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mockerycrow · 5 months

Note

Hi 👋

I was wondering if we could have some fluff? But please only write when you're not busy.

Reader is sick, and how would each member take care of them, nursing them, telling the reader that they gonna take good care of them and then finish it off with some cuddles.

SICK MOMENTS; Ghost Edition (GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist

authors note; yet another “moments” series. idk who i’m doing next, but stay tuned :-) — this is an incredibly old WIP. i will be doing “sick moments” series, but i’m in horrible writers block and I want to finish off the 4k requests. life is busy, i’m so sorry!!!

[WARNINGS; implied civilian!reader, sickness, medicine/drug usage, celsius is used, mentions of vomiting, fluff.]

YOU END UP waking up in the middle of the night with the most painful ache in your throat and the worst headache you’ve ever experienced in your life. You’re drenched in sweat, your shirt—Simon’s shirt, actually—clinging to your sweat soaked back, and your blanket feels so suffocating. You can’t help the whimper that leaves you as the pulsing in your temples and eyes quickly turn to pounding, and you blindly shove the blanket off of yourself.

You don’t even think to look if Simon’s in the bed with you; not when your stomach is twisting so horribly you think you won’t make it to the bathroom. You push yourself out of bed and stumble out of the room and down the hall, and you don’t vomit, but you’re nauseous as you’re on your knees, your hands slick with sweat as you grip the toilet seat—something you’ll cringe and gag at later.

You aren’t too sure how long you’re there, waiting for the vomit to bubble up your esophagus, but you eventually feel a usually warm hand—cool at the moment due to your fever—rub the back of your neck. “Hey..” Simon’s deep voice fills your ears. sounds tired, as if he was sleeping before this. He probably was. You don’t look at him as your eyes are closed, but you let out a whimper of acknowledgment.

“Tilt your head up, love.. Mhm, that’s it..” You follow his direction, feeling something press against your forehead, a few flicking noises, and then a beep. Whatever he held against your forehead, Simon pulls away. “39 degrees..” Simon mutters, a sigh leaving him. “Hey, you think you’re gonna vomit?” He asks, being straight forward whilst also being conscious of your condition. You take a moment to think and you shake your head. “No,” You croak. “Just nauseous.”

Simon hums, his hand touching the back of your neck again reflexively in an attempt to provide you some comfort; some familiarity whilst your head spins with illness and pounding pain. The twisting and swirling feeling of the nausea in your gut and throat doesn’t settle for a good while, muffled noises of despair leaving your lips. Each time, Simon quietly acknowledges your pain, praising you for enduring it, that he knows that it hurts.

Simon hates when you’re in pain of any kind. He hates it from when you have an annoyingly painful stuffy nose to stubbing your toe on the corner of the couch—when you’re sick like how you are now, to when you frown when the water in the sink is a bit too hot for your liking. If Simon could shield you from any harm and pain, he would in an instant. In a perfect world, you would never be sick and never stub your toes, you would never have colds and the water would magically be the correct temperature.

Alas, this is reality.

“It’s too early to phone the doctor but I will make sure to do first thing when they open, alright, sweetheart?” Simon’s deep voice rings in your ears, so low that it vibrates in your chest for a moment—and just for a second, your nausea goes away. You wish you could box his voice up and put it in your ears all the time from how soothing you find it. You realize you didn’t respond when Simon calls your name softly and you nod, your eyes remaining shut. “I wanna die.” You moan unseriously, your eyebrows twinging together from the pain between them deep in your skull.

Simon chuckles and squeezes the back of your neck softly. “I’m going to fetch you a glass of water and some medicine to help you until morning. I’ll be right back.” You respond with a simple nod, focused on keeping the nausea away. You’re sure Simon has teleporting capabilities because he’s back by your side in record time. He’s helping you tip your head back, his hand carefully cradling the back of your head and slipping a couple pills into your mouth, carefully giving you sips of water. Not too quick to further your nausea, not too slow to have you think about it too much.

The water is refreshing and cold when it slips down your throat. “There you go,” Simon praises softly, his tone so soft that it contradicts the natural low, grittiness in his voice. “Gave you some anti nausea, some pain meds. I’m not sure if I should give you any fever reducers yet. I’ll be monitorin’ your fever.”

You nod, shuddering slightly as the hand on the back of your head goes to your jaw and neck, guiding your head to lean against his thigh as Simon is standing up straight. “I don’t think I can move yet.” You croak loud enough for him to hear, which earns his callused thumb stroking over your cheek. “That’s alright, love.” Simon murmurs. “We can stay like this as long as y’need. I’ll get ya set up in the living room when you’re feeling a bit better, yeah?”

You nod, turning your head to bury half of your face into his sweatpants, feeling eternally grateful for this man. It took you both a long time to get to this point together—a lot of push and pull between you two, a lot of communication and a lot of trust. In the end, it’s been worth it.

🏷️; @mlmxreader @kivino @soapybutt17 @microwavedcheetos @frazie99 @ch3rrykoolaid @kimdiedlater @glossysoap @thisuserloveshalloween @indefenseofkara @mushr00mf00d @lieutenantlashfaz @queen-leviathan @specter319 @morganight

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trulybetty · 9 months

Text

Sick Day

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 1,581 Warnings: Pure fluff, talk of not feeling well, cooking, caretaking, and on brand Marcus Pike. Summary: Marcus never cancels dates, and if he does it usually comes with his own brand of romantic gestures to make up for it. So when he doesn't, you know something isn't quite right. AO3: Linked

A/N: It's been a week - but this had been sitting in my WIP folder unfinished for a while and this prompted me to finish this piece of pure fluff.

Sick Day.

Marcus was not accustomed to feeling helpless. Being weak or vulnerable was not part of his persona, not part of what made Marcus Pike who he was.

His sickness had come on suddenly, a relentless fever accompanied by a deep, hacking cough. Marcus was not one to fall ill often, and when he did, he had always soldiered through, never allowing weakness to dictate his schedule. But this was different; this was not something he could ignore. His body was not cooperating, and all his attempts to carry on were futile.

