#using love to just learn and make things worse

[mintyys-blog]

Requests are open?? 👀👀

I've been asking different people to get their opinions, but how do you think the Marks would react to a blind girlfriend? Comfort fic for me ngl, since I'm going blind, but also I think it would be neat. I would love your headcanons on the topic.

I feel like the variants would handle it way worse than main mark, you could be stolen from them with something as minor as a wet floor.

I wonder which ones of them tries to hide things? Would they let you know they are covered in blood, or would they try to keep the dangers of the world out of your pretty little head.

I feel like Maskless, Prisoner, and full mask would try to hide the blood stains, while the others I have no idea what they'd do.

I'd love to hear your thoughts or headcanons on the topic!! Again, I LOVE YOUR BLOG SO MUCH I AM TOTALLY NORMAL ABOUT IT 😅

HEADCANONS | variants with s/o who is blind

invincible masterlist

warnings ; mention of murder, blood, hurt/comfort

MAIN MARK

You can hear him cleaning again. It’s the soft shuffle of socks on hardwood, the muted thunk of something being moved back into place. Maybe a chair pushed in. Maybe a cup set down gently so it doesn’t clink and make you flinch. You can smell the lemon cleaner he’s been using all week—stronger than before, like he scrubbed the countertops twice just to be sure.

You smile. “Babe,” you call out, “if you’re reorganizing the spice rack again, I swear to God—”

“I’m not!” Mark yells back from the kitchen, a little too fast. “I just—um. I put the cumin and paprika back where they belong. That’s all. No changes. I promise.” You laugh. “You better not. I finally memorized the shelf.”

He appears in the doorway seconds later, towel over one shoulder, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp from a post-fight shower. He smells like your detergent now. Like home. He walks over with cautious steps, just like he always does now—more careful than he needs to be. You don’t mind. It’s sweet, the way he announces himself in every room now. Not with words, always, but with presence. Sound. Scent. A gentle nudge of his hand on yours when he’s close.

“Mark,” you say, reaching out. Your hand brushes the front of his hoodie, and he immediately curls his fingers around yours.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You okay?”

You nod. “Are you okay? You’ve been deep cleaning for two hours. If you mop again, the floor’s gonna dissolve.” He groans a little and rests his forehead against yours. “I just—wanna make sure you don’t trip on anything. Or stub your toe. Or bump into that stupid coat rack again.”

“I like the coat rack.”

“The coat rack almost killed you last week.” You smirk. “Dramatic.”

“I am dramatic. And you’re…” He trails off, squeezing your hand. His voice softens. “You’re everything to me. And this whole thing—you losing your sight—it’s not fair. So I just… wanna help. However I can.” You feel your throat tighten, just a little. He doesn’t say it with pity. Not Mark. He says it like a vow. Like he’s still learning the shape of what support means, but he’s not going anywhere until he gets it right.

You let go of his hand and reach for his face instead. He leans in instantly, guiding your fingers to his cheek, his jaw, the small smile forming there. You trace his features the way you’ve started doing more often now. He never flinches, never pulls away. Sometimes, you swear he leans into your palm like it’s the only thing anchoring him to Earth.

“I’m okay, you know,” you murmur. “Even when things are hard. I’m not scared—not when you’re here.” Mark pulls you into a hug then, arms warm and tight around your waist. He kisses your temple, your forehead, the tip of your nose.

“I’m always here,” he says quietly. “Same place. Same guy. Same spice rack.” You snort. “Thank God.” And when he laughs against your skin, you feel it in your bones. Safe. Whole. Home.

SINISTER MARK

The air smells like blood again.

You can’t see the red, but it clings to him like heat—thick and metallic, even beneath the sharp scent of soap. He’s been scrubbing, maybe too hard. The water heater clicked on twice in the last twenty minutes. But no matter how many times he washes his hands, you still smell it. Still know.

“Did you kill someone?” you ask softly. Silence. You hear him stop in the doorway. His breathing changes—calm, but measured. Like he’s waiting to see if you’ll ask again.

“Mark.” He exhales, slow and steady. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“No,” he says, and his voice is firm now. “It doesn’t. You don’t need to carry that.”

You shift on the couch, pulling your legs under you. “I don’t need you to protect me from your truth, Mark.” He’s across the room in an instant, kneeling in front of you before you can flinch. Large, gloved hands rest gently on your thighs. Not possessive. Just… anchoring. Like he needs to feel you under him to keep from flying off the edge.

“You don’t see what I see,” he murmurs. “And that’s a gift. This world is ugly. It’s cruel. I burn it every time I leave this apartment. And I will not bring that into your head. Not while I can help it.”

You reach out, fingers brushing his shoulder. The suit is damp—he didn’t finish drying off. You touch higher, to his throat, his jaw. No mask tonight. Just bare skin and a tension that runs deep under the surface. Your thumb finds the edge of his lip.

“You’re bleeding.” He grits his teeth. “It’s not mine.” That’s not better. Not really. But he says it like a reassurance. Like it should make you feel safe.

“Mark…”

“I can’t see for you,” he whispers, voice low and strained. “I can’t fix this. But I can make sure that nothing ever touches you. Not war. Not crime. Not even grief.”

You feel his forehead drop to yours, his breath hot and desperate against your mouth. “I know you hate when I hide things. But this is all I have. Control. Power. And you—” He swallows hard. “You’re the only thing that makes me feel human anymore.”

You run your hands along his face—cheeks damp, eyes burning behind closed lids. “I don’t need you to be human,” you whisper. “I just need you to be here. With me.”

His hands tighten slightly on your legs. Just enough to feel. Just enough to ground. “I’m here,” he breathes. “Always. Even when you can’t see me… I’ll make sure you’ll never need to.” And you believe him. Not because he’s soft. But because he’s yours.

MOHAMK MARK

You only sigh once.

Barely.

A quiet little breath as you sit back on the couch, cane leaned against the side table, shoes kicked off half-heartedly after a long day.

And he’s there.

Instantly.

You don’t hear him land. No sonic boom. No cocky entrance. Just the sudden shift of air and the familiar warmth of him as he crouches in front of you, arms on your knees.

“Hey,” Mark says, voice low. “You okay?”

You blink. “How do you even do that?”

“What?”

“Drop in like a ninja every time I make a sound that isn’t a full sentence?”

His hand comes up and gently cups your ankle, thumb rubbing a slow, grounding circle near the bone. “You sighed,” he says. Like that explains everything.

You try not to smile, but it slips out anyway. “You’re gonna drive yourself nuts if you keep checking on me every time I breathe.”

“Worth it.” His thumb stills. “…But seriously. You good?”

You hesitate. Because yeah, you’re fine. Mostly. It’s just that today your phone read out the wrong bus number, and someone grabbed your elbow too hard trying to “help” you cross the street, and your favorite barista didn’t recognize you because you weren’t facing her right away.

It’s not a bad day. It’s just—heavy.

You don’t answer right away, and Mark shifts, his hand sliding up to hold yours instead. You can tell he’s nervous. Not afraid. Just wound tight in that way he gets when he wants to help, but doesn’t know how yet.

“I’m here,” he says. Quiet. Honest. “Even if it’s just to sit. Or… punch something. If that helps.” You laugh softly, squeezing his hand. “Don’t punch anything yet. Just stay.”

“I can do that.”

You feel him rise from his crouch and sit beside you, not touching at first, but close. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin. You tilt your head toward him, and he takes the hint—pulling your legs into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Did you eat?” he asks, thumb brushing your shin like a habit.

“Yes, mom.”

“Rude.”

“True.” He lets the silence stretch then, not because he doesn’t care, but because he does. He’s learning not to fill space just to feel useful. And it hits you again—how this version of Mark, the one with a chipped tooth and knuckles always healing, can be so gentle.

“You sighed,” he says again after a minute, like he’s still not over it. You lean into his side, cheek resting against his shoulder. “Yeah,” you murmur. “But I’m okay.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, soft and certain. “Just making sure.” And he means it. Every time.

OMNI MARK

You know he’s watching you.

You can’t see him—not even the faint blur of movement or the vague shadow of someone tall enough to block the sun. But you feel him. Like the weight in the air shifts whenever he’s near.

He’s always just far enough not to count as hovering. Silent. Respectful. But he’s there. Always.

You open the fridge slowly, fingertips trailing along the handle the way you practiced. You reach for the container of milk. It’s exactly where you left it.

Good. Still following the system.

Still trying not to need him.

“I’m not made of glass, you know,” you say aloud.

There’s a long pause before a low voice answers from somewhere behind you—smooth, deep, and perfectly still.

“I know.”

You shut the fridge and lean against the counter. “You breathe quieter than a ghost.”

“I try not to interfere.”

You scoff. “You’re literally a living missile with super-hearing. You exist as interference.”

His footsteps are soundless, but you feel him step closer. Not too close. Just enough for the hairs on your arm to rise from the air shift. Just enough for the tension to roll off him in waves.

“I didn’t want to insult you,” Mark says quietly. “By fussing. Or acting like you couldn’t do things yourself.”

You tilt your head toward his voice. “But you’re still watching me.”

A beat of silence.

“Yes.”

You smile. “How often?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Every day. Every moment I can.”

You swallow. You don’t want to be pitied. You’ve told him that. And he’s never tried to coddle you. Never grabbed your arm too hard. Never spoken slow like you were broken.

But still—he’s there. In the wind that settles too fast when you’re on the balcony. In the door that swings open right as your hand reaches for it. In the faintest breath at your back when you misstep near a stair.

“Doesn’t it drive you crazy?” you ask, softer now. “Not stepping in? Not catching me?”

“Yes,” he admits. His voice is hoarse now. “Every time.”

You reach out toward the sound, and for the first time, he doesn’t retreat. You touch warm skin. Fabric stretched over steel muscle. He lets you.

He always lets you.

“I don’t need to be saved,” you whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs, folding his large, calloused hand over yours. “But I need to be near enough. Just in case.”

Your fingers curl together slowly, his touch impossibly careful for someone who could crack planets in half. You smile, tears prickling your eyes. “Then stay. Within reach.” His thumb brushes your knuckle. “I never left.”

VILTRUMITE MARK

You hadn’t even made it to the bottom step.

One misstep—your foot nudging against something small, hard, plastic—and the world tilted. No balance, no frame of reference, just that sharp jolt of panic as gravity pulled you forward.

But you didn’t fall.

Two arms wrapped around you so fast the wind cracked behind your ears. You didn’t even hear him move—just felt the air vanish from your lungs as Mark caught you. One hand at your back, the other bracing your legs. A perfect save.

You felt him breathing hard against your hair. He hadn’t said a word.

Not yet.

Then you heard it.

“Which one of you left this here?”

His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. That low, furious rumble was enough to stop a Viltrumite mid-flight.

The kids froze.

“…Wasn’t me,” the youngest whispered.

“I—I think it was mine,” said the older one. “But I didn’t mean to, I just—”

“I don’t care if it was an accident,” Mark growled. “You clean up every single toy on these stairs. Now. You don’t ever leave something where your mom could trip again. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

They scrambled, no argument, no backtalk. Just the sound of panicked cleanup and tiny footsteps fleeing down the hallway.

You stood on the landing, leaning into the wall, heart still pounding. Mark was still standing right next to you—tensed like he was ready to punch gravity itself in the face.

You leaned into him gently.

“Mark,” you said, soft. “It’s okay.”

His jaw clenched. “No. It’s not.”

You turned toward his voice, and he looked at you like you were the last thing in the universe worth saving.

“I should’ve seen it sooner,” he said, voice low. “I should’ve scanned the stairs. I should’ve picked it up. I had plenty of time. And if I hadn’t caught you—”

“But you did catch me.”

He was quiet, but his fists had curled tight at his sides.

“You’re my whole world,” he said, barely audible now. “And I could’ve lost you because of a stupid toy.”

You reached out and found his face. It was warm, tense—his brow furrowed, lips pressed in a hard line. You stroked your thumb along his cheek.

“I’m not made of glass,” you whispered. “You don’t have to break yourself every time something slips.”

“You’re not glass,” he said, finally resting his forehead against yours. “You’re the sun. I just—I can’t lose you. Not even for a second.”

You smiled faintly, wrapping your arms around his waist, his heart pounding beneath your palm.

“You didn’t lose me. I’m right here.”

And he held you. No flight, no fury—just stillness, and the quiet promise that he would always be fast enough when it counted. Even if he hated how close it had come.

PRISONER MARK

You smell lilies the second he walks in the door.

They bloom bright in your mind—sweet, delicate, heavy with perfume. You smile without turning, already holding out your hands.

“Again?” you ask.

“Mm.” His voice is low. Distant. “They made me think of you.”

You take the bouquet, fingers brushing waxy petals, careful not to crush them. He always brings something fragrant—lavender, jasmine, orange blossom. Things that push out the metallic bite that clings to him when he’s been gone too long.

He doesn’t speak right away. Doesn’t kiss your cheek like he usually does. You can feel the tension from across the room.

You sniff the air, subtle, trained. There it is—iron.

“You’re bleeding.”

“No,” he says too quickly. “Not mine.”

You don’t ask whose. You learned a long time ago that he won’t tell you. Not really.

Instead, you gesture toward the vase on the counter, and he moves automatically. You hear the water slosh, petals shift, and then feel the brush of his knuckles as he places your hand around the cool glass.

“Thank you,” you murmur, pressing your nose to the flowers. “They’re beautiful.”

He grunts softly, but his fingers linger on yours. His hands are rougher than they used to be—scarred and calloused from the kind of work he promised he’d stopped doing.

But you know. You always know.

“You don’t have to protect me from it,” you whisper.

“Yes,” he says firmly. “I do.”

You tilt your head up toward him, reaching until you find his jaw. Unshaven. Tense. He’s still wearing the half-mask—mouth exposed, the rest hidden. He always leaves it on now when he comes back from “trips.”

