#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

[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.

[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 - Part Nine

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.

[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

[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.”

[nycolewrites]

here’s an exerpt from my day 2 @zukkaweek fic which will cover both the turtleduck pond and second chances themes

Three days after the fall of Ozai, Sokka finds him by the old turtleduck pond. The air is eerily quiet, the water almost unnervingly still. Zuko isn’t focused on anything in particular, simply staring ahead of him as the leaves hang unmoving on their branches and the sun sits precariously on the horizon. This is the first break he’s had since the imprisonment of his father and sister, too busy being hauled from one meeting to the next about what to do next and ‘What color of robes do you want for your coronation, my lord?’ As if he’d be able to wear anything but red and gold.

“I can hear you thinking from across the castle. You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep that up for too long.” The new voice startles him out of his daze, and he turns a half-hearted glare at the intruder. Sokka simply looks at him, an eyebrow raised in amusement as something else settles in his eyes. “Everyone’s looking for you, y’know. It’s rude to make people who care about you worry.”

 “None of those people care about me. They were ready to help my father take over the world four days ago. My well-being isn’t really a priority of theirs, despite the facades they’re putting on for the Avatar and his friends.” Zuko turns back to the pond. A mother and her ducklings have come out from their nest to drink from it, one of the smaller ones struggling to stay upright. The sight makes him miss his mother dearly, and not for the first time he wishes she was here with him now. He hopes that he’s making her proud.

“Your friends.” Sokka’s voice is much closer than it was before, and when Zuko turns his head he finds that the other boy has made himself comfortable in the grass beside him. He’s looking at Zuko almost pityingly, but something inside him tells him that’s not the right word. Zuko stares at him, tilting his head in confusion. “We’re your friends, too, Zuko. Not just Aang’s.”

Zuko blinks, unsure of how to respond. “Um.” That probably isn’t it.

“We may have started out on different sides of the war, but what matters is where we are now. You turned against everything you ever knew because you were able to recognize the wrongs in what your family did. You taught Aang firebending, helped Katara get her closure—though I’m still not happy with your methods—and…you helped me rescue my father. You’re just as much our friend—our family as Aang is.” Sokka pauses for a moment, a soft smile overtaking his features. There’s a dimple that forms in his left cheek. Zuko wants to reach out and smooth it out with his thumb.

He blinks, mentally shaking the thought from his head. In two days he’ll be crowned his nation’s ruler. He doesn’t have time for wandering thoughts or what-ifs. Distantly, he realizes he’s been quiet too long, but when he pulls his gaze from Sokka’s lips, he finds that Sokka is looking at him just as intently. Sokka doesn’t wait for him to reply as he turns to watch the turtleduck mother try to teach her ducklings to swim. Zuko follows his gaze, not sure about the feeling that’s forming in his stomach.

“You’re worth more than the crown they want to shove on your head, Zuko. Don’t let them take from you who you truly are.”

[theunbearableweightofpedropascal]

Be my Baby chp.7

Warnings: (angsty, mentions of excessive drug use, mentions of death,

A/N: Sorry for any mistakes, enjoy tho😁

Word Count: 3.5k

 

Frankie knows what happened was more of a reflection of Maria but it still doesn’t stop the nagging in his head. His PTSD was part of why he started using but to say it was the only thing would be using it like a crutch. The truth is anyone could become an addict given the right circumstances.

When you mix an unstable man from Delta Force with unresolved trauma and throw him into civilian life, it was no surprise what happened. His co-workers used it to stay on top while in flight, a little bump here and there couldn’t hurt. At least that’s how they reeled him in. Everything was fine at first, he was even the favorite pilot among his tours. 

Every rose has its thorn, and Frankie’s appetite grew for the powdery substance. Soon enough any chance he got he would find himself inhaling it. In the bathroom at work, in his car, he’d even sneak off during family gatherings. Rock bottom hit was close when he woke up at his dealer's house and he didn’t know how long he’d been knocked out. 

It got worse though during a tour, he nearly overdosed and luckily his co-pilot was able to save face by pretending it was a seizure. That was as much luck as he would get because an investigation was launched after that incident. Frankie knew the moment he peed in that cup he was going to get his license revoked so he kept going since there was no point in stopping. For the first time since before the army, his mind was clear. 

Plus he had savings so Maria wouldn’t notice anything amiss. She could see for months something was different but it was like the old Frankie was back, so she let it slide. It wasn’t until she got a call from the licensing board about a hearing for her husband that she started doubting him. 

There was nothing more they valued than privacy but clearly, he had taken his too far. She opened his mail to find a drug test that was positive for cocaine with an attached termination letter. That night he came home to find his shit on the lawn he knew Maria found out. He banged on the door all night trying to plead with her but she, rightfully, told him to get help. Instead, he stumbled around the lawn for a few boxers and shirts before heading to his mother’s.