The fever alone had struck with a vengeance. His body ached, his throat was on fire, and even the faintest hint of light sent his head spinning into oblivion. A normally robust Marcus was reduced to a shivering mess, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, his mind clouded by the relentless throb of a migraine.

And yet, the real disquiet lay not in his physical discomfort but in a new and unexpected vulnerability. The one person he sought to impress, care for, and be strong for, was now seeing him at his weakest.

You.

From the early days of your relationship, Marcus had been the one to shower you with romantic gestures, much to your chagrin at times. Breakfasts in bed, spontaneous day trips, surprise gifts — he'd done it all. It was how he'd always been, it was how past relationships had dictated how he should operate to ensure that his love interest remained enamoured, entranced and with him.

But you were different.

You didn't expect anything from him. You didn't need grand gestures or elaborate displays of affection. Your love was calm, steady, and unconditional. It was a love that sought no repayment, demanded no proof, and required no theatrics.

And it was something Marcus had never experienced before.

He had sent you a text message that he had to skip your date night and you’d looked at your phone warily. The two of you had been together for quite some time now and this was not his usual MO. Marcus Pike didn’t just cancel dates, you had cancelled dates sure, but never Marcus without a flurry of rearranged reservations or a bouquet of flowers at your door.

So when you showed up at his doorstep on your way to work, your eyes wide with concern with a bag full of remedies, Marcus was utterly unprepared. Especially when you said you were going to call in to work and take the day off when you realized how sick he was. The truth was, no one had ever taken a day off work to care for him. No one had ever put him first in quite the same way.

Once inside Marcus's apartment, the evidence of his illness was palpable. The usually immaculate space was in mild disarray, evidence of his discomfort. Marcus was bundled on the couch, looking both vulnerable and endearing, his face flushed and his eyes glazed.

He had tried to protest, to insist that he was fine, that you didn't need to trouble yourself. But the words had come out slurred, his voice weak and barely above a whisper.

“You look awful,” you'd said, your intention sympathetic, as you brushed a damp lock of hair from his forehead.

Your hand had felt cool and soothing against his fevered skin and he leant into it, his eyes closed.

“It’s okay.” he tried to assure you.

You laughed at his failed attempt to convince you, “It’s not okay, for starters your voice sounds terrible.”

“Sounds worse than it is.” he gave you what he thought was an unabashed smile, but came out crooked and tired.

You just stared at him incredulously, “You just almost coughed up a lung.”

“I’m fine.” he tried to sit up but the sudden movement caused him to double over in a fit of coughing.

You placed the back of your hand against his forehead, “Case in point. You’re not fine Marcus, you’re burning up.”

“It’s just a cold,” he insisted.

“Marcus, you need to rest,” you'd chided, your tone gentle but firm as you led him to his bedroom. “I'm here now. Let me take care of you, please.”

And so you did.

The hours turned into a day, and then another, your presence a constant. You sat at his kitchen table, replying to emails and calls between checking his fever and ensuring he took his medication. When he asked you to stay overnight that first night you’d obliged his ask in his vulnerable state. So you’d watched movies with him, choosing his favourites, even though he’d drifted in and out of sleep throughout.

It was three days longer than the original one you planned on staying when he was looking and feeling more like himself. You were both in the kitchen, you preparing dinner, while he watched on.

“So where did you learn how to make this?” Marcus asked, fatigue still lingering as he leaned on the countertop to rest his head in his hand. He watched diligently as you added ingredients to the ceramic pot atop the stovetop. The smell of the simmering food was already permeating the apartment making your mouth water.

It was one of, if not your number one comfort meal. You’d experienced it at a tiny restaurant years ago in a quiet city off the main drag of flashy restaurants and bars. The only good things to come of a past failed date, one whose name now you couldn’t recall even if you tried. While the relationship hadn’t gone anywhere you’d gone back repeatedly to the small establishment time and time again and learned how to make it yourself.

“Want a taste?” you asked him, offering a spoon laden with a sample to taste. He watched in amusement as you blew on it to cool it down, “Here you go, try.”

Marcus tentatively tasted the food and felt a sting on his tongue from the heat, but smiled at the ability to finally be able to taste something, “My taste buds may not be quite back up to par,” he said, “but this, this is delicious.”

You grinned, “Good, it means you’re getting better.”

Marcus pulled himself away from the counter and stepped up behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. Even now, while he was slowly recovering, this simple embrace made your heart swell with affection.

“You've really been incredible these past few days,” Marcus murmured, his voice still hoarse. “I can't even begin to express how grateful I am. I'm not used to... this, you know? Being taken care of.”

You gave him a gentle smile, as you dried your hands off with a kitchen towel and lowered the heat on the pot.

You twisted around in his arms to face him, tucking a stray lock of hair back from his forehead. “It was my pleasure, Marcus,” you said with a smile.

He was silent for a moment, taking in what you said. That one sentence soothing to years of a self-imposed belief that he should always be the caretaker, the provider. “Thank you,” he spoke softly.

“Since you're feeling much better now, I’d better think about getting back to my place,” you said, puncturing the comfortable quiet of the room. You were trying to sound casual, but it was obvious that your presence wasn’t intended to be a long-term thing; Marcus understood this, yet he still felt a twinge of sadness.

“But it's Friday,” he retorted, his voice carrying the softest note of protest. “Maybe you could stay for the weekend? Now that I'm feeling better, I can find a way to thank you properly.” A mischievous glint shone in Marcus's eyes as he smiled slowly. “Since you’ve been playing nurse so well, maybe it’s time for the patient to return the favour and take care of you?” he finished, his voice dropping into a suggestive tone, making the implication all but transparent.

But before he could elaborate, his words were interrupted by a sudden coughing fit. The rough, barking sound filled the apartment, and Marcus grimaced as he cleared his throat. Covering his mouth with his forearm, he tried to suppress another cough as he failed to stop the onslaught of another fit.

You let out a loud and throaty laugh as you filled Marcus a glass of water. “Okay, maybe we'll hold off on the whole nurse-and-patient role-play for now.”

