#he's in four different ifs help

[vilnan]

putting teddy in all the possible ifs bc he is my favourite and i want him to smooch all the hot people

[greeneyed-thestral]

I MET MICHAEL SHEEN. 16/03/24, National Theatre

So, if you've read my post about booking tickets to see Michael, you know all about my what-ifs. But the day was finally here.

I arrived at the National Theatre, followed all the Nye signs and here's the Olivier Theatre. I made my sister buy me the show's programme, hoping I would be able to get it signed.

I find my seat, I'm not in the centre but the stage still feels very close and you can see everything (amphitheatres are always the best).

Lights out. The audience is in religious silence. Can't believe I'm actually here, this is happening.

[skip this part in smaller font, if you want to avoid spoilers] In the words of Staged, he really loses himself in his roles. First of all, it's great to hear him speak in a Welsh accent.

But then we also see him turning back into a child, and you can totally believe he's young and innocent again. His stutter feels so real, his struggle and sadness too. The entire ensamble is great during the classroom scene, where they all help Nye against their bullying teacher (using those big canes to make him look scary really works). Hearing young Nye confessing that at times he thinks he 'shouldn't exist' because of who he is was a gut punch; Michael's delivery of that whole part is incredible, in that moment he really becomes a little boy that allows himself to feel vulnerable and says something dark to a friend. The way he jumps while saying "I can visualise and enunciate!" made me wanna jump too, he was ready to give up and then he found the solution through books, it's the joy and relief you feel when you realise that there is another way and your life is not over.

Now, I've watched musicals all my life and let me tell you that man is meant to be in one. He opened his mouth and all I could see was someone that had been waiting a long time for the occasion to show his talent, truly showstopping. He was so free and happy and confident, singing and dancing spectacularly. I couldn't stop smiling and giggling, we all clapped.

It's clear he means every word he says, and when he points and shouts his political arguments at the audience, those who feel called out must be shaking; I thought 'This is how people in Ancient Greece must have felt everytime they went to the theatre'. His Nye is inspiring, passionate, someone you'd want to follow, he stands up for what he believes in and lets nothing get in his way.

We get to watch him flirt, on all fours, waggling his 'tail'; everytime we think we've seen all he's capable of, he does something like this and surprises us.

But most of all, we see him being scared, first of having to do something, and then of not being able to do enough for all of us. At one point everyone has requests for Nye and I was expecting him to shout "Heal yourselves!" like Jesus in JCS, it totally conveyed what it must have been like to be in his role at the time, overwhelmed with daunting responsibilities.

In general, I appreciated the fact that it wasn't a linear biography, they chose life moments that have universal situations everyone can relate too, like they do in bio-musicals. I loved the staging. The colour palette is so recognisable; the curtains and the beds are used in many different ways so everything is explored at its full potential.

He is on stage basically all the time for more than two hours (sometimes twice a day, can you imagine?). Also barefoot and in his pajamas from start to finish, he looks like a teddy bear you just want to hug and protect.

He bows, looks at Nye's achievements, then leaves the stage.

Standing ovation, applause. I go back to the theatre lobby, I was supposed to wait for my sister, but she's late. Meanwhile, a fan asks me how to get to the Stage Door. I start too fear that I'm going to miss my chance if I keep waiting inside, so I decide to go on my own. After no more than 5 minutes, he's outside with us. Forget Nye, I am living my fever dream. He has just finished his second show of the day and yet he's smiling and listening to each and every one, signing and taking pictures. I know many have said this, but he really is an angel.

My sister arrives, and as soon as I'm sure she has the camera ready, I make my way to him. The two girls next to me who were speaking to him needed a pen and I lent them my sharpie, so I got my chance to look generous in front of him.

And suddently it was my turn. This is as much as my scrambled mind allows me to remember: I tell him I'm Francesca and I'm from Italy, he asks me how long I am going to stay, I confess that I had arrived that morning and just to see him, that I would be leaving already the following morning. I can't even focus while he's signing my programme, I just want to find the right words. I manage to say how I enjoyed seeing his passion, all these different sides of him and how watching him sing and dance has been the highlight of my evening. We take a picture together, I feel his hand on my shoulder and I realise my arm is around the waist of this person I love. I had to thank him again, telling him that he only deserves good things and that we are so lucky to have him. He wishes me a safe trip home, and I melt. I leave and I can't stop trembling. On my way back to the hotel I hold on tight to my signed programme and the sharpie that was in his hands just moments earlier. Only later I will realise that he's also written 'Ciao!', 'love' and 'X', without me asking for it or anything! Seeing him act live was a big gift already, but what followed outside was beyond my dreams. I can't look at the photos without blushing, the way he looks at me in the video and then also strokes my arm for a moment, I mean pinch me now.

The more I think about it, the more I can't believe it happened.

I want to thank everyone that under my first post pushed me and encouraged me to see the pros of doing this, I share this beautiful moment of my life with all of you. <3

[vroomvroomcircuit]

A never-ending Worry

(A/N): Ikea gave me a big anxiety attack the other day. Here we are now.

Summary: Reader discovers her own anxiety together with Max through several instances.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

Wordcount: 2k

🏎Masterlist🏎 _____________________ Anxiety is a peculiar thing, especially when you suffer from it. It is for (Y/N) at least.

Ever since her first anxiety attack at the ripe age of 16 years, (Y/n) started to worry. About everything. All the damn time. Her head is running the whole time, thinking about different scenarios that could happen. Like her best friend once said:

“The possibility of a baby killing you is slim, but never zero.”

Maybe the possibilities for any of the “what ifs” really happening is low, but she will be prepared if it does happen. It’s an odd sense of safety she can find refuge in, especially in a world of unpredictability.

This is where the peculiarity comes into play. She does not have the knowledge or vocabulary to describe it all.

But (Y/N) never really talked about her constant worries coupled with a never ending feeling of nervousness. Never spoke of this feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Everyone feels like that, right?

“Hey Schatje? How many pairs of underwear have you packed for us?” Max called out for (Y/N) as he unpacked their suitcases, that his girlfriend herself packed for the two a couple of days before the trip even started.

A bit befuddled by his question, (Y/N) walks from the kitchen of the rental apartment, where she just finished putting away the groceries they got from their first run to the supermarket, to the bedroom.

“10 pairs for each of us. Do you think it won’t be enough? We can still go out and get some more tomorrow.” Max halts his movements for a second to check if her serious tone matches her face.

It does.

His girlfriend really means what she said.

“No, they will definitely suffice. You do know that we are here for only four days, right?” Max smiles at her. Maybe she just got something mixed up.

“Yes, of course. I planned our activities. It would be bad if I didn’t know about the length of our vacation.” She laughs to herself while moving to help Max unpacking. “Why are you asking?”

“Oh, nothing particular. Just checking.” Ok so. It is a thing for many women to overpack, especially regarding their underwear. “Can you explain your thoughts on the number to me? Why did you decide to pack 20 pairs of underpants in total?”

(Y/N) throws him a look. “Well, we need at least four, one for each day. Then I doubled that number, because something could have gone wrong on our car ride here or will on our way back, making us stay on vacation longer. Then eight felt like it’s not enough. Adding to the extra days, an accident could happen that makes you need an extra pair a day, right? And nine is an odd number that is not even a prime number, so I rounded up to ten. Completely logical.”

Well, it’s logical to her at least. Max was partially amazed by her train of thoughts and worries. He just let it be like that. After all, it’s just over packing and he loves how prepared she is in any given situation.

Prepared (Y/N) is. Always.

“Man, it is so hot, my fingers are sticky with sweat.” Daniel complaints. It’s a race weekend in Singapore and the Aussie is right. It is hot.

(Y/N), who walks with Daniel around the paddock while she waits for Max to get out of a meeting, starts to rummage in her backpack. The back she carries with her all the time. It’s close to iconic.

“Here is some hand disinfectant. It makes you feel a bit less sticky.”

Daniel smiles thankfully while taking the little bottle from the female’s hands. “Thank you. I just need to remember to put on some lotion, I don’t want my hands to dry out.”

As soon as he finishes his sentence, she replaces the disinfectant with another small bottle. “Don’t worry, I got you girl.” She winks at the Aussie.

“Oh wow, do you have everything important with you? Can you flee the country with that backpack spontaneously?” Daniel jokes, but it goes over her head.

“Yes, pretty much. I got a small first aid kit, my laptop and all needed chargers for my electronics. Oh, and my passport and IDs of course. Ah, and some small knick-knacks and snacks. Gotta be prepared for the worst case scenario, right?” Her seriousness unsettles something in the driver. But he kind of lets it go, just nodding to her statement. She is right, at least a bit, after all.

“Do you get more nervous when you get into the car? Or is your level of nervousness on the same level?

(Y/N) and Max cuddle in bed back in the safety of their home in Monaco. While asking the question in the wariness of the night, she traces the same shapes over and over again in her partner’s skin. It gives her an odd feeling of safety, the repetition.

Max has a confused look on his face. “What do you mean?” “Well, does your level of feeling nervous rise from the usual one before or during a race?” It sounds plausible to her. But it doesn’t for him.

Max sits up, leaning his upper body against the headboard to have a better look at his girlfriend. “Yes, it does rise, because my usual level of nervousness is zero like for everyone else. Of course I feel different from that, when I get into the car that can bring me over the finish line as a winner. I don’t get the question.”

(Y/N) blinks at him with a frown. “Not- no, not everyone’s level is zero. It’s really just for you that low.” Of course Max is always cool as a cucumber. He only gets this feeling in extreme situations.

“Oh Schtaje. It’s really not. Most people don’t feel nervous often. Do you?” He pulled her close to him, enveloping her completely.

“Not always. Right now, I’m not. But that is, because I’m with you. I know that together we can solve anything.” Max senses that (Y/N) doesn’t want to continue the conversation. He lets it be another time, partially to not make her feel completely uncomfortable in a peaceful moment, partially because he wants to do some research.

Her conversation with her boyfriend sparked something inside (Y/N). Hearing that not everyone is feeling the same way she does, it’s a lot to take in. So she started to do some reading of her own.

Many people on the internet describe the same moments she has: Constant nervousness, the need of being prepared at all times or she’ll break out in a sweat, plus the endless worrying.

And the sudden bursts of intense panic. These moments, where an all consuming fear grips her whole body into a chokehold. That makes her breaths become heavier and her thoughts even faster.

Reading about similar experiences to hers, it makes (Y/N) feel less alone. But one word stood out to her.

Anxiety.

She heard of it and has seen the portrayals on TV. But those are not what she feels. Or is it?

Everything and nothing make sense at the same time.

“Do you want to drive?” Max offers as they get ready to go out for dinner at a restaurant that is a tad too far away to be considered walkable distance. He regularly lets her drive, it’s a bit of emancipation. Why shouldn’t she drive when she has a license for that?

(Y/N) shakes her head no. “I don’t like today’s thoughts. I also feel extra nervous right now, I couldn’t find the menu of the restaurant online.” Max nods, understanding what kind of thoughts she is talking about - intrusive thoughts.

He also appreciates her openness with him about those feelings. “It’s ok, Schatje. I love driving for you, it’s my favorite kind of ride. We will also find something for you, we can order some dishes and share them until you decide which one you want.” He gives her a reassuring kiss on the cheek, hoping to ease up her worries.

