#i am so mentally unwell over this man it is disgusting but OH WELL WE MOVE

[sailxrmxrs]

hello i'm one of many who is unbelievably down bad for one nicholas d. wolfwood. i am also in desperate need for more fics so take this humble offering bc he will not leave my brain i cannot stop thinking about this man help. just wolfwood taking some time for himself after a long day, winding down in some rundown bar in the middle of nowhere when he spots someone who catches his eye at the other side of the bar. someone who looks equally interested in him. basically wolfwood shooting his shot and getting flustered when they give him the same energy back.

Sundown came and went, taking with it the last remaining vestiges of daylight. The clamouring sound of bustling drunkards spilled through the cracked windows of the rundown bar. The whole town looked like it was standing on its last legs, yet there was something endearing about the place. As though its people were keeping it alive, even in the face of despair. Even if their lives of struggle meant toiling day-by-day to make ends meet just enough to keep the town from collapsing to ruin, it was all worth it for a drink or two at the end of the day. And that spirit was what kept this town on its final legs, supported from the ground up by the resilience of its people. Even if that resilience came in the form of drunken celebration each night until the need for sleep drew them back to their homes, thus setting the cycle in motion again. It was a routine they'd perfected beyond measure—the very reason for their revelry. For Wolfwood, however, it was just another stop in the road. A place for him to rest his head for the night with a strong drink in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. Nothing more, nothing less. Though he wouldn't mind if there was a little less of the noise.

He could barely think with all the shouting going around him. Though he couldn't deny it was certainly better than being stuck roaming the desert until he found a suitable resting spot. Wolfwood enjoyed travelling alone. He liked the solitude and the quiet of his own thoughts, even if he did get a little lost in them sometimes. But that's what places like this were for, to drown out some of that noise and forget all that rested on his shoulders. Forget his duties and contracts binding him to a life he was barely living. The drinks they served here were watered down so much the taste was almost unpalatable. But it was better than cloudy water, contaminated with who knows what as a direct result of a plant in need of dire attention. Wolfwood knew where to count his blessings, and a weak drink was one of them. Even with the racket going on around him, this hadn't been altogether terrible night. But, perhaps, it might just become an even better one. Across the other side of the bar he laid eyes on an unfamiliar face. They were smiling at the barkeep, laughing along with whatever he was saying. Something about them felt as though they belonged elsewhere—like they were destined for greater things and greater places than a rundown town with no prospects in sight. But where else was any better? It wasn't as though Wolfwood had anything nice to say about the ways in which he operated. Perhaps a quieter life in a place like this was a better way to live.

There was no point dwelling on the what-ifs and maybes of an alternate life. Wolfwood would not be braking free of his chains anytime soon. To dream was a fool's endeavour, and Wolfwood had no intentions of falling victim to such folly. If he lost focus now, what remained of his resolve would come crumbling down. He was not such a destructive person just yet. But with his two main vices in hand, he strongly considered adding a third. Wolfwood was no stranger to human touch, seeking out lovers in bars just like this one. Spending fleeting nights in the warmth of another's body before rising with the sun and taking his leave. It was a largely loveless act. Merely another way to pass the time and expend some of that pent up energy and frustration from the contracts that dictated his movements. Seeking the company of another was one small act of his own free will, and it seemed tonight was the night for him to be free—if only for a few short hours.

Draining the dregs of what remained in his glass, Wolfwood stood from his bar seat and made his way over to the stranger who captured his eye. They were no longer speaking with the barkeep, nursing their own glass of watered-down liquor in quiet solitude. Usually approaching a stranger in this manner was no difficult task for Wolfwood, but tonight there was a tightening sensation in his chest. As though he had become rattled with trepidation for how they might respond to his attempts at seduction. Rejections were few and far between, though were never really a setback. If someone were to decline, Wolfwood would simply move along and find another who sought human connection as he did. Suppressing whatever this bizarre feeling was, Wolfwood took those remaining steps to gently brush his shoulder against the captivating stranger's. They glanced toward him before breaking into a bright smile. Light radiated off their face, casting an almost angelic glow. Wolfwood had never seen a more beautiful smile in all his years of existence. He felt his heart shudder at the sight.

"Evening," he managed to drawl out, keeping his voice low and collected. Even if his internal self was suffering from a rare falter, he did not intend on letting that show; he was far too stoic of a man for that.

"Evening. Guessing you're new in town, huh?" They asked, voice calm and lilting. Yet Wolfwood did not struggle to hear them over the sound of the bar patrons' wild shouts and even wilder revelry. No, this stranger's voice was all he could hear. All he could think to focus on.

"That obvious? What gave me away?"

"Probably the quiet brooding alone at the bar. You play the quiet and mysterious stranger part well. It suits you."

Wolfwood wasn't expecting this. Somehow he couldn't remember how these encounters usually went. But he knew this was no ordinary meeting. "Mysterious, hm?"

They nodded, signalling for the bartender to pour another two glasses. "Please, you and I both know it's intentional."

Wolfwood leaned in a little closer, thanking the bartender for his new drink as he let himself drift nearer to his conversation partner. "Or perhaps I'm simply mysterious because I'm a stranger."

"Perhaps. But I don't buy it. Unless you're telling me you don't wander from town-to-town, visiting bars and fighting off lovers who want to see what lies beneath that awful smile."

"Awful? You wound me deeply. Do I seem such a heartless type?" Wolfwood practically held his breath as he awaited a response. He couldn't tell if this was going well or not. He was so far off his usual script that he barely knew how to keep up. It seemed he'd met his match, and that only made him more determined to figure them out. He wanted to study this stranger for hours. He yearned to hear their voice, feel their touch in all manner of ways. One night wasn't enough. He could spend an eon merely basking in their presence and it still wouldn't be enough. Wolfwood didn't know how to feel about such a tantalising thought. It was hardly characteristic of him to be so thoroughly wrapped around another's finger like this, let alone the finger of someone he had known for a few mere minutes. He wanted to hate it. But he would have been lying to himself to say that he did.

