#but that defeats the purpose of having my gd hair up

[silv3reyedstranger]

there are some people who look great—fantastic, even—with a high, slicked back ponytail. i do not. i look like an egg. unfortunately, i’m not katie mcgrath.

[sun-marie]

Thoughts on Claude von Reigan for the character breakdown thing?

How I feel about this character: I really like Claude, I find his character really compelling! The Golden Deer route is my second favorite route of the game, and in my favorite route, the Blue Lions, I like the Alliance's role (as mostly demonstrated through Claude) as a wildcard third party. I like how he reclaimed himself despite his rough upbringing and allowed it to shape him rather than define him, and I am a sucker in general for characters who seemingly have a plan for everything. Also, his design is an 11/10, top tier, especially his post-timeskip with the pushed back hair and lil beard <3

All the people I ship romantically with this character: So personally, I actually like him best with Hilda, I love how ride-or-die they are for each other despite playing it off so casually. The problem is that while Hilda is my favorite partner for Claude, Hilda herself has *many* great potential partners, one of them being Lorenz. So (at least in my BL playthroughs) I hc they're all in this terrible soap-opera love triangle, where Hilda is on-again-off-again with Claude until she gets together with Lorenz, which lasts until he defects to the Empire, in which they breakup (Lorenz actually ends up dying on the Great Bridge of Myrddin, because Tragedy™). Then, a few years after the game ends and relations between Fódlan and Almyra have improved, Hilda and Claude officially get together.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: I really enjoy the potential of his friendship with Dimitri, particularly the aspect of which they are both the heads of incredibly important nations, and so I feel there is an inherent respect borne out of their equality of power that's really fun to watch.

Additionally, I love his supports with Cyril and really wish they had an A support!

My unpopular opinion about this character: I don't know that I have any? I think the closest I would have is that I'm not a huge fan of Claudeleth, but not only does that have less to do with Claude and more to do with me just preferring other Byleth pairings, but also bc plenty of other people don't ship them.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I really really wish he stuck around for the ending of the Blue Lions route. In my ideal, perfect, hypothetical world, the Blue Lions and Golden Deer routes would be combined into one, with Claude joining up in the Chapter "Golden Deer's Plea" and the BL route being the dominant one until after Edelgard is defeated, with the Chapter "Oath of the Dagger". From there, transitioning into the GD for finding Rhea with the Chapter "The City Without Light" and going to Shambhala and fighting Nemesis.

I understand that they didn't do this for replayability purposes, but for me, the BL ending leaves just a little to be desired in the larger scale of the lore and Claude is too good of a character to just disappear for the last few chapters.

GIVE ME A CHARACTER: and I’ll break their ass down:

[a-lockman5]

Things were different now Pt. 2 - 2AM Toast {Devi x Paxton}

A/N: Ayyyy so I just felt the creative juices flowing and wanted to whip this out before they went away again. I had a blast writing this. I kept trying to proofread it but got caught up in the story again (Whoops!), so if I missed some typos, apologies. Also, I don’t own these characters (obviously), but I do love them. 

Warnings: more fluff/angst, blood/injury - NO SELF HARM, scared Paxton is cute

Here is part 1 if you haven’t read it yet!

Take a look at my MASTERLIST for more to read or inspo for requests :)

“Paxton?”

Holy shit. Paxton jumped six feet in the air at the sound of her voice. It was two o’clock in the morning. Why was anyone up? Why was Devi Vishwakumar in his house?

“Devi, what the hell?” he panted, still catching his breath from the scare she’d given him. “What are you doing?”

“I was getting a soda from the garage,” she replied, eyes wide. “I thought you were on a college visit this weekend.”

“Tomorrow. Dad and I are driving up tomorrow. What are you doing in my house?”

“Becca invited me over.” He could tell she was still tense, her eyes staring directly into his. “I didn’t think you were here.”

They’d hardly spoken since she and Gross started dating. She tried to apologize a few weeks ago when Rebecca invited her over for dinner. Paxton acted like it was fine. Why wouldn’t it be? They were just friends. Sure, they’d kissed after the party that one night, but it wasn’t like she owed him anything. Besides, he was the one that blew her off at school two days later. She didn’t owe him anything, and he knew that. And besides that, she and Gross made sense. They were both way smart and in the same class and could challenge each other intellectually and her friends seemed to like him and… he was rambling internally. The point was, he and Devi agreed they were friends and things wouldn’t be weird. And now, almost a month later, they were talking in his hallway at 2AM, and it was definitely weird.

“Cool,” he crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Becca told me you were helping her with more stuff for her portfolio. I guess that photographer didn’t know what he was talking about.”

“What?”

He shook his head slightly as his cheeks heated up. “Sorry, I just meant that he kept wanting you to stop posing, but here you are booking another gig. You’re like a real model, and I just… I don’t know.”

She laughed then. He was so embarrassed, but still couldn’t help smiling into his chest. It was her laugh that helped him be brave. “Look, Devi, we agreed things wouldn’t be awkward between us, but things feel pretty weird right now. Can we just let it go and be cool?”

