Yes Drop Them I Beg

yes drop them i beg

the ones that are finished/near finished are about to give everyone whiplash bc they're all mainly from different hyperfixations/personal eras 😭

Unlikely

A/n this is one of the fics i wrote that i then let sit in my drafts 😭,, also originally set this up to have a part 2 bc who can commit to a full one shot, that's part of the reason i left it in the drafts but with finals i thought i'd just post

Pairing: (first avengers) Loki x reader

Summary: Your enhanced abilities (that you can't quite control) make you the ideal candidate to keep an eye on Loki as he adjusts to staying at Avengers Tower. Unfortunately for you, he manages to see right through you almost immediately. It's also oddly life ruining that he's not exactly what you expected him to be.

----

You're not the first person that's ever considered killing Tony Stark in order to make their own lives easier, but you're probably the first person to consider it and have access to his usual morning coffee.

Not that you'd poison him. No, for this he deserves something slow and painful. Maybe you'd hit up Nat first to get some ideas.

"I'm not asking you to do this indefinitely." His sentence snaps you out of your fantasies of learning strange and untraceable Russian torture methods. You have to stop yourself from scoffing at the way Tony says asking. "Just...until things--"

"Settle?" You cross your arms in front of your chest, hating the way that this entire thing is starting to make you feel like a teenager arguing with a parent over chores or an unfair curfew. "He's a sociopath that you're letting live in the tower. The only settling is placing him literally anywhere else."

You're not one for black and white thinking. You understand that when it comes to anything involving the Avengers, there's room for morally grey and accidental loss. But that wasn't the Battle of New York.

Maybe if there was a way to wait, to keep Loki away until those that were most effected get a chance to lick their wounds and regroup. But letting him in so close to the aftermath Is insensitive and a major security risk.

"I--I won't help you do this." Your voice is decisive, your chin shifting forward less than inch as if to prove that your choice is set. "It's not fair to the people of New York, it--it's not fair to Barton."

"I'm not making you do anything." You raise an eyebrow at that. "I'm just asking you to keep an eye on Reindeer Games because of your--" Tony lifts a hand, exposing his palm and bending his fingers in an almost teasing imitation of the gestures you use to control your abilities, "Reindeer taming situation."

It's not meant to be mean. The powers you still haven't fully grasped have managed to restrain people like Loki before. Briefly, just long enough to call for backup or buy yourself a second to plan what to do next. You don't have the control you need to make it a fair fight, but it's something.

The reminder of what you can and can't do forces heat to crawl up your neck. You drop your arms, keeping your hands pressed firmly to your side.

"Having him here isn't my idea, Glow Stick." The familiar nickname makes your nose wrinkle. You're not fond of it, but it's easy going enough to distract you from your annoyance. "It's a favor for Thor."

The explanation eases you more than it should. Thor's surprisingly easy to get along with, and if Thor can see some redeeming quality in Loki, then there's at least some chance that he's not a completely lost cause. "Think of it like that--you like Thor, right?"

You sigh. Thor teaches you cool fighting moves and shares breakfast pastries with you and you're finally getting him to understand friendly gossip. You like Thor. He's a friend. "Not right now."

"I'll make sure to break his heart with that one the next time you two are giggling over breakfast."

You roll your eyes, fighting to hold down a smile. The laughter Tony's referencing had likely been at his expense.

----

You're not sure what the protocol is for when you're supposed to show a norse god around the superhero tower you call home, so you fall back on regular company rules. Not that you'd admit that to anyone that'd think to ask.

This is ridiculous. You're ridiculous. A few days ago he was trying to kill all of your relatively newly appointed team mates and friends and now you're making sure to straighten your comforter and hiding a basket of completed laundry that you made the mistake of not putting away immediately on the off chance that you'll have to awkwardly let him glance at your bedroom.

You're not sure how the first night's supposed to work. You don't know when he's getting here or how much surveillance is expected from you on Loki's first night. It would've been smart to get some details from Tony, but you had spent the bulk of your day avoiding him and keeping to your room.