"I don't know, are you heartless?"

"I need a few more drinks before I give an answer to that." Wolfwood grimaced down at his dwindling supply. The stuff really was disgustingly weak.

"Might take more than a few to feel anything. About as much alcohol in these drinks as there is in the water." They brows furrowed as they took a sip, the expression punctuating their distaste for the drinks. It seemed even the locals despises the stuff.

"Tastes like it. Better than nothing though, right?"

They hummed a noncommittal sound. There was something they weren't saying, almost as if they were holding back from saying too much. Wolfwood yearned to pry. To hear all that ailed this person so that he might offer some sort of reprieve. An escape. But he held back. He couldn't risk seeming as though he cared for little more than something physical or meaningless. His intentions with this person held more meaning than Wolfwood had felt in years. It scared him, yet he couldn't pull away from that intense look in their eye. The quiet that descended was comfortable, the two taking sips of their drinks and accepting refills when the time came. Wolfwood could feel the gentle thrum of alcohol running through him, though far more muted than usual. He had never felt more alert. He liked it. And when the barkeep called for closing, he was content to return to his room for the night alone. Anything more would have been too greedy. And yet, when the stranger whose face only seemed even more beautiful under the moonlight reached for his hand, Wolfwood did not let go.

He didn't let go long after the sun rose and the time for him to leave came and went. Responsibilities be damned, he intended to buy as much time as he could to indulge in this stranger's touch, their kind words, their all-consuming kiss. Perhaps he would never see them again after this. He wanted to leave with no regrets. For as long as he stayed here, with them, he was free. And Wolfwood realised this was what living truly felt like. He had never felt so alive. So human. Everything else could wait as he burned all of this to memory. All of them to memory. He wanted to preserve every ounce of their being within his mind, so that long after he was gone, he could remember how it felt to be free.

[poormeowmeowcollector]

Trying To Balance With A Part Of Yourself Missing

Summary: Thor bargains with Odin on Loki's sentence, and he wins. Loki is moved with the Avengers to fix his past mistakes. But Odin's term changes everything, and Loki's foe is not their mistakes, but their self-image.

Warnings: each chapter has individual, the work in general is pretty dark

Notes: When a dialogue of Loki is in bold, he is speaking English. And when a line is in italics without a dialogue, it's an intrusive thought.

Chapter 5: The Doctor

Chapter summary: Banner takes Loki for the tests.

Warnings: Language, gender dysphoria, gender dysmorphia, internalized racism, intrusive thoughts, needles, blood, medical themes, mentions of child neglect [not on screen], mentions of self harm [not on screen]

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This time, Friday wakes them up, reminding them of the appointment with Banner. Loki groans and drags himself out of the bed and into the bathroom, it's better to get rid of that smell, at least for as long as it can hold.

At least Loki doesn't have to look at their body as they wash themselves, an advantage of blindness they didn't think of until now. Still, being forced to touch all the time is unpleasant and uncomfortable to no end. And trying to wash his hair without scratching his hands on the horns or his claws scratching his scalp is a task unimaginably difficult.

Loki now understands why Jötnar run around naked, wearing a shirt with these horns is almost impossible. But, they must hide the chest plate, at least from everyone but Thor. And Banner, after the examination. And, shit, he probably has to take breakfast with them…

They sigh and glance at the mirror, only to make sure they don't look so much for a mess. His appearance is acceptable, so he takes the now charged earpiece and walks away, wearing it as Friday starts instructing.

A hand touches their shoulder, making them flinch away. Thor, the owner of the hand, mutters something, probably an apology, but he can't hear it thanks to Friday. They take a breath out and smile at Thor, muttering a good morning. Thankfully, Friday stops talking.

"How are you feeling? You look…" Thor trails off, trying to appear as polite as possible.

"F-f-feverish? It's fi-fine, just-just a b-bad day," he brushes off, suddenly glad that he doesn't need Friday's translations.

"But, you're ill," Thor argues, making Loki sigh.

"I'm not-not, it's a bad d-day," they answer.

"Loki, you can't fool me. You're unwell, why don't you admit it?" he groans. Truth be told, Loki rarely admits any weakness with ease. As long as one can walk, there's no need for whining, Odin had said countless times and Loki never stopped obeying.

"I d-d-do. It's a b-bad da-day," he speaks slowly and as clearly as possible.

"Loki, you're having a fever. It's not just a bad day, and you are allowed to admit that you're ill. Please," Thor begs, actually begs. If Loki wasn't so pissed off, they'd be touched.

He pulls Thor closer, mostly to maintain some secrecy. "I am on m-m-my pe-pe-period," they hiss, watching as Thor's last brain cell comes to life.

"Oh… well, this explains the irritability of yours, brother. You know your patience always runs low these days," Thor nods, all matter-of-factly. Loki has to take deep breaths and remind themselves again and again that murder is a convicted crime, and they should not get locked up in a Midgardian prison. Or any prison, anytime soon.

Luckily, Thor remains silent after that. The only one who breaks the silence is Friday, reminding Loki that he can't eat before a blood test, or the results will not be accurate. Fine, they didn't really feel hungry anyway.

Perhaps, if you skip today's food entirely, you'll lose that disgusting bloating of yours. He tries hard to not grimace at the thought. No, they have to remind themselves, it will leave after a few days, it always does. Just do the damn tests and then eat, it's not that hard.

When they reach the kitchen, Loki can feel eyes on him and a mix of confusion and irritation in the air. Alright, just stay quiet and it will pass.