Marcus joined in, his laughter tinged with a hint of self-deprecation once he’d finished with the water you'd poured him. “Maybe you're right. But the offer to stay the weekend still stands.”

These days, such as now, in small moments of reflection Marcus was able to step back and see his previous relationships a little more clearly. They had felt solid at the time, and had seemed like they were built on a foundation of mutual understanding and love, but looking back he could tell that the foundation was merely a house of cards. Meaning one wrong move or unmet expectation and it all would have come crashing down on unrealistic standards he’d set himself.

But with you, it was different.

While Marcus was off in his own world, you returned your attention to the meal cooking on the stove. “Dinner will be ready soon. What do you think about watching a movie while we eat? You choose,” you asked..

Marcus, snapping out of his thoughts, smiled warmly. “I think that sounds perfect,” he replied.

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x female reader #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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cozy-the-overlord · 8 months

Text

Free Fall

Summary: Tony Stark arranges for an Avengers Teambuilding Day at a local amusement park. Loki had been hoping to avoid it -- he's had enough thrills to last a lifetime, he has no desire to seek out more -- but you and your endearing enthusiasm for roller coasters convince him to come along. However, the free fall drop tower you start out with turns out to be a bit more thrilling than he bargained for.

Word Count: 3,482

Pairing: Loki x Gender Neutral Reader

A/N: Drags self out of the grave and awkwardly waves

So it's been a minute since I posted lol. Those of you who follow may be aware that I recently graduated from college with the Final Semester From Hell that involved my computer hard drive dying on me in class and causing me to lose not only forty pages of my honors thesis two weeks before it was due, but also almost every WIP I had been working on in the past four years because I am an idiot who chronically forgets to back things up :D I did make it through college, but between stress, burnout, depression, and the death of any motivation to work on anything because of having to restart from the beginning for all of my projects, I went a while without writing anything. But I'm slowly getting back into it -- I have several projects in the works and I'm hoping to get back to posting more regularly. This fic was a short piece that I had started prior to the computer death that I had a lot of physical notes on so they weren't lost when my hard drive decided to yeet itself into the sun. I'm not entirely happy with it, but honestly it feels so good to finally finish something that I don't care.

Anyways, sorry for the obnoxious A/N. Thank you so much for reading!

Warnings: PTSD, flashbacks, panic attack, a bit of motion sickness?

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm @lostgreekgod @naterson

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :) (I also realize that this taglist is Old so if I need to update it please let me know)

Read it on Ao3!

Standing in the shadow of the great tower, heart thudding in his throat, Loki is suddenly aware that he’s made an enormous mistake.

Next to him, Stark whistles. “This is what you usually start with?”

You grin up at the spire, a massive construction of electric green cutting through the cloudless sky. Two elevators, one on either side, are creeping slowly up the length of the tower. They linger at the top for just a moment before plunging back down to Earth, their occupants screaming. Loki feels ill just watching, but you’re practically vibrating in place. “It’s good to get the blood pumping.”

He can’t bring himself to look at you.

It’s your fault that he’s here. Loki hadn’t planned to come today at all. A day spent outside in the sweltering summer sun, following Stark’s gaggle of misfits onto various machines designed to fling mortals from side to side to simulate the feeling of a near death experience? Loki couldn’t imagine anything more torturous. Thor’s begging and cajoling received nothing in response. No, he hadn’t the slightest intention of coming today, not until last night, when he came across you restocking the main refrigerator.

“Are you excited for tomorrow?” you had asked as you arranged rows of Red Bull on the top shelf. “I can’t wait to take you guys around Rapid Rails—I’ve been begging Mr. Stark to do a teambuilding day there ever since he hired me.”

Your eagerness caught him off guard— as Stark’s personal assistant, you had been present at all of his godforsaken teambuilding events, but Loki had never known you to be particularly excited about any of them. “I … I wasn’t aware you had such an attachment to it.”

“Oh yeah—I grew up just down the street from there!” You beamed at him, breaking down the cardboard box you had used to carry the cans. “We used to have season passes – they were way cheaper when I was a kid – and we’d just go there to hang out all the time. Gosh it was so fun. And now I get to go for work!” You let out a merry laugh. “I guess some things never change, right?”

Loki huffed a soft chuckle. He had never seen you like this before, practically bubbling over in excitement. It was … rather endearing. “I suppose not.”

“You are coming, right? Thor said you hadn’t made up your mind yet.”

Were the circumstances different, Loki might have scoffed. Hadn’t made up your mind yet—Norns, his brother lived in denial. Instead though, he hesitated. “I … I’m afraid I hadn’t planned on it.”

“Really?” The way your face fell actually hurt his chest. “Why not?”

“I—” He glanced away, pressing his lips together. “I’m not sure I’m one for your roller coasters,” he said, finally. “You’d likely have a better time without me there.” It was an attempt at lightheartedness, but you only seemed more disappointed.

“Oh, that’s not true at all! I was really looking forward to—” you stopped suddenly, and when Loki looked up again, you were biting your lip with a nervous laugh. “I mean, it would be really fun if you came with us. But it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“I suppose I could come, if you so desire.” He hoped he sounded nonchalantly cool, and that you couldn’t see the way his heart fluttered at the idea that you might want him there. “I wouldn’t wish to let you down.”

“Oh, I mean—” You looked away, the light from the refrigerator silhouetting your frame. “I don’t want to force you, if you don’t want to. You shouldn’t do it just for me.”

“No, I …” He inhaled, then smiled. “I think I would like to join you.”

And so here he is, at the base of this great metal monstrosity, intently studying the sign outside of the line entrance to avoid Thor’s knowing smirk. His brother has never worn self-satisfaction well.

DEATH DROP: THE TALLEST AND FASTEST DROP TOWER ON THE EAST COAST

The description is illustrated with a photograph of two people strapped to their seats, mouths wide in mid-scream as their hair flies every which way. Loki lets out a shaky exhale as he reads. The tower, it claims, is 400 feet tall. It reaches top speeds of 85 miles per hour. The ride itself lasts about 90 seconds in total. The measuring stand besides the entrance indicates that participants must be at least 48 inches tall.