During the drive, she holds his hand on the control stick. “It’s good to have you back. Last night I woke up in a panic and thought something must have happened to you on your flight and that this was the reason I had this huge anxiety attack. I couldn’t sleep until you texted me this morning when you landed at the airport.”

His heart grows heavy at that confession. He hasn’t known the extent of her anxious feelings. Max didn’t know how much they overshadowed her in her daily life.

(Y/N) herself never realized how much she has been hindered in her routines by her own thoughts and worries.

“It wasn’t the first time this happened. But it was the worst it has been so far. I thought you died. I waited for my phone to ring or the police to stand at the door, getting notified that you died in a plane crash. I already planned the next steps I had to take from there in my head.” (Y/N) doesn’t dare to look at her boyfriend after this admission.

It is weird to say something out loud, that she used to bury deep inside of her. This kind of vulnerability, it makes her want to crawl back into that hole again.

Over the last couple of weeks she realized that those spiraling thoughts are not here to make her feel safe. That the need of over preparedness is not necessary. That her anxious feelings are not some signs of something bad.

These thoughts are false friends, waiting for your demise, your downfall, to be able to say “I told you so”.

But where to go from here, from the realization of something going gravely wrong, to getting a grip of the situation. To make it all go away?

Max squeezes her hand before putting a kiss on it without taking his eyes off the road. “I’m here for you. I want to hear all those thoughts. As silly as they may sound out loud. I can help you in differentiating if they are necessary, needed, thoughts or if they are the product of overthinking. I want to help you. I want you to not feel anxious all the time. I want to help you through the anxiety attacks. We can get counseling - for only you or together. Just, let me be here for you during every step you take.”

His pleading brings tears to (Y/N)’s eyes. She didn’t know how noticeable her anxiety issues were to outsiders. She doesn’t know what it feels like for Max, seeing her in her most anxious states.

“Yes”, she answers him, “I want you to be here with me. I don’t know if I can do it on my own.” “You don’t need to find out. I’ll be there, for better or for worse.”

Turns out, Max’ deadpan and brutal honesty is exactly what (Y/N) needs.

The evening, where he was away for a race and she had to stay behind, because of her own work schedule. (Y/N) called him in the middle of a not very pretty anxiety attack. “I have this doctor’s appointment. It’s a check-up for my physical health. And what if I-I’m deathly sick and we are catching onto that only now?”

“This is a dumb thought.”

The female halts in her movements. Is it a dumb thought?

“I mean, yes. I regularly go out to donate blood. But maybe they haven’t caught something important accidentally.”

“That is stupid and unlikely.”

She stops again. “You are right. I actually have nothing to worry about.”

The road to having less anxiety is a twisted one, paved by setbacks and a small gap between succeeding and failing. But with Max as a passenger princess on that path (Y/N) knows she got it.

She will be ok, eventually.

[ryuzakemo128]

Grim Reaper Part Six

Pairings: Poly 141 x female reader / female reader x her mental health x König

Content Warnings: Hint of future darker content?, Kidnapping, mention of miscarriage, possessive & obsessed Austrian man, the affair partner comes in, domestic abuse mentioned, controlling behaviour mentioned, many other possible topics you may or may not find disturbing. Reader discrestion is advised.

Words: 2574

Masterlist - Prequel - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight

Supernatural AU - Poem

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary:

You felt peaceful at home in Alaska.

Austria keeps you on tenterhooks.

A month into your kidnapping, you were never in the main house for longer than a maximum of three days of the week. König wouldn’t risk the task force finding you so quickly, he finally managed to get you back Mäuschen. Don’t you understand? He wanted to keep you for a little longer. How much longer you ask? Why do you need to know Mäuschen? You don’t have a choice in the matter.

Sit there, look pretty for him. Don’t you fucking move a muscle as a painter etches your new look into an oil painting. Into another canvas he would later neglect much like anything your relationship fostered between the two of you. You were too tired to protest or argue with him. The jet lag getting to you faster than a snail escaping a squirrel.

König’s cooing in your ear didn’t help the matter any more if you weren’t tired and fighting the urge to punch him in the face. He seemed too keen on making sure you had this child in his presence inside of his home.

You felt peaceful at home in Alaska.

Austria keeps you on tenterhooks.

Here screamed danger. Betrayal. Heartbreak. Nothing good for you.

That's a diet level not to recommend; a morgue visit seems more apt.

The cottage's redeeming feature is the panoramic countryside view from every angle.

Things kept inside of it? They were a little too perfect, perfected and placed in a ‘aesthetically’ pleasing view. If someone wasn’t paying too close attention to it. Someone with a keen eye would point out it was purposefully styled this way to get you to stay longer.

From Monday to Thursday, you focused on crafting an escape plan while in a different Austrian region. Upon returning, you had no intention of taking chances. Staring at the harp in one of the rooms. In another life you would be playing it still. In another life you would still be married. You wouldn’t have lost your child the first time. Things would have been…...better?

It didn’t matter. It is what it is and thinking about what ifs wouldn’t change a damn thing about it either. Your mind like a stonewall remained steadfast in your choices leading up to your divorce. There was nothing he would or could say to prove otherwise.

On a Friday morning, you were drinking your green tea while someone waltzed into your room. A smug grin plastered on her face. Painted on her face like a well-rehearsed lyric, line in a play and a notable quote from a novel you liked to read.

You finally saw the woman he was seeing behind your back, your face carefully posed neutrally. If looks could have killed, she would have died the moment she walked through the door. “Do I know you?” You asked raising an eyebrow at her.

Her tactics didn't amuse you at all. In fact, it was a mere joke in a failing comical script by a piss poor comedian. Raised by failing artists who thought they could raise a success amongst two failures. You would have pitied her if you didn’t already want to immediately want to melt her face off.

"You don't remember? I figured you would." She jeered.

“You are no longer an integral part of my life. Therefore, your presence in my mind does not exist. Your name is lost in my history, forever a number in a line of cowards I have met in my life.”

“Fancy words for someone locked away in her old bedroom.” She rolled eyes. “I suppose that’s what happens when you run to a group of men instead of remaining loyal to the one guy who could have given you everything you could have wanted.”

“Oh. You sweet summer child. He told you that or did you concoct inside that head of yours all by yourself?” you snorted as you rolled your eyes at her naivety. You just created a job opening sweetheart. He’s serial cheater. You did yourself no favours by staying with him. I have no pity for you. None for a woman who took the life of my first born child from me. You dug your hole here. Lie in it and stay there.

You didn’t dare speak those words aloud. Not yet. You wouldn’t give this woman the satisfaction of her seeing you emotionally react to her. Once in a blue moon you will find your soul here. A version of yourself untainted by the future hurt you would feel soon after. A piece of yourself forever lying inside of the walls of this place no matter how many coats of paint he will put upon these walls.

No matter how much he denies it. You were first and foremost the one who might end up killing him by the end of it all. As you promised you would have if you ever found him cheating on you. Not one to take back your promise as it would go against your morals, your personal code of ethics. A promise is a promise after all.

Like a mythic fox, you're crafty, sharp-witted, and never succumb to trivial vanity. While König laid the game's foundation, you held more hidden cards. You weren’t going to lay around all day helpless like a damsel in distress this time around.

You had an Italian phrase etched into your forearm the month after your divorce, ‘Fino alla morte ogni coglione ci arriva.’ Meaning ‘Until we die anything and everything can happen.’

The phrase slowly becoming your mantra, your personal hymn and prayer you would say yourself over and over. It became your saving grace. Something you cling onto with vehemently. Close to your chest long enough to burn into your soul.

Yet this woman seemed to be so keen on getting right into your face about your pregnancy. You snapped, ordering her back onto König's cock, claiming he'd already fucked her senseless. Best she returns to her sole expertise before you consider doing it for him. Maybe not the optimal phrasing, but it seemed the sole means to make her retreat into a room that felt like a cave.

“Apart from your girlfriend's foolishness, you've done well,” you said calmly. “Well enough for a man of stature.”

König had never seen your temper rise this much. To this level before, it was pointed, angled at him and somehow, he felt his skin fluster. A bundle of nerves aroused by the thought of you losing your temper at her or him. He wanted more. No, he needed more of it. Aimed at him more than anything. Even when you threatened to fuck his girlfriend for him, which to anyone else, it would be odd to hear about right?

König didn't disagree. It was in fact odd to hear the first time she told him. He felt the need to hear repeat inside of his mind. Like a small voice in the back of his skull. Thoughts lingering around. He didn’t know he could think of you in that way. He only saw you as pure. Delicate. A flower.

Upon hearing this now. He desired you to sleep with her from the get-go. A desire which grew from the depths of his soul straight to his cock. Upon hearing, he was even angrier, you didn't. He wanted you to, solely to prove a point. The point where you weren’t the same woman he met years ago. Yet you sent her away. Slamming his fists against the table, sending a few pens rolling off the other side.

A few papers on his desk jumped from the top of his desk. Grunting at the thought of you taking his girlfriend in such an aggressive manner made his cock rock hard in a way he couldn’t hope to describe. Tempting like fudge he wasn’t allowed to eat. Irresistible like the last slice of pizza he hadn’t eaten in years. An apple from a tree, God had forbade Adam and Eve from picking and eating. Lucious, delicious, irresistible.

He'll confine you another weekday henceforth, leveraging your fiery nature for his gain. The potential is immense and endless, ready for his consumption, much like savouring shreds of slow-roasted pork. Can't you see, Maus? Don't you see his longing? Are you truly oblivious? He wants you face first into the white pillows mewling, begging for his thick cock to be shoved deep inside of you until your legs were weak, wobbly like a fawn learning to walk for the first time.

The deep thought of the mockery you would bring for the name branded things he had bought his girlfriend gave him the urge to jerk off inside of a condom pretending it was your tight pussy instead. Tricking his mind into believing he was cock deep inside of you.

Its your fault you look hotter while you are angry, tears streaming down your face and chest heaving as the sobbing wracked through you. Body and soul. Things he took for granted the first time. Yet if only he could take you like he did recently. Over and over without the fear of you ‘remembering’ somehow or in some way in the future. It was far too tempting to not play with that thought right?

You should understand what he’s capable Maus. You fucked with the wrong man this time. I mean it would always wind up to be your fault right Mäuschen? You get a sniff, a lick, a taste and a bite of freedom. And you act up like this Mäuschen?

You must be punished.

You need to be shown who’s really in charge.

And do you really think it’s you? Really?

Need a wake-up call? König is more than prepared to give you one. Or two.

“Taking her away from me? Laughable excuse among many. Pathetic.” He grumbled. Brow creasing into a frown.

Your mantra from ‘I don’t need you. Just as you don't need me’ to the more comforting ‘Until we die anything and everything can happen.’ Though the process was tough, she felt relief at escaping someone cold and uncaring. Her past often surprised her when she least anticipated it. Finding her miss parts of it more than she felt like she should have.

The same platinum blonde and light brown ombre coloured hair tied with pink hair ties in two piggy tails. The pastel pink headband matching the hair ties. The corseted, A-line pink and white dress. It screamed ‘try hard’ to a desperate degree. You just hoped she liked dressing this way before he met her.

She batted her eyelashes as stepped closer to you, you stepped away from her, yet with each step further away. She matched it with two tiny ones of hers. One step back and two steps forward. Pressing your back against the wall. Her light grey eyes looking into yours like you had something inside you worth keeping for herself.