But the moment he found out Maria was pregnant he knew he had to work on getting better. Rosie was the bright spot in his suffering and she didn’t even know it. Maria let him have a picture of her sonogram and he made 3 copies. One for his wallet so he could take her everywhere, one for his room in rehab, and one for his car where he would use. Used to use. 

The first time he saw Rosie he was a year sober and she was four months. He had worked hard to be there and show up for both of his girls, starting with finding a stable job. Finally, he earned himself a good spot in his life and was working towards getting his license back. Then, a year later Santiago gave him a deal he thought he couldn’t refuse. So Frankie risked his standing for the greater good. 

However, nothing was good about how they left Colombia, missing their leader and the money. When Frankie came back empty-handed he’ll never forget the look on Maria's face, and even now he could understand. There were too many disappointments under his belt after promises of a follow-through. Truthfully deep down they knew the marriage was over when he returned to get the money. 

Maybe if he’d returned with the money the first time he and Maria wouldn’t have ended up here. Maybe if he wasn’t so flighty he could have been more stable. Maybe if he never joined the fucking army. All those what-ifs and yet if he changed any of those he wouldn’t have met you. 

His self-reflection was interrupted by Rosie asking him for an orange crayon. Santiago’s dining table is covered in crayons and colored pencils while the three of them color. Except Frankie’s is only half-finished. For the past week, Frankie’s been staying with Santi at his insistence and since he took Rosie with him he’s been fielding calls from Maria. 

He knew he should be more mature but the fact that she pawned their daughter off, knowing she was sick, so she could meet with Chris made his stomach turn. It’s one thing for her to brush him off but he had to draw the line at his baby, so he finally made an appointment with a divorce lawyer. 

The faraway look in Frankie’s eyes worried Santiago, this whole week Catfish avoided talking to him without Rosie present. 

“Fish?” Frankie flicked his eyes towards Santiago who nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen before getting up to walk there. Blindly, Frankie follows his friend knowing he’s about to get cornered. 

“How are you?” To anyone else, that question sounds loaded but Frankie knew it was an opening. As he thought of what to begin with he fiddled with his fingernails. 

“It’s one thing to blow me off, but I refuse to subject my daughter to that kind of environment.” His teeth grit in anger the more he thinks about the situation. “I made an appointment with a divorce attorney.”

“And you’re sure that’s something you want?” Although Santi wanted to jump for joy when he heard “divorce attorney”, at the end of the day it’s Frankie’s decision.

“Don’t act like you’re not planning a party in your head right now.” A small smile graces Frankie’s face for the first time since the incident. 

“Of course I am but the important part is that it’s what you want.” At the end of the day, the most important thing was Frankie’s happiness. 

“It’s a long time coming, the only person deluding themselves was me?”  Frankie scoffs at his naivety.

“Have you talked to your girl?” After the fiasco, Santi was so busy tending to Frankie that he didn’t realize that you had left. 

“No.” When Frankie turned away from you that day it was out of self-preservation. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you, fearing the expression on your face. 

Will told him what you said and he couldn’t understand what good he’d done to meet someone like you. Still, he wasn’t ready to face you since his darkest secret was told before he was ready to tell you. 

Although you said you didn’t think less of him, it was hard for him to believe it.

“Fish I don’t like telling you what to do,” The raised eyebrow Frankie sent him made him pause before continuing. “But that girl cares about you and I don’t think you should let that go because of Maria’s fucked up idea of revenge.”

Frankie angles his head to the ground in thought and Santi exits the kitchen to give him time to process. As much as he hates it his best friend is right. He just didn’t expect to have that conversation so early, but at the same time he misses you. Your smile, your laugh, and the way you say his name.

On his way to the bedroom, he presses a kiss on Rosie’s forehead only for her to swat him away. His phone sits on the dresser charging and he approaches carefully. First, he checks through Maria’s messages which range from begging for reconciliation to anger about Rosie being kept from her. He can admit he went overboard so he begins drafting a text to set up a pick-up time.

Despite saying you would let him come to you you still sent three messages and his heart pounds as he opens the thread. 

Whenever you’re ready to talk lmk. 

I miss you.

Ameilia asked about you today. 

Like always you manage to bring a smile to his face, but it’s wiped away when Maria replies she’s free today. Against his wants, he begins packing Rosie’s bag for the next few days. When he emerges from the back of the house to tell her she’s running to grab some of her loose toys. 

“I’ll be back,” Frankie turns to Santiago before fishing his keys off the hook and hauling Rosie out of the door. 

