#‘ if bullets don’t work right why the punching? ’ ⇾ verse ┋ the last son of krypton | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alexjcrowley · 3 years ago

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Hi! This fanfiction is based on an idea by @idrilearfalas , she wrote the entire concept and the iconic/important lines you'll find in this fanfiction, check out her blog, she is great.

The Pompeii mission, Mobius thought it would have been an easy one. Everybody knows what should happen in Pompeii and it's usually all natural. You just have to make sure someone dies- eh, sorry Plinius- and someone lives.

It's an easy mission, normally, but not when you have to handle a certain norse God of Mischief. One who likes to throw a tantrum on every other occasion.

It's usually nothing more than bantering, playful and witty at its best, sharp and bitter at its worst, but it's something Mobius can handle. He can even enjoy it, when he makes a stupid joke and Loki tells him how stupid it is and they both chuckle. Loki has to learn something new about being a TVA agent and most of the times he makes a fool of himself before getting the thing right, so Mobius can tease him a little and Loki will respond sharp as ever, but with a sort of...endearing note in his stubborness.

Those are good days, days Mobius comes back to his apartment with a smile and when he closes his eyes he can still hear the God's laughter at whatever funny thing happened that day, or replay the moment when they looked into eachothers' eyes and they suddenly understood what to do with the mission, with a single glance.

Today was not a good day. He didn't know the reason. Maybe Loki woke up on the wrong side of the bed, maybe Mobius accidentally made an unpleasant comment, but the norse God started their mission with a pout you could see on the face of a child when they don't get the Christmas present they wanted.

"Oh well" Mobius had thought. Oh well, it's just another bad day, a day in which he had to watch his mouth, because you don't want to deal with an angered God. The general mood was low, the Minutemen looked already tired before the mission had even started and Mobius knew from the moment he passed through the portal he wanted to come back home as soon as possible.

But this wasn't an ordinary bad day. Mobius was prepared to deal with a bit of coldness, with a lack of enthusiasm from everybody, what he wasn't ready to deal with- he didn't want to deal with Loki acting like an asshole.

"And that's it? Really?"

"What did you expect me to say, exactly? You brought me here, you told me I was living a delusion and you gave me no choice other than being your hound. I apologise if I can't think of you as one of my dear friends."

"One of your dear friends? Who would the others be? Just curious, because I have seen your entire life and there is not one person, except maybe Thor, you actually build this strong and trusting relationship with-"

"Wonderful, so why did you expect you'd be the first one I'd decide to grant the gift of my friendship to? I am not even your colleague, I am subjected to this stupid organisation and to you in particular. We are not friends, we forcibly work together and that's it."

Mobius and Loki had been speed walking during the entire discussion, but Loki stopped for a moment.

"You can't fool me, I know very well I am not anything more than your ticket to the Variant. I'll be damned before I put my trust in you, we both know, after all of this has come to an end, nothing will be between me and that resetting stick."

You see, on an ordinary bad day, this would have never happened. On an ordinary bad day, Mobius wouldn't have seen all of his efforts to build a decent relationship with Loki shattered. Was he used to a suspicious Loki? Yes. To a Loki who said that trust is for dogs and children? Also yes. He had been used to that Loki since he first opened up his file. But he had also started being used to Loki's rare moments when he opened up, to his hidden heroic side which desperately seemed to call for attention, to his awkward, genuine reaction when he was showed any form of affection. Mobius had seen Loki spitting his "trust nobody" one liners with less and less convinction everyday, and then they were only mumbled comments to keep up a façade, and then they had become whispers, and then eyes rolls, to the point that Mobius had thought Loki had started warming up on poeple- warming up on him. But he was wrong. Just because Loki didn't voice his dissent, it didn't mean it wasn't there.

It didn't mean he saw Mobius as more than just enemy, even after everything they had been through, even after Mobius took on himself the risk of whatever would have happened to Loki and because of Loki, even after the trust he had shown him, even after the laughters and the lunches and the jokes and the stolen glances- now, look at who was the delusioned one.

Did this upset Mobius? Absolutely. But it also fired him up. Frustration, anger, embarrassment, Mobius erupted with a fiercety matching the volcano explosion just minutes ago.

"Do you really think I would just let them reset you?"

Although shorter than the God, Mobius stood up in front of him looking him in the eyes.

"After all I have done to keep you alive, after all we have been through, do you believe I'd just abandon you to your de-"

"What else would you do? Keep me with you, as your 'friend'? What, you took pity on me and were planning to give me a desk so I can spend the rest of my eternity working for the same people who robbed me of my future?"

"Now stop it, you two, the passage is open, we need to leave" said Hunter B-15, but Loki and Mobius didn't seem to have any intention of listening to her, so she just signed at the rest of the group.

"Come on, hop through it, they'll come when they're ready" she ordered. She waited for the Minutemen to go through the passage, she looked once again at Loki and Mobius and she shook her head, following her collogues back to the TVA. She closed the passage, aware that Mobius could have opened another when he wanted to.

"Just because you are a selfish, uncaring bastard it doesn't mean we all have to be. Is it so difficult for you to accept some people care about you? Like your mother or your brothe-"

"Don't you dare talking about them, you know nothing about them-"

"I literally know everything about them-"

"And stop pretending you care about me or trust me, I am the God of Illusions, I know all your stupid tricks, I used them before-"

Loki and Mobius were shouting very loud, they barely heard the footsetps of someone approaching. A Variant, not the Loki Variant, another one, an enemy of the TVA, probably.

Mobius noticed them in the corner of the eye and turned around fast enough.

Loki was not minimally done with the discussion, but if Mobius was looking away from him, something must have happened.

Loki has been in battles. Battles on Asgards are usually more "traditional" than what you see on Midgard. Sure, they can use magic, but it's mostly swords and axes and arrows and, sometimes, good old-fashioned punches. When he had been on Midgard, Loki had learned war had incredibly evolved. The glorified Midgardian technology changed the face of battles. He had seen a few of the new weapons, nothing that impressive, incomparable to magic. But he remembered them very well, he knew he was not a good idea to underestimate them. So he remembered the sound of a bullet. It was loud, violent, fast. It lasted a few seconds, and then there was silence. If you aim right, your enemy is not just wounded, he's already dead.

They both turned to see the Variant pulling out a gun, and then Loki heard it.

The sound of a bullet.

He shoved Mobius away, before the agent could do anything about it. Mobius heard the sound of a bullet as well, he heard Loki moan in pain and he knew he hadn't been fast enough. But he made up for it pulling out his gun as well, shooting the Variant right in the chest, it only took one bullet to kill him.

Mobius was suddenly grabbed by the arm by a bleeding Loki, who was trying to stand up in vain.

Mobius kneeled next to him, holding him and putting his head on his lap.

Blood. So much blood. The bullet hit the stomach. A normal bullet? You take him to the hospital and chances are he'll be fine. A bullet like that, with a venom release? Kills you in a matter of minutes.