Wanda mutters a good morning, her magic swirling around her like some form of shield or blanket. Loki repeats the wish, forcing a smile. They don’t know which is worse, the jealousy building up or the guilt over the last time they listened to that feeling.

Thor helps him find a chair in the bright chaos, and even pulls it. For fucks sake, they're not unable to sit on a fucking chair! He tries to prove it by being the one who adjusts it on the table.

"Morning, dude. How're you feeling?" a man asks, Wilson. Just by his voice, he sounds kind, less judgemental.

"Fine, thank you for asking," they answer, plastering another fake smile (one of the best skills being a prince has given them).

Still, Wanda is seeing through it and attempts to find out, by using a simple mind invading spell. One that makes the base of Loki's skull feel ablaze. As loud as he can, he thinks of the word stop, making Wanda pause and retreat, her curiosity replaced with shame.

Then, a conversation occurs. Loki doesn't want to take part, but the combination of the voices and Friday's translations is overwhelming, making his head pound. Friday catches the message and stops translating, but the voices are still too fucking loud. Loki sighs and decides to just take a sip of water, and see if it'll help, but it turns to ice before it touches their lips. But fuck, he's thirsty and in pain.

A hand touches their shoulder, and they jump up, turning around to see a short person dressed in purple. "Are you ready for the tests?" He asks, Banner. Loki nods and gets up, pardoning himself before walking away.

"Are you okay?" he asks, making Loki groan.

"Wh-wh-wh-why does e-e-everyone ask me-me if I'm okay? I'm f-f-fine!" they snap, stopping only after feeling Banner freeze.

"I asked because you looked like you were about to start crying over there. No offence, they can be loud sometimes, but you didn't seem like you were taking it well," he answers, half expecting his skull to be crushed. But Loki is just ashamed he didn't hide the pain better.

"N-n-n-none t-taken. Noise is not exactly we-we-we-welcome, and I used to to-to-tone it down w-w-with spells. Now, I c-c-c-can't," they explain, just beginning to collect themselves.

"You know, you can ask Friday to deafen, if you use the earpieces. It helps," he suggests. Loki nods, happy with the silence that they fall into. At least Banner doesn't feel like he has to talk all the time, even though he's nervous. He's still afraid of him, even though it's not necessary any more.

The lab is a fucking bright room, Loki has to cover their eyes and let Banner navigate them, after lowering the lights.

During the examination, Loki comes to realize that Asgard and Midgard are opposite when it comes to healing. First, Banner promises secrecy, any information stays private until Loki asks for a leak, or in a life or death situation. And then, he just asks about everything and listens to the answer. No doubt, no comments and no painful examinations with leeches or smelly potions that make people’s skin pink. Well, the examination on light sensitivity was painful, and Loki swears to piss on the grave of whoever thought a flashlight in the eyes is a good idea, but the rest were fine.

When he was young, Odin would not easily believe Loki, no matter what. The times when they were forced in hunts that were leaving them in the healing wing for weeks or feasts until they faint on their plate due to fever are uncountable. The show would usually begin with Loki faking the illness because he’s lazy, come to its climax when Loki would be deemed delicate and weak while being tossed in the healing wing and the parade of hypocrisy would end after Loki returns to his chamber only to be forgotten there. Loki learned two lessons from this. One, if they can stand up, they're not ill, and they shouldn't bother other people with whining. And two, if he's truly ill, it's wiser to deal with it on his own than let others draw conclusions.

The change feels so odd, yet it’s so welcome.

Until the time for the blood test.

"Just follow my instructions, I'll make it as painless as I can," he promises, and then instructs Loki to lift their sleeve and show the armpit, the non-dominant one. Loki doesn't show his nervousness, and tries to appear as cold as possible when he reveals the hand, and everything he's done to it. Banner doesn't comment and doesn't show pity, but his skin grows just green enough for Loki's eyes to notice.

The other instructions were easy. Clench the fist, breathe in, breathe out and relax the hand. Banner is surprised to say the least when he sees the tube filling with blue liquid instead of red, but doesn't comment.

Do you think he could bleed you dry and be done with this shit show? Loki hitches a breath and clinches their stomach, stopping when the sound of something breaking and a hot pain blooms in their arm. Did he freeze the tube and break the needle?

Banner fetches something from a table and grabs Loki's hand, muttering something about getting the needle out. Loki hisses from the pain, and manages to freeze Banner's glove, but he still covers their hand with gauzes. The white starts turning blue and freezing in some parts, Banner is about to do something about it but Loki hums a no.

"Do you want to try again?" he asks, Loki could feel how he was expecting a negative answer. But he nods a yes and covers his right hand, so he’ll uncover the left one and clench. This time, they don't dare looking at the needle and mentally play some random songs for a distraction. Banner tells him to clench again, and then gives him some cotton to press in the hole before he vanishes behind some machine.

"What were you humming?" Banner asks, making Loki's face go ablaze.

"I… em… a song," they mutter, and mentally berate themselves for the lack of words. Banner laughs, but not out of malice. And he hands over a paper box and a bag. Loki stares at him and tilts his head, but Banner tries to brush it off as "something that's always done when someone gets a blood test". As if Loki is also a fool, apart from blind.

They're about to get dismissed and leave when Friday tell them via the earpiece that Banner will ask questions when he sees the test results. Loki sighs, it's better to be the one who tells him, right?

"Ba-banner, about th-th-the te-te-te-test, y-you may so-see some… abnormalities in th-th-the tests. It's n-normal, yet-yet-yet uncomfortable," they trail off, feeling confusion on Banner's side instead of clarity.

"Would you mind being more specific? I need to know what to ignore,"

"Hormonal, m-mostly… on, em…" he groans in frustration, feeling like an absolute fool, "on me-me-menstruation hormones… and y-y-yes, I kn-know wh-what it implies. B-but, d-don't tell anyone, only Th-th-th-thor knows," they get it out, waiting for a myriad of feeling emit from Banner. But he just makes a small oh sound and hands over another paper package.

