#my assignment was to make a story about it

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Summary: Frankie's decision to join the Army was the catalyst in the collapse of your friendship. When he's forced to reconcile with his past, packed away in boxes in his childhood basement, he finds pieces of you in everything he's left behind.

Word Count: 5.0K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, lying, guilt, military deployment, FEELINGS, Frankie's mom not putting up with his shit

A/N: IT'S TIME TO PEEL BACK ANOTHER LAYER OF THE ONION, BABY!!! I hope you guys don't hate me that this is a slow burn- I know this is not how I normally write at all, but it's been really fun to build this story up bit by bit (if you hate it though, please tell me lmao 💀) I'm excited for this chapter and how it hints at next chapter (we're finally getting to some smut y'all, omg) Thank you as always for your kind words, it makes my day to hear what you have to say about these two 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

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You, Age 17, Spring of 2006

“You’re late, Morales.” 

“Can’t be late to something we don’t have a set time for, Anderson.” 

It’s true, you and Frankie have never set an official schedule for your afterschool ritual, but it never seems to fail that at 3:45, only 10 minutes after you’ve gotten home from soccer practice,  he’s at the foot of your bed with his forest green Jansport backpack, ready to complain about the homework he doesn’t want to finish and the tests he has no interest in studying for, just so he can keep you company while you stress yourself to death about the same assignments. 

And for as much as he hated school work, Frankie was never late. Never. So to watch him mope into your bedroom an hour later than his usual arrival time, it almost would have been safer to assume he was dead than anything else. 

“What took you so long? Get lost on the way here?” You joke, trying to keep it light while still prodding for an answer about his absence as you write down the answer to the math equation you’re trying to solve. 

“No. Don’t worry about it.” 

There’s been very few occasions you’ve seen Frankie so stoic. Even on his worst days, he’s at least still got a little tolerance left in him for your stupid banter. It’s enough to draw your attention completely away from your homework and onto him. 

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so weird?” 

You can tell then that something’s clearly not right, the way he’s angrily yanking loose papers and textbooks from his backpack and nearly slamming them onto the edge of your bed, making you gnaw anxiously at the end of your pencil you’d been using. 

You’re too nosy for your own good to let up until you find what you’re looking for. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Well obviously something’s wrong.” 

“What? I’m not allowed to be late, ever?” 

“No? Frankie, I just asked where you were and you’re acting like I’m asking you if you just shot the fucking president or something. What’s going on?” 

“It’s nothing, MacKenzie!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset about it?” 

“I’m not upset!” 

“You clearly are? Frankie, what the hell are you-” 

“I’m joining the Army, okay?!”

Out of all the things you could have expected to come out of Frankie’s mouth, that would have been at the bottom of your list. In fact, it’s so out of left field, you’re not even quite sure you believe him. 

Your forehead hurts from how tightly your brows are knitted together in confusion, scowling at Frankie with a dumbfounded intensity that probably had you looking like you had just gotten an unsuspecting whiff of the world’s most sour lemon. 

There’s no way he’s being serious. He can’t be. 

“Ha ha, very funny, Francisco.” You mock, frown still splayed across your face, “Now will you please tell me what’s actually going on?” 

His silence makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You can feel the way your face falls, the muscles once tensed in adamant skepticism now sinking into a quiet panic. You can hear each breath as it flows in through your nose and out through your mouth, blood pounding louder and louder in your ears with each pulse of your veins. 

“Frankie, if this is one of your stupid jokes, it’s not funny.” 

“It’s not a joke.” 

His eyes are still peeled to the floor, too afraid to bring himself to look at you. All he can do is stare at his pinky toe, poking out of the hole in his socks that he refuses to replace. You wait for what feels like hours, days, for him to say something, but his silence is deafening. And the sound of Frankie’s silence is the scariest thing you’ve heard in a very long time. 

It’s so terrifying, the only thing you can do to cope is fill the quiet void with your rambling and pray that Frankie Morales is choosing to play the world’s worst joke on you. 

“What- what do you mean? Frankie, I thought- When you and Santi talked about doing the same thing as Will- I thought you were fucking kidding? What about college? We already both got accepted to Florida State, what are you gonna do-” 

“I didn’t get in.” 

Please let him be kidding. Please, please, let this be a sick joke. 

You can feel your confusion starting to bubble into anger, jaw clenching at the way Frankie’s too coward to even look in your general direction, gaze still glued to that stupid fucking hole in his worn down sock. 

“Frankie, what the fuck? We both got accepted back in January? You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?” 

“I didn’t wanna lie, okay?!” 

He’s riddled with enough guilt to speak up, trying to keep himself from the brink of tears as he works up enough courage to finally look you in the face. You can hear how hard he gulps, like his heart is bobbing in his throat, trying to buy all the time he can to come up with a reason for his deception that won’t hurt you any more than he already has. 

“I just- fuck,” he sighs, chewing at his bottom and bouncing his leg against the bed so intensely it’ll make him sore the next day, “I didn’t know what to do, Kenz. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” 

It’s hard to stay mad at him when you know he means it. It’d be easier if it weren’t for the way his brown eyes flooded with disappointment in himself, spilling out in tears onto his cheeks. For as frustrated as you are, you have enough sympathy to ease up on him enough to at least try to understand. 

“Well, not lying to me about it for the last four months probably would have been a good start.” You huff, the air that puffs from your nostrils still tainted with the let down you’re trying so hard to not let override your conversation. 

You can’t help but let yourself find a spot next to him on the edge of your bed, a peace offering that you hope is enough to signal to him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say. 

“I- I didn’t think you were being serious when you and Santi were talking about it. I- I thought you- I thought the plan was to go to Florida State. Together. What happened, Frankie?” 

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Frankie takes a few, slow deep breaths as he runs his hands through the curls twisting at the nape of his neck. The silence isn’t as bitter as before, but it stings enough to gnaw at the edges of your nails, the anxious habit you can’t seem to break, and certainly have no intention of giving up right now.  

“Stop chewing at your nails, Kenz. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself later.” Frankie sighs, gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth, trying to fulfill his duty of being the one to stop you from ripping your nail beds to shreds. 

“You’re kinda making it hard not to.” You try your best to attempt a laugh. It’s the only way to keep yourself from crying. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or what?” 

“Y-yeah.” Frankie re-adjusts himself on the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of your comforter between his fingers, trying to ground himself in the reality of the truth he’s forced to tell you, “I- I didn’t get into Florida State. I told you I did because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. You were just so excited when you thought we both got in and I- I panicked and I lied. I didn’t even think I was gonna get in anyways. I didn’t think I was gonna get in anywhere. Even if I did, I don’t know if I even could have afforded it. It’s just me and my mom and neither of us-”

“It’s not too late. I can help you look for scholarships. To help you with tuition. I’m sure that there’s a bunch out there that you could apply for. I’ll even write your essays and stuff for you if you want me to-” 

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, Kenz. Plus, you hate cheaters.” 

Frankie tries to reciprocate the same half-assed laugh you gave him. He looks over at you, the small smile he’s forcing to keep between his lips quickly fading as he sees the way you’re pleading with him to realize that you would forge a thousand essays in his name if it meant he wasn’t going to leave you. He’d be a cheater you’d gladly forgive. 

“It’s not even just the money. I just- I- I don’t even like school, Kenzie. I suck at it. If school is already hard now, how much harder is it gonna be when I get to college? To study for a job that I’m probably not even gonna want when I graduate? At least with the Army I can have a job and benefits and hopefully make enough money to help my mom so she’s not working at the hospital 6 days a week. MacKenzie, the only reason I applied to Florida State was because of you. I thought that maybe there would be some miracle I got in and I could figure out how to pay for it and I could magically get smarter and better at school so we could spend the next four years together. I wanted it to happen. I wanted it to happen so bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I just- fuck- I just didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Neither of you are quite sure what to say next. That quiet comes back to fill the space between you, allowing enough room for the silent sobs you’re both trying your best to hold in, small sniffles still escaping from each of you. You’re not sure if your brain has fully processed what he’s had to say. The only thing you can understand is the swirling of sadness and confusion in your gut and the pounding ache in your chest. 

You take a scooch closer to him, the outsides of your thighs barely brushing together as you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder. It’s heavy, the weight you can’t help but lean against him, but the arm he wraps behind your back and around your waist tells you that he’ll gladly take it. He’ll take it all, if he has to. 

“Did you already sign a contract to go?” The whisper of your words is so soft, like you’re hoping he can’t hear you. If he can’t hear you, then he doesn’t have to tell you the answer you don’t want to hear. 

“Yeah. Me and Santi did a few weeks ago.” His voice is almost quieter than yours, convinced he has the same idea as you. 

His truth stings worse than the lie he’s been masquerading behind the past four months. You want to scream at him- To curse him with shouts and sobs, question how he could make this choice for himself and leave you in the dark until it’s too late for you to change his mind. You know it’s selfish, the way you want him to stay, the way you would have fought with every bone in your body to keep him from leaving. You know it’s the reason Frankie couldn’t tell you. 

It’s the same reason why Frankie couldn’t bring himself to tell you that if he had given you that chance, he probably would have stayed. 

“Do um- do you know when you have to leave?” 

It hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. It’s an admittance of defeat. Because once you ask that question, there’s nothing you can do or say that will make him stay. No fighting, no begging, no pleading. You have to accept he’s leaving. 

“Not ‘til the end of the summer.” 

“Where?” 

The more you ask, the more it makes you want to keel over the edge of the bed and vomit, the reality of it all setting in at an alarming pace. 

“Missouri for basic training. I don’t know where after.” 

He doesn’t have to say where. You both know. Even if he doesn’t know the exact longitude and latitude of where the Army will deploy him, there’s nowhere else they’re sending him besides Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever godforsaken, war ridden country in the Middle East he’ll be forced to put his life on the line for. 

And for how much the reality of Frankie leaving scares you, when you’re hit with the reality that Frankie may leave and never come back, you’re absolutely terrified. 

“I don’t want you to go, Frankie.” 

You can’t beg him to stay. There’s no amount of bargaining you can do with him or the powers that be to change what’s been done. All you can do is tell him your truth as you sob into his chest while he holds you. Maybe if you’re not enough to make him stay, you’re at least enough to make him want to come home. 

You’re not sure how long he holds you while you cry. Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours. However long it is, all the moments you have left with Frankie feel that much more precious. You won’t let any of them slip through your fingers. 

“You promise you’ll come home, right?” 

“I promise, MacKenzie. I promise.” 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Francisco Morales, it’s that he’ll never break a promise. You just hope the universe is kind enough to let him keep this one, too. 

“I promise that we’ll have a really fun summer together before I leave too, okay? Whatever you wanna do, Kenz, I’ll do it.” 

“Anything?” 

It’s enough to peek your head out from the crook of his neck, trying your best to wipe away your tears with your sleeve, like you hadn’t just stained the better part of Frankie’s sweatshirt with the same wetness. 

“Anything.” 

“Alright, well, I guess we’re gonna go to Dairy Queen and get an extra large blizzard every day until you’re too fat for the Army to want you anymore.” 

The two of you giggle, a quiet symphony of soft snorts and sobs at the idea of rolling an ice cream filled Frankie off to boot camp. It makes him laugh even harder that he wouldn’t put it past you if you really did try. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you did. 

“Whatever you want, MacKenzie. I’m all yours.” 

Frankie, Present 

Frankie’s convinced he might as well start training for a marathon at this point. 

He’s not really sure how else to spend his time. It’s hard to keep himself occupied when all he can do at home is sit around and wait for your dad to die or stare out the window like a creep to watch your comings and goings. 

At least if he’s running, he can’t think about you. 

Well, he can’t think about you as much. 

It’s been a day and a half since he decided to follow you on your run. He’s already pushed his luck enough that you didn’t damn near kill him for it, let alone that you even gave him a chance to talk to him. 

He let you take the first  shift on the morning yesterday, despite the fact he’d been awake well before the sun rose. The irony wasn’t lost on him at the way he watched you through his bedroom window the same way he did most Saturday and Sunday mornings for the first few years of your friendship. You’d be up at the same ungodly hour as him, except you’d be pacing up and down your driveway, stretching and lunging across its length as you clicked around on the iPod wrapped around your forearm, searching for whatever song would pump you up for your run. 

It wasn’t until you had finally noticed Frankie peering out his bedroom window every weekend that you began to drag him along on your runs with you. 

“If you’re awake too, you might as well come running with me, Morales. It’ll be fun!” 

“Fine. I gotta warn you though, Kenz, I am actually pretty fast.” 

“You barely run the mile in gym class.” 

“Savin’ up all my energy for when I need it most, Anderson.” 

There was once a time where you would have to beg Frankie to come with you on a run. Now, he’d give anything for you to tolerate his existence ten feet behind you. 

But he’ll sacrifice another run alone through all too familiar roads of his childhood subdivision if it helps him kill time and keeps you from hating him anymore than you rightfully deserve to. 

Yesterday, he went on two runs to pass the time. Hell, today, he’d consider adding a third run to his underwhelming schedule just to keep himself busy. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell yet) for him, Maria Morales has other plans. 

And when Maria Morales has plans, it’s in Frankie’s best interest to drop anything else he had in mind for the day. 

Even when it means he’s got a hot date with his basement and a mountain full of boxes in his basement. 

“Okay, anything in this pile to the left is for you to go through.” His mom grunts, lifting up one last box to add to the heap labeled “Francisco’s things” in her perfectly curved cursive, “If you want to take it home, find an empty box to put it in, but not my new clear, plastic bins, entiendes (understand)? Those were expensive.” 

“No clear plastic bins, got it.” Frankie chuckles, following the exaggerated step his mother takes over his scattered belongings. 

“If you see something and you don’t want it now but you want me to keep it for later, you can put it over on the shelf by the stairs. If you think it’s basura (trash), leave it over here and let me look at it first before you throw it away.” 

“Comprendido (got it).” Frankie nods, sizing up the stack his mom has set out for him, “Jesus ma, this is gonna take me all morning to go through.” 

“If you were home more, there would be less things to go through now.” 

“Yeah, well, you got me there.” Frankie grumbles under his breath, grimacing at the harsh reality of his mom’s words. He knows isn’t meant completely out of malice, but he can’t deny it’s certainly got some truth to it as well.  

“Okay, well I need to go run some errands, and I want this pile sorted by the end of the day, so standing here and moping certainly isn’t going to help that. Get to work, mijo (son).” 

His mom will never be one to throw a pity party for anyone, and most definitely won’t be throwing one for her son, based on his own, self-inflicted problem. Frankie helps her step over another makeshift pile scattered for sorting across the basement floor, giving him a quick pat on the back before disappearing upstairs, leaving him to quite literally unpack his past. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He sighs to himself, gently kicking one of the edges of flimsy cardboard at the bottom of the tower, trying to formulate his best plan of attack to make his sorting as painless as possible. 

He’s thankful that his brain has always worked in a way that allows him to analyze things so quickly, doing some quiet calculations in his head as to the most effective and efficient way to sort through god knows what may be hidden in the pile his mom has created for him. 