“Did they deserve it?”

He freezes.

“…Does it matter?”

You sigh. Rest your forehead against his chest. “Only if it’s eating you.”

He holds you then. Carefully. Like his arms are still sticky with something you’re not supposed to feel. You smell soap, lilies, and blood. He smells like war. Like love dressed up in violence.

“I just want to bring you soft things,” he murmurs. “Things that smell good. Things that make you smile. Not… this.”

You don’t answer. Just hold him tighter.

Because the truth is, you already know what he’s doing. You’ve known for a while. And maybe it’s selfish, but you don’t stop him. Because he always comes home to you with his sins scrubbed raw and flowers in his hands.

And when he wraps himself around you at night, whispering that you’re the only good thing he has left?

You believe him.

[sugardollcurse]

I love ur writing so badly it’s amazing!!! Thought of this slightly silly idea that’d be maybe faintly angsty?? With Paul and a reader, where they were together when they were in their teens to their early 20s and broke up just in the early 60s. Only for the reader to also start their own musical career and completely blow up by the end of the 60s just as the Beatles were slowly breaking up 🧐 not a great idea so switching it around a little would be cool too!!

𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒 | paul mccartney x fem!reader

𐙚 summary ; you and paul were each other’s first everything. but time and ambition drove you apart. now it’s 1969, the beatles are cracking at the seams, and you’re topping charts with songs that sound an awful lot like him.

𐙚 note ; this is SUCH a good idea ♡ teen love turned bittersweet stardom??? def gonna have fun cooking this one up ... thank u sm bb!!

“D’you know they’re here?”

Paul doesn’t look up from tuning his bass. Just keeps his eyes on the fretboard like if he stares hard enough, it'll turn to stone and smash in his hands. His fingers move too fast, sliding, twisting, retuning, again and again.

George nudges him with a pointed look. “You do know, don’t you?”

“Course I bloody do,” Paul mutters.

The string whines. Not right. Too high. He adjusts the peg, tightens, listens. It’s still off. Sounds like nerves. Sounds like they’d sound if they were on a stage under bad lights with worse feelings.

John strolls past, casual and cruel in that way only he can be, his footsteps unhurried, chewing gum like he’s in on a joke no one else got invited to.

“Saw ‘em in the hallway,” he sing-songs. “Didn’t say hello. Didn’t need to. Gave me a look like they were about to deck me. So naturally I said ‘hallo’ just to make it worse.”

Paul glares up at him, hands still. “Very helpful, ta.”

John just smirks, shrugs, and wanders off, humming something sharp and spiteful under his breath.

George raises his eyebrows. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to.

Ringo’s the one who asks, “You alright?”

Paul shrugs. He’s not. But there’s no point saying that.

It’s been years.

Years, and yet, he’d known the second they stepped into the building. Not by the creak of the studio doors, or the hushed laughter down the corridor, or even the way the air shifted around John like it always did when there was gossip on the wind. He’d felt it in the guts. Like a bass note too low to hear, just felt in the spine.

He’d caught a glimpse. Corner of his eye. Didn’t mean to look. Didn’t mean to look like that... all frozen and stupid and sixteen again, heart in his throat. Just a flash. Just enough to make his hands sweat and his head throb and his mouth go dry like he’d been dropped right back into the middle of it.

He drops his eyes back to the strings. Plucks again. Still not right.

Your voice had that thing. That inflection, that fucking curl to the ends of words that made it impossible not to remember how you used to say his name. How you'd say it like it cost them something, and gave something back.

“Right,” Paul mutters, almost to himself. “Let’s get on with it.”

━━

You’d never made a scene.

No thrown glasses, no screaming, no door slammed off its hinges. Just a quiet break-up in a cramped flat that had once felt like a secret shared, now echoing with too much space. The early morning light made everything look grey and unfinished, like someone had paused the world mid-sentence.

"I won’t sit around waiting for you to make room for me.”

Not cold. Not cruel. Just tired.

And Paul, he’d opened his mouth to argue, words half-formed on the back of his tongue, pride rising like bile, but the truth was, he had nothing left to give you but the same excuses in different keys. The band was taking off. The days were all sessions and static. He was always five places at once and never home.

You didn’t cry.

You just packed a duffel bag with two jumpers, your old notebooks, the record player he never learned to use, and left a half-used jar of marmalade in the fridge like an afterthought.

You slipped out of his life the same way you’d entered it: while music played from a crackling radio and the kettle never quite boiled. He still remembered the song that played as you walked out the door. Something soft and echoing and too on the nose.

Then you went west.

Not just out of town, west. Across oceans, across whole versions of yourself he’d never get to meet. You lived on couches. Fell in with some label bloke in Laurel Canyon. You wrote a debut record that was half acid, half open wound. A voice like honey poured over broken glass. The kind of record people bought on vinyl and listened to barefoot in dark bedrooms.

The first time Paul heard your voice again, it was on the radio in a car park. Rain smearing the windshield, a bag of chips going cold in the passenger seat. The DJ didn’t say your name till the end. But Paul knew. Christ, he knew by the third chord.

He didn’t turn the engine off.

Didn’t even breathe properly.

Just stayed in the car till the song ended, hands on the steering wheel like a prayer.

━━

“Paul.”

The voice behind him is steady. Calm. Familiar in a way that makes the hairs on his neck stand up before he even turns around.

He turns slowly.

You’re standing just inside the green room doorway, wrapped in some enormous coat, collar turned up against a draft that’s not really there. A glass of something cold in your hand, water or maybe gin, and a ring on the finger he used to kiss before every gig. Not a wedding ring, he clocked that detail immediately, filed it away somewhere between relief and disappointment.

He clears his throat.

"Y/n."

You nod. Your expression’s unreadable, but your shoulders don’t tense. That’s something.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

Paul smirks, faint and brittle. “Didn’t think you’d show up.”

You tilt your head. “It’s my label’s event. And I’m nominated, remember?”

“I remember.”

He remembers too well. Every word of the song that got you nominated. Especially the chorus. Especially that one line, sharp, deliberate, cloaked in poetry but unmistakable in its aim. It had your fingerprints and his name all over it.

It’d played in his flat once, off a cassette someone passed him backstage. Some girl was over, he barely recalls her face now, just that her laugh was too loud and she smelled like wine. When your voice came on, he’d gone quiet. She noticed. Didn’t ask.

Now you’re in front of him again.

A little older. A little shinier. A little sadder around the eyes.

He hates how good you look.

“How’s it feel?” he asks. “Being the most famous person in the room?”

You snort. “Don’t start. You’re still you, aren’t you?”

He shrugs. “I’m not sure who that is anymore.”

The words slip out before he can filter them, and they hang between you, heavier than he meant.

You raise your eyebrows.

Paul fumbles to recover, gestures vaguely toward the floor. “I mean, it’s all... different now.”

“You mean it’s ending.”

There’s no accusation in your voice. Just a flat, observational kind of truth. It lands like a bruise anyway.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he deflects. Always does.

“You come to gloat?”

You blink. “No.”

"Could’ve fooled me." he was referring a song you wrote, one that he thought was definitely about him. It wasn't.

You stare at him. The silence that follows is long enough to make him wonder if you’re going to walk away. Then, slowly, you smile, but it’s not kind. It’s sharp at the edges. Like it was forged in self-defense.

“You think everything’s about you.”

He flinches. Only slightly, but you see it.

“Well,” he asks, quiet and raw, “was it?”

You don’t answer right away. You just take a long sip from your glass, eyes never leaving his face.

“If it was,” you say finally, “you probably deserved it.”

He watches you like he’s trying to memorize you all over again. The lines of your mouth. The slight shift in your weight. The way you don’t back down from his gaze. Everything unsaid rises up between you like smoke, curling into the corners of the room.

After a beat, he speaks again, voice lower.

“Do you still write in the bath?” he asks quietly.

You blink, caught off guard.

“Sometimes.”

“Still hum to yourself before you land on a melody?”

“Not if I’m around anyone,” you reply.

He huffs a quiet breath, half a laugh. “That’s a shame. I always liked that.”

It softens something. Not enough to be safe, but enough to hurt.

There’s a pause, long and loaded.

“I heard your demo last month,” you say, eyes flicking toward the floor.

He perks up. “Did you?”

“I liked it.”

He wets his lips. “Didn’t think you were listening.”

You glance at him then, direct.

“I always listen.”

That does something to him. Something internal and sharp. Like a drawer being yanked open after years nailed shut.

He takes a step forward. Not enough to reach you. Just enough to make it clear he wants to.

“You broke my heart,” he says quietly. “Back then.”

“What? You broke mine,” you shoot back. “And then sold records with it.”

It’s not bitter. Not cruel. Just a fact. But it slices deeper than if you’d screamed.

You’re both breathing heavier now.

It’s not a fight. Not really.

It’s something slower, older. A wound opening on both sides at the same time, in perfect symmetry.

“Did you ever miss it?” he asks, softer this time. Almost reverent.

Your fingers tighten on the stem of your glass. Not visibly. Just enough that he knows you’re feeling it too.

“Maybe.”

He nods, looks down. His throat works. You can tell he’s biting back words.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he says.

You nod. “You always do.”

Paul sighs. Drags a hand through his hair, a gesture that always meant he was about to say something he didn’t want to.

“I wanted to write to you,” he admits. “After Pepper. After India. After... everything.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He looks at you, eyes unreadable. Then: “I was afraid you’d write back in a song.”

You laugh. It comes out more like an exhale, bitter and fond and exhausted.

You lean in just a little. Just enough to make his breath catch.

“Well, Macca,” you whisper, “I probably still will.”

And then you leave.

Just like that.

But Paul doesn’t call after you. Doesn’t move.

He just watches you go, eyes fixed on the place your body filled only seconds before. And that night, alone in his flat, he dreams the melody to something new.

It sounds like a letter he never sent.

It sounds like you.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee, @alanangels

[vbecker10]

Hiii I was thinking an angst thing about loki accidentally hurting reader with his magic? Or something similar? Have a good day!!

Please Forgive Me

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: As an analyst, you're not even supposed to go on missions but when Fury & Steve decide you are needed in the field, Loki accidently volunteers to train you. Despite your best efforts, your crush on the God of Mischief grows and when he finally tells you that you're ready to go with the team, you're filled with nervous excitement. Loki makes you promise you'll stay close to him but his desire to protect you from danger leads to you being injured by his magic.

A/N: Thank you so much for sending in this request! I love a good angst fic! Sorry it took so long for me to write it. It also got away from me a little (a whole lot actually) and I made it about three times as long as I meant to. I hope you like it! 💚

"Congratulations captain, this might be the most absurd plan you have ever come up with," Loki says with an eye roll as he leans back in his chair across from you.

You feel yourself shrinking, trying to be invisible as you sit between Natasha and Clint. Your eyes focus on your open laptop. The notes you had been taking stop mid sentence, leaving off exactly where Captain Rogers announced you were expected to join the team on the next mission. There's no way I should be doing this. I honestly don't think I've ever heard a worse idea in my entire life. I know it and so does the God of Mischief, you keep your anxious thoughts to yourself.

"None of us can access the computers as quickly as Y/N can. And that's not the only issue, one misstep and all the data on those hard drives will be wiped, we can't risk that," Natasha explains calmly.

"Nat's right, we can't complete this mission without Y/N," Clint says, the conversation continues as if you're not in the room and you wish you weren't. "Normally we could just mirror the drives or physically remove them but we can't, they need to be accessed on site."

You bite your lip, trying to find a flaw in their assessment of the situation but you can't find any. This is what I get for being SHIELD's top expert in Hydra's overly complicated computer system. I thought it was a good thing when I figured out how to extract files without triggering their firewalls but it seems like it's working against me now, you think. I guess my boss was right, I really should have gotten around to teaching other analysts to do this too because now they're going to send me to a freaking Hydra base in the middle of nowhere. You sink further down in your chair and debate escaping from the conference room, your eyes drifting towards the door. There's no way I'd make it anyways, every single person in here is faster than I am, you give up on that idea quickly.

"What's your plan then?" Steve asks Loki, folding his arms across his chest.

Your attention is now completely focused on Loki, curious to hear if he actually has a plan but he's still staring down Steve. The Asgardian doesn't look in your direction once, almost at if he doesn't realize your sitting directly across from him. "My plan remains the same, leave her here so she doesn't get herself killed," Loki says and you're quick to note that there's no concern in his tone.

He's not worried for my safety, he's simply stating a fact. I've never been in the field before, never held a gun, never learned to fight and why would I need to? I spend my days as far away from danger as possible, tucked behind a desk in my office on the 73rd floor, you think.

"She won't get killed," Steve says matter of factly but you're not sure you believe him anymore than the god does.

"And you can guarantee her safety?" Loki asks again without even a hint of worry. "You cannot simply send a civilian into an active Hydra base and assume they will not be injured or worse. She needs training-"

His words are cut off suddenly by director Fury who is sitting at the opposite end of the oval table. "That's an excellent idea your highness," he says with a sarcastic tone that makes you nervous and Loki wary.

"What is?" the younger Asgardian furrows his brow and looks at the director. You sit up straighter in your seat, unsure if Fury is on your side or not.

"You're right, Y/N needs field training," he says and you look from Fury back to Loki quickly as your eyes widen when you realize what he means. "You have one month to get her ready, we can postpone the mission until then."

"Wait!" Loki stands in response, ready to argue. "That is not what I was suggesting-"

"This sounds exactly like what you were insisting on," Thor smiles as he stands from his seat next to Loki, patting his younger brother on the back.

"I was not offering to do it myself," Loki argues, pulling away from his touch.

"I think you were," Natasha smirks.