Thief and liar. Two typically dreadful things combined. Evoking a distinctive atmosphere of neglect akin to that found in a Lovecraft or King horror novel. Commonly appealing to horror fans over partygoers.

Odd. She’s silent this time.

Good. She learnt her fucking lesson.

I wish she would stay out of my face though.

Not my problem for much longer.

Her gaze delved deep, as if manually reorganising your insides, all without a trace of physical contact. As you mustered the courage to ask her to go away, the door suddenly opened, and a maid brought in your breakfast. You moved to the table, the young woman gazing in your wake.

What the fuck is her problem? Doesn’t she have something better to do? Did Konig put her up to this? That stupid sick fucker. Probably getting off to the thought of sending her here.

It's likely he has three to four cameras here now.

I located one above the bathroom door and another right above the showerhead, closer to the shower. The third was likely behind the bathroom mirror.

I wouldn’t put it past him. Even with an affair, he remained controlling. Subtly controlling, unnoticed until my departure. Cameras were just one of the few things I remember. I am sure the meals were just as restrictive as they were back then. Can’t gain weight when your husband controls what you eat right? In this case ex-husband.

It felt odd to be watched in this manner. You expected it to come from a stonewall mute who only spoke in sign language or morse code. Not whatever this was.

His mind has flown the coop. It would have to be long gone by now.

He creates chaos and expects me to fix it, accepting the blame for his actions to ease his conscience. Not anymore. As I told him the first day.

I don’t need him anymore. He’s no longer the first thing on my mind. Yet it’s like he’s not listening to the words I’m telling him through my actions. Deliberately misreading them to a dangerous degree.

I can’t find the words to describe how pathetic he seems to me now. Knowing what kind of person, he has shown himself to be.

To think I’m the monster in your eyes. Especially considering the lengths you go to get what you think is yours. Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.

You are far luckier you’re not in front of me now. No matter. If I need to bide my time. I will bide my time. Inch by inch. Centimetre by Centimetre. You will not get away with ruining my life.

Another strange thing you picked up on. There were no clocks inside the entire place. Not even digital ones. Not a single clock anywhere. No calendars kept anywhere to let you know what day or month of the year it was.

There is no ceramic dishes or glasses. Replaced by plastic plates, cups and cutlery. As if he tried to baby wrap and baby proof every aspect of your time here. You are sure the rest of the furniture has the same theme of ‘safety’. As if he didn’t think you were capable of caring for yourself properly.

Insulting as well as utterly demeaning.

He even cleared the books.

None of the erotic tales he'd suspect you of reading behind his back. He called it cheating to read them. Said you were reading them to get back at him on an emotional level of some kind.

Made him doubt your marital fidelity compared to his.

Stated it was your responsibility for his initial infidelity.

Ludicrous. Absurd and utterly false.

He yelled, calling it the ultimate betrayal for writing it on your own terms. He'd have remained unaware if he'd ignored the mail that day. You sold the manuscript a few months into his deployment for extra cash. You'd typically use this while earning, when he's usually away.

He’d be home. While you were deployed. It was an opposite of each other.

He didn’t know you. Not in the way you hoped.

He'd bring gold jewellery, but you liked silver more.

He’d bring you plain green tea. You preferred hibiscus and strawberry hibiscus.

Purposefully getting things wrong to the point where it felt like he just didn’t care. On purpose to a deeper degree, you couldn’t understand at the time. You couldn’t put your finger on the reason for it.

You guess you ought to be glad you got out of there in one piece the first time.

[xxvalkyriesxx]

Flying Changes - Chapter Six

A Nessian Equestrian Fic

Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Read on AO3 or below!

@nessianweek (post for Day Seven - Free Day)

AN: Hello Everyone!!! It's been a bit since I last updated Flying Changes! Thank you so much for being kind and patient with me as I participated in my first Nessian week! You can read the fics I wrote for Nessian week either through my Nessian Week 2024 series or the NessianWeek2024 collection here on AO3!! You can also read my fics on Tumblr if you're there too!

Shout out to IRL fandom friend who's been helping with some details for this chapter and a few others! They're amazing and I love them!!

CW: Panic attacks, discussions on anxiety

Snippet:

“Easy, Sweetheart. Some might think you’re flirting with me.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, her stomach turning to iron. “As if.” 

She stood up from the chair. “Am I needed for anything else?”

Cassian shook his head. “No. But before you go off to read your smut and dream of those “barbaric men and warrior women”, I need you to go muck the stalls in the private barn.”

Arching an eyebrow, she shook her head. “I did that this morning.”

**

Ironically this was the first time Nesta stepped foot into Cassian’s office. It was above the therapy barn’s tack room. Windows were displayed on the side creating a perfect view of most of the stalls. She couldn't help but wonder how many times he had watched her through these windows as she did chores. Was it similar to how she would watch from her bedroom window?

The door shut as Cassian walked through the threshold. The sound made Nesta’s shoulders tense, her heartbeat was faster than normal. A sick familiar wave of dread anchored her belly, pinning her to the chair she sat in. Cassian crossed over to his desk speaking, but not a single word did she hear. Not as phantom memories filled her ears like water. Her eyes were casted downwards, afraid. Afraid of what she couldn’t tell. The anxiety of her rotten memories or the anxiety of the what-ifs littering her mind like landfills.

Will I ever break free from this cycle? Or is this the cycle the Mother doomed me to run in through until I’m six feet under, giving my skin and hair back to the world that created me.

Nesta.

Her name was called, but the voice was so distorted was it even real? Air suddenly felt like a right that she couldn’t have. As she breathed, the world around her began to shrink. The walls of the room pushed closer and closer to where she sat. The furniture scratched across the wooden floors.

Nesta, you’re having… panic attack. I’m going…open the door…let air in…need you to focus… Tether yourself…

The voice weaved through her ears, not catching everything that was spoken. There was a presence near her, but it wasn’t too close, but too far. It was familiar and oddly made her feel warm in the arctic hellscape of her mind. The room froze in her terminal, but the furniture kept quiet, the walls still as statues. Her head took in the scene before her.

Five things. What five things can you see? Can you describe them to me?

Words piled onto her tongue waiting for her mind to open her mouth, but nothing fell out. The presence was still near her, but close enough to touch.

Breathe. Name five things.

Windows. Desk. Couch. Photo. Books.

Good, describe them to me.

The windows are to the right of me. I can see the stalls from there.

The desk is in front of me. It's brown.

The couch is on my left side. It’s velvet and green.

There’s a picture on the wall, seven guys in camo.

Books…They were on the nearby shelf. The books are different colors. Blacks, grays, and reds. Some look thick, some thin.

That’s great Nesta. What are four things you can touch?

Somehow the room started to shift back to place. The walls went back in their normal position. Nesta blinked, feeling the wood of the chair she sat in. Her eyes adjusted, the blur slowly leaving her sight. The chair. The wood is smooth, but the further I go, I feel ridges carved with designs.

Nesta reached over to the desk picking up a stack of papers. Documents, probably important. Thin yet the stack holds weight.

Still on the desk, Nesta grabbed a toy horse. A tiny horse. It’s dapple gray and seems to be cantering. The mane and tail are a little sharp with the horse in motion. It’s a plastic toy, but not a breyer horse.

Finally she reached over to the nearby lamp, her hand around the pull-switch. It was metallic and beaded, slightly cool in between her finger pads. Gently she pulled it, the lamp turning on, a warm light filling her vision. The pull-switch of this lamp. It’s kinda cold, not heavy.

I see you, Nesta. You’re grounding yourself. Can you name three things you can hear?

Taking a deep breath, the air traveled from her nose to mouth, in a setting she didn’t know how long it took her to exhale. Was it fast? Was it too slow? Was this good enough? Her gaze wandered over the blur that tricked her eyes. Slightly focused then slightly not.

Focus. What three things do you hear?

Head breaking the surface of the distorted noise, Nesta focused. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. Nesta looked away from the blurb, her eyes landing on an old grandfather clock. The clock, it’s ticking. She shifted, taking another breath.

Eventually another noise drifted from the open door. A horse was neighing, probably Jasper. He was the one horse who never shut up. The sound gave light to her belly. Her body wiggled and moved in the chair, the anchor pulling from the pit. Jasper. He’s loud.

Then she heard the blur snort, an almost laugh. Or was it a laugh for real? Your laugh?

“Why are you saying it as a question?” “Are you laughing?”

Silence met her until a voice strode into her mind. “Yes, I’m laughing. You know the horses better than I thought.”

“Name me two things you can smell.”

Nesta sniffed and then sniffed again. A scent, there was a scent that swayed around the room that provided enough evidence it was lingering in the air instead of in her head. “It smells like fall. Clove, cedar, maybe a hint of vanilla? It’s not strong, the scent is mellow enough. Like a candle.” Her head wandered until she saw an air freshener plugged into a nearby socket.

She took another breath, her mind still as she narrowed down something else. It came after moments on end as she tried hard to find something past the scented cloud that was in the office. The other scent was fading, but it gave Nesta just the tiniest of scrapes, in the shape of a needle. “Hay…It’s a dumb answer being in a horse barn.”

“Not at all.”

Her come down was less of free falling and now floating. The ground was in sight as if she could stretch her toes down to touch the floor before her feet fully planted on it.

“Name one person or thing that you’re grateful for.”

A slow rise of panic crawled in, making her go from her body floating in air to a being in hot air balloon. The fire brought her up. Nesta took one, two, three deep breaths slowly, keeping her heartbeat regulated. A face came into view of a woman, beautiful brown eyes, black hair. Her presence was what a friend was described as in the books Nesta read. She clung the name close to her heart. “Emerie.”

“Nesta.” The voice spoke her name.

She looked up to see Cassian kneeling near her. Close enough he could touch her if he tried, but provided a safe distance. Something twanged in her heart, but she pushed it away. It wasn’t anxiety, it was nonsense.

“You did excellent.” He praised, a soft smile on his lips. “The door.” She whispered the barrier, but swallowed her anxiety, speaking clearly. “The door. It was the door that triggered me.”

Cassian’s ears pinked as his fingers pulled on his ponytail. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to slam the door like that.” His gaze lingered from the floor to her eyes. Nesta nodded. “It’s..it’s okay, you didn’t know. But I would prefer not to be taken away to a private area when you’re angry. It..” Her memory was bile rising up her throat.

Cassian nodded slightly, encouraging her. There was no force in his demeanor. “It just brings up..bad stuff.” She didn’t want to name it as if it was a curse looking to haunt her. “That’s..that’s all I need to know, Nesta. I’ll know going forward that isn’t the best plan of action.”

“Thank you.”

“I wanted to speak to you in private because I did want to address a few things that happened in that arena.” Cassian said as he stood up, sitting slightly on top of his desk.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” “I hate to admit this Nesta, but you did.” His voice was calm, apologetic. There was no hate or taunt that threaded his letters. “What did you think I did wrong by standing up for Gwyn.”

Cassian shook his head. “It’s not that.. That took courage. Courage that most people in today’s world don’t have.” “Then what was your issue?” Nesta asked, an irritation gnawing at her. “Legal.”

Nesta blinked once, then twice. She didn’t know why but she was expecting something stupid to come out his mouth like because she’s traumatized or something even misogynistic about her being a woman or perhaps both.

