Simon: My Favorite Coping Mechanism Is Writing Music

A beginning of a fic I’ve written in my head but too lazy to actually write #give loki a good found family. The outline of the full story is here

The fic takes place straight after Loki’s fall when he lands on Tatooine. Post ‘Thor’ 2011, post ‘The Book of Boba Fett’. Unreliable narrator!

Falling.

Shining rainbow becomes a dot.

And then – nothing.

Just – nothing.

The Void between the worlds is black. Not like the darkest night, not like ink – there’s nothing to see. Not a tiniest bit of any light. Loki cannot even see his own hand – it is stretched out? Or not there at all? He cannot feel it – cannot feel his own body… has it even been his own, though?

Loki cannot breathe. Does he even need to? He doesn’t feel his chest rising and falling, he doesn’t feel his own heartbeat. He cannot hear anything. And it’s not the eardrum pressure of the Bifrost – there’s just nothing to hear. No sound. Is he trying to speak? Scream? He doesn’t know. He cannot feel his own movements.

All he really comprehends is the voice in his head, repeating the end of his life over and over.

‘No, Loki’.

Not worthy of love. Not good enough in the eyes of his father. An evil little shadow of his glorious shining brother.

‘No, Loki’.

Only a couple of days – and Thor is forgiven for everything he presumably did wrong. A couple of days on Midgard – and now he is ready to lay aside his centuries-long hatred and contempt for the Jotuns and protect them. A couple of days in a company of a pretty woman – and he’s worthy of love and throne and respect again. A true son of Asgard.

‘No, Loki’.

Not you.

Thor has changed and is on his way to become a true king – but not because of your centuries-long attempts to make him better. But because of just a weekend with a woman he’s in love with. Of course, her influence is much more potent than his own brother’s.

Not brother’s.

Never was.

Loki wants to feel righteous rage… hurt… anything at all. But instead – numbness. Nothingness. Inside and outside of him. What’s the point of feelings, anyway? All that exists is nothing. Darkness. Weightlessness. Is he falling seconds? Centuries? Is he even falling? Is he still alive?

Loki doesn’t want to be anymore.

Yellow.

Numbness inside of him twitches.

Bleary yellowish spots in the darkness.

Becoming closer. A pull of gravity feels stronger and stronger.

Gravity?

Must be some space body. A planet? A star?

Loki doesn’t think it’s a star. He cannot see well – everything is blurred, he cannot distinguish the shape – but it’s not hot, not bursting with flames.

He summons all the magic he has, encasing himself in it and preparing for the entering the atmosphere – if there will be any. Not that he has any further plans – he feels like he isn’t capable of thinking anymore. All that remains is his survival instinct.

And then – heat envelops him. He tugs on his magic tighter and squeezes his eyes shut. Feeling of falling becomes much more prominent, and he hates every second of it.

But a feeling of something is glorious.

The sound of him piercing the air deafens him.

But he can hear again.

The impact of the landing makes his head ring and creates a cloud of… sand? Yes, yellow sand erupts around him. Loki feels particles of it covering his hands and face with a hot veil. And it feels. Just… feels. Oppressive air fills the lungs, Loki tries to breathe with a full chest, and it hurts as nine hells, just like the rest of his body, but he feels again.

For a second Loki is happy. It feels nice to be alive.

And he blacks out.

---

A sliver of light.

Sounds. Voices?

A feeling of movement. Transportation. Hardness behind his aching back. Smell of something greasy, machine oil and old clothes.

Chill.

Loki tries to open his eyes. Barely manages – it’s like an impossibly heavy task.

Tries to move his arms and legs – they’re as if made of uru metal.

The head is dizzy, he hurts all over. His eyes can hardly see – they got used to pitch darkness (‘No, Loki’… ). But he recognizes some kind of a room full of unidentifiable items scattered all over. A group of small hooded creatures is huddled together talking in half-babbling half-chittering language Loki cannot yet understand – he isn’t able to put his own thoughts into words, much less grasp speech of someone else. He tries and his head hurts more.

They saved him?

