#Avengers End Game

[irondad3000]

EXCUSE ME AVENGERS ENDGAME WAS NOT FIVE YEARS AGO STFU

[sad-trash-hobo]

If you really think about it. Bucky went missing at the end of winter soldier, and then 2(?) Years later, they found him during civil war. Then he immediately goes into cryofreeze after that. Sam and Steve go on the run for 2 years, and then come back to Wakanda for infinite war, and Steve sees bucky again. But was that the first time he saw Bucky again? And then Bucky gets snapped and is gone for 5 years, and then he comes back, and almost immediately, Steve goes back in time.

So, if Steve did visit Bucky in Wakanda, assuming that Bucky was under for even just 6 months, that's really only 1 and a half years that Steve could visit him. And in that amount of time Steve just? Got over the fact that Bucky was back. After finding Bucky and going into shock over the realization and letting Bucky kill him, because Steve didn't know he was gonna live, he fully expected to die, and then he just. Maybe visited him? And then lost him again and was depressed over it and then finally got Bucky back, but there's no big scene for their reunion. I'd even say that his reunion with Sam was more important, and I love Sam, but focusing on Bucky right now.

Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers were inseparable on both school yard and battle field, Bucky was the only commando to give his life in service. And then per Steve's timeline, not even 10 years later, maybe 3 years for Bucky, he just. Leaves Bucky.

[papersniffer]

Oh, just that one time Tony Stark was trying to figure out Time Travel and nothing else worked till he tried a Mobius Strip. Perfection!

[bearsinpotatosacks]

If Night at the Museum and Marvel take place in the same universe (because Khonshu's in both), that means that the snap took place in NATM. My question is, do the museum exhibits class as a life, because they come to life at night? Does that mean half of the museum disappears? Or would that only happen if the snap took place at night?

[semetarycosplay]

I am not one for female characters, but Scarlet Witch is honestly so wonderful and powerful. I love Wanda dearly. She is such a complex character who is definitely flawed, but does what she thinks is best.

Photos: Lost Stars Imaging

[hottpinkpenguin]

owo bucky barnes self sacrifice 🥺?

A/N: anon, thanks for your patience!!! this is a heart wrencher, fair warning. Bucky is the perfect person for a self-sacrifice fic <3 <3

For You - Bucky Barnes X GN!Reader

Warnings: angst, angst, angst, and more angst; character death; Avengers End Game non-canon; Avengers End Game spoilers Word Count: 2179

“In order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. A soul for a soul.”

As soon as the Stonekeeper’s words met your ears, your eyes snapped up to Bucky’s. 

No. 

The word tore through you like a bolt of lightning. You saw it in his eyes: that stubborn, noble, horrifically devoted part of him that was always looking for a reason - an excuse, really - to sacrifice himself for the people he loved. For you. 

“Bucky, god damnit, no!” You flung yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He was warm against you as he enveloped you in his arms, burying his face in your neck. He placed a kiss there, soft and apologetic, to the skin just beneath your jaw. You could feel the goodbye in that kiss.

“Don’t you do it. Don’t you fucking do it!” you raged, balling your hands into fists as you made yourself a dead weight against him. Hot tears sprang into your eyes. 

“Y/N, there’s no way to-”

“I don’t care, I don’t care! We’ll figure it out, we always do! Tony will figure it out, Bucky, just please don’t do this, don’t you dare leave me!” Sobs tore loose from your chest as you felt him try to pull out of your embrace. Years you’d been waiting for him, literal years, and this selfish bastard was going to end it all in a blaze of glory, dying for his love. But where did that leave you? Alone and doomed to a life without him. You’d been through this once already, when Tony Stark had learned about Bucky’s role in his parents’ death and practically torn the world apart to get to him. You’d seen flashes of your future without Bucky in it, and you couldn’t bear it. You wouldn’t. 

“Y/N, I have to. You know I do.” His voice was gentle, calm, as if he were explaining something to a child. The finality in his voice made you even angrier. You clung to him harder, body shaking now. He’d stopped trying to pry you off of him, but you knew he wasn’t relenting. 

Sensing him stonewalling in his decision, you turned your rage to the Stonekeeper. He hovered above the ground a few feet from the two of you, his unnatural crimson skin 

framing a bland expression. The emptiness in his eyes as he watched your life literally crumbling around you made your blood boil.

“There must be another way,” you growled through gritted teeth. You wanted to kill him, to shred him to ribbons and let the Soul Stone take his existence as payment for its price. 

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, he shook his head impassively. “The Soul Stone wants a sacrifice of love, not one of convenience.” 

You whimpered pitifully as you hid your face in Bucky’s shoulder as if you could hide from the truth in those words. You knew, somehow, that he was right. Killing him - if he could even be killed - wouldn’t be enough of what the Stone demanded. There was only one thing you loved in this world, and only one thing the Stone would accept.

“It’ll be alright, y/n,” Bucky whispered into your ear as you sobbed against him. 

“No, it won’t be. But you won’t be here to care, will you? You’ll be gone, and I’ll be left. I can’t lose you… I won’t…” 

Your voice trailed off suddenly in a moment of clarity. 

There was another option. 

You hadn’t considered it before, but it all made sense. 

Bucky must have heard the realization in your voice, because in the next instant he tensed against you. Thankfully, your reflexes were faster, thanks to your grueling training in the Red Room. You grabbed the back of Bucky’s jacket and threw him away from you with all your strength. You weren’t able to put as much space between the two of you as you wanted, but it was enough. It would have to be.

With as much force as you could summon, you turned away from him and the impassive Stonekeeper and sprinted towards the edge of the cliff behind you. The strange landscape of Vormir stretched out before you, the perpetual twilight purple and pink tint in the sky illuminating an endless landscape of sand dunes peppered with marshes. It was beautiful, you realized with a hint of bittersweet sadness as you closed the distance to the edge of the cliff.

Time slowed, and you let your eyelids flutter closed as you took the last step towards the edge of the cliff, the sound of air rushing past your ears engulfing you. Just before you felt yourself fall into the empty air, your body jerked backwards as something hard and cold dug into your shoulder. Your legs snapped out from under you like a ragdoll as the momentum of your sprint clashed with the force of the backward pull from your shoulder.

You saw him rush past you in the corner of your eye. Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, his face serene as he took your place and launched over the cliff. Your body launched backwards from where he’d grabbed your shoulder with his vibranium arm, the edge of the cliff receding away from you. 

In the moment before he fell below your sight line, Bucky turned back to you, his gaze meeting yours. All the moments you two had shared since you’d met almost four years ago flickered between you in the space of a heartbeat. The memory of when you’d first seen him, your first kiss, countless sunrises waking up tangled together, the feeling of his heartbeat against your cheek, the pointless arguments and the painfully beautifully make-up’s - they all exploded in your mind like a barrage of fireworks. 

You reached your arms out towards him, an involuntary shriek of grief splitting the unnatural calm of Vormir as you cried out his name. 

