Marvelmas (4/13) - December 16 - Thor Odinson x Reader
Words: 1116 Pairing: Thor Odinson x Reader Featuring: Loki Warnings: none Series! Authors Note: i felt like drinking hot cocoa with thor would have been funny. it was.
Marvelmas Masterlist. Masterlist.
“Everyone, we are gathered here today to honor the person who saved the world!” The person standing in the middle of the room called, “(Y/N) (L/N)!”
Miles of cheers came at your name. The people loved you; you saved the world your amazing device! You had awards, and ceremonies, all in your honor. You did it all by yourself, too, it was unbelievable!
That’s how you knew it was a dream; you couldn’t do it alone. You’re part of a team; you wouldn’t be able to do it yourself!
You were now in control of the dream, and all your friends suddenly appeared from what you were thinking. They were all just, in the wrong outfits. Somehow, your mind gave your dream the message that you wanted to see your team dressed in the different suits. Granted, it was hilarious, but it was also confusing the hell out of you.
You gave yourself wings and the power to hold Thor’s hammer, which he was not too happy about. “(Y/N)!” He shouted at you, making you laugh. “(Y/N)!” He yelled again.
“What?” You mumbled.
“(Y/N)!” Thor yelled, making your eyes shoot open. He was standing over your bed, trying to wake you.
So I just talked to Delia. She was really nice and she says that there is deffinitely chance for gmw to get picked up by Netflix. So guys: PLEASE, RAISE YOUR VOICE!!!!! WE HAVE TO BE HEARD!!!!! TWEET AND SEND FACEBOOK MESSAGES TO NETFLIX BECAUSE THEY WILL SEE THEM!! THIS IS NOT OVER YET!!!!!!
But I need help. And just getting to the point that I can admit that out loud has been a long, painful journey.
Here’s the situation: my husband has never been a flexible person, hating to have his routines tampered with and throwing fits when they are. He reduced our oldest daughter to a sobbing wreck on Monday with his fury over her accidentally washing a shirt of his in with the load of our stuff. Up until then, most of his rage was directed at me and I could handle it. But I realized, suddenly, what I was allowing to happen, and that my children were suffering.
I told him I wanted him to move out. He refused and locked himself in his bedroom for two days. He has not spoken to me since Monday. I have no idea what he’s planning or doing, because every attempt I’ve made at contact has been rebuffed with icy silence.
I am disabled, with degenerative disk disease, narrowing of the spinal canal, and scoliosis, as well as severe arthritis and a severed ligament in my left knee. I physically cannot keep a job, since I can’t stay on my feet for more than a few minutes at a time.
My books are beginning to sell, which is wonderful, but they’re nowhere near enough to support myself and four children yet. I have filed for disability, which I should have done years ago, I know, but I didn’t need it, right? My husband supported us all, no reason to mess with the system he had in place.
I was raised to never ask for handouts. And I’m crying as I type this because I hate that I have to now. But I’m desperate. Emotionally, our marriage has been over for years, but things are just getting worse. I can’t live with this man and since he won’t leave, then clearly I have to.
I’m asking for help. I hope I never have to again, I wish it wasn’t necessary at all, but I have to break this cycle of abuse, and I can’t do it alone. The shelter in the county is full and we’re low priority anyway because the abuse isn’t physical, which means that the housing authority is our only real hope at the moment, since their rent is based on income and should be something affordable. Assuming they have an opening.
If you’re still reading, my Paypal is email@example.com. Any amount will be a help, but if you can donate even just $5, I’ll send you a digital copy of Coffee Cake or Beignets in tears and gratitude. If you can’t donate a penny but will reblog this so others can see it, you also have my gratitude and I will mentally hug you.
Thank you for listening and I’m going to go cry some more now.
A lot of people confuse character strength with physical
strength. It’s awesome if your female character can beat up 30 people in a
room, but what does that actually tell us about her? There needs to be
something more than just that.
So, how do you make your characters legitimately stronger?
Here are a few tips to get your started:
Give them a goal
All characters should want something. It can be something
small, like getting a good grade on a test, or it can be something big, like
saving the world. Know your characters and what their goals are. This should
help you shape the plot and prevent writer’s block.
Let them grow
Character growth is something that makes your story
fascinating. Each character should make a change or grow, especially if you
want your readers to root for them. This is usually the case with protagonists
because common antagonist traits are that they are stubborn and they might not
grow very much. Let us see your protagonist learn and become a stronger hero.
You can make a character more relatable if you know what their
traits are. Is your protagonist cautious? Are they afraid of failure? Are they
lazy? Knowing specific details about your characters can help your story feel
more real. You’ll actually get to know who your characters are and why they’d
react a certain way.