Loki looks down and realizes why he feels chilly. He has no armour, no weapons. Only his inner tunic remains unscavenged. Even his trousers are robbed of metal pieces, and his boots are also absent. He sees his daggers in the hands of the creatures – they twirl them, obviously discussing. Not going to give them back.

Loki stretches his hand and summons them.

Or tries.

The daggers barely move. Several items on the table nearby fall. The creatures jump and gasp, look at Loki with their glowing eyes from their hoods. Loki feels nauseous and helpless. Even his magic betrays him.

And then he loses consciousness again.

---

Next time Loki awakens, he’s in water. The liquid blurs everything around, it’s impossible to orient. A breathing mask fills his mouth and nose. But he landed in a desert… where does water come from?

Wait.

A mask.

Someone put him there.

Fear squeezes his heart.

He tries to stretch his arms forward, and his hands land on a cool barrier.

Panic is like a rising tide – almost chokes him. He pushes his hands desperately, and the barrier flies open. Loki sits abruptly, water splashes around him. He pulls the mask out of his mouth, and medical smell fills his nose, the same taste lingers on his tongue. Not water, then. Heartrate slows down, panic curling in his belly like a wild cat ready to jump.

He rubs his eyes and looks around.

A spacious room of stone. Sunlight – he didn’t know he would miss sunlight – falls through the window, and Loki notices two suns. He’s in some kind of a tank with medical equipment attached to it. He’s naked albeit a small towel around his hips. There’s a robot nearby, but it doesn’t move.

All memories of… yesterday?... fill Loki’s head.

The fight on the Bridge.

‘For you! For all of us!’

‘No, Loki’.

Thor’s shouts and an outstretched hand as if he’s trying to catch him.

Falling.

Shining rainbow becomes a dot.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Sand.

Scavengers.

And – here.

His head is surprisingly clear, as if after a long and nice sleep, considering all confusing events before. His body doesn’t hurt anymore. He reaches for his magic – still weak. He feels weak.

Loki guesses this is what the tank is for – healing.

But what for should he be healed? He doesn’t have any purpose. Doesn’t want to live. (Or does he? – memories of the marvelous feeling of sand on his skin, of hot air around him make him feel… feel what?)

Then he hears steps outside the heavy door. Confident. Closer and closer.

And all Loki has is weak magic (he’ll be barely able to move a fallen leaf), a tired body (still stronger than many species, though), and a sharp mind.

The door opens. A man walks in almost lazily, but Loki knows instantly – casualness is a facade. Burly, covered in green armour, with weapons like blasters and hidden knives attached. Darker skin, bald head and face covered with nasty-looking scars. A posture of a seasoned warrior. Air of not-quite-a-threat, but someone who definitely knows how to be in charge of a situation.

 – Awake already? Good, - the voice is gruff, but somehow not unkind. – Do you speak Basic?

 – I do, - words scratch the dry throat, Loki barely holds himself from coughing. It’s hard to project dignity when you’re wet and naked in unknown circumstances. – Where am I?

 – Mos Espa, Tatooine. And I’m the Daimyo here. Boba Fett, - the man raises an eyebrow, clearly prompting Loki to introduce himself.

Loki starts to assess the situation. In an unknown place – he’s never heard about Tatooine planet – in the dwelling of an obvious leader of this place. Not good. But this Fett allowed him to be healed – so he has something ready for Loki. Some kind of use. On the other hand, he obviously doesn’t recognize Loki as an Asgardian prince… former Asgardian prince… whatever. It’s not time to dwell upon it. The fact is, now Loki can hide what he’s capable of, assume another personality and get out of here.

 – Loki, - he hears his mouth saying as if from the outside of himself. – And I’m lost.

‘What in the Nine Worlds is wrong with you?’ – his mind screams immediately. Panic raises its head, ready to uncurl completely and cover him all. Did the Fall through the Void affect his brain-to-mouth connection? He won’t get anywhere spewing the truth right and left and wearing his heart on his sleeve!

 – Then the droid will help you get dressed and take you to the kitchens, - Fett nods to the robot, and the thing whirs in response. – We’ll figure something out, don’t worry. – He flashes a brief smile and leaves the room.