"I guess you'll find them easier than tampons. If you finish them, just come to me. Don't try to steal Nat's, you'll be disappointed, and possibly earn a chinned tooth," he smiles, but Loki can sense the warmth from saying Romanov's name. Love, he concludes, what a complication when towards your co-worker, from what he's heard.

"W-w-w-we're done?" they raise an eyebrow and look down at Banner, glad he doesn't look afraid. Interesting, just enough inspection, and he isn't afraid any more. What a gullible scientist.

"Friday will find anything we missed, and she can help Tony make you some glasses, if you decide you want them, or inspect the brain damage from the other guy," he answers. Loki nods and is about to turn around, before thinking twice about the answer he got.

"W-w-wait, wh-wh-wh-what brain d-damage?" they blink. Apart from the nightmares, thoughts, flashbacks, headaches and general fuckery, his brain works perfectly. Well, perfectly might be an exaggeration, but the Hulk hasn’t done anything.

"You're telling me you walked around with a dead ear since the Attack and didn't notice?" Banner is now the one to raise an eyebrow.

"I w-w-was in so-so-solitary c-c-confinement until y-y-yesterday. Not much to h-h-h-hear," they explain. But… he should have heard Thor coming today in the corridor…

"Yeah, your left ear is dead, or the nerves getting messages from there to your brain. You can thank the other guy, and there's nothing to be done," he isn't exactly mild on announcing another damage on this throughout fucked up body, but it doesn't exactly matter. So, they just nod and go back to hiding under their sheets, but this time they make Friday play some music, just to cover up the silence.

~~~~~~

Taglist: @lucywrites02 @electroma89 @the-emo-asgardian @rorybutnotgilmore @hybrid-in-progress @weirdfangirl2416 @darkacademicfrom2021 @nicoistrying

[nonsensicalobsessions]

Tom & the Cookie Monster Take 2

Author’s note: @villainousshakespeare , this idea came and hit me like a brick. Hopefully it did not leave any lasting damage, nor will it give you any by reading it. Anyway, you requested: “May I please have a Tom himself fic (since you are so good at those!) maybe something set during the Broadway run of Betrayal?“ I do not know if this will live up to your praise, as this is but a shortie, but I hope you enjoy, here is your promised prompt, my dearest friend:

Two male Hiddlestons made their way through the hallway towards their apartment door. One was prancing, sprightly and happy. The other was proceeding at a trudge.

Tom was tired, and he had every reason to be. It was Saturday night, which meant there had been the matinee production, as well as the evening show of Betrayal. And while the show was going extremely well, the pace was still grueling some days.

Like today. And yesterday’s. And last week’s...

He rifled through his keys, snickering as he remembered how one fan he spoke to was under the assumption he was living in a penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue. Erm, no. He had quite a nice furnished flat, in a secure building where he did not have to be concerned any random fan could interrupt his rare moments of private life, but it was simply a nice flat. And at the moment, one of his neighbors was evidently baking biscuits, and his stomach growled.

And not just any biscuits, but chocolate chip biscuits. Damn it. Now he was hungry, and even though he knew of at least half a dozen places that would deliver even at this hour, he was tired, and didn’t feel like interacting with anyone. He wished to take his public face off, just as he had removed his stage make up a couple of hours ago, but then went and spent the time afterwards doing stage door appearances for his fans. Which he loved doing. But now, he just felt drained.

As he found the right key, Bobby was sitting at the door obediently, but Tom could see the dog was all but vibrating to be let in. “Bob, what is it, man?” As Tom unlocked the door, Bobby let out a joyous bark and sped in so rapidly Tom was grateful he had dropped the lead, or his shoulder would have suffered a hell of a jerk.

Tom walked in, his eyes bouncing quickly, dropping his bag and pulling out his phone in a reflexive action. While he had never had a fan break into any of his digs, it had happened to several of his friends, and his fingers were already preparing to call security, even as he recognized the smell of biscuits was even stronger now.

Apparently whomever Bobby had run to greet had baked for him. Which was a pretty decent thing to do, stalker-behavior aside.

“You forgot I was coming tonight, didn’t you?” The familiar female voice was amused, as her yet-to-be-seen form was bent over in the kitchen, acknowledging Bobby’s slavish adoration.

Oh, shit. He had.

He dropped his keys in the small dish she had given him to keep his keys when she learned he kept misplacing them.

“How much trouble am I in?” Even his voice was dull.

“Oh, honestly, Tom.” An arm came up from behind him, hugging his waist and brandishing a freshly baked treat, so fresh it was being held in a napkin. “If you’re so tired that you can’t even remember having given your extra key to someone for just this purpose, I think that speaks more to exhaustion than culpability. Have a cookie, Cookie. I made them just like the recipe printed on the bag, so I can’t have messed it up too badly...”

Then another hand snaked around his waist, this one bearing the body and face of none other than the Cookie Monster, who proceeded to menace the other hand’s bounty. “Delayed gratification, Hiddleston!!” Now the female voice behind him was growly and raspy. “No cookies for you, you must practice the art of...”

“Oh, fuck that,” quoth Tom, grabbing the napkin and spinning around to the laughing face of his baker-cum-stalker. “Get the hell away from my biscuits, Cookie Monster, and take your delayed gratification and get stuffed...”

“It’s a puppet, darling, I don’t think they can get stuffed...”

“No, but they can get a fist right up their...”

“Shut up, Tom, and eat your cookie! I am shocked, shocked and appalled by your uncouth behavior...” laughed Sabrina Wright, who was clearly neither shocked nor appalled.

