#But anyhow

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

late night studying and:

[silverwarewolf]

DUNGEON MESHI EPISODE 24 THOUGHTS

Oh, I had asked to see what the party's thoughts regarding the changeling situation were, especially when it came to their lifespans, but I didn't think it would turn out like this!

GOOD FUCKING JOB, CHILCHUCK. YOU'VE TRAUMATIZED MARCILLE EVEN FURTHER. Oh but I do so love the horrors of this situation of theirs. Marcille babygirl I would like to hug you and have a nice chat.

Anywya, on we go to think about Falin and any solutions that might help us here. Which is great! I love how much foreshadowing there is (in terms of what I've been vaguely told about the manga).

Laios Touden's problem solving skills, everyone.

That's honestly the SICKEST weapon design, I'm so on board with you Laios. This could be Kensuke's Halloween makeover. BUT DONT JUST TAKE THOSE MUSHROOMS WITH YOU OH MY GOD

... was this the opening sequence foreshadowing everyone was freaking out about? was that it? (don't actually tell me, though. if it was it, say yes. if it wasn't, don't say anything)

no comment here I just love them.

I just will never get used to elfshi's hands being Like That. But it's also kinda nice to see him and Izutsumi working along so nicely! Like, don't even get me started on how Izu is presented as the pickiest eater of the party (Marcille has been dethroned severely) and usually you'd see that presented as a Hassle, but here in DM, Senshi doesn't even bat an eye. He knows and respects Izutsumi's tastes and preferences and works his meals out around it! That's such a based thing for him to do. <3

This is a renaissance painting. (I love it when they adapt Ryoko Kui's visual gags and I LOVE when she does zoomed in faces like this. Truly one of the artists ever)

I did not have "Laios gets Pissed On" on my bingo card but every day I grow more and more convinced that the animators KNOW what they're doing and - OH MY GOD IS THAT SENSHI'S DWUSSY. ELFSHI ALTERNATIVE TO PANTY SHOT.

Ah, yes, Izutsumi sprawls all over them when sleeping, we been knew, again it's a little unexpected to see it front and center but I guess it works to demonstrate them returning to - THAT WAS LAIOS??? AND CHILCHUCK IS JUST LIFTING HIS LEG LIKE THAT?? OKAY THEN. SURE.

(and then there's a few more seconds of laiosfoot and laios bedhead)

BUT HEY THEY'RE BACK TO NORMAL

1) Yep, they're back to normal.

2) Laios I love you and I love Gothsuke but someone needs to be careful about biohazards and it's not going to be you.

3) Add this to the "Marcille Donato gets threateningly close to you in three steps" folder.

4) Truly only they can match each other's freak. When the NECROMANCER is telling you not to do something, don't do it! I know last time you smuggled a "normal" sword, it turned out to be useful, but I'm sure that's not the case here!

5) Poor Laios tho. I'll learn to blacksmith just to give you a cool sword. <3

I'm so glad they kept this. One of the silliest touden siblings moments. 10/10 no notes. Also, Falin is never beating the blunt force trauma allegations.

IS THAT CHILCHUCK'S WIFE. ARE YOU - MA'AM. HELLO?

"Why aren't you a twink like I thought you'd be?!" gets adapted! (I'm pretty sure that's the scene meant to be here, anyways)

I get it, girl.

Oh dear, they're going to eat Falin. And SENSHI was the one to suggest it! For a guy who was just fighting the doubts of accidental cannibalism a week ago, you're taking bold steps forward.

(I do love how it mirrors Laios' kindness back then, in truth. Even if it's an idea so shocking and dire at first, it comes from a place of reason and logic and love)

Marcille "I said I wanted to eat her OUT, not eat HER" Donato Izutsumi "That's going to taste gross as fuck" Izutsumi Chilchuck "If it brings her back..." Tims Laios Touden, the man with a thousand things on his head right now, two of which I reckon are "I don't want to eat my sister" and "Dragon-Chicken... what might it taste like?"