"No, this is absurd," Loki groans. "I do not have time for this mortal-"

"Then make time," Fury says in a tone that leaves the god no room for further arguing.

Loki sighs deeply in defeat as he sits back down, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes drop to his coffee mug. After a brief moment of silence, he lifts his head and looks directly at you for the first time since the meeting began. "Seven o'clock in the East training room tomorrow morning," he states. You nod and he adds sternly, "Do not be late Y/L/N."

(The next morning - evaluation day)

You walk quickly down the hall towards the training room Loki reserved for you this morning having no idea what to expect. You're almost ten minutes early but you could barely sleep and you're terrified of how Loki might react if you are even a few minutes late. Pushing open the heavy metal door, you pause when you see Loki leaning against a nearby wall reading a thick leather bound book.

"Oh, good morning," you say. You didn't think he'd already be here and you attempt to sound cheerful and not overwhelmingly nervous.

The prince looks at you silently, checks his watch then nods seemingly in approval of your timing. The book vanishes into a haze of green mist and he takes a step towards you. "It's good to see you can tell time at the very least Y/L/N," Loki says.

"Y/N is fine," you tell him, trying to ignore what might be the closest thing to a compliment you get from him today.

He looks at you for a moment and you can't read his reaction to you at all. Today is going to be the longest day of my life, you think as you follow him to the center of the empty room.

"Wow," you mumble, you've never seen the training rooms before but you heard they held some of the most impressive technology in the Tower. The large space is covered in what appears to be simple white tiles, the floor, the walls and even the ceiling. The holograms created by the computer program can mimic any setting or environment, even weather conditions. Your eyes travel up to the high ceiling and you bump into Loki after not realizing he stopped walking.

He lets out a deep sigh in annoyance and you apologize, "I'm sorry."

"After you complete the simulations today, I will determine how many times a week we will need to meet and how long the training sessions will be," he says without acknowledging your apology.

You bite your lip anxiously, "So today is a test?"

"Yes, I need to evaluate your current abilities," Loki confirms.

"In that case, I have a really bad feeling we're going to be spending a lot of time together," you mumble when he walks towards the door leading to a side room for observation.

"As do I Y/L/N," he agrees even though you thought he was too far away to hear you. The God of Mischief goes into the observation room and you watch him through the glass that separates you. He takes a seat at the desk and turns on the computers, the lights around you dimming slowly.

"Hey, before we start I just wanted to say thanks," you say and Loki lifts his head, looking at you through the window. "I know you didn't really volunteer but you were the only one who seemed... concerned," you know that's not the right word but it's all you can think of at the moment, "about me going on the mission."

"The super soldier sometimes forgets how weak humans truly are," Loki responds, his voice coming through the speakers into the room.

"Yeah... well," you shrug. "Thanks anyway, I don't actually want to die out there," you laugh awkwardly.

Loki's quiet and you sigh, not expecting him to respond but after a few seconds he says, "You are welcome Y/N."

You smile, hoping the fact that he called you by your first name means he might be warming up to you just a tiny bit. Only a second later, the lights go out completely, your heart suddenly racing as you realize the evaluation has started and you have no idea what's going to happen.

(One month later)

You duck low as a series of bullets fly towards you, hitting the car you're using as cover. Swearing under your breath, you sit up, pressing your back against the car then stand as you turn, returning fire. Each bullet hits it's mark, taking out all three Hydra soldiers and clearing your path. You stay low, your eyes scanning the debris that litters the street as you make your way quickly around the bullet riddled car. You spot another soldier just as he steps out from behind an overturned bus. You fire first, taking him out easily then you run towards the brick building across the street and head through the open door.

As soon as you step over the threshold you squint, shielding your eyes with your hand as everything around you becomes almost blindingly white. The sounds of the harsh wind and distant sirens vanish as suddenly as the unpleasant smells of smoke and blood. You lower your hand, smiling as the training program is fully turned off and Loki walks towards you.

"So... how did I do?" you ask, hopeful as always to have his approval after a training session.

"Very well, darling," Loki smiles warmly at you.

You can't help but blush at the pet name he started using just a few days ago. The first time the annoyingly handsome God called you darling wasn't even in the training room. You were sure you misheard him say 'have a good evening darling' when you stopped by his office briefly with a question but he continued to use the pet name each time he saw you after that.

"I have good news," he tells you while he follows you to get your water. "I think you are officially ready to join the team on the mission."

You take a long drink of water then look at him stunned. "Really?" you ask excitedly.

"You passed every assessment I have thrown at you for the last week," he confirms with a proud smile. "I am no longer worried you will get yourself killed," he laughs a little.

You smile wide, "You know what that means right?"

He sighs deeply. "You truly mean to hold me to that?" he asks, sounding annoyed by the bet you insisted on two weeks ago but you know him better than that, or at least you hope you do.

"Aww don't pretend like you're not super happy about this," you laugh and hold your arms out wide. "You agreed, if I passed your silly little evaluation I got a hug."

"It is not silly," Loki says and you continue to smile at him, your arms still open. "Fine," he caves as he walks up to you, "but this stays between us."

You can barely contain your excitement when he steps close to you and accepts your hug. You had brought up the deal as a joke after watching Loki's pained reaction to Thor trying to give him a hug. You never honestly expected Loki to agree to it and you definitely didn't think he'd actually follow through with it. Now that the moment is finally here, you really don't want him to let go any time soon because you know you might never get another hug.

"This is nice," you tell him, resting your head on his chest as his arms close comfortably around you.

He doesn't respond but you can tell by the way he breaths deeply that he doesn't hate this type of affection as much as he claims to. After much longer than you expected, Loki finally clears his throat and let's go of you. "That is enough of that," he steps away from you, his eyes lowered as he smooths the nonexistent wrinkles from his black dress shirt. You watch him closely and when he looks up, you can see the smile he's fighting to hide.

"When do you think the mission will be?" you decide not to tell Loki that hug was better than you had imagined.

"I will let Fury and Rogers know you are ready at our afternoon briefing," he says. "We could be sent out as early as tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" you ask, your nerves creeping in suddenly. Surviving the training was one thing but actually going on a mission is still a scary thought.

"You will be fine darling," Loki reassures you. "I would never tell the director you were ready if you were not."

"Cause you're worried about me dying," you tease, both of you knowing Loki is in this position because he pretended to be concerned for your safety.

He rolls his eyes at you, "I will neither confirm nor deny that I do not wish for you to die while on the mission."

You giggle, "You always say the sweetest things."

Loki laughs at that, shaking his head lightly as he walks towards the door. You follow closely and pick up your gym bag. He opens the door for you and just before you step into the hallway you say, "I really hope I don't disappoint you when we do finally get to the base."

"You couldn't possibly disappoint me darling," Loki smiles warmly at you.

"That's not what you said a few weeks ago," you remind him, trying not to focus on how much larger his smirk gets when he sees you blush.

"I have been known to be wrong once or twice in the last thousand years," he admits as he steps out into the empty hallway. "But that stays between us."

"Like the hug?" you ask with a giggle.

"What hug?" Loki says before turning to walk in the opposite direction you need to go in.

(Three days later)

You take a deep breath as the target location comes into view, the jet's radar beeping to alert everyone that you're entering the drop zone. Loki sits next to you, squeezing your hand gently, sensing your anxiety rising. He leans close so the others can't hear and whispers, "You are going to be fine. Stay close to me darling."

You nod, thinking back to Loki's promise this morning after the final briefing for the mission. He told you he would keep you safe and in return, he made you promise to stay near him. A few weeks ago, you never would have believed Loki's promise but today you trust him completely.

The pilot gives everyone the signal to get ready and you stand up, following the prince as he walks to the back of the jet. The door opens and a rush of cold wind whistles through the jet. You take a step backwards, your back bumping into Loki's chest as you watch Steve, Natasha and Clint jump to the ground far below.

Loki gently puts his hands on your arms, turning you so you are facing him without a word. There's a small smile on his face when he tugs on the straps of the bag containing your parachute, tightening them slightly then his eyes scan your uniform and belt to make sure all of your gear is in place.

"Just like we practiced darling," he smiles encouragingly, his hand resting lightly on your cheek so you are looking directly at him. "Then wait for me so we can go to the computer lab together," he reminds you again. For a brief moment, you think Loki might lean down and kiss you but instead you tell yourself now isn't the time for your crush on him to surface. He lowers his hand and you can't help but instantly miss his touch.

With another deep breath, you smile at him and nod your head. "I've got this," you say, your nerves calming as you become more confident. You've been working so hard to get to this point and it's finally here. In the last three years of working for SHIELD, you never once had a desire to be in the field but now that you're here, you want to prove to yourself and everyone else that you can do more than just sit behind a desk.

There's another reason you need this mission to go well, you want to make Loki proud of you. He spent so much time with you over the last month, helping you in session after session. Coming in early before his meetings, staying late at night, finding time on the weekends to make sure you were as ready as possible. The prince even made his own deal with you this morning, he said you could have another hug after the mission and that was all the motivation you really needed.

"Yes you do," he agrees, taking a step away from the door. "Ladies first," he chuckles and you laugh, another bit of tension leaving your body.

You step up to the open door, look at Loki briefly over your shoulder and jump from the jet exactly like he had instructed you to.

(Fifteen minutes later)

You pull the chair out quicky and sit behind the steel desk while Loki stands guard at the door that leads from the main hallway into the lab. There is a second door behind you that leads to a much smaller corridor and the prince keeps his eye on it while you get to work.

"I need about fifteen minutes," you tell the team over the comms as the system reboots.

"Try to do it in ten," Steve responds and you look up in time to see Loki roll his eyes at the sound of the captain's voice.

You fight to hold back a smile. Why does he have to be so cute when he's annoyed, you think. The computer beeps as you type in a command then insert the USB to begin pulling data off the servers.

"It will take as long as it takes captain," the God of Mischief answers for you, his tone firm yet he gives you a smile when your eyes met before you look at the screens again.

You continue to copy file after file to the USB as quickly as you can for the next few minutes. The distant sound of gunfire from above keeps you vaguely aware of where the rest of the team is. Their goal is to distract the soldiers for as long as possible while you finish your work which is thankfully almost done. "Two more minutes," you inform the team over the comms, "just a few more-"

The door behind you slams open, your heart pounds rapidly in your chest as your hand moves to the empty holster on your belt. The God of Mischief yells something but you don't hear the words, rising to your feet to reach for your gun across the desk. You had removed it from your belt and placed it there before crawling underneath the desk to move a few cables right after you arrived. As soon as you are on your feet with your hand on the gun, you see the soldiers rush into the room but in an instant their faces fill with fear and you look towards Loki.

Turning your head, all you see is a bright flash of green rushing towards you as Loki's seider reaches across the room and slams into you.

(Later that night)

You groan and open your eyes slowly, squinting at the sudden brightness around you. A faint beeping in time with your heartbeat fills the room as everything comes into focus after blinking a few times. Pale blue walls surround you, the smell of antiseptic and sanitizer makes you scrunch your nose then it hits you. Oh crap, I'm in the infirmary, you realize suddenly.

"Welcome back," says a friendly voice to your left and you feel the light tug of an IV in your arm when you shift on the bed. You turn your head to face the voice but the quick movement makes you dizzy and you close your eyes again with another groan. "I'll get the doctor, try not to move too fast," the nurse tells you.

Breathing slowly, you feel yourself drifting off to sleep until the door opens and closes again. You open your eyes, forcing yourself to stay awake, you're exhausted but you need to know what happened.

"Hi Y/N, I'm Dr. Palmer," she says, looking up from her tablet. "How are you feeling?"

"Everything hurts," you mumble honestly. Your whole body is sore as you try to sit up a little in the bed. When you put your hands down on either side of you for leverage you look down and see a white cast on your left wrist then look up at the doctor.

"I'm sure it does," she says, looking back down at the tablet to skim your records. "Seems like you were thrown pretty far."

"Thrown?" you ask, rubbing your temple gently when you feel a bit of gauze and wince.

"Careful," she reaches out to lower your hand away from your injury. "I'm not surprised you don't remember the incident."

"The incident?" you repeat her, looking down at your hands as you think and suddenly remember seeing a flash of green light before everything went black. "Loki?" you ask, looking up quickly which causes you to become dizzy and close your eyes again until the room stops spinning.

She waits for you to look at her again before answering. "According to the field report, the room was breached by Hydra soldiers and Loki failed to make sure you were out of the way. He threw the soldiers and you into the concrete wall at the far end of the lab."

You listen to her in silence, pieces of your memory slowly returning. The soldiers were coming... I tried to reach for my gun... no, I had gotten it, I remember feeling the metal grip in my hand... Loki yelled something at me... Loki's magic. You close your eyes tight, pushing away the fear that surfaces with the memory of seeing his seider spreading towards you so fast there was no time to react.

"I remember bits and pieces," you clear your throat and look up at Dr Palmer.

"You're memory will most likely return slowly over the next few days. You have a mild concussion, some bruises, a fractured wrist and several stitches," the doctor informs you. "You'll need to stay here tonight so we can keep an eye on you but you should be able to go home tomorrow. I want you to rest for the next week, then you should be able to return to work."

"Thanks," you mumble, staring up at the ceiling, your mind replaying the last few minutes of the mission you remember.

Dr. Palmer watches you quietly for a moment then pats your leg gently to get your attention, "Get some rest Y/N. I told the team they can visit you in the morning before you're discharged."

"Thanks," you respond again, barely listening to her. She turns and walks out of the door, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Your mind wanders back to when you first began training with Loki and you wonder if his first impression of you was right, you never should have been in the field.

(One month ago - first day of training)

You slam to the floor hard on your side, groaning in pain as the bright lights come back on and the room resets. "Shit," you mumble when you hear the observation door opening fast enough for it to hit the wall. It's the fourth time in a row you've failed at the same point in the simulation and you don't need Loki to tell you this isn't a good start to your training.