At least you did think to put a hold on your kind of childish but mainly warranted sulking to have a short conversation with Thor about his brother. The main thing you gathered was that even though their bond is strange, you're certain it's more solid than either of them is aware of and that Loki read a lot as a child. It's not a lot to work with in terms of small talk meant to mask the fact that you're meant to be watching him, but at least it's something.

Besides, if the book shelf in your room is anything to go by, you can work with likes reading.

A soft knock snaps you out of your overthinking. "Come in."

Tony pushes open the door. A small part of you is surprised that he's the one at the door. It's not his presence that's strange, maybe he wants to give you some kind of run down before Loki gets here. The way he knocked, however, is weird. It was way too patient and professional.

You look at him oddly before your attention manages to shift to the person standing behind him. Loki.

Yeah, killing off Tony is back on the table.

It's one thing to have to play tour guide with the guy that just attacked New York and most of the people you care about...it's another to have Tony bring him to your room without any kind of warning.

"Y/n, Loki," Tony summarizes flatly, "Loki, Y/n." He sort of nods, a brief dip of his chin that seems to say that he's done all he's supposed to. "She'll show you around."

Even though this is being presented as factual, the whole thing feels painfully transparent. You're not sure what about it feels like a give away, but something about this feels way too artificial. Tony offers you a final look before turning to leave.

You adjust your posture. His silence and the way he carries himself makes it feel like you're intruding on his space instead of the other way around. It also doesn't help that he's objectively nice to look at. Which makes sense because he is a god, but it still feels unfortunate for you. It adds to the subtle intimidation of all of this.

"Hi," you finally say, voice even and as normal as you can manage. No one can say you handled this wrong if you just stick to the bare-bones of casual politeness. "I'm Y/n, like Tony said, and--"

His piercing eyes finally focus on you, overwhelming enough to pin you in time. The look only lasts a second, his eyes flitting downwards before focusing on something else in your room.

He passes the threshold of the doorway, entering your room, your space, with even, confident steps. You know that Thor and Loki are both royals, but Loki carries that authority differently than his brother. There's a sharpness to the way he wields it.

Loki passes you like your presence means very little in the grand scheme of things. Which, to him, it definitely does. He doesn't stop until he's close enough to your bookshelf to scan the titles comfortably.

"Now I know why I didn't see you on the battle field."

"Oh, I like reading, but I wasn't--" It takes a second longer than you'd like to admit to realize that the comment is somewhat a joke. A jab that's at least somewhat at your expense.

The real reason Loki didn't see you is because your abilities were proving unstable. Your focus was on protecting civilians and evacuating largely populated areas until the threat was cleared. It was similar to things that you had done in the past, similar enough that you knew you'd have total control.

"There was a lot going on," you mumble, "As one would expect when someone attempts to take over one of biggest cities in the world with an alien army."

Oh my god. You regret the sentence immediately. His actions definitely entitle you to some level of snark, but you're definitely not trying to start or trigger anything.

He turns his head enough to face you. His expression shifts, a slight raise of an eyebrows and an even slighter turn of his lips. You can't read enough to decide if that's a good or bad sign.

You hold his gaze for as long as you can. It feels like longer, but in reality, it's probably only two seconds. "That was--rude." It's as close to an apology as you can bring yourself to get.

Loki's attention shifts back to your bookshelf. With no warning, he extends a hand, carefully plucking one of your most well worn books from its usual place. He studies the cover, eyebrows pulling together as if the action requires that much deliberation.

His focus is another thing you can't figure out. You wonder if his cryptic behavior is natural to him or some form of dramaticism meant to make him even more intimidating.

"You can borrow that if you want." The comment leaves you before you realize that you've made the decision to speak. You blame it on the nerves caused by the extended silence. The urge to defend the comment is just as unavoidable, "Thor mentioned that he remembers you reading a lot."

He stiffens, the shift subtle yet sharp. Loki sets the book down quickly, like touching it in the first place had been some grave mistake. "That was a long time ago."

The way he says that almost does pull an actual apology from you.

----

Maybe if Tony had told you exactly what he meant by showing Loki around, you'd know where to go.

He's staying here, which means he should know the basics. The kitchen that bleeds into the living room, the training room, and the locker room. You don't think he'll be over utilizing any of these shared spaces more than necessary, but there's not much else to go over. He had told you that Tony already showed him his room...one coincidently on the same floor as yours.