He runs his hand through the still messy curls of his morning bed head before selecting what feels like the lightest boxes and moving them off to the side, opening up a cardboard container from the next layer. 

Besides the trophies still in his room, every prize he’d ever won for every sport he’d ever played sits in the box below him. Frankie chuckles to himself, picking up some from the top to examine them, thumb gliding over the fake gold plating to read plaques like “Florida Junior Divisional Freestyle Swimming Finalist- 2005” or “Regional Championship Winners- Florida Firebirds 2007” glued to poorly sculpted plastic statues of swimmers. A few more medals and certificates had sunk to the bottom of the box, Frankie quickly grazing through its contents before rehoming it to the “trash” pile, unsure of when he would ever need proof he won several swimming competitions in high school. 

The next few boxes were more of the same- His varsity jacket, old t-shirts he wouldn’t stand a chance fitting into, considering the gangly figure that stretched them more than a decade ago, some old books from high school he’d only kept because of how much you loved them and he promised you that one day, he’d read them, too. 

It’s the shoe box that catches his eye next, sure that no matter how much his mom loved to hoard, whatever was in there most definitely was not a raggedy, holy pair of Converse from high school. 

It’s not until he picks up the box that he knows exactly what’s inside. It’s one of the lightest things he’s picked up in the last hour, but when he knows the weight of its contents, his arms want to tremble. 

It’s with a long deep breath that he brings the shoebox over to an open patch of floor, letting out a grunt and cursing his knees as he sits down cross legged with the box in front of him. He gently flips open the lid, hand running over his face and down the back of his neck when his suspicions are confirmed. 

Open envelopes spill out over the edges of the worn cardboard, the box stuffed to the brim with every letter you’d ever written to him while he was away.

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could ever physically bring himself to throw them out. Those letters have more miles on them than most people’s cars will ever reach in a lifetime, flimsy, stamped pieces of paper following him to every corner of the globe he’s traveled to. 

Some letters he’s read so much, they’re worn on the edges where he’s held the paper, smudging the pen that’s reached the sides of the pages. Others, he’s only read once. He’s not sure he could ever bring himself to read them again. But regardless of their contents, he’d made a promise to you they’d stay with him. 

“Better not get rid of those letters, Morales. Do you know how many hand cramps I’ve given myself trying to find the words to send halfway across the world to you? You better promise me you’ll keep ‘em.”  

His commitment to the folded pieces of paper ring in his ears as his fingers drag across the tops of the open envelopes. He can’t help the way his index finger and thumb pinch the paper below his grasp, carefully tugging a random letter out of its shoebox storage. 

It’s a gut wrenching gamble, the game he’s about to play, a roulette of making his heart ache from joy or pain depending on the one he chooses to pull. He’s already placed his bet as he pulls the lined piece of paper out of the envelope- He’s not getting the money he’s already placed on the table back, so he might as well pray he makes a return on his investment. 

With one more deep breath, he unfolds the tri-fold creases, ready to watch his bet play out before him. 

August 18th, 2006

Frankie, 

I hope I sent this letter to the right place! I looked on the website and it said to send mail to new recruits (that’s you, Morales), to this address, so no one better be holding my letter to you hostage. 

Anyways, how’s training so far? Did they make you shave your head yet? I hope not. I’m not sure why the Army insists on making you all look like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. I’m sure you’ll still look cute even with short hair! I don’t think I can say the same for Santi, but you didn’t hear that from me… hehehe 

I just moved into my dorm yesterday! My roommate seems pretty nice. Her name is Jessica and she’s from Georgia. She claims that she’s neat and she better be, or I may lose my mind. I’ll send you pictures of my dorm once it’s all set up! It’s kind of a mess right now, but I made sure to put the picture of us from prom up on my desk :)

I don’t start class until next Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll meet some new people in my dorm or on the soccer team so I’m not a total loser with no friends. LOL. 

Have you met anyone new yet? I can’t wait to hear all about your new Army friends! I already started a countdown calendar until we can see each other again. Only 70 days until basic training is done and I can hear about everything in person! 

I miss you a lot. I know that’s dumb to say because it’s only been a week, but still. I wish I would have kissed you again before you got on the plane to leave. I promise I will when I see you. Nothing says perfect place to kiss like South Missouri, romance capital of the USA (haha). 

I know you’re gonna be busy, but write me back when you have time. The return address on the envelope is my dorm address, so use that, or risk Doug and Michelle reading your mail if you send it to my house!!! I can’t wait to hear from you. Miss you, weirdo. 

From, 

Kenz :) <3

His luck of the draw sends a wave of relief through him, smiling down at the curvy loops of your perfectly neat printing signed at the bottom of the page. It makes his heart skip a beat, the same kind of butterflies coming to life in his stomach as they did the first time he read it. He’s earned his money back and then some. He gets how casinos never go broke, because the high of good fortune is enough to have him reaching back into the box to put another gamble on the line. 

October 13th, 2009

Frankie, 

I always feel dumb sending multiple letters before I hear back from you, but you know me, I love to worry. I know you can’t tell me where you are right now (stupid military and their secrets for the safety of society lol) but I’ve been seeing stuff on the news and it makes me scared for you. I just hope wherever you are, you’re safe. 

My dad’s cancer is back. He’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. They found a new mass on his liver, but they said hopefully they can target it with radiation before it starts to spread. Cassandra at the front desk asked how you were when I was at the hospital yesterday. I said that you were good. I think she’s only asking because if you’re not there, there’s no one to keep me from burning a hole in the waiting room carpet. 

I wish you were here. I feel really lost right now. I just know if you were here, you’d find a way to make everything better. You always do. 

Sorry this letter isn’t longer. I haven’t been sleeping that great and don’t have enough brainpower to write something decent. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on.  

Counting down the days until you make good on your promise. I hope you come home soon, Frankie. 

Kenzie 

He curses himself for an unlucky draw, heart sinking at the tear stains smearing the blue ink of your trembling letters. An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over him, vivid memories of reading your notes in his bunk alone, wishing there was a way he could fly halfway around the world for a night just to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay. 

It’s the addictive itch in the back of his brain that makes him decide to pull one more letter from the box, taking one last gamble to see if he can prove the nagging pit in his stomach to quit while he’s ahead, wrong. 

February 4th, 2011

Hey, 

If you don’t want to write anymore, that’s fine. I was trying to be friendly, but clearly you don’t really care. Just let me know and I’ll stop bombarding you with mail you obviously don’t want. Or I guess you not responding is letting me know. If you want to send anything back you can send it to my parents house. I’m moving into Liam’s house and it’s only 20 minutes away so I can just drive there and pick it up. No need to send you a new address you probably aren’t going to write to, anyways. 

I guess I’ll see you when I see you. 

MacKenzie 

And that’s how Vegas will always stay in business. 

Because now Frankie is forced to walk away, all his money stolen from him at the stupid risk he’s decided to take. The one letter he’d give anything not to read again is the one he had to pull. 

Heat seethes in his chest- he can’t quite explain why. Because he lost at a rigged game he’d set up for himself? That he still hasn’t quite come to terms with the ugly truth of what he put the both of you through? That he wishes with everything in him, he could go back and change what he’s done? 

Or maybe, it’s because now might be the last chance he has to fix what he’s broken, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live with himself if he can’t.

He leaves the pile in the basement unfinished, shoes barely tied to his feet before he bursts out the door in a sprint.

He's not sure where he's going. He's not even sure how long he's run for. All he knows is the pounding of his feet against the pavement, trying to outrun the stupid decisions of his past.

He tells himself if he runs fast enough, he'll beat them.

If he goes far enough, they'll be forgotten.

If he outraces them, you'll be there waiting for him at the finish line.

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@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[gojoswhitebabydolllashes]

Girl, your stories are so GOOD! I love reading your fics. I just saw you may be taking fics for Jayce or Viktor. Is there any way I could request a Jayce x Viktor x Reader fic where the reader is very naturing, cuddly, and gentle with both of them, but maybe she hides all her stress and struggles cause she deems theirs more important? Like, she always knows when they want coffee, how they each take it, covers them up when the lab is cold or they pass out at the desk, rubs their shoulders when she sees them shrug too much, just very attentive. Yet, she’s not a scientist and thinks that being stressed over literature projects and teaching is ridiculous cause it’s not as difficult or as important (in her mind) as hextech. So she just ignores her needs until these two notice.

I’m so sorry if that is too much! I hope you enjoy the third act when it comes out. Thank you so much for reading this! 🩶

OH ABSOLUTELY I CAN DO THIS. 😭😭 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND LIKING MY STORIES IT MEANS SO MUCH.

--fem reader. Fluff. Small sad. Angst if you squint. Cute throuple time.

--

The laboratory is cold, and the rain that batters piltover decorates the window like glass tears. Your eyes droop tiredly as you watched viktor twist the cogs in the next hextech project and listen to the sound of slow puffs of steam every few minutes that came from brass pipes on the walls.

Jayce is unmoving as he sits at his own desk, sorting through two stacks of papers. You hate it, hate watching them so vulnerable and so tired. Both are so hard-working and loyal to their studies.

"Allow me to help you both," you spoke as you stood up.

Reaching for two soft blue blankets stored in the corner, you walked firstly to jayce and draped the blanket across his shoulders and gave his cheek a soft kiss.

"I can't have my boys going cold now, can I?"

You spoke as you walked to viktor to drape a blanket across his much more lean shoulders, kissing his cheek, too. Viktor looked up at you and smiled tiredly.

"Thank you, my love." it never failed to make your heart flutter hearing viktor call you that, especially when his accent made it so smooth and endearing.

"Are you staying with us tonight?" Jayce spun in his chair, leaning an arm on his knee.

"I um" you cleared your throat.

The truth was, you had things to do. Your own assignments and activities to tend to. But viktor and jayce's eyes were gleaming deep brown in the dim laboratory light and so often you found yourself missing them when they would make you go to bed without them because they were afraid you would pass out after spending so long with them doing work.

"I have no where to be"

Paperwork

Documents

Assignments

Blueprints

Papers

Papers papers pap-

"No," you shook your head. "I have nowhere to be"

You smiled as you walked over to stand by the window, viktor and jayce came to stand on either side of you. The rain still pounded the glass, crystal city and enforcers were hounded the soaking streets each night, like a herd of elephants stampeding with metal boots.

"You need not worry about what's happening down there." Jayce put his hand on your shoulder.

Viktor turned his head to you. "It is not our worry, my love" he spoke ever so softly.

You pressed your lips together into a thin line, as you thought over so much.

"You both must be hungry," you stated.

You stepped away from them both before you walked over to the door. You would make them cups of hot tea and nice warm soup. bread and butter.

"Stop right there, doll" Jayce spoke loudly.

You froze and turned around to see jayce holding up your textbook. You gasped and realised they had indeed caught you.

"When were you going to tell us you had assignments to do?" Jayce asked.

Viktor turned around to face you, his head tilted. You looked at the ground defeated before them, and began to cry.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you both. I was so entranced with helping you with your dreams that I forgot about my own, " you frowned and sighed.

The two of them walked over to you and hugged you tightly. If they had known you were in such troubles, they would have chained you to the table and glued a pencil in your hand.

"I love you both so much, and I'm so sorry that kept it from you." .You looked at them with gentle and sorrowful eyes.

"You need not be sorry. But It's time to start taking care of yourself, my love. " viktor held you close to him

You nodded, making them both smile admiringly.

"We love you, pretty girl"

You gave them both soft kisses to their lips and smiled. "You know I'm still going to take care of you both"

They were your boys. And even if you were working every day and night on your own papers, you would find ways to still make sure they had their breakfast lunch and dinner and were always hydrated and healthy. You loved them both dearly and they too loved you too.

"If I find out you aren't focusing on yourself, I'll take back my promise to buy cupcakes" Viktor spoke.

Not only did you gasp. But beside you, the man of progress did too.

[mythalism]

[ emerging from ur walls ] idk where that trick weekes stuff ab solas being reminded of someone by romanced inq came from nor do i care but i also had a thought like mostly bc i made my inq a rogue and more "no i'm not god no i'm not a messiah please leave me alone" reply played in the game but the parallel between solas being coaxed into having a physical body and proceeding to go deeper into the abyss that is personhood, and becoming an instrument of war whilst still being honored/shamed as a god & general parallels directly that of the inquisitor's journey (TO ME!)

cassandra & co. want you to admit andraste sent you, and you can deny all you want as a player but they'll keep hammering it down your throat (ok bioware. *i explode it w my mind*) and once they realize faith is not enough, they give you the title of inquisitor. suddenly you're not just a divine being sent to herald the people, you're also their sword, their shield. the same way fen'harel / dread wolf becomes a name no longer associated with the protection & guidance of mythal & her people and as the cruel god / rebellious general who doomed the evanuris, and a leader to the enslaven who seek freedom.

it is evident in both his & inquisitors stories that faith is not enough, people cannot cling to mere religious symbols, they need somebody willing to bleed for them. (the way the dalish later on rework fen'harel as cruel, and the way you meet people as inq who spit on you as a blasphemer in the name of andraste even though you can choose to say i never said i was a herald! it was forced upon me! let me out!!!)

like there can obvs be more than one story parallel (big if true for some people) but i always found it curious that if you romance him he fixates on talking about the inquisitors spirit. wanna get sumn off your chest puppy boy?

anyway the mortifying idea that neither inquisitor nor solas were allowed to be who they once were before they became instruments of war and only through their relationship / friendship do they find those silent moments where they don't play roles assigned to them by their gods, their people, or their generals and can just be as who they are to their core. not weapons, not martyrs, just pure beings. worms if you will.

10/10 banger no notes. just adding this from an ask i answered a week or two ago about how the solavellan ending so wonderfully wraps up this theme:

they are at once both finally free of the burdens of the myths and expectations that follow them as the dread wolf and the herald of andraste because they have left the mortal world that forced them into those roles and stripped them of their personhood, but they have also completely submitted themselves to those roles by submitting to the logical conclusion of the myths that they could not escape. for the dread wolf, it is earning his redemption through his willing submission to his own trap. its the logical, full-circle mythological conclusion to the trickster who trapped the gods, now trapped for eternity himself (allegedly, he will prob eventually break out... even loki gets his freedom during ragnarok...). for the inquisitor, it is andraste's herald finally sharing andraste's fate, choosing to leave the mortal world behind to ascend to the golden city alongside the god that she loves. both (presumably, for a lavellan) have tried to reject the myths attached to them over and over and over, but in the end they choose them willingly, and that choice at once binds them to those myths forever while simultaneously freeing them from the burden of them. its giving oedipal greek tragedy of attempting to outrun your fate and it finding you anyway, just when you thought you were finally making your own choice, but with a hopeful and bittersweet spin. its actually fucking insanely brilliant when i think about it this way it makes me genuinely foam at the mouth.

[gaiaseyes451]

I absolutely squealed when I saw Dwarf Fortress cross my dash. I *adore* this game. I will generate worlds just to read the lore that is created. Yes, it’s tricky to get used to the UI but good grief the return on the investment is huge! There is so much creativity here, there is so much fodder for your own stories and art and it is absolutely hilarious!