“Legally, if you were to do that and not be an actual staff member during an actual lesson if the ranch was up and running, then you would become liable for whatever happens in that arena, and how it affects everyone there and on this ranch.”

A bitter response was out before she could yank the anger back. “Then hire actual people to prevent what I had to witness.” She waited for his anger to bite her back, sending her from panics to complete rage.

“Well…I can’t argue with that, now can I?”

Nesta opened her mouth, then closed, then opened to say something, then abruptly closing her lips again. Cassian shook with laughter and somehow Nesta thought there were butterflies flying in her belly. It would be a lie to say she hated the feeling.

“Forgive me, but you’re just really cute when you’re like that, Nesta.” Cassian smiled brightly. Her face was in flames with how pink her cheeks came to be. She quickly looked away, her nose scrunching from the embarrassment. He laughed a little more before leaning back, his hands resting on the edge of the desk.

“Back to what we were speaking about. I’m glad you were there for Gwyn and helped her get more simulated with horses. It was a greatcall to use Sundrop. However, you may be an Olympic equestrian, but you never trained to work with therapy horses. Things could have gotten a lot worse today.”

He shrugged. “I mean for all we know, the shitty therapist could be bad mouthing the ranch. I guess it’s a good thing we are technically closed. And I guess I still have a lot to learn being a ranch manager.” “I can’t argue with that.” The smallest of smirks on her lips, echoing his statement from moments ago. Cassian pursed his lips as he shook his head.

“Easy, Sweetheart. Some might think you’re flirting with me.” Nesta rolled her eyes, her stomach turning to iron. “As if.”

She stood up from the chair. “Am I needed for anything else?” Cassian shook his head. “No. But before you go off to read your smut and dream of those “barbaric men and warrior women”, I need you to go muck the stalls in the private barn.” Arching an eyebrow, she shook her head. “I did that this morning.”

“Horses shit a lot. Take it as a learning lesson, Nes.” “That’s not my name.” Nesta glared at him. His lips were sealed as she scoffed before turning around.

As she crossed the threshold, Nesta couldn’t help but think Cassian looked similar to his younger self from the photograph in his office surrounded by fellow military personnel.

**

Pushing the wheelbarrow through the barn, Nesta hated to admit that Cassian was right. The stalls were dirtier than usual in between cleanings.

“Damn horses.” Nesta mumbled underneath her breath as she went to the first empty stall. There was a stall sign that resembled a plaque installed into the front of the stall. The sign read “Odysseus”. There was no show name or owner name, but as they didn’t board the barn out to outsiders, it made sense why there was no need to showcase the owner.

With the pitchfork in her gloved hand, Nesta cleaned out the stall, ridding it of the dirty hay and shit that littered the stall mat. Next, Nesta grabbed the buckets from the stall, giving the water and food buckets a good rinse both drying them off. On her way back, she grabbed new bedding. She layered the new bedding over the mat, making sure it was rid completely of manure and wet bedding before the new bedding was placed.

Before coming to the ranch, Nesta couldn’t remember the last time she used any of her muscles before her fall. She used to dance on the side, and did it while she drank, but it had been almost a year since she last had the urge to dance at all. The first two weeks were rough, but slowly the settled routine gave her some stamina to flesh out.

It didn’t stop her from breaking a sweat once she finished the first stall. The wheelbarrow wasn’t too full, so Nesta moved along to the next empty stall, when something shiny caught her eye. It was a necklace that hung right outside the stall. Taking a closer look, Nesta’s fingers held it up.

A dog tag.

Usual dog tags had the person’s full name, service number, blood type, and religion, instead this one read something entirely different.

Baby Bat | NCAF | PJ

Confusion scrawled onto Nesta’s features as she touched the custom made dog tag. NCAF was the Night Court Air Force, but nothing came to mind with PJ. Maybe it was their unit? But who was Baby Bat? Her teeth bit her bottom lip as she recalled hearing that Rhysand and Azriel served in the NCAF with Cassian, could this be one of theirs?

But as Nesta looked up she noticed another silver dog tag at a different stall. How did I not notice these before? This one read as:

Bat Jazz | NCAF | PJ

Apparently they were fond of bats in this family..Nesta rolled her eyes as she looked back up, noticing four more tags across different stalls. She tilted her head, thinking.

There’s six tags in here, but the photo in Cassian’s office, including him there was seven. Rhysand and Azriel were not in that photo either. Nesta thought to herself as she tried to piece together a puzzle with half the box missing.

“Hey Nesta.” A voice said behind her.

Nesta immediately jumped up, shock and fear twirling around her spine as she spun around to face the person.

“What the fuck..oh..Azriel..what are you doing?” Her gaze traveled from his face to his hands full carrying a western saddle. The color was a rich dark brown, almost black with the horn at a normal height.

“Not much, just polished my saddle for Singer.” She blinked. It was the first time she saw either of the Valyrian brothers hold horse tack.

“Do you compete?” Nesta nodded to the saddle. “Yes’em.” A draw flowed from his voice. “'You ever learned to ride western?” Nesta snorted. “Of course I did. Just because my focus was on English equestrian didn’t mean I didn’t branch out of it every once in a while.”

She leaned against the stall door. “What do you compete in?” Azriel shrugged. “I do a little of everything at the rodeos. Although I focus mainly on bull riding.”

“You bull ride?” Her jaw dropped, just a fraction. “Sure do. Windhaven is small enough that my record is impressive.” “Which is what, three seconds?”

“Ten seconds actually.”

From what she knew about bull riding, which wasn’t a lot, it was extremely impressive. Her gaze traveled up and down Azriel noting the muscles she never really noticed before in his shoulders and arms. They weren't as thick as Cassian’s but Nesta could tell the muscles were strong. A slight pink dusted on her cheeks as Azriel caught her stare but moved past her, heading to the tack room before returning.

“Who’s Baby Bat?” Nesta asked, pointing to the dog tag. Azriel stopped in his tracks. “A friend of the family.” His tone was melancholic. It seemed that he stared off in the distance, almost looking right through her. Nesta held her tongue, not wanting to take a deep dive today.

“Thank you for today, helping with Gwyn and all.” Nesta commented, changing the subject. At the drop of the ginger’s name, Azriel regained his focus at Nesta. “I should be thanking you actually. I worked with her when she came here last and I generally thought it was normal nerves, but something was off. And my mother raised me to be a respectful gentleman, so I didn’t push.”

“Weren’t you raised by Rhys’ mother?” Nesta asked. He shook his head. “A story for another time.” They stood in silence as they ventured off into awkward territory if neither of them spoke or did something.

“How long have you been into her? Gwyn I mean.”

Azriel startled. “When did I say I was into Gwyn?” “I may be a recovering alcoholic, but I know the laws of attraction, Azriel.” “It’s nothing.” Azriel grumbled.

“You have this look on your face when you’re with her, you know. Growing up I would hear it all of the time by my sister. The Artist’s Gaze.” Nesta rolled her eyes. “You could stare at a work of art for hours and never bore, never stray.” “I’m assuming Feyre was the one to say this, not Elain.” Azriel replied, leaning against one of the box stalls.

Nesta’s stomach twisted. “It was actually Elain. That’s how she would describe Feyre whenever I called home to check on them.” “How do you know, Elain?” She crossed her arms at the mention of her sister. Her words from their last phone call haunted her mind.

“It’s complicated.” Azriel said, dropping his gaze. “It always is with an Archeron.” Nesta mumbled before she looked at her phone, checking the time.

“I need to head out to AA or else I’ll be late, come on.”

**

Tag List (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @chairofchaos @blueunoias @velarisdusk @c-e-d-dreamer @jsmelodies @inkedinshadows @wolfnesta @lilah-asteria @highqueenmorrigan @daughter-of-lethe @isnotwhatyourethinking @acourtofbatboydreams

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

ae don't see the point in engaging in a fandom if you don't even really like the characters

like, yeah, folks get ford wrong, and they get mabel wrong too. but they also get stan wrong. like. a lot? just as much as they get ford wrong, even? is. is there a chance the only reason folks talk about ford's mischaracterization more is because he's made out to seem worse than he is and stan is made out to be flawless and people like flawlessness and perfection and more attracted to characters deemed as having no negative traits because they feel better projecting themselves onto said character

anyway, ae can't say anything on dipper cause ae don't even really know his character that well (was always more interested in the others unfortunately) so ae have no clue if like. folks are mischaracterizing the main character too

but the point is: you have a main cast of like four characters. maybe five, if you count bill. and three out of those four (maybe four out of those five, considering the. what would we call that. 'wet kitten'-ifing of bill, especially recently), a large chunk of the fandom violently mischaracterizes. do you get us here? like, it's one thing to throw some headcanons into the ring, tweak some bits of a character, etc.

what the fandom does with ford and stan is not that. ford is not ford, and stan is certainly not stan. and mabel? we all know how she's treated

aey don't want to say like. all the folks here are doing it for this reason. but ae'm willing to bet this is due to 1. not interacting with the actual material for a long while and 2. not being able to let go of the series due to nostalgia

and ae get that, ae do. it's hard to let things go that are important to you. but you're not the only one. gravity falls praises weirdness, the differences in beings. lots of folks are attached to the show due to this, especially neurodivergent or just generally outcast folks. it says you will find your place, where you will find community and safety. it says that things get messy, but they can always get better

1: erasing stan's mistakes and flaws and making him a perfect can-do-no-wrong was coerced into every bad thing he's ever done character fucks that up (and the stan in our head personally likes to have his gremlin shenanigans acknowledged). it means stan didn't have to work for his happy ending, he didn't have to better himself, he just had to sit and wait for ford to drop it in his lap. this means it is not equal. it's not fair to ford, if he's the only one that had to put effort into it (especially after the thirty years of being in a completely alien place??). this also becomes an issue when you take into account that a large amount of people still give stan all his canonical trauma. you are not your trauma, you are not responsible for it, but you do need to work with it. it can't get better by itself, you need to help it get to that point. and this is speaking as someone with ptsd. it will always be there, but you can ease the pain. thus, treating stan in this way yields the opposite meaning: he doesn't struggle with it. he doesn't make mistakes. he never lashes out because of the suffering as commonly occurs. he doesn't have to try. making him messy makes him real, and making him real means he can be used as a device to help those hurting to heal. his experiences are relatable for a lot: and thus making him have to work for his good ending instead of just waiting for it to fall into his hold is important. if he can do it, you can, too! you don't get that if he doesn't have to try

2: ford is a very neurodivergent-coded character. this does not mean he is canonically neurodivergent; it does, however, mean that when you demonize him, make his character worse than it is, it is very difficult to avoid spewing out ableism. saying x trait of ford is bad for y reason means you are bound to fall into a pit trap of hurting beings who don't deserve it. most folks think of autism, of course, but this also applies to a lot of other things. personality disorders, paranoia and anxiety, ocd, and a whole host of other things folks have no control over. he has a lot of hurt he was never able to process properly, and that adds to him being a messy character. this is good! he works hard to pry his life from his abuser, and he works even harder to better himself and get his happy ending with his family! and yet. the fandom does not acknowledge any of that. he is demonized for things stan does, too, and ae have never such horrific victim blaming as in the fandom. again, this hurts people. he is not irredeemable, and he is not responsible for what his manipulative abuser did to him. implying or outright saying he is harms beings that are trying to heal from similar experiences. furthermore: the emphasis on him being arrogant, having an ego. stop that. if he has a little bit of arrogance to him, so what? that's normal, that doesn't make him a bad guy. especially when folks dig so hard to find any scraps that prove this apparent trait of his. everything is scrutinized. learning to love yourself is important, and gaining a little bit of an ego is part of that. building confidence and pride in your accomplishments is good! being able to genuinely say you're cool or amazing or smart or beautiful or strong is good! building all of this up is an important part of healing, especially from trauma, and demonizing ford for it is actively working against this

pointing these things out isn't hating on stan or defending ford, either. the characters have personalities, and it's better in the end to let them keep them, as messy as they may be. stan has flaws, ford does too. but they're good people, they have good intentions, and they work to better themselves and repair relationships. they're not all the way there, yet, but they will be. you just won't get to see it (that's what fics and fan art and headcanons and discussions are for)

this turned out so much longer than ae meant it to be, but like. idk, needed to get our thoughts out ae guess

[jujutsutrash]

Never mind me this is just my self indulgent weird scenarios. no real content warnings. maybe some angst.