You don't know what else there is to show him. The labs seem like a bad idea, but pretending that the Avengers don't exist at all feels awkward and naive. The lower clearance lab might be alright, there's nothing there except for things in the most preliminary stages of development. You're not even allowed to bring certain cauterizing lasers down there.

After some internal debate, you rule it out in favor of an office like space meant for strategizing. It's kind of lame and feels like a sort of 'baby proofed' version of actually showing him around, but it looks official enough that you think you can get away with it.

He follows you without question down the hall, the way he has this entire time. Loki doesn't even ask when you both wander away from what's clearly the residential area.

"Why are you showing me this?" The question almost makes you jump. He's spent the entire tour as silent as possible, only ever occasionally nodding in acknowledgement.

It's a fair question. This is a pretty random stop. "Uh--the office? I don't know, it's part--"

"No," he says, "Why are you showing me around?" Still not fully getting the question, you just blink. "Tony Stark is, unfortunately, not an idiot. He didn't pick one of the others, he picked you." Loki takes a partial step forward, a clear attempt to remind you of his height. "Why?"

Yeah, there's no way you're telling him the real reason it's you. My powers knocked out Wanda once for a few seconds and I messed with Thor's abilities for an even shorter amount of time...so Tony thinks it could work the same way for you if I really needed it to.

A small part of you is offended by the assumption that you couldn't possibly do anything to him. Though, you guess that's also part of the reason Tony wanted it to be you. "That's an overly presumptuous question." A flat, obvious response. "How do you know I'm not scarier than I look?"

He takes another step forward. He's just close enough to be too close. The realization makes an odd warmth crawl up your neck and the too familiar hiss of energy burn down your veins and into your palm. This is the oddest version of fight or flight that you've ever felt.

"Are you?" He punctuates the question with another small step forward.

You're not sure if you're capable of enough thought to answer. "Only when provoked."

Loki tilts his head slightly, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. The look twists your stomach. It makes you feel like he's won something. "What?"

His uncertain smile settles into a knowing smirk. "You can't control it."

It's as if all of the blood in your body freezes over. You didn't say anything. No one's said anything. There's no way he knows about what you can do, let alone the weaknesses that come from what you can't.

"What?" This time the question comes out as a scoff. You have to sound confused. You have to believe that you're confused.

The only indication that Loki heard you is the slight draw of his eyebrows that feels distinctly disappointed, like the mundaneness of your reaction's killing the fun for him. "I can help with that."

Even if you were comfortable announcing your powers to strangers, you would know better than to give any indication that you'd be willing to do that. But something about outright denial or brushing him off under the guise of pretend confusion doesn't feel like it'll settle this.

"I'm fine," you whisper, more to yourself than him, "I have it under control." Admitting that much is enough to make your skin crawl. "I was supposed to meet Natasha." A cheap, yet true enough excuse. You were planning on seeing her eventually, she's been working on teaching you different fighting moves. "I'll--I'll see you, I guess."

With that you walk past him without making eye contact. There's a lot you could think about, but the only thing your mind wants to focus on is why Loki being vaguely aware of your abilities makes you feel like you're precariously walking around shards of glass.

should i just drop all the fics i’ve been gatekeeping in my drafts out of insecurity

and if i start writing for loki,, then what

Of Angels

Part 2 of Of Angels (part 1)  

A/n we're back! also this is a friendly reminder that this isn't supposed to be exactly like the movie/book, some things will be a little different bc of practicality, my ability to remember things, or just for fun/for me bc i have more fun writing when i can change things up

Summary: After the very public slight of being assigned to mentor a female tribute from a lower district, all Snow can think about is the uphill battle that winning the Plinth prize will now be. Until, he realizes, that he's been given the first ever district volunteer who seems to have a quality that makes people care about her.

----

The potential consequences of Coriolanus's mistake don't fully manage to force their way to the front of his mind until the door clicks shut.

He's thrown himself, locked himself, in a contained space with the most savage and aggravated group of people in the Capitol. Just in an attempt to get you to trust him.

Coriolanus turns around as casually as he can manage, "Hello."