Loki's footsteps are not rushed but the heaviness of his leather boots on the tiles makes you get off the floor much faster than your body wants to. "I'm trying," you say in your defense before he utters a word.

"Not hard enough it seems," he counters in a harsh tone. "Honestly, am I wasting my time Y/L/N?"

You sigh at Loki's use of your last name, the little bit of progress you were making with him yesterday was gone as soon as you failed the simulation the first time. "No," you say, folding your arms over your chest despite how sore your elbow is. "I can do this I-"

"Possibly, if we had several months," he cuts you off, "but we have only one."

"I know," you look at the ground near where you had fallen most recently.

"As heartless as the team thinks I am, I do not actually wish for you to get killed on this mission," Loki says and you look up at him immediately. His expression is stern but his voice softens just enough for you to believe his concern for you might be real. "If you are not capable of succeeding, I suggest we put an end to this now. I do not enjoy watching you continually hurt yourself," he gestures to the bruise already forming on your cheek from a previous fall.

"I can do this, Loki," you tell him, more insistently this time. Sometime between 3 and 4 this morning you decided you were going to get this right no matter what. Your newfound determination was based mostly on your fear of failing but you were also desperate to prove Loki wrong. "Let me try it one more time," you bargain with the prince. "If I don't die in the simulation this time, you keep training me."

"And when you do die?" he asks, already expecting you to fail a fifth time.

"Then you give up on me," you tell him with a shrug. "Tell the director you were right and I'm not good enough to go out in the field."

"Very well," Loki easily agrees to your terms, turning to walk back towards the observation room. You wait for him to wish you good luck or tell you he does want you to succeed but he doesn't say a word. Instead, he simply closes the door to the observation room, takes a seat at the controls and turns the simulation back on.

(Present - the next afternoon)

A knock on the door of the small room sends a wave of hope through you, your heart telling you Loki is finally here to visit you. You know the prince won't come but you can't stop yourself from watching the door as your excitement rises slightly. You had a lot of free time today and you spent most of it trying to figure out why Loki is the only one who hasn't visited yet.

Three potential reasons stick with you, each more upsetting than the last. Your first thought is that Loki is so disappointed in you and he doesn't even want to speak to you. The second idea you reasoned out is that he is too busy gloating and telling the team he was right about you not being capable of succeeding in the field. The third idea is the most hurtful but it's the one you feel is more likely then the others. Loki isn't going to visit because he never actually cared if you got hurt. Calling you darling and seeming like he enjoyed being with you was just an act by the trickster god to get you to train harder, pushing you through pain and exhaustion.

"Hi Y/N," Thor smiles at you warmly when he opens the door and sees you standing by the bed, picking up the bag with your belongings the nurse brought it. "Glad to see you back on your feet so quickly."

"Thanks," you give him the same forced smile you gave Steve, Natasha and Clint when they visited earlier. The three of them stopped by only briefly but it was long enough to reassure them that you were fine. You honestly didn't mind them only staying for a few minutes, you were still tired and it was hard to pretend you weren't let down that Loki wasn't with them.

"Dr. Palmer said I'm doing better than expected so she discharged me," you tell him then walk towards the door.

"Heading home?" he asks, holding the door open for you.

"Yeah, I'll be back in a week," you tell him as you walk through the infirmary together. "Oh, actually I should probably stop by Steve's office before I leave right? I didn't get to write up my report on the mission, obviously, but I can do it from home."

"He already filed the case notes, I just came from the debriefing," Thor informs you.

"Wait, how?" you ask when he opens the door to the infirmary that leads back to the main building. "I thought he needed a report from everyone who was in the field."

"Loki explained what happened," he says, not looking at you as you make your way down the hallway. He sighs, "My brother is on probation again and he's lucky it's only three weeks. Tony was pushing for longer but-"

"Why is he on probation?" you stop walking.

"Because of what happened," Thor says as if that should be obvious. He gestures to your broken wrist, "He could have killed you."

"It wasn't his fault," you defend Loki without even thinking.

"He said it was," Thor starts walking slowly again and you stay with him. "We listened to the recordings of your comms, we could hear Loki yell for you to get down and only a few seconds later we heard him attack the Hydra soldiers and unfortunately you as well. Even if he had not admitted to being at fault, it's clear he did not make sure you were out of harms way before unleashing his magic."

"But that's not what happened," you grab his arm to stop him from walking towards the elevators again and he gives you a confused look. "I heard Loki say something right after the door slammed open but I was distracted looking for my gun. I got up to get it-"

Thor shakes his head, "You got up? You weren't already standing between him and the soldiers?"

"No, I was sitting. I stood up after the door opened, after he yelled," you explain, both of you heading to the elevators.

"And he knew that?" Thor asks, pushing the button on the wall.

"Yeah, he was literally looking right at me when they broke into the room," you tell him remembering the smile Loki gave you when you told them you were almost done. "Steve told me I was supposed to listen to Loki and instead of getting down like he said, I stood up. I got right in the path of his magic."

"Why would he lie about that?" Thor asks when you both get in the waiting elevator, you shrug in response. "This is truly odd. My brother rarely accepts blame for things he has been caught doing," he says, pushing the button to take you down. "I do not understand why he would insist this was his fault if what you say is true."

"I don't know why either but I'm going to ask him," you look up at Thor.

"He is in his room," Thor tells you. "He did not want to speak to me or anyone else after the meeting, I doubt he will come out anytime soon."

"How do I get there?" you've never been to the Avenger's quarters before and you don't want to wander around until you find him.

Thor smiles as he gestures towards the elevator panel and it's then you realize he didn't push the button for the ground floor like you had assumed. "I had a feeling you would want to speak with him," he says.

You walk down the hall, counting doors until you get to the one Thor told you belongs to his brother. Before you can lose your nerve, you clear your throat and you knock loudly. Loki opens the door a moment later and stares at you in silence, clearly not expecting you to have been the one knocking.

"Y/N, what are-" he tries to form a sentence but it dies off when you walk past him into his room without saying a word. He stands at the door watching you take a seat on his couch with a mixture of confusion and anxiousness. Loki closes the door but remains near it, almost as if he's afraid to come too close to you.

"Are you okay?" he asks when you still don't speak. His eyes focus on your broken wrist for a long moment before he sees the gauze covering the stitches on your temple.

"I'm fine," you respond vaguely then ask him what you really want to know. "Why did you lie about what happened?"

"I did not lie, Y/N," he says, still standing by the door. His eyes fall from yours to a space on the floor between you. "I hurt you, I should be help accountable for my actions."

"You know it wasn't your fault," you tell him and he shakes his head. "I wasn't standing in between you and the soldiers until after you warned me, I know you remember that."

"The specifics do not matter," Loki insists.

"Why not?" you ask, standing as you get annoyed with his refusal to answer your questions openly. "Do you think you need to take all the blame because you're the one who said I was ready for the mission? Or do you think you're helping me by trying to hide how stupid of a mistake I made?"

"Please, let it go," the prince says, his back almost against the door as you take a step towards him.

"Let it go, seriously? Loki, they put on probation because we miscommunicated. I can just tell Fury and Steve the truth and then you won't be in trouble," you suggest, feeling guilty that he's been punished.

"It is not necessary," the God shakes his head with no explanation which only annoys you more.

"Loki," you try again, taking a few more steps in his direction. "You just got off probation last year. You shouldn't be back on it cause of-"

"Just stop," his voice is stern you look at him, stunned into silence. He runs his fingers through his long hair and you bite your lip, thinking it was a mistake to come here. "I am sorry I just... Y/N, I have bigger concerns right now than my status on the team. I do not care about the probation."

"What's a bigger concern?" you ask, he finally moves away from the wall, closing the distance between you.

His eyes fall to your cast briefly then he looks into your eyes. Loki sighs, "You are."

"Me?" the word leaves your mouth quickly in disbelief. "If you were so worried, why didn't you visit me? Everyone else did, even Thor came."

"I wanted to but I honestly thought I would be the last person you wanted to see," he gives you an answer that never even crossed your mind.

"Loki, you were the only one I wanted to see," you tell him and now it's the god's turn to look at you in disbelief. You reach out and take his hand, "Every time the door opened, I hoped it was you. I just wanted to see you."

He squeezes your hand gently, "Darling, I am sorry I did not visit."

You can't help but smile a little when he calls you darling. "It's okay," you say but he shakes his head.

"None of this is okay," Loki let's go of your hand then strokes your cheek lightly. "Y/N, I am so sorry for hurting you. I promised to keep you protect you, to keep you safe while we were in the field and I failed to do so, I am the reason you are injured. I can not apologize enough darling. Please forgive me."

"I know you didn't hurt me on purpose," you put your hand over his. "And I promise, I really am okay. It's just a broken wrist and a few stitches, it's not a big deal," you decide to leave out the mild concussion to not make him feel worse. "You can ask Dr. Palmer if you don't believe me," you smile more sincerely than you have all day.

You watch him finally relax as his hand lowers and he smiles a little, "I believe you."

"Good," you sound more excited than you meant to and he chuckles lightly. "And before I forget, you owe me something and I plan on collecting."

"What do I owe you?" he furrows his brow.

"A hug," you smile wider. "You said I could have another one after the mission."

His expression changes quickly, a smile replacing his confusion. "A debt I am more than happy to pay," he says and you giggle.

You don't waste a second, pressing your body against his as you wrap your arms around him tightly. Your cheek rests on his chest and you close your eyes as you relax. He's quiet, one of his hands holding you around your lower back while his other hand moves slowly up and down your back. After a few seconds, you feel him press his lips to the top of your head lightly and blush instantly.

You lean back just enough to look up at him and he smiles but you can almost feel his sudden nervousness. Without thinking, you move and kiss him lightly but as soon as you feel his lips against yours, your body fills with panic. You try to pull away from the hug completely but Loki holds you in place against his body.

"I'm sorry, that was-" you don't look at him, embarrassed that you acted on impulse. You have wanted to kiss Loki for weeks, ever since your crush became more intense but this was absolutely not a good idea.

"You should be sorry darling," he says in a tone you recognize. It was the voice he used when you couldn't help but think he was flirting with you even though you tried to convince yourself he wasn't. You lift your head and look up at him, swallowing nervously when he smirks. "I wanted to kiss you first," the prince explains.

"You wanted to-" you try to repeat his words but they don't make any sense. You put your hands on his chest and distance yourself slightly but he keeps you gently in place. "I'm sorry. I've got a concussion, it almost sounded like you wanted to kiss me first," you giggle awkwardly as you look up at him.

He looks at you with concern, his smile fading quicky, "You did not tell me you had a head injury. Are you certain you should be out of bed?"

"Oh... right, yeah. I guess I left that out. I just didn't want to make you feel any worse but it's fine. It's just like a teeny tiny concussion," you tell him quickly. "Wait... no, don't get me off topic. That's not what I wanted to talk about. Why would you say that? You wanted to kiss me?"

He chuckles, "You are so cute when you are like this."

You blush deeply when he calls you cute and you press your cheek to his chest to hide again. Just a second later, you feel Loki's hand on your warm cheek as he tilts your head up. "You heard me correctly darling, head injury or not," the prince answers your question with another smirk. Before you can respond, Loki bends down slightly, pressing his lips to yours. He holds your body tightly and you give into the kiss easily, closing your eyes as your hands grip the fabric on the back of his shirt.

When he finally pulls back to break the kiss you can't do anything but giggle and he laughs while he plays with the ends of your hair. "So... you think I'm cute?" you ask him.

"I think you are truly stunning and I am amazed by you," Loki says with a smile that causes you to blush even deeper than before. "I had planned on asking you out on a date after the mission, when you came to get the hug I owed you but then I hurt-"

You place a soft kiss to Loki's lips, "Don't you dare blame yourself again."

He gives you a warm smile, "If I keep doing it, will you keep kissing me like that?"

"No," you laugh. "I'll probably tickle you or something."

"I would like to see you try darling," he smirks, taking your hand to pull you towards the couch.

"Oh, I should probably still talk to Steve and Fury," you tell him. "So you're not in trouble or on probation anymore."

"Absolutely not," he sits down and shakes his head.

You sit next to him and he puts his arm around your waist, keeping you close to him. "Why not?" you ask as you cuddle against him as if you've done it dozens of times.

"Because now I will have more free time to spend with you," he smiles and kisses the top of your head.

"I do like how that sounds," you kiss his cheek and lean on him comfortably. "Especially since I have the next week off, doctor's orders."

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

@soubi001 @mochie85 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @multyunervisesuperfan @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @lulubelle814 @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal @eleniblue @ash-muses @muddyorbsblr @loz-3 @firedrakegirl @wolfsmom1 @anukulee @sabspoetic @beaniemoon @peaches1958 @catsladen @michellewgrt @soulpiercing @lcolumbia1988 @lelliefant @crimson25 @jaidenhawke @lovingchoices14 @jennyggggrrr @itscomplicatedx @goblingirlsarah @witchylittlegrl @motherofmischief @tinytroublemaker @mischeif-maker

[ablobwhowrites]

I also love the dragon y/n idea! currently what’s going through my head in that our true form grew over time, so when we met the uncorrupted-beasts we were only the size of a three story house, but in present time we’re like—taller than the Spire of Knowledge give or take a few hundred feet. if we were close friends with the pre-beasts, I can see us being friends with the Fount of Knowledge because it’s said dragons have been around before cookies so he’s both learning from them and they have a friend to listen to since they’re kind of an outcast and they’re just buddies. We know the others as well but Shadow Milk was the one we could just pick up by the scruff and he wouldn’t even complain. The other immortals find it funny, even. Then comes their corruption, and while trying to keep normal cookies safe, we gain lots of wounds that make us slow down. Less energetic. Kind of hurt that even newly evil they barely hesitated to bring harm. Even worse if we mourn them when they are sealed. we probably become friends with Elder Fairy while still young and waiting out on the hope that our cookie friends will gain reason again. They don’t, and time passes until we finally decide to leave with the acceptance of having to know their dear friends have changed for the worse.

then, dragon y/n meets the ancients. Heart squeezing at the similarities of their old companions. Seeing them, in time, as their most precious cookie family. Picking them all up like kittens when forcing them to rest. Protecting Dark Cacao Cookie’s kingdom from harsh colds when running a fever or when things get especially harsh. Tucking them under a wing while resting. Old scars on our giant dragon heart finally heal at some point, and we make ourselves a cookie form just to see the ancients easier. The ancients love their dragon companion just as much. PV tries to heal eons old wounds near the joints and soft spots like the neck or wings. White Lily will just sit in our palm as we think about the past, always there. Hollyberry attempts to beat us in an eating competition. Golden Cheese adorns us in the newest fashion trends. Dark Cacao will protect us by staying awake when we rest if on a journey. sorry if this is too long, but dragon y/n is such a fun concept!

