Title: How to Plan Your Own Funeral Author:@aurorawest Rating:T Relationships: Loki & Odin, Frigga & Loki Major Archive Warnings:none Word Count: 3.2k Summary: Loki is going to put on the funeral of the century for…himself. If people didn’t appreciate him in life, then he’ll make them appreciate him in death.
This was written for @mareebird, who bid on one of my @marveltrumpshate 2020 auctions. Thank you so much for bidding, friend!! I hope you enjoy this!
Anyway. He was going to plan himself a really amazing funeral, because even if he hadn’t ever seen his father, his actual, in-his-right-mind father, appreciate him for the good son he was, it didn’t mean the rest of Asgard couldn’t. The rest of Asgard was going to see a father torn up by grief, devastated by the loss of the son he’d loved so much, even if he hadn’t ever been very good at showing it. But that was what the funeral was for! And then there’d be no doubt it anyone’s minds how much Loki had meant to Odin. No doubt at all.
What if Steve kissed Tony after he came back to consciousness at the end of the first Avengers? What if they gave into the sexual tension that had been building between them both? Learning to love while getting to know one another and a heaping of found family–this is the story we deserved but didn’t get.
Rated: Explicit
No Archive Warnings Apply
Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
For Marvel Trumps Hate 2020 and written for @wilmakins
“What the hell? What just happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me!”
Steve looks down at Stark, his heart surprisingly full. It’s a miracle he’s even alive and it affects Steve in a way he’s almost unfamiliar with. Under his hand, a blue light seeps through, warm against his palm. It glows brightly against the red of the suit like the moon against a snowy, orange backlit landscape. Beauty in layers.
“We won.” It’s not enough to say, he knows it, but it’s all he can muster up at the moment. He’s choked with emotion. Despite the smoke filled air, he’s breathing easier than he had in the weeks since being pulled from the ice. Purpose rushes through him, cantering alongside a stirring of admiration and want .
He feels appreciation curve up around his chest and something else. Something giddy like when he was seven and first saw Esther Bryant walk into the school room after moving to his neighborhood. The idea of love– new and intangible yet so invigorating. Knowing that he could see someone and want and not just in a sexual way. Seven-year-old Steve Rogers had had no knowledge of that yet but he had wanted to hold her hand. Wanted to put his arms around her and show her the warmest seat in the room, right by the wood burning stove. He feels the same current rise up now as he glances back at Stark. Feels the same excitement and promise as the world slows for half a breath.
His mother always said that when he finally met his soulmate, everything would still. It’s just a silly story but it feels like it now. It feels like the buildings and the lampposts and the sporadic city trees around them pause to acknowledge this earth shifting moment. That they lay down and rest, for once, at the sight of something bigger than even the tallest skyscrapers.
He has to look away. Just for a moment. Overwhelmed and yet… Satisfied. Happy.
“All right. Hey. All right. Good job, guys.” It’s hard for Steve to hide his surprised grin as Tony babbles his way back into the land of the living, sliding into Steve’s thoughts and pushing soulmates and schoolyard crushes away to focus on him. He’s relieved in a way he wouldn’t have admitted to just hours before. It’s okay. Tony’s okay. “Let’s just not come in tomorrow. Let’s just take a day. Have you ever tried shawarma? There’s a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don’t know what it is, but I wanna try it.”
Steve’s grin widens. They lived and they survived. They won. And Tony is talking about getting food like it’s Friday night and they’re bored.
He laughs quietly, gazing down at Tony with wonder and he’s exhilarated; he’s euphoric. He’s still got about 100 gallons of adrenaline pumping through his system and this ridiculous man laying on the ground in front of him is a damn self-sacrificing idiot and Steve just…
For@phodoodle, who won one of my @marveltrumpshate 2020 Auctions. This is the seven of eight aesthetics, I’ll be making for Phoebe, so here you are!
The sound of T'Challa’s low, rich laughter bloomed warm in her chest. Yesterday, in the company of Sam and his sister Sarah, she appreciated their dynamic more than felt jealous of their closeness. Today, however, listening to her brother’s voice, seeing something tall and leafy blowing in the wind behind his head, produced a few pangs of homesickness. Leaning a little heavier against the wall behind her, Shuri scanned the cafe. Wakanda had many establishments like it; she used that familiarity to push back encroaching ennui.