400 feet. That doesn’t sound too terrible, he tells himself. The concept of a foot as a unit of measurement is still something he struggles to wrap his head around, but he knows that Stark Tower stands at over a thousand. So that’s not too bad. 400 feet would be a drop in the bucket, really, compared to …

No. He pushes the thought down, back into the dark recesses of his memory. None of that. Not today.

Stark smirks at him. “You’re looking green, Tommy Wiseau.”

Loki swallows, straining to maintain his stiff mask of composure. It’s bad enough to have Stark reveling in his discomfort, but now you’re looking over at him too, brow furrowed in concern, and he wishes he could melt away on the spot. “I’m quite fine.”

“Of course he is!” Thor booms, slapping his shoulder with a hearty thwack that does nothing for Loki’s stomach. “We’ve fallen from much higher heights, haven’t we, brother?”

Weightless. Breathless. Engulfed by inky nothingness, the air so thin he can’t even scream —

Loki’s smile hurts. “Yes, very true.”

“You don’t have to go, Loki,” you interject. “It’s totally okay— I have friends who love roller coasters and refuse to touch this ride. It’s a lot.”

He knows you mean it as reassurance, but he can’t stand the way you’re looking at him, as if he were a frightened child, too fragile to be brought along. Are you regretting having convinced him to change his mind? Do you feel that he’s only holding you back? Somehow, the idea that you no longer want him here is almost as sickening as the thought of the fall.

Loki huffs a breath. No. He will prove himself worthy of your coaster. “I assure you, I am fine.” His voice is more strained than he’d prefer it to be. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

…

The attendant seems rather starstruck as he ushers the group onto the ride—he stumbles and stammers through the explanation of the seating arrangements and the harness. Loki’s not really listening as he follows you to the left side of the cart, trying not to ignore the buzzing that seems to be settling behind his ears.

You smile up at him. “Would you rather sit on the side or in the middle?”

He frowns. “Does it make a difference?”

“Well, personally I don’t think so, but I know some people who get scared of heights think it’s easier to sit in the middle.”

“I’m not scared of heights.” The words come out far too quickly to sound believable, and he curses inwardly at himself. “I can sit on the side.”

“Are you sure?” You eye him uncertainly. “It’s okay if you—"

“I’m quite capable of managing such a seat.” He sits before you have the chance to question him again.

The seat is rather tight—Loki wonders if that’s intentional, or if it’s simply built with a smaller frame in mind. In the cart off to the right, he can hear Thor fumbling about with the attendant, and he chuckles despite himself. If he’s finding it to be a bit of a squeeze, he can’t imagine the troubles his bulky brother must be having.

It’s a momentary reprieve from his darker thoughts, and Loki is actually smiling when you warn him to sit back against the seat.

“The harness is going to be coming down soon.”

“What?”

You motion to the contraption above the cart, two plastic green masses shaped like upside down u’s that hover above your heads like the top of a clam shell. “It sits over you and keeps you from flying out of the cart.” You let out a small laugh. “It’s like the harnesses on the Quinjets, but way less cool. They also have little handles that you can hold on to if you want.”

Loki is eyeing the harnesses uncertainly. “What do you mean they’ll be coming down soon?”

“You used to have to pull it down yourself, but they have it all programmed now.” A great mechanical creak cracks through the air, and you press yourself against the back of the seat. “Oh, here it comes now!”

He frowns, mimicking your movement to sit as far back as he can. The green restraint descends slowly over his head, with a metallic groan that does not give him much faith in the construction of this monstrosity. He expects it to stop once it was hovering over his torso, but it continues until it’s pressed snuggly against his chest, pinning him to the seat. The attendant is saying something over the intercom, but Loki barely registers it over the feeling of the restraint. It’s … it’s not a painful sensation, but the firmness with which it holds … he’s been restrained before. Little flames of memory spark in the corners of his mind, flames he can’t seem to douse no matter how hard he tries.

Get it off. Get it off. Get it off.

He gives an apprehensive tug on the metal handles that now rest on either shoulder, a tug which quickly turns into a hard yank. The harness does not move. His mouth has gone dry.

“Loki?” you’re frowning at him, your head only barely visible through your own harness. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You’re not bothered by the restraint. Of course you aren’t—how many times did you say you’ve ridden this ride? It’s fine. It’s fine. Goodness, what must you think of him, seeing him panic over the safety harness that you’ve worn hundreds of times before for fun? He nods his head, shaking away the feelings and memories and emotions and all the other thoughts that he wishes he could just wash down the drain …

“Are you sure—?”

“Perfectly,” he spits, but it comes out more snappishly than he intended, and you recoil with a look on your face that makes him despise himself.

I shouldn’t be allowed to speak.

“And enjoy your ride!” the attendant finishes with a flourish, and the thick metal cranking is all the warning you get before the cart begins to lift off from the ground. Loki’s heart jumps to his throat, pounding so fast he can’t make out the separate beats.

“This part is the scariest bit,” you yell at him over the grinding of machinery. “The anticipation kills me!”

Loki inhales. The elevator continues to rise, inching up slowly along the spire, the ground beneath their feet melting into miniature. This is alright, he tells himself. If this is the worst part of the experience, then he’ll be just fine. There’s nothing particularly frightening about it—he spoke the truth when he told you that he had never been bothered by heights. It’s all perfectly fine.

Perfectly. Fine.

Norns, they’re still going up. He risks a glance at the track above him—surely they must be close now? The movement makes him queasy, and he quickly turns back to face straight ahead. His knuckles are white from clutching the handles. The harness is digging into his chest and it takes all of his self-control not to rip it off. The elevator stutters—is this it? His breath catches, but no, they’re still going up. They seem to be slowing down though, don’t they? Or is that only his imagination?

I’m going to be ill.

They’ve stopped. That’s not in his head. Everything seems frozen in place. Why did he agree to do this? Loki presses his eyes closed. Any moment now. Any moment …

Still nothing.