Yes, well. Valid as your concerns are, Laios, because how the fuck would five people eat THAT much meat, you can't just ramble on about what dishes you're going to make out of your sister.

(...I get it, though. I mean if you're going to eat, might as well make it good, right? I know no one wants to grill one of Faligon's ribs but I'll go ahead and say it would be worse to tell them to eat her raw)

FUCK! we DID lose those scenes about the twin bell that toshiro kept!! forever sad about that.

oh my godddd they're going back into the dungeonnn we're going to reunite with themmm

I know they're really fucking competent, I mean, Namari and Toshiro are already described as pretty formidable warriors (and we've seen it), and Kabru is... admittedly much more geared to fight humans but he's a decent fighter either way. And a good leader!

Speaking of, where the fuck is everyone else.

I know they're meant to be scary (and I suppose they are! If we have the reference that, firstly, marcille is an excellent spellcaster so these elves could be just as good in their own areas of expertise, yes?, and secondly, the canaries are Well Known)

... plus, Namari, Toshiro and Kabru are wary of them. Namari, Toshiro and Kabru are wary of them.

BUT damn it Lycion, I need to- (gets dragged off stage)

Anyway, while we wait for the next season (WHICH HAS BEEN GREENLIT! WOHOO!), have these wonderful images of chicken falin being a cathedral painting (...if cathedrals ever added dragons, i guess) and my beloveds, who have finally returned!

[disgracedghostprincess]

Shitpost

Masterpost / Ask blog

[bleedingcoffee42]

Anyhow, Ron, that was a totally normal thing to say in a letter to Lipton decades later and it sounded like you read it while on your bed kicking your legs and gushing.

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

I'm on a bit of a older movie binge lately (dirty dancin, top gun, ferris bueller, stand by me) n I'm actually rabid for more. if yall wanna drop recs in my inbox I'll drop my watch notes hehe

[pain-indeed]

Oh no it's this bitch again

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

hey Johnny you could just use the pony and dal yaps as blackmail couldn’t you? (Either on them or curly or Tim?)

oh. I do. (how'd ya think I get rides?) (wait. you blackmail the shepards?) (oh naw. not the shepards. don't need nothin from em. Just dal) (DAL? Johnny how long ya been doin that?) (uhh. man. lemme think.) (ya gotta THINK?) (like. forever I think.) (N YOU AINT SHARED NONE A THIS?) (well. naw. cause then I'd lose the blackmail ya dig?)

[blues-valentine]

Now here’s my TSITP take that no one asked for but I finally caught up to it out of boredom and while I am not invested in any pairing and couldn’t care less about the endgame, there’s some things I’ve seen (particularly in this site) and surely I’m not the only one with this opinion because Jeremiah being considered a healthier or better alternative for Belly is legit so wrong.

I can understand why some people would prefer Jeremiah because on the outside he looks like someone that could make Belly happier since he isn’t “complicated” but him being painted as the healthier alternative to Conrad is like, wrong, Jeremiah has alarming red flags that are often ignored by his supposedly “golden retriever” persona and that’s often way more damaging long term.

The constant anger and resentment issues that results of him feeling inferior to Conrad, often seeing their entire dynamic like a competition that extends to Belly, that has been clear by his actions and narrative. I’m shocked people on this fandom pretend this isn’t a clear narrative choice. He often speaks about how Conrad is perceived as the smart one, the athletic one, the responsable one, and in general the favorite child. Of course he gets annoyed that Belly might be into him too. It’s always been more about Conrad than it is about Belly. He projects a lot of the insecurities he feels towards Conrad on Belly. He constantly feels the need to remind her “he is the better option” out of not reason and it feels like he is looking for the moment Conrad fails or mess up as if he is counting the scores. Him only making a definitive move on Belly after he sees Belly and Conrad almost kissing is not a coincidence either. It’s like he wanted to her ahead of something before him. He cannot possibly have a healthy relationship with her if he feels like he constantly needs to measure up to Conrad. After that 4th of July episode, it’s very easy to see him trying to manipulate and sabotage Conrad with Belly and purposefully make him stumble. And he does so intentionally. He knows he’s being sneaky. He knows he’s inserting himself in there. And I’m not saying he doesn’t like Belly, but why deny that his main motivator isn’t his bother.