He smiled at you - soft, sweet, and happy - before his body fell below the edge of the cliff. 

Your back collided with the wall of rock, a bolt of pain ripping through your right rib cage as your heart collapsed on itself in your chest. You crumpled where you lay, the weight of your loss pressing the wind out of your lungs. Bucky would never let you have your damn moment. He’d never let you fight without his watchful eye - even though you’d been part of the Avengers long before him. He’d never let you turn the full force of your hatred for yourself loose. He’d always been there to make sure it was his body and spirit that got broken, not yours. He’d held you together when you’d been determined to tear yourself apart. And even in his last moments, he’d always put you first. Above himself, above everything. You knew he hadn’t really sacrificed himself for the team, or for the half of the galaxy that had been lost when Thanos snapped. He’d done it for you. It was always for you, all for you. 

* * * * *

You couldn’t remember leaving the top of that godforsaken mountain, but when your eyelids lifted open, you found yourself flat on your back, floating in a still pool of cold water. The vault of Vormir’s sky above you was painted with vivid streaks of grapefruit pink against an indigo backdrop. The colors were more vibrant, somehow, and you had the distinct impression that this strange planet was grieving Bucky’s loss just as you were. 

As you sat up amidst the silence, you felt something small and heavy in your palm. You didn’t need to look down to know what it was. Your heart knew the cost of the Soul Stone too intimately to question whether Bucky’s sacrifice had worked. 

You felt years of training struggle to anesthetize yourself against the hollow, broken grief that was pulsing inside you. Giving yourself over to that blank numbness, you pressed the initiator on the Time-Space GPS bracelet Tony had given you. The gut-wrenching sensation of quantum travel blurred your vision as you let your mind submerge into grief…

* * * * *

“Where is he? Where’s Bucky?” Steve Rogers crouched down above you as you struggled not to vomit on the deck of Tony Stark’s shiny, chrome Quantum Tunnel. 

Unable to make yourself speak, you stretched out your hand, the apricot-colored Soul Stone glinting merrily against the white of your advanced tech suit. 

“Take it,” you cried hoarsely to Steve, his eyes roaming over your face and the Soul Stone as confusion turned to understanding. “Take it, Steve.”

Sensing your desperation, it was Bruce Banner who snatched the accursed stone of your palm. A deadly quiet descended over the room as your friends waited for you to confirm what they were all beginning to piece together. Only the sound of your strangled sobs pierced the quiet; you hadn’t even realized you were still crying. 

“No… no, it can’t be… it’s all wrong. Tony? TONY!” 

Steve’s grief was the first to surface. It was raw and angry, like yours had been. Of all the Avengers, you knew that Steve would be the one to grieve Bucky alongside you. Although you should have felt comforted by the knowledge that you weren’t alone, feeling the heat of his emotions so close to your own made you inexplicably angry. 

“It’s not wrong, Steve,” you replied back, your voice cold and hard as iron. Steve and Tony froze mid-argument, their eyes glued on you, sensing how close you were to snapping. 

“Bucky’s dead.” Your voice splintered as you forced the words out. “He’s dead. It’s done.” A memory of Bucky’s calm, loving smile danced across your field of vision unwillingly. Oddly enough, the memory felt like aloe on a burn. It tamped down the red-hot edges of your grief. 

His words floated back to you, the last words he’d said to you: it’ll be alright. 

No, it won’t, you yelled back at his memory in your mind. It won’t be alright. But I’ll keep going. If only because I know your stubborn ass would hate me if I didn’t. 

You’d never been a religious person and you’d certainly never put any stock in the idea of an afterlife. That is, not until you’d lost Bucky. There was no way you could imagine a soul like his blinking out of existence. He burned too brightly, loved too hard. The force of love like that didn’t get extinguished with the death of a body. 

As if in confirmation, from somewhere far outside yourself - or from deep within your core, you couldn’t be sure - a feeling stretched out towards you. It was like a caress, a shadow of a memory, and it ran along the length of your mind the way a shiver runs up a spine. It was Bucky. You knew it in the same way you’d known since arriving on Vormir that one of you wouldn’t be coming home. It was the kind of knowledge that lives deep in your bones, an understanding so deep and powerful that it’s beyond words. 

Against yourself, you smiled. Tears spilled over your lash line as your eyes crinkled. The sweetness of that caress lingered like an aftertaste before it faded, gently, into the space where it’d come from. Even when it was gone, you knew it was still there, somewhere, even if you couldn’t see it.

The moment faded and your attention slowly settled back to the moment, to the room full of your friends around you. One of your loves was dead, you realized, but gathered around you were the rest. Your friends. Your family. 

“Bucky’s dead,” you repeated, standing this time. The grief in your chest wasn’t burning as hot, but the weight still pulled on you. Like a parent comforting a crying child, you held your grief tenderly as you fixed your gaze on your friends one by one. Steve, Tony, Bruce, Scott, Natalie. 

“But he’s not gone.”

From that same space where Bucky’s caress had flourished, you felt a twinge of pride. You could picture him, smiling at you with that dreamy, I-never-knew-I-could-be-this-happy mist in his eyes. You did good, kid, he’d say, because he knew you hated it when he called you that. 

For you, you replied back, tossing your words towards that feeling of pride. It’s all for you now, you assured him. You wouldn’t let me live for you when you were alive, but you can’t stop me now that you’re dead. 

A laugh vibrated in the space where Bucky’s memory hung in your mind. You could picture his laugh, the one that made him throw his head back and his brown eyes sparkle. 

And I won’t try, he reassured you. 

You let your soul smile back at him. From the corner of your eye, you saw the Soul Stone glimmer like starlight from where Bruce had set it down. 

I’ll be waiting, Bucky’s memory said as it receded once again into darkness.

You nodded, physically this time, not caring if your friends thought you were mad. 

I know.

[storkmuffin]

on to a Steve Bucky centric bad faith viewing of endgame.

skip a bunch until Steve who shaves his beard. tony is brought back and Steve and Tony tell each other they lost. Thanos wiped out 50 percent of all life. well darn. like an anti Noah.

[skreenii]

RIP Tony Stark day 😞😞😞

[cassedyevihtt]

INFINITY WAR Spiderman dust scene analysis: Why the fuck did it hurt so much?

Okay so hello, welcome, we are going to understand that one painful scene. Here is a video of my initial reaction: (Everything here will obviously include spoilers)

So back to analysing this bitch:

This movie as whole is a bit of dystopian masterpiece. It starts with two pretty known people dying and one being left floating out in space. With that start anything can happen. Anyone of our heroes could die. And here we have this OP man Thanos walking around collecting little gems so he can wipe out half the universe. The stakes are high and the movie keeps reminding us of that.

So this "wipe out half the universe" thing reminds us of danger all the time. We know something might happen. It's a writing phenomenon called "bomb under the table" you know it's there but you don't know when or if it'll go off.