Her eyes widened again and she gave him a tight lipped smile. “Yeah, definitely. I just didn’t expect” –

“To see me in the middle of the night in my own house?” he smirked.

She nodded and continued, “in your underwear with a…” she gestured wildly below his waist with her eyes closed tightly.

Paxton felt the color drain from his face. He’d been half asleep when he got up to go to the bathroom. Had he really not noticed? His hands instinctively covered his privates, though they weren’t feeling so private right now, and sure enough, there was some definite tenting going on. His eyes screwed shut, and he felt himself stumbling backward a few paces before turning his back on Devi entirely.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t… Shit. I need to go.”

He made a beeline for the bathroom and didn’t look back at her again. He slammed the door in a rush to escape the mortification he was experiencing and found himself crying out in pain. He’d shut his GD finger in the door. Jerking it out as fast as he could, he pressed the door closed with his back leant against it.

His head dropped, and a sigh escaped him. As he reached a hand up to push his hair out of his face, he almost missed the flash of red. “Goddammit!” he whispered furiously. His nail must have ripped off when he closed it in the door. Shit, did it hurt now that he was looking at it. Paxton turned to the sink and ran his finger under lukewarm water before forcing himself to put soap on it. He winced a little as it burned, but it was no where close to the painfully embarrassing encounter he’d just had with Devi. He looked down at his boxers at the reminder. Nothing like mutilating his ego and his hand to regulate his hormones – his erection had disappeared.  He sighed again.

Why did he have to run into her? Why like that? Why did he just have to lose every shred of dignity he had left? Things were not like this for Paxton. He was Paxton Hall-Yoshida for goodness sake! Paxton H.Y. did not get nervous around girls. They got nervous around him! But Devi… he never got nervous around her before Gross’s party. Not like he had tonight. He was too cool to be nervous. He was good at being cool. What the hell happened?

“It doesn’t matter,” he told himself. He just needed to dress his finger so that he didn’t get blood everywhere. After rummaging through the cupboards one-handed for a few minutes, he remembered the first aid kit was in the garage from his biking accident a few months ago.

The coast was obviously clear, he knew that. He’d been in the bathroom far longer than intended, so there was no way he would cross paths with Devi again. Still, Paxton took a deep breath before nervously poking his head out the door. Sure enough, the hall was empty. Another deep breath, this time in relief, and he padded down the hallway to the garage. When he flipped the light on, his nightmare continued.

There was she was sitting on the couch –  the couch they had sat on when they first met and she wanted him to… do something with her that she definitely didn’t want anymore. Her head whipped around to look at him, and her mouth fell open. Paxton pressed his head against the doorframe in defeat.

“Devi, why are you still out here?”

“I was just trying to…” she trailed off, but Paxton could tell by the look on her face that their encounter had affected her as much as it had him. He didn’t need to hear her say it.

“Alright, just let me put some shorts on.” At least the laundry room was right off the garage. He started to climb into a pair of basketball shorts while keeping his right hand aloft with toilet paper wrapped around his middle finger.

“Holy shit, what happened to your hand? Did you do it on purpose? Did you bite the nail down until it bled? Is it some side effect of the ‘roids you’re taking for swimming?”

Paxton jumped in surprise at being scared by Devi’s presence in the middle of the night... in his house... for the third time. This time, as he was off-balance, he immediately got tangled in his shorts and ended up on his side against the cold tile floor. He wanted to cry, he thought as he laid there. Why had this night turned into such a terror? Was he actually dreaming? Was he going to wake up and Devi would be asleep at her own house, in her own bed, and he the same? He would pray to a million gods to make that happen.

“Devi, why are you doing this to me?”

“I wasn’t trying to” – she broke off. “Here, come on, I got you.”

She steadied him at the elbow as he leaned on her to stand. She continued to let him lean on her as he finished donning his shorts with his affected arm out of harms way. “Thanks,” he murmured.

“Sorry, I asked about steroids. I know you don’t.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I know that,” she nodded. “Sorry for scaring you too… What did you do to your hand though?”

Paxton exhaled in a huff. “I shut it in the bathroom door.”

“Oh good! When you yelled, I thought you racked yourself or something.” Devi sighed in relief. Paxton’s eyes narrowed in a glare at her. “Sorry. Do you have a first aid kit?”

“It’s in the garage,” he laughed despite himself.

“Ah. Yeah, that makes sense. Well, come on.”

She led him back into the garage and over to the couch. He sat down at her instruction. “Devi, you don’t have to” –

“Shut up. You can’t dress it with one hand. Besides, I’ve watched so many medical YouTube channels, it’ll be fun,” she said, plopping down next to him. “Come on, give it here.”

He knew there was no use arguing with her and let her pull his hand out of his lap. He took his time looking over her as she worked on him. He’d always thought she was objectively pretty from the moment they’d met, but he didn’t know he’d end up here, thinking about how cute she was. She was careful and focused as she peeled the toilet paper away, knowing it had started to dry and stick to his wound. She whispered a quiet apology when he hissed in pain, but never took her eyes off her work. She cleaned it, applied antibiotic ointment, wrapped it up in gauge, and secured it with tape. At some point, he found himself staring at her lips, thinking about how desperately he wanted to kiss her again – how desperately he wished she wanted to kiss him.