Now, I’m not saying Conrad isn’t also annoying. He was written as the early 00’s broody type of bad boy and I feel the series it’s trying to fix it by showing more of him but it lacks in writing. I feel he needed more polishing to take him out of the archetype. However, Conrad’s approach narratively makes sense. It’s not like he’s being that just by pure aesthetic. Jeremiah thought out S 1 is living a complete different reality as Conrad. So, of course he feels more laidback and funny. He doesn’t know his mom is dying. He doesn’t know his dad cheated on his mother. Only Conrad knows that. Of course, it would affect his behavior to the point he’s emotionally detached. Even the narrative itself tells you Conrad usually isn’t this emotionally constipated or disengaging, and that smoking is also a new behavior. Conrad being like that isn’t his natural form. It was brought out by the circumstances he was living, so the constant need to make him feel like a villain is so weird because he’s clearly depressed and self isolating. Both in S1 and throughout S2. It’s called grieving the death of your mother. All of them have their own ways of dealing with grief.

And the funny this is — Conrad knows he isn’t in the right mental state to be with Belly. He tries, because you’re allowed to be happy while depressed but he clearly wasn’t able to handle his own grieving process, so he puts Belly’s happiness (or what he thinks she needs) over his own cause he doesn’t think he can provide her with what she needs at the moment (and he’s right about that!). This isn’t problematic. I am confused about this. Particularly because while I think he could be clearer with Belly, most of it it’s not his fault entirely. And by the end of the series, Conrad isn’t the same person he was at the start. He took the right measures to ensure he deals with his mental issues. He’s a mature and emotionally open young man with a medical career that he loves that has learned to deal with grief. And those are very qualities you already see on the show at this point.

Mind you, Jeremiah’s anger and resentment towards Conrad is totally valid and I feel is more on Susannah’s and his dad upbringing that just created that animosity but isn’t it the reason why people perceive Jeremiah as a ”healthier” alternative more to do with the fact his “red flags” aren’t as visible and Conrad’s grieving process is not that “palatable” to audiences?

And the love triangle isn’t even about who is better for Belly — this is a journey about grief that frankly should’ve been the core of the story. The way I see it, Conrad’s grieving process is self isolation. Jeremiah’s grieving process is anger. And Belly’s grieving process is denial. And the majority of the time Belly is reading Conrad’s feelings as him not being as into her as she is — which is untrue. Conrad’s problem is not knowing how to communicate those emotions to her. And Belly’s swimming in insecurities that she projects on Conrad. And she’s also a people pleaser and that has been very obvious on her coddling of Jeremiah. At the end of the day, I will always root for the female character getting the one she truly loves and that clearly isn’t Jeremiah. He isn’t the love of her life and this isn’t some story about second love. It’s about two people not being ready to be together for specific circumstances. Jeremiah is the one that was going to lose here. He inserted himself into this story. He knows Belly and Conrad will always exist in some capacity that he’ll never be able to measure. He knows his brother loves her. And he knows Belly’s lying to herself about Conrad. So, why is he continuing a game that he knows he’s bound to lose? I genuinely believe that he knows how it will end so it’s going to be hard for me to feel bad for him when the inevitable thing happens.

And I’m also over the whole “Conrad was away while Jeremiah took care of their dying mother” because that’s not an objective take. Conrad was at university studying to become a doctor. He should not be fault for trying to seek some normalcy after keeping most of the secret for months. Jeremiah wasn’t handling those bills himself. Laurel was also legit there the entire time. And I’m sure they also hired a caregiver. Instead of putting the blame and responsibility on teenagers — you should be wondering where was their own father, because divorce isn’t an excuse to not take care of your kids. And the show would benefit from making them build a better relationship as brothers than focusing on a “love triangle” that has a very definitive endgame for over a decade now.