Tom met Sabrina three months ago, when he did an impromptu visit at a children’s hospital as Loki, complete with costume. The entire event was kept under wraps and unpublicized, as it wasn’t sponsored by anyone. Chris Evans had come to the area to visit a friend who was facing surgery, and between him, Charlie Cox, and Tom, they hatched the idea. Then at the last minute, Brie Larson found out about the plan and came along as well.

The children were ecstatic and a “Marvelous time was had by all” as Tom kept saying later, much to everyone’s general disgust as they kept throwing things at him at his apartment...but Tom had noticed that while everyone, children, parents, siblings, and staff were excited and clamoring to be involved in the fun, there were a few patients that were just too ill to participate, and he and his friends made a point to leave some things aside for those kids to have, and to see if there was anything they could do for them once the furor calmed down.

There was one nurse that never joined in the carefully controlled chaos, but went about caring for, and ultimately consoling, the ones who wished to play but couldn’t, or were too ill to notice, or care. Tom saw her picking one child up, and simply rocking him in her arms in a rocking chair for awhile, rubbing his back, and apparently singing to him. He made a mental note to say hello to her as well. He knew there was always someone that had to stay behind and work when everyone was enjoying these kinds of parties, and he wanted to let her know he saw and was touched by the work she was doing with so much heart.

Once the brouhaha and the dust settled, Loki stepped aside, found Nurse Sabrina, and asked if the other children would be interested in seeing the Marvel crew, and she grimaced.

“It’s very kind of you to inquire, uh, Loki, if you and your...cohort would like to perhaps wave at the children from the doorway if they are awake, that would be fine, but that is the most I can allow. They really are quite sick.”

Chris stepped up. “Is it all right if we leave them some signed posters and things like that?”

“Cap, I know that would make them very happy, even if we have to put them up outside of their rooms, looking in...!”

Loki looked into the room where he had seen the little boy Sabrina had rocked. He seemed so frail... “Erm, that little boy...will he be alright?”

Sabrina’s face buttoned up. “I’m afraid I cannot comment on his prognosis, Loki. I will say...I wish you had healing powers. For all of these children, obviously...but especially for him. He was so distressed he could not come out and see you, in particular. He thinks you are, ah, badass. I do not bother correcting his more colorful speech. It’s not relevant.”

“I see. Is he awake?”

“Yes, he is, but I cannot allow you to go in...”

“I understand...tell this young Midgardian to expect a visit in a few minutes...”

One of the giveaway items they had was a small t shirt, which Tom had signed by both characters and actors, and then proceeded to his room.

Small Tim Curran was wondering why Nurse Sabrina had come in, and insisted that she comb his hair, and wash his face...and then...

“Midgardian.”

“Holy sh...smokes,” the little boy breathed. Standing in the doorway was none other than the OG, the badass himself... “Loki?”

“I understand you are unwell and as such I am not to enter your presence. I would not wish to undermine your recovery. However, I come bearing gifts.”

Sabrina entered, grinning from ear to ear, and showed him the T-shirt. Loki had even doodled his face next to his name. “I have embued it with as much healing seidr as possible. I do not know if it will be effective against your Midgardian illness, but I do know it will aid your prodigious courage and strength, provided you heed the instructions of Healer Sabrina, and all others who are working in your aid.”

Captain Marvel, Captain America, and Daredevil also spoke to him personally, adding what qualities they added to his shirt.

Tim was in heaven, and as Sabrina was looking at his vitals, saw he was getting over excited, and thought she would have to cut the visit short, but seeing as she was getting concerned, the actors all proclaimed they needed to depart to return to their duties.

Tim fell asleep that night clutching his shirt, and would not be parted from it. Loki would be pleased to know it did impart healing powers, because it brought the little boy so much happiness...

Tom called Sabrina the next day, and asked if there was anything else he could do for the children in the wing, and Sabrina replied they were still very excited, and he had done more than enough. She was very grateful. She was also very thankful he called to speak with her personally, not because she was flattered on a personal standpoint (although she was) but because her superiors in administration would be quick to turn it into a publicity request or worse, a financial one).

Tom shyly admitted he did have an ulterior motive for asking to speak with her personally...he wanted to know if he could see her sometime.

Something about the small nurse had gotten under his skin. Maybe it was the way she stuck to the background the entire afternoon, even when everyone was getting into the big group photo. Maybe it was the way she never asked for a thing herself, even when they were all speaking casually and privately at the end, when she easily could have. No one would have minded, and even Evans and Larson commented on it over pizza and beer later that evening, how she didn’t ask for a selfie, an autograph, nothing, even though she was as friendly and pleasant as old be...

Cox noticed how Tom blushed when Evans joked about he couldn’t get over someone didn’t want to get a photo with the man who saved New York, or the bastard that almost destroyed it. Cox noticed everything...as he was leaving for the night, he asked Tom, “Are you going to try to get Nurse Ratched’s phone number?”

Tom had flared, “Don’t do that. Don’t make fun of her.”

Cox grinned. “Ah hah. So that’s the way the wind is blowing...” and walked away, whistling.

Coffee became an exchange of What’s App phone numbers. Both of them worked long hours, so texting was a godsend. Texts became marathon phone calls at odd hours of the day, which became meetings in strange places to avoid the paparazzi, until they stumbled into each other’s arms, and each other’s beds.

Sabrina was like no one Tom had ever met: calm, compassionate, cheerful, and not giving a tinker’s damn about the industry, gossip columns, and all the rest of it. When he hesitantly pointed this aspect of her personality out to her she looked at him as though he was something of interest under a microscope.