“There, finished!” She beamed at him. It was almost enough to jerk him free of his fantasy. Almost.

“Thanks,” he smiled lazily at her.

“For sure, I owe you for all the times you rescued me.”

“Yeah, ignoring that it’s your fault I got hurt,” he smirked at her.

“What? How do you figure?”

“If you weren’t wandering the house in the middle of the night” –

“I wouldn’t have seen your pork sword through your boxers.”

“Devi, what the hell?” he looked wildly at her. “Where do you even come up with this stuff?”

“People say that,” she shrugged.

“No, Devi, they really don’t,” he shook his head and started laughing. After a moment, she laughed too, and for that moment, things were good. “God, how did you do this to me?”

That sobered her immediately. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I used to be the coolest guy in school. I’ve been going to prom since middle school. My friend’s mom hits on me. How did you make me the guy that injures himself trying to escape an embarrassing situation? That used to be your thing!”

“Paxton…”

“It’s kind of funny, ya know? The first time we were ever in here, you ran away after I took my shirt off,” he continued, unable to stop himself. “I may not be an honor student, but I do realize now that your mom does not have polio.” He saw a hint of a smile on her face and felt himself smile back. “And now, look at us: sitting on the couch together, legs touching,” he accentuated his point by bumping his knee against hers, “I’m shirtless and you’re not scared of me anymore, but…”

“But what?” she asked after a moment.

I’m so scared of you. He blinked, pushing the thought away before he could stick his foot in his mouth. “But we don’t get to act on it. We’ve come so far since we first met, but we don’t get to talk to each other like we used to… I miss talking to you.”

“I miss talking to you too.” He thought she sounded genuine. She was the only person, outside of his family, he’d ever felt comfortable opening up to. Now that she was dating Ben Gross, he didn’t get to have that anymore? Why?

“Look, I think we can agree tonight has been super weird, but you don’t need to only come over when you think I’m not here.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean, I know we said that before, but I mean it. I want to be your friend, Devi. I like you, I like hanging out with you. Can we make that work?”

It felt like hours passed while she looked at him silently. He could practically hear her thoughts pinging around in her head at a million miles a minute, but he had no idea what to expect. She was quiet for so long, he began to think she would say no. No, they couldn’t be friends. It wasn’t what she wanted anymore. Things were going to be weird between them, and there was no way around it. Paxton would have to just go on shutting his hands in doors and tripping over his gym shorts until he could move on from her – that was the only acceptable way to handle their situation. Then he saw it; he wasn’t sure if it was compassion, pity, or something else that made her eyes warm to his, but he knew he liked the way she looked at him in that moment.

“Of course, we can. I like hanging out with you too. Here,” she scrambled up off the couch and went to the refrigerator they had in the garage. She pulled out a diet mountain dew and a cherry coke zero, handing the latter to him.

“How did you…?” he stared at the soda can. His parents bought a variety of sodas, they and Becca both enjoyed having choices. The cherry coke zero was his and his only. He didn’t drink soda often, but when he did, he needed something with more flavor than a diet soda, but that wasn’t as sweet as a regular cola.

“Becca told me I could drink whatever I wanted except that. If it was hers, she’d let me have it or would have at least had some herself. Your dad was drinking a mountain dew when I got here, and your mom had a sprite when I was over for dinner a few weeks ago. It only made sense that it was left for you.”

“Anyone ever tell you, you’re smart, Vishwakumar?”

“Actually, no,” she pondered the question before flipping her hair over her shoulder and winking at him, “everyone else says I’m a genius.”

For the first time that night, he smiled a real, big smile. She mirrored his actions, and he felt warm everywhere. When she reached across the space between them, his breath caught in his throat.  She popped the tab on his soda, and he felt a shaky breath escape him. “What are you doing?”

“Paxton Hall-Yoshida, we are toasting,” she replied, popping the tab on her own can.

“Why?”

“This is a new chapter in our lives, in our friendship, and we need to make it official.”

You are something special, Devi, he thought with a grin. “Okay, I’m in. What should we toast to?”

“Umm… how about no more injuries?”

“No more avoiding each other in the hallways?”

“Or each other’s gaze during history.”

“To not keeping it a secret when you’re hanging out with my sister”

– “and not scaring each other in the middle of the night with your pocket rocket at full salute.”

He snorted. “To literally never bringing that up ever again, especially not with any of those phrases.”

“Cheers!” she laughed, clinking her can against his. They both took drinks of their soda, and fell quiet again for a moment. For the first time since they’d kissed, it felt comfortable again though. There had been a very real shift in the energy between them. They could make friends work. They could spend time together. Was it going to help him move on? Certainly not. Was it going to help him cope? It was worth a try.

“There is something I’ve been wanting to ask you,” she said quietly. After their entire experience tonight, somehow she found a way to be nervous again.

“Shoot your shot, Lil D.”

“I want to go swimming. Will you help me?”