I'm becoming obsessed with dragon y/n cookie cause I imagine when they where still young, they acted similar to toothless from the first movie as dragon y/n was mostly curious about the world and before the beasts corrupted. I do imagine them being best friends as mainly, I imagine that y/n's dragon form was kinda small but still bigger than the average cookies. Dragon y/n and the uncorrupted beast use to hangout about everyday as y/n liked how they didn't treat them as some vile beast that caused chaos but more of a cookie who just happens to be a dragon, burning spice cookie and dragon y/n use to play fight a lot and shadow milk cookie always got worried because how much damage they did around the place when they did play fight. Mystic flour cookie liked having y/n around as they enjoyed the quiet company and that she got to have alone time cause cookies were to afraid to go near dragon y/n at the time, eternal sugar cookie love to fly with dragon y/n or just lay down on the grass taking in the sun and peacefulness of the place and her paradise. Silent salt cookie listened to dragon y/n cry sometimes as they wished sometimes to be a normal cookie so they could be with their lover but silent salt cookie comforted them as silent salt cookies wished to take away their pain yet they couldn't.

Plus I like to think that many cookies that y/n had protected back then gives them gifts and such but now no cookie really does as they think dragon y/n cookie is a myth by older cookies but I do imagine when when Golden cheese cookie adorns y/n with jewels or other things, they like keeping the jewels and newest fashions that she gives them in their cave to keep them safe.

(also kinda thought of this while writing)

*Cookies from Hollyberry kingdom gives dragon y/n a small gift as a tribute for protecting the kingdom*

Civilian cookie: "I know that we can't do much for you but I wish to give you the finest glasses of berry juice in my shop."

Dragon y/n cookie: "oh, why thank you, I haven't been given a tribute gift is decades."

(y/n will probably drink them back at their den but save the rest because it would be a wasted gift to just drink them all)

And when current dragon y/n is guarding the dark cacao kingdom, I like to imagine just some cookie staying around y/n because how much heat they produce as well as under the wing, it's bascially the warmth nice house underneath their wing (and also because y/n produces fire and stuff and sunbathes a lot so they soak up a lot of sun and heat.)

But y/n does visit the place their old friends stay sealed away and stay there for hours wondering if they could have changed the outcome and kept them from corrupting but they are comforted by Elder fairy cookie until they eventually leave. Also loving the thought of dragon y/n cookie being able to produce these kinds of low rumbling purrs in cookie and dragon form and y/n can't control it so if y/n has nay positive interactions, they just purr really loudly and they do try to say it's their hungry and it's their stomach but of course that doesn't work and the cookies love hearing that sound as it's soothing but y/n is so fucking embarrassed about it as the other dragons I imagine do that to but have control over it. They are just starved of love and affection a lot because cookies from the past saw them as a monster and didn't want to be near them.

The little cookies think it's so cool like they sometimes think dragon y/n is part cat cause of this but the adult cookies love hearing it but dragon y/n tries to lock in to stop it. Also I imagine because y/n's dragon form is huge, they just have to pick up cookies or any traveling vehicles with their mouth kinda like a alligator.

Plus for some yandere ovensmash and ovenbreak. I love to imagine string cheese cookie always trying to keep dragon y/n cookie's hair nice and neat but dragon y/n cookie sees such a nice pile of grass and can't resist on just laying in the and rolling in it (like toothless in that one scene) and is forced to sit in a chair and have their hair washed and cleaned because their grass in their hair. Also I love the thought of Dj cookie wanting dragon y/n to go to one of their concerts but y/n doesn't like how loud concerts can get so unfortunately Dj cookie can't show y/n the special song they made for them.

(anyways that's it for my yapping session for today. But if you like it please don't be shy and request any ideas for stories or y/n's. But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[vroomvroommbtch]

That you are - MM x fem!reader

Summary: The only thing Mason wanted after a long day at the office was to be with his girl.

Warnings: Mostly angst and some fluff and comfort.

Words: 2.7k

A/N: I have had this one for weeks, thinking it was shit to post, but after tonight? All I want is to read angst while I curse everything and everyone. Anyone. Its short and probably shitty. But never as shitty as losing a final against the ugly birds.🙃

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　

By the time he finally pulled his car up to the house's entrance, he didn't care about the time. He knew it was late. It was almost midnight, and that was enough for him. The only thing he could think about at the end of a long day—a trip to Newcastle, a match, another trip back to Carrington, and a drive home—was getting to bed. Being honest to himself, he also needed a burger and a whole batch of chocolate chip cookies baked by his girl, but that was something he couldn't have, not with his diet. Knowing she was probably asleep made his night even worse. She didn't answer his text letting her know when he was back in Manchester and heading home, so it could only mean she was already in bed. When he got into his car and began driving, all he could think about was her in their bed, making him crave it more than ever.

Not getting her 'Drive safe! See you in a minute. Love you!' normal text made him somehow feel guilty. He loved his job. His whole life he knew he wanted to be a footballer, but the most difficult thing about it was all the hours and even days away. He had been used to being apart from his family since he was a teenager. After leaving home at such a young age, Mason learned how to deal with the distance and the awful feeling of homesickness. But while he learned how to be away from everyone, he never figured out how to be apart from her.

Mason knew the distance between them was always temporary. That's how it has been since he left home. It didn't matter if it was only for a couple of hours and how he knew he would always run back to her arms in the end, Mason felt like his heart was always left home with her. Mason knew how lucky he was to do what he loved, but guilt was constantly there. That guilt only became stronger since their first kiss. He didn't like the idea of her arriving in an empty house, especially when he was away or coming home late. He was heartbroken to think of his girl going to sleep in an empty, cold bed. He hated it as much as he hated not being able to go to bed at the same time as her.

That night I t didn't do much, but he felt some sort of relief as he finally reached their street and finally their house. He didn't think of the chilling air as he ran out of the car and into the house. He didn't care much about his things as he left them at the entrance and locked the door. All he wanted was to find her, so he ran straight into the living room. Mason knew she might not be there, but too many times she fell asleep on the couch waiting for him, resulting in him carrying her upstairs or them cuddling there all night. This time, however, the couch was completely empty. Her favorite blanket was thrown to the side and the cushions were scattered, so he knew she was there not so long ago.

He didn't bother to look around the kitchen since the lights were off, so he rushed upstairs straight to their room to finally see his girl. If he was lucky, Mason might find her still awake, either watching something on TV or nose buried in a book that she was eager to finish. He wasn't in the mood to talk, but he just wanted to spend some time with her. He just wanted to hear about her day, knowing her soft voice and her fingers stroking his face would work wonders to help him relax. But as soon as he opened the door, Mason realized it wouldn't happen. He wasn't surprised when he saw the book lying on her chest, probably trying her very best to stay awake for him. She looked like an angel, tucked under the covers, sleeping the night ignoring momentarily any problems.

His favorite thing was seeing Ace sleep at the end of the bed, keeping her company and not moving from her side. It wasn't anything new, though. She was the first one to allow the dog onto their bed, letting him sleep in the space under her feet, especially when Mason wasn't at home. Ace was a protection dog, but he was also trained not to make a mess of a welcome home party full of excited barking whenever Mason came home. Despite being trained to protect them, he would become puppy-like whenever he saw them, so he waddled his tail as soon as he recognized one of his favorites people was back home.

Mason wasn't surprised to see the light on his side of the bed turned on when he opened the door. It was something she'd done since day one, not wanting him to walk around in the dark, knowing he wouldn't turn on the light if she was already asleep. She was right tho. She looked peaceful and he wouldn't want to disrupt that. Mason needed a peaceful night, so he wouldn't ruin it for her.

After kissing Ace's head and sorting himself out quicker than normal, he headed back to the bedroom, leaving his used clothes in the bathroom laundry basket. Mason tiptoed around the bed to reach his side, and after slipping under the covers, he felt a wave of tears come to him, but he didn't let them out. He couldn't let it happen. He knew she would wake up the second Mason got close to her body. She always woke up when he got home, her hands automatically searching for his warmth and comfort. There was always a sweet kiss, a comforting hug, a sweet ‘Missed you’ and a 'How was your day?'. Normally she would stay awake to hear the answer, but that night Mason was relieved that this was not the case.

Mason was not wrong and like he imagined, she stirred the moment he lay down, her eyes barely open as she reached for him with her hand. After twenty years side-by-side, she always knew what Mason needed. She has always made things feel light, and that night was no exception. This time, instead of snuggling beside him as she usually did, she opened her arms to him. Words weren't needed. There were no questions asked.

Like a small scared boy, Mason moved closer, wrapping himself around her, a mess of legs tangled together. His arms weren’t any different, holding her waist for dear life, not planning to leave her until he had to in the morning. He knew Carrington was about to become a nightmare the next day. He knew the yelling was coming to them, and it was likely to be more unpleasant than the silence in the changing room after the match. A terrible 4-1 that was humiliating. It was painful. It was tragic. It was a punch in the face. 

One of his biggest fears was believing that one day her faith in him would disappear. He was terrified of disappointing the little girl who told him to fight for it when Chelsea offered him the opportunity to move to London all those years ago, as well as the woman who had promised to marry him and be with him forever. He just wanted to make her feel proud of him, but he felt it was an impossible task. Mason knew her, the constant ‘You could never disappoint me’ was always there, but on bad days he couldn’t help but feel all his doubts taking over. 

He didn't want to admit that she had been the only positive thing Manchester had given him so far. Yes, he won an FA Cup in his first year at the club, but nothing could be compared to them finally living together and being a couple. There were too many reasons why he chose United, but he couldn't pretend it wasn't for her. Putting her in the position of being the sole reason he was there originally would make her feel guilty, but he signed his contract so he could be with her as he had promised. Even when everything went wrong, he didn't regret it. Mason knew that was the one chance he had to be with his girl, but he didn't expect the rest of the journey.

Mason knew that it was his mess, but what hurt him the most was witnessing how it affected her too. He could see the constant worry on her face. He could see the pain in her eyes because he was suffering. For every injury, every difficult match, every bad training session, and every setback, she was there, arms open to hold him close until he felt better. It always worried her. Since the beginning of their friendship she has been concerned about him, but it has gotten worse since they got together. She was far more preoccupied than she would ever admit, and Mason knew it well. There was a constant fear in her heart that the man she loved would be hurt and come back heartbroken. The feeling that she wasn't good enough because she didn't know what to say to make things better for him. The pressure of outside comments even though they shouldn't matter. The heaviness in her chest for not wanting to talk about it all with Mason because she didn't want to make him feel worse. 

She was the one who looked after him every day. The one loving him. The one putting a pause on her career to be there for him on terrible injury days. The one reminding him to stop overthinking things when what he needed to do was play football like he knew how because that's what he was born to do. The one offering her shoulder to cry and her arms to hide. The one putting a smile on his face and making life funnier. The one who changed her very organized and normal life in Manchester to let him into her tiny apartment and routine. The one who welcomed him to the new city, held his hand, and assured him everything would be okay. The one who made their house a home, the one they were always meant to have together. She was the one who made Mason feel things he had never felt before. Never so much. Never so deeply. Never so good.

She had been dealing with everything he brought with him. The baggage, the tears, the bad days, the injuries, the fear of losing her favorite person in the world for so many reasons, the ups and downs, the heartbreak, and the distance. That long list was why Mason still believed she deserved better. He knew she deserved better. It didn't matter that he put a ring on her finger, and she said yes, or that their wedding was mostly planned, he still believed she deserved someone better. Like he said the day they finally got together, she deserved someone who got it together, not someone who was barely hanging and holding on for dear life. She should have someone smarter and stronger. A person without a camera on his back. The kind of person who could take her out on a date in complete peace at any time. She deserves someone who can put her first and not just have half his attention.

Despite knowing his girl deserved better, Mason couldn't imagine being without her. It would be easier to stop breathing. It would be easier to stop playing football. They made a promise, and he wouldn't break it. They said forever, so Mason could only strive to be better. She deserved it, so he was going to do it because he loved her with everything he had. He loved her so much. So strongly. So fully. So deeply. So beautifully.

The only thing they wanted was to protect each other. Mason sometimes wished they could go back to when they were kids and didn't have any responsibilities or pressure. He wished they could get back to simpler times. Back when he was a kid playing football and no one wanted to get into his life, especially his relationship. When no one would look at his fiancée and say something simply because they thought it was allowed.

A shaky breath left his body, and even half asleep, she understood what he needed. She knew without words. She knew everything she needed from a hug and the feeling of his body against hers. It was no different that night. A soft kiss on his forehead, one hand stroking his head and the other on his chest. She placed it there, her palm against his heart as she slowly moved it in circles. It was what Mason always did when her chest felt tight and her anguish was too much, so it wasn't news to him when she did it for him as well. 