“Sweet man, I act like I don’t care because I truly don’t. It’s completely irrelevant. Unimportant. Trifling. I have held children’s beating hearts in my hands while doctors have desperately tried to sew them back together in operating rooms because bullets ripped through their little bodies and their bedrooms in housing projects. I’ve held hysterical parents back as they’ve tried to somehow willtheir dying children back to life as they take their last breaths. I’ve held newborns in my hands as they have been only seconds old, and I have held children in my arms as they’ve breathed their last. That, to me, is real. That is life. And it comes wrapped up in tears and laughter and vomit and shit and blood and love and love and love. If some paparazzi, interviewer, man on the street, or tabloid tried to give me shit for loving you, ask me how much I’d care? The answer is not at all. It’s not going to change my mind, or my life.”

Tom knew, then, he had found his one, the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and grow old with, maybe even have a family of his own with...the question was, would she want the same...?

“...Tom? Tom?...Earth to Major...oh, you know what? Forget about it, Major Tom has crashed, Houston, we have a problem,” sighed Sabrina looking at her lover who had fallen asleep on the sofa still clutching part of a cookie he had yet to finish.

“Well, Bobby, it looks like another night of delayed gratification for me...good thing he’s so cute, and I happen to love the charming beanpole,” she commented wryly, only to see that Bobby was also lying on the floor asleep...and farting.

“Good God, what is it with the Hiddleston men tonight, I wonder?” Laughing quietly, Sabrina got up and made sure the bed was ready (and not in the hapless disarray of clothing tossed all around, which was not usual but happened enough to be worthy of a check). She turned down the covers and made sure there was a bottle of water on Tom’s nightstand.

As she was doing this, Tom woke up with a jerk, and he looked around for Sabrina. He wasn’t quite awake, wasn’t asleep, and Sabrina wasn’t there...she wasn’t there, she had finally done it, come to her senses and left him, he had forgotten she was coming to spend the weekend with him, one the rare occurrences she had the entire weekend off, and then he goes and falls asleep on her, no, noton her, but next to her like a right pillock, as if she wasn’t even there...no, no...he knew it was going to happen eventually, she was too lovely a person to put up with him and his bullshit, the way he was so self-absorbed and caught up in his own problems and life, she was right, she dealt in the real world, and...

He put his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, Sabrina...so sorry. You deserved better, but I loved you the best I could,” he whispered. “I gave you all the heart I have...”

“What’s this then?” A soft voice, sweet like melted chocolate, soothing as a warm kiss...

“Sabrina!” His head shot up so quickly she winced at the cracking sound from his neck, and then saw his reddened, swollen eyes.

“Ah, love, what is it? Nightmare?” She came and extended her hand to him. “Come with me, you’re exhausted, and we’ll cuddle.”

“You’re still here.”

She looked at him tolerantly. “Yes, Tom. Still here. Complete with my Cookie Monster puppet, just to drive you mad. Come to bed. I’ll snuggle with you and chase the bads away, I promise. The only monster here is the blue one eyeing your cookies, and I’ve put him away.”

He took her small hand, and smiled. “There will be no delayed gratification in this house. We will enjoy the things we love, and live the one life we have to its fullest...no longer am I going to delay giving my heart what it desires most...I shall be bold, and decisive...Bobby, you have my express permission, nay, encouragement, to destroy the Cookie Monster, and anything else that dares come between myself and my love...”

Yes. He would be bold. Tomorrow, he would ask her if she would consider becoming a permanent star in his sky, he would stop living in fear of her disappearing the moment he closed his eyes, he would throw caution to the four winds, and belay any idea of delaying his happiness, and hopefully, hers, for any reason, a moment longer. There would be declarations made, and promises, and...

He tripped over his shoes.

“Careful! Harsh, Tom, very harsh...and Bobby, don’t you dare.” They turned off the lights and made their way to bed, Tom sleepily stripping along the way, making Sabrina laugh. “Ah, what the world to pay to see this strip show...”

“Quiet, Woman. This is not a strip show, this is a ritual divestiture of armor.”

“Uh huh,” she skeptically agreed, looking at the trail of clothes behind him. “So, if I was to get undressed like that...”

“Ah, now that would be a strip show, and a lovely one, indeed...”

“Sexist double standards...here, sit down, I will tuck you in...”

“Promise?”

“Tom!”

The naughty little boy expression he gave her was ruined by his yawn he could barely cover. Sabrina laughed as she quickly undressed and put on her sleep clothes, only to be greeted by Tom’s gentle snore the moment she turned out the light. He was so very tired. She was glad he could relax, and find some rest.

And while yes, it was definitely a night for delayed gratification, they had the whole weekend to look forward to sharing. She, for one, was so looking forward to bringing out the Cookie Monster puppet in the morning...maybe as part of a wake up call...

Tagging @villainousshakespeare , @winterisakiller , @vodka-and-some-sass , @lotus-eyedindiangoddess , @just-the-hiddles , @yespolkadotkitty , @hopelessromanticspoonie , @theheartofpenelope , @sabine-leo , @wegingerangelica , @ciaodarknessmyheart , @wrathkitty , @rhemasky , @catsladen​ @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ , @redfoxwritesstuff​ , @the-insomniac-cat2​ , @alexakeyloveloki​ , @myoxisbroken​ , @ladyfluff​ , @toomanystoriessolittletime​

[fan-art-ic]

@interstellarvagabond had this hella great fic idea for our Sophomore Jack au (@sophomore-jack) and so we stayed up till 2am creating this beautiful mess of stress.

Hope you like.

TW: Hallucinations, Cursing, Disassociation

“So, I saw ya skipped class again today,” Scottie said in a suspiciously casual voice.

Jack narrowed his eyes and looked up from his bed. “…yes?”