[thetwilightroadtonightfall]

“The stars are pointing my way

From quarter of the globe away

And yet, I feel so astray

How did I get so lost?”

Thank you SO MUCH to @monoshiki, you know I black out whenever “Ephemera” and “good song” are in the same sentence, so this was born because of you!!

also—here are lyrics within the image in case you can’t read my writing:

“I've always been taught to be brave and strong

To see the hope when all feels wrong

I've always been taught not be afraid

And look, the price, the price I paid

I'm barely afloat

My sails are set

I'm coming home”

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

miscommunication pfft

For context: In most arabic dialects, the word امبسطتي translates to 'did you have fun?' or something similar. However, in my dialect, the word goes from امبسطتي to امبصطتي, and it essentially means 'did you get beat up?'

And because I assume that the DCA either has knowledge of the formal language or the dialects that are most widely spoken by translators, they would probably not know about the meaning in other more specific dialects - so Moon thinks that we're saying we didn't enjoy spending time with him (which is why he's sad), and we think that Moon's asking if anyone hurt us.

(and yes this scenario has happened to me an embarrassing amount of times when conversing with other people from different regions)

[witchofanguish]

[tanhands]

here for zero sam can't do any saving, not this time. (blam, inspired by the movie 'brick')

There's a spot behind McKinley where it's always under construction, empty mini craters like a half-dozen meteor strikes behind chain-link fence, and that's where Sam eats lunch. It might as well be the surface of the moon for how isolated it is but he's okay with that, uses the time to set himself back to baseline from the first half of the day, and the people who matter know it's where he is come every noon. Cafeteria lunch thrown into a battered Tupperware and carried out in subterfuge from the lunch ladies, that's his deal.

Just like always, when Blaine arrives it's near-silent with no fanfare, no footfalls, and he sits on the concrete half-wall and tugs the Tupperware closer with a scrape, selects the mock apple pie made from crackers in its fluted paper cup, eats a forkful before he says, "You need to stop, Sam."

"I'm not so great at that," Sam says, watching. He's eaten too many half-stale Ritz crackers for dinner to like them even when they're mocking apple pie, and Blaine chews longer than he needs to before he says, "--that's why I agreed to meet you. I wanted to tell you to stop and that this is over, us, we're over. And that it's not something you can change. The Warblers, they're where I need to be, Sam, and I know you hate them for it but it's not good for you." Blaine drops the paper back in the container; the fork clatters to the ground. Now neither of them can use it. 

"Good for me is you," Sam says, then flips it because when he says things, other people sometimes only understand what he means from the other direction: "you're good for me." 

That nearly gets through, because Blaine's fixed, golden gaze turns rainwater sad for a moment, but then he shutters himself again and shakes his head, fiddles with his watch strap. It's a navy blue grosgrain ribbon with a red stripe down the middle, and Sam knows that because he'd bought it as a six-month anniversary gift and Blaine had put away the pocketwatch he'd been using up till then. Blaine, with his old-fashioned ways that Sam was certain had been chosen for him at some point, or were some kind of survival tactic, because that bedroom of his had no comic books or music posters or movie memorabilia, only artifacts that looked magazine-ready. Masculine, sober, classy; not Blaine. Not the boy who'd gathered up the pieces Santana left scattered in her wake after she'd picked her teeth with Sam his freshman year, with his offers of graphic novel loans and Verhoeven movie nights and boba tea taste tests. Butter-salt kisses when they both reached for the last peanut M&M dropped into the popcorn bowl. 