'He is not going to survive' a voice declared in Mobius's head.

He had seen scenes like this too many times to ignore the truth, even if he was desperately trying to. So many missions ending up with corpses, Mobius had witnessed so many deaths like this. It was useless to try and save them, the most merciful act was to immediately reset them to spare them the pain.

But not with Loki. Mobius had already started pressing on the wound, trying to stop the blood.

Useless, all of this was useless.

Loki was uttering verses more than words, normally at this point he would have neen already unconscoius, but the whole being a God must have come with some sort of enhanched healing capacity.

"I am not...ugh, not surviving this?"

"No, no, you are, I just have to take you through the passage-"

"I am...the God of...lies, I know one when I heard...one" Loki coughed.

No, no, no, one thing was seeing Loki dies in a stupid video, another was to witness him dying between his arms, Mobius thought. He couldn't bear this.

Loki looked so scared. He didn't even have the strenght to talk to pretend he was fine with this, he accepted this death. He just looked pained and frightened. He tried to tighten his grip around Mobius's arm, but he couldn't, he was loosing too much blood too fast.

"He looks so young, God, he looks so young" was all Mobius could think. He had seen Loki die, he had seen him a hero, a son of Odin, a troubled man with a controversial life, but this Loki, he was too young. He was just learning what his life could amd couldn't be, he still hadn't make up with Thor or heard his father tell him that he loved him. There was an entire future for him ready to be rewritten, he couldn't die in that moment, he couldn't die on him.

"Aren't you...you tired of watching...me die..."

"You are not dying, Loki, we just have to press on the wound for bit longer, enough for it to stop bleeding, then I'll take you through the passage and-"

"It's always...so pathetic..." Loki coughed again "of a scene..."

Mobius looked around him for another piece of cloth to press on the wound. He had already sacrificed his jacket, but, in absence of anything else, he ripped part of the sleeve of his shirt and pressed it on Loki's stomach. The white cotton was soon impregnated by dark red blood.

"At least...both times...I died for someone I-"

Loki coughed again, exhaling his last breath.

Mobius stopped pressing on the wound. He stared at Loki's corpse in a silent horror.

His body wasn't cold yet, the blood was still flowing, but he was dead. Loki was dead.

Mobius conceided himself a few seconds to fully realize there was nothing left to do. He wanted to scream, but his mouth didn't emit any sound.

His hands still rested on the wound, wet woth blood.

"It should have been you, is that what you're thinking, isn't it?"

Mobius reluctantly teared his gaze off Loki's corpse, to meet the eyes of another God Mischief, one alive and on the run.

Towering over Mobius with his dark cloak, the Dangerous Variant casted a shadow on the two TVA agents. He then kneeled beside Loki's corpse.

Mobius looked at him is disbelief.

"Why are you here?" was all Mobius managed to say.

Why are you here now? Where were you five minutes ago, when Loki was still alive, when you could have done something? How are looking at your own corpse- they were, after all, the same person- without any anger, or surprise or shock?

Mobius wasn't scared of the Dangerous Variant, on the contrary. Although TVA insisted on branding him as this big enemy, he had on several occasions helped him and Loki out, even saved them from some very bad situations. He had never constituted a threat for him or Loki. Sure, he was a mass murderer, but that was kind of a Loki characteristic in general.

"Okay, here's the deal" said the Variant, without looking away from the dead body "You use your...your- ah, what's its name, the- the remote to go back in time, I'll take his place and it's happy ending for everyone. Except for me" he mumbled "but that was mever in the plans, wasn't it" he smiled bitterly, pushing a lock of the dead Loki's hair away from his face.

"What?" Mobius exclaimed.

"Just do as I say" the Variant kept looking down at the corpse "You turn back time, I take the bullet, you two live, I die. It's easy, Mobius."

"How the hell should this be easy?" Mobius shouted, prey to grief and confusion "Why would you do that? What's- what's the meaning of this?"

The Variant had been willing to lend a hand in moments of need, but he was no suicidal.

Finally, the Variant pried his eyes away from his other self and looked at Mobius.

"You asked me once why I was doing what I was doing, remember?" he began.

Mobius slowly nodded.

“Killing TVA officers, trying to destroy the system" the Variant continued "It was just... revenge. Against the TVA. For taking away the thing I cared the most about."

He then looked Mobius in the eye, with a strange intensity, some sort of regret.

"...I was that Loki"

He looked once again at the corpse.

"Then they killed you." he paused.

Mobius didn't say a word, but he kept looking at the Variant astonished.

"And I decided it was time to stray from my written path again. Because nothing else mattered anymore, except making them pay for what they did and making sure what happened to you in my past... did not happen in your present."

The Variant idly run a bony finger over his other's self pale cheek. He then raised his eyes at Mobius.

"I will take his place because he still has you" he then declared "and he still has time to accept" he made a small gesture with his hand, encompassing his dead alter ego and Mobius "whatever you’ve got going on."

Mobius looked at the Variant ever so bewildered, but the Variant simply closed his eyes for a few seconds, looking for the right words.

"He still has time to tell you...all the things I never said."

The Dangerous Variant was on his knees, teary eyes and a lump in his throat, but he then stood up and cleared his stance. Despire the shaken voice, he proclaimed with all the courage he seemed to own: "I am Loki of Asgard and I am burdened with glorious purpose." He screamed that to no one in particular, or maybe just to himself.

Mobius had been shocked into silence until that moment. Still looking at the Variant, he stood up too, hesitated for a moment then extends his hand to Dangerous Variant. The other one looked at it for a moment, and then firmly grasped it, shaking it.

Mobius was still very confused over what has just happened- what was going to happen.

"Are you sure?" he asked "You...would die. For good. I- I don't think there's a way everybody can get out safe from this- even if you consider time travel and-"

"I know. That's why I am doing it. So that you two get to live, you still has reasons to do it." the Variant said, no hesitation.

"I was right, you know," Mobius said, still reluctant to leave Loki's hand- the moment he did, the Variant would have to die. It was still hard for him to sentence someone to death. But his lips curled into an almost amused smile, even though with a note of sadeness "You're not a villain."

The Variant snorted- oh, Allfather, he had missed Moby's antics- and rolled his eyes, then looked at Mobius again, trying to hide his amusement. You had to have a sense of humour to live his life, Loki thought, there weren't many moments to laugh in his existence, he had to learn to appreciate rare moments like those, when fate graced him with the last sight of the love of his life.

"Turn back the clock, Mobius."

After a slow nod, his hand still in Variant Loki's, Mobius did as he was said.

***

Two days later those events, ut was a good day. In the previous two days, the TVA had finally declared that one of his most wanted Variants was not a problem anymore. Mobius simply stated he had "been cared about", with a hint of sadness nobody cared for. Loki had been quite shocked to witness his death, he had tried to do something for him, but Mobius had looked at him the way he rarely did- with resignation. Nothing left to do. He had offered Loki to spend some time together after the whole thing, to buy him a drink if he needed, to simply listen to him or leave him alone, if he wanted to. It wasn't easy to be a spectator of their own death.