He hoped Scottie would drop the subject soon, so he could stay safe in his fortress of blankets. Unfortunately, this did not happen.

“And breakfast, and lunch, and the class after that,” Scottie continued, pausing to make an intrigued humming noise. “I see a pattern here, laddie.”

Really, no shit Scottie.

“Well that is what tends to happen when one doesn’t feel well,” Jack turned away toward the wall. Maybe if he tried actively ignoring Scottie the questioning would stop.

“You’ve been feeling unwell a lot lately,” Scottie said. His pointed tone was not lost on Jack. He considered telling Scottie to simply fuck off, but he was trying to be better than that. Trying not to be…he wanted to be a good person. He really did.

Inhale, exhale, breathe.

“Well,” Jack began and sat up, “it is unfortunate that my studies are suffering, but this bout of sickness will pass in time. Plus,” he raised an eyebrow and spread his hands out, “what would you have me do? Go to the nurse’s office?”

Checkmate.

“Well, not exactly,” Scottie said. “The nurse’s office is for people who are actually physically sick, laddie, and I got a feelin’ yer illness ain’t so physical.”

Okay, note: don’t play chess.

Jack grinded his teeth, feeling them scraping against each other almost painfully. The muscle in his jaw jumped.

“Scottie, I truly appreciate your concern, but my well-being is not something that you should trouble yourself with.”

“Well maybe if ya stopped being so troubling!” Scottie was pacing now, not anxiously but more like a cat ready to pounce. Or at least, so it seemed to Jack. He found he could not often trust his perception of things these days.

Scott halted and whipped around, pointing a finger at Jack. “Jack, you’ve been a mess ever since the beginning of the year. Last year ended with ya relatively mentally okay, but it seems ya not only backtracked, but ya slid miles backwards-” Scottie’s voice got louder with each word. “-and if ya don’t get help soon, I’m not sure what’s going to happen!”

“You are not my therapist,” Jack reminded his friend in a sharp tone.

“Aye, and a good thing I’m not,” Scottie came over to the bed, staring Jack down. “I don’t have the training or the knowledge. But ya know what I do have?” Scott sat down about a foot away from Jack on his bed, “I do have a set of ears.”

Oh my god that is Too close.

“You seem to use your mouth quite a bit more.” Jack edged away from his friend ever so slightly, hoping it would not look as if he was retreating.

It did.

“Jack, ya can’t run from me, laddie,” Scottie said. “Ya can’t push me away, though I know yer sure as hell trying.”

Jack’s brow furrowed. Why would someone continue to associate themselves with someone that caused them so much pain and aggravation? Why was Scottie still here? Still trying to drag his sorry ass out of bed? Still trying to give the murderer redemption?? Still trying to be his friend?

What a fool.

How could Jack even have friends now?

Sticking his nose where it does not belong. This is my business.

He didn’t deserve a friend who would care so much for him even after all he’s done.

“I’m still here, laddie,” Scottie said, noticing that Jack’s mind had gone miles away. Jack felt his blood grow hot.

Unfortunately.

“Are you just gonna sit in bed all day, runnin’ away from yer problems like some ninny?” Scottie asked, his voice harsher than he meant.

“Stop…” Jack muttered.

“This isn’t Ryou Sakai, the honor student, ass-kicking, friend-helping, health-advocating, gym rat, respect-giving friend I used to know!”

“I told you to stop!” Jack growled, his head was spinning. It felt as though a million wasps were stinging at his skin and buzzing in his ears, there was too much at once.

S T oP sT oP STOP S T O   P.

“The Jack I knew would be ashamed to see you here,” Scottie didn’t want to be cruel, but he knew Jack would just shut down if he kept pulling punches. He had to get a reaction, had to make him see.

Excuse me?

Jack screamed, a wordless primal yell, and lunged for his friend. Jack in his sophomore year, eating regularly and training everyday, had been near-lethal when he wanted to be. Jack in his junior year, starving, sleep-deprived, weak, plagued by hangovers…

His punch almost comically bounced off Scottie’s barrel chest. Scottie raised a ginger eyebrow, not sure if he was unimpressed or severely concerned, as Jack just proved his point.

“Ya see?” he said, gesturing to where the punch had landed. “That’s not a Jack punch. Remember when ya taught Malik how to throw a proper punch? Yer worse than he was back then.”

Scottie took a deep breath. If Jack was too emotional for words right now, then they’d settle this with a brawl. “Now this, this is how ya throw a punch!”

Wha- Scottie’s punch smashed into Jack, sending him sprawling across the bed. To Jack, it felt like he’d just been hit by a train. In reality, Scottie hit him softer than he did when they would play-fight last year.

fUCK.

Jack surged back to his feet, not a graceful fluid motion like he’d been taught by his father, but a jerky grappling with his own body and the bed in a desperate attempt to right himself. He tackled Scottie, somehow managing to push the larger boy back a few inches.

Jack started a barrage of punches, each one growing faster, angrier, weaker. He gave a near-incoherent scream. “Why won’t you leave me!”

“I’ll leave ya be when ya don’t need me,” Scottie said, putting Jack in a headlock.

“No!” Jack said. “Not leave me be…leave me!”

A scream tore itself from Jack’s throat and in a surge of desperation he broke free and scrambled off the bed and onto the floor. He stood, his head dropping, hands weakly in fists. Each limb looked as if it was suspended from a marionette string.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw again the vision of himself. The him he used to be. The blue phantom that stood taller than him, stronger than him, better than him. Judging him.

“Why…. won’t….. you just…. leave….” Jack gasped as he swayed. “Why do you stay…when I am this?”

What does you w a n t from me?

Jack gave a small, broken laugh as he gestured at himself and then at the phantom. He stared imploringly into Scottie’s eyes, not even registering the fearful concern growing on the other’s face.

“Perhaps he stays because he lives here? You’re just a burden to him. You’re the one who should leave.” his other self hissed, taunting him. “Oh, wait, I forgot, you live in your bed now don’t you? Pathetic.”