He let it all take over him. Her soft hands against his skin, the smell of her shampoo mixed with her shower gel and laundry soap, the softness of the sheets, the calm of the night, the silence of their room only interrupted by their breaths, Ace’s soft snoring and her heartbeat against his ear. It was an every single day thing, but especially in nights like that, Mason regretted all the time he wasted, wishing he had made the move sooner. If he wasn’t a coward-or a complete blind idiot like his siblings called him- they could have been like that for years, but instead he pretended he wasn't in love with his best friend before he could even write the word 'Love'.

Mason stayed still whenever her hand stopped moving. He thought she was finally back asleep, and if he was lucky, he would be following her in no time. There was nothing he wanted more than pretend the world outside didn’t exist, but he needed to get up early for training. He had to wake up with the awful alarm noise when all he wished for was to wake up with her kisses on his forehead to have a lazy day in bed. He was so exhausted that he could cry that night, but he took another deep breath to ignore it.

Mason was sure she was asleep, but he couldn’t be more wrong about it. He felt her lips on his forehead one more time, just another reminder of her love and support. He closed his eyes and in the middle of the silence he heard a whispered “Love you” that came out of the blue from her as she buried her face in his hair.

Two words that went straight to his heart, taking his mind off his misery and the endless things he could have done better on the match. It made him disconnect from everything and focus on her. On them.

She said she loved him even when he was a sad, grumpy mess. When he didn’t want to leave the bed on bad days. When he was a complete pain in the ass. When he'd crash at night and they couldn't talk for five minutes because he was exhausted. When weekends as a couple were nonexistent. She loved him since he was a teen boy who couldn’t grow a beard and had no idea if he would ever make it. His Cookie had loved him since the beginning, and he couldn’t be more grateful. Mason was thankful for her and them, but more importantly, because when he knew it was hard to love him, she did it anyway.

His girl. His sunshine. His lifeline. His lighthouse. His love. His best friend. His rock. His future wife. His air. His whole universe. His miracle. His northern star. His whole heart.

As Mason hugged her tighter, he took a deep breath. He let the words wash over him. It hugged him lovingly in the same way as her arms did. It healed. Another breath in sync with hers, and when the air left the lungs, life seemed simpler. Suddenly, it felt lighter. She loved him. Forever. Always. More than anyone. She loved him and if she did, then he might have been doing something right. 

[chaoortu]

MY SHAYLAS... 8-24 spoilers and analysis under the cut

okay so this chapter rlly is a good reminder that they are still teenagers learning to communicate but god. god this was such a sad one i think because charlie FINALLY called nick out but the way he went about it was just. bad? not blaming him bc he's literally just sixteen i think but jesus man. I might have this analysis be panel for panel so stay with me y'all.

now charlie is the one who said he wanted to talk tomorrow. i will go on record saying if nick could get away with not talking he'd 100% take that route bc i honestly don't think he's ready to unpack WHY he's so anxious because it doesn't seem like he fully understands why he feels the way he does; he just knows he feels shitty! and wow bingo bullseye right on the money call me a prophet the way i predict things bc yeah. rejection of the "thanks for taking care of me" pancakes. (which, nick feeling the need to give back in that way, providing something i believe is connected to the fact that he seems to use sex both bc he enjoys it but also as a means of "hey. stay with me. don't leave me. look at what i can do for you look at how i perform please don't go."), and u could literally put a broken glass filter over that bottom panel. yeah. nick talking about HIS feelings isn't gonna happen while charlie is doing poorly. like from nick's pov, how can he possibly open up about his own anxieties when his boyfriend won't eat? when he might be on the verge of a relapse? i think what makes this chapter difficult is the fact that nick and charlie don't know how to talk to each other the way they used to anymore. and i had this kind of revelation that it's been a little over a year since charlie's been to treatment, and that sort of means nick's been playing the supportive boyfriend for a majority of their relationship. those early days where they did share things, where nick was blubbering and all that? that was a literal FRACTION of their relationship. and that's not charlie's fault, it isn't his fault he's mentally ill but it is the situation that they are currently in and idk if either of them have had that realization but i sure have. that's hard.

what i love is that we actually see in real time nick switching into supportive/perfect boyfriend mode right in front of charlie. this is nick's default and i genuinely think nick doesn't understand that he's doing it, like this behavior feels subconscious to me. and while charlie has now spotted this behavior and is trying to call it out, the way he goes about it is just... not good! the equivalent of trying to give nick a high five and slapping him in the face in the progress. like again, friendly reminder that nick has at this point had one nightmare THAT WE KNOW OF involving charlie dying. his anxiety around losing charlie, not even in the breaking up sense but the LITERAL sense is a massive thing. i have to remind myself sometimes that charlie was suicidal, that he was hurting himself, and when i put myself in nick's shoes... i don't know if i'd be able to tell my partner about my own issues if i didn't know with 100% certainty if they were in the clear out of fear that if my issues compounded atop theirs, it'd make their mental health worse. it's a kind of guilt i'd never forgive myself for and i have in fact broken up with people when my situation has gotten so severe that i could not be an equally supportive partner (around 16-17, so, the same age as the boys.) like this situation is HARD to navigate and it's made worse by the fact that they really haven't seemed to talk much about charlie's mental health, nick just knows it's declining because he's not eating and imo, that's a good enough reason to not want to tell my boyfriend about my deeprooted abandonment issues bc... what if i made his mental health worse? THAT'S where i believe nick is at. moving on.

now here is the funny thing. charlie fully bulldozes over nick here despite wanting nick to talk. and we see that gray ink blotch getting bigger and bigger, we see nick starting to pull away. this is no longer a conversation this is "my boyfriend is upset with me, what do i need to do to make him not upset as quickly as possible so he doesn't leave me?" it's not a conversation, not by a long shot. I do think if Charlie hadn't cut him off, Nick would've kept deflecting and that could've turned into a conversation if Charlie said: "hey you're still deflecting, you're still turning this on me can we please not." and maybe it'd turn into a blow up fight or maybe nick would just start fucking blubbering and they'd get somewhere. but that didn't happen, and yeah im a little upset about it because for someone who wants nick to communicate, charlie doesn't do a great job at giving nick the chance to in this moment and i get it bc this issue has been festering for months but like. christ. charlie is right to call nick out on focusing on him all the time but like. from nick's perspective-- their early relationship was all about keeping nick safe and then coming out, but the rest of it has been about making sure charlie doesn't, like, die??? and yes, it is dramatic. he's seventeen it is very dramatic for him. they haven't talked much about it though, not in a real way. and just god. nick looks so fucking exhausted here it's not even funny and like REMINDER THAT HIS ASS IS DISGUSTINGLY HUNGOVER AS WELL. i wish nick would've puked on charlie in the middle of this, alas. im the only one always rooting for a good catharsis vomit. we're gonna circle back to the "why are you treating me like i'm fragile" thing because charles francis, you lowkey just proved your boyfriend's side of things, but first!

nick is so funny for this bc there was no therapy speak in anything charlie said, he was just being open, which again-- i just don't think nick KNOWS how to talk about this kind of thing as in doesn't have the vocab to even try. he hasn't been to therapy! he doesn't know these things! but i do think charlie was putting words in nick's mouth here bc nick never has seen him as fragile. nick thinks charlie is one of the strongest people alive and has ALWAYS thought so, but he's also an anxious wreck right now so he isn't showing that as much. i think the "you really dont' need to use your therapy speak on me" is less about therapy speak and more about wanting to be talked to like a partner, not as a sort of therapist + client relationship which nick may have seen it as with the way charlie kept talking. now back to the fragile thing.

oh hey look it's the reason why nick didn't want to tell charlie his bullshit happening on page in real time. charlie is leaving. he is walking away. nick has tried to be perfect and good and his boyfriend is leaving anyway. and here's the thing. i don't think nick's in the wrong for not talking to charlie because these panels literally prove why he receded into himself. his big feelings (and they barely scraped the surface, fuck man) made charlie cry, his "outburst" made him leave. and i'm legit getting a little choked up about it because how... how is nick actually supposed to talk to him after this when charlie's sort of proved that he is too fragile for this conversation or rather that nick is "too much". yes, having nick throw that back definitely hurt, i see that, but for all charlie spoke about wanting nick to talk to him, he doesn't give him the chance to in this specific moment and when things get hard, he walks away. that! shit! blows! it's understandable. i get it on a character level and obviously the story needs conflict for a reason but it's also like... charles... francis... spring... that boy has been by your side even when you were really fucking mean to him and you are WALKNG AWAY because he had a little outburst!? get real dude.

so here we are with nick saying sorry for hurting charlie's feelings. and charlie saying he'll be there when nick wants to talk. nick is better than me bc the crashout that sentence would've caused would be newsworthy. i also love how we see nick's reflection in the mirror here, i just like it a lot. but this is like. ugh. nick really needs to talk to SOMEONE about this shit and i think the issue is that their friend groups are so combined and nick is too empathetic to even attempt talking about charlie in any way that might be perceived as negative with them bc he LOVES HIM DUH, but also bc he knows how that would look. and nick asking charlie to eat when he gets home breaks my heart. i don't think charlie will tbh. and i'm 88% certain nick will blame himself if charlie fully relapses and i am crossing my fingers and toes that doesn't happen for charlie's sake. but this is sort of like... yeah, this is the perfect chapter to showcase where their relationship is at. nick bottles his feelings because charlie isn't well, charlie wants to be treated like he's not fragile, but breaks when nick is the tiniest bit mean to him, and so the cycle goes. yes. it did kind of piss me off that charlie didn't really give nick the chance to speak and tbh... i hope nick doesn't go to him first. i want this to be a quiet "relationship break" on record, i sort of hate that charlie's put nick in the position of having to reach out bc i know nick doesn't know how to do that and it's not really the supportive move he seems to think it is. and i am selfish. i want charlie to have his "i'm going to run in the rain to make things right with my boyfriend" moment. but hey... david at the end. we all know i like david as an antagonist. so. i have no solid predictions, but i hope david, whose just gotten out of a relationship, can have a convo with nick about charlie and offer some perspective and maybe some fucked up older brother advice? although i'd gnaw my own ARM OFF if we got a parallel to the tori kicking his phone out of his hand and david either talking to tori or charlie directly. i, selfishly, want a "i'm the only one allowed to make him feel like shit" moment bc as an older sibling with not a great relationship with their younger siblings, i am always down to proverbially beat their partners if they so much as make one single step out of line. i am also sort of hopeful that maybe. hopefully MAYBE see nick go to rugby and god, i'd gnaw my own leg off if he got injured. i want him to get bonked on the head badly. i want sai, christian, or otis to call charlie about it. i want the moment to highlight some of charlie's ocd. oh. the one time you make your bf talk he gets a fucking concussion you are the worst worst worst person alive, that kind of thing. i want the moment to force them to talk OR... I want Tao and Elle to break up and that lights the fire under Nick and or Charlie's asses to start chatting. but idk. nick will probably just talk to david and possibly hopefully maybe his mum about it? I feel like there's been a severe lack of Sarah in these pages. Does she come home and Nick is just like a wreck and David's like damn idk what to do about all that

[greyonelost]

They really butchered season 2 of Andor, didn't they?

The Ghorman massacre was the only plotline holding the season together. The rest was just put there and also season 2 had huge "men writing women" energy.

First, I hated what they did to Bix. She was shown to be broken by her torture in season 1, then they had her repeatedly traumatised by having her almost sexually assaulted in a graphic detail and being unable to deal with the daily rebel life. They had her taking drugs and turned her into a burden for Cassian and then they shipped her off to have his baby while he is doing the revolution.

Second, the Syril and Dedra thing. I enjoyed the subplot, but what was the point of bulding sympathy and nuance for these characters only to then turn around and say that it makes no difference and let them burn anyway? Dedra's love for Syril wasn't enough to change her, it only brought her down, Syril's idealism and love for Dedra destroyed him. If he didn't have morals and didn't care about what the empire was doing, he would be alive. If they weren't conflicted, they would be alive. Literally, their humanity killed them. That is just cynical and nihilistic.

And I couldn't help but notice that while all the male imperials got quick deaths, the writers suddenly felt it necessary for Dedra to be mentally destroyed and turned into a slave. Also, all the men who respected her in season 1 (Syril, Heert, Partagaz) were turned against her in season 2. And the second part of season 2 involved men putting their hands on her, screaming at her face and there were graphic shots of her being disheveled, having a thousand ward stare, breaking down and sobbing. There is no way the writers weren't indulging in misogyny using the excuse of making a point about fascism.

And then Vel and Cinta. They were also diminished. They were barely explored before Cinta was killed off for shock value. Vel was better represented in season 1, but still rather superficially, because we never got any insights into her life and she was reduced to a background character in season 2. And throughout both seasons, Cinta remained just a face in the background, that sometimes had lines. She was never the focus. We never learned anything from her point of view. It's like she was not a character on her own.

The senator, just like in season 1, was constantly disrespected to her face, both at work by her male colleagues and at home by her daughter and husband. Again, these dynamics in her story were already explored in season 1, you would expect that in season 2 they were going to build her up and show moments of strength. But no, she was put in the same unpleasant situations as in season 1. And even worse, she had to sacrifice her best and only friend to protect the cause, and we watched her getting drunk and dance to cope with it. Her work in the senate was shown to be futile, the only moments of strength were her giving money to the rebellion and her speech, before she had to be rescued and shown to be visibly shaken by the violence.

And again, the woman who demonstrated the most ingenuity, intelligence, strength, who was the most composed, proud and independent, and commanded the most respect, Dedra Meero, got the most cruel punishment of all the fascists in the show.