His chest aches. He may have forgotten to breathe. Why have they stopped? Is something wrong? Loki turns to you—you look ecstatic, eyes crinkled with elation, mouth wide in an open grin.

“When is it going to—”

You drop.

The world goes silent. He feels it, that awful sensation in his stomach as the line goes slack and colors rush before his eyes in a blur until it all fades to darkness, airlessness, weightlessness, his lungs burning and drowning on the empty void of space—he’s falling, he’s falling again, he’s falling again oh please Norns not again—

There’s ground beneath his feet. He’s not sure where it came from. His knuckles ache. You’re talking – to him? He’s not sure, he only barely can make out your voice …

“Loki? The harness is coming up. Can you let go?”

He’s still clinging to the handles. Can he let go? He’s not sure. His body feels like lead. He pries his fingers from the metal tube and the pressure against his chest vanishes with a woosh over his head.

“There you go.” Your voice is soft, encouraging, closer than he remembered. He looks up to find you kneeling on the ground before him. You flash a nervous smile. “You alright?”

He’s not sure what to say. His instinct is to apologize, insist that yes, of course, he’s quite alright, he didn’t mean to give any impression to the contrary, everything is fine, but the words catch in his throat.

stars melting together smothering his last breath

Loki lets out a shuddering breath, settles for a nod.

“What’s the hold-up?” Stark calls out. “Barton and Romanov are waiting with the kids on the other side of the park.”

“We’re just taking a break for a minute!” Your reply is hurried. “You guys can go on, we’ll meet you there.”

“Is something wrong?” Thor sounds concerned, and—oh great—now both him and Stark are walking over to their cart. “Loki? What happened?”

“I—” But words, so often his steadfast ally, seem to be failing him right now. What happened? He has no answer; at least, none that his brother would accept. For nothing had happened, not really, and yet that was enough to send him spiraling through the fabric of reality.

He hates this. He hates feeling so weak.

Stark is chuckling. “If I knew that this was all it took to shut him up, I would have rented this place out sooner—”

Enough.

Loki forces himself to stand – far too quickly, his stomach churns at the movement, but he swallows the bile in his throat. He needs to get away. It doesn’t matter how, but he needs to not be with them. Besides him, you scramble to your feet too.

“I’m well.” His voice doesn’t sound right—it feels foreign, and thick like syrup, nothing like his own. “You may go on without me.”

“Are you certain?” Thor is frowning. “We can wait—”

Please don’t.

“I’m certain. I just need to sit for a moment.”

“There’s a bench nearby!” You’ve taken on the same cheery inflection typical of your working voice, and it adds a sense of normalcy to a distinctly abnormal situation. He’s grateful for it. “I can show you where!”

Both Stark and his brother seem reluctant to leave, but you insist that it’s fine. “I’ll call you if anything changes.”

He feels slightly steadier as he follows you to the bench—it’s just a wooden thing on the side of the concrete path, across from what appears to be a diner of some sort. You mumble something about going to get water. It’s a relief when you turn away, so you don’t see how he collapses against the seat.

There’s ground beneath his feet. Loki closes his eyes, focuses on that. There’s ground beneath my feet. The asphalt is firm, hot with the summer sun, anchoring him to reality. He lets out a breath. It feels safe.

Unless, of course, it crumbles beneath your step and flings you back into the abyss –

“Hey.” He jerks up at the sound of your voice, and the suddenness causes you to jump as well. You shift apologetically, standing in front of him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Loki swallows. How did he not hear you come up? “You didn’t.” Although it must be obvious that you did. At least you’re kind enough to allow him the lie.

You offer him a plastic cup. It’s a flimsy thing, but quite cold, relieving against his feverish skin. He takes it with a mumbled thanks, pretending he doesn’t notice how you’re studying him with a quiet sort of concern.

“Are you feeling better?” you ask after a moment.

Loki bites down on the inside of his cheek, relishing the way it stings. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just – I mean – ” you glance down, tugging at your shirt sleeve. “I get panic attacks too.”

“I don’t—” But he stops himself, stops the urge to argue. Gives a gentle nod instead. “I’m well, thank you. I just … I need a moment to catch my breath.”

“I’m sorry …” You look away guiltily. “Death Drop is kind of a lot – we shouldn’t have done that first.”

“It’s not that. I –” He wants to explain to you. He wants you to know that he’s not usually like this—he never used to be like this, he’s strong and steady and perfectly capable of anything you could ask of him, but his voice is failing once again. Loki huffs a sigh. “You ought to go on with the others. I don’t wish to ruin your day.”

“Oh, you haven’t ruined anything. I’ve been on every ride in this park about a million times. It’s fine!” Your voice is bubbly and light as you sit down next to him on the bench. There’s something oddly comforting about the sound. “Besides, it’s bad etiquette to leave a friend by themselves at an amusement park. Buddy system and all that.”

A friend. He can only stare at you.

You falter. “Unless … unless you’d rather I left?”

“No—” Loki surprises himself with how quickly he answers. “No, I’d rather you didn’t.”

Several minutes pass in silence, the frantic beating of his heart slowly tapering off into something softer as he drinks in your presence. He’s grateful for it, grateful for how you let him soak in the quiet. Thor would never have allowed him such a moment’s peace.

He’s considering asking if you’re sure you don’t want to go on any other coasters (he feels guilty for keeping you here—perhaps he can accompany you through the queue and wait on the ground?) when you suddenly sit up stock-straight. “Oh!”

Loki frowns. “Is something wrong?”

You turn to him with a wide grin. “I just remembered they have Dole Whip here!”

“They—what kind of whip?” What sort of ride would a whip be, he wonders? A human sized slingshot, perhaps? His stomach lurches at the thought.

Luckily though, he’s proved wrong. “Dole Whip!” you giggle. “It’s like ice cream, but fruit flavored. Like there’s pineapple and strawberry and whatnot—it’s like soft serve.” You look at him with a kind of hopeful excitement. “Do you want to try some?”