Loki had recovered quicker than Mobius would have thought. Sure, you could still see Loki lost in his train of thoughts when he was left on his own, but he had seen himself die once, he could handle twice.

"Paperwork. To distract you. As a treat." Mobius put on his desk a stack of papers the size of an encyclopedia.

Loki frowned: "And you call this a treat?"

"Well, you can always go help Casey cataloguing the infinity stones, if you like it best" Mobius chuckles.

Loki mindlessly started playing with the Tesseract on his desk- yes, they let him keep it. After all, it was no more than a glowing blue lamp at the TVA.

"Mh, whatever" Loki sighed, picking up a paper, still glaring at Mobius.

"Oh, you have to file these for the end of the day, which gives you around...hmm, something between one and four hours in earth time, I don't remember now. Good luck." Mobius added before starting to walk away.

An irritated "what" that was probably heard in the entire pocket reality of the TVA made him stopped in place. Mobius couldn't help but smile, but he didn't turn around.

"You must be joking! This is- this is unacceptable! What is even supposed to mean between one and four hours? I may have king ambitions but you are the real tyrant!" Loki shouted.

"Oh, Loki" said Mobius, finally turning to face the God "This is very flattering, but I am no more than a mere bureaucrat."

"Yes, and the worst kind." the other replied. He then looked around him, noticing that everybody has stopped whatever they were doing to listen to his shoutings. With a faint flush on his face, Loki sat back in his chair, just after glancing at the whole room and snarling a "What are you looking at?"

He then looked back at Mobius, sighing a "I hate you so much".

Mobius simply smiles.

"Sure you do, kitten."

I am sorry for the spelling mistakes, I tend to make a lot of them and also I am not a native english speaker, so I hope I everything I wrote makes sense.

#lokius #loki #loki 2021 #loki laufeyson #loki tv show #loki disney+#loki series #loki x mobius #mobius #mobius m mobius #moki #timefrost #time husbands #wowki #angst #variant loki #death

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chibinightowl · 6 years ago

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Other than the stories we’ve already chatted about... (Househunters AU.... the jaydicktim....) what about that one time some poor soul tried to rob the bar in the Tuesday Nights!verse and got punched in the face for his trouble?

I always love an excuse to write in the Tuesday Nights universe! Enjoy!

~*~*~

There’s a reason why Jason doesn’t keep a lot of cash on hand and makes regular bank runs when he does see an uptick in cash payments. That reason is staring him right in the face.

“Really?” he asks even as he raises his hands in the air.

He’s a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.

“Yeah, really,” the guy with the gun snarls and waves the barrel around for good measure. “Gimme whatcha got.”

Jason resists the urge to roll his eyes. “It’s a Tuesday night, I got maybe twenty bucks in the till and half that is a roll of quarters.”

“Stop stallin’.”

“Just sayin’.” Jason shrugs and walks over to the cash register. “My register key is in my pocket,” he announces as he lowers one hand to dig out his keyring and find the aforementioned key. No point getting shot in the back by someone with a twitchy trigger finger.

Too bad Tim isn’t here right now. He doubts this would be happening if there was someone else in the bar besides him. But no, his boyfriend is tucked away upstairs working on some report that only makes sense to him and Tam.

Probably a good thing. He’d be tempted to go all ninja on this jackass.

Jason opens the register and takes out the till, turning to set it on the counter in front of the robber.

The man scowls as he takes a quick inventory. Jason hadn’t been kidding about the contents. “Where the fuck is the rest?”

“In the bank. This is a small bar and there’s not a soul in here besides you and me.” It’s hard not to provoke him, so Jason keeps back all the choice words he wants to spew.

“You gotta have a safe or somethin’,” the robber says in a rush. “C’mon, show me.” He waves the gun around again.

Motherfucker. There’s about two hundred bucks in change back in his office. Not a ton of cash, but more than Jason wants this shit-stain to walk away with. He knows all too well what it feels like to be desperate and hungry but even he never stooped to robbing a business at gunpoint.

No, he’d just wander in with empty pockets and wander right back out with slightly less empty pockets.

“Sure, whatever,” Jason says and marches to the end of the bar, ducking under the counter as he does.

The robber follows after him and presses the gun barrel against his neck as they walk to the back of the bar. “Don’t try nothin’ funny.”

“If I wanted to try anything, I’d have grabbed my gun.”

That makes the man’s breath hitch. “Why didn’t ya?”

“Because shooting someone over twenty bucks is a stupid way to die.” Jason unlocks his office and opens the door.

The safe is small and tucked away in a corner under the printer table Roy built. He kneels in front of it and enters the code.

Back in the bar comes the distinct sound of the kitchen door swinging open. “Hey, Jason! I’m at a good stopping point, do you want to…”

Son of a fucking bitch.

Tim’s voice causes the robber to spin around, shifting his attention from Jason just long enough for him to rise to his feet and kick him in the knee. The guy stumbles as his leg gives out and grabs the side of the desk to keep his balance.

“You fucker!” he cries out and raises the gun.

Jason grabs the man’s wrist and yanks hard, directing the gun at the floor. It goes off and a bullet sends chunks of polished concrete flying. “You’re the one trying to rob me, jackass.”

The guy shouts and tries to bring the gun back up, but Jason has too strong a hold on his arm to let him move. He spots Tim rushing down the short hall on silent feet, eyes wide as he takes in what’s going on. The expression his face changes from surprise to steely determination and before Jason can even blink, Tim strikes, arms moving in a blur of motion.

“Do I even want to know what you just did?” Jason eyes the now wannabe robber laying on the floor groaning and kicks the gun out into the hall.

Tim is rubbing his knuckles and frowning. “I punched him.”

“No, I punch people. You do creepy ninja stuff.”

“Jason, this guy had a gun.”

“No, shit. Really? I must have missed that.”

“He almost shot you.”

“He shot the floor, which is going to cost me more to fix than what this asshat tried to rob me for.”

Tim shakes his head. “You’re missing the point.”

“The point is that I’ve been robbed before, Tim. This isn’t the first time and I doubt it’ll be the last. Everything was fine until you came downstairs.” Jason nudges the still groaning man with the tip of his boot. “Of course, everything was better before this fucker came in.”

It’s clear when Tim just gives up trying to argue. “Do I need to call the police?”

Jason gives the guy on the floor a pointed look. “I dunno. Hey you. Do we need to call the police?” The Bowery has its own form of justice, one that Tim hasn’t learned yet. He wouldn’t call it vigilante style justice, but the people here take care of their own. “Well?” he prods.

Literally. Steel-toed boots against ribs is a pointed reminder of what pain he can inflict if the guy gives him the wrong answer.

“No,” the man groans, cradling his wrist. “I’m good.”

“Tim, keep an eye on him for me, would ya?” Jason returns to the safe, opens it, and takes out a roll of quarters. Standing, he glares down at the wannabe robber. “You should have stopped while you were ahead.”