Aside from the bad writing of female characters, season 2 had segments that were too prolonged and carried no message. The idiots in the beginning, who captured Cassian, were totally unnecessary. Season 1 had already done a good commentary on leftist infighting with that conversation between Saw Gerrera and Luthen Rael, where it was shown that Saw looked down on Anto Kryger and other rebel fractions and didn't want to work with them. It was much shorter, more clear and well done. They did not need to have a bunch of morons bicker in the forest for three episodes.

Then there was the wedding. We already saw what Mon Mothma thinks about the tradition through her conversation with Vel in season 1. Again, the commentary was better done in the first season, and that elaborate wedding did not need to stretch for that long, it added nothing to the message. On the contraty, it led to confusion. It led to expectations that it would be mentioned later or that the girl would play some role. But no, it was just one elaborate ceremony stretched in three episodes.

And was that Wil Paak and Saw Gerrera segment with them getting high on rhydonium and howling at the moon really necessary? It was presented as this climactic end of the episode but all I was thinking was "Why would they do this!?" Maybe it's just me. I never saw the appeal of getting high. I guess that's the type of audience the scene was meant for.

And there was that moment in an interview, when they said that Tony isn't afraid to upset people. Then it already was a red flag, but after episode 12 it leaves a really bitter taste in my mouth. Because it turned out that the people whom they weren't afraid to upset, were the ones who sympathised with strong female characters and conflicted imperials. And the people they were careful not to upset, were the ones who wanted to indulge in the trope of the destruction of the girlboss and the man who loved and respected her. The people they were careful not to upset, were also the ones who wanted to indulge in the fantasy about the pretty, soft, helpless, traumatised, latina girfriend having the main character's baby.

To sum it up, the prolonged but empty segments, such as the wedding and the idiots in the forest made me think that the original story was different but it was later changed and minor moments were stretched and added to fill the void. There is no other explanation. Compared to season 2, season 1 was flawlessly coherent. Nothing felt disjointed, out of place or too long. And the women were much better written.

Season 1 was like a beautiful puzzle. You enjoyed all the details and how it all fit together. Season two was that same beautiful puzzle with half the pieces missing and a bunch of pieces from a different puzzle put in their place.

For my longer, Syril and Dedra rant, see here.

[dufferpuffer]

I like thinking of the cultural differences between Wizards and Muggles. Small things. Where do people tend to get callouses on their hands...? Differences in how Muggles and Wizards construct things... How Muggles and Wizards perceive skill, in general. I'd love to do a meta on this lol but for now its HC (mainly just me getting excited and putting down my own HC to text)

For Muggles - we like to see complexity. Things fitting together in little perfect pieces: engines and electronics. Fast, precise finger movements from years of practice. Clever simplicity... the perfect fit of a dovetail joint, the perfect angle of curve for an arch to bear weight... we love that shit.

Wizards... don't seem to care for such things. They are more impressed by invisibility, hidden power, and sheer absurdity. You don't 'get good' at peeling vegetables. The vegetables peel themselves with your intent. An ugly chair with joints magicked together, wood sticking to wood, is more impressive than something hand-carved. They get a car, or a motorcycle, and the first thing they want to do to it is make it do impossible stuff - without fanfare.

The way we see magic being used... seems to be that the more simple the casting appears - the more impressive. You learn a spell with a specific wand movement, an incantation - and it works. But masters can cast without saying anything, with just a flick of their wand - or even more impressive, only their hand.

This comes back to the 'basic every-day tasks' thing: If all that HC is true - then things we think of as simple, like... twist lids, or pull-tags on cans - they're actually quite complex. You need a different hand-motion and muscle use to open each.

Muggles are very good at that. Everything we interact with is, in some way, a little puzzle box. I think this is why Wizards are considered not as good at 'logic' or whatever: Everything Muggles do is 'wooden block in square hole' type shit. Wizards just magic the wooden block in however they want!

If they, say, typically seal bottles with a cork and a spell, opened with a flick of the wand or sheer mental intent - what WOULD they do with a jar? Or a sharp-edged bottlecap? It'd be like giving it to a toddler.

While the movie line of 'what is the function of a rubber duck?' is a little silly... it is a strange object: It has a weird, porous 'plug' or 'lid' underneath you can't open? It has enough resistance to make you think it isn't meant to be squeezed - but if you do, it makes a squawking raspy noise.

...Why? That is a lot of confusing elements. Wizards would make a bath toy duck waddle around, hatch eggs - and then fall to pieces into yellow bubbles that quack when they pop. It will just work, without effort other than it's initial creation.

The act of needing to pick up and squeeze a toy, for a noise... easy, in isolation, but doing that sort of stuff all day all the time would be exhausting. You need to twist EVERY doorknob?!?

Molly struggling to do housework 'the muggle way'? Countless little tools that need lots of different body movements? Absolutely difficult. Ron struggles with it. It's used as punishment.

I think Wizards, in general, would lack practiced fine motor control that isn't wand-based - and it gets worse with age. Plus a lack of practice with problems with physics as solutions.

Sirius likes puzzles - and he swam across an ocean. I don't see him having physical or conceptual problems with a jar lid... But, if he had never seen a twist lid like that before, it might throw him (or anyone) for a loop. He'd tilt it around, see that there are teeth in the glass hooking into the metal lid, so it won't lift off... But he might twist it and find resistance. It's not just working. So... that's not the solution, surely? He can't break it, that'd be losing the puzzle. But if it is resisting then its wrong. Hm...

I don't care how physically big Sirius is, in my opinion he can't even open a jar without magic (in my opinion he can't do ANYTHING without magic because he's a pureblood nepo baby who probably couldn't make his bed WITH spells)

He'll stand there trying to open it and fail, again and again, and again, but it won't open.

Severus?

He just takes it off him with a "tsk", opens it himself, no magic just his delicate lil wrists, hands it back to Sirius, and leaves.

Doesn't even need to say anything.

[novelconcepts]

Do you ever just lay awake at night, turning over in your head the stark difference in delivery between Hewson's Van saying--steadily, unshakably--"it's just something that's happening to you...happening to us" and Cypress' Taissa saying--imploringly, whiningly--"this was not just my dream, this was our dream"?

Do you ever just turn it over and over, how often Tai tried to scare Van away, and how it only made Van set her feet more firmly? How Taissa's first love was this person who saw a problem fall into Taissa's lap, a problem that was quite literally trapped inside Taissa's body, and decided unflinchingly: No, that's an us problem now? How she refused point-blank to walk away even with blood in her mouth, how she flatly informed Tai "I'm never gonna be scared of you", and promptly turned a moment of pain into a declaration of love? And how this would etch itself into Taissa for the rest of her life? How she'd take these things that worked with Van--with the person Van was, with the bond they shared--and try so hard to run through an identical script with Simone?

Except Simone is her own person. A completely different kind of person. A person who hasn't been offered any of the context, any of the realities going on inside Taissa. So: naturally she doesn't respond the way Van did at eighteen--and will go on to do all over again in her forties. Naturally, she hears our dream as the excuse it is, not as a plea for connection. Naturally, she is scared away when Taissa pushes, and shouts, and begs. Because there isn't blood in her mouth, not yet, but there will be. And they have a son to worry about. And she isn't eighteen and a special kind of immortal, a special kind of romanticized. She's a grown woman with responsibilities, with priorities, with an understanding that you can't fix someone just because you love them. And Tai can't just perform a revival of the play she and Van had memorized twenty-five years later with a whole new performer in the works, and expect it to shake out the same.

Of course it doesn't work. But look at Taissa trying it. Look at Taissa trying to reframe her first love through a new lens. Trying to recast it. Trying to play it through again. Van taught her love was sticking out the blood, shaking off the pain, making a you problem into an us problem. Does it ever just eat at you, how tragic it is, watching Taissa try to shape her marriage around a woman who isn't even wearing a ring?

[yyuwii]

"How could Claude have been referring to the Madame Pompadou putting Diana down if he was not present at the class?"

Is it really that surprising he could make an educated guess? Claude grew up in similar shoes as Athy

If you didn't know Claude's mother was a commoner as well (I think this might be something mentioned in the novel, but it is stated on the wmmap wiki, since the spoon follows the novel in the first season I personally believe it to be canon)

I don't think it was far-fetched that he knew what would be brought up because his own mother was also of commoner blood, because it wasn't kindly looked upon on.

He probably heard similar things when his mother was brought up in a conversation, about his commoner mother. Most likely worse than Athy heard, because he didn't have any social status when growing up.

I don't mean that he knew exactly what was said, but rather, he had a rough idea because he'd been in the same shoes before

"The possibility that Claude found her whimpers annoying."

Does this look like a man that would find his own child whimpering annoying?

Clearly, he was very distressed about her fainting. He wanted the best for her and to help her recover.

Claude is a character, not the audience. bro has no idea he was going to kill Athy originally, holding him against that hearing "go to sleep" as her last words before she slept seems like an overkill to me

(if we are going as far as to apply modern laws onto a webtoon about why Claude didn't ask for consent, you know he is her parent he can consent, right? because according to modern law Athy is not 18 at the time, therefore she cannot consent?)

and about the whole praise thing, Claude does personally praise Athy quite a few times. On top of my head at the debaunte and when she figures out how to use float magic. Just because he doesn't praise her verbally doesn't mean he doesn't support and show his love and care in different ways

I agree that parents shouldn't be criticizing when people praise their kid if it affects their self-esteem, but that ultimately boils down if affects the child.

i personally see that Claude was just bantering with Felix, and since Athy has never been truly discouraged or shown that she felt uncomfortable with it.

Like sure, Athy's inner monologue shows us that she thinks he's a jerk for saying that, but does it diminish her confidence or make her doubt herself in doing it again? Not really, she's always shown that she was pretty confident when it comes to her appearance. I've always just understood that as their dynamic

also yes, he does also watch her almost drown, but does save her. he was struggling about letting her die or live.

which is essentially his mistaken thoughts about diana choosing her over him, which is a big part of his trauma, and letting her live because he was finally able to separate his own trauma and athy and seeing athy for the child that she is

like i don't deny that it was a terrible thing to do, but he does grow and learns because he does remove those plants later, and saves athy twice in the exact same situation without thinking

Claude does redeem himself later in the story; he acknowledges his mistakes and failures and grows from them.

Claude isn't as simple as just an abusive and neglectful father who then turned into a caring but cold father later. He was literally wrestling his own trauma throughout the whole story in an unhealthy way.

I do think that its unfair if you base his character off his actions early chapters instead of wmmap as a whole.

i just find it difficult to criticize anyone for their actions when they're clearly mentally struggling, not to say they shouldn't be held accountable. but the things you do in a bad headspace don't define you as a whole person.

but these are just my thoughts and breaking down why Claude isn't as simple as a lot of people think he is :>

wmmap; athy is actually an unreliable narrator (sometimes)

so it's come to my attention that Athy is much more of an unreliable narrator than she's lets on, it took me a few re-reads to notice, just because it's incredibly subtle and only applies to her younger days with Claude specifically

When Athy coughed up blood and was bedridden, she thinks that her dad is being heartless and forcing her back to sleep but that's not true because

its not that shes being noisy but before lucas pops up, this is all he knows to do to alleviate her pain. he doesn't want to her to be in pain and not because she was actually being noisy.

claude putting her to sleep was his way of caring for athy.

but athy doesn't know that, i guess she's in too much pain to listen to this conversation. but when we follow her perspective and her inner thoughts on things, we actually end up believing her narrative, and this builds up that claude is uncaring and cold

here's another early example;

again, we follow athy thoughts and she thinks that Claude thinks that he was referring that her being a fairy is nonsense

which makes claude seem cold and unloving again

which is suprise suprise actually untrue, if you look back a little earlier during the class the madam talks about something else,

he was actually referring to this, her putting athy down because of diana's commoner bloodline and athy not being a "pure-bred" aristocrat

you can see the panel where he thinks about it for a while, and Athy's little slip-up (because she doesn't like bringing diana up in front of claude due to her fear of abandonment) and she hesitates to actually say that the madam meant that she looks like her mom and not some fairy

claude knew, and he is shown to be well aware of the nature of nobles and how people think (which makes sense because it is canon that he is very intelligent).

he knew what was actually said to athy, and he's actually telling her to not care about the nonsense about what they say about her mom and implying she is not pure enough. he was trying to reassure her and made her feel better after she heard something terrible about herself and her mom

funnily enough, he doesn't deny that athy looks like a fairy when you realise what he was actually referring to

so, throughout most of her childhood claude actually showed love and affection in his own way, but it was never really acknowledged by athy, she has always misinterpreted it and missed the signs of it because she was scared that he was going to kill her eventually and didn't want to get attached

i think im going to write about how much claude is misunderstood in this fandom and break down his character tmr... anyways this is going to be where I write bl and my literature notebook :>

anyways claude is a really tragic and broken character and wmmap is literally about how athy and claude heal each other's trauma by bonding together as family which I don't think is talked about at all

my ask box is also open so send me anything! :>

[evilmagician430]

mabeline/jonah wolf in my 2020s timeskip au! read my tags for more information about her

[thenextlordthorpe]

It was obvious where he came from. Tobias knew that he wore who he was so obviously no matter how he acted or pretended to be something else. He could work hard at it to prove to himself and others he was more than the reluctant heir but no matter how far he travelled or who he loved it all came back to it. As much as he’s being read for who he is and how accurate it is for once, he can’t help but grin at the compliment. “All I take from that is that you thought I was handsome from the very moment you saw me even though you were about to die. I had you from the moment you saw me, did I?” The playfulness and flirtatious oozes from his voice as he moves closer to Piet, grinning from ear to ear from choosing to focus on that and thinking how it would have an effect on his new husband. “You really wanted me with a tattoo, didn’t you? Well, make your own mark on me.” Now he was being as seductive as he possibly could. When he was with Piet that way, it was more than sex. He’d never felt closer to anyone when they connected that way, the build up had been there for years. Cultivated by an intense bond from gifted to them from the ocean and repeatedly returned by fate putting them together over and over again even though other forces tried to work against them. They had something stronger. “You know how much I crave it.”