Loki hums. He has yet to try soft serve ice cream, but he knows his brother practically swears by the stuff. “Is it good?”

“Supposedly. I’ve actually never tried it— we never wanted to spend money on park food when we would come as kids. It’s stupid expensive.” You smirk. “But today’s all on Mr. Stark’s dime, so…”

He chuckles. “And you would take advantage of your employer in such a fashion? I didn’t realize I had such a Machiavellian on my hands.”

“Hey, I’m just taking advantage of the opportunities presented to me!” You stand with a grin, holding your hands up in a mock surrender pose. “You can’t blame me for that, can you?”

“Oh, I’d never,” he teases as he stands, and he’s relieved to find that his legs have regained their steadiness. “I’d be honored to experience this Dole Whip with you on Stark’s expense.”

“Fantastic,” you beam. “It’s not too far from here. And it’s right next to a bunch of these little shops—they have this ridiculous giant sea monster toy that costs like $300, I can show you—”

You continue on as the both of you walk down the path, telling him all about the park’s various hidden gems and the inside jokes you and your friends have concocted around them, and Loki finds himself laughing more than not—he can’t help it, your giggles are just too infectious.

Huh. Perhaps joining you today wasn’t a mistake after all.

#loki x reader #loki fluff #loki fanfic #hurt/comfort #loki marvel #free fall #cozy writes

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wikiangela · 6 months

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wip wednesday🎄

tagged by @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove

i wasn't gonna post anything but i wrote quite a lot today and need validation lmao (I think I might be about halfway done but who knows, it always gets away from me haha) today some buckley siblings feels, and hopefully soon ill get to the fluffy christmas part haha

prev snippet

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"(...) I used to make stuff for Maddie, and then when I was older I would save money to buy her something small and mostly symbolic.” he glances at Eddie. There’s a mix of bittersweet nostalgia and sadness on his face. “She made all my Christmases bearable, and after she left-” he stops abruptly and quietly clears his throat. When he speaks again, he doesn’t finish the sentence. Eddie wants to ask, but he figures Buck will share what he’s comfortable sharing, he doesn’t want to push. “But that was the one thing I wanted so badly, more than anything, more than any cool toys or- or anything,” he chuckles again, “and Maddie tried to give it to me, and she got in trouble for it. So after that, I just never asked again.”

“Buck.” Eddie says softly, wishing he could do anything to make it better, to fucking go back in time and give Buck all the Christmases he ever dreamt about.

“But I always wished-” Buck continues, then glances at Eddie nervously.

“Wished what?” Eddie’s thumb softly swipes along Buck’s neck and jawline, as far as he can reach. He just wants to comfort him somehow, and at the moment this is the only way he knows how, just a comforting touch, being there, listening.

“That one day, when I grew up,” Buck looks down at his lap again, his voice getting even quieter, “I’d have my own family and I’m gonna do matching Christmas sweaters every single year, and take tons of pictures of us all together, and-” he pauses again, and, with a teary laugh, raises his hand to wipe at his eyes. Eddie wants to wrap him in his arms and hold him. (...) “But it doesn’t matter, I don’t-” Buck shakes his head, and leans away from Eddie’s touch. Eddie aches to keep touching him, to reach out and follow, but he respects that clearly that’s not what Buck wants anymore, that’s fine. “I don’t have my own family yet, so it doesn't matter. Let’s just drop it.” he says, tone decisive, face red, eyes glued to the screen again.

Eddie frowns. What the hell is Buck talking about? He has a family, right here.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @911onabc @spagheddiediaz @housewifebuck @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @weewootruck @loserdiaz @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @ladydorian05 @malewifediaz @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @hoodie-buck @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @diazpatcher @jesuisici33 @lover-of-mine @giddyupbuck @spotsandsocks @exhuastedpigeon @buckaroosheart @hippolotamus @king-buckley @callmenewbie @jeeyuns @disasterbuckdiaz @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @jamespearce9-1-1 @daffi-990

#wip wednesday #buddie christmas fic #took out a few sentences from this snippet bc it was too long lol #it was mostly about buck loving to take pics and keep photo albums etc #and eddie wondering if his parents ever even took any pics of him when he was little or if the few he has are bc of maddie #bc ngl i wonder about that way too often #and I have like 5 albums of just my pics from my childhood and i love it and i think buck'd love that and he'd make sure chris has that lol #idk buck's childhood is something i think about so fucking much and it's so sad and im projecting my anger toward the buckleys onto eddie #this fic was supposed to be cute and fluffy with a sprinkle of sad but so far it's all sad with a bit of fluffy oops haha #fic snippet #buddie #buddie fic #buddie wip #wikiangela writes #my writing #my wips

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brandycranby · 5 months

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so there's only an hour left of 2023... i wanted to write something about the year and how it passed.

it doesnt come back to me as much as i would like it to, i spent it working and watching lectures, reading discussion posts, and trying- trying so hard to write, only to lose myself to comforting daydreams that didn't challenge me, just buffered the world and let it slip away from me.

still, an inconclusive list of things, however small, that i did and i'm proud of:

make new friends on tumblr despite being someone prone to keeping to themselves

finished two more semesters of grad school

earned all the credits i need to graduate (cant say i graduated yet boooo)

started my seven sentences event and fulfilled some prompts; maybe i havent finished answering all of them yet but im very proud of the ones i have done

grew some potatoes!!

saw a therapist for the very first time and worked on myself

crocheted a very special froggie friend and started some wips i love

went on my first roadtrip with a friend and had as best a time as i could make it despite it being rainy 24/7 and being ill

learned more and more about archiving at work!! i know things now!!!

and i persevered, even though it was hard and i was empty and hollow inside. maybe it's a placebo effect, but i think i have words again. i have feelings deep in my bones, i have stories on my tongue, and i have not told them all yet. i can persist on here and i will persist; no matter what, i'm here to stay.