Salt-stained face now, that Sam can see when Blaine looks away before looking back at him. Very carefully, Sam reaches over to trace his fingertips along the swooping curve of Blaine's cheek down his soft jawline before Blaine lifts his head out of the touch, getting off the wall, standing there clutching the strap of his satchel. In a day and a bit from now Sam will find Blaine lying dead, face-down in a shallow runoff drain sluicing through the tunnel where the rich McKinley kids and the Warblers tend to tangle; autumn leaves in the clear brown rainwater will catch in Blaine's trailing hand, against the sodden grosgrain. Sam will stop sleeping. Sam will spend the next two and a half weeks devoting his every single waking moment and a considerable amount of bruises and dust-ups to finding out who was responsible, who drowned all that life and Sam's with it. 

Finding out won't make him feel any better. That's a given. But he would search for the rest of his days if it came down to that.

Blaine here and now and alive glances away, and when he looks back at Sam it's with the brittle protective film he sometimes gets, that Sam mostly sees erected to deflect other people. Not him, not for Sam that cold hard shimmer that you can almost hear in the air, like if you hit plexiglass with your hand and it warbles. "I don't want rescuing," Blaine says, a warning tone in his voice, velvet snake-slide. 

"Don't want isn't the same thing as don't need," Sam says, fingers twitching at his side as he keeps them from reaching out the way he wants to, a thumbnail drag against one of the stiff comb-ridges of Blaine's hair just above his ear. 

"Both the same this time." Blaine's hands work against the leather strap, making it creak. "If you can't believe me then at least trust me. That I know what I have to do and I don't want you involved."

Sam steps forward; the discarded fork crunches under his shoe as Blaine looks up at him, not moving back, though that leather's complaining harder now. "You're trying to protect me from something," Sam says, his voice both louder and lower at the sudden realization. Blaine's honest, but he's rarely straightforward. Sam likes taking side paths, desire paths, would follow a dozen of them for Blaine. 

Who's staring at him with a mixture of irritation and fondness, though that second one is eroded at the edges, tissue paper touched by water. "You always did think the best of me," he says, and then he's leaning up and his lips touch Sam's, in what neither of them know will be the last time. Blaine's lips have a small ridge of chapped skin roughening the lower one, at the right edge, and Sam licks it desperately before they part. They're both breathing a little faster and Sam's not the one who gets back to normal first. A bird screams, nearby, but neither of them looks towards it.

"Snowball, farewell," Blaine says, and Sam automatically gives the usual response: "Auf weiner dog, goodbye." The moment it's out he wishes he could take it back and refuse to say goodbye at all, but Blaine smiles a little. He takes three steps backwards, his heeled boots clicking against the ground, and then he turns and walks away, hurried, without another word. 

Sam licks his tongue around his mouth. What he tastes isn't apples; it's remembered hunger, already a memory, a mocking.

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

darry-isms include but ain't limited to: 'yknow that thing between your ears ain't just for decoration', 'dya think I tell ya things just to hear myself talk', (before he actually gets aggravated this is your ONE warnin shot) 'you're pissin me off kid', 'fix your face', 'yall are gonna make me go gray', askin rhetorical questions n answerin with 'no siree bub', 'not a lick a sense between the none of ya', 'couldn't pour water outta a boot with instructions on the heel', 'you're fixin to write a check your ass is gonna cash', bonkin them in the side of the head n goin 'is this thing on?', n naturally the infamous 'use your head'

[theragamuffininitiative]

Watching Andor in 2025 is very "fairy tales, then, are not responsible for producing in children fear, or any of the shapes of fear; fairy tales do not give the child the idea of the evil or the ugly: that is in the child already, because it is in the world already. Fairy tales do not give the child his first idea of bogey. What fairy tales give the child is his first clear idea of the possible defeat of bogey. The baby has known the dragon infinitely ever since he had an imagination. What the fairy tale provides for him is a St George to kill the dragon.

"Exactly what the fairy tale does is this: it accustoms him for a series of clear pictures to the idea that these limitless terrors had a limit, that these shapeless enemies have enemies in the knights of God, that there is something in the universe more mystical than darkness, and stronger than strong fear. ... Sometimes the sea at night seemed as dreadful as any dragon. But then I was acquainted with many youngest sons and little sailors to whom a dragon or two was as simple as the sea."