Unwashed faces blink up at him. Their expressions start off as blank, slowly but surely hardening as they take in his clothing and presence. Someone from the Capitol that isn't a peacekeeper.

One of the larger tributes begins to walk forward. The others glare at him, watching him with a silent rage that makes the space feel like it's shrinking.

The largest of them gets so close that Coriolanus has to push his body towards the vehicle's door. "Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you."

"Do you have any family back home?" The voice isn't strong, but it's so steady despite its smallness that one could mistake it for certainty. Despite the threat that stands in front of him, Coriolanus's attention instinctually shifts towards you. "Or any friends? Maybe a puppy you're fond of?" Your fingers are curled around the edge of the bench you're sitting on. "They'll kill them."

Your tone is too neutral for you to be speaking from personal experience, and yet, you sound so sure. Coriolanus wonders if there's something there worth digging into. Maybe it's just a byproduct of where you're from, a district that's prone to rebellion is often warned about what disobedience can lead to.

The tribute cornering him doesn't move away, but he stills, stiff and uncertain. You look between them innocently. "Besides, he's my mentor." Your hands loosen their grip on the edge of the bench, you push yourself to stand. "I might need him."

"Men-tle?" Another voice chimes in.

"Mentor."

"How come you get a mentor?" The tribute questioning Coriolanus's presence in association to you twists their neck to glare at you.

"You all get one," he forces the sentence out quickly. The last thing he needs to do is make you a target. Getting you to live is going to be enough of an uphill battle as is.

The tribute closest to him takes another intimidating step forward. "He's lying."

"She's the girl that volunteered," the red-headed girl from four--Coral, if he's remembering correctly--sneers, angling her head to glare at you, "Of course they need to keep an eye on her." She then dips her chin downwards, staring you down with mockingly soft eyes, "Is it everything you thought it'd be, princess?"

Volunteering did mark you. He wonders how many remarks you had to put up with on the way here and whether or not they've affected your mental state. The short exchange the two of you shared made you seem together. You weren't overly emotionally or even aggressively closed off.

The determined pout of your lips draws his attention more than it should. You then tilt your head with no warning, matching her condescending expression, "Better, actually."

You draw out the sentence, not once shrinking under District 4's cold stare. Coriolanus's expression instinctively shifts to hint at a smile. Your sarcasm isn't off putting or brash, it's refreshing. It's a flash of fight, of sharp teeth ready to be barred that he hadn't thought you capable of.

The display of potential aggression also doesn't affect your charm at all. Being able to strike back while still holding onto the appearance of kindness is a skill in itself. Coriolanus has to take everything on the cheek publicly to avoid coming off like a starving dog finally snapping.

Those kinds of remarks won't do you any favors in the arena unless you're the kind of person that has the physical strength or skill to back it up. You don't. It's more than just your stature, it's in the way you carry yourself. But still, maybe you'll be entertaining enough under this new structure to score him some points towards the Plinth prize. That is, if he can get you to trust him, if he can convince you to talk about your relationship with your cousin and maybe flash that smile you gave him when you first met for the cameras.

Coral's glare intensifies. She pushes herself to stand, as if to intimidate you, but before she can fully straighten, the world shifts.

Coriolanus doesn't have time to think. He's sliding--falling--back before he knows what's happening. A few of the tributes yelp, one of the younger ones squeaks. Something warm latches itself onto his wrist.

He blinks, his body finally reattaching itself to his mind. The vehicle opened and started dumping out its contents with no warning. In the panic, you had grabbed him.

The vehicle settles, anyone managing to hold onto the metal door looses their hold. Everyone tumbles down a small slope, a mess of bodies bumping into each other when they're not busy hitting the edge of rocks until they land in a heap on the ground.

Coriolanus sits up as soon as his back hits something solid. His head snaps around, taking in his surroundings. The space is made up of jagged, tan rocks coated in dirt. Bars line the perimeter--a cage. This is a cage. Of course following the animals leads to ending up in a cage.

Self disgust and panic knot oddly in his stomach. He stands before he can think of what comes next.

"And here we have them, the tributes for the 10th annual Hunger Games."