Thinking about Noritoshi Kamo x Reader where it doesn't work out. he is too caught up in his clan bullshit and you don't want to get trapped in that baggage. he needs to become head of the clan, he will need to have a proper spouse. and you don't wanna be judged constantly by his family. so you run, leave the country even, and he never hears from you. he only knows you are alive because every now and again someone from the Tokyo School travels to visit. he doesn't see you for years. until one day he does.

A heavy hearted Noritoshi Kamo who has to visit the Tokyo School one day and ends up seeing you. after four years that seemed like an eternity, he sees you. you. with Yuuta Okkotsu brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. a small boy in his arm.

A phased Noritoshi who has to keep himself from staring in disbelief. you and Yuuta haven't noticed him yet but the boy turns his face around and his eyes catch Noritoshi's. it's only a split second but it feels like infinity.

It has been fours years since you left. you had always been close with Yuuta – and the special grade was always free to travel. it has been four years. Noritoshi tries not to think about it. but that boy looks nowhere under three.

The next time Noritoshi sees you, you are alone. you both exchange greetings, it's polite but distant. his eyes linger on what changed and what remained the same. your eyes have the same shape he knows so well, but they look tired now. your lips follow the same curves, but your smile has changed.

He doesn't ask about the kid, you don't comment either. your greeting is like a business transaction, done and over with. a braver man would have asked, but he isn't quite so brave. so you part ways, he doesn't learn the name of the kid, or his age for that matter.

Noritoshi later catches a glimpse of the boy with Maki – she was one of the few people he knew visited you with regularity, so it made sense. then he sees the kid again with Yuuta. it's through a window, and once more the boy turns around when Yuuta isn't looking.

He doesn't want to stare, not really. but Noritoshi can't help but notice his traits. the little boy has your skin complexion and the shape of your eyes. his hair is raven black, falling straight to his chin. Noritoshi never saw pictures of you as a child – and now he is left wondering.

Noritoshi walks away before he can be noticed. but not before he hears the boy call for his father. when Yuuta's gentle tone responds, Noritoshi feels a sting. he leaves the Tokyo campus that day. he doesn't return for over a year.

In the meantime, Noritoshi learns that you returned to action as a sorcerer. he overhears about where you had lived abroad, and the name of the boy. your son. Katsuhiro. it's a beautiful name, he thinks.

The next time Noritoshi sees Katsuhiro is when he needs to visit the Tokyo campus again. he'd made sure to arrange his trip when you'd be on a mission, but fate didn't care. he spots the kid with Choso, the half cursed spirit taking the little boy somewhere inside the school.

The kid should be about five by now - or closer to six by different calculations. Noritoshi tries not to think too hard about it. about how he is at the age where cursed techniques manifest. about how he heard nothing of it. about how Choso would be a good choice if one needed to train a child with blood manipulation without reaching the Kamo clan.

A braver man would have asked you, but he isn't brave. and now he lingers in the hallway, staring at the place where they turned around – one foot stepping into the sunlight coming through the window, and he doesn't know if he wants to move forward.

Noritoshi tries not to think about it. he really does. not to wonder about what lies behind the walls he cannot cross. not to muse on what ifs. he tries not to think about it. but now he can't even sleep – the thoughts won't silence for a second.

[artistsfuneral]

The Road to Kaer Morhen - p. 7

(There's coloring pages for this fic in my ko-fi shop now!)

Jaskier sighed, his face softening. “I am your friend, Aiden. I know we haven't been traveling together for long, so it might not mean that much to you yet, but I am your friend and I protect my friends, Aiden. That's the only important thing right now.” The Cat stared at him with a horrified frown on his pretty face. But unable to accept the bard's sketchy reply, he started to argue, “That is not an answer! Look at you, fucking- look at what you've done! I have never met any creature with such destructive power!”

“I am not a monster, Aiden!” Jaskier gasped, suddenly feeling just as frightened as the witcher in front of him. “I'm not some creature from your bestiary that you're hired to kill because I go about eating children for breakfast!”

Almost immediately after realizing the words that had left his mouth, Aiden wanted to apologize for them. Just how many times had he been on the other end of this exact same conversation? How many times did he have to justify his mere existence, simply because he was a witcher, a Cat Witcher of all things? How many times had people turned on him after they'd seen him fight, after they'd seen him fall into a haze of blood lust? How many times had friends betrayed him before?

And what kind of monster had tears in their eyes after being accused of such things? Aiden felt like an awful person. “I- I'm sorry, Jaskier, you're right, it's just-” he couldn't help but to take a glance at their surroundings; the destruction and chaos left behind. Next to him Jaskier sniffled and willed his tears away. “I know. It can be a lot, I'm sorry if I scared you, sunshine, but I promise- I would never hurt you. I'm a protector, not a fighter.” Aiden sighed before rubbing at his tired eye to further ease the stinging. “Alright, dandelion, I will trust you to protect me then,” he said, certainly not expecting Jaskier to fall around his neck and hug him tightly. “Thank you.”

Later, Aiden watched with a mix of apprehension and curios fascination as the bard walked around the soldiers' campsite and cleaned up a big portion of the mess he had made, to prevent attracting necrophages and the like. The Cat was entirely intrigued by the fact that Jaskier, who was more than a head smaller than him and had the slim physique one would expect from a traveling bard, seemed to posses the strength of a full grown, healthy witcher. Though, he wouldn't doubt Jaskier being even stronger than that. “Can you carry a horse?” Aiden blurted out, without really thinking about it too much. The bard froze on the spot, both hands full of several heavy metal pieces that were part of the redanian armor. He looked at Aiden, then at the four horses that were now calmly resting a bit further away from their initial spot, then back at Aiden. “Why would I carry a horse?”

The witcher snorted, “It's not about the why, it's about the ifs and coulds.” Jaskier blinked at him once, twice, before shaking his head and returning to his task. “If I ever feel the desire to carry a horse around for fun, you will be the first to know.”

“That's all I ask for,” Aiden grinned, for now satisfied with simply watching Jaskier flutter around the camp like a little bird. Every now and then the bard would find something worthwhile and place it either near their packs or right into Aiden's lap, like the sword he had mentioned earlier, a new, clean tunic, or a pair of sturdy leather boots that fit him surprisingly well. It didn't take long until the bard had them both cleaned up and wearing two new outfits. Although Aiden wasn't exactly comfortable with the distinctive lack of armor, the bard was quick to reassure him that that was taken care of as well, he just wanted Aiden's injuries to fully heal this time around, before making him carry any extra weight. Which made sense, even if it left Aiden feeling weirdly exposed.

Not that Jaskier was looking any different. Somehow the bard was wearing even less than him. Whereas Aiden's short sleeved honey colored tunic could still be worn in town without leading to some sort of kerfuffle caused by public indecency, Jaskier had somehow managed to squeeze himself in a sleeveless, skin tight garment that would have Aiden drooling, had it been his lover Lambert in front of him. Though, he admitted he had stared at Jaskier for quite a bit, when the bard had walked back towards his resting place. When he asked the bard about it, Jaskier proudly declared that it was his own design. Of course it was, Aiden thought with fond exasperation.

“Now, I don't think you'll object to us heading further east into the forest before we make camp, given the whole,” Jaskier waved his hands in a way that indicated the entirety of their surroundings, “situation.” Aiden chuckled, “Can't say I'm fond of the idea of cuddling.”

“Oh gods, no,” the bard shuddered before extending his hand to help Aiden up. He accepted without hesitating. “Alright then, now we just have to decide which horses we will take with us.”

Jaskier gasped, looking at the witcher in shock. “Which ones? Aiden, no.”

Somehow the witcher had a bad feeling about this.

“Aiden, they're friends. We can't separate friends, that would be cruel.”

“You can't be serious about this.”

“They'd make a nice present for Vesemir, don't you think?”

“Jaskier.”

or: how many horses will the author have to draw? (why am I doing this again😳)

please like and reblog if you voted

✨🌿🌼✨

"But they're friends Aiden", Jaskier said with the biggest, most adorable puppydog eyes, knowing full well that Aiden still felt guilty about earlier. (Such an evil little man ❤)

If you have any ideas on what J might've looted in camp lmk!

@mirrorthoughts @dwintu @whump-der-it-is @beneficialfondue @sinfulpetgirlrd @chaoticfandomthot @fingons-rad-harp @basilikum7 @siriusly-the-best-bi @snailqueen42 @cowboybuttconnoisseur @reluctantbroodingdads @starlghtstarbrite @merthurmagic @wren-of-the-woods @araglas1989 @joestarlight @alaskawho @kore888 @toapoet @thehorrorandme @inanoldhousewrites @dinotree506 @gregre369 @life-as-a-gamergirl @nerdymuffinbonkcloud @singerin @cinary @dragongrowlings @thrive4good @moonroses4u @alllthequeenshorses @weirdandabsurd42

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[fastcardotmp3]

even if they were never going to let hopper stay dead after season three because the don't know how to Do That, I still think it's bonkers that they chose to tease him being alive in the post-credits sequence LIKE.

his death felt impactful when I watched it the first time when it was released. it felt like a really big deal and a great set-up for questioning well fuck what are they going to do without him next season? what will happen to El? How will Joyce cope? what will the police force look like without someone in the know in charge?

and yeah, those questions still get answered in season 4, but during that (extra long) hiatus between the two seasons, we didn't even get to relish in ASKING because three minutes after the show ends it's just a letdown of hard-won emotion like. oh. oh he's still alive so no matter what changes it's just gonna... maybe not matter? lasting impact TBD?

there's just. like okay if he HAS to come back from the dead lets think about a slightly different way to do it, yeah? for shits and giggles?

(I am just having fun I am just playing what-ifs please do not take this too seriously fjsdklf)

step one: let the audience actually grieve that character.

let them believe he's dead or at least be very uncertain about his ability to get back up from that particular fight. let them mull on a ST universe without him because that's part of the joy of ongoing TV right?? that we get space to think about what might happen next? let them MOURN.

step two: don't send him to russia.

why are we sending him to RUSSIA when we have access to the opportunity for trapping him in the very dimension his daughter both single handedly opened and closed. why are we sending him to RUSSIA when the upside down was brought into contact with Hawkins by his kid, this girl who he has to find determination to stay alive for, who he has to find pieces of in this rotting place because if she had even some small hand in touching it then there must be something good here right?