Due to a bug I once ended up with a civilization of peaceful dwarves because the military assignment menu wouldn’t allow me to create militia. The fort was eventually decimated by a werepangolin and survived only because the mayor, who was also an artisan mason, walled themselves off from the rest of the fort until the moon phase changed and the werepangolin returned to dwarf form. I kid you not, I am not creative enough to make that shit up unassisted.

Want to know what the hell I’m rambling about? Here is a story of one fortress that was “ruled” by different monarchs (players) over time. Welcome to the fortress of Boatmurdered.

Everyone thank Dwarf Fortress and Rimworld for their influence on the village survival management sim genre. We have so many cool little games now that are absolutely covered in their fingerprints.

[reignpage]

A Guide to Physics Tutor!Nanami

I've gotten a couple messages from people who are confused about how to read this series, so here is an explanation:

All the smaus on Modern au!Nanami are connected

They are listed in my masterlist in order

They cannot be read in standalone

For example: the smau titled 'Newton's first law' is broken down like so

pre-relationship

first pic: of their first text conversation once Yaga assigns Nanami to reader as a tutor Second and third pic follows from the drunk party incident from the last smau second pic: reader begs for a second chance and nanami agrees, third pic: fast forward a couple weeks later, reader is distant because she doesn't want to stop being tutored by him and nanami notices

established relationship

fourth pic: follow a major moment in their relationship where the girl that was mentioned in the previous physics tutor!nanami becomes a sore point for them, reader reaches a breaking point and asks for a break which nanami doesn't fight against fifth pic: reader asks to come over and they kinda begin to get closer again but the girl pops up and reader pulls away once more sixth pic: after 2 weeks of the break, neither of them can stand it anymore and they realise no issue's too big for their love for each other but reader needs reassurance so she asks him when did he know he loves her (remember he's had a crush on her since the first day of first year and has fallen more and more through every tiny glimpse of her)

There is an intentional and purposeful sense of ambiguity in the timeline because it jumps back and forth in order to create a sense of drama.

Think of an episode of Vampire Diaries or Grey's Anatomy where there are flashbacks which serves to tie in with the main story.

Having both pre and during relationship texts creates a contrasts that highlights their respective developments

Such as Nanami getting used to reader's flirtatious nature

There are also reveals about Nanami's thoughts during their pre-relationship moments which adds context to his behaviour or messages

My intention with this not so straightforward means of storytelling is to create layers and depth to the characters

It's supposed to be one of those series where as I post, avid readers will pick up on easter eggs that makes rereading a previous post exciting

I understand this may confuse some and it's definitely not beginner friendly but this is my creative will so I will not change the layout, but I am happy to explain.

Just drop me a message.

Hope this helps!

[ashlynnfall]

group project with jayce and vi - arcane x reader

summary: blurb about you being stuck with vi and jayce for a group project

tags: arcane fluff (because we deserve it after this show), no spoilers (but mentions of s2 scenes and characters), silly, stupid, reader insert, school au, no trauma au, hextech exists in this world, somewhat ooc vi and jayce

warnings: cussing

word count: about 2.4k

a/n: this is inspired by the current vi and jayce accomplishing nothing memes. i love that joke so much, so i decided to write a little story about it! also jinx remains as powder in this since no tragedy has happened. this is my first fic ever, so any advice on how to be a better writer would be greatly appreciated! thanks for reading, and i hope you enjoy <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------it's your favorite class about your favorite subject full of your favorite people, so what could go wrong?

literally everything, apparently.

your teacher, mr. heimerdinger, announces a group project to the class. soon after, everyone chatters in excitement because you all like each other, so no matter what, you'll all end up with a good group. he starts calling names and organizing people into groups of three. as the options for your group narrow down, you look around to see who hasn't been called yet.

vi...ekko...ooh mel would be great for this, you think to yourself as you survey the crowd.

"mel, ekko, and caitlyn! you're a group," heimerdinger calls out, causing you and the class to frown.

"ugh, talk about unfair," one student murmurs.

"viktor, skylar, and elora, you're a group."

the options keep getting smaller, and as you look to see who hasn't been grouped yet, a horrible realization hits you. all that's left is you, vi, and...

no.

"jayce," heimerdinger says.

stop it now.

"vi."

this isn't happening.

to your dismay, heimerdinger calls your name. you turn to look at vi and jayce who are sitting next to each other, currently celebrating the pair up.

"hell yeah!" vi exclaims, raising a hand up to high five jayce. jayce enthusiastically moves his hand to hers-

and misses her hand.

seriously, how do you miss an unmoving target?

you watch as these bumbling fools try two more times before they can actually hit the high five.

you've got to be fucking kidding me.

jayce talis, the golden boy of the grade. he's a genius inventor with incredible ideas that will take him far in life. known to be smart and charismatic, most people would love to be grouped up with him for any assignment. as one of heimerdinger's star pupils, being his partner should be good news right?

wrong.

vi, the cool girl of the grade. she's not the most academically gifted person, but she does all of her work and tries her hardest to contribute to the group. she's known to be an amazing fighter and has a gift for making people feel better. rumor has it that caitlyn kiramman once went on a total rampage after losing her mother's expensive necklace. she was a raging asshole for a week, spewing mean things to anyone who stood in her way. vi was out sick for that week, so there was no one to console caitlyn.

when vi returned to school, she called caitlyn "cupcake" one time, causing her to switch sides immediately, reverting back to the sweet girl she's known to be. oh, and vi found the necklace too!

so a team up between a boy genius and a girl with a big heart should be amazing news. however, despite all of their incredible traits, when jayce and vi work together, all of that shit disappears.

they've been paired up together for projects before, and they're the only ones who love this match up. everyone else reacts in horror.

they're always onto absolutely nothing, cooking up plans and ideas that fail so miserably, it's almost impressive. during a lesson on hextech, they had the simple task of using a comically large hammer to aim and hit a target. the hammer was too big for vi to hold alone, so they used the power of friendship to hold it up together. they aimed for the target, and shot a blast.

it completely missed.

in fact, they missed so bad, that it ended up shooting through a window, resulting in it completely shattering. students had to dive for cover from flying glass shards. this prompted a severe tongue lashing from a very angry heimerdinger, who now had to pay for window repairs and do paperwork.

there was another time where they were sparring with some older classmates, got way too into the fight. they were in the middle of hyping each other up when a kid accidentally got in the way of their brawl. they totally knocked him on his ass, the poor thing got sent straight to the ground.

he recovered soon after, but he went home with a bloody nose the day of the impact. jayce was the one who dealt the punch, so he was wracked with guilt for the child he just injured. he sent the family some flowers as an apology, to which the mom responded with dead roses and a note saying: "eat shit".

he is not popular in that family.

knowing you're in for a disaster, you accept your fate, and walk over to a beaming jayce and vi. they are so excited to be partnered up with you, and it would be sweet sight if they weren't, well, them.

"this project is due next class, so please decide on a time outside of school to complete this. we have a lecture to finish," heimerdinger instructs.

vi offers her house, to which you and jayce agree. you're supposed to meet there about four hours from now, which isn't nearly enough time for you to prepare for the bullshit.

here we go.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

four hours later, you're knocking on vi's door, trying to calm your already spiked nerves. it swings open to reveal a small girl with two blue braids.

"hi!" powder exclaims as she wraps you into a tight hug. it's been a while since you've seen vi's little sister, and you're relieved to know that at least one person in this house has sanity.

the two of you catch up for a bit while you wait for vi to bring you upstairs. powder tells you about her little crush on ekko, rambling happily about their adventures while you laugh at their antics.

ten minutes pass and vi still hasn't come down to get you, so now you're annoyed. that annoyance quickly turns into concern as a loud bang from upstairs shakes the entire house.

what the hell?

you and powder rush upstairs to see what the commotion is about. nearly ripping vi's bedroom door off its hinges in fear, you two run inside to make sure everyone's alright.

you look at the scene with disappointment as you see dumb and dumber standing in shock, eyes directed to the damage they just created. there's a giant dent in the floor, no doubt made by the hammer in jayce's hand. vi's giant gauntlets are at her side, which leads you to infer that they were sparring before the impact.

jayce is always doing some type of extreme damage with that hammer, you facepalm as you take in the scene.

you give them both a withering glare then yell at their foolishness.

"you idiots do realize that we're supposed to improve the hextech, not destroy buildings with it, right?"

powder runs downstairs to tell uncle vander what happened, and you sigh in frustration while the other two carefully set their weapons onto the ground.

"sooo...we should get started on the project now, yeah?" jayce offers as his hand rubs the back of his neck, clearly trying to fix the mood.

you let out an exasperated sigh.

"yeah, let's get started."

vi and jayce add another disastrous duo moment to their record. you've lost count of all their failures at this point.

during the entire project, they say stupid ideas or do reckless things. jayce swings the hammer around with zero regard for his surroundings, and laughs whenever vi sticks up her middle finger in the gauntlets. whenever one of them says something that sounds remotely smart, the other one says, "EXACTLYYYYY."

"do you think if we wrap the hammer in foam, we can prevent it from breaking things?" vi asks jayce, who shoots her a look of disbelief.

"you can't be serious," he responds in a critical tone.

you nearly jump for joy as you watch their interaction. for the first time ever, there's hope that one of them will finally be smart in the other one's presence.

"we should wrap it in air pillows, not foam. regardless, that's a great idea! we should test it out," jayce enthuses as he reaches for the hammer.

your hope shatters into a million pieces, just like that window they destroyed.

"no, no, no, no, no!" you interject as you swat his hand away, preventing them from causing more destruction.

"what crawled up your ass today?" jayce asks, offended by your behavior.

"heimerdinger's foot definitely did because you keep screwing up on his exams. don't hate on us because you have a D in this class," vi insults as she completely airs out your business in front of jayce.

jayce yells "OHHHHH" in response, then goes to dap up vi for flaming you. putting your head in your hands, you practice deep breathing so you don't completely lose your shit. it's not your fault that runes and hex crystals are so confusing!

uncle vander stops by shortly after the argument to inspect the damage, loses his mind, then goes to call uncle silco for assistance. you, vi, and jayce continue the project and pretend like vander isn't infuriated with all of you. you didn't even do anything but you still get wrapped up in this mess.

halfway through the project, vi gets a facetime call from caitlyn, to which she immediately responds. if you had a dime for every time vi called her "cupcake", you'd be a millionaire.

things get even more annoying when jayce gets a facetime call from mel, who he also immediately responds to. your friends yap to their girlfriends while you continue working on the project, silently reflecting on how terrible your luck is.

despite their annoying tendencies and horrific performance as a duo, they're somewhat helpful during the project. jayce uses his hextech knowledge to create solid ideas for improving the weapons. the secret to getting him to be his genius self? tell vi she isn't allowed to speak or be in the room while he works. you gave the same rule to jayce when it was vi's turn to contribute, and she actually came up with solid ideas for weapon functionality and protection.

turns out, separating them is a brilliant idea. you mentally pat yourself on the back for your effective plan.

the three of you finish the project and decide to do a movie night in celebration. jayce and vi miraculously land a high five first try, which makes you smile. they then take turns giving you a high five, making your smile wider. the pair gets too confident and tries to do a complicated handshake, which per usual, goes terribly.

jayce accidentally smacks vi (how does this even happen?), and vi punches his arm in return. the two playfully duke it out while you pull out your phone to record them for your private story. you caption the video "mfs when they horrifically fumble a situationship".

when they finish the fight, you realize you can't be their babysitter anymore. desperate to not be stuck with the moron brigade, you ask to invite the rest of the friend group, and vi agrees, complimenting you for coming up with a great idea.

"it's pretty easy to have great ideas when you two are full of terrible ones," powder shouts from the kitchen.

even though vi is taller, older, and arguably stronger, she is always getting destroyed by powder in a verbal battle. it's what makes their dynamic so amazing. vi opens her mouth to shout something back, but you put your hand on her shoulder and shake your head, letting her know it's no use arguing back.

about thirty minutes later, you're sitting in the living room with vi, jayce, mel, caitlyn, ekko, viktor, skylar, elora, powder and her new friend isha, claggor, and milo. you all watch a comedy movie to unwind from the stress of the day, and soon become thoroughly entertained by the movie's ridiculous humor. jayce and vi throw popcorn at each other, which annoys everyone. knowing there was no stopping them, you and mel make a bet on who will win. you choose vi and she chooses jayce like a supportive girlfriend.

mel slides you a crisp five dollar bill halfway through the movie.

as you sit and watch, surrounded by your friends who are full of the happiness and light that they deserve, you decide that maybe a group project with vi and jayce didn't turn out to be such a bad thing after all.

the hangout is full of jokes, silly arguments, laughs, and unbridled joy. even vander and silco stop by to check in on everyone from time to time, smiling at each other as they reminisce about their days as students. whenever those two enter the room, vi and jayce's bodies go rigid with stillness, trying to attract as little attention as possible from the angry set of uncles.

it was an amazing night of bonding with your friends and basking in the comfort of good company. you make a mental note to plan more of these, hoping to give your friends the enjoyment they deserve. when the movie ends, everyone gets off the couches to clean up as they discuss their thoughts on the movie. vi approaches you with a big grin on her face, then has the audacity to deliver the following line:

"this was so fun, the three of us should totally be partners again!"

since you're in such high spirits, you consider giving jayce and vi another chance. maybe they aren't all that disastrous, and maybe, just maybe, they can prove to be a competent duo-

"totally! for our next project we should try seeing how powerful a hextech blast can get! maybe we should go to the park and shoot it into the sky?" jayce schemes while vi's face lights up in excitement at the prospect of another hextech hangout.

never mind, you roll your eyes and mentally chastise yourself for even thinking of giving this another shot. these morons couldn't find a way out of their own asses if they were handed a map.

you fervently shut down their plan before they try making any more.

"absolutely not."

jayce and vi are definitely going down in history as one of the worst duos of all time.

[curiouspupsicle]

Good Omens Fan Fic Friday Recommendations (11/22/24)

When I first started reading Good Omens fan fics, I strongly resisted reading Human AUs. For me, the joy of the Good Omens universe was its exploration of issues of morality and philosophy through the interactions of a certain angel and demon. And their relationships with their respective bureaucracies. What could I possible get from stories about human versions of Aziraphale and Crowley that I couldn't get from other literature? Boy, was I stupid. Over time, I came to appreciate writers who use the shorthand of Crowley's and Aziraphale's characterizations in a new, human setting. And opened myself to a delightful world of surprising stories. So here are a few Human AU recommendations that totally surprised me. And gave me a new appreciation for this segment of fan fic. The first Human AU that sucked me in was Postcards from Paris (G) by ghostrat. Crowley is drawn into the postcards that arrive in his apartment for a previous resident. He ends up striking up his own correspondence with Aziraphale in response. I love epistolary fics. And I actually do write notes and postcards. So how could I not be charmed? The next (and most impressive) Human AU I read was The False and the Fair (E) by Princip1914. It kept turning up in recommendations. I avoided it until it was the choice for a Tumblr fan fic reading group. Aziraphale is the son of a mine owner in Appalachia; Crowley is a mine worker. Terrible mistakes made and atoned for. Very realistic for the setting and time period (1980s). In the Reptile House (T) by waywarder features Aziraphale trying to get over his fear of snakes by visiting the reptile house at the zoo. Crowley is the zookeeper who helps him. What makes it stand out is the writer directly addressing the reader in their own voice to encourage. "Rosie doesn’t owe any of us a damn thing. No animal does. They’re not here to entertain us. They’re just here. And maybe you don’t owe anyone anything either. You’re just here, too, and that’s enough, I promise." Fluff. Lovely, lovely fluff. Why would I ever want to read a fan fic about Formula 1 racing? I'm not a fan. I don't even own a car. The only mode of transport I own is a sailboat with a top speed of 6 mph/9.6 kph). But Sit Tight, Take Hold (E) by nieded sucked me into a multipart story about international car racing. The deep level of research and accompanying fan artwork made this world very compelling. Totally surprised at how it lured me in and kept me interested.