And when Thanos snaps his fingers we see shit go down. We see all these side characters and all these heroes silently fade away. We see everything through Tony's eyes, but we think "surely they won't kill off the most important/loved ones" but the the king of wakanda fades and suddenly we hear;

"Stark, I don't feel so good"

and we think NO. NOT HIM. because guess what? Tony dragged this boy in and after that Tony has always been responsable and been there to save his ass. In Civil War Tony let the spider fight, and get hurt, but he also set a boundry that the spider was too much hurt and was done for that day. Even then we see how Peter wants to push on to impress Tony.

Later Tony flies Spiderman out of the water he could've drowned in and makes him warm again.

Even after that Tony helps Parker with the ship that Parker tries to keep together with his webs but can't.

in the start of infinity war we see Peter on his way to work and impress until he physically can't breathe. He falls, but Tony got his back and gives him his Robo suit.

Point is we see how competent and protective Tony is to Peter. He somehow always manages to find and protect the younger hero. The younger hero always thinks that he doesn't need all that help and that he always has more to show and more to give.

So towards the end of Infinity war when we hear Parker seriously admit that he doesn't feel good. That he doesn't have more to give and that he is afraid and WANTS Tony to save him. That hurts because suddenly we are reminded that he is a teenager. A child. A person that might be able to protect himself and stand alone, but not all the way, not all the time. And this time Peter admits that and wants that help that Tony could give him, except in this case he can't. The resourcefull mentor and hero Tony Stark/Iron man is rendered helpless. he has been able to help so many times, but not this time. not the time when the threate would mean certain death.

Tony can only watch and listen as the kid disintegrates in his arms.

Summary: how to make a good death scene/all is lost scene Mentor x Student.

-risk we knew all along (gun under table): Peter could die/get seriously hurt

-risk get avoided most of the time cuz Mentor: Tony is there to save him though, no matter what that kid finds himself in

-breaking character: This confident mentor character stark that is very good at what he does is suddenly rendered completely helpless as he fails and the one he swore to protect dies. The lively, eager, naive and happy go lucky person layes down this "i want to prove myself cuz im strong" thought and instead replaces it with; "pls help me, i dont want this to happen" the total oposite of what he normally does.

-make the bad thing seem impossible (storywise) "how could a story abt heroes end with them losing?" and then make it happen anyway.

[ablueboombox-be]

Avengers Assemble • we are the heroes • "we won Mr. Stark" | Endgame (FMV) | Marvel (Måns Zelmerlöw)

[mischievous-thunder]

Whose hypnosis is more effective? Logan's probably losing be it willingly or unwillingly.

[nerd6log]

A Captain America series that takes place after End Game where we get to see the Cap and Peggy living their best life please

[marveldaily]

Avengers: Infinity War // Loki 'Science Fiction'

[semetarycosplay]

"I used to think of myself one way. But, after this. I am something else. I'm still me, I think. But... that's not what everyone else sees."

Photos: Lost Stars Imaging

[amethystarachnid]

FORBIDDEN

⤷ LOKI LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, angst and maybe a tiny bit of fluff at the end

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL bingo

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 7.8k (damn)

ᯓ★ TW(s): so much angst that it needs a tw, arranged marriages, Loki vs Tv remote (remote won), Loki vs Spaghetti (Spaghetti won)

ᯓ★ Timeline: before the movies

ᯓ★ Request: Hi! I love the idea for this challenge, so I'd love to request a Forbidden relationship with Loki if that's okay. If you prefer not to write about him, I'm happy to see it with Tony instead! 🤍 ( @nicoline1998enilocin) [we love Loki in this blog <3 ]

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The air is thick with tension as you stand in the shadows of the grand hall, your heart racing in your chest. From where you are, you can see him—Loki, the God of Mischief, prince of Asgard, and the one person you’re not supposed to love. He sits at the long, golden table, laughing lightly at something his brother Thor says, though his eyes betray the storm of emotions swirling within him. Your chest tightens at the sight, the distance between you feeling more like a chasm than a few short steps.

You shouldn’t be here. You know that. Servants are not meant to linger, to watch, to hope. You belong in the shadows, the corners, where no one sees you. Especially not him. Especially not a prince.

But he sees you. He always does.

A fleeting glance. That’s all he allows himself. The briefest flicker of emerald eyes in your direction, so quick that no one else could ever notice. But you feel it as if his gaze had touched your skin. The heat, the longing, the unspoken words that scream louder than anything ever could.

Loving him is a curse—a dangerous, beautiful curse.

It’s forbidden. He’s the prince, and you… you are nothing more than a servant in the royal palace, an invisible figure in his world of gods and thrones. And yet, despite the danger, despite the constant threat that hangs over both your heads, you can’t stop. You can’t stay away from him, and he can’t seem to let you go.

You remember the last time you were alone together. The secrecy, the stolen moments, the way he kissed you as if he’d been starving for you his whole life. It was desperate. It always is. Each time, you know it could be the last, and it’s killing you.

Tonight, in this crowded room filled with the finest nobles and warriors of Asgard, you stand on the opposite side of the world from him. But you can still feel his presence, a pull stronger than anything else. He looks so calm, so composed, the picture of a perfect prince. But you know better. You know the battle that rages inside him, just as it does inside you.

The door behind you creaks open, and your heart leaps into your throat as a guard walks past, his eyes barely glancing your way. A close call. Too close. You lower your head, reminding yourself of the rules, the risks. If anyone found out…

But then you hear it—your name, spoken in that smooth, dark voice that always manages to send shivers down your spine. You don’t even need to turn to know it’s him.

“Meet me,” Loki murmurs, his words barely audible over the clinking of glasses and murmurs of the court. “Tonight. You know where.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. But he doesn’t need you to. You know he’ll be waiting, just as you will be. And when the night falls, and the palace sleeps, you will find each other again. You always do.

But with every meeting, every kiss, every whispered promise in the dead of night, you feel the noose tightening around both your necks. One day, someone will find out. And when they do, your world will come crashing down.

The weight of that knowledge crushes you every second, but none so heavily as when you catch his eye again from across the room. There's so much distance between you—physical, social, cosmic. A prince and a servant. The most forbidden of loves.

But gods help you, you love him anyway. And that may be the most dangerous thing of all.

The night is silent, save for the soft rustle of leaves in the palace gardens and the distant murmur of the wind through the tall, stone walls. You move quietly, your heart pounding in your chest with every step you take toward the secret passage. The same passage you’ve slipped through countless times before.

Your hands shake as you push open the heavy door that leads to the darkened corridor. This is madness. Every fiber of your being screams at you to turn back, to run and never look back. But the pull toward him is stronger, more insistent. It’s like a fire in your veins, a need so deep it terrifies you.

When you finally reach the small alcove where he waits, you stop just before stepping into the moonlight. You know he’s there, hidden in the shadows, but you hesitate. For a brief moment, the weight of what you’re doing—what you’ve been doing—crashes down on you.

