#superkim111

aka one of the AUs I really like? I mean, I wrote a version of this where Thor didn’t actually die but Loki thought he did, although it didn’t involve him being picked up by the Guardians so I guess that’s not actually the same thing.

the thing about killing Thor is that it…wrecks Loki completely, sends him absolutely off the rails and straight for Thanos like an arrow without a single goddamn plan because while yeah, technically he wants to beat him and avenge Thor he also has no real reason to live and is fully willing to just go out with a bang because what’s even the point, everything he loves is dead and he should be dead too, he should have died to begin with.

(especially in an AU where Loki was intending to sacrifice himself, and where Thanos deliberately chose to kill Thor rather than Loki. the guilt there. his actions already led directly to Frigga’s death, and now they’ve led to Thor’s, too.)

so Loki wakes up on the Guardians’ ship and his sole goal is to get to Thanos and try to kill him. no plan, no real intentions, just…get there, kill him, that’s good enough. he doesn’t need more than that. 

and the next place Thanos is likely to go is to the Collector, Loki knows that, so that’s where he’s going too. good thing that he’s not going alone, because that means more people to distract Thanos, possible cannon fodder to give Loki time to get to him.

of course, this also means bringing him face-to-face with Gamora and Loki is not so forgiving as Thor, and much more likely to actually try to kill her, which doesn’t end well. but after…probably getting beat down (because he just almost died and is not at his best), he is like “okay, whatever, if you’re claiming to not be on his side then I’m perfectly willing to go along since we’re heading the same direction and I can cheerfully throw you under the bus along with everyone else”

Loki’s moral compass such as it is has basically vanished at this point, he has One Goal and nothing else matters: his own life, everyone else’s lives, probably the universe.

so to the Collector, and the Reality Stone, and of course Thanos has beat them there and Loki doesn’t hesitate before going for him, and I like the idea of Thanos choosing again to not kill him because clearly that’s what Loki wants and it would be worse to leave him alive to suffer, so he’s coming back to Sanctuary and gets to watch Thanos’s victory–

and then maybe he’ll get to die. maybe.

Jacob hunkers down in doors with coffee and a list of indoor tasks (cleaning, organizing, inventorying). Maybe if he gets bored he’ll watch the snow pile up outside the window--after so many years in juvie, and all those years at war and them homeless, it’s nice and somehow comforting to watch bad weather from the comfort of a sanctuary.

Faith is a little pissy--now she has to wear socks and boots?--but the Bliss looks nice and pure when it snows out in the real world: the snow never sticks to the ground in the Bliss, but it does cast everything in this pure, silvery white, almost moon-like glow. She feels pure and weightless there most of all.

John spends his time indoors, and then goes out to break off icicles or chisel through ice in the Henbane once the weather’s clean enough. There’s something uniquely satisfying about that kind of destruction and watching the way ice splinters into spidery fragments. Jacob probably drops by to shovel out his driveway, and the two of them work together at a simple task, feeling useful and satisfied.

Requested by the wonderful @superkim111, this is a continuation of this post wherein The Seven react to their love interest showing up covered in blood. Here, they react to, and come to terms with the fact the Reader is capable of, and willing to execute such a level of violence to end up like that in the first place.

Sam Chisolm: Sam keeps his expectations broad in regard to what people are capable of, so he doesn’t like to admit that the violent ends you achieve take him by surprise. He resists the urge to ask you for details about what led to the fray.  Mentally, Sam plays out worst-case scenarios, and goes over his list of resources he could avail himself of to keep you safe, lest anyone seek out reprisals against you. He knows better than most how violence begets more violence. If he’s being frank with himself, it makes no difference to him whether or not you had a choice. Sam doesn’t have qualms with what you did, but it does make him realize there is still a lot he has to learn about you. 

Jack Horne: The discovery that you are capable of such ferocity sets Jack on edge. It’s not that he judges you; his own past is too blood soaked for that. He’s always feared the judgement that may eventually be leveled against him for the violence he’s committed. He knows how inwardly corrosive such fury can be, and that it is of no help when it spills over. He doesn’t want that for you, and he worries over you. It is as much for your spiritual safety as it is for your physical safety. He redoubles his efforts in praying for you, and realizes that he came to terms with his past acts and that. He knows you will have to in your own way, and if you let him, he will help you. 