“I have appreciated the images you sent, particularly that red barn —so quaint and quintessentially American.”
“I know, right?”
“I was surprised, but pleased to see that Peter Parker and the young woman I do not know were at the Avengers Facility to greet you. As I understand it, Peter is not active with the Avengers. He’s finishing up at University.” Her brother reporting those mundane details gave Shuri pause, although she wasn’t yet sure why, “Riri Williams —she goes by Iron Heart. She’s like Peter in that she’s a protege of Stark’s.”
“Yes, that makes sense,” T'Challa said.
What didn’t quite add up Shuri realized, rolling back the tape of her memory of Peter’s odd behavior at the Facility; his skittish, nervousness that never quite dissipated, compared with a sibling-like ease with Riri and nerdy nonchalance around Bucky and Sam. And here was her brother, admittedly someone whose job included keeping strategic tabs on the world’s shakers and movers, (especially empowered ones), aware of the minute details of a young person yet to win an official place on a (so-described) superhero team. Of course Shuri and T'Challa knew Parker’s masked identity, thanks to the war, but he wasn’t out to the world.
“Would you ever consider taking Peter Parker on as an R&D intern?” Shuri asked her brother on a whim. “He worked closely with Tony Stark before his passing.”
T'Challa squinted and placed a hand over his mouth the hologram, “Hmm. It’s an interesting proposition and one I’ve considered. His attachment to Queens and New York City is strong. Stark attempted to entice him to MIT, but Parker chose Empire State University to stay closer—“
For@phodoodle, who won one of my @marveltrumpshate 2020 Auctions. This is the six of eight aesthetics, I’ll be making for Phoebe, so here you are!
“On ice,” Shuri thought to herself.
It was a description, a phrase, a saying she knew, certainty. Sure, she’d grown up hot and warm —sun-touched and sun-loved— but Shuri knew ice. She was familiar with the mountains, the edge of Wakanda where the Jabari Tribe had long-ago retreated.
When necessary, Shuri wore knits and wools and furs to ward off the fingers of ice that would freeze her skin, pierce her sense of comfort, of warmth. Shuri didn’t let ice go unchecked, unquestioned. She preferred her ice in a tray featuring sixteen rectangular slots. Under shrimps, beneath oysters, mussels, and surrounding clams, ice served a vital role. In a glass, ice appealed, partnered with citrus fruit and maybe CO2 —bubbly, icy, ephemeral delight.
Ice was a treat, and ice could treat. It offered an antidote to bumps or scrapes or punches. As second child, daughter of royalty, Shuri had been taught how to protect herself with fists, a wooden staff, shooting weapons, her voice, and her brain. She was no stranger to ice wrapped in a soft cloth, pressed against her eye, elbow, knee.
No stranger but how shockingly, awfully, bone-rattlingly strange to look upon her brother’s —the King’s— dark body struck down, unmoving; laid out on ice.
Title: Polytonality Author:@aurorawest Rating: M (sexual content, language) Relationships: Loki & Thor, Loki/Fandral, Loki & Stephen Strange, Stephen Strange & Thor, Hela & Loki & Thor Major Archive Warnings:none Word Count (so far): 5.2k Summary: Loki has a plan for being brought back to life after his untimely death on The Statesman, and Thor, with the help of Stephen Strange, pulls it off for him. It returns not just Loki, but Fandral, to the land of the living. The problem is, the land of the living is…New Asgard. And Loki has never been less impressed with anything in his life. Or death, for that matter.
So he devises a new plan. Don’t like New Asgard? Find a new one!
Or: how to find your very own, gently used Asgard at the end of time.
This was written for TeganJ, who won one of my auctions for @marveltrumpshate in 2020!
Look. Loki was happy that Thor had finally cottoned on to the fail safes he’d put in place to bring him back to the land of the living should he meet an untimely death at Thanos’s hands—or anyone else’s, for that matter. It wasn’t that. It was great, tremendous, actually, that he’d figured it out, that he’d made his way to Valhalla, and that he was going to resurrect Loki.
That was all fantastic. It was just…his timing. His timing.