(this also has the added bonus of opening up Joyce and Murray for having a more narratively impactful arc too. Like as if they both haven't gone down the government conspiracy rabbit hole in the wake of losing their friend? as if they wouldn't take an opportunity to investigate their OWN government and military if there's some sense that Owens is still hiding something from them?? let Joyce be contradictory in the face of having lost so much; let her outwardly look for a safe place to raise her kids and actively chase down danger because she doesn't know how NOT to at the same time)

(anyways ahem)

step three: don't bring him back in episode one.

maybe not even episode 2 or 3 either. maybe let us watch characters want him or need him or miss him in the aftermath of his loss in a mirror of what the audience feels in the wake of his death too.

step four: bring him back in a moment of high stress or action.

bring him back when Steve's got a bat's tail around his throat and his friends are wailing on monsters with rowboat oars because it's all they've GOT. bring him back-- equally changed, looking hardened and rough on the outside but with this flash of shining hope in his eyes when he realizes-- if they got here, then they can help him get home.

step five: give him the chance to be Different Now.

He's single-minded and single-missioned-- get back to El-- and that has the potential to get in the way of a lot. just because he's in hawkins this time around doesn't mean he's going to be all that helpful when the kids have a different first priority than he does. don't worry, they can still lose this time around, especially when you add the conflict of not knowing how much help Hopper is going to be when he's running exclusively on adrenaline and love for his kid.

step six: the reunion.

there is so much satisfaction to Hopper and El reuniting I love that scene in canon, but imagine how much better it could feel if, instead of his season 4 arc being about getting out of russia it could be about coming home to El.

they've both, in their separation, come to understand each other better this way too-- El because she better understands the grief that has run Hopper's life since Sara died and Hopper because he has become so familiar with the world and the creatures that have haunted El for so many years.

let there be symmetry to their reunion. let Hopper realize he wasn't there when she needed him, let El realize that she left Hawkins when he was there the whole time.

let them both be changed and have to get to know each other all over again.

let them be willing to do it.

bonus alternate tragic ending if you're into that:

there is no reunion because he dies in place of Eddie and El has to face the realization that he's been alive for 10 months only for him to die as soon as they find him and before she even gets to see him okay BYE

[naminethewriter]

On the Road, Just the Two of Us

Chapter Five: Living the Ranch Life, Just the Two of Us (again, not really, but shush)

Masterpost | First | Previous | Next | Ao3

Summary: This was written for @dukeceit-week-2024, @dukeceitweek

Janus and Remus are living in a campervan at the moment. Are they going somewhere? Who knows. The only thing that’s important is that they’re together.

Content Warnings: probably not accurate to actually living on a ranch, I'm sorry..., Original Background Characters

🌻🌻🌻🌻

“Janny! Janny! Look!” Remus yelled as he ran over to Janus who just left the chicken coop with a basket full of eggs.

“What is it, dear?”

“I look like a genuine cowboy! John lent me his vest!”

“That’s great, honey! Your boots really make the outfit.”

“They do, don’t they!” He lifted his legs to inspect the brown, knee-high boots with fringe at the side that were very cliché but one of Remus’ favorite possessions. “Anyway, John’s gonna teach me to lasso, you wanna come?”

“I promised Jane I’d help in the kitchen. But you have fun.”

“Thanks, I will!” With that Remus ran off in the direction of the cow stables. Janus chuckled as he looked after him before making his way to the main house. He went to the kitchen and placed the basket on the counter.

“Thank you, Janus. You’re a big help,” Jane smiled, as she wiped her hands on her apron and moved over to inspect his haul.

“It’s not why we’re here,” Janus quipped. “We came for a five-star hotel experience and not because Remus always wanted to see what living on a ranch was like.”

Out of the window, the two of them could see Jane’s husband John showing Remus how to tie a big length of rope into a proper noose for lassoing. Jane chuckled at the sight.

“He seems like an excitable fellow. It’s too bad you two are only staying a week. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind having you for longer.”

“You’re the first person to ever say that, I think,” Janus joked, though there was some truth to that. Usually, both he and Remus had a hard time fitting in with their surroundings. The last four days they spent on the ranch, helping out where they can and learning a lot of new skills had been physically intense but mentally relaxing in a way Janus wasn’t used to from his usual routine.

“Oh, I doubt that!” Jane huffed. “You are both so nice, how could anyone not want you around?”

“Let’s just say, if we’d been born into this kind of environment, a lot of things might have been different.”

“Well, that’s obvious. Everyone would be different if you changed just one aspect of their past. I always thought that dwelling on the what-ifs was a waste of time. Live your life how you see fit and don’t look back too much. You’ll miss what’s in front of you! Now take these potatoes here. They need peeling and cutting.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Janus quietly started on his work while Jane bustled around him, humming lightly to the radio that was playing on low volume in the corner. In between the peeling and cutting, he looked outside. Remus seemed to have the time of his life, waving the length of rope over his head and running around without abandon.

“I don’t think I’ve seen him that happy in a long time,” Janus commented, more to himself than to Jane, though she did stop her own vegetable cutting.

“That so? He seemed to me like that from the start.”

“Yeah, this trip’s been good for him.”

“I mean it, Janus, if you wanna stay longer, you can! We have no other bookings for a week or two.”

Janus looked over at her and she was smiling at him with a warm expression he’s never seen on his own mother’s face.

“I appreciate the offer, Jane, but sadly we do have somewhere to be.”

“Is that so? A shame. Where you off to, if I may ask?”

“A wedding. Remus’ brother will be quite mad with us if we miss it.”

“Oh, I’d imagine! I’d be cross with you as well!” Jane laughed. “Well, then let’s make the most of our time together and cook to our hearts content, huh?” She gently nudged Janus’ side with her elbow and he smiled. Looking out the window, he saw Remus sitting on the ground, somehow tangled up in his own rope with John trying to free him. Both seemed to be laughing though, so Janus wasn’t worried.

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

Another month. There was no need to worry for another month. They just had to keep an eye on their destination. That’s all.

[spaceorphan18]

I know you read the comics so I hope you can answer this. I saw that RDJ is coming back as Dr Doom but I don’t know anything about that character. How is he related to Tony Stark? Are they brothers? Is that another name for Iron Man? I hope so - I really miss Iron Man!

Oh, Nonny. I'm so sorry that comics are irritatingly complicated. I can see why this is incredibly confusing.

So. Tony Stark and Dr. Doom are two entirely different characters.

Dr. Victor von Doom is a Fantastic Four villain who runs the country of Latveria -- a generic Eastern European country. He is quite insane and is kind of a diva. I actually really like him because he's nuts in a really entertaining way.

He has zero relation to Tony Stark.

Now. There is a What It... story (what ifs are alternate realities that explore possibilities but are very much not real) where a Tony Stark variant becomes Dr Doom, but that's kind of it.

There are a couple of possibilities going on with the casting

RDJ is playing a twisted version of Tony who went bad/dark and ended up as Dr. Doom just like in the What If story

RDJ is straight up playing the Dr. Doom who is in no way related to Tony (Dr. Doom wears a mask, so this is possible.)

RDJ is playing a body swapped version of Tony Stark who ends up in Dr. Doom's body - because it's comics and they tend to do that a lot.

RDJ is playing a variant Dr. Doom and it's covering up the casting of the REAL Dr. Doom, whomever that might actually be.

Who knows, Nonny, who knows. Hopefully that helps clear some things up?

[mercury-in-pisces]

i might say something stupid | challengers (2024)

wrote a little song fic from one of my asks and it has not been proofread or anything so my apologies if it is awful but a win is a win because i finally actually wrote something. it’s inspired by charli xcx’s song, ‘i might say something stupid’ ^_^ okay enjoy!!!!

fic below the cut !!

January, 2007

Art Donaldson stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He pulls at the collar of his salmon-coloured shirt. Nothing feels right. He’s meant to be at a party, celebrating the latest win of his best friend’s girlfriend. Tashi typically isn’t one for parties, but with Patrick in town, she was somehow convinced. Art felt the bitter taste of jealousy on his tongue as he swallowed back any disdain. It should be him. He should be the one parading Tashi around, admiring her every move without having to be subtle. He wants to be happy for his friend, but he can’t help his heart from sinking every time he sees the two sharing a moment, one he will never be a part of. All he wants is Tashi, all to himself. At least that’s what he has convinced himself.

Art can tell that a line has began to form outside the bathroom, so he splashes some cold water onto his face, unlocks the door, and slips back out into the crowded room, the smell of smoke and sweet perfume dancing in the air. He grabs a drink, in the hopes that it’ll help him loosen up a bit, and leans back against a wall as his eyes begin scanning the crowd. He spots Tashi, as beautiful as ever, dancing among the bodies, her long brown hair gracefully flicking from side to side. Then, his attention is drawn to Patrick. His large, firm hands gripped Tashi by her waist, as he gently sways along beside her. Art bites his tongue so hard he swears he can taste blood. He’s happy for his friends, he truly is, but no amount of cheap wine could drown out the jealousy he feels.

His eyes trace invisible etchings in the air as his gaze firmly follows his best friend’s hands. He thinks of how often he used to feel them, grabbing and playfully punching at him. His mind is lead to the time he once felt them on his face, so tender and gentle, much like the lips that accompanied them. He shakes his head forcefully, as if to almost shake the thought away. He only thought about that because that was when they first met Tashi. He didn’t want Patrick like that. He couldn’t. His best friend who meant the world to him, even if he did want anything more, he couldn’t risk ruining a friendship like that. He feels a shiver run down his spine as he watches the two share a passionate kiss. He doesn’t know what to do, or why he was even invited to the party in the first place. No matter what, or who, he wants, he can’t have it.

August, 2019

“What were you for?”. The same four words repeatedly circle Patrick Zweig’s mind. He sits in the back of his Honda CRV, a location so fitting for the pathetic mess of a man he has become, trying to make some sense of what Art was saying to him. The man he once knew so well, whom he shared his youth with. The man who reached the top and seemed to have it all.

Patrick had gotten used to the life he made for himself. He knew who he was, and he was glad he didn’t have anyone to hold him back from that, but a part of him wishes things were different. He wishes he could worship someone like that. He wishes he knew what he was for. Long gone were the days he felt happy, before he faded into the background of others’ lives. He tells himself that it’s tennis he’s talking about. Like how tennis was what he spoke to Art about in the sauna. He often found it hard to distinguish between tennis and life, so he allowed them to obscure one another. That way, he could always just assume it was tennis.

Patrick felt a chill run through his body. He blamed it on the weather. He found his mind clouded with ‘what ifs’. What if he never invited Tashi to their hotel room that night. What if he never felt his lips interlock with those of his best friend. Maybe then he could have told him the truth. How he liked boys. With nothing to make it weird. What if he told him anyways, despite it all, and it was weird, but okay. What if he didn’t stay silent in the sauna earlier that day. What if he told the truth. How he knew exactly what he was for. Who he was for. Maybe if he spoke to Tashi. Maybe she would laugh in his face and tell him to get lost. Or maybe she would understand.