He drops it on the guy’s face.

Ten minutes later, they’re alone and Tim is scowling at the locked door while Jason finishes cleaning up. There’s no point in staying open after what happened.

“Spit it out,” he says after the silence drags on.

“I just don’t get it,” Tim replies. “Why did you let him go?”

“Do you really think the cops are gonna care about a petty theft call from the Bowery when there are so many other things they could be taking care of?” Jason shrugs and leans against the bar. “Unless someone is dead or dying, they rarely bother.”

“And here I thought things had gotten better in this city.” Tim’s face falls at that, clearly remembering all the hard work he’d done to make that happen.

“Trust me, they have. It used to be the cops only came if you were dead. Dying is definitely a step up.”

“It shouldn’t have to be that way.”

Jason sighs and reaches out to tug Tim into a loose hug. “Hammurabi’s code is alive and well here. I doubt even a Wayne could change that.”

He recognizes the stubborn set to Tim’s jaw. Dammit.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not just a Wayne. I’m also a Drake.”

#chibinightowl writes #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Tuesday Nights #Bar!AU #JayTim

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thecrimsonmonster-a · 7 years ago

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BLOOD, FEEL, DNA, FEAR, ((Yeh, mun is thirsty for headcanons.))

“DAMN.” Questions for Muses.

BLOOD. - What types of injuries has your muse sustained? What was the worst?

He’s had quite a few injuries over the years, so the easiest thing to do is make a bulleted list:

Probably the first was one of the most extreme in terms of physical damage, but it didn’t leave a lasting impression, mentally-wise. When he was still “playing monster,” he climbed a tree, ended up losing his balance, and fell, breaking several three ribs, an arm, and a leg. However, he healed relatively quickly.

During his first trial with alchemy, he burst a bottle, and accidentally stepped on a piece of broken glass that left a scar on his right foot.

Got punched in the face while in juvie, dislocating his jaw and breaking one of his back molars. To this day he can still pop his jaw out of and back into place.

Also various bruises and scratches during fights in juvie, but everything healed well enough that they are not noticeable.

Getting slashed on his left side during the Ishbalan Massacre by one of the Ishbalans that had managed to escape him. He would personally qualify this one as “the worst” injury he’s ever had, as he had allowed himself to be far too careless and it had nearly cost him his life (had be bled to death). So it’s a bit of a glaring reminder never to let his guard down again.

Oh yeah and sometimes the guards would beat the shit out of him while he was in Prison 2. Because ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

And in his default verse, plenty of little scars from Greed scattered here and there. But they’re all very lovely and he quite appreciates them. :’3

And uuuuuh there are probably others but I’m drawing a blank??

FEEL. - How does your character react to a person’s touch? A random stranger’s? A loved one’s? A friend’s?

Kimbley really needs his personal space, so strangers should not touch him in any way. Because while he may not be overtly volatile, he will probably end up being low key threatening (or high key, if you really violate his space). And for the love of ll that is holy, never try to surprise him, because you will end up in a universe of pain.

But as for people he knows? It’s acceptable, within reason—yet even still, I would highly suggest you don’t get too close. You can brush against him or touch his arm with little reaction, but try doing anything threatening or intimate and he will draw the line.

As for Greed, well, that dirty monster man can touch him in any way he wants. B)

DNA. - What was your muse’s home life like?

If we’re talking about his childhood? In a word… odd.

The thing is, his dad was a wonderful and loving person, and he did everything he could to take care of his son. In the end, perhaps it could be said that he was a little too lenient, and too willing to let Kimbley do as he wanted.

Then again, he could hardly be aware of everything his son was getting into and couldn’t monitor him 24/7, since his hours at home were incredibly sporadic, since he worked in the mines like most adults in Youswell. And no one else was willing to take care of him because the people of the town knew of Kimbley’s… unsettling attitude, which was why he was pulled out of school at a young age. And besides, his father observed he was strangely mature for his age—no tantrums, very academically oriented, able to have intelligent and meaningful conversations with the people he met when they had opportunities to visit the big city—so he reasoned he could be on his own every once in a while.

So when he was away… Kimbley would play.

FEAR. - What are your muses biggest fears?

Kimbley doesn’t necessarily “fear” things?? But the closest thing would be his aversion to imprisonment again. Honestly, after having a little over a third of his life being imprisoned (juvie and post-Ishbal), he might prefer death over being parted with his freedom again. Because life is actually pretty good for him right now. :/

#fabulously and avariciously vain #fabulouslyandavariciouslyvain #headcanons

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secretlystephaniebrown · 8 years ago

Text

Elysium

Happy Rare Pair Week!

Honestly I didn't realize how gay Kimball and Tex were until I started writing more of their friendship for this verse on a whim. And then it turned gay on me. Oops?

Serious spoilers for Asphodel Meadows in this fic; if you haven't read it and want to, I'd suggest picking that up first!

Warnings for: some body image stuff, some references to personal autonomy issues and the Director’s general sketchiness re: Tex.

Also on Ao3

1. After an injury

“Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” Tex said. It was true. She was a robot. She didn’t feel pain.

The bullet had passed through her shoulder, punching right through the armor and Kevlar in the process. That, Tex thought with a scowl, was more of a pain than the hole in her body.

She’d shut down the power to that arm before it had started sparking, which might have alerted Kimball that something was wrong with her mercenary. Luckily Tex was ambidextrous and happily returned fire with her other hand.

She’d already repaired her armor. In a lot of ways, she was lucky she was in the future; her armor no longer was next-generation, top of the line. If it weren’t for the active camouflage unit, it would have been no better than the armor that the rest of the New Republic war. Not that she used her camo, these days.

She kind of envied Felix his fancy armor and toys, some days. It would be nice, not having to hide. She was definitely a little jealous of Locus, whose own cloaking was just as good as hers, but took less energy to run. She promised herself that when she’d kill him, she’d scavenge it. She deserved a fun new toy, after dealing with all this bullshit.

But there was a bounty on her head, last she knew. And Felix was a self-proclaimed greedy son of a bitch. So Tex wasn’t about to show her hand. Not even for Kimball.

“Here,” Kimball handed her a bottle of something.

“What’s this for?” Tex asked, peering inside. The liquid was dark amber, and smelled awful.

“You got shot today,” Kimball said. “Figured you could use a drink.”

Tex hesitated for a moment. Alcohol didn’t have much effect on her.

Shrugging, she pulled off her helmet. Kimball visibly startled. Tex rarely removed her armor, so she guess she couldn’t blame her.

“Join me?” Tex asked. It was stupid but…

She hated the quiet.

It reminded her too much that the silence was supposed to be filled by idiots in colorful armor.

She wasn’t as good at being alone as she’d once been.

Kimball looked possibly even more surprised, but she joined Tex, sitting down next to her and taking off her own helmet.

They both shed their armor, leaving it in haphazard piles on the ground. Tex leaned against the headboard of her bunk, Kimball leaned against the foot, and they passed the bottle between them.