His eyes find the people already flocking the bars, the most notable one of them someone he's familiar with. Lucky Flickerman, a usual Capitol programming personality. This, his public humilation, is being streamed on television.

"Oh, and look--" Lucky turns towards him, the cameraman instinctually moving to get him into frame. Lucky turns back to the camera, addressing his audience, "I don't think he's supposed to be in there." He laughs then, the sound jabbing at Coriolanus's side.

An aggravated heat begins to burn through is chest. There's nowhere to duck, no excuse to remedy what he's done to the Snow family name.

"Hey." He blinks, surprised he didn't immediately jump out of his skin. How you stood up so silently is beyond him.

Coriolanus can't think of a way to respond. Here he is, in a cage on display with you, like he's one of the district born, and you're the one attempting to ease him. Confidence, assurance. That's what he should be providing you so that you feel the need to--

You place your hand over his. The contact runs just as hot as the humiliation searing through him, only, this is a different kind of warmth. A much steadier, much more agonizing sort of warmth.

His eyes finally find yours. You look more tousled than before, one of your hair ribbons missing and dirt smeared against the apple of your cheek. "Own it."

You whisper the instruction so confidently it almost feels like this is natural to you. Owning it does feel better than being consumed by his embarrassment and accepting the destruction of his family name, but part of the steadiness comes from you. The realization that you're capable of that claws at him.

He nods, eyes instinctually dropping to avoid your expectant stare. The white rose is still safely held between your fingers. He stretches a hand forward, taking the flower by its stem. Your eyebrows draw together, but you let him. Coriolanus breaks off the end of the stem and carefully tucks the flower behind your ear.

You hold still, even as he takes the time to smooth your hair into place.

"Well, that's not something you see every day." Lucky's voice snaps him out of it.

Coriolanus takes you by the arm, walking you up to the camera's. He keeps his expression as casually bright as possible. "I'm Coriolanus Snow."

"And who is she?"

He expects to have to answer that, but you give him your full name without missing a beat, your voice smooth and sweet like honey. "And who are you?"

The cameraman lets out a small laugh at your confusion. "Be nice," Lucky mumbles, "Not everyone has a TV." He then turns back to you, "I'm Lucky Flickerman, Capitol weatherman, TV personality..."

"Well, it's nice to meet you," Lucky says into his microphone, "You're the girl who volunteered."

Coriolanus watches your reaction as best he can from his peripheral vision. Your lips pull downwards slightly. There's something almost sad about it, but it's done in such a respectable manner that he can't imagine anyone minding it.

You confirm with a slight nod of your head, "Yes."

Lucky takes the microphone back, "Now why would you do a thing like that?"

For the first time, a hint of cracking presents itself in your expression. It's minor, just the pull of your eyebrows, but he can't help but hold his breath as he waits for your reply. "For my cousin."

"And she's back home, right? You're from 12?"

You nod again, the motion small, "Yes. She's with my mother, her aunt."

"Well, that was a very brave thing," he commends, almost surprisingly serious, "Not many people are willing to die in someone's place." Your expression wavers, Lucky moves on before it can matter. "And you're?"

"Coriolanus Snow," he says smoothly, "I'm a student at the Academy."

"And you were...told to come here?"

Coriolanus breezes past the speculation in Lucky's tone, "I was told to present my tribute."

Lucky nods, turning on the easy, camera ready smile, "And present her you did."

"Excuse me," a tiny voice mumbles. You instinctually look down. A girl that can't be much more than maybe 7-years-old, "Who was the girl you volunteered for?"

You blink at the loaded question, "Uh--she's my cousin, and her name is Marigold, we--we call her Mari." The little girl blinks at you, watching you like you're something foreign. Which, he guesses, you technically are. "And you know what? She kinda looked like you when she was little."

The little girl beams, "I like your bows."

"Thank you," you hum brightly, like the compliment truly does mean the world to you.

You unlink your arm from his. Coriolanus watches you unsurely as you reach both hands to the side of your hair. You pull at the ribbon on one side of your head, unraveling it expertly. "Would you like one?"

The girl beams, nodding her head enthusiastically. You lean forward so that you're about eye level with the girl. You hand her the short piece of ribbon. The girl giggles before running off with her prize.