Let your characters love or hate or have great friendships.
Your character’s connection to other people in the story will help make them
stronger. They’ll have more motivation to fight til the end and they’ll have
something they care about. Don’t neglect these relationships.
Let them fail
A strong character doesn’t mean they do everything perfectly
and lack struggle. Your characters need to fail. Most of us don’t get stronger
by constantly succeeding. We fail, we pick ourselves back up, and we keep
going. This will help keep your protagonist relatable and your readers will
continue to root for their success.
A/N: I honestly don’t know where this came from. Just to say, I am no nurse, so if this is incorrect in any way, please tell me.
TW: Suicide, Death, Blood, Swearing
“It’s been a long day…”
You yawned, stretching your aching limbs. Various comments were muttered around you, most of them agreeing with your statement. Saving the world was a pretty tiring job.
Okay, you weren’t saving the world exactly, but you were doing your damn best. You, along with most of your friends, had jobs in the public services, tirelessly working for the injured, the unfortunate, and the troublesome.
“Without you, my friend -”
Groaning, you pretended to punch John in the arm. “No singing, thank you. I’ve got a bloody headache, after that rowdy crowd at the hospital.”
You worked as a nurse in the local hospital, along with your close friends James Madison and Eliza Schuyler. Most of the time, you managed to nick shifts that aligned with each other, like tonight. You had to admit, it was a tough job. While Eliza was a maternity nurse, you specialised in children’s medicine, giving out vaccinations and ibuprofen. James worked alongside you, enticing the kids with lollipops or starbursts so that they would agree to the nasty stuff.
Hey, you couldn’t blame them; you had been the same just a couple of years ago, but years of babysitting and childcare had toughened you up. At least it had taught you how to present yourself in front of the children and parents alike.
Another friend of yours, Alexander Hamilton, worked as a detective investigator, with his uncanny ability to spot inconsistencies and talent for twisting words like a knife. He was very ‘high-up’, with contacts in Scotland Yard, and he loved to use the phrase “I’ll pull in a few favours”. Yes, he could be (extremely) annoying, and often made his way onto every last one of your nerves, but he had a good heart and made an effort to help change a world against him in every way.
Hercules Mulligan and Angelica Schuyler also worked in the police department, but as regular officers. Angelica could spot trouble from a mile away, and was excellent at handling teenagers looking for a fight. Intimidating she may be, but she was an asset in cases of abuse and harassment, especially towards women. Hercules used his sturdy build as a weapon, usually assuming the role of ‘bad cop’ during interrogations. Really, he was a sweetheart – but they didn’t need to know that. He may appear as threatening, but he would often bake cookies or sew small handkerchiefs and distribute them among the group.
Thomas Jefferson was stationed in the fire department, along with his boss, George Washington, who was basically the ‘dad friend’, forever escorting a drunk Alexander home when no one else was around. George had always been the ‘go-to’ friend for advice, and you thought he would make a good lawyer, but he loved his job, and you knew that the fire station couldn’t lose him. His wife, Martha Washington, also worked in the hospital with you. She was a brave woman, and always stuck with her husband through thick and thin. Thomas, usually found arguing with Alexander, was brave, but hot-headed and rash. A great fireman, though; strong arms and an even stronger resolve kept him going, even in the toughest, most hopeless of situations.
Now, Aaron Burr and Peggy Schuyler were social workers. It was certainly a complicated, emotionally-draining job, but you could see why they loved it in the end. Even with adoption and fostering cases, they found each and every child a loving home. If a case was particularly difficult, they would work together to try and bring out a solution. They made a formidable pair, able to deal with screaming parents, scared children, and homes on the verge of destruction. Aaron, patient and diplomatic, was excellent with handling both children and parents alike. He, unlike some people (coughAlexandercough) knew how to keep a level head, and when to keep his mouth shut. Peggy, the youngest of the Schuylers, was bright and bubbly. She was firm but fair, and had an abundance of giggles and gayness.
Last of all, John Laurens and Lafayette worked as primary school teachers. They were both perfect for the job, in their own, different ways; John worked in the lower school, distributing play dough and finger paints, among other things. He had a knack for turning tears into laughter and smiles, solving every petty argument. Lafayette worked in the upper school, teaching core subjects, but adding fun into the learning. He was good at making up small games to help the children in their learning, and made sure to try and connect with each and every child that entered his classroom.
“She’s right, though. Today was awful.”
It was a Saturday night, and someone thought it was a smart idea to set off a firework in the middle of a crowded bar. That went about as well as you’d expect. Thomas and George were both called out, but George had suffered severe smoke inhalation and was now resting in the hospital. The stubborn little bugger never knew when to give up.