“Your eyes,” Kimball said, hesitantly.

Tex knew her eyes didn’t look normal. They were as fake as the rest of her body, but they were one of the parts that showed it best. “You like them? The guy who installed them told me I should have gone with brown, but I told him he was biased.”

Sarge had been completely opposed to blue eyes, when he’d helped her remodel her body. Brown, he told her, brown would be the way to go, but Tex had reminded him that she was a Blue, whether he liked it or not. Scowling, he’d acquiesced, but she’d had to promise to insult Grif three times to get it done.

The alcohol was affecting her more than she’d expected. She was getting maudlin.

Kimball smiled, and took another drink.

“Where did you even get this?” Tex asked. It tasted disgusting. Tex’s taste buds were crude—Sarge could only do so much—but she was pretty sure alcohol wasn’t supposed to taste that awful.

“Confiscated it from someone who was drinking on watch duty,” Kimball saluted with the bottle, then passed it over. “Officer’s privilege.”

Tex snorted.

“Are you alright?” Kimball said. “Really? When Locus shot you—”

“I’ve had worse friendly fire,” Tex lied. It hadn’t been friendly fire at the time. Donut hadn’t been an ally, not then. But it had the effect she wanted—the concern in Kimball’s eyes faded just a bit. Tex didn’t need Kimball to worry. She might wonder why Tex was perfectly fine, despite the injury.

Tex didn’t think about how, if she was a human, she might be dead right now. A blow like that had killed York fast enough. Same shoulder, too.

She passed the bottle back to Kimball without drinking anything.

“He was aiming for me, wasn’t he?” Kimball asked.

Tex shrugged the shoulder that hadn’t been shot. “Maybe,” she admitted.

Kimball hit her head back against the bar she was leaning against. “I never wanted this. Any of this.”

“What did you want to do? Before?”

Kimball shrugged. “Politics, I guess. I wanted to fix things.” Her eyes lingered on Tex’s face. Tex glanced away, suddenly worried all her patches had peeled away, revealing the metal underneath Sarge’s careful work. “What about you?”

Tex laughed. “It was never about what I wanted.” Never. All she wanted was to go home. All she wanted was her friends to be alive. All she wanted was Freelancer to burn, to leave her alone, for the Director hurt the way she had. All of those were distant dreams now, faded with age and torn around the edges. Now there was nothing but the fight in front of her. She’d accepted this when she’d realized she wouldn’t be getting off Chorus anytime soon, even with all her skills, no matter how many people she killed or how many shipments of supplies she brought back.

Tes accepted the bottle from Kimball. It was almost empty. She raised it up in a toast to the dead, the missing, and those left behind. “I was always going to be a soldier,” she told Kimball, and drank the last of it.

2. After a long day

Another failed training exercise lead Kimball to the bunk she shared with Allison, nearly ripping her hair out.

She was grateful, for this, for everything. Allison didn’t judge her for yelling, for being frustrated. She saw Kimball for who she was, and didn’t judge her for fraying around the edges, for nearly falling apart. It was a friendship Kimball was grateful for—she was a mercenary like Felix, sure, but she was solid. She didn’t try to charm, didn’t even ask for money. She just wanted to be gone, and she was clear about it. Things were straightforward with Allison. Kimball knew exactly where she stood.

“And then they turn the corner, and Captain Grif shouts, ‘Every man for himself!’ And then everything falls to pieces!” Kimball couldn’t believe it, sometimes. The mighty Reds and Blues, the heroes who brought down project Freelancer, and they were… she didn’t even know. They weren’t what she expected, that was for sure.

Allison grimaced. “They’ll get better,” she said. “They’ve got a lot at stake here too.”

“I’m not sure if that’s enough, Allison,” Kimball said quietly. Missing friends and determination were nice, but this was the entire Federal Army. This was Locus, who had even Felix running scared half the time. They were running out of time, and everyone knew it.

Allison sighed, and suddenly there was a bottle of something amber in her hand. “Got any glasses? Sounds like you need this more than I do.”

“Where did you get that?” And how had she managed to procure it at just the right time.

“Found it on a supply run,” Allison said, removing her helmet. As always, Kimball felt herself relaxing slightly when Allison signaled she considered it safe enough to remove her helmet. “Figured we might need it.”

“For medical purposes,” Kimball said, but there was a smile on her face that she tried to hide. She thanked everything she could think of that Allison had crash-landed here.

“Destressing the general is a medical purpose,” Allison said, pouring two generous helpings into the cups Kimball had managed to scrounge up. She was smirking as she passed Kimball her cup. Kimball threw it back, telling herself the burning in her throat was only due to the alcohol, not due to the gratitude closing up her throat.

“I just—I thought they’d be heroes,” Kimball said, leaning forward, her hair falling in her eyes. She brushed it away, irritated. It was getting too long again. “Stupid of me. I thought they could fix things.”

“No one can fix this mess that easily,” Allison said. “I wish they could.” Her gaze was distant, lost in some memory, some private thought that Kimball was not privy too. Allison’s past was vague and mysterious. She didn’t like to talk about herself much at all. Kimball almost was irritated by that sometimes, but that was the way Allison was. She’d grown to accept it.

Kimball found herself laughing, the taste of it bitter on her tongue. “I don’t even know what would happen if we won. Then what? We’ve been at war for years. We have an army of traumatized kids and no one knows how to run anything and it’s been years and no one’s come to help us!”

It was all hopeless. Once, she’d had such a clear picture of the future, of what she wanted, of the way she would help her people. Now, she felt like she was drowning just trying to keep them all alive long enough to even think about tomorrow.

“You’ll figure that out when it happens,” Allison said. “You’re good at this, Kimball.” She sounded almost earnest.

Kimball burst out laughing again in disbelief. Kimball wished she could blame the alcohol. “Alright. Bed time for you,” Allison said. Kimball blinked, realizing just how drunk she actually was in that moment.

“We’re so screwed,” Kimball muttered, despite herself.

“No, you’re not,” Allison’s hands were warm on Kimball’s shoulders as she rolled her onto her side. “Now sleep.”

3. Just because

“I like your face,” Kimball slurred at her. The stuff they’d gotten their hands on that night was stronger than usual, enough to reduce Kimball to a five-drink state two drinks in. “It’s�� pretty.”

“Used to be prettier,” Tex said dryly. It was true. At Freelancer she’d been… uncanny. Smooth features, a button nose that had never been broken, eyes so solidly blue they’d looked like marbles. Blonde hair that never seemed to get dirty or greasy, always soft to the touch. Every injury she’d ever sustained vanished before she could track it, the Director and his cronies wiping it away. No scars, no marks, proportions so balanced it was like she’d been designed, not born. Which was what she had been. A fighter in a body built for beauty.

A perfected version of a dead woman.