Jack weakly waved a dismissive hand at the hallucination, as if he could make it disappear.

“Who’s there now, laddie?” Scottie asked, looking at the empty patch of air that Jack kept glancing towards.

“The Ryou Sakai you miss so much,” Jack said, his voice both angry and heavy with the tears beginning to drip down his face.

Jack felt a wet drop on his hand and looked at it, startled, and raised the hand to his face.

Huh, he was crying.

“You can’t even have a conversation without bawling about it like a dumb baby?” The blue image flickered and got in his face giving a snort of disgust.

“How disgraceful.”

Like a flame, it contorted until the facial features no longer resembled Jack. At first, it was just a warped image of himself, but a new face began to form.

It was the man he killed, it was the woman he let die, it was his father staring down at him with eyes that burned like embers.

The blood from that childhood memory so long ago dripped down his face.

“Our actions are what define us, my son,” Jack’s father rasped. “And your actions define you as a murderer.”

A m u r d e r e r.

Jack sank to his knees, his throat too raw to scream again. He didn’t know when he became aware of it, but suddenly he was leaning against Scottie. His friend was trying to right him from his rag-doll limpness, but Jack did not want to stand and face himself. He wanted to lay down and sink through the floor through the building through the dirt and sink forever never stopping and I can’t breaTHE-

“Jack, yer hyperventilatin’.”

Jack gasped wildly for breath, eyes flying open and tears springing forth. He clawed at Scottie’s arm and the ground, grasping for a tether.  Scottie grabbed Jack’s clawing hand, as if he knew what it was Jack was looking for.

Jack still scratched the carpet weakly and Scottie grabbed the other hand and gathered Jack in his arms, holding him tightly. The pressure calmed Jack, instantly flinging him back into reality. He could feel his breath evening out, albeit slowly.

Jack inhaled deeply and held it for almost a minute. He exhaled heavily and his shoulders shook as Jack burrowed his head into Scottie’s chest.

…fuck….

His whole body felt limp and light, it was as if he could float away. His cheeks were still tear-stained and he could taste salt on his lips.

“How do ya feel, laddie?” Scottie asked.

“…you never said, why you stay,” was all Jack found he could say.

Please tell me.

Scottie sighed and shifted his hold on Jack, holding tighter. “You’re my friend, Jack. Friends help friends. Isn’t that enough?”

“How can you still call one such as I your friend?” Jack asked. “How can you still look me in the eyes and feel anything but disgust, anger…or fear?”

Or hatred?

Scottie looked down, incredulous. “Sure I get angry when ya don’t eat or disgusted when ya don’t have a shower in a week, but fear? Not with those kitten punches.”

When Jack didn’t laugh Scottie sighed. “But seriously, laddie. I’m not afraid of you because I know I can trust you. You can trust me too, ya know.”

Trust……

Jack stiffened and nearly pulled away, but was too weak to break from the hug.

“No ya don’t laddie, I want some god-fucking answers we didn’t do this so you could fuck off,” Scottie pulled him back in, ensnaring Jack.

Jack groaned and gave up any attempt of escape.

“This isn’t a short or pleasant tale,” he warned. The cautionary had little effect as it was muffled by Scottie’s shirt.

“It’s not a story I’m lookin’ for, laddie” Scottie said.

Jack glanced up with dread pooling in his gut. “What would you like to know?”

“Well we can start with ‘are you going to leave the room today?’ or ‘when did you last eat?’ but mostly what I wanna know is are you going to be okay?” Scottie asked.

Jack gave a small huff. “I do not know, I do not remember, and that is a very complicated question, my friend.”

“Don’t re- don’t know??” Scottie rolled his eyes, but his exasperation seemed to be a mask for concern. “Okay, how about this, can I remind you to eat and sleep and bathe every now and then? Without ya feelin’ like yer privacy is being invaded?”

Jack gave a breathy laugh. “I would not object to that.”

“Sure ya say that now, but ya were objecting quite a bit earlier!” Scottie teased.

Jack gave an indignant nudge with his head.

The pair sat in silence. Unlike earlier, it was not a tense or oppressive silence, but a comforting one where both individuals are momentarily content.

Of course, Scottie was the one to break the silence.

“Did ya at least enjoy hitting me?” Scottie asked. “I know you’ve been wanting to do that a lot lately.”

Jack chuckled. It was small, quiet, and half-hearted, but it was enough of a laugh to make Scottie smile hopefully.

“I think I hurt my hand more than I hurt you,” Jack said. “I really have…” he trailed off, thinking about what he had become.

“Been slacking on the protein? Aye, but we can fix that.” Scottie winked. “There’s this amazing thing called ‘eating’ I’ll show you sometime.”

“Perhaps after I discover this amazing thing called ‘showering’?” Jack suggested with a half-smile.

“Or the miracles of shaving!” Scottie laughed.

“You do not like the beard?” Jack asked, feigning a wounded tone.

“Ya look like ya have a drowned wild rat on yer face,” Scottie said. “I was more afraid of it than you when we were fighting!”

Okay, fuck you.

Jack glared at his friend, but he could feel his spirits lifting as their banter took on its usual light-heartedness.

He looked back to his bed, the dual fortress and prison he had been hiding in for so long now. Jack could feel a weight in his stomach that told him this was not the end of things. No, he could not punch or hug away all of his problems. However, he felt more secure in his friendships. He could at least stay close to the people he cared about without feeling guilty or afraid he was losing them. Maybe that was a start.

Jack stood, ignoring the blue flickers in the corner of his vision.

“Ya feel better, laddie?”

Jack looked down at his companion, at Scottie. A man two years his senior who had only been kind to him throughout this whole ordeal and hadn’t complained once. Jack’s friend.

Jack gave a tired, but full smile. “I do. Thank you.”

Scottie stood and clapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “That’s good to hear, Jack.” He pulled them in for another, shorter hug.

A start to what, Jack wasn’t sure.

But it was certainly good.