You’re risking everything. He is too.

Then you hear the faint sound of his breath, a sharp intake as if he senses your presence, and you step forward. The pale light from the moon bathes the stone floor in silver, and you see him, standing there, tall and cloaked in darkness, his sharp features softened by the night.

"Loki," you whisper, your voice trembling, though you wish it weren’t.

In an instant, he’s in front of you, closing the distance between you with a grace that never fails to steal your breath. His hands reach for you, cold and firm, and when they touch your skin, it feels like an anchor pulling you out of the storm. You melt into his embrace, the tension in your body dissolving as you feel the warmth of him against you.

“You came,” he breathes, his voice low and filled with a relief that mirrors your own. His arms tighten around you as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“I always do,” you whisper back, resting your forehead against his chest, listening to the rapid beat of his heart beneath his clothes.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The world outside is distant, and here, in this stolen moment, it feels like you’re the only two people in existence. But it never lasts, and the reality of what you are doing creeps back in like a cold gust of wind.

“We can’t keep doing this,” you murmur, your words barely audible, though you feel him stiffen at your confession.

“I know,” he replies, his voice strained, his breath brushing the top of your head. His fingers run through your hair, gentle but desperate. “But how can I stop? How can I stay away from you when every moment without you feels like I’m being torn apart?”

Your eyes sting as his words sink in, but you force yourself to pull back, just enough to look up at him. His expression is tormented, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes that he rarely allows anyone to see. But you know. You know him better than anyone else ever could.

“Loki, if they find out—”

“They won’t.” His voice is sharp, cutting through the night like a blade. “I won’t let them. Not Thor, not my father, not anyone.”

There’s a fire in his eyes, a fierce determination, but you shake your head, your heart aching. “You can’t protect me from this. From us. You’re a prince, and I… I’m just—”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off, his hand moving to cradle your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Don’t say that. You are everything to me.”

Tears burn your eyes as you search his face, desperate to find some solution, some way for this to work, but it feels like the walls are closing in on you both. There’s no way out. You’ve always known that. But you’ve let yourselves fall too far, too deeply.

“I don’t care what I am or what you are,” Loki continues, his voice rough with emotion. “You belong to me, and I belong to you. Do you understand?”

His words wrap around your heart like a vise, both a comfort and a curse. You want to believe him, to pretend that love could be enough to keep you safe. But it’s not. It never has been.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you choke out, your voice breaking, the fear and the love warring inside you.

“You won’t,” he promises, his lips brushing your forehead, soft and reverent. “I’ll tear down the heavens themselves before I let that happen.”

His arms pull you back into him, and you cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth. In his embrace, you feel both safe and utterly doomed. You’re trapped between two worlds—the love you feel for him, and the reality of what you are to each other.

For now, in the quiet of the night, you let yourself forget. Forget the palace walls, the crown that weighs heavy on his head, the consequences that lurk around every corner.

In this moment, all that matters is him. The way he holds you, the way he whispers your name like a prayer, the way his lips press against yours, slow and full of a need that never seems to fade.

But in the back of your mind, you know this will end. It has to. And when it does, it will shatter you both.

The moment you pull away from Loki’s kiss, reality crashes back with a force that steals your breath. His arms still hold you, but the cold bite of the night air seeps in, reminding you of the walls you’re trapped between. You bury your face in his chest, hoping to hide from the truth, but it’s already too late.

A sudden, echoing sound breaks through the quiet—footsteps, distant but approaching. Too close.

Loki stiffens instantly, his body tense and alert. His hand grips your arm as he pulls you further into the shadows, his expression sharp and calculating. Your heart leaps into your throat as panic grips you. Someone’s coming. Someone knows.

“Stay here,” he whispers urgently, his breath hot against your ear, his voice low but firm. “Don’t move.”

“Loki—”

Before you can protest, he slips into the darkness, silent as a shadow. You press yourself against the cold stone wall, your mind racing, every second dragging on as fear gnaws at you. If you’re found here, like this, with him, it will be the end of everything. There’s no escaping the consequences this time.

The footsteps grow louder, and you can’t breathe, your heart pounding in your chest like a war drum. Then, from the shadows, you hear voices—deep and commanding.

Odin.

You nearly sink to the floor in horror, every muscle in your body seizing as the realization crashes over you. Loki’s father, the Allfather himself, is here. And if he’s here…

“Loki,” Odin’s voice booms, sharp and filled with authority, cutting through the night like ice. “Step forward.”

There’s a pause, a silence so thick it’s suffocating. You can barely make out Loki’s form as he steps forward into the light of the courtyard, facing his father. The tension between them is palpable, thick like smoke.

“I wondered where you had slipped away to,” Odin continues, his voice cold, though laced with something dangerous. “Is there a reason you’re skulking about in the shadows like a common thief, my son?”

Loki stands tall, but you can see the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands are clenched at his sides. You know he’s holding back, trying to mask the fury and fear beneath the surface. “I needed air, Father,” he replies smoothly, though the edge in his voice betrays him. “I find the court’s company rather… tedious.”

Odin’s gaze sharpens, as if he sees right through the lie. “Air, indeed.” His voice lowers, his next words heavy with unspoken meaning. “You’ve been distracted lately. More than usual.”

Your blood runs cold. He knows. He has to know.

“I expect your full attention on the matter at hand,” Odin continues, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Your betrothal must be finalized soon.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Betrothal.

You feel the world tilt beneath your feet, nausea churning in your stomach. Betrothal? What is he talking about?

Loki doesn’t react at first, but you can see the slight twitch in his brow, the flicker of anger that darkens his features.

“There will be no betrothal,” Loki says through clenched teeth, his voice dangerously low.

Odin’s eyes narrow, and for the first time, you hear the warning in his tone. “You have no choice, Loki. As a prince of Asgard, you are bound to your duty. We have an alliance to secure. You will marry Lady Sigyn, and the arrangements will proceed as planned.”

Lady Sigyn. The name rings in your ears like a death knell.

Loki’s jaw tightens, fury flashing across his face. “I won’t be a pawn in your games, Father.”

“You will do what is required of you,” Odin thunders, his voice leaving no room for defiance. “This is not a debate.”

Your legs threaten to give out beneath you, but you force yourself to stay hidden, clutching at the stone wall to keep yourself upright. He’s going to marry someone else. It feels like your heart is being ripped from your chest, the agony too much to bear.

“I don’t care about your alliances or your politics,” Loki spits, his control slipping as the rage breaks through. “You don’t understand—”

“I understand more than you think,” Odin snaps, stepping forward, towering over Loki. “You’re blinded by foolishness, by her.”

Her. The word hangs in the air, sharp and cruel.

You.

The blood drains from your face, your heart seizing in panic. Odin knows. He’s known all along.