Truth be told, she’d been grateful when Donut had scrapped it. The body she was in now was built like a soldier, solid if short, but her shoulders were broad and every inch of her body appeared to be corded with muscle. Her nose was crooked, her teeth uneven, and the patches of her repair work on her face and hands gave her the look of scars. Sure, she had dyed her hair blonde, but she still had to keep it clean, still had to work for it, not that she always bothered.

It was a comfort that Sarge had given her. A flawed, breakable body.

Kimball laughed. “Weren’t we all?”

Tex stopped, considering this. “I guess.” She stared at her hands. Her last ones had been dainty, pale things. Her current ones were crisscrossed with scars. These hands had been to war and looked it. “I think I like me now better, though.”

This body was hers. The Director had never seen it, never touched it, had no part in shaping it. Sarge had made it for her, with her input, and she could still see him in its workmanship, even now that she had taken his creation and taken it to hell and back.

“Me too,” Kimball said, giving her a little grin. She leaned against Tex’s shoulder, and Tex let her. Human contact was a rare and precious thing. She didn’t often like it, but she could handle this. This was okay. “You’re here now.”

Tex snorted, looking away from Kimball. “Going soft on me, Kimball?” She wondered what Kimball would have made of her, back at Freelancer. Would Kimball still be here, leaning against a pretty little mannequin who followed orders without so much as a question, blowing up buildings and killing someone who called her a friend without hesitation? The absence of CT’s dog tags around her neck felt conspicuous in that moment. She’d lost them in the crash, and it still felt wrong. “Well?”

Kimball didn’t answer. She had fallen asleep on Tex’s shoulder, head lolling to one side as she began to snore.

Tex grinned to herself, and moved Kimball under the covers as gently as she was able to.

“Night,” Tex said quietly, before leaving. Tex didn’t need as much sleep as Kimball did. She’d keep an eye on things until Kimball woke up.

4. After an argument

Kimball held up the bottle as she pushed open the door to the new room in Armonia that she shared with Tex. Tex was lying down on the bottom bunk, staring at the bottom of the mattress above her. “I hear you were fighting with Carolina.”

“Damn it, who told?” Tex complained. She was scowling—it had actually bothered her, whatever had gone down. It was rare to see Allison—Tex, Kimball corrected herself—flustered at all. She took everything in stride. It had been a comfort, earlier, to know that no matter what had happened, Allison would be… not stoic, exactly, but un-phased. Nothing could cause her to falter. And now that Kimball knew that she had spent years with the Reds and Blues, that particular aspect of her personality made a lot of sense.

But it seemed that Carolina was good at getting under Tex’s skin. It worked the other way around, that she already knew—she’d been regaled multiple times by Wash and Tucker both about Carolina’s own issues regarding Tex. But she hadn’t realized that Tex would have been affected. Tex was supposed to be unstoppable. Not emotionless—Kimball had never made that mistake. But she’d never seemed to be bothered by other people’s opinions of her. It was a confidence that Kimball had always envied. But it seemed like Kimball might have made a mistake, assuming that was the case.

Tex sat up, and Kimball’s brain stuttered to a complete stop as she realized Tex’s state of dress.

Dark pants were normal for Texas to wear, but for once Tex had done away with her long sleeves and high necks, instead wearing a tank top with a low back and front. Kimball couldn’t help but stare. Texas was built like a boxer, compact with muscle, and despite her short stature Kimball couldn’t help but feel dwarfed. Kimball had assumed a lot of the power Tex exuded normally was the armor, but clearly, that wasn’t the case.

Tex noticed Kimball staring and looked away. “You going to tell me to get repaired too?” She asked bitterly.

Kimball blinked, tearing her eyes away from Tex’s biceps to finally take notice of the rest of what was exposed.

Her mouth fell open as she really looked at Tex.

There was a rough looking puncture through her shoulder, the edges of her synthetic skin curled away from it, exposing the metal beneath. Right above Tex’s collarbone there was a place where a spider-web fracture could be seen. The skin on her upper left arm had been roughly torn open a long time ago, revealing a jagged slice of darkened chrome.

“Your shoulder,” Kimball said quietly. “That was from…”

“Yes,” Tex said tersely. She didn’t want to talk about it, Kimball could tell. But the memory was so clear to Kimball; the way Allison had yelled when the bullet had punched through her shoulder, but she had still knocked Kimball to the ground, her other hand swinging up to return fire without hesitation. Kimball had been terrified she’d been about to lose Allison, like she’d lost so many others over the years.

But Allison had been fine, she’d said. And Kimball could see that—there was no blood in Tex’s body, and she’d been using both arms since, so the damage clearly had not effected the complicated circuitry of Tex’s body.

But there was a hole, where Locus had tried to kill her, and Kimball didn’t know how to handle that.

“You said you were fine,” Kimball wanted to reach out and touch it, but she kept perfectly still. Tex looked like a wild animal, cornered and feral. Kimball hated that; hated the idea that she was the one making Tex like that. The last thing Kimball wanted to do was make Tex feel trapped.

“I’m fine,” Tex snapped. Her electric-blue eyes, which Kimball had once supposed to be prosthetic, but now new to just be one of the most obviously robotic touches of her body, were completely unchanged, reflecting nothing about how she was feeling, but her mouth was drawn into a thin, dangerous line. “It’s superficial.”

“There’s a hole in your shoulder,” Kimball’s eyes kept drifting to it.

“And I’ve had it for ages now, and it hasn’t affected my performance,” Tex’s chin went up, challenging Kimball, daring her to say otherwise.

Some of those injuries looked ancient. Tex had probably had them since before she’d even landed on Chorus. Bullet and knife wounds, alongside all sorts of other marks, gathered from fights long passed. From a life long before Tex had stumbled into Kimball’s own.

Kimball swallowed dryly and nodded, meeting Tex’s gaze as evenly as she could. “Understood, Agent Texas.”

Tex relaxed slightly at that, although she still didn’t sit down. It was not quite parade rest—her arms crossed defensively, but her feet were planted solidly, ready for a fight. It was a stance Kimball knew well; she was pretty sure she saw it in the mirror every day.

“What’s the one on your chest?” Kimball winced—she should have changed the conversation, pulled them away from.

Tex reached up absently to touch it. Kimball wanted to touch it herself—it had cracked like something solid, like ceramics or even glass, but the rest of Tex’s skin looked soft, like human flesh. How had Sarge managed to make her a body so lifelike, that Kimball had never even suspected before the truth had come out? “That one? Just a scratch. You should see my back.” There was a faint smile playing at the corner of her mouth—lost in memory, maybe.

“Maybe later,” Kimball said, fairly certain that she would either have one of two reactions in she was given the opportunity to examine Tex’s back up close: drooling or gasping in horror, and Tex wouldn’t appreciate either one. Tucker had been very clear about one thing when Kimball had asked—there had been a boyfriend, back when he had known Tex, before. A boyfriend named Church, who was apparently a completely separate entity than the Epsilon A.I. that dwelled within Carolina’s armor. And, in Tex’s mind, he had died only recently. (And Washington had apparently killed him, which really only raised more questions for Kimball that she didn’t dare ask.) “Drink?” She said, holding up the bottle again.