If you told me 6 months ago I'd rave about an explicit fan fic about a sex worker falling in love with a client, I'd have thought you were crazy. But GayDemonicDisaster really surprised me with Hired Heart (E). Somehow, they manage to avoid the worst abuses of this kind of story. And created a positive depiction of empowerment, self-care, safe boundaries, disabled sex, the rights of sex workers, etc. All of this hangs on a sweet story about Aziraphale, closeted to the age of 50, hiring sex worker Crowley to help him gain confidence and experience before entering the dating world. I'd call it sex positive education in a narrative framework. And finally, some fics surprise you just by being terribly, terribly sweet. That's the case for Our Homeward Steps Were Just as Light (T) by On1OccasionFork. Crowley is a mischievous resident of a senior care home who could use a friend. He finds one when Aziraphale is assigned the room next door. I plan to suggest fics every Friday linked by an idiosyncratic theme of my own devising. Follow if you like what you see and want to see more.

[ismyteadoneyet]

Let's gooo (i haven't done a tag-game-thingy in a WHILE so it's about time I get back at it lol, thank you @squirrel-in-the-woods for the tag <33)

Last song: 'Sinner' by Deaf Havana ! as a recovering people pleaser, this song is such a delight because it gives me the vibe of "I'm beginnig my villain arc now !!1!1! I'm a MEANIE now !!! I'm setting BOUNDARIES And you can't stop me !!! 😤😤😤" even though that is probably not the actual intent. It's also the song I have assigned an OC of mine sooooo there's that too jsjsjdjs

(it is also funky af lol)

Currently watching: I'm incredibly bad at watching shows and movies ?? Dunno why??? But I watch quite a bit of booktube reviews and things and lately have been softly getting into drawing/art-related youtube videos I guess??? I watch a lot of random youtube essays too

Three Ships:

- I feel obligated to say Bree×Nick×Selwyn here from the Legendborn Cycle LOL. Any combination and/or mix of the three is fine with me, and I trust Tracy Deonn to make me cry of both happiness and heartache regardless of what ends up being the final endgame HSJSJD 😌😌

- Arlecchino×Furina from Genshin Impact, for the SOLE REASON of @draconicstella88888 's fanfic. I am completely unbiased here of course

- Larkin×William from The Legendborn Cycle. Have we had criminally few scenes of them together? Yes. Am I also a tumblr veteran, used to people shipping characters from completely different medias ? Also yes. I'm just gonna be thankful there is a GLIMMER of on-page chemistry between them before one or the other inevitably will probably meet their doom in the upcoming installments and I will stay delulu and happy until that moment arrives 😌😌 (but ofc, hopefully it doesn't lol)

Favorite color: i'm tempted to say "do you love the color of the sky?" because it's funny but also? Genuinely? Yes. But other than that, I seem to gather lavender/lilac/purple-colored things at an alarming rate it might also have to do with bts but we're gonna leave that can unopened okay lol

Currently consuming: behind the phone I'm typing this on is an unopened box of delicious-looking sushi and I am STARVING but I'm waiting for my parents to join me before I can dig in LOL 😭😭

First ship: how far back are we talking LOL? 💀💀 I'm gonna say Ten×Rose possibly? I don't think I got properly into shipping culture until my tumblr days and my superwholock era

Last movie: I rewatched 'Twilight' to get hold of a screenshot of the "this is the skin of a killer, Bella"-moment for a really silly Selwyn Kane cosplay and ngl, watching the movie now as an adult hits different in the absolute best way LOL

Currently working on: fanarts galore ! Finishing the BRICK that is 'Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell' (i am like 60 PAGES AWAY FROM FINALLY BEING DONE !! 😭😭 IT IS 774 PAGES LONG), about 4 different cosplays, and a story I hope to maybe grow into a proper novel one day, if I manage to treat it right hdjsjsj <3

Tags, (if you want to join!):

@draconicstella88888 @peanutbutter-nutella @chyuyuuz @nakaremfarlei @solovanmoln @sparrowandthesong @ficnoire2 @k0k0p3lli @totalpanik @knaveofpentacles

Tag game: tag nine people you’d like to know better.

Tagged by: @oneshoulderangel

Last song: At the moment, I have "Losing Your Memory" by Alan Star stuck in my head, which I suppose makes it my current song, not my last song. Hm. I get songs stuck in my head very easily, but the last one I had there for a significant amount of time was a mashup of different language versions of "Les Rois du Monde" for about a week. "Lehetsz Király", the Magyar version, is probably my favorite of them. It's worth a listen.

Currently watching: Normally, the answer would be "random mostly terrible old movies/shows" or "nothing much", but I currently have a hyperfixation on the musical Roméo et Juliette and have been watching it in multiple languages. (Thus, the song).

Three ships: This is hard. Maybe as a result of being on the ace and aro spectrums, I'm more likely to care about which characters are interacting than whether it's romantic or platonic. Here goes:

Kedivere/Bedikay. It can be romantic, platonic, or queerplatonic, but whichever way, I'm here for it. I probably spend too much time thinking about how in Cullwch and Olwen, when Cai gets mad at Arthur and marches out, Bedwyr stays behind, keeps acting like nothing's happened, and isn't the one to avenge Cai's death. The feeling of betrayal on both sides has a lot of unexplored potential. And the version where Bedivere dies and Kay fights to bring his body back safely while mortally wounded himself... And the version where Bedivere survives Camlann and Kay isn't said to fight in it, so they might be left together after their world has fallen apart...

Platonically or queerplatonically, Galahad and the Grail Heroine. I really like the tragic Grail Quest friendships, but I like theirs most, maybe because there's something weird and otherworldly about them both. I like it when characters are strange and endearing and doomed by the narrative.

Ever since reading John Matthews' retelling, which I read before the original, I've had a soft spot for Caradoc and Guinier. The Story of Caradoc is very disturbing, and I have some major qualms with Caradoc over a detail Matthews cut out, but all the same, there's a reason these two have the best track record with magical fidelity tests. Each of them would go to the ends of the earth for the other, and together, they're stronger than any curse.

Favorite Color: Blue, particularly royal blue and some teals.

Currently consuming: Black licorice with chocolate.

First ship: This is a hard one, since through elementary and most of middle school, I tended to go along with whatever I thought the author's intentions were and was more likely to unship something. The first non-endgame ship I got invested in was Sonya/Nikolai in War and Peace. I didn't like Nikolai, but Sonya did, and she was my favorite character, so I wanted her to be happy. The first non-canon couple I thought was meant to be together was also in War and Peace: Marya Bolkonskaya and Julie Karagina. My eighth grade self did not think their letters could be interpreted platonically. I still don't.

Last movie: If the musical doesn't count, the last movie I watched was Quest for Camelot, which was awful. Though not Robot Monster-level bad, Robot Monster has an elegance to its simplicity which Quest for Camelot lacks.

Currently working on: Various fics, most of them Arthuriana or CotRK-related (I am woefully behind on the Badfic Bingo), and (theoretically) an epic-style poem, though I haven't gotten much of it written for quite a while now.

Tagging: @gawrkin, @emperorcandy, @wildbasil, @gorewound, @knightsofsomethingorother, @ladyminaofcamelot, @tasosotaso, @amashelle, @gingersnaptaff (I have no idea who's been tagged so far, apart from the people on @oneshoulderangel's post, so I apologize for any multi-tags)

[generalluxun]

I'm still trying to get my head around Chat Noir's complete sidelining not just in the finale, but pretty much the entirety of the show. Based on some of the tweets I've seen, Thomas Astruc is pretty hostile to the suggestion that Chat should have more of a share of the narrative.

So... why? Why make his family, his very existence, the fulcrum on which the show turns? If you want to be the show to only be about Marinette, with Adrien as a side character and "just" a love interest, then MAKE the show only about Marinette. Don't make the main plot about Adrien, and wonder why people are confused when he's not more involved in the main plot. It's such a self-inflicted wound.

Heck, the least they could have done was give Marinette SOME personal stake in her conflict with Hawkmoth, even if it's as uncomplicated as making Marinette a paragon-type superhero like Superman or Captain American who takes her duty to the people of Paris very seriously and feels deeply about the hurt Hawkmoth's is putting them through. But most of Marinette's personal conflicts are about romance or school dynamics. The closest any of her conflicts come to her actual enmity with Hawkmoth are those that deal with the stress of being a superhero/Guardian, in which Hawkmoth doesn't really feature as a person who is her mortal enemy but as an impersonal cause for the stress she's in.

While the finale tries to summon some emotional weight to Marinette's situation, the final fight, at least on Ladybug's end, feels less like the culmination of an epic rivalry and more like a contractual obligation Marinette needs to meet as Gabriel's assigned nemesis.

I mean, the unsatisfying but true answer is twofold:

1)TA never wanted Ladybug to have a partner. That was a requirement in order to get producers lined up to hand over money. It should be understood that I am NOT trashing the producers for this. It is their money. If you want to pursue your purely artistic goal then you secure other funding or self fund. If you want to get something MADE then you have to make what people want to pay to have made. A portion of the friction here comes from the fact that I don't think TA ever stopped fighting for his original version of the show, and that version conflicts directly with the version he was paid to write for.

2)In the context of the above- Adrien is a TROPHY. Gabriel is the DRAGON, and his home life is the TOWER that the KNIGHT Marinette must rescue him from. If Adrien were a side-character he wouldn't be much of a trophy, investment wise. Is it good to make a character purely a trophy? No. It's not good when it is done ot female characters, it's not good when it's done to male ones either. (Or intersex, enby, nongendered, etc) We've moved past the kind of storytelling TA is selling in his vision of ML. It feels like something out of the early 00's, which when you consider where he started his work, makes a lot of sense.

Should they have connected Marinette to Gabriel more? Absolutely! They both do fashion! SHE could have had an internship right along with Lila. Can you imagine the rivalry there? Can you imagine the conflicts with Gabriel?

At the VERY least they should have let Marinette actually track down abriel. Let her put all her planning and analysis to good use! Instead they just had Felix do it all and then some blind luck at the end. That's LAME, that's cheating Marinette out of a well deserved culmination story beat.

Punching has never been what Ladybug was about, so a final fight could never be a satisfying climax no matter how 'epic' it was.

[professor-geen-berries]

People will be saying "oh Sirius would love musical theatre" "Remus would be such a theatre kid" WELL WHAT ABOUT JAMES???

James would have been OBSESSED with musicals and nobody can change my mind. When he found out that muggles put on shows where they sang songs to tell the story and had choreographed DANCE NUMBERS to go with them, he would have totally flipped out. Like "MUGGLES DO WHAT!?! HOW HAVE I NOT KNOWN ABOUT THIS BEFORE!!!! THAT'S TOTALLY AWESOME! ITS LIKE A PLAY, BUT SINGING!!" And you know he would have hated going to plays and the theatre because his adhd ass could NOT concentrate on the plot. But with MUSICALS, there is SINGING!! and DANCING!! and he can actually CONCENTRATE!

And the more he learned about musicals, the more he would love them. He'd be absolutely blown away by the vocal range and athleticism of the people performing, and their DEDICATION. And he'd love the songs and plots even more. You know he would keep the others up all night like "did you know that there's musical retellings of muggle history? Theres one called come from away which is about these people in Canada who have to take in thousands of people into their small town because planes have been diverted, because of the planes hitting the twin towers in New York. Oh and there's this one called into the woods, which is about a bunch of different muggle fairytales- Remus, why are muggle fairy stories so dark? There's this one where this girl Cinderella, she goes to a ball and loses her slipper, and the prince uses it to find her, but her two evil sisters want to marry him so they pretend the shoe fits them, but get this- they CUT OFF CHUNKS OF THEIR FOOT TO GET THE SLIPPER ON!! That's crazy!!!!! But the songs are really good though. They are written by this guy called Steven Sondheim, and he's really clever with the lyrics and the speech patterns and-" "FOR FUCK'S SAKE JAMES GO TO BED"

He definitely found a way to include it in most conversations he had, especially in muggle studies. At one point they would have been assigned an essay on a part of muggle culture or lifestyle they find interesting, and James for sure wrote 10 pages worth of stuff on musicals.

I think his favourite musical was probably hairspray but I reckon he just couldn't decide.

I know half these musicals didn't exist in the 70s let's pretend this is the modern day mkay

I'm gonna be making a part 2.

[amethystarachnid]

Hello. I’d like to request a Loki x Fem!Reader. Not sure if you’ve seen Step Up 3 but the song Bust Your Windows by Jazmine Sullivan was played and basically in the scene the two love interests did a tango (I would look it up for reference 🩷). So maybe Loki and Reader are on an undercover mission and they get tied into a tango. You can interpret it however you want but I’ve had this ask stuck in my head for a while now. Hope you like this! 🩷🩷

BOUND BY DUTY

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff, flirty

ᯓ★ Requests status: open

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Summary: Loki has been called form the S.H.I.E.L.D. to help the Avengers with an anomaly that's happening around the world and you're assigned to be his handler. You were told to not trust him but what if under that mask of indifference there's a man just wishing to be loved?

ᯓ★ Word count: 9.7k

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think, just a few hated kisses and flirty comments

ᯓ★ I haven't seen the movie but I've seen the scene on YouTube (like just the 3 minutes ? scene) and really hop you'll like the story

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

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

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The air inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. compound feels heavier than usual. It could be the weight of the mission ahead or the fact that the one person who might hold the answers is a literal god—a god of mischief, no less. You’ve been briefed on Loki’s recent exploits, his failed conquest of Earth, and his punishment in Asgard’s dungeons. You know better than to trust him, but you also know that sometimes the devil you know is preferable to the devil you don’t.

Nick Fury has chosen you, of all people, to act as Loki’s handler. You don’t know whether to feel honored or utterly cursed. He claims it’s because of your “unflinching professionalism” and “ability to handle high-pressure situations.” You suspect it’s because most of your colleagues would rather face a firing squad than deal with Loki’s silver tongue.