my heart is full!! my heart is heavy!! but my heart is yours!! i love you, my friends and friends-to-be!! a song for my mutuals who make my world a delight and full of color!! an ode to the anons who slip into my inbox and make me long to hold their hands!! wishing everyone a happy happy new year 🥳🫶🏻🍾

youtube

i want to acknowledge the people who ive talked to or interacted with who have touched my life deeper than they could ever know. i dont think i listed everyone and im sure that i didnt. whether you're tagged or not, if you follow me and interact, i hold you dear to my heart. even if you're inactive, i will think about you. and if you have left, i still love you. 🩷

snoopy anon, raccoon anon, @ttyls @babyjakes @eulalielatibule @sweetdreamsbuck @levans44 @worksby-d @eloquentreverie @rodrikstark @intrepidacious @thornsnvultures @punemy-spotted @boxofbonesfic @scrumptious-delusion @dc418writes @angrythingstarlight @krirebr @giorno-plays-piano @venusstorm @biteofcherry @ronearoundblindly @starksbabie @ghotifishreads @buckymorelikefuckme @needleandhammer @onsunnyside @rubythecrimsonwriter and all my beloveds who have moved on. river, ren, wherever you are i hope you're doing well.

#idk what this is but its my brand of soppy 🫶🏻💕💕#brandy rambles #happy new year!!!

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littlemisspascal · 5 months

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2023 & Me

Been thinking a lot these past few days about everything that's happened with me in 2023. Hard to believe it's coming to end--time seriously does fly 😮

There's been some heavy losses this year. Several family members passed away to illnesses and old age, including my grandfather who I had a strained relationship with to say the least. I also had a shocking family drama bomb dropped on me earlier this month that has had a huge ripple effect I'm still navigating, but fingers crossed things will find a way of working out for the best.

I had some severe mental health depression episodes throughout the year, made me reevaluate priorities and also doubt pretty much every choice I've ever made in life, but I do truly believe I'm entering 2024 in a positive mindset so that's something to be happy about :) I'mma try this crazy concept called self-love and not think the worst about me, myself, and I.

My writing took a hit this year. Word count wise, kudos wise, engagement wise--but I also made progress on several wips and even finished a few which is a big accomplishment for a snail writer like me 😊 I want to enter 2024 not feeling guilty for being self-indulgent or trying new kinds of writing styles. I also want to shake off the belief a low note count equals it was a bad fic/waste of time -- I don't believe that for anyone else, yet my brain always uses it as a weapon of insecurity against myself and enough is enough brain 😠 no more I say!

On a more positive note, I was fortunate enough to attend several conventions this year and improve my cosplay skills (2024 Ahsoka is gonna be my best look yet I just know it 😁). I got to meet total sweethearts Jon Bernthal and Charlie Cox, Steve Burns my childhood hero, the dear Jodi Benson, the gorgeous Rosario Dawson and beautiful Ming-Na Wen, and of course I can't ever forget Andrew Garfield 😱💗 And most importantly of all I did each these cons with my sister and made some lifelong memories! (Also bought a heckin lot of stickers. A heckin lot 🥰)

And then of course the crown jewel of 2023 1000% hands down was attending the United States Formula 1 Grand Prix. Good lord y'all it was one of the best weekends of my entire life! If you had asked me a couple years ago if I'd care about a sport--any sport--I'd have laughed in your face but there's just something so addictive and captivating about the world of F1 and its cast of characters. And having the luck of getting Alex Albon and Daniel Ricciardo's autographs on my dumb lil frog bucket hat was just *muffled screaming* I literally was a shaking mess lemme tell ya--just ask @beecastle and @undercoverpena who were there with me on my phone every step of the way 💜 thanks for putting up with my addiction y'all! Much much love to you both!!

AND THE FRIGGIN FACT SOMEONE GOT A PHOTO OF ME AND DANNY TOGETHER 🥺😭😭 NEVER BE OVER IT NOPE

There are so many people on here that made 2023 a bright and kind and fun one for me---@oonajaeadira @something-tofightfor @wheresarizona @trinkets01 @kyberblade @sofasoap @grogusmum @writeforfandoms @psychedelic-ink @kteague @prolix-yuy @wildemaven @the-blind-assassin-12 @practicalghost @gnpwdrnwhiskey @bishtrouille @nothoughtsjustmeds @kirsteng42 @miraclesabound @radiowallet @harriedandharassed @hopeamarsu and dozens dozens dozens more!

Thank you to everyone who's liked, reblogged, commented on my blog + sent me messages! I appreciate and love you all so much more than words can ever express 💜💗💙🧡

2024---let's bring it on! 🥳

#i have spoken

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katnissdoesnotfollowback · 1 month

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kdnfb's Ten Years of Fanfiction Mania

Featuring: Unmasked

Summary: Written under an Anonymous pseudonym ~M~ to fill the following prompt ~ Historical Katniss and Peeta hate each other. They attend a masquerade ball and for some reason end up kissing each other. Sparks fly everywhere. Katniss tries to find the man behind the mask but Peeta knows it was Katniss though he doesnt say anything. They end up bethrothed even if they 'despise' each other. How they fall in love is up to u and how katniss figured out it was peeta is up to u

Rating: E for explicit sexual content, explicit language, implied/referenced rape/nonconsensual (not everlark), implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced suicide, implied/referenced miscarriage, discussions of illness, war, and injury in a historical setting, ptsd, minor character death. They worst of these tags happens offscreen and is merely discussed and dealt with rather than shown here.

A/N: ~Unmasked~ is my longest fic in terms of word count (around 234k), although Outside Chance and Spellbound are not too far behind and are both incomplete. Unmasked started as something meant to be fun and cathartic, then turned into a ridiculously long and self indulgent fic that I still, to this day, have no idea if the anonymous person who submitted the prompt to @everlarkficexchange even read, let alone whether or not they liked it. But I love what I produced for this fic.

Why write it anonymously and only reveal myself later? A couple reasons. 1) Historical is not my wheel house. At least not writing it. I am a shameless consumer of historical romances. I did some research for this fic but not nearly the level I would've liked to have done. Eventually, I said screw it, it's about the vibes not the accuracy. 2) I had a pile of unfinished wips when I started this, to include Outside Chance and Spellbound (both of which are still unfinished hmmmmm) and I really didn't want a lot of questions about when I was going to get back to those while I was working on this because 3) I'd just gone through a small slice of writerly hell to the point that I seriously considered deleting my entire tumblr and all of my fanfic. Details are not important right now, the result is. That's probably the closest I've ever come to calling myself done with fandom.