Tex fell down back onto her bed with a sigh. “Please,” she muttered.

5. After the war

The ceremonies were all done, and the parties were dying down. And Tex was trying to figure out what happened next.

The war was over. That had always been her end point, the time she was supposed to escape, to go back to Blood Gulch, to find her boys, to find Church.

But they were all here—all except Kai, at least—and Church was dead. He’d been dead the whole time Tex was on Chorus. He’d been dead and she hadn’t known, he’d died thinking he was going to find her in the Meta’s patchwork of AI, he’d died thinking she was gone, and Tex hadn’t been anywhere, lost between point A and point B in the timeline.

What was left at Blood Gulch for her?

Tex didn’t like those thoughts.

She stared down at her new smooth hands, and scowled. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, she knew. She’d destroyed her old body herself. But the blankness, the newness, of this body rankled. It felt artificial and cold, it felt like—felt like the first time she had taken her armor off in front of York and he’d freaked out, because she was so obviously inhuman, with no scars and a too-pretty face.

Luckily her face was mostly the same as it had been before, minus a few chipped teeth, a couple of scars, and a broken nose. There was no artificial beauty in this body. And then there were her new eyes, a bright, vivid green, an electric counterpart to Carolina’s.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Kimball said. She looked exhausted but happy, her smile crooked and her eyes bright. Kimball had scars; years of war had left their toll. Kimball wore them like badges of honor, each one a screaming statement. She had survived, she had lived, and whoever had tried to make it otherwise wouldn’t live to regret it.

“My thoughts are way more expensive than that,” Tex scoffed.

Kimball laughed, reaching out and pushing at Tex’s shoulder. Tex was wearing a tank top, since there were no scars or holes she needed to cover up, and Kimball’s hand ended up resting there, Kimball’s thumb brushing against her collarbone. It was the first time that Tex could think of that Kimball had touched her skin, and something about it made Tex pause, turning to stare at her.

Kimball looked panicked for a second, but recovered quickly enough, holding up a bottle of what had to be the awful gin Tex had caught Jensen brewing in a bathtub last week. “How’s this for a down payment, then?”

“You know how to convince a girl, General Kimball,” Tex said, grabbing the bottle and removing the crude wax seal.

“Got to keep my loyal mercenary happy,” Kimball said with a lightness they both knew she didn’t feel.

Three mercenaries had come into this war. Two had been traitors, two had survived.

“I’ll bring you Locus’s head when I find him,” Tex volunteered, rather generously in her own opinion. “You can mount it on the wall in your office.”

“I think I’ll have to pass,” Kimball said, but her mouth was twitching.

Tex took a swig and spluttered slightly at the taste. “Fuck, Jensen is awful at this.”

Kimball grabbed it back and sniffed it cautiously before trying. “Grey says it’s safe, at least,” she said, making a face of her own.

“Well in that case…” Tex took the bottle back. Kimball’s hand had left her shoulder, and Tex wondered why the loss of contact bothered her.

She passed it back to Kimball, and for a moment their fingers brushed. Tex’s eyes widened as she recognized the feeling that rose in her chest. Shit. Not good. No crushing on your boss, Texas, she scolded herself. “Any sign of Felix’s body yet?”

“Nope,” Kimball said. “But I’m not stopping until we find it.”

“Want to dance on his grave?” Tex asked. She was pretty sure that this new body didn’t have the alcohol tolerance of her old one—either that or Jensen’s booze was very strong—because her smile was a bit wider than it should be, and she nudged Kimball.

“It will be important to morale to definitively prove that he’s dead, Agent Texas,” Kimball said loftily. “And if we can prove his identity to the UNSC, it might aid with any potential investigation—”

Tex snorted. “Suuuuure.”

Kimball narrowed her eyes at her, but she was smiling too, the bottle dangling loosely from her fingers.

“How’s the new body?” Kimball asked abruptly. “I wasn’t sure if—you’d like the changes—”

Tex shrugged. “I—it’s fine.”

“We can get Grey to change them back, if you don’t like them,” Kimball said hurriedly. “It shouldn’t be a problem—”

“No,” Tex said, a little too harshly. She stared down at the ground.

“Tex?” There was a pause. “Allison?”

She didn’t understand. None of them had. Tex didn’t care about the eyes—if anything, she was touched by the gesture—but they were gone. Every bullet, every knife, every grenade, the fall from the ship that had brought her to Chorus, her last fight with York, every encounter with Locus… all of them were wiped away.

Tex closed her eyes. “It’s too—clean. Too new. And my scars are gone.”

“… oh.”

Tex swallowed and grabbed the bottle back. A few swallows later, Tex could make herself speak again. “It’s what he used to do. The Director. Bastard. I’d get injured and when I’d wake up the scars were gone because I wasn’t allowed to lose. I couldn’t… I had to stay like that. They reminded me. I liked that. I don’t like forgetting things.”

There was a long, silence, after she’d finished speaking.

“Have you considered tattoos?” Kimball said. “I’m sure there’s someone around who could help you with that.”

Tex paused, considering it for a maybe. “Maybe when I’m sober,” she decided.

Kimball laughed, and Tex savored the sound slightly.

“And Kimball? Thanks.”

Kimball’s hand landed on hers. Her hands were scarred and warm.

“You’re welcome, Tex.”

+1. A date

The bottle of wine was a lucky find—buried in an old house, but still good. Grey had given it to her with a slight wink, obviously knowing what Kimball had wanted it for. At least no one else seemed to have cottoned on to Kimball’s blatantly unprofessional intentions towards Tex. Even if Kimball technically wasn’t Tex’s employer anymore. And even when she had been, they’d been friends as well.

Kimball was nervous about this; she and Tex drank hard liquor and talked about things as friends. They didn’t drink wine and… do anything else.

But Kimball had to know for sure.

It was odd, no longer sharing a bunk with Tex. But there was more room in the new base and less need for someone to watch Kimball’s back at all times, and Tex had claimed her own room. Kimball would be lying if she didn’t admit that she missed the company. She missed Tex. She knocked on the door cautiously.

There was the faint sound of footsteps, and then Tex opened the door. There was a small but genuine quirk to her mouth when she saw it was Kimball. Today Tex had chosen to wear very tight black pants, and her favored black tank top, which exposed Tex’s arms, as well as the new tattoo on her arm; a simple black α. Honestly Kimball was just amazed she hadn’t tried to jump Tex ages ago.

She held up the bottle. “It’s a…good vintage?” She offered, all of the smooth, witty lines she’d worked out in her head in advance flying right out the window the second she was presented with the image of Tex’s hair pulled up into a ponytail, exposing the curve of her neck.

Tex blinked, squinting at the bottle. “Is that wine?”

“Yes?”

“Shouldn’t you save this for like… a date or something?” Tex asked, tilting her head to one side. A lifetime in armor had taught Tex to be expressive with her body language. “I’ve got some proper tequila under my bed.”