<< Part 1, Part 3>>

[curiosity-killed]

a fine arrangement

have some gd shmoop my pals

Pairing: Altaïr/Malik Warnings: mentions of past emotional abuse Word Count: 2,000

The body has always made sense to Altaïr. It intrigued him when he was young, but like a puzzle, each piece fit into place. As a novice, he would retreat to his corner of the great library to look through the medical texts and memorize the meticulously-drawn diagrams. Other novices had laughed, made lewd comments about the other uses of those drawings and an isolated spot. Malik had mocked him for trying to impress Al Mualim – right before sitting down to continue his own studies. Despite it all, there was something soothing about the knowledge. The body made sense – its rhythms and limits, its mechanics and flow. It wasn’t like conversation or trying to make friends among his peers. There, the logic and pathways were all so muddled and perplexing. A compliment could send someone into a rage as quickly as an insult could be followed by a kiss. There weren’t joints with their ranges or muscles with their origins. What systems could be interpreted from the daily behaviors of thirty-odd eleven-year-olds surpassed Altaïr’s comprehension. The body, though – that he could understand.

Some of it, as Malik had shrewdly noted, was for the application’s sake. He wanted, needed, to live up to Al Mualim’s expectations. Their teacher spoke of such lofty goals, such noble ideas, and he devoted so much of his time to Altaïr. Altaïr needed to repay him in some way for his kindness, and the only way he could was to strive to embody that vision. He lived for the rare reward of Al Mualim’s heavy hand on his thin shoulder and a mild, “Well done.”

Some of it, though, was simply for the sake of knowing. As a child, he would use himself as a living diagram – here is where the arteries run, that is the muscle that flexes the hand. He has always delighted in understanding, in learning. In another lifetime, one where he grew up without Al Mualim’s guiding hand, he would be a scholar.   There were other benefits to the knowledge, though, that he wouldn’t discover for some time. Malik wakes slowly beneath his fingertips, which is, in and of itself, a kind of gift. Rare is the assassin who can sleep while another touches them; it's been trained out of them since before they could toddle after their white-robed elders. To be trusted so consummately by Malik, after everything, is enough to leave Altaïr humbled anew every time. On certain days, it weighs in his chest like a corpse, heavy and pendulous. What would happen if he fell into the thrall of the Apple? What if Malik did not wake when he needed to? What if his trust led him, like Eurydice, to death? He could not live with himself, he knows. He would surrender himself to the noose or to deprivation’s slow attrition. He tells himself that it would never happen. Malik has keener instincts than that. Altaïr could never be so wholly lost. A thousand worlds away, he tells himself, he would still know the rhythm of Malik's heart. It works, sometimes. On days when he's only morose or when it's an idle thought, fleeting and easily dismissed. He believes himself then. On others, though, he cannot. When he wakes with phantom blood dripping hot and scarlet down his hands, with his throat hoarse from screaming for mother, father, Adha, Al Mualim – it does not work then. He is no more than a man, and not even a great one at that. The power of the Apple makes his will seem as supple as a grass blade. Malik seems to have an uncanny perception of those days. Altaïr has never breathed a word of those fears aloud, and yet, invariably, Malik will pull Altaïr to his chest and hold him like a grounding weight. Some days, he'll sing a child's lullaby, his voice low and husky with sleep. He could never be mistaken for a songbird, but his voice is the sweetest sound Altaïr has ever known. Now, Malik exhales, his ribs sinking under Altaïr’s hand. “Good morning,” he says. “Good morning, my heart,” Altaïr says. He leans forward to press a kiss to the top notch in Malik’s spine, just below where he’d sink a blade in a target. He settles back and presses his thumb a little more firmly into the knot below Malik’s shoulder blade. “You’re tense.” Malik groans a little and buries his face back into the pillow. It makes his shoulders hitch up, the long muscles of his back bunching. Altaïr’s hand flattens out to rest over them. “M’back would prefer a thousand Templars to hunching over my quill for another hour,” he mumbles into the pillow. Altaïr smiles, small, and returns to his ministrations. His arm will fall asleep if he stays propped up in this position much longer, but he’s loath to move just yet. There’s a drowsy contentment to their sleep-warm bed and the morning light turning the corners of their room a buttery gold. He presses a little more, coaxing the muscles of Malik's back into a softer state. Malik sighs as one knot gives way. "So this is what you learned in the brothel," he remarks. "I learned many things in the brothel," Altaïr replies loftily, continuing his work. Malik turns his head just enough to grin at Altaïr. "And I thank them for the quality of their instruction," he says. That is enough for Altaïr to pause and reach over to ruffle Malik's hair. He recoils instinctively but not before his dark strands are in disarray. He laughs as he lays back down, and Altaïr returns to the massage with a little smile. The brothel in question was the location of one of Altaïr’s first independent missions. His mark had been a frequent customer, and he’d found it useful to enlist the help of the courtesans. He had gathered the information necessary for his mission, but there were some additional lessons he didn’t include in his report to Al Mualim. Those lessons had come to be of greater benefit than he could have anticipated. He found little pleasure in the acts himself, but he had a vested interest in bringing Malik pleasure. Malik had struggled with that at the start of their gentle descent into domesticity. They had had more than a few conversations sitting among half-discarded robes, working out the line between guilt and desire. Altaïr follows the great muscle of Malik’s neck and shoulder up to where it disappears along the spine. The tissue here nearly crackles under his touch, and Malik seems to melt against the bed as Altaïr presses the heel of his palm back toward his shoulder. There’s a popping sensation deep beneath the bones, and Malik groans. “Were you not Grandmaster, you would have a flourishing career in massage,” he says. “I have time yet to pursue it,” Altaïr answers. “I’ll leave you the robes.” Malik snorts. “And ensure yourself a frequent customer in the process,” he retorts. Altaïr hums and leans down to kiss Malik’s shoulder. “It seems a fine arrangement to me.”