In the hospital, Eliza had been busy with a pregnant eighteen year-old girl who had started contractions on her way to the hospital. You and James had been run off your feet with fifteen and sixteen year-olds who had snuck into the bar – and now bitterly regretted it. Burns, scratches, broken bones; it never seemed to end.
Well, it had, eventually. After working two hours overtime, you had collapsed into the empty staff room. Groping for your coat and keys, you sent out a quick text to your friends, asking where to meet them. Peggy and Burr had also paid a visit to the hospital, when a terrified mother had come rushing to them, in search of her missing daughter – an underage, scared fifteen year-old covered in ash and rubble.
Thomas had stayed with George, in tradition of George doing the same for Thomas on many occasions. Angelica, Alexander and Hercules had been forced in to try and find the culprit of the whole ordeal. A couple of lads in their twenties had been arrested on suspicion of letting off the explosive, but there had been no concrete evidence. They were lucky that there were no fatalities! If it had indeed been them, then they were in for a shitstorm of lawsuits and parents out for blood.
John and Lafayette had called, and when there was no answer, they made their way to the hospital, where they knew you, Eliza, James, and probably George and Thomas would be. Reunited once again, your group of ragtag, tired friends slowly licked their wounds and made their way to the bar.
Hey, it was a Friday night! Besides, no one was needed until six o’clock tomorrow, and it was the only night of the week where you were all off work. As the familiar wooden door came into sight, you almost collapsed (again) in relief. Angelica went first, followed by Thomas, Alexander, and so on.
You took your place in your regular booth, shielding yourself from the responsibilities of the outside world and surrounding yourself with your humorous, slightly drunk friends.
“Hey, [Y-Y/N]! What do you c-call a du-ck with f-fangs?”
As John hiccupped out his weak joke, you nursed your coke. Never one for much alcohol, you were a terrible lightweight. At least you could get drunk for £6.50, instead of £30 like some people (Thomas, looking at you).
It was the middle of the night. After two hours at the bar, your now very-drunk friends had decided to crash at Hercules’ apartment, since it was the closest (and, apart from you and Aaron, he was the only one sober). While Alexander and Thomas snored obnoxiously loudly, and Eliza cuddled her old teddy bear, you had been whispering softly with Aaron, who couldn’t sleep. The pair of you talked about anything and everything, from space to nuclear weapons, to world domination (I’m seeing a theme here) to how sausages were made.
“So, uh, how’s the latest case going?”
Aaron sighed. He and Peggy had been working together for days on end on this one case. “Well, I think we’re getting somewhere at last. We have a pair of siblings, very close but very terrified. The parents – oh, you should see them. Screaming at those poor kids, forgetting to feed them, make sure they have clothes… It’s awful. Yet they still rate themselves as ‘good parents’?”
You looked up into the darkness. You were greeted with assorted silhouettes breathing heavily. “I mean, how can you force someone to live in those kind of conditions? Thank god the girl was in John’s class. He’s the only person who bothered to listen. He gave us a heads up, asked us to look into it, and I’m so thankful to him for doing that. That poor girl…”
“I just don’t get how a person, a parent, can be so despicable? I mean, we see unexplained injuries in the ward all the time, but there’s nothing we can do about it. Even if we had Angelica, even Alexander, on the case, without any solid evidence, the whole thing would go out the window.”
“I know how you feel. People expect us to work miracles, but from what? Thin air?”
“You try your damn best, we all do, but I don’t think enough people appreciate that enough. Who cleans the streets and the parks? Who takes care of your children for six hours a day and educates them, gives out medicine and vaccinations so that your kids don’t get ill?”
“Who tries to arrest every person who deserves it? Yet, who gets faced with discrimination and gets taken for granted?”
“Hey, at least we get discounts off our food shop.”
“True. That is one of the advantages.”
“In a way, it’s kind of like we’re saving the world, one person, one child at a time.”
“We all save the world, in our own way. Some more than others, like the military, but some people do it from the side-lines, from the shadows.”
“From the corners. Just out of sight.”
“That’s right. Just out of sight.”
“But, sometimes, I guess there will be battles we can’t win. Injuries we can’t treat, families and relationships we can’t mend.”
“People we can’t save.”
You sat up at the new voice that had entered the conversation. “Sorry, Thomas, did we wake you?”
“Nah, I was only dozing. But, I know how you feel. There was a boy, in the bar. I tried calling out to him, but he ignored me, y’know? He was too far away for me to reach, and Superman was hacking his lungs out. He… I don’t think he made it.”