The sound of the jet door opening draws your attention. You straighten your back and smooth your jacket as two Asgardian guards march down the ramp, their armor gleaming even under the dim hangar lights. Between them walks Loki, his wrists bound in glowing cuffs that hum faintly with suppressed power. He’s wearing his usual dark green attire, though the horned helmet is missing. Without it, his raven-black hair tumbles around his face, framing sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. His piercing blue eyes sweep the room, landing on you.

You can feel his gaze like a physical weight, appraising you. He smirks. Of course, he smirks.

“Agent,” Fury’s voice cuts through your thoughts, startling you slightly. “Take him to interrogation. The guards will brief you on his restraints.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, your voice calm and steady despite the flutter in your chest.

The Asgardian guards exchange a few words with you about Loki’s bindings. They warn you not to let your guard down—ever. You assure them you won’t, though you’re starting to realize that resisting Loki’s words might be a different kind of challenge altogether.

“Shall we?” you say, gesturing for Loki to follow you. He arches an eyebrow but complies, falling into step beside you. The guards trail behind at a respectful distance.

The walk to the interrogation room is uncomfortably silent. You’re hyper-aware of Loki’s presence beside you, his tall frame moving with a predatory grace. He doesn’t look like someone who’s been imprisoned for months; he looks like he owns the place, and you’re just a guest in his domain.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. Of course, he does.

“Tell me, Agent,” he begins, his voice smooth and lilting, “do they often send mortals to babysit gods, or am I a special case?”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, determined not to rise to the bait. “I’m here to make sure you don’t cause any trouble. Think of me as your parole officer.”

He chuckles softly, the sound almost pleasant if you didn’t know better. “And if I were to misbehave, what then? Will you scold me? Perhaps send me to my room without supper?”

His words drip with mockery, but there’s an undercurrent of something else—amusement, maybe even intrigue. You keep your expression neutral. “If you misbehave, you’ll find out just how creative S.H.I.E.L.D. can be when it comes to disciplinary measures.”

“Promises, promises,” he murmurs, and you feel a shiver crawl up your spine at the way his eyes linger on you. You remind yourself that this is what Loki does: he gets under people’s skin, twists their emotions until they don’t know which way is up. You won’t let him succeed.

The interrogation room is as stark and clinical as you’d expect. A metal table and two chairs sit under the harsh glow of fluorescent lights. Loki looks around with mild disdain as if the room itself offends his sensibilities.

“This is where you intend to question me?” he asks, his tone dripping with derision. “How... quaint.”

You motion for him to sit. He doesn’t move immediately, instead watching you with that infuriating smirk. Finally, he lowers himself into the chair with the air of someone granting you a great favor.

The guards secure his bindings to the table before stepping back. You nod at them, and they leave, the door clicking shut behind them. Now it’s just you and Loki. You take the seat across from him, pulling out a tablet with your notes.

“We have reason to believe you have information about a recent incident involving extraterrestrial technology,” you say, your voice steady. “S.H.I.E.L.D. recovered several devices that match the energy signature of the Tesseract. We need to know where they came from.”

Loki leans back in his chair, the chains on his wrists clinking softly. “Ah, the Tesseract. Such a fascinating little trinket. Tell me, Agent, do you often meddle in matters beyond your comprehension?”

“This isn’t about me,” you reply coolly. “It’s about you. And what you know.”

He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And what do I gain from sharing this knowledge? A lighter sentence? A pat on the head? Somehow, I doubt your superiors are feeling particularly charitable toward me.”

“We’re not asking for charity. We’re asking for cooperation. Help us, and we might consider negotiating with Asgard on your behalf.”

Loki’s laughter fills the room, sharp and cold. “Negotiate with Asgard? Oh, how delightfully naive. Do you honestly believe Odin would entertain such an offer? He’d sooner banish me to the farthest reaches of the cosmos than indulge your mortal whims.”

You suppress a sigh, already feeling the weight of this conversation. But then Loki leans forward, his gaze locking onto yours.

“Still,” he says, his voice softer now, almost teasing, “I might be persuaded to cooperate. After all, it would be such a shame to disappoint you.”

There it is again—that deliberate charm, the way he threads his words with just enough sincerity to make you second-guess yourself. You fold your arms, meeting his gaze head-on.

“You don’t intimidate me, Loki.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to intimidate you,” he says, his lips curling into a wicked smile. “Merely... entertain you. Is that not the proper term for what mortals call ‘flirting’?”

Your stomach flips, but you keep your expression neutral. “If this is your idea of flirting, I’m not impressed.”

“Hmm,” he muses, leaning back again. “Perhaps I’ve spent too long among Asgardians. We have a certain... flair for tradition. Shall I compose you a sonnet instead? Or perhaps challenge another suitor to a duel in your honor?”

Despite yourself, a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. You quickly school your features, but not before Loki notices. His smirk widens.

“There it is,” he says, his tone triumphant. “A crack in the armor. I knew you weren’t entirely immune to my charms.”

You roll your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, you tap a few notes into your tablet, focusing on the task at hand.

“Let’s get back to the matter at hand,” you say firmly. “Where did the devices come from?”

Loki sighs dramatically, as if the question bores him. “You mortals are so dreadfully predictable. Always demanding answers, yet never willing to pay the price for them.”

“What’s the price?”

He tilts his head, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Your name.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“Your name, Agent,” he repeats, enunciating the words slowly, as if you’re a particularly dense student. “You see, it’s rather difficult to have a proper conversation when I must refer to you as simply ‘Agent.’ It’s so... impersonal.”

You hesitate. It’s not a particularly sensitive piece of information, but giving him your name feels like handing him a weapon. Still, you decide it’s a small concession if it means making progress.

“Y/N,” you say finally. “My name is Y/N.”

Loki’s smile softens, though it’s no less dangerous. “A beautiful name for a beautiful mortal. Tell me, Y/N, do all agents possess your... charm, or are you truly one of a kind?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” you reply, though your cheeks warm slightly at the compliment. You hope the harsh lighting hides it.

“Ah, but it’s not flattery if it’s true,” he counters smoothly. “And if I may say so, you wear skepticism rather well. It suits you.”

You shake your head, fighting the urge to laugh. Loki’s flirtations are relentless, but you can’t let them distract you. You refocus on the task, determined to get the answers you need.

But as the interrogation continues, one thing becomes clear: working with Loki is going to be anything but straightforward.

The quinjet ride to Avengers Tower is suffocating in its silence. Loki sits across from you, his long legs stretched out casually as if he owns the entire aircraft. His wrists remain bound, the faint glow of the Asgardian cuffs serving as a reminder of his diminished power. But that doesn’t stop him from exuding arrogance with every calculated shift of his posture.

“Is this where I’m supposed to tremble?” he muses, his voice cutting through the quiet. “The great Avengers Tower, lair of the mighty heroes who so thoroughly bested me.” His smirk deepens. “How quaint.”

You’re seated across from him, tablet in hand, pretending to review your notes. But Loki’s presence is impossible to ignore, his every word curling around you like smoke.

“Maybe don’t insult the people who’ll be watching your every move,” you say, not looking up. “They’re already not thrilled about this arrangement.”

He tilts his head, watching you with something between amusement and curiosity. “And you, Y/N? Are you thrilled?”

“I’m doing my job.”

“Oh, but your job now entails keeping me under control, does it not?” His voice lowers, playful and conspiratorial. “Tell me, how does it feel to hold the leash of a god?”

You glance up, meeting his eyes without flinching. “It feels like babysitting a particularly arrogant toddler.”

His laughter rings out, rich and genuine, surprising you. For a moment, you think you’ve caught him off guard. But then his expression shifts back to its usual smugness, and you realize he’s thoroughly enjoying this verbal sparring.

When the quinjet lands on the rooftop pad of Avengers Tower, you rise, gesturing for Loki to follow. He does, the clinking of his cuffs echoing as he steps out into the open air. The city sprawls out below, glittering in the early evening light, but Loki barely spares it a glance. His focus remains on the tower itself, his smirk growing as he takes in the structure.

“Ah, Stark’s playground,” he says. “I trust the man himself is waiting inside, ready to deliver a string of tiresome quips?”

“Something like that,” you reply, leading him toward the elevator.

As the doors slide open, Loki steps inside with the air of a man entering his throne room. You press the button for the common floor, bracing yourself for the chaos that’s about to unfold.

The doors slide open to reveal the Avengers lounging in the common area. Tony Stark is leaning against the bar, a drink in hand, while Natasha Romanoff sharpens a knife at the table. Steve Rogers stands near the window, arms crossed, his jaw tight. Bruce Banner hovers awkwardly in the background, glancing up as you and Loki step in.

“Look who’s here!” Tony’s voice cuts through the tension, dripping with mock enthusiasm. “Reindeer Games himself. I thought Asgard had a no-returns policy.”

Loki’s lips curl into a predatory smile. “Ah, Stark. Still compensating for something, I see.”

“Alright, let’s not,” you interject quickly, stepping between them. “Loki’s here to help us, not pick a fight.”

“Help us?” Steve’s voice is cold, his gaze sharp as it settles on Loki. “That’s a generous interpretation.”

“It’s true,” you reply, keeping your tone firm. “We’ve encountered tech with energy signatures similar to the Tesseract. Loki’s the only one who might have answers.”

“Because trusting the guy who tried to enslave the planet worked out so well the first time,” Tony quips, raising his glass.

Loki chuckles softly. “It’s heartwarming to see how fondly you remember me.”

Bruce shifts uncomfortably in the corner, his eyes darting between Loki and the others. You don’t miss the tension in his posture, the way his hands twitch as if ready to retreat at a moment’s notice. Loki notices too, and for the first time since his arrival, a flicker of unease crosses his face. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

“I see the beast is still lurking,” Loki says, his voice quieter now, though the edge remains. “Tell me, Dr. Banner, does he hunger for revenge?”

Bruce flinches, his face pale. “I—I’d rather not...”

“Enough,” you cut in sharply, fixing Loki with a glare. “You’re here to cooperate, remember?”

Loki raises his hands as far as the cuffs allow, feigning innocence. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to frighten the good doctor.”

Bruce mutters something under his breath and retreats further into the room. You make a mental note to keep an eye on both him and Loki; their shared tension feels like a powder keg waiting to ignite.

After the initial round of barbs, you manage to get Loki settled in a secure room. It’s more comfortable than the dungeons of Asgard but still far from luxurious—bare walls, a simple bed, and a reinforced door with biometric locks.

“Charming,” Loki says, surveying his new accommodations. “I feel right at home.”

“Good,” you reply, leaning against the doorframe. “Now, let’s get one thing straight. If you step out of line, even once, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

He steps closer, just enough to invade your space without crossing a line. His voice drops to a low purr. “Oh, Y/N, I don’t doubt your ability to... discipline me. In fact, I almost look forward to it.”

Your cheeks flush despite yourself, but you hold your ground. “Get some rest. We’ll debrief tomorrow.”

As you turn to leave, you hear his voice again, softer this time. “Y/N?”

You pause, glancing over your shoulder. He’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite place—curiosity, perhaps, or something deeper.

“Why do you trust them with me?” he asks. “Your precious Avengers. Do you truly believe they can keep me in line?”

You meet his gaze, your own unwavering. “I don’t trust them to keep you in line. That’s my job.”

His smirk returns, but there’s something almost genuine beneath it. “Indeed, it is.”

The following day, the team gathers in the briefing room. Loki is seated at the far end of the table, his wrists still bound, though his demeanor remains as smug as ever. A holographic projection displays images of the recovered devices, their design sleek and alien.

“These were found in an abandoned Hydra facility,” you explain, gesturing to the display. “They emit the same energy signature as the Tesseract, but we have no idea what they’re for. That’s where Loki comes in.”

All eyes turn to him. He leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable.

“Convince me,” he says, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “Why should I share my insights with you?”

“Because if you don’t,” Tony says, leaning forward, “we’ll lock you in a room with Banner and see how long it takes before the Other Guy wants a rematch.”

Bruce shoots Tony a horrified look, but Loki’s smirk falters for a split second. You notice the way his fingers tighten against the edge of the table.

“Enough,” you say firmly. “We’re not resorting to threats.” You turn to Loki, your voice softening slightly. “You know what’s out there, and you know how dangerous it can be. Help us stop it. Prove you’re not the monster everyone thinks you are.”

For a moment, the room is silent. Loki’s gaze locks onto yours, something flickering in his expression—something almost vulnerable. Then, slowly, he inclines his head.

“Very well,” he says, his voice smooth once more. “Let’s see if mortals can keep up.”

As the meeting disperses, Loki lingers behind, waiting until it’s just the two of you.

“Nicely done, Y/N,” he says, his tone almost... complimentary. “You’ve mastered the art of persuasion.”

“I didn’t persuade you,” you reply. “I just told the truth.”

He steps closer, his smirk returning. “And yet, it worked. I wonder, what other truths might you use to sway me?”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “Let’s focus on saving the world first, shall we?”

“As you wish,” he says, bowing his head slightly. But as he steps past you, his voice drops to a whisper. “Though I suspect saving me might be your true challenge.”

You watch him leave, your heart inexplicably pounding. This mission just got a lot more complicated.

The next morning, the Avengers leave in a flurry of purpose and energy, Stark’s voice echoing with instructions as they file out of the tower. It’s a rare sight—every single one of them heading into the field together. You’re left behind, tasked with monitoring Loki and keeping the tower secure.

The quiet that follows their departure is almost unnerving. You sit in the common area, flipping through a report on your tablet, when Loki saunters in. He’s unbound for now—S.H.I.E.L.D.’s restraints only used when necessary. His movements are languid, predatory, as he crosses the room with his usual air of entitlement.

“Left alone with me again, Y/N?” he drawls, leaning against the counter like he owns the place. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

You don’t look up. “You’re always alone, Loki. I’m just here to make sure you don’t destroy anything or anyone.”

He hums thoughtfully, his sharp gaze raking over you. “I wonder, is that truly why you remain? Or do you find my company... intriguing?”

You glance at him, exasperated. “I find it tolerable. At best.”

“And yet, here you are.” His smirk widens as he steps closer, just enough to test your boundaries. “Tell me, Agent, what do you do when the others aren’t here to play their parts? Surely, you don’t spend every waking moment in this dull little tower watching me.”

“Someone has to.” You set your tablet aside and stand, trying to put some distance between the two of you. “Why don’t you make my job easier and sit quietly for once?”

“But then how would I amuse myself?” He takes another step closer, his voice lowering. “You may not admit it, but I suspect you’d miss my antics if I were to behave.”

You roll your eyes and walk toward the kitchen, feigning indifference. “Don’t flatter yourself, Loki.”

The rest of the day passes uneventfully. You keep yourself busy with monitoring systems and catching up on reports, all while Loki stays suspiciously quiet in his room. It's unusual—he’s normally a restless presence, eager to test limits.

You assume his compliance is a sign of temporary boredom. What you don’t know is that Loki is lying in his sparse room, calculating. He’s been studying the tower’s security systems, searching for a way to slip past its safeguards. Tonight might be the night, he thinks. He’s memorized the patterns, the gaps, and he knows he can vanish before the Avengers even realize he’s gone.