Vasquez: Vasquez enjoys the heat of battle, and violence has gone hand-in-hand with his way of life. So, whether your butchery was personal or not, Vasquez doesn’t question it. To his mind you did what you had to to survive, but he also knows that kind of violence attracts attention.  And if you cut your enemies to ribbons in an act that might be considered overkill? To what degree did they truly have it coming to them? Vasquez won’t say as much, but your newly discovered aptitude for brutality makes him stop and think about violence, crime, and his own past. He knows there’s nothing he can do to change it any more than you can change your own. If you need to run, he’s willing to run with you.

Joshua Faraday: Faraday’s reaction is somewhere between  impressed and intimidated, though he certainly won’t bring himself to admit the latter. He’s always been one to stick a (usually metaphorical) knife in and twist. It’s pettiness mixed with a little bit of “don’t screw with me.” Your particular brand of violence, though? That feels like something else entirely. Like you’re a force of nature. He finds this new angle compelling, though; and he reasons that you are the same person you were before; it’s only his perception of you that’s changed. He weighs one of his favorite statistics -six pounds of pressure -with the effort and force you must have expended while dispatching your enemies, and he wonders about the nightmares you must have.

Red Harvest: Red’s initial reaction is to be impressed. He is happy to know that you can defend yourself, and that you won’t be one more person to be taken away from him. The more he thinks about it, the more doleful he becomes, however. The sudden dissonance within himself truly eats at him, especially since he cannot discern the cause of it at first. It’s not the violence that bothers him. Certainly not. He was made for war. It’s not jealousy. No, that’s not the word for it, either. He thinks of all the reasons he’s had to be brutal. There have been many. He understands rage all too well, and you make him consider what it would be like to let his control slide. It seems less like it would be  a cathartic achievement, and more like betraying himself. And yet, he wonders.

Goodnight Robicheaux: Goodnight feels ill at ease. Not because he condemns your actions, but because he knows he can relate to you in a way he never thought he would. He’s seen battlefields, and there have been many stories written in the blood he’s spilled. But seeing the result of the violence he’s committed through a rifle scope seems less personal. You disposed of your enemies in a deeply brutal, seemingly personal ways. Even so, Goodnight knows that violence takes its toll on those who deal it, and so he commits himself to being there for you if and when you need him to be. He begins to look for shades of himself in you, and becomes even more attentive. He’s sure there are deep-seated reasons for your capacity for violence. 

I imagine centaurs use the human nipples to breastfeed, as the mouth is still a human mouth, but that the milk produced is rather more similar to horse milk than to a human’s. I doubt the position required is especially convoluted, though? Probably both parent and child are seated; that would be easier for the parent supporting the child’s head.

hey angel! sorry this took so long! i loved doing this prompt, and it remind me of this one i did forever ago at the start of the blog, so this one kinda contains similar elements from that react!

Sam Chisolm: Sam is, for the most part, relatively shocked that anyone would take a bullet for him and so doesn’t react immediately when it happens. Once the enemies are disposed of, Sam pulls out what little medical knowhow he has to help stop the bleeding and help you manage your pain. He doesn’t exactly know what to say, and him helping bandage you up is done with a tense silence and calculating looks. When the bleeding is stemmed, Sam pats your hands and says quietly, “Thank you.” Then, with a firm look he adds, “Don’t do it again.”

Joshua Faraday: Faraday, distraught and panicked, yells at you. “What were you thinking?! Goddammit, I can take a bullet! You don’t need to do that!” He’s freaking out because, while he can deal with his own pain until he can get to a doctor and he knows basic first aid, he doesn’t know the first thing about removing bullets or closing wounds like that and the last thing he wants to do is lose you, especially after you did something so foolish and brave for him.

Vasquez: Vasquez tries not to yell at you while you’re in pain, but he’s completely frustrated with you for taking a bullet for him. Not that he’s ungrateful, he’s just frustrated. “You need to take care of yourself!” he yells. “I can’t be worrying about you during these fights, too!” He brushes off whatever you have to say in response after that to take care of you with the medical knowledge he has. If he’s a little rough patching you up, it’s because he loves you, and when he’s certain you’re going to live, Vasquez squeezes your hand and says, “Do not worry me like that again, okay?”

Goodnight Robicheaux: Goodnight is in disbelief. He doesn’t believe himself deserving of protection like that, especially not from you, not at the risk of your own safety and your own life! Billy ends up being the one taking care of the attackers while Goody pulls himself together and fusses over you. He doesn’t quite know how to help beyond putting pressure on the wound to stem the bleeding, so he cradles you in his lap while he does that. As much as he’s a gentleman, he does scold you for taking such a risk. When the threat is taken care of, Goody has Billy patch you up as best as he can so you won’t die on the way to the next town’s doctor.