Thomas was always emotional when he was drunk. Sober, he was never one for talking about his feelings. More like the person in charge of roasting Alexander. Maybe it was the drink talking, or maybe it was the emotional night that you had left behind.
“I’m sorry, Thomas.”
“I wanted to grab him before the whole building collapsed on his back, but George ordered me out, and whisked me away in the ambulance with him.”
Was… Was Thomas crying?
“And now Mister Invincible is stuck in the hospital until god knows when, and there were so many people that I could’ve saved, people that shouldn’t’ve died-“
“Thomas. I hate to say it, but there was nothing you could’ve done. You saved so many lives. You changed so many people’s lives. You run into burning buildings – as a job. You have no idea just how many people owe their lives to you. From quenching blazing fires, to rescuing kittens from the trees in the park, you rescue, save so many different lives.”
The stifled sobs quietened. “Thank you, [Y/N].” His voice was thick, and you prayed that Alexander wouldn’t wake up.
Forget what you had said about last Friday night; one week on, and you were quite happy to sleep standing. Unfortunately, you had more pressing matters on your mind. Little over one hour ago, a fourteen year-old boy had been rushed into A&E, then into your department. Small in stature, the boy had reportedly attempted to commit suicide by slitting his throat.
You knew you had to do everything in your power to try and save the boy. With James working by your side, you desperately tried to clean the wound to prevent any infection from setting in, but the blood kept gushing out, coating and staining your skin. A small bead of sweat trickled down your temple, but you paid no heed.
A couple of minutes ago, Lafayette had arrived. He was close with the family, and had taught the boy, who you learned was called Dante, personally. You could remember Lafayette softly reminiscing about him, when he had left for the local Comprehensive School three years ago. Smart, but quiet and reserved.
The next half hour passed in a blur. Just when you had thought success was in sight, when you had stabled the wound, Dante went into cardiac arrest. As an expert in pretty much all areas, Martha Washington had arrived, and promptly took over in trying to revive the dying boy.
Outside of the glass doors, you faintly heard screams and cries – from Dante’s family. Only his father was present, with a sister aged about ten. The father was screaming in agony, and he had to be taken out, physically restrained and calmed down by James. The little girl was crying pitifully. If only you didn’t have crimson arms, you would go out and comfort the poor thing.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw John arrive, and immediately kneel to take the girl into his arms. She must be in his class. God, what would you do without him and Lafayette?
You stood there, helpless. There was nothing more you could do for Dante while Martha desperately pumped her arms, muttering to herself, her brow shiny with sweat. Incessant beeping from the machines caused you to blink, forcing you to feel your head banging like a drum. There was no time for that.
Your mouth was dry as you returned to Dante’s side. Hope for a heartbeat dwindled, as time ticked on. It seemed that James had finally managed to calm the father down, as he gently pushed open the doors to allow him access. As if in a dream, he walked over to his son’s side – just as his heart failed.
One continuous, piercing beep.
His father sank to his knees, screaming silently. John held his sister close, as her small back convulsed with sobs. He would never see his son grow up. He would never see him off before he went to university, see him grow to love another person. He would never see his son grow up.
Your entire body felt numb. You dimly took note of Lafayette leading you out of the room, over to a basin. It was while he scrubbed the blood caked on your hands and wrists off that the reality of the situation came crashing down onto you.
A father had just lost a son. A sister had just lost a brother. A teacher had just lost a pupil.
The world had just lost a life.
You looked up at the Frenchman. As your vision blurred, you noticed tears streaming down his face, mirroring your own. You saw John gently rocking the little girl, even though he himself was crying. James rushed into the staffroom – trying to hide tears of his own. It was then, in that moment, that you succumbed to your emotions and began to sob in Lafayette’s arms.
You were dimly aware of Peggy and Aaron entering. While the Schuyler joined John, Aaron walked over to the father who was still in the same place, still longing for his son to come back. He placed an arm on the man’s shaking shoulder, as a single tear escaped down his cheek.
Yes, you see patients in and out of this ward all the time. Many children, teens with scars, bumps, bruises. But the real injuries happen on the inside, where no one can see. People would think “You should be used to this.”
Each and every death on your ward hurt. No matter who they were, their age, ethnicity, religion, anything. No matter who they were, their death impacted you and everyone who worked alongside you. You had spent many nights sobbing, alone or with James, but it was when someone, or a group of people, forced someone so young to take their own life – that was what shook you.
Why did the boy have to die? Why did so many innocent people have to die because others were vile and despicable? There is always, always another way out. You shouldn’t have to end your life because you felt there was no other option. There is always another way.