“This servant girl has no place in your life,” Odin declares, his voice filled with disdain. “She is beneath you, beneath the throne. I will not allow you to throw away your future for something so meaningless.”

Loki’s entire body tenses, fury radiating off him in waves. “She is not meaningless,” he growls, his voice venomous, his control slipping further. “You don’t know anything about what she means to me.”

“And you will forget her,” Odin commands, his tone final and merciless. “If you refuse to do your duty, then she will be sent away, far from Asgard, where you will never see her again.”

A sob catches in your throat, but you swallow it down, your vision blurring with unshed tears. He would banish you. Rip you away from Loki, from everything. The love you’ve kept secret, the love that burns so brightly it hurts—destroyed.

“No,” Loki’s voice is a low, dangerous growl, but there’s an edge of desperation to it. “You can’t take her from me.”

Odin’s eyes blaze with cold fire. “I can. And I will.”

The silence that follows is deafening. You don’t move, don’t breathe, waiting for the moment to shatter. But Loki—Loki steps closer to his father, his eyes burning with defiance.

“If you take her from me,” Loki says quietly, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage, “you’ll lose me too.”

The words hang in the air like a threat, the tension between them palpable, and for a moment, the night itself seems to hold its breath.

But Odin’s face hardens. “You would forsake your family, your throne, for her?”

Loki doesn’t answer right away, his jaw clenched, his breath shallow. Finally, he speaks, his voice low but firm. “I already have.”

Odin stares at him, disbelief flickering across his face, before his expression turns cold, harder than ever. “Then you are no son of mine.”

The words cut deeper than any sword, and you feel the sharp sting of tears spill over as the weight of them sinks in. Loki stands there, frozen for a moment, his face betraying the pain he feels, even if he tries to hide it. Then, without another word, Odin turns and strides away, his footsteps echoing through the night, leaving you and Loki alone in the suffocating silence.

Loki stands there for a long moment, staring at where his father had been, his chest rising and falling with the effort to keep his emotions in check. Then, slowly, he turns to you, his face pale, his eyes dark with anguish.

“I’ve lost him,” he whispers, his voice barely audible, as if the weight of his choice is only now sinking in.

You step toward him, your heart breaking for him, for both of you, but the words won’t come. All you can do is reach for him, pulling him into your arms, holding him as tightly as you can, as if you could somehow shield him from the world crashing down around you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I’m so sorry.”

Loki’s arms wrap around you, and for a moment, it feels like the two of you are the only ones left in the universe, clinging to each other amidst the wreckage. But you know—deep down—you can’t escape the truth forever.

You’ve both lost too much.

And the worst is yet to come.

The decision gnaws at you for days, eating away at your soul like a poison you can’t expel. Each moment you spend with Loki after that night feels like borrowed time, a dream on the verge of ending. You know what you have to do, but the thought of it turns your stomach, fills you with a dread so deep it feels as if it’s suffocating you.

But you also know why you have to do it.

Loki would never leave you. He would burn the Nine Realms down before he let anyone take you from him. But that’s precisely why you must be the one to leave.

Loki needs his father’s approval more than he’ll ever admit, more than he even realizes. Beneath the layers of defiance, anger, and rebellion, there is still a part of him—perhaps the most fragile part—that craves Odin’s acceptance, his love. You’ve seen the way Loki’s face tightens every time Odin’s words cut too deep, the way his heart breaks a little more with every dismissal. He hides it well from the world, but not from you. Never from you.

And now, because of you, that fragile part of him has been shattered.

The memory of Odin’s voice still echoes in your mind, cold and merciless: “Then you are no son of mine.” You remember the way Loki’s breath caught, the brief flicker of pain that crossed his face before he masked it with anger. But you saw it. You felt it.

This is not what you wanted for him. Not this rift, not this war between him and his father. He’s lost too much already, and you can’t be the reason he loses more. You can’t be the reason he’s torn apart, trying to balance his love for you and his duty to his family.

You make your decision, the weight of it crashing down on you with a finality that leaves you breathless.

You’ll leave. You’ll exile yourself to Midgard—Earth—where no one will find you. Where no one will look. You’ll disappear from his life, make it seem like you were taken, lost, or gone by choice. If he believes you’ve left, if he thinks you’ve moved on, then maybe—just maybe—he’ll do what he must. He’ll marry Lady Sigyn, secure his place as prince, and perhaps… perhaps he’ll finally earn the approval he’s always longed for.

It will destroy you. You know this. But if it saves him, it will be worth it.

That night, you leave without a word.

You wait until the palace is asleep, the halls quiet, only the distant sound of guards patrolling. You know this place too well by now, know the hidden corridors, the back passageways where no one will notice you slipping away. Your heart hammers in your chest, every step feeling heavier than the last, but you push through the pain.

The small bag you carry feels like a weight tethering you to the ground. Inside are only the essentials—things you will need to survive on Earth. It feels wrong, surreal, to leave behind everything you’ve ever known, but it’s a small price to pay for Loki’s future.

As you pass through the courtyard, the moon hangs low in the sky, casting a pale, silver light over Asgard. It feels like the last time you’ll ever see it—your home, the place where you fell in love with a prince you never should have touched. Your throat tightens, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

The Bifrost glows in the distance, a beacon of escape, and your steps quicken, though every part of you screams to turn back. You’ll leave through the Bifrost, beg Heimdall to send you to Midgard. You pray he will understand, that he’ll let you go without question.

But as you near the Rainbow Bridge, something stops you in your tracks.

A figure stands in your path, his golden eyes glowing beneath his helm. Heimdall.

You knew he would be here, guarding the way to the other realms, but the intensity of his gaze as it falls upon you makes you falter. He sees everything, knows what you intend before you even speak.

“Heimdall, I—” Your voice trembles, but you force yourself to stand tall, to speak with conviction. “I need you to send me to Midgard. Please.”

Heimdall says nothing at first, his gaze piercing through you, as if reading every secret, every hidden intention behind your eyes. The weight of his silence is crushing.

“Do you truly believe leaving will solve anything?” he asks, his voice low, but full of knowing. “Do you think disappearing will bring him peace?”

Tears sting your eyes, but you shake your head, biting down the sob that claws its way up your throat. “He can’t lose everything because of me. He needs to stay here. He needs to—”

“To marry another woman and live in misery?” Heimdall’s gaze softens, just barely. “Loki would never forgive himself. Or you.”

You wipe the tears from your cheeks, trying to keep your voice steady. “He will. In time. He will forget me, and he’ll be what his father wants him to be.”

Heimdall’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a heaviness to his words when he speaks again. “Loki loves you more than you know. His path may be fraught with darkness, but losing you will plunge him deeper into it than you realize.”

You freeze at his words, the full weight of them sinking into your chest. A part of you knows he’s right. Loki’s love for you is boundless, a consuming fire that would burn anything in its path to keep you safe. But that’s why you have to leave. It’s the only way to keep him from losing more than he already has.