Then this prompt posted to EFE and wouldn't leave me alone. Eventually, I decided that if I was going to write it, I wanted to write it with as little pressure as possible. So I chose to write and post it as ~M~ until it was finished. Plus, I thought it might make it fun for people other than me if there was a bit of mystery behind it. And I don't regret doing that.

Writing behind a mask allowed me to be as long winded and self-indulgent as I wanted to without worrying about how tight the storyline was or how accurate the historical details were, or wondering if I'd be walking into my tumblr and a barrage of the kind of messages I'd come to dread receiving. The only thing I worried about, really was if the amount and kind of smut I included gave me away prematurely lmao.

While this was my first real foray into the realm of historical fics, I am hoping it's not the last. I've got too many ideas and half started pieces to back out of it now. But those, like this one, will probably remain untethered to a specific real place, and a specific time, mainly because I just don't have that kind of time for research if I'm not getting paid to do it lol. They will be works of love if not works of accuracy.

Unmasked on AO3

#ten years of fanfiction mania #unmasked #unmasked nonsense #i meant to post this like three weeks ago #ooops

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itsdappleagain · 2 months

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tagged by @emily-prentits THANK YOUU THIS LOOKS SO FUN

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

18!

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

141,974 words...which is a little embarassing considering jo, who tagged me, has 59 works and only about 30,000 more words. evidently i like my longfics.

3. what fandoms do you write for?

carmen sandiego 2019! 17 of those and one (1) original work that i dont mention in this post at all

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

the cardinal and the kitten - 325 kudos

say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime (let me lead you from your solitude) - 164 kudos (we call her the phantom au for short)

simple are the ways of love (simple as the touch of another's hands) - 156 kudos

Upon the Sword - 154 kudos

Everything is a Lie - 127 kudos

5. do you respond to comments?

Most of them yes!! I LOVE getting comments I screenshot and save every one I get.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hm- I guess it depends. Hellscape ends with Carmen's internal monologue just before she gets mind-wiped by VILE, but its technically no angstier than canon. they gave you life (and in return you gave them hell) is pretty angsty the whole way through and examines Carmen's trauma.

Those are both little one-shots, though- I usually end my reigns of terror within chapter fics pretty happily if I can manage it. The Phantom AU (linked above) ends in a dark place but leagues brighter than it seemed to be heading towards. It isn't a terribly neat and happy ending, and it tells a story of trauma and attempted suicide and the road to recovery from these. Let's go with that one.

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

In Love Is A Locked Cell Door Chase Devineaux and Crackle happily start making out in a jail cell and live happily ever after!

Ok, being serious-

For a one-shot, simple (linked above) starts happy and ends happier.

For a chapter fic, Choice ends with Carmen, Julia, and Gray all living in a very happy polycule pardoned from the law with full emotional control of their lives which is fun :]

8. do you get hate on fics?

@emily-prentits used to leave passive aggressive comments on my wattpad and we would fight in the comments sections 💀now we're partners so make of that what you will. but anyway, no serious ones, no!

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

No, not really! I have a few "fade-to-blacks" or skip-overs without any detail. The one time I tried writing smut it was really forced and hard for me to write...doesn't help that I've never felt sexual attraction in my life so I don't know about that. Curse you asexuality for taking papertiger handcuff sex away from the world.

10. do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you've written?

No, I'm not a fan of crossovers

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

I've had one or two...heavily referenced. Not in bad faith, but it was funny to see a lot of my plot and prose mannerisms reworded in a younger author's fic. I think they credited me as inspiration or gifted it to me both times so its not a big deal.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

I have not!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

If FRANTIC FANFIC! counts, which it shouldn't lol. Also the polycule is working on something :3

14. what's your all time favourite ship?

15. what's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have an au where paper star and black sheep escape VILE together and go through a sort of friends to lovers to enemies deal as carmen (renamed cardinal here due to never escaping in the boat the way she does in canon), though influenced by paper star at the start, eventually finds her inevitable path of good while paper star slips into a chaos that cardinal just can't stomach

ill paste a snippet here that i wrote but its a little bit long and complex and i dont have a ton of motivation for it

16. what are your writing strengths?

ABILITY TO MAKE READERS SUFFER

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

cohesive plot...lord help me i cannot plan a fic to the end before i post chapter 1 and it bites me in the ass all the time

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

if there's a small amount of it, i usually write it as-is in the other language and use external sources or context clues to explain it. if a lot of dialogue is in another language, I'll put it in brackets and write it in english!

19. first fandom you wrote for?

carmen sandiego. still going lmfao

20. favorite fic you've written?

that's really hard- i'm going to do top three in no particular order SORRY

Love, Carmen - this was the first or one of the first fics I ever wrote. it put me on the map a little bit (wattpad..) in terms of writing and boosted upon the sword and choice when they came along. it was really fun to just be young and writing after finishing all two released seasons of the show. i still like it a lot. its just cute and simple.

the phantom au - what a labor of love. i've had other fics (evil carlotta series, cough cough) that have been long and complex but those strayed into meandering and pointless and i lost a lot of motivation. phantom combined my love of theater with my favorite show and my hunger for angst angst angst. it was super fun to write and, at the risk of sounding vain, i pulled off a very hard to pull off trope at the end and i think i did it well. i think if you read any one of mine, this highlights a lot of my strengths.

the cardinal and the kitten - this is a popular one of mine that kind of serves as an updated love, carmen. i really enjoy how i wrote carmen and julia playing off of each other and my dialogue is very strong in this one.

okay, sorry about how long that was i treated it like a professional interview. i had a lot of fun writing this instead of working on a very important school project

#tag game #weed wife #carmen sandiego #carmen sandiego 2019 #writing #ao3

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