[kcscribbler]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Tagged by the ever-early @elodiah.

I'm still fiddling with a few WIPs right now and won't be online a lot of the week, so instead have the scene I cut from a recent chapter. I posted bits of it here before and eventually decided to cut it completely. Hope that's okay. 😅

--SOME HOURS LATER--

A warm hand on his brow is what wakes him however long it is later, startling him out of what feels like a remarkably painless sleep, all things considered.

He is not destined for godly or mortal paradise, and this surely cannot be Hel?

Mobius makes a vaguely surprised noise when he realizes Loki’s eyes are open. “Hey, there you are.”

His own eyes are dark-shadowed, pinched at the corners as they always are when he has a headache, but he seems much calmer than Loki remembers last seeing him. And looks utterly exhausted. His hair is sticking up everywhere, as if he’s been dragging his hands through it repeatedly.

“Are you really awake this time?”

Loki blinks for a few seconds, trying to sort through the confused muddle of his last recollection, before nodding somewhat uncertainly.

Mobius chuckles, and reaches somewhere beyond Loki’s vision, bringing back a plastic bottle of water and uncapping it. “Go slow,” he warns, slipping a hand behind Loki’s neck to assist with a better angle.

Cool and refreshing, the water is most welcome. It serves to slowly wash back what Loki now realizes must have been a very near-death experience, if his memories are accurate. The acrid bite of the cursed dagger seems to have vanished, as it should have within these walls and the cast Runes they hold; and while the wound is no longer radiating such agony as he last remembers, it is very much still in existence, that much is clear.

Even the small effort of drinking seems to sap the rest of his energy, however, and it is with great struggle that he forces his eyes open again, not willing to fall back into that darkness without first ascertaining their safety. He appears to be lying semi-sprawled on the ground, like a marionette with its strings cut. A downy pillow rests under his head, and he is covered with what feels like half a dozen coverings – but that is definitely the hard, chilled stone floor under him.

Oh. Yes, good. Mobius had understood Loki’s basically non-existent directions, and had opened a Door directly beneath them to drop them into relative safety in the Citadel. It would have been a bit of a tumble, but certainly better than remaining where they were. Loki spares a brief moment to be impressed that Mobius had figured it out quickly enough to keep him from exsanguination, but that full story will likely need to wait.

Mobius puts a hand on his shoulder, as if reading his confusion on his face. “I assume we’re safe, for now,” he reassures, calm and soothing. “And do I have a load of questions for you about this place! When you’re feeling better, anyway.”

“…Questions?”

“They can wait. You need rest.”

Loki shifts a bit against the cold floor, and immediately is informed by his own physiology of just how not healed he is. Mobius’ face twists in sympathy. “You’re doing a lot better than you were yesterday, but it’s not gonna be a fun recovery, I'm guessing. ‘Specially without magic."

“If this is a lot better,” Loki rasps, breathing heavily, “then I shudder to think of the previous state.”

Mobius worries at a little string fraying on one of the blankets. “You’re not the only one,” he finally says. “I was sure Valhalla was putting another place setting on that long table.”

Loki reaches up to place an unsteady hand on his, noting the absence of the ring which had done its job perhaps a little too well. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“You should be,” Mobius retorts, but he turns his hand to lace their fingers tightly. “Oldest trick in the book, and you fell right for it. Damn it, Loki.”

“Forgive me if I find it rather difficult to focus on myself when there is a lesser variant of me with a blade at your throat.” Mobius snorts, amused despite himself at the designation. Loki exhales in a pained grunt. “Might we adjourn to something softer than the floor?”

“I think so, yeah. If you can make it upright for a few seconds, I can use the momentum to get you settled. I’ll get you something to drink with sugar in it, too. Even if your magic kicks back in, it isn’t gonna fix blood loss. You really need a doctor.”

“I would like to try to heal myself first, if you’d be so kind as to assist.”