"Aw, isn't that cute?" Lucky's speaking to the camera as he starts to walk forward, "Come down, folks, and see these tributes before it's too late. And I do mean, too late."

Lucky disappears, walking as he continues to talk to his audience.

"You gave her your..." He gestures in the general direction of where the ribbon had previously sat.

You shrug, "Oh, I think the other one fell out on the way here. They're impractical, but I didn't--I didn't think I'd be in them for so long."

There's something he should say to you. Probably something comforting, assuring.

"Okay." The stern voice of a peacekeeper. Coriolanus should have known that it was only a matter of time. One of them clasps his shoulder, the other grabs his arm. "You're not supposed to be in here."

He's pushed back before he can speak to you. "Okay," he mumbles, "I'm go--"

You grab his arm before he can obey, "Bring us food." The words are hard, urging, "Please, I haven't eaten anything since before the reaping."

He nods once, pausing long enough to force the peacekeeper to push him back again. Coriolanus starts walking, flanked by the peacekeepers, his eyes trained on what's directly in front of him.

As they pass where the group had initially landed, his eyes find a bright speck of ivory white. A hint of brightness hidden by rocky dirt and grime. Your ribbon.

Coriolanus wonders if it's something you'd want back, something you'd spend your time searching for. You already gave away the other one, it can't have mattered that much. It's likely just some repurposed scrap.

He doesn't know what he's doing as he bends down under the guise of adjusting his shoelace. He's not sure what his goal is until his hand reaches forward, grabbing the ribbon.

"Okay," one of the peacekeepers hurries him, bending down to place a forceful hand on his shoulder, "Hurry up."

----

His apartment is heavy with silence. His grandma'am and Tigris have been asleep for hours now, resting the way he should be.

It's everything that's happened today. That's what's stealing sleep from him. There's a lot to do, a lot to think about if he's going to pull this off and win the Plinth prize. There's an uncertain charm about you. It's as if you have a greater understanding of what it's like to be civilized than the rest of them. That's something to work with, isn't it?

You mentioned needing to eat. Another obstacle that his financial predicaments have placed in his way. He'll have to take a risk he's taken so rarely--taking food from the Academy's lunch in order to bring you something. You'll be of no use to anyone if you faint in the arena.

There's more to think about, to plan. He could stop by tomorrow after his usual classes if Dr. Gaul doesn't orchestrate any specifics. And maybe even then. It'd be ideal to convince you that he cares about you more than any of the mentors care about their tributes. The more you think he's working for you, the more you'll work for him.

That's why he's awake. He shifts, moving from his back to resting on his side. All of this, all thoughts and analysis of you, are extremely practical.

He wipes at his eyes, forcing himself to sit up. He finds his discarded uniform, left folded neatly on his small desk. Without thinking, Coriolanus reaches deep into the uniform's pocket, digging through it until his fingers brush against something smooth and cool. He pulls out the partially stained, ivory ribbon. Truly practical.

----

Taglist (tagging people who were asking about part 2, if this is annoying, i'm so sorry pls lmk if you don't want to be tagged) : @juleshaters @cosmicsully @edb954 @h-l-vlovesvintage @darknessdevil25 @mavkaorlova @astarborntowrite @karmaswitch @daughter1of2anita3dearly @zucchinimalfoy @madislayyy @weaponb33 @darlingisntit @deamus-liv @etheriaaly @clintsupremacy @spookyconsultingcriminal @dylanstilinskiposts

Babe , skeet and Matt are coming to a convention in my city in March. Like what the actual balls?!? I want to go but what would I say? Hi I'm a brainless idiot and I want to be destroyed sexually by the both of you at the same time?!?

omg that's so cool!! no one ever comes to where i live bc it's in the transitional zone between the beachy south and the yeehaw south so everything interesting is at least a bit of a commute 😭

it's probably for the best tho bc i would have no idea how to act!

you're so real for this bc how does a person interact with them in a way that feels normal??

if i were you i'd lowkey still want to go or at least try to and then worry about being a functioning person later 😭 mainly bc i'm one of those people that falls victim to the fear of missing out sm,, but also i get being overwhelmed by things, even if they're good experiences

either way this is such an understandable dilemma