“He’ll survive,” you whisper, the words almost breaking you. “He’ll find a way to live without me.”

Heimdall’s gaze holds yours for a long, agonizing moment. “Perhaps. But will you survive without him?”

The question feels like a blow to your chest, and for a moment, the resolve you’ve built crumbles. You can’t imagine a world without Loki. Can’t imagine a life where you don’t feel his hands pulling you close in the dead of night, his voice whispering your name like a sacred thing.

But that’s why you have to do this.

“I have to try,” you choke out, your tears finally falling freely. “He needs his family. He needs his father. He needs to be what Asgard wants him to be.”

Heimdall watches you for a moment longer, his eyes filled with something that looks almost like sorrow. But then, slowly, he steps aside, clearing your path to the Bifrost.

“If this is your choice,” he says quietly, “I will not stop you.”

You stare at the shimmering path before you, the way to Midgard open, the escape you so desperately sought now within reach. But now that you’re standing on the brink of it, your heart feels like it’s being torn in two.

Without another word, you take a step forward, and then another. Each step feels heavier than the last, like your heart is shattering with every inch you put between yourself and Asgard—between yourself and him.

Just as you reach the edge of the Bifrost, you stop, one final thought seizing you.

Loki will wake, and he’ll look for you. He’ll search every corner of the realm, desperate to find you, to pull you back into his arms. But you won’t be there.

You press a hand to your chest, willing the pain to subside, but it only deepens. And then, before you can second-guess yourself, you step into the beam of light and let it take you.

As you’re pulled toward Midgard, the last image that flashes in your mind is Loki’s face—his eyes, his smile, the way he said your name like a promise.

And then it’s gone, along with everything you ever knew.

The moment Loki wakes, something feels wrong. The cold weight of the bed beside him, where you should be, is empty. His hand moves to the space where you usually lie, expecting to find the warmth of your body, but there’s nothing. The absence hits him like a sudden plunge into icy water, and panic claws at his chest.

“Y/N?”

His voice echoes in the room, but only silence answers.

He sits up quickly, his heart pounding in his ears. His eyes scan the dimly lit chamber, searching for any sign of you—your cloak tossed on a chair, your hairpin on the table, anything. But the room is empty. Too empty. His gut twists as dread coils within him.

You’ve vanished.

He throws on his cloak and storms out of the room, a desperate, wild energy propelling him forward. His mind races, a hundred possibilities flashing through his head, each worse than the last. Where could you have gone? You wouldn’t leave him without saying anything. You wouldn’t.

He searches the palace, every hallway, every hidden alcove where you might have retreated. Each passing minute tightens the vice around his heart, and a dark, sickening fear begins to take root.

It’s only when he reaches the gardens that he spots Heimdall, standing still, his gaze fixed far beyond the realm of Asgard.

“Where is she?” Loki demands, his voice sharp, though beneath it, there’s a tremor of fear. “Heimdall, where is she?”

The gatekeeper’s golden eyes shift toward him, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of sympathy, a look that confirms Loki’s worst suspicions.

“She’s gone,” Heimdall says quietly, his voice carrying a weight of sorrow.

Loki’s heart plummets, the ground seeming to tilt beneath him. “Gone?” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Where?”

Heimdall doesn’t answer immediately, but the silence speaks volumes. Loki’s eyes narrow, anger flashing in them like a storm. “Where?”

“Midgard,” Heimdall finally says, the word falling between them like a death sentence. “She left… to spare you.”

The words don’t register at first. Loki stares at Heimdall, his mind struggling to make sense of it. You… left? To spare him? It feels impossible, unreal, like some cruel trick the Norns themselves had spun just to watch him unravel.

“She left because she believed it would save you,” Heimdall continues, his voice gentle but firm. “To make you fulfill your duty. To win back your father’s approval.”

Loki’s body goes rigid, his chest tightening painfully as the full weight of it hits him. You’d left him. You’d sacrificed yourself, your happiness, to give him something he never even wanted—a hollow peace with his father, a loveless marriage that would tie him to a woman he didn’t care for.

“No…” The word tumbles from his lips, broken, as if by saying it, he could undo the truth. “No, she wouldn’t… she couldn’t…” But even as he says it, he knows it’s exactly what you would do. You would throw yourself into the abyss if it meant saving him, even if it destroyed you in the process.

The pain is unbearable. The thought of you, alone on Midgard, thinking that leaving was the only way to save him—it rips through him like a blade. His vision blurs, the edges of his world collapsing in on itself. He turns on his heel, moving before he even knows what he’s doing.

He’ll find you. He’ll bring you back. Nothing will stop him. Not his father, not this cursed marriage, not the Nine Realms themselves.

But just as he storms toward the Bifrost, the familiar voice of his mother stops him in his tracks.

“Loki.”

Frigga’s voice is soft but firm, and when he turns to face her, her expression is filled with concern, with sadness. “I know what you’re thinking, but you cannot go after her.”

“Why not?” Loki snaps, his chest heaving with the force of his emotions. “Why should I stay here and let her go? I won’t.”

Frigga steps closer, her eyes searching his face. “Because your father has commanded it. And because you must meet Lady Sigyn today. The arrangements have already been made.”

Loki’s blood runs cold. Sigyn. His betrothed. The woman he’s being forced to marry.

His fists clench at his sides, his mind screaming at him to refuse, to defy his father’s every order, but the weight of his mother’s words, of Odin’s power over him, crashes down like a hammer. For a moment, he’s paralyzed—trapped between the burning desire to chase after you and the crushing reality of his duty.

“I can’t,” he breathes, shaking his head. “I can’t marry her, Mother. Not when—”

Frigga’s hand rests gently on his arm, her eyes filled with sympathy. “I know, my son. But for now, you must.”

The meeting with Lady Sigyn is nothing short of torturous.

The grand hall where the introductions take place feels stifling, every gilded surface mocking him, every face around the table a reminder of the farce he’s being forced to play. Lady Sigyn stands before him, dressed in the finest Asgardian silks, her long blonde hair flowing like a waterfall down her back. She is every inch the perfect noblewoman, her posture elegant, her beauty undeniable.

But Loki can’t see her. Not really.

Every time his eyes fall on her, all he sees is you. Your laugh, your touch, your smile when you tease him in private moments. Every word Sigyn speaks fades into background noise, drowned out by the memories of your voice, the softness of it when you whispered his name in the dark.

“I hope this union will bring peace to our realms,” Sigyn says, her voice calm, rehearsed, a woman born to play this role. She speaks of duty and honor, of the alliance their marriage will secure.

Loki nods, his jaw tight, but his mind is a thousand miles away.

He remembers how you would laugh at the absurdity of formalities, how you would roll your eyes at the very thought of grand speeches like this. You were never afraid to speak your mind to him, never afraid to push him, to make him feel real. Sigyn’s words, though perfectly crafted, feel like ash in his mouth, a hollow echo of something he cannot connect to.