There was no love for his father. None between them and Tobias knew all he was to the man was his heir, feeling like an extension of someone else’s wants and dreams and treated worse for it. Death wasn’t what he wanted for the man, but he did want freedom and one thing he had learned to do on his journeys away from home was how to adapt. This was one of those moments where he’d have to choose between a man, he held no love for and one he loved so completely and more than he valued himself. Lad out simple like that, there was no choice or pretence of it. He heard what Piet said and felt even more in love with him, feeling the deep care from Piet towards himself and breathing heavy because of it. Someone loved him so much that they commit the most final act in honour of that and in retribution of it. Pirates were dangerous, murderous and deceitful but this was his pirate, and all of those more questionable qualities were now being presented in service of their shared love. “Do it,” he says firm and so different to how he said just moments before. Without a word he closes the gap between them, takes Piet’s face in his hand and places a long but gentle kiss on the man. Nobody had protected him or sought justice for him the way Piet had and he wanted to honour that even if it meant both of their hands would be covered in shared blood in some way. “It is hard to embrace something you have fought against for so long. I love you and I want nothing to get in our way of the life together we want, the life we can take for ourselves without limitation. You don’t need it but you have my blessing and will never have judgment about what you do in service of us. We’ve said our vows already but that is one I wish to add on them. I warn you,” he grins, “you’re about to get quite the family because of your marriage to me. And I….” he stops and can’t remember ever speaking about Piets. “…I have no knowledge of yours. Of ours, I suppose it is now. Tell me.”  

PEOPLE CARRIED FORMATIVE MOMENTS IN THEIR SOULS LONG AFTER THEY’VE BEEN FORGOTTEN BUT IT WAS A RARE THING TO HAVE ONE WHEN AGE ALLOWED IT TO BE REMEMBERED. The storm was one of those. Not the first time that death had closely held Piet in its comforting grasp and nor was it the last but it was one of the moments that shaped the rest of his life. “You hate what you are born into but your nobility is all over your face that it stood you out from the crowd. In that, I knew you from first sight. On board the ship my suspicions were confirmed. You’re not nearly enough of the mystery you wanted to be, Tobias.” Humanity wanted their secrets and their mystery as if it gave them purpose and Piet’s could be similar but it was done out of necessity to survive after reputation was growing bigger than he could outrun or bribe. Smart people knew who they were and could use it, those with more awareness could see when time was up and shift to different situations. “A lot gave you away. Your face, as handsome as it is, and very alluring looks noble born but it was the way the other men regarded you. There was respect there but something under it that I could tell you weren’t truly one of the brothers on deck from how they treated you. Familiar but with some distance. Your body showed your hard work, but it was unmarked of ink despite your years of service, and you did not even have the introductory ink on your skin. I never revealed my pirate truth to you, but you knew it and in similar effect I knew of your history without needing to ask.”

No test was required yet it was the resistance that soured the pirate of the intentions between the two of them. “I’ve said before that I will do it but I forgot to mention that I want to do it. Jealous as I am, I have survived my long years before I knew you and after by not letting people get away with stealing or dishonouring me or my life. Men have stolen from me and I always find them. I’ve marooned people without food to ensure their slow starvation. Thieves of my one crew had their ears and nose slit when found guilty to say nothing of the blood my hands have known, blood you have seen covering it. Your father took you from me and his blood will be the next to cover my hands with no hesitation. Instead, there will be satisfaction that you Lords are not used to dirtying yourselves with.” Violent as it were, there was a love for it. The lordly father had to die for the crimes he committed when he took Tobias, took his love, from him. “When he is dead he will no longer be able to taint anything,” and with a smirk Piet returns to Tobias and pulls him for a long and romantic kiss. “Embrace your power for once, Tobias.”

[funkle420]

a great way to combat genAI in the future would be educating kids (and teens and college students and all ppl) on art way more.

[absentlyabbie]

sometimes you're just innocently scrolling along down your dash and you read a post and you're just nodding along like "yep, good post"

and then a singular sentence leaps out and catches your throat in its teeth and your breath draws like a knife

because for fuck's sake, that goddamn tumblr post's single goddamn sentence just slapped the realization out of you that, before you had reckoned with how you had been abused and gaslit through your childhood, you used to pre-apologize for what was done to you when you described it to others, so they didn't get the wrong idea and understood,

"i was a difficult child" and that means it was, of course, at foundation your fault

you just never could make it easy to like you, you see, you were such a handful, such a problem child, so hard to tolerate without caveat, so hard to love because of the conditions you failed to meet

and you used to believe that, for so long you believed that, that you, unlike better children, were like playing parenting on nightmare mode

if only you hadn't been so stubborn if only you had just obeyed and not questioned if only you never argued or talked back if only you weren't such a liar, always such a liar

you believed it all, and because the ones meant to shelter and guard and hold you repeated these things so many times for so many years and with such vehemence... it had to be true

and it might just be the most cruel thing that was done to you

[lunarruled]

When it came to the dead Kyleigh hadn't given them much thought other than to kill them or just avoid them altogether. She learned they were attracted to loud sounds and movement, so she always kept quiet and tried not to ever have a fire grow big enough it could be seen. That was pretty difficult considering the need to keep it going for warmth or for cooking, but that hadn't been an issue until she ran into Magna. But now that the other woman was bringing up some good points about them she too began to wonder just what it was that kept the dead going. Other than the obvious need to consume flesh. But if they were technically dead how were they still moving and making sounds?

The more questions that came up about them only made her even more frustrated over the entire thing, so she decided to just focus on the living instead. If Magna wanted to bring that damn bike with her she could, whatever kept her moving and not complaining. "Hmmm yeah they do seem attracted to movement as well. So let's get a move on and see what we find."

A sudden outburst of sass let Kyleigh know that they must be getting close to a full moon, and she looked away so Magna wouldn't see the slight panic in her eyes. She never had to worry about that when she was by herself but now she was going to have to think of a good excuse for disappearing a couple of nights without sounding as if she had suddenly gone mad. The distraction of having another body to worry about while entering the home was enough to bring her back to her usual self, and once they were settled inside she would make sure she would offer an apology to Magna for snapping at her.

Following Magna over to the front door the half lycan grabbed the knife at her hip and readied herself in case something met them on the other side. It was smart of the woman to knock first, the sound would attract any others if there should be more they couldn't see. There weren't thankfully, Kyleigh giving a nod that she was ready for this.

As soon as the door was opened Kyleigh's only focus was to dispatch the bodies, check for more, then raid for supplies. The smell hit her before she could even see the dead, but it was so normal to her now she didn't really pay much mind to it. The old man appeared to be the worse of the two, easily going down by Magna's hand. It wasn't something either one of them liked to do but it was necessary. Old pictures on the wall said they had a rather large family, probably ones that had wondered if they were alright or even tried to get to them at some point. That was what hurt more than anything else, the fact that there were plenty of people ou there that would always wonder, would never get a real answer about their loved ones.

The woman had a bit more fight left in her, her rotted out jaws snapping as Kyleigh approached her. She was taller too, having to lean down when she attempted to bite the half lycan but she was met with the same fate as the old man. As her now naked body dropped to the ground Kyleigh scrunched up her face, wondering how that wrinkled flesh had rotted so quickly. While Magna went into the kitchen she began to look a bit more closely around the room the two had been trapped in. A few pictures littered the floor, some empty cans of food and water bottles on a small table. They had been camped out in that room until the very end, a sad fate that many had met.

Stopping when Magna came back and began to actually examine the woman's body Kyleigh's head turned to the side as she wondered what the hell she was doing. There couldn't possibly be anything of use on either one of them, the house was where it would all be. When she was informed that there were no bite marks or injuries of any kind it all began to make sense. Magna had been right back at the prison; every single person carried this virus. And it didn't matter if they were bitten. As soon as they died they would turn, meaning that none of them were ever going to be truly safe.

"Shit, that makes perfect sense actually. The other people I was with before were bitten so I just assumed that was the only way; that you had to have direct contact with one. This makes everything so much more dangerous. That means we could get a bad cold, die in our sleep, and come back as one of those things. No wonder the government didn't do shit for us. They already knew there was no hope."

Typical really. The people in power only cared for themselves anyway. Probably knew before anyone else what this was and what it did. Shaking her head Kyleigh let her anger over it all go for the moment and switched right back into scavenge mode.

"Yeah anyone dies around me and I'm not waiting a single second. But let's get what we can and get the hell out of here. This shit is even more depressing than it was from the street."

At Kyleigh’s mention of her parents, Magna noticed that she had never mentioned parents, just an aunt in Boston. As they kept scouting the area, Magna didn’t say anything either, not bothered by the silence that stretched between them, but her respect for this woman had grown the moment she realized she had possibly watched her family die and still gotten to this point. How was she so resilient, to be able to remain so composed, able to make jokes and laugh?

The thought that it was strange how the dead had not been able to sniff them out when they hid behind the trash crossed her mind as well. Magna had always assumed they had a superior sense of smell and hearing when compared to humans. They weren’t smart, but she would guess if your only instinct was to feed on the living, that would make your senses a bit sharper. Not that Magna wouldn’t be glad if their senses were no better than human senses. But she couldn’t rule out the possibility that they could smell survivors easily. Maybe the smell of trash had just been covering their scent. It was an interesting theory. It meant that maybe next time, they would be doomed if they tried to hide somewhere. Better keep that in mind.

“As long as we watch where the hell we’re going, we’ll be fine”, Magna protested in regard to the bike. “It might even save our asses.”

As the dead began to bang on the window, Magna realized they didn’t just tell apart the living and dead by scent like she used to assume. She had always thought so because they never attacked each other, they instinctively seemed to know who was alive and who was undead.

“They’re banging on the window. When that pack passed by, they didn’t bang on the window. They can’t smell us through the glass, yet they know we’re prey”, Magna observed. “There’s something else that makes them recognize we’re alive.”

But what was it? Some of the fresher sickos looked just like people. If it wasn’t looks or smell, what was it?

Ah. There were those dinosaurs that recognized their prey by movement, Magna remembered.

“Gotta be the way we move, right? Anyway”, Magna decided to stop talking, as it wasn’t helping, not when that banging could attract more of them for as long as it went on, “I’m coming with you. I know you’re tough, but two on one isn’t fair, not when I’m out there, and I can help.”

A peek through the window indicated that the two were locked up in the room. The door was closed, which they wouldn’t be able to open. Walking over to the front door, she knocked against it a few times, just to check if something was inside. A trick she had come to value. If something was there, then she could press her ear to the door and check how many there were. And she did. She didn’t want to go in there only to figure out there were many more than those two inside.

“Can’t hear anything, I’d say we should go in.”

Knife ready, Magna got ready into position once Kyleigh opened the door to the living room where the two dead ones were wandering (she would let her take the lead and only open it if Kyleigh insisted she’d do it), ready to defend her if she got overwhelmed. She noticed that the air had a kind of stale smell as if the windows had not been opened in a very long time, but it didn’t reek of decay. Maybe this place was cleaner than Magna would have guessed.

Once the door was opened, the scent of decay began to fill the entire hallway, and it probably wouldn’t be gone so soon.

The old man’s body dropped to the floor soon as Magna drove her knife through the back of his skull. As the lady joined what must have been her husband on the floor and stopped moving, Magna walked over to the back of the room, which was the kitchen area. “Give me a moment.”

Grabbing the oven mitts on the counter, Magna put them on only to move the woman’s body around a bit, whose bath robe had gone off completely while Kyleigh fought her, exposing her nude body. This was gross, but Magna had to know if what she was thinking was true.

“There are no bite marks. I can’t even see a scratch”, Magna sighed as she inspected the body, nose scrunched up in disgust. “I told you everyone had it”, Magna reminded. “I was ninety-nine percent sure back then. I’ve just seen too many people come back as one of them just from dying. This isn’t the first one I have seen who turned but lacks a bite mark. Remember that woman we saw behind the prison bars? She wasn’t the only one”, Magna explained.

“I found one of our doctors locked up in a room. When I found her, she was one of them. She left a suicide letter. I thought maybe she’d done it because she got bit, but nope. Letter said she’s locked herself up in that room with supplies the moment she found out about that virus. When she realized she should have been helping people, she killed herself by overdosing on medication. Still turned, even though she had no bite marks and didn’t mention a bite in her letter. Weird, right?”

And Magna went on. “She wasn’t the only one. We had a big riot at the prison. Some prisoners shot some guards. A couple got hit in the chest or stomach and came back as one of the sickos. That made me suspect it’s airborne, and I think our lady gives me even stronger evidence. Explains why this shit spread so fast, too.”

The truth was ugly, but Magna thought Kyleigh deserved to know it. She has been talking too much, though. Time to get going. “If anyone here dies, we end them before they turn. Let’s go and check if this house has anything we could use.”

[skitskatdacat63]

helloooo you haven’t heard from me in a while but since i consider u an f1 historian i just saw on tiktok a video of an intro (before the 2012 korean gp i assume) where they had the drivers with gangnam style as the music… i was wondering if you might have it since that has been driving me insaaaane 😭😭 thank you sm catie have a lovely day 🫶

Hallo!!!! Nice to see you again! I'm glad I can be held in such high esteem 😭 But please anon, we def saw the same tiktok, this one, right? A great thanks to the op on tiktok who linked me the video!!

Why did you have to force me think again about all the Gangnam Style stuff in F1 in 2012 though????(ex. BBC vid with PSY, vid/pics of Seb and Mark with PSY, both learning the dance, as well as other clips of drivers such as Felipe and Nico dancing)