As the hours stretch into evening, you retire to your room, unaware of the god’s intentions. Your space is a rare sanctuary in the tower, a blend of cozy practicality and personal touches that feel distinctly you.

Loki waits until the tower falls completely silent. With a wave of his hand, he disables the monitoring device in his room. It’s a minor spell—one he’s been saving for the right moment. The cuffs are no longer a problem; he’s studied the locking mechanism enough to slip them off without much effort.

He steps into the hallway, his bare feet silent on the cool floor. For the first time in weeks, he feels a surge of freedom, the tantalizing promise of escape. He heads for the exit, his mind already planning the next steps.

But as he passes by your room, a faint sound catches his attention. The door is slightly ajar, spilling a sliver of warm light into the hall. Loki hesitates, his curiosity piqued despite himself.

He peeks inside—and what he sees makes his breath hitch.

You’re standing in front of your bed, freshly out of the shower. Your hair is damp, curling against your shoulders, and you’re wearing nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around your body. The bathroom door behind you is still open, steam curling into the air, and the glow of a bedside lamp bathes your skin in soft light.

Completely unaware of your observer, you move to the dresser, pulling it open to retrieve clothes. As you reach up, the towel slips slightly, revealing more of your shoulder and the curve of your collarbone. Loki swallows hard, a rush of heat pooling in his chest and spreading lower.

He knows he should leave—should slip away unnoticed and continue with his plan. But he doesn’t move.

There’s something captivating about this glimpse of you outside the professional walls you keep so firmly in place. You’re unguarded, human in a way he rarely sees, and it stirs something in him he doesn’t entirely understand.

He takes a step closer, his presence still undetected. The urge to say something, to tease you as he always does, bubbles up, but he suppresses it.

For once, the god of mischief is utterly silent.

You turn suddenly, as if sensing something, and his heart lurches. He retreats quickly, pressing himself against the wall just as your eyes flick toward the door.

“Hello?” you call, your voice uncertain.

Loki curses himself for his foolishness. He shouldn’t have lingered—but now that he’s seen this side of you, his desire to leave the tower has shifted. He watches as you step closer to the door, your expression wary.

He slips away, retreating to his room without a sound. Once inside, he leans against the wall, his mind racing.

The thought of escape still lingers in the back of his mind, but it no longer feels urgent. Not tonight.

Not when he knows you’re here, in the same space, entirely unaware of the effect you’ve had on him.

You find Loki in the common area, lounging on the couch as if nothing happened. His cuffs are back in place, though you notice a faint smugness in his expression, as if he knows something you don’t.

“Good morning,” he says smoothly, his tone laced with amusement.

You narrow your eyes at him. “You seem chipper today.”

“Perhaps I’ve found reason to be,” he replies, his gaze flickering over you in a way that makes your stomach flip.

You frown, brushing off the unease that his words stir. “Try not to enjoy yourself too much. You’re still under watch.”

“Of course,” he says with a slight bow of his head. “But tell me, Y/N, how did you sleep? Peacefully, I hope.”

There’s something about the way he says it—soft, teasing, with just a hint of mischief—that makes you pause.

You brush past him, refusing to let him get under your skin. But as you walk away, you can feel his eyes on you, his gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts.

And in his room later, Loki sits at the edge of his bed, the memory of you from the night before seared into his mind.

For now, his escape can wait.

The tension in the air was thick as the Avengers gathered in the briefing room, the holographic screen showing images of the upcoming gala. Tony Stark stood at the head of the table, his hands resting on the surface, eyes narrowed as he analyzed the data. Steve Rogers was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his jaw set, while Natasha Romanoff sat with a focused expression, her fingers tapping lightly on the table. Bruce Banner, still uneasy around Loki, looked at the screen, then at his colleagues, silently awaiting the inevitable question.

"Alright," Tony began, his voice cutting through the thick silence. "We've got a masked gala happening in three days. High-profile event. The criminals we're tracking are expected to make a deal there, and it's our best shot at catching them."

"But they’ll be surrounded by a lot of people," Natasha said, folding her arms. "And these are highly dangerous individuals—some with connections to Hydra. We can’t risk a full-on assault."

"I agree," Steve added, his tone serious. "If we act too soon, we’ll spook them. We need to get inside, gather intel, and only move in when we have enough to bring them down safely."

"The problem," Tony continued, tapping a button on the table to bring up a closer view of the suspects, "is that they’re too well-protected. The best way in is through someone they don’t expect. Someone like... Loki."

The room went quiet. Everyone exchanged glances, the air thick with unease. Even though Loki had been cooperating—somewhat—the trust wasn’t there. Not after what he’d done. Not after the chaos he’d tried to bring to Earth. And still, his knowledge of these kinds of circles, his ability to navigate a room and blend in with the highest of society—well, it was a skill set they couldn’t afford to ignore.

“I know what you’re all thinking,” Tony continued. “But he’s the only one who can do this. We send him in as a guest. He can be charming—when he wants to be—and this kind of event is perfect for him. He won’t be recognized as a threat. In fact, they’ll probably be more inclined to trust him because of his past affiliations.”

“But we can’t just let him roam free,” Steve said, his distrust of the god evident. “There’s still the matter of him being dangerous. Even if he’s pretending to play nice, he’s unpredictable.”

“Exactly,” Tony said with a nod. “Which is why we’ll send Y/N in with him. As his escort.”

The room went silent again, this time for a different reason. Every eye turned to you, and for a brief moment, you felt the weight of their gazes. It wasn’t exactly a choice you’d been expecting. You had done plenty of fieldwork, but partnering with Loki? That was a new level of uncomfortable.

“Y/N’s been on the ground for this mission longer than any of us,” Tony continued, sensing the hesitation. “She knows the people, she knows how to blend in, and most importantly, she knows Loki better than any of us. She can keep him in check. Plus, we need someone who can keep him focused when things get... tense.”

You couldn’t help but shoot Tony a sharp look. “You’re assuming I’ll be able to control him. I’m not sure that’s realistic.”

“I’m confident you can,” Tony said with a shrug, though his tone was far from comforting. “Besides, we’ll be monitoring you both from the moment you step inside. We’ll be feeding you intel, and we’ve got backup in case things go sideways. But we can’t afford to miss this opportunity.”

You let out a long breath. The Avengers were right in one respect—this gala would be the criminals’ first big move, and it was the perfect chance to catch them red-handed. The only problem was the wild card in all of this—Loki.

“You do realize, he’s going to hate this, right?” you said, glancing toward the hallway where Loki’s room was. “He won’t go along with it without making some... demands.”

“I’m aware,” Tony said with a smirk. “But that’s where you come in. You’re going to keep him in line, whether he likes it or not.”

The idea of working so closely with Loki was disconcerting, to say the least. You weren’t sure if you were more concerned about his volatile personality or the way he looked at you—like he could read you with a single glance. Either way, being his partner at a high-stakes event was sure to turn this mission into something far more complicated than it already was.

“You’ll need to get him suited up,” Tony added. “Dress him the part. He’s got the charm, but he’s going to need the right... accessories to sell it. A tux, maybe something dark and mysterious. And, of course, a story. We’re going with the ‘rich but elusive businessman’ angle.”

You nodded reluctantly. “I’ll make sure he’s... presentable. But don’t expect him to be on his best behavior just because he’s wearing a suit.”

“I’m counting on you to make sure he stays in character, Y/N,” Tony said, locking eyes with you. “We need him to play nice for just a few hours. If he steps out of line, you have full clearance to use whatever means necessary to rein him in.”

Steve cleared his throat, stepping forward. “I don’t like putting you in this position, Y/N. But this is the only chance we’ve got to take down these criminals. You know the risks, and we’re counting on you to make sure Loki doesn’t derail everything.”

“I get it,” you replied, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “I’ll keep him focused. But if he decides to do something... foolish, don’t expect me to clean up after him.”

“That’s the spirit,” Tony said with a grin. “But seriously, we’re counting on you both. The gala is our best chance to catch them. You’ll be getting intel from us in real time, so we’ll know exactly when to move in.”

You nodded again, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on your shoulders. This wasn’t just about stopping criminals—it was about making sure Loki didn’t ruin everything, too. And while you could handle the job, you knew it wouldn’t be easy, especially with a god of mischief at your side.

As you walked to Loki’s room to prepare him for the mission, your mind raced. You were about to go undercover with someone who had a knack for turning every situation into a game. It was going to be a challenge, no doubt about it. But if it meant catching the criminals and keeping the tower—and your team—safe, you were ready to do whatever it took.

You reached his door and knocked twice, preparing yourself for the inevitable confrontation. It was time to bring him into the fold, even if that meant wrestling him into a tux and a plan.

Inside, Loki’s voice echoed through the door. “Come in, Y/N. I trust this isn’t a social call?”

You opened the door, steeling yourself. The mission was about to begin, and there was no turning back.

The grandeur of the gala hits you the moment you step into the ballroom. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the crowd, illuminating the sea of elegant masks and opulent gowns. A live band plays a sultry melody, the kind that fills the air with the promise of secrets. Beside you, Loki cuts an imposing figure, his sharp suit tailored to perfection and his black mask veiling just enough of his face to make him look both alluring and dangerous.

You’re both walking a tightrope here, pretending to be something you’re not while still tethered to the truth. The mission is clear: mingle, gather intel on the criminals, and identify their deal. But the undercurrent of your arrangement hums just beneath the surface, threatening to pull you under with every step.

“They certainly went all out,” Loki muses, his voice smooth as silk. He offers his arm, and though you hesitate for a fraction of a second, you take it. “Is this where I play the doting husband?”

“Try not to overdo it,” you reply, keeping your voice low. “We’re supposed to blend in, not steal the spotlight.”

He tilts his head toward you, his lips curling into a smirk. “But stealing the spotlight is what I do best, darling.”

You give him a warning look, though your heart skips a beat at the way the endearment rolls off his tongue. “Save the theatrics for later. Right now, we need to find our targets.”

He hums in agreement, though the sharp gleam in his eyes suggests he’s more focused on you than the mission. His hand rests lightly over yours as he leads you through the crowd, weaving seamlessly between masked attendees. He’s good at this, you realize, his charm a perfect weapon in this environment.

“Smile,” he murmurs close to your ear, his breath ghosting against your skin. “You look far too serious for someone at a gala.”

You force a small smile, though the proximity of him sends heat rushing to your face. “I’d be more relaxed if I wasn’t babysitting a god with a penchant for chaos.”

“And I’d be more entertained if my wife weren’t so suspicious of me,” he teases, his voice dropping just enough to make the words feel intimate.

Before you can retort, Loki’s posture shifts ever so slightly. He leans closer, pretending to adjust your mask, and murmurs, “Our targets are at three o’clock. The tall one with the crimson gown. She’s speaking to a man with a cane.”

You glance subtly in that direction and nod. “Let’s move closer.”

The two of you drift toward the edge of the ballroom, positioning yourselves within earshot of the targets. Loki keeps his hand on yours, the intimate gesture lending an air of authenticity to your cover. You focus on the conversation happening nearby, picking up snippets of information about shipment schedules and encrypted codes.

But then, the music changes.

A familiar tune fills the room—sultry, electric, and unmistakably intense. It’s Bust Your Windows by Jazmine Sullivan, reimagined by the live band with a pulsing tango rhythm.

Before you can react, Loki takes your hand and spins you toward the dance floor.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, trying to pull back.

“Keeping up appearances,” he says smoothly, his mask glinting in the light. “We’re a married couple, after all. And what better way to celebrate our love than a dance?”

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, but you allow him to lead you onto the floor.

The second your feet touch the polished wood, his hand finds the small of your back, pulling you closer than you expect. His other hand captures yours, holding it just above shoulder height as he begins to move. The tango’s rhythm demands sharp, deliberate steps, and Loki executes them flawlessly, guiding you as if he’s done this a thousand times before.

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” you say, breathless as he spins you.

“I’m full of surprises,” he replies, his voice low and magnetic.

The music swells, the band leaning into the dramatic crescendos, and you feel the tension between you and Loki rise to match it. Every step, every twist of your body against his, feels charged. His hand lingers just a moment too long when it brushes your hip, his fingers grazing the bare skin between your dress and his touch.

“You’re supposed to be watching the targets,” you remind him, though your voice comes out shakier than you’d like.

“Ah, but how could I focus on them when my wife is such a vision?” His tone is playful, but there’s something darker, more serious, behind his words.

As he dips you, your breath catches. The movement is effortless, but the way his eyes bore into yours makes you forget, for a moment, that this is just an act.

The song’s climax hits, and Loki pulls you even closer, his cheek brushing yours as he whispers, “Tell me, darling. Are you pretending to enjoy this as much as I am?”

Your heart pounds, though you refuse to let him see how much he’s affecting you. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you haven’t pushed me away,” he counters, spinning you once more before the final beats of the song.

The last note hangs in the air as Loki holds you in a dramatic pose, his arm wrapped around your waist, his face inches from yours. The applause from the crowd barely registers as you realize your breathing has quickened, your skin warm where his hand rests.

He smirks, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “Shall we call this a victory, wife?”

You snap back to reality, pulling away just enough to compose yourself. “Don’t get used to it. We still have a mission.”

“Of course,” he says, though the glint in his eyes suggests he’s far more interested in the game he’s playing with you than the criminals in the room.

As the crowd disperses from the dance floor, you glance toward your targets, who seem to have moved toward a private balcony.

“Come on,” you say, tugging at his arm.

Loki follows, but not before leaning close and murmuring, “I’ll be thinking about that dance for a very long time.”

You don’t dignify him with a response, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you. The mission isn’t over yet, and you can only hope Loki’s antics won’t make things even more complicated.

You and Loki follow the targets carefully, keeping a measured distance as they make their way toward a secluded hallway leading to the gala’s private suites. The corridor is dimly lit, lined with ornate wallpaper and gilded sconces. The murmur of the crowd fades, leaving only the faint echo of footsteps as you press closer to the wall, your pulse quickening with the thrill of being so near to your goal.

“They’re heading to the west wing,” Loki whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “It seems our charming couple prefers privacy for their dealings.”

You nod, your heart pounding as you creep along the edge of the hall, trying to stay out of sight. The couple stops just ahead, speaking in hushed tones. Loki steps closer behind you, his presence almost overwhelming in the enclosed space.

“Keep your focus,” you hiss, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“Oh, I am focused,” he replies, his tone playful but quiet. “Though I can’t help but wonder how much longer we can linger without being noticed.”

It’s a valid concern. The targets seem engrossed in their conversation, but the corridor is too exposed. You glance around, searching for a place to retreat or a better angle to listen in, but before you can decide, one of the criminals glances back sharply, their eyes scanning the hallway.

“They’re looking this way,” Loki mutters, his voice low and urgent.

Panic shoots through you. There’s no time to retreat, no place to hide. Your mind races, and then—on pure instinct—you grab Loki by the lapels of his suit and pull him toward you.

Before he can protest, your lips press against his, your back hitting the wall as you lean into him. His body stiffens for a split second, but then he catches on. His hands come to rest on your waist, fingers curling slightly as he leans into the kiss, matching your urgency with surprising ease.

