#hmtod

[predoom]

xx

[hellolovers13]

Teaser Thursday

I have finally written something. I know, I know, unbelievable XD

Thank you @wemadethishome @enchantedlandcoffee @nooradeservedbetter @lunarheslwt @neondiamond @voulezloux @larrysballetslippers @babyhoneyheslt @onlythebravest @disgruntledkittenface @larry-hiatus @itsnotreal @allwaswell16 @beardyboyzx for tagging me in various WIP thingies and snippets. I hope I didn't forget anyone <3

This one is for @1dpridefest 💙

“You’re not seriously thinking of going?” Well, she’d known Zayn would react something like this. Always far too protective of her. Harry shrugged, even if Zayn couldn’t see it over the phone. “Why not? It was nice of him to invite me. Don’t want to be rude. Besides, I would’ve gone anyway, if I’d got tickets.” She could almost hear Zayn’s disapproving look. “I know you like him, but coming on to a fan like this is fucking creepy.” “He didn’t come on to me. He asked about the show and then offered me to come to this one, too. Because he’s nice.” Zayn scoffed. “Nice. Of course. Bet his intentions were completely pure.” She rolled her eyes. “Zaynie, I appreciate how protective you are, but I’m not stupid. I don’t want to go because I think I’ll end up fucking him. I really think he’s just being a nice person.” It was quiet for a few moments, and Harry was about to ask if Zayn was even still there when he spoke up again. “Fine. I can pick you up at six.” That confused her and she sat up from where she had been laying on her bed. “What do you mean?” “For the concert? I’m picking you up at six.” Oh. “You? But-” “You did not seriously think I would let you go alone?” “But, he only offered to get me in.” Which was already a super nice gesture. “Well, message him and tell him you’re bringing a friend. He’s ‘the leading man’, right? Shouldn't be a problem if he’s just being nice.” “Zaynnnnnnn.” “Harriet. You know I’m doing this because I care about you.”

I'll tag @greeneyesfriedrice @beelou @paranormalbabydoll 💚💚

[the-littlest-bom]

A Moment of Weakness

10) My muse is having a vivid nightmare and is crying out in their sleep.

A hollow moon rose over the crouched form of Shiro, kneeling inside a still field of Forget-Me-Nots. Keith kept trying to cry out to him. Something was wrong. He needed to reach him, but no matter how hard he cried out, no sound escaped his sore, raw throat. 

“It’s ok,” Shiro said, his voice carried on an invisible, somehow unmoving breeze, “You can let go of me. You don’t have to keep holding onto me, or the memories we had together.” 

He kept trying to scream, to argue. I could never forget you, come home! Stop it, come back! I need you! 

Shiro stood, the moon illuminating the form of his broad figure as he turned to face him. His eyes… his eyes were hollow too. Dark and gaunt, empty and unfeeling. He smiled. “After all, I’ve already forgotten you.”

Keith woke with a jolt, sobbing and crying out at the top of his lungs. His immediate attempt to calm himself was to think that it was only a dream; that Shiro was still here. That he was ok. But the comfort of those thoughts was quickly swept away by the reality that Shiro still hadn’t called. Still hadn’t texted. Still hadn’t showed up.

Reaching for his phone in a panic, he shook and sobbed when there were no new messages. It was now officially over a month since the last they spoke. He still didn’t have an explanation, a sign, not even an ounce of closure. “Come back,” he whimpered, his voice hoarse from crying, “Come back…”

[tegary-blog]

32 and 97 please :)

You must know me well ;) oh, also, any fans of the Bottled Star series should probably gather some tissues.

32 + 97: Pregnancy fic & time travel

“We found her trying to sneak into the East wing.”

The girl that stands in chains before him looks oddly familiar to Loki, but he can’t quite place where he seems to know her from. She’s a tall thing, lithe, with rivulets of midnight-black curls that cascade down her back and the brightest green eyes Loki thinks he’s ever seen. When a guard jostles her by the shoulder, the girl bares her teeth in a furious snarl.

“Enough of that,” Loki says, slowly rising from his seat on the throne. He prefers to sit more than stand, now, as he’s passing into his fifth month of pregnancy and his stomach has become quite the cumbersome weight. 

“But your majesty–” 

“We are not brutes,” Loki reminds the guard, comfortably settling one hand atop the curve of his belly. “The days of Odin’s Asgard are long gone, Aevar. Need I remind you which king you now serve?”

“No, Majesty,” Aevar mutters, and Loki waves a hand in dismissal.

“Leave us,” He says, and both of the kingsguard look up in alarm.

“You can’t be serious. Leave our Queen alone with a prisoner? The King would have our heads,” Tori, the youngest and most junior of Thor’s personal guard, balks. 

“She could have been sent here to assassinate you or his Majesty!” Aevar adds, and Loki casts an unimpressed eye over the pair.

“Thor, were he here today and not off negotiating peace with the leaders of the Nine Realms, would trust and respect my judgment.” Drumming his fingers over his swollen stomach irritably, Loki again waves a hand in dismissal, this time accentuating his point with a flick of the wrist. “Now, shoo.”

Aevar and Tori look to each other, have a momentary conversation consisting of the raising of eyebrows and shrugging of shoulders, before they deem this argument a lost cause and turn to exit the throne room. Clasping his hands behind his back, Loki calls one of his favorite daggers to his fist, studying the young girl before him.