Shifting to allow for better reach, Altaïr walks his hand along Malik’s spine. His thumb and palm press into the meat of the cord-like muscles there that flex and bend his back. His fingertips brush against Malik’s shoulder blades, his ribs, the softness of his side. 

Malik’s body is nearly familiar as his own by now. They have been in orbit since the start of their lives, swinging far or near but always together. He has seen Malik grow from a snarling boy to a sage leader. They have tended each other’s wounds at every age.He could draw Malik from memory, he thinks, each facet and scar. He would build him from the center, heart first. Malik’s body is nearly familiar as his own by now. They have been in orbit since the start of their lives, swinging far or near but always together. He has seen Malik grow from a snarling boy to a sage leader. They have tended each other’s wounds at every age. Altaïr finally cedes defeat to his right arm and sinks down to press close to Malik’s side. His hand continues to run feather-light across Malik’s back. Malik gives a slow, sleepy blink and reaches his hand up between them to cradle Altaïr’s jaw. His palm fits as if it was shaped for this purpose, his thumb resting warm against Altaïr’s cheek. “Ya hayati,” he murmurs. Altaïr pulls him close till they fit together as if dovetailed, a near-perfect union. Malik sighs a warm breath against his shoulder. Noises of Masyaf waking rise from the grounds below them, but here in their room, tranquility is suspended a little longer. “You’re doing well,” Malik says after a while. “As Grandmaster.” Altaïr hums, ambivalent. He trusts Malik’s judgment, but it is a different thing to believe it himself. Change is always hard, and moreso when the departure from the past was such a violent break. Too often, still, Altaïr feels as if the Order still limps along where it used to run. He worries that they will never again be as strong as they were before the fracture. “I fear I am not enough,” he admits. He can feel Malik exhale both in the air that hushes warm against his skin and in the gentle collapse of his ribs. “I am trying but – ”

But it took him his entire life to even suspect Al Mualim of deceit. But he has never been a leader. But he spends most his time reaching out for advice or support from others. “Altaïr.” Malik pushes himself up so that Altaïr is forced to meet his gaze. His brow has furrowed, a deep crease forming in the center. “You are not him,” he says. “You are not who he wanted you to be.” Another time, only a few years before, the words would have had Altaïr’s hackles rising. Now, they are a reassurance. “You are so much more than what he could imagine,” Malik continues. “Your doubt is a sign of your strength.” He is defenseless against Malik’s conviction. If he cannot believe the words themselves, he can believe in Malik having keener sight than him. Malik has never shied from giving his honest report; he would not now. Altaïr reaches up to brush the backs of his fingers against Malik’s cheek. The stubble there prickles against his knuckles. “I could not do this without you,” he says. “Of course,” Malik answers, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I am your better half, after all.”

That gets no objection from Altaïr except to pull Malik down onto him, which isn’t really an objection at all. Malik is a heavy, grounding weight against him, comforting like the soil over a tree’s roots. Lying there together, Altaïr knows he would never run away without Malik. How could he? It would be like trying to run without his right leg. When he says as much, in plainer words, Malik breathes out a laugh and props himself up just enough to meet Altaïr’s eyes. He brushes his thumb tip over the scar cutting through Altaïr’s lips and soothes it with a light kiss. “You would not run at all,” he says. “Once, perhaps, but no longer. You are Masyaf’s backbone, and you would sooner shed that responsibility as shed your blades.” Altaïr wrinkles his nose, mostly because he cannot find a proper rebuttal. It’s true, of course – but he would leave them both for a common cause. He leans up to kiss Malik back. “Very well,” he concedes. “Then, if I am not to become a masseuse, I should start my day as grandmaster.” Malik lays back down, like a child pretending to sleep when their parents check in, and mumbles a complaint into Altaïr’s shoulder. Altaïr laughs and wraps his arms around him. He closes his eyes against the morning sun and breathes deep. Their life is not perfect. There are troubles and fears and ghosts at their every step, and he can only guess at what problems have arisen while they slept. But here, now, he knows Malik is right. He would not run away. It is a good life - the right fit. He smiles, now, as it begins again.

[fancykraken]

Infinity Thor and Loki

Okay, here it is because I can’t hold back any longer and I gotta barf out my feelings out about Thor and Lok in this movie. I have a lot of feels so I don’t expect anyone to read this, I just gotta get them out of me. If you do read it you get a new riding lawnmower as a prize. The gentleman pictured on the riding lawnmower not included, sorry.