This reception is… baffling. Loki’s not a person to trust easily – his own trust turned out to be catastrophically misplaced – but this seems as a… good start. Maybe, he won’t have to fight his way out. Panic settles down.

Maybe, he’ll be able to use this situation to his own advantage. After all, he survived the Fall through open space. Maybe, he’ll find some other life out there.

If someone is interested in writing a whole story (by chance), please inform me.

My boys <3

apparently the Still Not Funny deleted scene is about Bucky ‘bringing a treat to Sam's family gathering’, and after talking to @logicheartsoul about it, i obvs had to write something

It was a joke.

Sam’d—very casually, if he’d say so himself—invited Bucky to the cookout. He’d been trying to relax into Bucky’s lone armchair, the TV on and playing something he’d never seen before.

Bucky, who had been sitting on the ground and leaning into the side of the chair, had froze, very minutely, then relaxed, asked what he should bring.

Sam had, very dryly, said, “Ice cream cake,” because Bucky’d tried to make them breakfast that morning and almost burned the eggs to a crisp. Sam was just being cautious, and yeah, okay, maybe also a little shit, but mostly cautious.

Bucky, the biggest little shit to have ever existed, took it personally, apparently, because here he was now, sunglasses on, wearing Sam’s Henley, driving Sam’s truck and joking with Sam’s nephews, carrying a lopsided ice cream cake that was very bravely fighting for its life in the heat of the afternoon.

Sam’s stupid, stupid heart did a stupid, stupid somersault.

He went on taking pictures and joking around and filling up his plate, feeling light and happy and on the edge of something wonderful, then Bucky was close, sunglasses hanging from the collar of his—Sam’s—Henley, his cheeks a bright red from the setting sun.

“Hey,” he said, voice light and so soft.

“Hey yourself.”

“Want a piece of cake?”

Sam gave him a flat look. “You’re not funny.”

Bucky’s smile went bigger, brighter, like he immediately knew what Sam was talking about.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” he said.

“You’re full of shit,” Sam said, “and, still not funny. You’re not funny.”

“I just couldn’t come empty-handed, Samuel, I have manners.”

“You brought an ice cream cake.”

“It was a no-brainer, honestly.”

Sam rolled his eyes, fighting back a smile, then he turned back to watch the gentle waves and the sky as it changed colors.

The music was dying down, the day slowing and easing into the evening. Bucky was still standing just a step behind him, and Sam could feel his eyes on him.

His heart skipped a little as Bucky knocked his knuckles against his shoulder.

“Come on,” he said, so soft once again.

And Sam turned, gave into the urge and wrapped his arm around his shoulder to pull him closer.

Bucky came easily, his warmth seeking into Sam’s alright sun-warmed body, until it was almost too much.

He didn’t pull away.

Loki was 16/17 in 2012.

(I still love Lokius, but everyone forget that)

As much unrealistic it is for the character, I’m really glad that Tom Hiddleston looks older than 13 years years ago because otherwise this:

Would have just been illegal …

This does apply to them both.

Sam: You could have announced yourself.

Kate: Hi, I’m Kate. I’m crawling through the crawl space.

First meet.

Headcanon

Clint Barton is considered a very dumb genius. He creates his own arrows using the most complex math and science. to which even Tony Stark is impressed. 

He also tripped over his feet because he burned his tongue on his coffee that he was drinking from the pot. 

He can calculate trajectory without even looking over his shoulder. 

Can’t figure out how to work his DVD player. 

🧎🏻‍♀️

Marvel Studios Assembled: The Making of Loki Season 2 (2023)

The Ice - Aftermath

(The Ice - Here)

The cold still clung to him as he stepped through the portal and into his bedroom in the sanctum. The warmth of his room felt like an assault on his senses. His hands tingled painfully a little at the sharp, sudden change in temperature.

The cloak flared off his shoulders, slipping off into a corner to settle onto the chair that rested there.

Movement caught his attention in the peripheral of his vision. He turned to see Tony setting his tablet aside and sliding out of their bed. He was dressed in sleep clothes. Stephen blinked and glanced at the time. It had been getting dark when he’d left Nebraska, with the timezone difference it was starting to get late here. But not so late that Tony—who was the definition of a night owl—would be in bed.