Your heart hammers in your chest, not just from the danger but from the sudden, electric sensation of Loki’s mouth on yours. His lips are soft yet commanding, his touch both calculated and possessive as he shifts his body to shield you further from view.

“What in the Nine Realms are you doing?” he whispers against your lips, his tone more intrigued than accusatory.

“Keeping us alive,” you murmur back, your voice barely audible as the footsteps approach.

The targets pass by slowly, their footsteps deliberate. You can feel their gaze sweep over you, but you don’t dare look. Instead, you pour every ounce of focus into the act, your fingers curling into the fabric of Loki’s jacket as you deepen the kiss just enough to sell it.

Loki seems to relish the role, tilting his head to deepen the kiss further. His thumb brushes against your waist, sending a shiver through you that has nothing to do with the cold.

A voice interrupts the moment, sharp and disapproving. “This is hardly the place for such displays.”

You part from Loki abruptly, your face hot as you turn to face the source of the scolding. One of the gala’s staff members, an older man in a crisp uniform, stands a few feet away, his expression one of polite disapproval.

“My apologies,” you say quickly, straightening your mask and trying to appear appropriately chastised. “We got… carried away.”

Loki, ever the performer, offers a sheepish smile that’s somehow more seductive than apologetic. “Forgive us. My wife and I have a difficult time restraining our passions.”

The staff member huffs, clearly unimpressed. “There are designated areas for such… activities. Keep it off the main floor.”

“Of course,” Loki replies smoothly, his hand still resting at the small of your back. “We’ll be more discreet.”

The staff member mutters something under his breath before walking away, and you exhale a shaky breath, your heart still racing. The targets are gone, having paid you no more than a passing glance. The plan worked.

You glance up at Loki, whose expression is unreadable behind his mask. “That was quick thinking,” he says finally, though there’s a teasing edge to his voice. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“It was survival,” you retort, stepping out of his hold and straightening your dress. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

He smirks, adjusting his own mask with an air of casual arrogance. “Too late for that, darling. I’m afraid you’ve given me quite a lot to think about.”

You glare at him, though the heat in your cheeks betrays you. “Focus, Loki. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

“Ah, but you see,” he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr, “now I’m more motivated than ever to see this mission through. And who knows? Perhaps we’ll need to use that particular tactic again.”

You roll your eyes, brushing past him as you head back toward the main event. But as much as you want to dismiss his words, the lingering warmth of his kiss—and the way your body seemed to respond to him—stays with you, making it harder to focus than you’d like.

Loki follows close behind, his footsteps quiet but his presence impossible to ignore. And though neither of you speaks it aloud, there’s an unspoken awareness between you now—an understanding that something has shifted. Whether that’s a good thing or a dangerous one, only time will tell.

The ride back to the Avengers Tower is quieter than you expect, though tension hangs in the air, thick and unyielding. The mission was a success; you and Loki gathered enough intel to pinpoint the criminals’ next move and their precise location. As Tony pilots the jet, he and Natasha pore over the information, already strategizing for the intervention. Steve listens intently, his expression serious, while Bruce sits stiffly in his seat, keeping his distance from Loki, though the god seems entirely unfazed.

You sit across from Loki, your mask now discarded, but the memory of the gala’s events lingers. Every stolen glance, every near-discovery, and every moment you spent pressed against him still simmers in the back of your mind. You can feel his eyes on you, and though you refuse to look at him, your body betrays you, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Quite the evening,” Loki says suddenly, his voice smooth and low. His tone carries the same playful edge it always does, but there’s something else lurking beneath it—something darker, hungrier.

“Successful, at least,” you reply, keeping your voice even as you glance at him. “We accomplished what we came to do.”

“Indeed,” he says, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “Though I dare say the evening held more… unexpected delights than anticipated.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but before you can respond, Steve interrupts.

“Focus, you two,” he says sharply. “We’ve got work to do.”

Loki’s smirk widens, but he falls silent, leaning back in his seat with a satisfied air. You cross your arms, willing yourself to ignore him, though the memory of his kiss lingers, stubborn and persistent.

When you return to the Tower, the debriefing is quick and efficient. Tony projects the data you and Loki retrieved, detailing the location of the deal and the criminals’ schedule. The team agrees to strike at dawn, using the element of surprise to their advantage. As plans take shape, you feel a flicker of relief. The night’s tension will soon give way to action, and with any luck, this mission will end successfully.

Once the meeting adjourns, you catch Loki’s eye. “Come on,” you say, gesturing for him to follow. “Let’s get you back to your room.”

“As you wish,” he replies, rising gracefully from his seat.

The walk to his quarters is quiet at first. The Tower feels oddly still in the late hours, the hallways dimly lit. You lead the way, your mind spinning as you try to push away the lingering heat of the gala—the dance, the kiss, the way his hands felt on you. Loki walks beside you, his presence magnetic as ever, his gaze lingering on you even when you refuse to meet it.

When you reach his door, you stop, turning to face him. “Goodnight, Loki,” you say, your voice firm but polite.

But before you can step away, he moves closer.

“You’ve been avoiding my eyes all evening,” he says, his voice a low, velvety murmur. “Why is that, darling? Did I do something to unnerve you?”

“No,” you reply quickly, though the catch in your voice betrays you. “I’ve been focused on the mission, that’s all.”

“Liar,” he says softly, his smirk returning. “You’ve been thinking about it. About us. About the way I touched you, held you, kissed you.”

His words send a rush of heat through you, and you take a step back, your back hitting the wall. He follows, closing the distance until he’s mere inches away, his tall frame towering over you.

“Admit it,” he continues, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You felt it, too—the spark, the fire. I see it in your eyes, Y/N. You want me just as much as I want you.”

You open your mouth to protest, but no words come out. Because he’s right. No matter how much you’ve tried to deny it, the truth is undeniable now, burning in every corner of your being.

His hand rises to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his eyes searching yours. “Tell me to walk away, and I will.”

But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into his touch, your resolve crumbling as the need overtakes you. Loki’s eyes darken, his breath hitching as he realizes your answer.

With a groan, he closes the distance, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that’s nothing like the one at the gala. This kiss is raw, urgent, and unrestrained, a culmination of every unspoken word and every stolen glance. His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips move against yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

And to his surprise—and yours—you kiss him back with just as much passion. Your fingers thread through his dark hair, pulling him closer as you lose yourself in the moment. The world falls away, leaving only the heat of his touch and the hunger in his kiss.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathing hard, your foreheads resting together. Loki’s hands remain on your waist, his grip firm yet gentle as if he’s afraid you might pull away.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse but tender.

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you press your lips to his again, silencing any words with a kiss that speaks volumes. For now, words don’t matter. All that matters is this—this moment, this connection, this fire that neither of you can deny anymore.

And for the first time, neither of you tries to.

The Tower feels different now, quieter in the wake of the mission’s success. The criminals have been apprehended, their operation dismantled, and SHIELD has taken over for the cleanup. But despite the victory, a strange tension lingers, heavy and unspoken. Fury and Thor are locked in discussions about Loki’s fate, and you and Loki are left waiting in his room, suspended in uncertainty.

The silence between you is unlike any other you’ve shared before. It’s not sharp with banter or charged with playful tension; it’s softer, quieter, tinged with something neither of you is willing to name.

You sit on the edge of the small couch by the window, gazing out at the city lights glittering against the dark sky. Loki leans against the desk, his long fingers idly toying with the edge of a book. For once, he’s still—not prowling or pacing, not filling the room with his restless energy.

“They’re taking their time,” you murmur, your voice cutting through the silence.

“They always do,” Loki replies, though his tone lacks its usual sarcasm.

You glance at him, studying his profile. He looks calm, almost serene, but you’ve spent enough time with him to see through the mask. The faint furrow in his brow, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands grip the book just a little too tightly—they all betray him.

“They’ll make the right decision,” you say softly, more to yourself than to him.

He scoffs lightly but doesn’t look at you. “The right decision,” he repeats, the words laced with bitterness. “That depends entirely on who is defining it.”

You sigh, standing and moving closer to him. “Loki, you helped. You could’ve run at any point during this mission, but you didn’t. That has to count for something.”

His lips twist into a faint smirk, though there’s no humor in it. “And do you think that will sway Fury or my brother? Do you think they’ll forget what I’ve done? The chaos, the destruction?”

“They don’t have to forget,” you say, stepping even closer until you’re standing right in front of him. “But they can see that you’re not the same person who attacked New York. You’ve changed, Loki.”

His gaze finally lifts to meet yours, and for a moment, something raw flashes in his eyes—something vulnerable and uncertain. “Have I?”

You place your hand over his, stilling his restless movements. “Yes. You have. I see it. And if they can’t, then that’s their failure, not yours.”

The room falls into silence again, but this time, it feels different. Loki’s hand shifts beneath yours, his fingers curling around yours as he exhales slowly.

“What do you think they’ll decide?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “But whatever happens, we’ll face it. Together.”

His eyes search yours, and for a moment, the mask falls away entirely. You see the man beneath—the uncertainty, the fear, the hope he doesn’t dare acknowledge.

“You say that as if you’ll still be by my side when this is over,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t hesitate. “I will be.”

His hand tightens on yours, his eyes holding yours as if trying to memorize every detail. Then, without warning, he pulls you closer, his other hand rising to cradle your face.

“If this is to be the last time we’re alone,” he says, his voice trembling slightly, “then let it be a moment worth remembering.”

Your heart aches at the words, at the vulnerability he’s showing. But you don’t argue. Instead, you lean into him, closing the gap between you.

The kiss is different this time. It’s not urgent or hungry but slow and lingering, filled with a quiet desperation. His lips move against yours as if savoring every second, every touch, every taste. His hands are gentle, one cradling your cheek while the other rests on your waist, anchoring you to him.

You lose yourself in him, in the way he holds you like you’re something fragile and precious, in the way his touch feels like both a promise and a farewell.

When you finally part, your foreheads rest together, and the world outside feels impossibly far away.

“No matter what they decide,” you whisper, your voice breaking slightly, “you’re not alone. You never will be.”

For a long moment, Loki doesn’t speak. Then he nods, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek as he closes his eyes.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, the words so quiet you almost miss them.

The two of you stay like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the world outside fade away. For now, there’s no SHIELD, no judgment, no uncertain future. There’s only this—this moment, this connection, this fragile yet unbreakable bond.

And for now, that’s enough.

The knock at the door comes like a thunderclap, shattering the fragile stillness you and Loki have wrapped yourselves in. You tense in his arms, and his grip on you tightens briefly before he lets you go, stepping back as though putting distance between you is the only way to shield himself from what’s coming.

You take a deep breath and move to answer the door, Loki trailing behind you. When you open it, you’re greeted by the imposing figures of Nick Fury and Thor. Fury’s face is unreadable, his single eye piercing as it moves between you and Loki. Thor’s expression is graver than you’ve ever seen it, a heaviness in his gaze that sends a chill down your spine.

“May we come in?” Fury asks, his voice clipped.

You nod, stepping aside to let them enter. Loki lingers near the window, his posture deceptively casual as he leans against the wall. But you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curl faintly against his sides.

Fury and Thor take positions near the center of the room, both of them standing tall and commanding. Thor’s gaze lingers on Loki, a mix of concern and judgment flashing across his face.

“We’ve reached a decision,” Fury begins, his tone as sharp as ever. “It wasn’t an easy one, considering everything Loki has done in the past and the risks he poses in the future.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding as you glance at Loki. He’s staring at Fury now, his expression a careful mask of indifference.

“Loki Laufeyson,” Thor says, his deep voice cutting through the tension. “Your actions during this mission have proven that you are capable of aiding Midgard without causing harm. However, they do not erase the destruction you have wrought.”

Loki raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “How magnanimous of you, brother. Do get to the point.”

Thor’s jaw tightens, but he presses on. “You will not be returned to Asgard’s dungeons. Instead, you will remain here, under the supervision of SHIELD and the Avengers. Your movements will be restricted, and any deviation from the terms of your parole will result in severe consequences.”

Fury nods. “Think of it as probation. You step out of line, you’re done. No exceptions.”

You exhale a shaky breath, relief flooding through you despite the harshness of their words. Loki isn’t going back to Asgard’s prison. He isn’t being taken away.

Loki, however, seems less than impressed. “So, I am to be your prisoner still, but with a longer leash?”

“Consider it an opportunity,” Thor says, his tone softening slightly. “To prove that you are more than your past mistakes.”

Loki’s smirk fades, and for a moment, something unreadable flashes in his eyes. He looks away, his gaze drifting to the window.

“And what role do I play in this… probation?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

“You’ll assist the Avengers as needed,” Fury says bluntly. “Your skills are… useful, when not being used to destroy things.”

“Charming,” Loki mutters.

Fury ignores the comment, turning his attention to you. “As for you, Y/N, you’ll remain his primary handler. You’ve proven capable of keeping him in check, and frankly, you’re the only one he seems remotely willing to listen to.”

The weight of the responsibility settles over you, but you nod firmly. “Understood.”

Thor steps forward then, his gaze fixed on Loki. “Do not squander this chance, brother. It may be the only one you are given.”

Loki meets his gaze, his expression unreadable. “I’ll endeavor not to disappoint you, Thor.”

The words are polite, but there’s a sharpness to them, a bitterness that hasn’t faded. Thor watches him for a moment longer before nodding and turning to leave. Fury follows, but not before giving you a pointed look.

“Keep him in line,” he says, and then he’s gone, the door closing behind him.

The room falls into silence again, heavier now than before. You turn to Loki, who remains by the window, his back to you.

“Well,” he says finally, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “It seems I’m to be your ward indefinitely. I hope you’re prepared for the burden.”

You take a step closer, your heart aching at the undercurrent of vulnerability in his tone. “Loki… this is a second chance. They didn’t have to give you that.”

He turns to face you, his expression guarded. “A second chance to serve as their pet sorcerer, you mean. To be tolerated, not trusted.”

“It’s more than that,” you insist, moving closer still. “It’s a chance to prove them wrong. To show them who you really are.”

“And who is that, Y/N?” he asks, his voice dropping. “Who do you think I really am?”

You hesitate, your throat tightening as you search for the right words. “I think you’re someone who’s been hurt, someone who’s made mistakes, but someone who’s still capable of doing good. Of being… more.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his expression softening ever so slightly. Then, to your surprise, he chuckles—a quiet, almost bitter sound.

“You are a strange woman, Y/N,” he says, shaking his head. “But perhaps that’s what I need.”

You smile faintly, stepping even closer until you’re standing right in front of him. “You’ll never have to face this alone, Loki. Not as long as I’m here.”

He gazes at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. Then, slowly, he lifts a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

“You’re maddening, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice low and tender.

“Then we’re even,” you reply, your lips quirking into a faint smile.

For the first time that night, his smirk softens into something more genuine. And as he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours, the weight of the world outside fades, leaving only the two of you in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

[deezee112]

A Decision to Make

Chapter 1 | The worst ending 1

A/N : I decided to make a part 2 because I saw that people liked my little idea. I'm so glad you liked it!