When she reaches for his hand, Loki almost recoils, the touch foreign, unwelcome. He lets her take it, but it’s wrong. Her fingers feel cold, delicate but empty. They’re not your hands, not the hands he’s craved, not the touch he would burn worlds for.

The more Sigyn speaks, the more unbearable it becomes. Her beauty, her grace, her calm demeanor—it’s everything Asgard expects of its princess. But Loki doesn’t want perfection. He doesn’t want her. He wants the fire, the passion, the laughter that only you could bring him.

He wants you.

As the meeting drags on, Loki’s mind spirals, twisting in on itself. How could he be standing here, listening to the woman he’s supposed to marry, when the only woman who truly owns his heart is gone? He doesn’t care about alliances, about politics, about securing his place in Asgard. All of it is meaningless without you.

The pain of your absence is suffocating, a wound that will never heal. You, who sacrificed everything for him, who left so that he might live the life Odin had planned for him. And now he’s here, going through the motions, trapped in a future that feels like a prison.

Sigyn’s voice fades again, and all Loki can think of is finding you, holding you in his arms, telling you that he doesn’t care about his father’s approval. That he would give up his throne, his title, everything — if only you would come back to him.

Because without you, none of it means anything at all.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It’s strange, this new life you’ve carved out for yourself on Midgard.

At first, it was jarring—too quiet, too mundane, and too empty. The absence of Asgard's grand halls, the shimmering skies, the bustling sounds of a realm so unlike this one… and the absence of him. The silence was the worst part. You had grown so used to Loki’s presence—his wry comments, his wit, the way his voice could fill any room, soft yet commanding. The nights felt impossibly long without his warmth beside you.

But eventually, you adapted. You had to.

Days turned into weeks, and then into months, and you forced yourself to settle into this new reality. You found a job—something simple, something that kept your mind busy and your hands occupied, so you wouldn’t think too much about what you left behind. The people here were kind, in a way that felt foreign but comforting. They didn’t ask questions about who you were or where you came from, and for that, you were grateful.

But no matter how much time passed, there was always a hollow space inside you, a part of you that felt incomplete. You could pretend, most days, that you were fine—that you had made peace with your decision. But every now and then, when you walked home alone, when you lay in your bed at night staring at the ceiling, the ache in your chest would return, sharp and unforgiving.

You still thought of him. You wondered how he was, whether he’d married Sigyn, whether he had found some semblance of happiness without you. Whether he had moved on.

Whether he missed you as much as you missed him.

It’s been a long day at work, and your legs ache as you make your way up the stairs to your small apartment. The autumn air is crisp, the streets of Midgard quiet and peaceful as you climb the last few steps, your breath coming out in small clouds. You fumble with your keys as you unlock the door, mind drifting to the usual thoughts of dinner and maybe a long bath.

You push the door open, kicking it shut behind you with a sigh of relief, and set your bag down. The apartment is dark, just as you left it this morning. You reach for the light switch, but before your fingers even touch it, you feel it.

The presence.

A chill runs down your spine. You know this feeling—the prickle of awareness, the way the air seems to shift around you. It’s the feeling of someone powerful, someone familiar, watching you. Your heart races as you turn slowly, your breath catching in your throat.

He’s there.

Loki stands in the corner of your apartment, bathed in shadows, but there’s no mistaking him. His tall, lean frame, his raven hair falling just past his shoulders, and those piercing green eyes that seem to see straight through you. For a moment, you can’t breathe. You can’t think.

It’s like he’s stepped out of a dream—one you’ve had so many times it hurts. But this… this is no dream.

“Loki…” His name slips from your lips, a whisper, a question, a prayer all at once.

He doesn’t move at first, just watches you with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. There’s something unreadable in his gaze—something darker, more raw than you’ve ever seen before.

“You left,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. There’s no anger in it, no accusation, but the pain beneath the words is unmistakable. “You left without telling me.”

Your heart clenches painfully in your chest. There’s so much you want to say, so much you need to explain, but the words stick in your throat. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. All the reasons, all the justifications you told yourself back then seem to crumble in the face of his presence.

“I…” You force the words out, your voice barely above a whisper. “I had to.”

Loki steps forward, and in the dim light, you can see the shadows under his eyes, the way his face is drawn, as though he hasn’t slept in days—weeks, maybe. There’s a desperation in his movements, a restrained storm beneath his calm exterior.

“Had to?” His voice is sharper now, the hurt lacing every syllable. “You had to disappear? You had to leave me without a word, without a trace, as if we meant nothing to each other?”

You flinch at the raw pain in his words, and your heart aches with the weight of it. You take a step toward him, shaking your head. “I didn’t… I didn’t want to. Loki, you have to understand—I thought I was doing what was best for you. Your father, the marriage… I couldn’t stand in the way of your future. I couldn’t be the reason you lost everything.”

Loki’s eyes flash with something fierce, something bordering on rage. “My future?” He laughs, but it’s a bitter, hollow sound. “You think any of that matters to me without you? You think I would trade you for a throne I never wanted? For a father’s approval that means nothing to me?”

You stare at him, frozen, your mind reeling. “But… I thought…”

“You thought wrong,” he cuts in, his voice hard, but his eyes soften as they lock onto yours. “I didn’t want any of it. Not the marriage, not Asgard’s politics, not my father’s favor. All I ever wanted was you.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. The words you longed to hear, the ones you feared you never would—they hang in the air between you, heavy with truth and regret.

“Loki…” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I… I left so you could be free.”

“Free?” His eyes darken, and he steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that the familiar scent of him—magic, leather, and something inherently Loki—wraps around you like a fog. “I’ve never been more imprisoned than in the moment you were gone.”

You blink back tears, your vision blurring as his words sink in. The months of separation, of silence, of convincing yourself you were doing the right thing—it all unravels in a single moment.

“I thought I was saving you,” you confess, your voice cracking. “I thought I was doing what was right.”

Loki’s hands reach out, and before you can even process it, his fingers are gently cupping your face, his touch so familiar, so warm. “You were always what was right,” he murmurs, his voice breaking with emotion. “I didn’t want their approval. I didn’t want their expectations. All I wanted was you.”

Tears spill down your cheeks, and before you know it, you’re collapsing into his arms, the months of pain and loneliness crashing down all at once. He pulls you close, his grip tight, as if afraid you’ll vanish again if he lets go. His lips press against your hair, your temple, every touch a reassurance that he’s here—that this is real.

“I searched everywhere for you,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “I tore through realms to find you. And now that I have, I’m not letting you go again. Not ever.”

You cling to him, your face buried in his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. The weight of your decision, the months of agony, seem to melt away in his embrace, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to breathe.

You pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. “Loki,” you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, brushing a tear from your cheek with a tenderness that undoes you. “You don’t need to be. We’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

And as his lips meet yours in a kiss that is both desperate and gentle, filled with all the words that were left unsaid, you know he’s right.