SPOILERS FOR INFINITY WAR BELOW

First I will say that one of my biggest worries about the movie was going into it and seeing Thor being taken back to previous Avengers movies and characterizations. And with Chris Hemsworth feeling the same way it’s understandable. But I was very pleasantly surprised by what they did and how they handled it. I knew we wouldn’t have the same Thor we did in Ragnarok, there’s no way that would have worked. But we saw hints of it, especially with the Guardians. He was utterly destroyed emotionally, but we still saw that bright bit of this big doofus through his grief. We saw his compassion, his humour, his empathy for other living things and I was so, so thrilled that they continued with this. While it wasn’t much, it was still there. They did good by him in that sense and I was not let down about it at all. 

THEY KEPT HIM POWERED UP. While we didn’t see it as much as we did in Ragnarok IT WAS STILL THERE AND THEY DID NOT SHY AWAY FROM IT. THEY SHOWED HIM THAT HE REALLY WAS ONE OF THE MOST POWERFUL IF NO THE MOST POWERFUL OF EVERYONE THERE.

Also, they proved once again that my boo can compartmentalize af, because jfc after the shit he went through you’d have to have that kind of superpower.

But to Thor and Loki...

They broke me, they utterly and completely broke me, especially Thor. The most emotional impact I got from this movie was from those two (and Tony Stark, but that’s another post).

The beginning, I cannot. My heart was in my throat the whole time and my stomach was in knots. I knew it was going to happen, I knew Loki was going to die going into this, but it’s a lot different from thinking about it to actually see it act out on screen.

The hopeful optimism we saw at the end of Ragnarok for those 2 minutes is just utterly crushed. Seeing the ruins of the ark and most of the Asgardians dead was heartbreaking. They literally survived Ragnarok 5 minutes before only to be defeated by this.

Thor, broken and battered at the beginning just goes to show how fucking hard he tried. He’s the king of Asgard now, it’s his job to protect his people and he couldn’t. Him being dragged by Thanos like a broken doll was heartbreaking and honestly scary. And Loki knew this was the end, just seeing his brother in that state he knew it was really ride or die time. His attempt to try and placate Thanos and get on his good side was seen through right away, how could it not be because he held only one card and he gave that card away.

I know it was probably for time purposes, but I was disappointed by the lack of trying on Loki’s part trying to stab Thanos. It just seemed too straightforward and sloppy (same with him taking the Tesseract in the first place). He has magic and he could have done some magnificent shit to try and stop him, but he didn’t. I think he knew he couldn’t stop him, but I don’t think he tried his hardest because I think he knew if he did then Thor would 100% die and all remainder of hope with it. Make Thanos look the other way and focus most of the attention on him rather than Thor. I guess Thanos assumed if Loki were dead that Thor would just follow, hence why he just left him alive as the arc burned around him.

The look on Thor’s face as Thanos picked Loki up, choking him was fucking heartbreaking. The muffled no as Thanos snapped Loki’s neck... god, I was in tears. Then Thanos dropping Loki’s body in front of Thor and Thor just crawling, utterly broken and battered, placing his head on Loki’s chest, was just one of the most heartbreaking things. I fully believe that Thor did not intend to survive beyond that point or if he did he wasn’t overly hopeful about that.

With the Loki we got in Ragnarok to the end of Loki’s story (for now maybe) in IW just fucked me up so much. We got to see a more stripped down Loki, his fear and vulnerability more visible. His nature to fuck shit up and try and pull the strings for his own gain and then nothing.

Now Thor’s just off floating in space without caring (if he were conscious to really process it). Then the fucking angst of Mantis reading Thor as he’s unconscious. The anger, grief, heartbreak, the guilt he’s feeling, like jfc he has literally just lost everything and then he wakes up and shoves all that down to go off to Nidavellir for another weapon. HONESTLY, I JUST CANNOT WITH IT BECAUSE I WAS SO PROUD BUT ALSO SCREAMING AT HIM THAT IT’S OKAY TO BREAK, BUT I KNOW HE COULDN’T BECAUSE THERE WAS NO TIME.

I don’t think he had any hope left for himself going off to get Stormbreaker, but maybe the hope of actually ending Thanos is what made him try so gd hard. 

The moment where he was talking with Rocket about Loki and his family was... OW MY HEART BECAUSE GODDAMNIT HE IS ALONE RIGHT NOW. COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY ALONE AND HERE HE IS JUST STILL GOING. Yes, he has the Avengers, but he hasn’t had them for years now except for Bruce. The cracks he started to show in the conversation with Rocket was beautiful and so sad. I wanted to see more, but of course with a movie of this nature you can’t. Also, who would have thought that he and Rocket would actually connect on such a deeper level in this? Not me. 

This bitch is like an ogre with onion layers.

So yeah, he broke me and had me laughing and crying and feeling like my heart was about to burst. To see Thor getting his dues in the MCU now is one of the best feelings in the world. I just wish they didn’t have to utterly crush him and take away so much of what he loved to do it. LET HIM BE HAPPY. LET HIM HAVE A MOMENT WHERE HE CAN RELAX AND CHILL. LET LOKI COME BACK FROM WHEREVER SO THEY CAN BE THE IDIOT BROS I LOVE SO MUCH.