[vexic929]

Minutes to Midnight

An angsty but also fluffy fic for Barry's birthday, info on Beth here

OCs are mine but based on The Flash characters

Beth fiddled with the pen in her lap idly, staring at the clock as the hands ticked closer to midnight. Just a few minutes. It was silly, she thought, sitting here waiting as though the moment the clock struck midnight, Barry would wake up. He probably wouldn't. No, he definitely wouldn't, she reminded herself. It had been four months with no change and there was no sign of him waking anytime soon. Be reasonable.

She definitely wasn't being reasonable. Sitting around waiting to wish your brother a happy birthday when he wasn't even remotely aware of the passage of time was decidedly unreasonable. But she couldn't help it. It was something they'd done every year since they were small, when they would sneakily stay up together to count the seconds until the clock struck midnight. They'd roped Iris into the tradition too, when they'd moved in with the Wests, and Beth wondered if Iris was awake at home right now, doing the same thing.

"Knock knock." Cisco's voice drifted from the doorway and Beth looked up, shooting him a small, forced smile.

"Hey." She greeted. Cisco crossed the room and pulled up a chair next to her, prompting Beth to finally unfold herself into a more proper sitting position. She gestured vaguely to the clock. "It's, um...his birthday is tomorrow...well, in a few minutes really, so..." She shrugged, trailing off. Cisco nodded.

"Yeah, I know. I was just coming to check on you. Thought you could use some company." He said. Beth's smile softened a little and she reached out to take his hand. He squeezed it gently.

"Thanks. I appreciate it." She said quietly. "I just can't help feeling like...like I should be doing something more."

"More? You've been here every day, I don't think you'd ever leave if you could help it." Cisco said. His tone was light but Beth ducked her head anyway, feeling guilty.

"Yeah, I know. But I keep thinking...maybe if I did something different or tried something else, or-or maybe-"

"Beth." Cisco interrupted before she could spiral. "You couldn't have done anything to change what happened. None of us could." Beth swallowed hard and nodded, squeezing Cisco's hand tighter.

"I know. It's just hard, you know? Seeing him like this...it's not how he's supposed to be. God, I...I wish you'd met him before. He's so smart and funny and brave and kind and I just..." Beth trailed off and Cisco laced their fingers together instead, running his thumb over the backs of Beth's knuckles soothingly.

"Hey, don't think like that. I'll still meet him, whenever he wakes up." He said firmly. Beth sniffled, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"I know you will. He's going to love you." She said, sighing softly. "I'm just...he might be a completely different person, if - when - he wakes up. There's so many variables, the lightning could have impaired his memory or personality or-"

"Stop." Cisco interrupted and she looked up, finally meeting his gaze. "Don't do that. Don't think about the unknowns or the what-ifs, okay? Let Caitlin worry about that. You just need to be here for him. And I'll be here for you." He promised, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

Beth leaned over and pressed her lips to his in a chaste kiss, trying to let Cisco's words halt her spiraling thoughts. Her watch beeped, letting her know midnight had finally arrived and she pulled back, resting her head on Cisco's shoulder again and glancing back at Barry, still as ever, on the hospital bed.

"Happy birthday, Barr." She whispered, heart heavy. "Wake up soon, okay?"

[magnorious]

Am I The Only One Who Didn’t Want More Loki?

Loki, up to Infinity War, was probably my favorite MCU character. He was wildly entertaining and Tom Hiddleston portrayed him with such charisma that he was more likable than the protagonists from time to time. I remember all the fanfics post-Avengers posing what-ifs, that Loki was the unwitting victim of Thanos’ larger plan, that he himself was under control of the scepter. Redemption arcs and FrostIron all over the place.

Even when his arc yo-yo’d around from actual growth to being flung back to the same damn shenanigans over and over again. Even when they kept killing him just to bring him back. The Dark World managed to be not a complete disaster of a movie for one singular reason: The criminally brief team-up between Thor and his brother. I rewatch that movie now only for those scenes.

I don’t love Ragnarok, but it’s grown on me over the years, mostly thanks to Loki. I wanted to see if they’d finally make him a reluctant Avenger. He’d have been an incredibly powerful asset to the team and the drama and comedy potential sitting right there for the taking could have made for some excellent growth for the entire core team. Imagine the potential if he’d survived the Snap and the remaining Avengers had to accept his help because he was all they had left? Imagine if it was Thor and Loki that had to go to Vormir, instead of Clint and Natasha? Imagine Thor grieving the real, final death of his brother and the rest of the team, who still never trusted him, trying to put aside their differences to keep Thor from falling apart? If Endgame was supposed to be a swan song for the original cast, Loki should have been part of it.

But Endgame came and went. And then “Loki” happened.

“Loki” happened to debut at that phase of Disney+ when “MCU fatigue” was still just the unfounded complaints of an unhappy few. We hadn’t yet experienced bomb after bomb of disappointed and disjointed messes that became Phase 4. If something was bad, well, that was the exception. It would get better.

Between Loki and Wandavision, and Hawkeye and Moonknight, Loki was the only post-Endame property I was excited to see (excluding SpiderMan). So I ignored all the marketing and waited for most of the episodes to air before sitting down to watch.

And… *wow* was that story awful. I can’t be the only one who looked at the Loki on screen and thought “That’s not Loki. That’s fanfiction.”

Can I?

Complaints about the show have been done to death but one point I haven’t seen raised much is what made me quit the show, and Phase 4: Loki was basically aro/ace for 7 entire years of MCU… until he wasn’t, in about the worst way possible.

I know comics Loki is different (and in mythology). I know he was never explicitly aro/ace. I know the MCU has never handled romance well. But we take what we can get, can’t we?

From his introduction in Thor, Loki has never been motivated by lust or romance. All he’s ever wanted is respect, power, and to escape Thor’s shadow. He lasted 7 whole years, four movies, with no need for romance. They could have written something awkward in The Dark World between him and Jane, or given more subtext to him and Black Widow in Avengers, or even him and Valkyrie in Ragnarok. Only they didn’t.

He never had a monologue about wanting to settle down with a pretty girl (or guy). Was never made to look jealous over Thor’s suitors. Was never bitter at not having a love life. Romance did not matter to his character, and no one in the audience thought he was lacking because of it. Loki was, for all intents and purposes, aro/ace for his entire arc until his death in Infinity War.

So I’m watching his little mini-series and, already, the idea of taking 2012 Loki and injecting him with a little video montage of the Real Loki’s development, and trying to pretend that will work, should have been all I needed to know about the trajectory of the series.

Then Sylvie showed up. Her with her magic powers just like Loki’s, a spitfire attitude and curly blonde hair. My first thought was: “Oh my god it’s a young Frigga!”

Frigga, who, in Endgame, had her attendants make sure her adoptive son was entertained in his cell, who taught him magic, about the only soul on Asgard he really gave a shit about when she died, and the only soul on Asgard who gave a shit about him.

The second I saw her, I thought the whole “video montage of character growth” shot was just a little bit of groundwork, reminding the audience of how different 2012 Loki was from the one we’d watched since Avengers. I thought the rest of the series would be about him and young Frigga redeeming this version of her son before he could make the same mistakes the original Loki did. I thought, surely, this is how he becomes a full-fledged Avenger.

Frigga can still die in the end, and he can get the goodbye he deserved, since I’m pretty sure he wasn’t allowed at his own mom’s funeral. The core, the soul of this series, would be that doomed mother-son relationship we were robbed of for shock value in Dark World (I still stand by that a witch as powerful as she was getting stabbed in the back by some grunt is an insult to her character).

Then Loki and Sylvie had that horribly paced episode on Purple Planet (whose name escapes me) and I picked up on the vibes going down and thought… oh no. Oh she’s his love interest. Oh they’re really gonna put him through a rushed, by-the-numbers, bickering-rivals-to-lovers plot. This isn’t Frigga. It’s really just a female him tossing a rotten bone to the LGBTQ Community with a cheap throwaway line.

I still can’t decide which kiss was more cringey, Loki/Sylvie, or Rey/Kylo in Rise of Skywalker.

“Cosmic Narcissism” indeed. Whose idea was it to not only give Loki a love interest he never needed, but make it a female version of himself? Perhaps having Tom Hiddleston kiss an actual clone of himself would have been too off-putting for conservative viewers, but Owen Wilson’s character was right there. Instead, they *wink, wink, nudge, nudge* a hint that Loki’s bi without committing to the bit, ignore an actual interesting same-sex relationship, to have him fall for Sylvie, as if she was everything missing in his life this whole time.

If you ignore how bizarre it is that they decided the perfect love interest for Loki was himself. If you ignore how they kicked Mobius to the curb. If you ignore the abysmal development they actually gave the relationship… Loki was a beloved character long before he ever had a love interest.

He didn’t need Sylvie. He didn’t need Mobius. He had motivations, he had other relationships they could have strengthened. He had a rich history, and future, within the MCU. He was, at least to me, my aro/ace icon, and he could have kept right on being that with zero effort or input from Disney. They didn’t have to slap an ace flag over his poster and incur the wrath of the anti-woke. Loki was *fine*.

Instead, what we got was a thousands-year-old mage who forgot he has powers until it was convenient for the plot. We got a character robbed of 5 years of development who didn’t once consider that the clip show might’ve been an illusion. Loki’s supposed to be cunning, quick-witted, silver-tongued. He’s supposed to be a bit selfish and arrogant and flimsy with his loyalties. He’s supposed to be a self-serving asshole until he feels safe enough to let his guard down. He’s supposed to let ego and pride get in the way of humility and admitting when he’s wrong. He’s supposed to be his own worst enemy.

Which… I suppose, by having Sylvie betray him in a scene everyone saw coming, fulfills that one aspect of his character.

I haven’t seen the trailers for season 2, but if the last few MCU releases are anything to go by, it’ll just be more of the same. I love Loki’s character, but satisfaction is the death of desire, and he should have had the curtains drawn in Endgame.

[lividlilgirl]

The Foreigner in Wonderland

(First text post. I just needed to infodump some stuff. I love reading other’s AUs, HCs and what-ifs/Imagines/Scenarios of X and Y series etc. Tried fanfic. My job and life can’t so this IS gonne BE hectic. Hope anyone reading find it as interesting as I did.)

[💟 🦁]  /  🐙 🐍 /

The first thing you notice upon being conscious is being on fire. Next to the torrent of information you’re remembering. Or acquiring.

You are a servant. You’re name is... ███ That is your name right? Even so it feels alien to you. 

Back at hand, the cat-like beast shouts about you suddenly appearing, and for you to give him your robes. You can review the information given to you along the way.

- 

It was easy, getting Grim to settle down, though unwillingly. You meet the Headmage, to his surprise. He ignores you when you tell him Grim isn’t your familiar. Seemingly, more than happy to continue on, and so, the other coffins open up, with no fire this time.

Each student that weren’t a student at NRC already. You’re in timeout, seemingly for bringing a “rowdy familiar” with you, so you go up to the sorting hat last. Huh, another old memory. Your vessel’s chock full of refences.

“My name is  ███.”

“... There is more than one soul with this one. They’re full of magic but of unclear origins. Therefore no Dorm truly suits this one.”

-

Grim saw this as an opportunity to show his stuff. Saying how he should take your place in this school. You weren’t meant to be here anyway. You were summoned here, but by who? Who indeed. Whatever the reason, you know one thing. The will of this land wishes to be saved. So why not?

