for years in being upset that Gamora's death just didn't get treated like it was supposed to. From the beginning it was mostly framed around what it meant to Thanos and then slowly confined to Nebula before landing on Peter to do all the emotional work while eveyone else who was part of Gamora's life acted like they had no clue what was going on. Vol 3 felt like watching some sort of long con cover up job with people trying to pretend a murder never occurred. I don't know what Gunn was thinking because we all saw Gamora die. It was one of the stand out moments in one of the mcu's biggest movies. We have video evidence of the murder so why are they acting foolish.

Then fandom has been another mess. People thinking there just wasn't any time to have anyone else say any words about her death even though it would take less than 1 minutes for a sentence about how hard it's been for everyone. Some people are acting like Gamora never did anything before dying and the whole team was run by all the guys. On top of that writing fic has been pushed as a solution to this whole situation and it's not that simple. The canon has turned the abuse and murder of a woman into something we're all supposed to be okay with because Thanos was sad and most of her family thinks she has memory problems. Fic isn't going to fix this.

It hurts because you can see how in real life reactions to tragedies and loss can be different when people who aren't white are involved. It feels like the mcu mostly had time and space to care about some characters who died in IW and EG and not others based on the same criteria. I thought as time went on it would get better but instead it kept getting worse. First the idea to have 2014 Gamora instead of bringing 2018 Gamora back to life. Who really sat there and thought doing that was the way to go as if all Gamora's growth and healing was meaningless. Then the holiday special taking no time to address how Gamora's death had been for the team. Now we have vol 3 with its entire debacle of a storyline for Gamora where she's popped back in to deal with a mess she didn't help create with people she doesn't know and with no explanation of what she's been going through in the years since EG. Nobody knew what they were doing or where they were going with any of this and it shows. Gamora never should have been murdered in the first place. But since they went there the least they could do is not treat it with idiocy.

you're definitely not alone anon! the lack of mainstream popularity for gamora's character definitely made the experience of grieving her feel very isolating. like all my irls who aren't In This Deep with mcu who just casually follow were def more focused on the avengers characters and their stuff in iw or just weren't in deep enough to care much beyond it being a summer blockbuster (which is also valid!) so it rly felt like no one else grasped like just how much that movie imploded the gotg franchise

i must admit i second guess myself and my feelings toward the gamora situation a lot bc it just feels so weird that it seems like not many other ppl rly talk abt it the way they probably would if this kind of thing happened to one of the lead avengers characters or something. like it feels like most mcu viewers don't even realize the depth of what's happened which is so ?!?!??? so it's nice to see there are others in fandom like you who get it <3

and yeah, i agree with everything you said here. i think it's fair to say fandom often reflects like society in the ways they regard characters of different backgrounds, and i'd argue that's definitely happening here with gamora at least to some extent

[trashquisitor-shirozora]

4AM thoughts while I decide if I should sleep on this chapter and then post, or post the chapter and then sleep (better sleep on it first and then do a final read before post):

was a reason ever given for the NR's bizarre attempt at Operation Paperclip? becuase I was watching this short podcast ep talking about sarin nerve gas and the host brought up the Cold War being the rationale for Operation Paperclip, and I didn't see any episode reactions speculating on whether or not there was a threat that necessitated rehabbing ex-Imps. I saw reactions talking about how the NR rehabbed Imps while also destroying their tech? huh? so the NR was doing Operation Paperclip out of the goodness of their hearts? I mean, I guess??? personally, I would've thrown them all into a floating prison because fuck 'em but I'm not the one who destroyed the NR in the Sequel Trilogy in a shitty attempt to recreate the conditions that set up ANH, what the fuck do I know?

HEAR ME OUT. my brain connected some dots. it's just me and my personal experiences with the Captain America movies, which were what really got me going in the MCU for a while but listen

I keep thinking about the speculations about what will happen in Season 3 and all the fics and arts and headcanons people spun for 2 years, and what is actually happening on Season 3, and it feels so much like what people were writing and drawing and headcanoning post-CATWS and what actually fucking happened (AoU, CACW, the Infinity Saga). I'm not just talking about the shipping, btw. I am very much talking about Din's journey throughout the first 2 seasons and the gravity of the end of Season 2..... and how it turned into a fucking joke. It was such a fucking letdown. I feel like a fucking clown for thinking Favloni (and Favreau especially) would actually do something meaningful with it.

I refuse to watch CACW out of principle and the Infinity Saga also out of principle. Wiki the summaries? Haven't done that. Everything I know I got from gifs and posts. I know straight up fuck all about the plots of these movies, but I know enough about how Steve Rogers' story ends and boy was that a disappointment. I get why his story ended, but how it ended sounds like a fucking spice dream. Of all the things, that's the ending they chose? lol k

to all the people claiming that 3rd episode was Mando's "Andor episode", no it fucking wasn't. it sounds like a fart of an attempt at a political/world-building episode with none of Andor's dedication to understanding what the fuck they're doing. maybe they had no choice but to set up the NR as corrupt, useless, incompetent, unable to outlast the Empire! maybe it's meant to mimic the more recent post-WWII/Cold War histories (I won't speculate here because I'm not well-versed in this department), but this coming on the heels of Andor... what the hell kind of sunrise was the Rebellion fightting for? are we really saying the Rebellion was fighting for a filler republic that Disney will burn away to make a better, cooler government run by..... who the fuck knows? nobody wants to do the hard job of building and rebuilding after a war. might as well just wait another 40 years for another Empire wannabe to blow up an entire star system and reboot the conflict for the next generation I guess????

no this season isn't going the way I expected because i wanted more out of Din. but honestly, it was the attempt to bring back IG-11 that turned me off the whole thing. fucking disgusting. let things die, favloni. they deserve to rest.