The decision isn’t made lightly, but once Loki has you back in his arms, there’s no going back. Not to Asgard’s grand halls, not to the suffocating weight of duty, and certainly not to the life his father had tried to carve out for him. He’s already wasted too much time, bound by the expectations of others.

So he stays. On Midgard. With you.

It’s a wild, audacious choice—and exactly the kind of thing Loki would do.

The transition, however, is a bit… rocky.

A few days after he’s settled into your apartment, you come home from work to find him sitting on the couch, staring at the TV remote like it’s some kind of strange artifact. He holds it up the moment you walk in.

“What is this infernal device?” he asks, his voice laced with frustration, as if the small piece of plastic has personally wronged him. “I’ve been trying to command this ‘box of illusions’ to show me something worth watching for hours!”

You stifle a laugh, biting your lip as you take off your coat. “That’s… a TV remote, Loki. You’re supposed to press the buttons, not talk to it.”

His brow furrows, clearly unimpressed. “Ridiculous,” he mutters, tossing the remote aside with a look of disdain. “Why should I be at the mercy of these buttons when I have the power to bend reality?”

“Because,” you say, walking over to him and taking a seat on the couch, “here on Midgard, we use buttons. And reality-bending might raise some eyebrows with the neighbors.”

He huffs but doesn’t argue, though you can see the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Midgardians and their absurd contraptions…” he mutters under his breath, but then he turns to you, his expression softening as he reaches for your hand. “At least you’re worth all of this.”

You can’t help but smile, leaning into him as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “I’m glad you think so.”

The adjustment to Midgardian life isn’t just about TV remotes, though. Loki, for all his godlike powers and silver-tongued brilliance, is… well, a little out of his element in this new world.

For instance, grocery shopping.

The first time you take him to a supermarket, he stands in the produce aisle, staring at the variety of fruits and vegetables as if they’ve personally offended him.

“Why are there so many kinds of apples?” he demands, picking up a Granny Smith and inspecting it with suspicion. “What is the difference between this and the others?”

“They’re just different types, Loki,” you explain, grabbing a couple of apples and putting them in your basket. “You’ll get used to it.”

He narrows his eyes, still unconvinced, before tossing the apple back into the pile. “Midgard is an odd place.”

But despite his grumbling, you can tell he’s slowly warming up to it. There’s a lightness to him now that you haven’t seen in so long. A freedom. Without Asgard’s heavy expectations looming over him, Loki is… different. Lighter. Happier.

Of course, he still has his dramatic moments.

One evening, you come home to find Loki pacing the living room with a determined look on his face, wearing your floral apron—the one with little daisies on it—while holding a spatula like it’s a weapon of great importance.

“Darling,” he declares the moment you walk through the door, “I have decided to master the art of Midgardian cuisine.”

You blink at him, trying very hard not to laugh at the sight of Loki, Prince of Asgard, dressed in a flowery apron and looking deadly serious. “Is that so?”

He nods gravely. “Indeed. You deserve the finest of meals, prepared by the finest of hands.” He pauses, glancing toward the kitchen with a frown. “However, these ‘instructions’ you provided me with are… unnecessarily complicated.”

You peer into the kitchen, where you spot an open cookbook lying on the counter, pages spattered with flour and other mysterious substances. Loki has clearly attempted something—whether it’s edible or not is another question.

“Okay,” you say, stepping closer to inspect the chaos. “What exactly were you trying to make?”

“Something called… spaghetti?” He says the word like it’s in another language, which, technically, it is. “It seemed simple enough, but this… pasta refused to cooperate.”

You stifle a laugh, eyeing the pot of overcooked noodles sitting in the sink. “I think you might’ve boiled it a little too long.”

“Too long?” Loki frowns, clearly offended by the suggestion. “It was behaving most stubbornly. I merely asserted my dominance.”

“That’s… not how cooking works, Loki.”

He huffs, folding his arms. “Midgardian food is clearly inferior. I’ll never understand why you enjoy it so much.”

You chuckle, reaching up to wipe a streak of flour from his cheek. “Well, I appreciate the effort.”

He leans into your touch, his frustration melting away as he pulls you into his arms. “For you, I would do far worse than battle rebellious pasta.”

“I know,” you say softly, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “But maybe we should just order pizza.”

He sighs dramatically, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “If we must.”

Despite the quirks and the occasional mishap, there’s something incredibly sweet about watching Loki navigate this new life. He’s traded his princely titles and royal duties for quiet evenings with you, for late-night walks through the city, for the simple joy of waking up next to you without the weight of Asgard on his shoulders.

And it’s not just about what he’s given up—it’s about what he’s gained. Here, with you, he’s free to be himself, without the judgment of his father or the expectations of the court. He’s no longer Loki, the Trickster Prince. He’s just… Loki.

And as the two of you sit together on the couch, sharing a pizza (which Loki begrudgingly admits is quite good), he leans over and presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice warm and low, “I never thought I could be happy like this. But you… you make everything worth it.”

You smile, resting your head against his shoulder. “I feel the same way.”

There’s a moment of quiet, the two of you just enjoying each other’s presence. And then Loki, ever the trickster, grins down at you.

“But I am going to master that television contraption,” he says, his tone utterly serious. “It will not defeat me.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Whatever you say, Loki.”

And as the night stretches on, with him beside you, you realize that this—this simple, beautiful life—is more than you ever dreamed of. It’s not the palace of Asgard or the grandeur of the realms, but it’s yours. And that’s all that matters.

Because as long as you’re with Loki, wherever you are, it will always feel like home.

[bliss-in-the-void]

This is so meta but I can’t help but feel like the main story of Jujutsu Kaisen was Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko’s story. Think about the set-up.

You have Shoko, who has the most important cursed technique in the universe. She can bring people back from the brink of death. Her whole purpose is to heal and support other sorcerers.

You have the anomaly that is Suguru, a Curse Manipulator (one of the most powerful techniques to have) that comes from a non-sorcerer family. He was just born out of the blue with a special-grade technique?! That’s crazy.

And then you have Satoru, who was born with Limitless and the Six Eyes, a feat so rare that he shifted the entire balance of the universe.

I truly believe that they were supposed to complete that Star Plasma mission successfully—you’re telling me the Six Eyes and a Curse Manipulator wasn’t enough to protect the vessel? That’s crazy.

If you think about it, the person who shifted the balance wasn’t Satoru. It was Toji.

He couldn’t use Jujutsu and yet had a Heavenly Restriction so powerful that he was able to easily overpower the two strongest sorcerers of the modern era, resulting in literally every calamity that follows that event.

That whole thing just makes it feel like the events of JJK 0 and the main story following Yuuji are some sort of dark timeline in which the worst-case scenario plays out because of Toji successfully ruining the Star Plasma mission.

That’s why I’m afraid of the ending to this story. To me, it seems like Gege is telling the story of what happens when it all goes wrong.