AND NOW TO THE MUCH NEEDED BULLET POINTS OF MOMENTS WHERE I LOST MY SHIT WITH HIM BECAUSE, DUDE:

Okay, Thor had THE POWER STONE LITERALLY PRESSED TO HIS HEAD AND HE SURVIVED IT. I know Thanos wasn’t using it at full capacity and calling out Loki’s bluff, but THIS BITCH CAN SURVIVE THAT KIND OF POWER WITHOUT BEING DESTROYED.

GUARDIANS. The exchanges, the compassion and empathy he showed Gamora when he learned she was Thanos’ daughter. God. If this was Thor from Thor 1 then yeah, I think he would have started swinging, but he’s matured so muh-muh-muuuuuuuuuuuuuuch.

Yeah, I’m taking your other ship, rabbit, tree, and food, kthnx bai. 

HE TOOK GROOT LANGUAGE AS AN ELECTIVE. AN ELECTIVE. He’s not dumb people! Fuck anyone who says he’s stupid and didn’t like learning shit. He knows languages, astrophysics, battle strategy, fighting, politics, different cultures, BEING ONE OF THE BEST OUT THERE.

HE CAN SURVIVE BEING OUT IN SPACE. SPACE. LIKE THE BIG OL VOID AND STILL LIVE. SPACE MERMAID. Well, actually merMAN.

DOING FUCKING SPACE SHOT PUT WITH A SPACESHIP. C’MON.

Eitri: It’ll kill you. Thor: Nah bro, only if I die. Eitri: Uh yeah, sure whatever, you’re on your own, kid. [/paraphrasing]

DID I MENTION HE CAN FUCKING SURVIVE BEING NUKED BY A STAR?!!!!

BIFROSTING HIS WAY TO EARTH AND SHOWING UP WITH HIS RABBIT AND TREE, LOOKING FUCKING BADASS IN A NEW CAPE AND STORMBREAKER, THEN RASING ABSOLUTE HELL ON THE OUTRIDERS.

Bruce being the total fanboy and yelling ‘YOU’RE ALL SCREWED NOW’ BECAUSE DAMN RIGHT YOU ALL ARE. 

Talking hair and beard trends with Steve because wHY NOT?!

Being polite and introducing his new friends to Steve.

DEALING THE MOST DAMAGE TO THAT FUCKING MUTANT PURPLE PLUM. God, he could have killed him if it hadn’t been for Thanos having all the stones. But bb always go for the head. Why don’t people think to go for the head first? C’MON!!!!

Not being one of the ones to turn to ash.

TL;DR: I JUST HAVE A LOT OF THOR AND LOKI FEELS, OKAY!!!!!!!!

[big-bang-scenario]

Advice (Jiyong Drabble/Scenario)

Requested by Anonymous: I Want to requests a drabble Where Taeyang helps GD to practice How He should ask out his crush ( Who Is actually their female best friend and just Debute As Solo Idol) THANK you 😍😍😍

Author’s Note: Um… I don’t even know how long this is… I just had a lot of fun with this, that’s for sure~ ^^ Enjoy!

“…Why can’t I just ask?” Jiyong whined with a pout. Although it was only a rehearsal, the rapper’s face was flushed in a rosy pink. “Fuck it, I’m not doing this,” he growled shortly afterwards, flinging the necklace case at his best friend’s chest.

Youngbae grunted as the case collided with his abs before chuckling, clearly amused at the situation playing out before him. He immediately raced to the door, blocking the elder boy’s exit route. Jiyong glared menacingly at the vocalist, knowing he would never be able to physically overpower him. The yellow-haired man grudgingly snatched the jewelry case back before trudging back to the center of Seunghyun’s living room, his bangs irritably making his eyes itchy.

A chorus of giggles and teases ensued, causing Jiyong’s already-blushing face to burn a deeper shade of pink. He stared skeptically at the necklace case in his palm, eyebrows furrowing as he clawed the price tag off out of frustration.

“This is so cheap too! Shouldn’t I get her a designer bag or something? Don’t girls like that? All of my female friends are always delighted whenever I gift them something like that…” Jiyong mumbled hesitantly, shyly glancing at the spectators sitting on Seunghyun’s sofa. Although he had asked Youngbae for the help, the little fucker ended up dragging the whole team into it. Only to get back at him for giving him “Min Hyorin advice” that only made their situation worse.

Youngbae “tsk"ed as he made himself comfortable against Seungri. The maknae was witnessing a completely new side of his charismatic leader, and it was hilarious. Flipping his dreads away from his face, Youngbae began to criticize his friend’s way of thinking as Seunghyun got up to get yet another wine bottle.

“See? You’re only useful at making girls fall for you, but you can never make them yours! Didn’t you say if anything, she’d want something simple? Getting her something expensive only pressures her. And just asking her out of the blue’s a bit… unprofessional.”