Billy Rocks: The cutting glare Billy gives the person who shot you speaks volumes, as does the way he brutally tears into them in a more hands on way than guns can give. He returns to your side once the shooter is dealt with and he hovers over you for a few long seconds. Billy isn’t normally one for showing his emotions but dammit he’s mad -mostly at the person who shot you, but there’s that underlying fear and misdirected anger at you for being so stupid. He struggles with what emotions to show before eventually settling next to you and saying, “Never do that again. Never.” He patches you up, occasionally reminding you to never do that again, and occasionally checking in on your pain, and Billy is quick to tell Goody what happened when Goody joins you both. The trip to the next town is full of nothing but both of them scolding you and reminding you that Billy and Goody are trained for gun fights and that you are precious and don’t need to throw yourself into danger like that.

Jack Horne: Jack says a loud prayer for the person who shot you and swiftly ends their life, no games, no drawn out battle, because his main concern is you. He holds you close to him as he assesses the damage, muttering so low under his breath you can’t make it out despite how close he holds you. When you’ve been assessed, Jack says, “Now, why did you do that? I had it under control.” Jack is good at chiding looks, and he fixes you with one as he steadily patches you up enough to get you to a doctor.

You okay?

Oooh yeah, I've been following this one, it's soo good

Requested by the lovely @superkim111, here is Jack's reaction to a feverish!Reader mistaking him for their father. It turned out to be more of a ficlet than an actual reaction, so...whoops. But anyway, here ya are: 

               As the evening wore on, your fever burned hotter. Jack sat on the foot of your sickbed, and watched as you fitfully shifted beneath all the blankets the cabin had to offer. No matter how many Jack had draped over you, it never seemed like enough. The furrows in Jack’s brow deepened. Your eyes were shut tightly as you shivered and clenched your jaws to keep your teeth from chattering.

           Amen, Jack concluded a prayer before giving your foot a gentle squeeze, and standing.

          At last, Jack deemed the tea he’d made an appropriate temperature that he could offer it to you.

          “Hey,” he said, putting a hand on your shoulder.

          You didn’t respond, so he tried again until you looked up at him with red-rimmed, glassy eyes. The eye contact was fleeting, however. You lolled your head to the side, and made a sound so scored with misery that Jack felt an immense pang of guilt for having woken you in the first place.

          “Alright,” he said, as he sat down on the edge of the bed, and pressed a hand to your shoulder as insistently as he dared. “It’ll bring the fever down.”

          You moved your head in the direction of Jack’s voice and willed your eyes open until you peered at him with your fever-bright gaze. You tried to lift yourself up, but Jack could see that even that small act seemed to be a war of attrition. For your sake, Jack pretended not to see the way your lips trembled when you realized the depth of your own weakness.

         “S’okay,” he said, his voice even softer than usual. “I can help.”

         He put a hand behind your shoulder and gave you a quiet three-count before helping to lift you into a seated position. Jack nodded and gave you a tired, but approving smile.

          Wordlessly, he proffered the tin mug.

          You took the cup in your hand, but jack helped you lift it to your mouth, nonetheless. He met your eyes over the brim of the cup, and he saw that shame and thirst and sickness were all present there. He knew you weren’t used to accepting help.

         After a few sips, you stopped drinking.

         “Don’t be too proud, now,” he said. “A little more.”

          You resigned yourself to taking the rest of the draught, and afterward, slumped back down onto the mattress in exhaustion.

         Jack readjusted your covers then picked a cloth up from the nightstand before sitting back down. He dabbed the sweat from your face and forehead. Jack grimaced; even through the fabric he could feel how warm you were. He dabbed away the tea that had found its way onto your chin, and noticed that you were looking at him as though he had not constantly been at your side for the past several days.

        “Papa?”

        Something searing and vicelike fastened itself around Jack’s chest.

       No, he thought, fighting the urge to sink to the floorboards. Not anymore.

       And then there was an onslaught of memories: The roundness of his wife’s belly, the births, the pride; the loss. All the rage and inevitable emptiness. Had he ever truly deserved to be called father? And what of the now? What if things had been different? Surely at his age he would have been blessed with grandchildren. He could have seen his children’s likeness, his own, and his wife’s in a new generation. And surely…