…………….

Despite her protests, Frankie insisted on a neutral pick-up place and the park down the road from Santi’s was perfect. He placed Rosie’s favorite song on and laid his head back on the headrest, willing himself to stay calm. The disappointment he felt with Maria was immeasurable, she didn’t even know if Rosie was awake. 

Three taps sounded themselves on the passenger window and the pit in Frankie’s stomach grew. He thought he was immune to some of Maria’s harsh words but it seems he still had his soft spots. 

“Mommy!” Rosie’s excitement jolts him back to reality and he unlocks the car for her. 

Thankfully Maria goes straight to collecting Rosie’s things before unbuckling her. After two more trips between cars, she realizes there’s nothing left for her to collect but she hesitates. Frankie keeps his eyes forward, hoping she’ll ignore him like she has the past few months.

“I fucked up,” She clears her throat before continuing. “And I took it out on you, I just wasn’t prepared to see you move on.” 

“But it was fine for you to?” Frankie glances back to find her head hung while she holds one of Rosie’s plushies. 

“I’m sorry, I wanted you to feel miserable and hurt like I was but you didn’t do that intentionally.” Frankie’s eyes sting at the revelation, they weren’t lying when they said the truth hurts.

“All that matters is that we’re cordial for Rosie’s sake.” With that, both knew the conversation was over. 

The sound of the door shutting felt more impactful than it should’ve been. Their relationship as they knew it had come to an end after a long, bitter stretch. Frankie rested his head against the steering wheel after watching them pull off. He finally took off Rosie’s song and switched back to radio, and your song was playing. 

He was going to drive off but stays parked and softly sings the song to himself as he thinks of you. Somehow he knows you wouldn’t hold it against him and you’d listen. Will ended up telling him what you said and that you didn’t want to leave, as if he deserved it. You should’ve never been put in that situation with Maria.

His phone sits in the cupholder beckoning him to contact you and he finally listens. The dial tone rings and it doesn’t take more than a few seconds before it stops. It seems neither of you was prepared because there is silence on both ends.

“Hello,” Luckily Frankie’s voice didn’t crack like he believed it would. 

“Hi,” You breathe into the phone thinking anything louder would scare him away. 

“I’m sorry for the radio silence I ju-” His explanation is cut short by your sweet voice.

“Don’t apologize, I understand,” You realize your mistake and immediately fumble over your words. “I mean I don’t understand but I’m sure you needed your space to process.” 

A laugh sounds from Frankie’s end and you pull your phone away to double-check it’s coming from him. 

“I know what you meant but thank you for the clarification.” He rubs at his beard before asking, “Are you free anytime today? To talk?” 

“I’m free all day today. Did you want to come over?” The hopeful tone of your voice has guilt flooding through him for putting this off. 

“How does in an hour sound?” He asks wanting to see you as soon as possible after hearing your voice. 

“Perfect.” After your confirmation, you bid each other goodbye.

With some weight off his shoulders, Frankie pulls out of the parking lot to head back to Santi’s. The second he came through the door he headed to his room to get in the shower. He takes extra time to tend to his hair which he’d neglected all week. In the mirror, he trims his beard slightly and puts mousse in his curls to keep the shape.

For his outfit, he sticks to his regular flannel and jeans. By the time he comes out to the living area again Pope is camped out in front of the TV. Despite hearing the shower and seeing the pep in his friend’s step he still asked, “You look nice, where you off to?”

The smirk playing on his face was annoying but Frankie begrudgingly answered he was going to your place.

……………

You were running around your house picking up stray messes that you promised you’d get to later. There were already a few candles lit to help with comfort as well as smell. You decide that your twilight t-shirt and sweatshorts would just have to do. Before you can think about if you should order food your doorbell sounds and for a couple of seconds you’re frozen in place. With a shake of your head, you smooth out your clothes and double-check that your braids aren’t too frizzy. 

A deep breath attempts to quell your racing heart. Even though it’s only been a week the situation makes it feel longer. Your hand pulls the door back to reveal Frankie with his hands in his pockets surveying the front porch. His eyes flick to yours and you feel the unease radiating off of him. 

“We aren’t gonna talk like this are we?” You chance a joke and it pays off when he smiles before stepping into your foyer. 

When you turn back around after closing the door Frankie envelopes you in a hug. Suddenly you smell the fresh soap and warmth wafting off of him. All you can do is close your eyes and hug his waist tighter. 

“M’sorry,” He cradles his face to your neck before breathing in. 

“I already told you there’s nothing for you to apologize for.” Your hands rub comforting circles on his lower back.

Without replying Frankie pulls back and searches your face for something you’re unsure of. You unwrap your arms from his waist and circle them to his chest. 