Headmage Dire Crowley, just as he was about to spout some other nonsense again you speak over him.

“This is a school for those with potential in magic, no? If you’re so gracious, would you allow me to choose my own dorm?”

For some reason, other than the history and facts of this world you also gained knowledge of some people of this land. Mainly The Great Seven and the Headmage. Disney! Somewhere inside you you can’t help feeling nostalgic.

✧*✧*✧

Heartslabyul

You thought it’d be a long process to get sorted into your choice of dorm. Apparently not, maybe cause you weren’t a student yet.

Feeling half sorry and half endeared by Grim, you Gracioused your way into getting him accepted into NRC. Much to your Housewarden’s anger.

Riddle doesn’t know what to make of you. He knows what to do if a student get put into Heartslabyul or chooses to transfer here. Not you though. So he pays extra attention and is slightly more strict towards you.

Ace taunts Grim, he disregards you when you showed to be more knowledgeable than him about the Seven. You defend Grim and it starts a one-sided fight.

Because of your superhuman speed, Ace, You and Grim get to cleaning the cafeteria. Ace does something he isn’t supposed to which brings Deuce to speak up about being good students. A Fight starts and property damage ensues.

By the end of the week though, you four become well acquainted. Because friends is a no no word for the bickering Adeuce duo.

Cater becomes acquainted with you guys easily, even being the one to mentioned the Ramshackle Dorm. Which becomes your hangout spot and where Ace decides to hunker down when he gets collared.

Since your abilities/”magic” or magecraft is different from theirs you speedrun painting the roses instead with just a brush. Cater is intrigued and wants to take more pics with you.

Trey as usual is brotherly to all, and you. He’s extra worried when you decide to challenge Riddle along with Adeuce and Grim.

You easily could have become Housewarden but you just want to prove a point, and it’s just a huge responsibilty. So Riddle Overblots early but no worries, your abilites were practically made to stop this!

In the end, Heartslabyul is just kinda family like to you and you enjoy their companionship fully

Savanaclaw

Leona could care less as long as you don’t interfere. He does know a strong opponent when he sees one. And not smell one, your smell is magic but also not. It also encompasses your entire being so- a headache for tomorrow. 

Ruggie’s tasked to get you to join their team and to go to practice. 

It also acts as a way to keep an eye on you. Thanks! He doesn’t have to baby Leona as much! Now he’s just tailing you. You let him, as he’s no threat to you. Which is also what gets you to eat more and act more human. 

You invite him to join you after a while, to which you become buddy-ish. Even if you hangout with Adeuce or just Grim more. Yeah, Grim is in Savanaclaw with you, so enjoy the catfights over food from Grim and Ruggie.

Jack is distant, he does his own thing. He’s intrigued by you but it’s none of his business. Up until you and Heartslabyul asks him about the potential foul plays. To which he gets roped into our investigation.

He admires your strength, tactical prowess and just overall and actual sense of Justice? He thinks? You say it’s just because you want to but... And as he makes a big deal of calling you an idiot, it’s no less admirable. Unlike the Adeuce group.

In the end you foul Leona’s plans, you still play magift with Savanaclaw which even things out a lot.

Though you do let the other dorms take their out on some of your members a little. Ha! Oh and this one Horned guy that nearly overpowered you during magift. Not that you were paying attention to him. You tried your best and both your houses tied. Phew! that was more of a mental workout remembering all the positions! 

You meet Cheka when you “wake up” in the infirmary. Diasomnia might have won if you didn’t block the last disk shot with your head. to which you “faint” afterwards.

You also take jabs at teasing Leona about being “Unca!” during this, while petting Grim as he got to participate in the matches. He got a little beat afterwards.

So Savanaclaw is just a group of housecats to you, and you enjoy as much of their time as they let you.

[moirtre]

‎ ‎ ⋆⠀⠀&.⠀⠀٬⠀⠀❝ 3 : 28 AM :   SCORCHED WINGS. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉       

like the wind without her whisperings and the colours wept from all her tapestries would be left nothing but sullen imagery the uncertainty of forgotten things.⠀–— from, “Fingerprints - Hiatus Kaiyote”

&. CHARACTERS: min heri, seong jioh, carter kim. &. WORD COUNT: 1.4k &. WARNINGS: swearing & mention of outing. &. NOTES: not super proofread, romeo & carter can be found at @genav0s :), i may have changed my mind about how i tell heri's story but we'll see

Everyone knew Carter and Romeo came as a package deal. They worked well together and worked together often. A perfectly oiled machine without a single screw left unshined— they would never allow their machine to be left loosely screwed. 

Time faded through the silence of dark rooms and empty studios, only the two of them and the subtle bopping of their heads. The silence that enveloped the darkened room escaped down the hallways of Apricus and surrounded the building as if a thick blanket of security. 

Never a sign of uneasiness, Carter and Romeo, Romeo and Carter just worked. They always worked. With just a glance, they exchanged a cathedral’s worth of both spoken and unspoken words. With so much communicated in just a look exchanged between the group members, Heri was left to observe on in amazement. 

Though conceived of the same star, Heri had never felt so removed from a conversation between three people. Her group never had the connection the Avos boys did. It was ironic was what Karin had always said.

“It’s like you’re each other’s opposites. They started off hating each other but somehow became brothers. The seven of you… it’s ironic honestly,” Was what she always mused whenever one of the boys found themselves enveloped in another dumb scandal. The other four would come rushing behind to defend him for whatever he had done. 

No matter how dumb. 

Ironic as it was, there was something admirable about the respect the five had for each other. 

It was a respect Heri had wasted countless nights longing for. She knew the respect she longed for was only found in romances and stories of Greek demigods whose hometowns adorned them with fresh laurels and limestone edifices. Heri had never met someone who thought her to be worthy of the laurels she too often fantasized about— though she had a running list of those she would dedicate mortar temples to. Carter and Romeo were in the middle of the list, just beneath Karin and her parents.

The Letalis girls operated quite differently. Heri had been the most recent victim of the alienation machine that was the “girl group industrial complex”, in Juniper’s very insightful words. The sudden wave of alienation that flooded her standing relationships with other girls confused Heri profoundly. It had been a few weeks of blissful “what-ifs” and rom-com-level daydreaming that suddenly turned into a public humiliation that left Heri confused.

She would often find herself lost in thought in the space between Carter and Romeo. In those moments she couldn’t help but scoff to herself, reminded that everything happened just because she had a crush on a girl.

“I think this is great,” Carter hummed with closed eyes and a rhythmic bopping of his head. 

The dim blue pixels were the only source of light illuminating the panel that lay in front of the three shadows. His words broke Heri from her thoughts. With a turn she faced him, carefully observing the slope of his nose and the tan of his skin. 

"Yeah, it's great, but we still don't have a theme song," Romeo muttered. Heri lifted her eyes back to the soundboard in front of them, chuckling gently. 

"Fuck a kids' theme song, this is genius," Carter groaned as he stood up from his chair. Heri smiled as she watched the two interact so comfortably with each other.

"That's not what we came here for. Heri, tell him that," Romeo said, his tone sweet and polite, unlike Carter's notorious shamelessness.

Heri shook her head at the playful bickering and spoke up slowly, "They're kind of expecting a kids' theme song, Carter. If we show up with this, or nothing at all, they're going to have questions."

"Whatever," Carter shrugged. "I didn't go through that survival hell show to make beats for kids. I need a break." The door closed behind him before either one of the idols still sitting could argue with him differently.

Romeo turned to face Heri, hands rubbing at his temples, eyes squinted to a near close as if the barely-there light had given him a headache. Heri fought the smile that seemed never to leave her lips the longer she was seated in between the two older males before replicating Romeo’s position.

“Sorry about him, he’s a dick,” Romeo shakes his head. 

A comfortable silence fell upon the two idols, as it often did whenever Carter had left an empty space in the studio’s chilling air. Heri tried to fight off the uneasy feeling that fluttered down her spine as she did her best to avoid Romeo’s watchful eye. It was a feeling she got much too often these days. Fleeting ‘you okay?’s met with a gentle squeeze to her shoulder after she released an automated nod, too worried about being perceived as needy to voice the thoughts that strangled every semblance of peace in her consciousness. 

“Heri,” Romeo’s brown eyes studied her face, his voice gentle, concern bleeding into the vocalization of her name. “You okay?”

The truth was too much for him to bear was what she had always figured. It was too much for most others to bear. But most others would never ask her every time they saw her. Most others stopped asking after receiving her automated nod and the air of uncomfortable silence forced upon them. Heri figured Romeo would stop asking— Carter never asked. 

With a forced smile that favored a grimace, she answered with a whisper. 

“Yeah, of course. I’m fine.”

For a moment, Romeo continued staring at her. He was good at that, disarming her when she was more comfortable bottling everything up. She never could tell what exactly was brewing behind the strong eyebrows that shielded any thoughts from the eyes he gazed into. 

A break in his observation finally revealed an unconvinced incredulity that startled Heri with how quickly he was able to release his emotions from their fortress inside his mind. 

“You sure? You seem… I don’t know, more distant than usual.”

Just like that, the knot that had embedded itself into her stomach began unraveling from both ends. Heri sighed, “I don’t know, Romeo. It’s like everything’s slipping away from me. Like— I’m stuck in this weird in-between, and I don’t know how to get out. Everyone… like, hates me.” 

Romeo’s expression softened, allowing her the energy to continue. “I don’t even get what I did, that’s— that’s so bad, you know? I liked a girl and had the nerve to… admit that. And— suddenly I deserve to be outed? Everyone else is so put together with their… love lives and everything, I just—”

“It sucks.” He completed her thought and a grave nod of his head clues Heri into a vulnerability she had never seen from him before. “You’re the only one who’s still putting the pieces together and that bothers them because you’re supposed to know who you are.” 

Tears prick at the corners of Heri’s eyes, her eyes transfixed upon Romeo’s. A side of him slowly revealed itself that she had never been lucky enough to witness before. She wondered if anyone had been able to witness this side of him. A more melancholy version that mirrored his namesake rather than the played-up sensitive artist persona that he was more readily inclined to share with the world.

“I’m losing friends that I never had,” Heri whispered with a sadness that struck Romeo with a wave of deja vu he couldn’t begin to explain to an outside observer. He leaned closer, his hand resting on her shoulder. Instead of words, he offered his arms, a makeshift sanctuary for the words that were too painful for either of them to begin to think of uttering. Silent tears fell down her face, only the soft whirring of the machines surrounding them.

She was the first to pull away. “I’m sorry Jioh,” she mumbled, embarrassment settled over her cheeks, turning them a light pink. “I didn’t mean to—” Romeo shook his head, bringing a hand up to her face to wipe away her tears adding, “It’s good to cry… you’re letting go of pain. That’s good.” 

“Romeo, Romeo!” Carter’s voice boomed through the space, cutting through the two of them as he fell back into his chair on Heri’s right side. “Remind me to pay attention when you flirt.” 

At his words, she released a genuine laugh. Between their jabs at one another, Heri found herself sinking into the chair underneath her, shoulders relaxing and cheeks raised in amusement.

“If this is how you landed that girl from—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Romeo cut him off, a balled-up piece of sheet music perfectly aimed at Carter’s head catching him off guard. “Asshole.”