Daesung felt sorry for his hyung, who seemed extremely insecure. The ray of sunshine understood that Jiyong was just afraid that he would get rejected. The charismatic world star was only just a soft, delicate flower on the inside after all, and Daesung knew it.

“Or maybe I could just rap a confession?” Jiyong questioned, a flicker of hope reflected off his brown irises. BIGBANG groaned, though still amused with their leader’s uncertainty.

“Hyung, do you really think a solo artist would be thrilled to watch you perform for the millionth time in front of her? She’s had enough of that, I swear,” Seungri reasoned, cautiously leaning back against the sofa out of fear of getting hit. Surprisingly, he wasn’t, and was even more astonished to see his hyung giving his advice serious thought. Jiyong bit the bottom of his lip, hesitantly fumbling with the jewelry case in between his slim fingers.

“By the way,” Jiyong continued, “why the fuck is there a random white curtain there?” He motioned over to the white sheet hung up in the corner of the room. It looked like one of those white boards used for projectors, completely opaque and too ordinary to belong in Seunghyun’s living room.

“Aesthetic purposes,” the owner answered plainly in that deep voice he always used when passionately discussing his hobbies. “Would you like me to explain?”

Jiyong, along with all the other members, hurriedly raised their hands in frantic rejection.

“Oh god, no! Maybe you can tell me privately later,” laughed Daesung, his eyes scrunched up in genuine sincerity. Seunghyun obliged with a simple grunt, leaning back against the sofa. As if on cue, the other Seunghyun shot up from his seat, a figurative light bulb lighting up above his head.

“Hyung! Instead of confessing to Youngbae-hyung (disgusting, I know), why don’t you do it to the white sheet? Just imagine that it’s her standing behind it.”

Jiyong tensed up, a sudden suspicion bubbling in his chest and spreading throughout his nerves like a wildfire. What if his band mates had brought his crush over, and she had been hiding behind the curtain this whole time..!? Brown eyes dilating from paranoia, he turned his back to the white screen to face the maknae.

“This isn’t some prank, right? She’s not actually back there, right? I won’t have to excessively murder tonight, right?” he asked. His sentence started off in a wary state before intensifying into a threatening warning. Seungri shrugged, sitting back down and crossing his legs.

“Since when did Seunghyun-hyung comfortably allow outsiders into his museum of a home? He barely ever even lets me in, much less a rookie solo artist that he’s only met once or twice. You can check if you need to, but doesn’t that defeat the purpose of imagination? It also crushes your image of being cool guy. Am I right?” the panda reasoned, exaggerating a shrug to point out the simplicity of his logic.

“I usually never get along with him, but the kid’s right this time,” Seunghyun assured, causing Jiyong to sigh in relief before turning back to the white display.

Closing his eyes, the usually charismatic leader felt like a small lizard in comparison to his stage name. He had to admit it: confessing to someone without having to meet them in the eye was much easier, and he secretly wished that she was actually behind the curtain to surprise him. Jiyong held on to that small fragment of hope, and reopened his eyes, staring directly in front of him, gaze determined enough to burn a hole through the curtain.

Taking a low, deep breath, Kwon Jiyong spilled out all the heartfelt words he had struggled to choke out just moments ago. From the secrets he had been hiding from her, to his true feelings towards her, they flowed out from his lips like the river that survived the drought. Private words meant only for her were spoken, so reserved that even the thin-lipped members vowed to forget them later.

One second passed. Then five. Then ten. Jiyong broke the silence by letting out his breath, taking a shaky step backward. Although the sudden surge of emotions were unplanned, his speech remained imprinted in his mind like carvings set in stone. The necklace wasn’t even necessary. As if his whoosh of air broke the ice, the spectating members gave him an enthusiastic round of applause, followed by giggles from Youngbae and Seungri.

Jiyong felt a grin spread on his lips, a crucial hint given to him from the entertained Bae-Ri duo. Did he actually succeed in confessing? Ha! His genius members really did trick him into talking to his crush with a barrier. Like a champion about to claim his trophy, the leader moved to the other side of the white sheet in order to shyly encounter his other half.

“Good job, Jiyong-ah! As expected, our Jiyongie is talented at speaking!” Youngbae congratulated before adding, “Now all you have to do is the real thing tomorrow!” Followed by the shocking statement was a crestfallen Jiyong bashfully stalking out from behind the white curtain. His face was flushed red while his band mates swore they saw the same color flash through his furious eyes for a moment.

“You made it seem like she really was hiding behind that damned curtain!” Jiyong screamed out with a dramatic whine. The almighty dragon found himself rolling around on the floor in dejected disbelief of having to deliver his confession AGAIN, TOMORROW. Then, he whipped himself upright, looking back at the eldest member incredulously.

“That stupid, random, fucking curtain was really there for your aesthetic pleasure!?” he questioned in shrill frustration. Seunghyun nodded as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

“Jiyong-ah, what do you see when you look at such a blank screen? Nothing. But, my student, look closer… You will see the beauty through your very own eyes. Every time you turn away and look back, a different image surfaces. From this very sheet, so many beautiful creations arise-"

“Shut up!!”