“You want me to put on some tea?” As much as you’d love to remain in his arms all day; there was a conversation to be had. 

“I think we should talk first.” You nod and take his hand to lead him to the living room. 

You wait until he sits down before joining him on your couch, the same one you two ate on not too long ago. His hand is scratching at the curls by his neck while you face your body toward him. There’s a hesitation that you pick up on so you make the first move.

“Before you start I never thought any less of you.” You reach out to touch the hand in his lap. “We all have our personal shit and I don’t think it was fair that you didn’t tell me yourself.” 

“Will told me what you said,” The hand behind his head now covers yours while he gazes in your eyes. “I was embarrassed and Rosie could’ve heard, she’s why I turned it all around anyway.”

You remain silent and nod your head so he can take over. He tells you how he enlisted straight out of high school thinking there was nothing better for him. Somehow he ended up meeting his best friends, and he talks about the mysterious remaining member of their photo. Tom was their leader and unofficial mentor. 

As much as he tried to help Frankie with his PTSD when he got out Tom had a family of his own. You notice the past-tense referral and your heart aches for him. He met Maria and he thought he finally had it under control, but then came the night terrors. When he would wake at night screaming like he was deployed, she would hold him. Their relationship was so gentle and caring.

He recalls when his co-worker gave him his first bump, promising him it would help keep you alert. Everything was fine until it wasn’t, he started fucking up at his job so they called for a test. He thought that he could keep it under wraps and live off their savings in the meantime. But his habit was expensive and Maria found his summons and kicked him out.

Frankie has tears rimming his eyes so you squeeze his hand urging him to continue at his pace. When he does he talks about how Rosie was his savior. From the moment he found out about her he pushed himself to do better so he could be in her life. And he did put himself in a rehab program and kept her sonogram as a reminder. 

The first time he got to hold Rosie was the best day of his life. Tears finally find their way down his face and you waste no time wiping them away. He leans into your touch and you feel tears pricking the back of your eyes.

He softly reminisces on how he slowly worked his way back to his family. But Satiago delivered an offer he couldn’t refuse, and he stupidly took it. They all did. On the mission, things went south and they lost Tom, Frankie leans in to hold you while crying. All you hear is the repeated words “We lost him.” Now you can’t hold back the stray tears falling from your face. 

Quickly you begin running your fingers through his hair and scratching at his scalp to soothe him. After a few moments, his chest slows its breathing but he doesn’t move from your shoulder. He tells you the nail in the coffin was when he returned with none of the money promised. Although they were together he could feel the distance between them.

He states that Santi came back and they knew what not to do this time, so it was a sure thing. Against his better judgment, Frankie believed the money would help in the long run so he left, again. However by the time he came back with the money Maria had mentally checked out and he didn’t blame her.

You take a deep breath and let the information he gave you marinate while you continue soothing him. 

“I know that was a lot,” He leans back enough to look at you but doesn’t fully leave your presence. The puffiness surrounding his red eyes tugs at your heart and you want to pull him back in your arms.

“I love that you trusted me enough to tell me.” A smile cracks your face at how much trust he’s putting into you. 

“I love you.” As soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets it, not because he didn't mean it but because he fears he might’ve scared you off. It just felt natural for those words to come out. 

Your heart begins racing once more and you wonder if he can hear the effect he has on you. He stiffens in your arms and you ask him, “Do you mean it?” 

He pulls back from you almost offended before declaring, “Of course I do.”

“I love you, Francisco.” The hazy look in his eyes, after you say those words back to him, makes your stomach flutter. He glances down at your lips while leaning in but you meet him halfway. The moment your lips touch it’s like you’re making up for lost time, you taste the saltiness from his tears. 

Very quickly you feel Frankie’s tongue sliding over your bottom lip and you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. Your hand slides up his chest to wrap around his neck to play with his curls. His tongue glides and licks all over yours and an involuntary moan leaves your mouth. That only spurs him on and he fixes his hands to slide under your shirt to cup your tits. Once you see the direction this is going in you reluctantly back away, only to have Frankie follow you. 

You place your hands on his pecs and tell him, “As much as I want to I don’t think we should right now.” He nods in understanding and sits back on the sofa. 

His hand goes to the back of his neck to fiddle with his curls as he addresses you, “I just missed you.”

“I missed you too.” You stand from the couch and head to your kitchen to ask him, “What kind of tea do you want?”

“Whatever you have on hand Bebita.” He rubs his fingers over his lips trying to engrain this moment in his mind forever. The rest of the day was spent on the sofa watching TV until both of you fell asleep. 

Tags: @harriedandharassed, @paleidiot, @emilianamason, @shion-ah