Since she’s entered the room, her eyes have not left Loki’s face. Their brilliant green is now obscured by a mist of tears, and her lips are slightly parted, lower lip quavering with an emotion that looks strangely akin to grief.

“What is your name, young one?”

Surprised at being addressed, the girl seems to snap out of her reverie, lifting her eyes to meet Loki’s. A singular tear slides down her pale cheek. “My name is Brynhild, mo–your majesty.”

Brynhild. Loki’s always been particularly fond of that name. “And why have you come here today, Brynhild?” The girl’s fists clench and unclench in their bindings, and Loki frowns. “Did someone put you up to this? If you tell us of their plan, you will not be–”

“Brynhild Lokidottir.”

Blinking harshly, Loki’s hands tighten on the hilt of the dagger behind his back. “I’m sorry?”

“You asked for my name,” Brynhild says quietly, face full of such sorrow that Loki’s heart gives an odd lurch in his chest. “My name is Brynhild Lokidottir.”

The cogs in Loki’s brain, usually swift and efficient, seem to have been doused in a vat of grease. His thoughts grind to a halt for a moment, and all Loki can do is blink dumbly at the young woman who stands before him. Now that he thinks of it, she does look strikingly similar to himself. The hair, the eyes, the moonlit-pale skin…but there’s no way he’d have a child without his knowledge. The babe that gestates within him now, made of his and Thor’s finally-recognized love, is without a doubt Loki’s first-born.

“I don’t know if this is some kind of jest–” Loki begins, but the girl interrupts him again. Brave little thing, having the gall to interrupt the All-Mother not once, but twice.

“It’s not a joke. I know this is probably hard to believe, but…” And Brynhild shifts from foot-to-foot uncomfortably. “Unchain me and I can prove it.”

Loki’s self-preservation instincts and curiosity have a short-lived battle before his need to know more comes out the victor, and he speaks a spell that unlocks the manacles around Brynhild’s wrists. She rubs them appreciatively before slowly approaching, palms out and open in a show of benign intentions.

“I’m going to reach into my back pocket, now,” She says, and Loki’s eyes track her hands as she slowly does so, retrieving what looks like a small square of paper. 

Taking a careful step forward, Loki accepts the shape from Brynhild’s outstretched hands. It takes a moment for his mind to register what he’s seeing, but, as soon as it does, Loki’s heart stops for a moment.

He’s holding a picture in his hands, one that seems a little dulled by age and torn at the edges by loving fingers. Depicted on the surface is a family, seemingly at some sort of celebration. But it’s not just any family–Loki’s own visage smiles back at him from the snapshot. Thor sits next to him, one arm around Loki’s shoulders, beaming his signature sunny grin. Cradled in Loki’s arms is a bundled babe with dark hair, fast asleep against his chest, and three other children seem to be climbing over Thor’s shoulders and arms: two boys, one dark-headed and one light-headed, and a blonde little girl perched in Thor’s lap.

“What’s this?” Loki chokes out after he regains some semblance of voice.

“This is my family,” Brynhild responds softly. 

When Loki looks back up, Brynhild is in tears, face buried in her hands and shoulders shaking something fierce. Moving as quickly as he can, Loki descends the stairs from the throne and gathers her close, letting her bury her face in his neck and cry.

“Why the tears, little one?” He asks when Brynhild looks up again, eyes rimmed red. 

“I-I…I come from the future,” Brynhild explains, hands still fisted in Loki’s robes like if she lets go, he’ll disappear. “But not exactly your future, as it seems. In my reality, this place was destroyed long ago. I’d only ever heard of it in tales you or Papa told me. Noma must have executed the spell wrong…” 

“Asgard was destroyed?” Loki asks incredulously, and Brynhild sniffles, nods.

“It’s a long story. It involves your sister, Hela.”

Stiffening at the mention of the Queen of Hel, Loki’s hand goes protectively to his bump. Hela had nearly killed them all, not so long ago. She claimed it her right, after apparently defeating some being called “Thanos” that no-one had ever heard of. It had taken all of Asgard’s combined power, but Thor and Loki had managed to seal her back in the realm from whence she came.

“In my reality…” And Brynhild’s hands tighten in Loki’s robes. “In my reality, you die two years after my birth.”

Loki freezes, chest constricting painfully. His alternate-world daughter looks up at him with wide, sad eyes, carefully bringing a palm up to touch Loki’s cheek.

“I couldn’t remember,” She says weakly. “Noma and Audun and Jari could remember, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. They told me stories of you, and Papa told me stories of you, but it wasn’t enough. I–I didn’t mean to get caught. I just wanted to see you in person, if even from afar. I wanted to know…” And her lower lip trembles again. Loki gathers her up against his chest, rests his chin on her forehead.

“Sh, little one,” He murmurs. “All will be okay.”

Interested in the universe Brynhild comes from? ;)

https://archiveofourown.org/series/908835

[onaheroicmission]

I still find it hilarious that the reason Patrick was hardly in the Hold Me Tight Or Don’t music video was because everytime they called cut he was grabbing for a bucket to puke in

like that’s super sad and I feel bad for him, but now I know why he was in it for 3% of the video

[ishouldnthavebroughtyoubullets]

say what you will but the boomwhackers at the start of hold me tight or don't are more talented than i am

[notmcr]

Oh n-n-n-no, this isn’t how the story ends - x

[fobadeux]

I'm like a lawyer // Hold me tight or don't