If this chapter is finished, I will go write the "worst ending" which is the boys.

Warning : This story contains themes of psychological tension , unease , an unsettling relationship dynamic between a protagonist and a mysterious humanoid object , y/n is a hot-tempered and tall person.

English is not my first language.

You stared at the doll, now seated upright on you couch, its unsettlingly realistic features illuminated by the soft morning light filtering through your apartment’s curtains. The doll no, the child was unlike anything you had ever seen.

It was designed to look like a young boy, somewhere between eight and twelve years old. Its face was delicate, almost too perfect, with skin that looked touchably soft, faintly blushed cheeks, and glassy eyes that seemed to follow your every move. It wore a simple outfit a plain shirt and pants that looked like they’d been picked out of a catalog

You crossed you arms, narrowing your eyes at it. “ So, this is my life now, huh? Babysitting a hyper realistic doll while Crowley pretends this is normal. ”

The doll, of course, didn’t respond. It simply sat there, motionless and silent, but its very presence seemed to dominate the room.

You walked to the kitchen and poured youself another cup of coffee. You mind was spinning as you tried to process the absurdity of the situation. Crowley hadn’t given you any real instructions beyond vague platitudes about care and confidentiality. What exactly was you supposed to do with it? Did it have a purpose? Could it think?

As the rich scent of coffee filled the air, you leaned against the counter and stared at the doll from afar. “ I should just return it. March back into that office and tell Crowley he’s out of his mind. Let someone else deal with this. ”

But even as you said the words, you knew you wouldn’t. Crowley had a way of making you feel trapped. Four years of working under him had taught you that refusing his " special assignments " only led to more trouble. And besides…

Your glanced at the doll again, you frown deepening. There was something about it something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It wasn’t just its unsettling realism. It was the way it seemed to be there, as though it were more than just an object.

“ Damn it ” you muttered, taking a sip of your coffee. “ Why do I always get stuck with the weird stuff? ”

After finishing you breakfast, You decided to get a closer look at you peculiar new charge. You approached the doll cautiously, half expecting it to suddenly blink or move. When it didn’t, you crouched down in front of it, you eyes scanning its face.

Its expression was neutral but oddly serene, like a child caught mid thought. The craftsmanship was impeccable every detail, from the faint freckles on its nose to the slight sheen on its lips, was painstakingly precise. You reached out and touched its hand, startled by how warm it felt.

“ This is insane ” you muttered, pulling your hand back quickly.

You circled the doll, inspecting it from all angles. There didn’t seem to be any obvious signs of robotics no seams, no wires, no panels. Yet it wasn’t purely-organic either. It existed in some strange in between state, blurring the lines between artificial and alive.

“ What are you, exactly? ” you asked aloud, as if expecting an answer.

Silence

" cool... " You cross your arms and With a sigh, you sat down on the couch beside it, keeping a cautious distance. “ Okay. Let’s think about this logically. Crowley wouldn’t give me something dangerous… probably. So, either this is some kind of advanced tech demo, or it’s… I don’t know, magic? ”

The word felt ridiculous on you tongue, but considering who you boss was, it wasn’t entirely out of the question. Crowley had always had a flair for the dramatic, and you wouldn’t put it past him to pull something out of left field.

You leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. “ Why me? Why not someone else? Someone who actually likes kids? ”

The doll remained silent, unmoving.

As the hours passed, You found yourself pacing the apartment, you thoughts racing. What was you supposed to do with it? Was you really expected to raise it like a child? That couldn’t be right—could it?

You phone buzzed on the counter, breaking you train of thought. You grabbed it and saw another message from Crowley.

How’s it going with the little one? Don’t forget feed it, talk to it, treat it like a real child. These are crucial developmental stages, after all!

You groaned, resisting the urge to throw you phone across the room. “ Treat it like a real child ” you muttered. “ Sure, why not? Because this is totally normal... ”

You set the phone down and glanced back at the doll. Despite you initial resistance, you found herself feeling a pang of… something. Pity? Responsibility? You wasn’t sure. But the idea of simply ignoring it felt wrong.

“ Fine ” you said aloud, rubbing you temples. “ Let’s see what you can do. ”

You spent the next hour tentatively testing the doll’s capabilities. Your offered it a glass of water, surprised when it tilted its head slightly and opened its mouth to drink. You spoke to it, asking simple questions, though it didn’t respond verbally. Instead, it blinked slowly or nodded, its movements smooth and eerily lifelike.

When you touched its hand again, it gripped your faintly, its skin warm and soft. You couldn’t shake the feeling that it was trying to communicate, even without words.

By the time the sun began to set, Your was sitting on the floor in front of the doll, studying it intently. It was undeniably strange, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. There was something almost endearing about its childlike mannerisms, the way it tilted its head when you spoke or blinked up at your with those unnervingly realistic eyes.

“ So, you eat, you drink, and you blink ” you said, ticking off items on your fingers. “ But you don’t talk. Or walk. Or do anything remotely useful. Great. Just great. ”

The doll blinked at you, its expression unchanging.

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. “ What am I supposed to do with you? Crowley really expects me to raise you like a kid? That’s insane. ”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t deny the faint flicker of curiosity growing inside you. What if your did try? What if you treated it like a real child, just to see what would happen?

You stared at the doll for a long moment, weighing you options. You could call Crowley and demand he take it back, or you could…

You shook you head, a wry smile tugging at you lips. “ This is ridiculous. ”

The doll tilted its head slightly, as if sensing you hesitation.

“ Okay ” you said finally, running a hand through you hair. “ Let’s give this a shot. But if you start moving around on your own, I’m locking you in a closet, got it? ”

The doll blinked again.

You chuckled despite yourself. “ All right, then. I guess the first step is figuring out what to call you. ”

You leaned forward, studying its face. There was something neutral about its features, neither overtly feminine nor masculine. It felt like a blank canvas, waiting for you to paint it with meaning.

“ Okay ” you said slowly, a faint smile playing at you lips. “ What should I name you? ”

The doll’s glassy eyes seemed to shimmer faintly in the fading light, and for a moment, You could have sworn she saw a flicker of recognition in its gaze.

But it was probably just you imagination.

[farenmaddox]

@wormieapple I don't want to reblog all your tags, but I do want to respond a little bit because you made some great points!

You kind of summarized it as "free will is ugly, has consequences, and is constantly in competition with the free will of others." I think that's true, but only up to the certain point of the original run of the show. I would tentatively say that I think this point has been eroding ever since season 6.

In the beginning, it was just about Sam and Dean having autonomy for their own bodies and souls and being allowed to make their own choices about who they can share those things with and/or give them away to. They spend a lot of seasons 4 and 5 finding out that a lot of their lives were "predestined" and they are left questioning how much of it was really up to them. But the story is about them fighting back against this idea, and Castiel comes in to provide this additional perspective that it's not just because they're the Winchesters and they're special, that this type of freedom should belong to anyone. At the end of season 5, they have thrown off the preselected narrative and saved the world. It did have consequences and it did hurt and not everybody survived, but the message is still that free will is a good thing and the world is better for it.

Everything from that point on has been very "free will's consequences are devastating, actually." They get so many people killed, and they have no victories that are not pyrrhic and directly leading to even worse problems. Every attempt they made to have a personality outside of their assigned role was brutally punished.

In my original post I was talking about Cas embodies this a lot, and how specifically every time he tries to grapple with or defend free will, it goes wrong. He wants so much for angels to have this, to make heaven a better place, but all it ever does is get them killed in droves. It literally never works even a little bit. Introducing free will to angels was unequivocally bad and this is never rectified or redeemed. The ending message is that angels can't handle free will and it's bad for them and for the world. But I'm also thinking about how they will never ever let Sam process his trauma meaningfully. Thinking about that scene in the apocalypse world (season 13, I think???) where they killed him and had Lucifer be the one to bring him back and hold him hostage to get to Jack. Sam is yet again helpless against Lucifer's wishes, as if nothing has changed in the last 10 years, directly contradicting what they wanted to say when they had him say "no" to Lucifer in season 11. When he wanted to use his trauma to display how resilient it had made him at the beginning of season 12, he wasn't allowed to have that either, they just drugged him and took what they wanted anyway. Sam is never allowed to be anything but a victim, EVER. All this before season 15 even happened.

Season 15 was where they should have drawn those threads back together and found a way to say, actually, you CAN escape these narrow definitions and things CAN change and your choices DO matter and the world IS a better place for having you and the way that you care in it. But they either didn't want to leave us with that message, or they fumbled the ball so badly that we're still talking about it on fandom ESPN these four years later. Like, I'm not arguing with what you were saying about season 15 being terrible and spitting in the face of the story they were trying to tell before. But my main point is that I think the warning signs were there much earlier than season 15 and they were undermining themselves well before then.

... is it just me, or was Supernatural's ultimate thesis statement on the character of Cas that angels cannot and never will be any good at independent thinking and all efforts at expressing free will shall have unexpected and terrible consequences? He thought he was digging a tunnel out and he was proud of himself but actually all he dug was his own grave. The message being that you actually cannot escape the role you are assigned no matter what?

This is the message of Cas, as a way of underscoring the arc of the actual main two characters, in which the thesis statement is that you cannot escape the trap of toxic masculinity and patriarchal hegemony, you will never deal with your trauma in a way that matters, and you will die and spend eternity caught in its endless cycle. The maze has no exit.

the son becomes the father and becomes absent. this happens to all four members of TFW 2.0 in one way or another. god is dead, long live god. long live broken promises.

[jellybeanium124]

so today illymation released the video: "why sunday school SCARED me." and I wanna talk about the absolute most baffling thing to me about this video.

I'm a reform jew, and went to hebrew school from age 5 to 16, or from kindergarten through 11th grade. my temple's hebrew school is split up into two main phases: k-6, which is more tradition hebrew school and happened during the day on sundays, and our hebrew high school program for 7-12 (it had a specific hebrew name but I'm just gonna call it HHS because I don't wanna accidentally doxx myself). secondly, 4-6th graders attended hebrew school twice a week, on sundays and in the evenings on a week day, to give them more time to practice learning prayers for their b'nai mitzvah in a few years.

so illy talks about her experiences growing up lutheran, and her experiences at lutheran sunday school. and most of that experience was... memorizing. their homework assignments involved memorizing bible verses. their confirmation "test" involved memorizing the 10 commandments and all the books in the bible, along with a one page essay on "what jesus means to me." and for her lutheran church, confirmation happened in 7th grade, and confirmation class was from 5-7.

and this just. baffled me.

because, okay, the early years of hebrew school? like, k-3? it's all memorization and being told what to believe. I remember being a teacher's aid for a second grade class when I was 15 and the teacher just told them stories and stuff about gd and they were also starting to learn to read the hebrew alphabet.

but as kids got older, there was so much more conversation. yes, 4-6 did involve a lot of just memorizing prayers for your b'nai mitzvah, but we also talked about jewish teachings and beliefs, and we were all allowed to have our own relationships with gd. by the time you enter HHS, the teachers don't even have any expectation that you believe in gd at all, and the classrooms were much more open, almost socratic style class, with everyone asking questions and learning and sharing their different opinions. we didn't spend those hours just memorizing things, certainly not as tweens and teens. my 7th grade year at HHS was spent learning about the holocaust, not memorizing passages from the tanakh.

now, because I'm reform, we stole confirmation, and the reform movement does that at 15. it's sort of a mini b'nai mitzvah for the whole class, and it wasn't a test, we were leading a service as a group. now, yes, again, there was some memorization involved (prayers, a song we sung as a class), but our classes in 10th grade weren't focused on memorizing things, we'd sit in a circle and talk about different issues and topics related to judaism. we'd talk about current events and our personal experiences with antisemitism.

there's this... emptiness to the way illy talks about her sunday school experiences. for other people who grew up christian, is this what sunday school was like for you? memorizing bible verses? my only experience with christian sunday school is from the simpsons, and those scenes are usually a bit more interesting because it's a tv show lol and they're not gonna have pointless scenes of making the kids learn bible verses. and I will admit my hebrew school may be an outlier. my parents HAAAAAATED their hebrew schools growing up, saying it was boring and meaningless and as soon as they were b'nai mitzvahed they were out of there like a shot. I think my mom even joked about leaving a her-shaped hole in the wall once lol.

anyways the idea that sunday school = memorization blew my mind. is illy's experience common???

[cepheusgalaxy]

Porquê se faz uma revolução

[Plain text: Porque se faz uma revolução /end PT.] [Translation: The reason for a revolution.]

You've found one of my oldest writing projects! This one was discontinued, but it still holds a special place in my heart, so I decided to share it, I guess. The original story is in [Brazilian] Portuguese, and it is still not translated, but my pt-br audience can enjoy it! This is the sinopsis (only thing getting translated for now), that I'm posting before the two chapters that exist. If you don't speak Portuguese, don't worry, it will get translated! Eventually.

INTRODUÇÃO [OG/PT-BR]

Grace Nicóle é uma jovem normal, vivendo na infeliz França normal. Por normal, significa que não era a França bela cheia de festas, bailes, comida e gastos terrivelmente desnecessários. Essa França era reservada a poucos: A alta burguesia, os nobres, o rei e principalmente a igreja. Todos esses grupos eram facilmente resumidos em um só; A Aristocracia.

A Infeliz França Normal, permita-me apresentar-lhe: Era a França que pagava impostos à aristocracia; era a França que sentia a fome causada pelas péssimas colheitas; era o povo francês que sentia na pele, no estômago e no coração a incompetência do rei.

O rei percebeu isso, e uma convocou Assembléia, pensando que poderia se safar e continuar a governar em meio às desgraças da França, como bem quisesse. Mas nesse dia, nesse ano, durante essa era, ficou marcada na história uma verdade: Nunca se deve tirar do povo o que é do povo.

O rei, Louis Décimo Sexto, nunca considerou essa verdade na sua vida, talvez. Talvez, no fim dela, após testemunhar tudo com seus próprios olhos, tenha percebido: O porquê se faz uma Revolução.

--

INTRODUCTION [EN]

Grace Nicóle is a normal teen, living in the disgraceful normal France. And by normal, it meant that it wasn't the beautiful France full of parties, balls, feasts and awfully high outlay. That France was reserved to few: The high burgeoise, the noble, the king and mainly the Church. All of these groups were easily referred to as just one; The Aristocrats.

A Disgraceful Normal France, allow me to present: it was the France that paid taxes to the Aristocracy; it was the France going hungry because of the unfruitful harvests; it was the people of France that felt on their bodies, on their stomaches and on their hearts the incopetence of the king.

The king became aware of that, and called for an Assembly, thinking that that way he could get away with it and continue to to reign amidst the disgraces of France, as much as he so desired. But in that day, in that year, in that age, it was marked in history a truth: It never must be taken from the people what is of the people.

The king, Louis the Sixth, was never faced with that truth in his life, perhaps. But perhaps, by the end of it, after witnessing it all with his own eyes, he might have realized: The reason for a revolution.

[rottengurlz]

toxic yuri vampires you will always be famous to me