“How are you?” Tony asked quietly as he moved closer. His gaze searched Stephen’s face, and Stephen knew that the weight of everything from today was clear and visible to Tony’s too perceptive gaze.

Stephen wasn’t sure if Wong had told Tony what had happened. Because it had to have been Wong who had given Tony the all clear to return to the sanctum after Stephen had sent Tony away.

“I’m… better.” It was true.

Tony nodded. “You look cold,” Tony said, not pursuing the topic. Yet. “Let’s get you into something warmer.”

Stephen didn’t exactly need help changing, but Tony’s hands were warm on his skin as he helped him undress. There was nothing sexual about the moment, just simple love and affection in every trace of touch. Stephen slid into his own sleep clothes, despite the fact that it was too early for bed.

“I’m not ready for sleep,” Stephen warned Tony.

“I know,” Tony said, his expression was soft. “But I wanted you comfortable. We’re going to read, together. Something light and simple, I’ve pulled up a list. Then we’re going to cuddle and if you want to and are ready, you’re going to tell me what nightmare sent you back home.” Tony pressed his hand over Stephen’s heart. “And I’ll listen. Then we can decide whether we’re going to sleep tonight or if we’re going to get dressed again and go for a walk in the middle of the night.”

Some part of Stephen already knew they were going to end up on that midnight walk. There was something about walking hand in hand with Tony through mostly abandoned streets as they talked about everything and nothing, the strain of long days eased away in the light of the moon and intermittent street lights.

Even when they were silent, it was… it was good.

“All right,” Stephen agreed. “What are we reading?”

“You choose,” Tony said. He returned to the bed where he’d left his starkpad and started going through the list. 

Stephen chose a book of poems and settled onto the bed, back against the headboard as Tony started reading aloud. His voice was soothing, and the words took on a rhythmic cadence. Stephen closed his eyes as Tony started on a poem about new beginnings and let the words carry him into a meditative state.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he opened his eyes again. “I’m ready to cuddle, now,” he told Tony as Tony finished another poem, this one about the different firsts of life.

Tony immediately put the tablet to the side, slipping closer to him.

They got comfortable together, Stephen holding Tony tight against him. It always helped to hold Tony, to feel like Tony was safe in his arms where Stephen could protect him. Even if Tony was perfectly capable of protecting himself.

Sometimes Stephen wondered if that was something that lingered from Donna, Stephen’s need to feel like he could protect those he loved when he’d failed to protect her. Or perhaps he’d always have been this way.

The lights dimmed, but didn’t go out. Not when Stephen didn’t want to actually sleep, just wanted to hold Tony close. 

“I’ve told you about Donna,” Stephen said.

“I remember,” Tony said quietly.

Stephen took a deep breath. “I… When I told you to stay at the compound for a few nights, it was because there was a problem with the nightmare realm. It… well, I dreamt of Donna.” He took a deep breath. “I… I’d prepared myself for the accident, for Dormammu, for Thanos. I thought I knew exactly what would plague me. It… it caught me off guard. I wasn’t prepared.” He took a breath. “She… she blamed me.”

Tony didn’t say anything, not immediately. Instead, Tony’s fingers tangled with Stephen’s, tugging Stephen’s arm that rested over Tony’s hips up to his mouth to press a kiss against Stephen’s fingers. “She didn’t,” Tony said quietly. “You know she never would have.”

Stephen thought of his moment on the ice, the quiet there was never anything to forgive, the quiet I love you.

“I know,” he admitted. The words caught in his throat, because it was true, but it had been so long that he’d held onto that guilt that it was difficult to let go. “But I needed to go back. I needed… I needed to say goodbye.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

There was a moment’s pause. “Did it help?”

Stephen swallowed hard. “Yes.” He took a deep breath. There was a part of him that felt like it must be some sort of betrayal to find any sort of peace. But Donna would never have blamed him for it. “It did.”

“It’s what she would want. She’d be happy for you.”

Stephen closed his eyes, pictured Donna again. There was never anything to forgive. I love you. Thought of all of the things in his life that he had finally gotten right. Thought of all those things that he thought Donna would have been proud of.

He held on to the thought tightly and let himself believe.