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#Or when I already liked My Tears Ricochet but then hearing it in a Sylvie edit rewrote EVERYTHING
sylvies-kablooie · 7 months
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sometimes i don’t give a fuck about a song and then i hear it in an edit and i’m like ooooohhhh okay get it now :) this tune has been claimed by blorbo from my shows
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thereyoflights · 3 years
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I wrote some Fourth of July Sylki for the hell of it, bear in mind that this is absolutely ridiculous, probably very ooc, but fluffy because let’s be honest, these two deserve some of that in their lives. So here’s fireworks, 1.1k worth of everything I just mentioned:
[Also read on AO3 here.]
“Just wait.”
Sylvie’s brows furrow. “Wait for what?”
She looks funnily at a couple that walks by, donned head to toe in the patterns of the American flag. The couple notice the sneer. It’s hard not to when she and Loki are dressed as if they had gotten their calendars all wrong and were dressed for Halloween instead, not that either of them cared. The couple increases the distance between them.
He smiles at this. He couldn’t help but find it amusing to see Sylvie’s different reactions across the universe. Especially when she had no shame in hiding it.
“Gods, did you see that?” Sylvie comments. “That was ghastly.”
“You wouldn’t understand. It’s just what they do.”
“Well, if that’s how it is, I don’t think I want to understand. What even is this for, anyway?”
Loki couldn’t explain much of it himself. Humans are odd creatures, and even odder seems to be the Americans. He attempted to explain when they first showed up, but Sylvie had waved it off as quickly as he’d begun.
His lips tug up. “You’ll see.”
She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. The night sky on Midgard looks different from Asgard’s — all twinkling stars and a bright moon that was absent from his home world. He can’t say he’s particularly fond of Earth after what had occurred in New York, but he had met Sylvie here and for that, he will always be tolerable toward it now.
Perhaps even a bit warm.
“Any minute now,” he says. He pauses. “Have you truly never heard of this wretched holiday of theirs?”
Sylvie shakes her head. “I may have been around the entire universe, but I don’t care much for holidays in places like these,” she replies. “Why?”
He shakes his head. “I’m only surprised. Even for a god—“ She scoffs at this, but he ignores her. He gives her a glare, but her eyes remain upon his, unfazed by his unspoken dare. “—humans have a way of making their traditions apparent.”
“Well, not that it matters, but I’ve never stayed long in any place to learn anything meaningful,” she says, “so this will be interesting. I will say, though, I think I know of some sort of holiday of theirs.”
This peaks his interest. “Do you?”
Sylvie puts her hand under her chin and attempts to recall the memory. “Yes, some people at Roxxcart talked about it in passing. I didn’t hear much. Something about fireworks and kisses for a new year. It sounded a bit strange when I heard it, but—“
“Ah, yes, that’s another one of their traditions—“ Loki begins, but he’s cut short as a sharp sound ricochets through the atmosphere, followed by a burst of color in the night sky.
Sylvie starts, and her blade is in her grip in the span of seconds. Her eyes are wide. Loki’s heart skips and he strikes his hand out to grab her wrist, holding the blade from a strike.
“Are you insane?!” he hisses. “This is a family event—“
He couldn’t believe those words left his mouth. He sounds like Captain America. It makes him want to slip out of his skin in a flash of shame.
“What the hell did you bring me to?!”
“It’s only fireworks!”
She shoves him and her blade disappears. She glances around to see if anyone noticed. They had. There are already families leading children away from them. Others linger with questioning expressions. Loki is too taken by the fire in Sylvie’s eyes to worry about them for long.
“You idiot!” she hisses beneath her breath. “You didn’t think of warning me? I could have killed someone.”
That certainly would have made for a more interesting night, he thinks.
He raises a brow. “To be fair, that’s nothing we can’t deal with.”
But she’s not looking at him anymore. Her eyes are on the sky, multitudes of color and sparks dancing among the stars. The hues bathe her face in different colors — pinks, blues, purples, and then greens and oranges, too, until there’s too many to count and they blur into one at once and back out again. It doesn’t matter. All he sees is her, the childlike wonder on her face, that smile on her face that nearly stops his heart, and suddenly, every tribulation is worth it to get them to where they stand.
“These are like your fireworks, but better.” She smirks. “ Much better,” she emphasizes.
He scoffs and begins a retort of his own, but she’s turning toward him, a new light in her eyes. “Oh, I nearly forgot!” she says quickly. “That stupid tradition of theirs!”
“What?”
But Sylvie only clasps her hand over the nape of his neck and kisses him. He’s not expecting this sudden affection, but he smiles when he realizes she’s mistaken this holiday for another, that she’d simply gotten confused and kissed him for it, but it’s endearing either way. He cups her cheek and kisses her back, the blare of the fireworks overhead loud in his ears and bright beneath his closed eyelids. There is vibrance surrounding every inch of them, above them and between them, and he swears he can feel another multitude of universes opening beneath their mouths, their connection tearing through the fabric of time and space.
He adores it.
When she pulls away, he says, “Sylvie, darling, the kiss is for New Years Day.”
She blinks. “Oh.” She steps away from him and smiles. “Well, since you’re so opposed, I don’t have to kiss you. I can kiss anyone else just fine on my own.”
Sylvie turns on her heel to do exactly that, and he knows she will if he lets her, just to get under his skin, but he pulls her back. “I’m not opposed, trust me.”
She bites her lip, and the mischief in her smile is as clear as day. “I know you aren’t,” she teases. “I just wanted to hear it for myself.”
“Oh, you little— “
“Shut up for once, why don’t you?”
He opens his mouth to snap at her, but her lips fall over his at the burst of a firework. It sounds like a world being cut open, carved out of time from their touch. But maybe it’s bigger than that, maybe it’s creation and destruction both, worlds falling away and bursting forth from these stolen moments.
He doesn’t care.
He revels in it.
He would destroy and create every world known to all sentient beings just to feel the soft press of her lips against his. It is worth every sacrifice. And it is worth every heartache that led him here.
Loki wouldn’t trade it for the world.
And he wouldn’t.
Not even for the universe.
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