Mobius nods and gets to one knee beside what Loki now realizes is a makeshift pallet on the floor; and no wonder, since Mobius could never have gotten him up alone. The runes hidden in the walls were just enough to cancel out the curse from the blade, though it does not feel as if his magic is even close to returning. Perhaps assisting a bit with healing, but nothing more.

Brows drawn with worry, Mobius locks one hand around Loki’s and firmly grasps a bony elbow with the other hand. “Ready?” he asks.

Loki nods, braces himself with opposite hand against the floor, and clenches his jaw to prevent a shout of pain when he pushes off, hauled to his feet and kept there with remarkable strength given that it takes a moment for him to find his footing. It is only a few meters to the bed, but it might well have been light-years, for as much as he is exhausted again, limp and breathing heavily, when they finally reach it.

Mobius fusses for a few minutes with the pillows, carefully arranging them so Loki can sleep on his uninjured side instead of his back, facing the middle of the bed. A glass of some sweet-smelling fruit juice is held to Loki’s lips, and then set on the table after he drinks from it. Mobius then retrieves the blankets from the floor, arranging and rearranging them until Loki, already half-asleep again, finally drags his eyes open and catches his wrist mid-action.

“What is it? What do you need?”

“You,” Loki whispers. “I need you safe, and I need you to rest. Please.”

It is telling that he gets no argument against the latter. Mobius just nods, and then after a moment of hesitation slips off his shoes and settles somewhat awkwardly on the other half of the not-exactly-oversized bed. Loki watches through half-closed lids as he fidgets with the unfamiliar sleeves of the pajamas. Discovered prowling around, no doubt, while Loki slept. He turns up the cuffs of the simple brown top, and then unrolls them again. And again. And again.

His hands are shaking.

“Are you all right?” Loki asks.

Mobius immediately stops and then squirrels under the sheet and quilt, offering what Loki can immediately tell is a forced smile as he settles in, hands folded neatly over his chest. “Don’t you worry about me,” he says quietly.

Loki’s lips curve in a faint smile. “I have done nothing but that, these last months,” he admits. It is, perhaps, a little too honest, a little too fraught with pain, for right now. “With good reason, it would seem. I told you that you were too trusting.”

A faint snort, but Mobius seems to then relax and fall back into old bantering habits, exhaling in a gusty sigh. “Yeah, yeah. Rub it in.” He side-eyes Loki briefly, and despite the weight of these last months seems to silently agree that, and all its unspoken consequences, is a discussion for the morrow. Instead, he simply turns on his side to face Loki, watchful and silent.

Loki manages a shallow, measured exhale and inhale. Another, and then another, until the pain is bearable.

“Please tell me we’re not going to talk about things right now,” he then rasps.

A brief chuckle, even if it’s tinged with sadness. “Not unless you want to.”

“Actually, I do. But not – not until I can think clearly,” he says, a little more candid than he meant. He blinks a few times and allows the pain to settle, to become a Thing of the body, not the mind. He has had far worse, after all.

Mobius huffs what seems to be a sigh of relief. “Sounds like a plan.” He pats Loki’s shoulder and then turns to shut off the light.

Loki’s eyelids droop against his will, but he reaches out across the space, careful not to stretch too far, and settles for leaving his hand there as he loses the fight against sleep.

Tagging @lokimobius @doomed-spectacles @insert-witty-user-name-here @mirilyawrites @loki-is-my-kink-awakening

@in-my-loki-feels @andthekitchensinkao3 @mythical-magik @scifikimmi and @thosegayoldmen

Whatcha workin' on this week?

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

omg running an ask blog must be so stressful or overwhelming sometimes

it is a lil sometimes!! there are. a lot of you. n there is only one of me. often I get a bunch of out of order asks I get to piece together in a story which is a lil stressful. BUT! my thing is if it ain't fun hit da bricks🙂‍↕️ so it can be a bit hectic n chaotic n messy but know when I say I'm delighted? I absolutely 100% mean it 🙂‍↕️