Kimball shifted, her mouth dry as a bone as she forced herself to speak. “I was, um. I thought that… that’s what this could be?”

Tex stared at her for a long, painful moment, her new green eyes unreadable as her blue ones had ever been. Kimball nearly ran to spare them both the embarrassment, but she held her ground, forcing herself to wait to hear Tex say it.

“Huh,” she finally said. Then she reached across and took the bottle from Kimball, examining the label curiously. “You’ve got glasses? Or are we drinking from the bottle again?”

“Why change habits?” Kimball managed to say. They’d only drank with glasses the first time after the Reds and Blues had arrived, when Tex had been the one to provide the alchol. The other times it had just been the two of them, passing the bottle back and forth. There was an intimacy to it that Kimball had savored.

Tex stood aside to let her in, and closed the door firmly behind them. She locked it.

Tex laughed and sat down on her bed, the invitation to join her implicit as she started to wrangle with the cork.

Kimball sat down, and took the bottle when Tex handed it to her. It felt slippery in her grip. She took a sip, and nearly dropped it in surprise. It was good. Kimball couldn’t remember the last time she’d had alcohol that hadn’t been terrible. It had been bathtub gin and rotgut whiskey for years.

Tex took it back and took a sip. “Not bad,” she said, her mouth making that small, secretive smile that Kimball always enjoyed seeing.

And then she kissed Kimball.

Tex tasted like metal and wine, her lips were dry and oddly smooth, but Kimball honestly couldn’t care less as Tex grabbed her hips and pulled her closer. Kimball cupped Tex’s jaw in her hands, her thumbs coming to rest on her cheekbones. Tex’s skin didn’t feel synthetic at all, and Kimball was in awe of what Sarge and Grey had done, creating a robot so lifelike that if it hadn’t been for the strong metal taste, Kimball might not have known Tex wasn’t human.

Tex pulled Kimball forward more until Kimball found herself on Tex’s lap, their foreheads pressed against each other as they separated, breathing heavily.

Tex had finally succeeded in getting her nose broken again so it was the way she liked it. Her face and hands were now marked with the faint, scarlike lines of patching on her skin. Tex must have done them herself; Sarge or Grey could have done them so that they left no marks, but Tex wanted those marks. Kimball indulged herself, just this once, and traced over the skin of Tex’s cheeks with her thumb, feeling the bumps of the scars.

“Like the new face?” Tex laughed, her mouth going down to Kimball’s neck.

Kimball gasped, her fingers tangling in Tex’s hair. “Yes,” she managed to say. “Yes.”

Tex laughed. “And here I thought I’d have to get you drunk to get you to admit that again.”

Kimball flushed but Tex had returned to kissing her lips. After a considering moment, she fell backwards onto the bed until she was lying down, Kimball sprawled out on top of her.

“Well,” Kimball said, propping herself up as best she could to preserve her dignity. “We do still have the rest of the bottle.”

“Maybe later,” Tex said, and she reached up and touched Kimball’s face with a gentleness that seemed almost out of place. “I can think of a few better things to do.”

“Me too,” Kimball admitted, and then she leaned down to kiss Tex again.

#RVB: Asphodel Meadows #RvB Rare Pair Week #Agent Texas #Vanessa Kimball #TexBall #Steph Writes #Red vs Blue #rvbrarepairweek

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dancesontheedge · 8 years ago

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An age and a half ago, @tavsancuk tagged me in a 10 characters in 10 fandoms meme. I am finally filling it. I have laid myself some ground rules. I will choose and present to you, in no particular order, my ten favorite male characters. I will also include explanations for my picks. I am strongly considering doing a mirror post with my ten favorite female characters with explanations. Also, some of them are coming with fic recs. Sorry not sorry. Most of those recs will route you to FFN. That, I am a little sorry about. Since this is explanation heavy, I’ll put it under a read more.

Finn (Star Wars) This fabulous man turns his back on everything he has ever been taught because he realized it was wrong. He broke more than a decade’s worth of programming to free Poe Dameron, and then he went back for Rey despite his fear of the First Order. That takes serious guts, and I have so much respect for his character.

have you heard by peradi Finn sparks a stormtrooper revolution.

Jess Mariano (Gilmore Girls) Jess grew so much over the course of the series. We did not get to see most of it happening, but he went from a really messed up, angry at the world teenager to a well-adjusted and very successful adult (based on what we’ve seen). Also, though he and Rory had their issues as a couple, he was the only one of her boyfriends who she did not feel the need to change for.

Of Books and Music by once-was-serendipity. Instead of cutting off all contact with Rory when he left in season 3, Jess sent books with his margin-notes to Rory. We see him deal with all of his shit. Pay the Piper by Iscah McKrae. Immediately after Rory’s disastrous visit to Philadelphia, Shane contacts Jess to tell him they have a daughter who she wants not part of. Jess winds up taking full custody. Incomplete. Truths Universally Acknowledged by 12cubed. A Jane Austen report assigned by Mr. Medina spirals out of control as Taylor announces a Jane Austen festival. Season 2 style Rory/Jess pining. Tide and Moon by once-was-serendipity. Jess and Rory’s relationship over seasons 2 and 3 plays out a bit differently. Mostly, Jess get’s his shit together earlier. Incomplete.

Zuko (Avatar the Last Airbender) Over the course of the series, Zuko realized that his father was evil and everything he had been taught (by someone not-Uncle-Iroh) was either a lie or immoral. Once he finished being in denial about it, he took action, ultimately changing sides and working to atone for the wrong he had done when he still believed in his father.

Embers by Vathara. At the beginning of season 2, Zuko discovers the secret of healing fire, and then things get super AU, super fast. Lots of worldbuilding, and I swear to god this author’s a goddess. Has been described as “Atla in the style of Game of Thrones, minus the sex” Mismatched by Kimberly T. In season 1, Zuko discovers an Earth Kingdom baby with mismatched eyes. Because local superstition claims the baby is a witch-child and bad luck because of it, Zuko adopts him. This speeds his realization that everything he knows is wrong by quite a bit. Incomplete. Second Nature by lazyartisan. At the end of season 1, Zuko is captured at the North Pole. Angst ensues. Essentially, the author upped the stakes and ignored the “kids show” genre. Incomplete-ish. The author told the story she wanted to tell, but ends the story at the end of season 2 rather than resolving everything. She may eventually update again, she may not. Another Brother by AvocadoLove. Zuko was scarred much younger than in canon and is found by Chief Hakoda almost dead on a Fire Navy ship. Hakoda takes him in, and he is raised in the Southern Water Tribe alongside Sokka and Katara.

Steve Rogers (MCU) Steve Rogers’ moral compass is so on point it’s honestly terrifying. His entire morality basically boils down to “I don’t like bullies or trust the people in power not to be bullies,” and honestly that’s the kind of role model we all could use. He is uncompromising, but he’s right with an alarming consistency. And he’s genuine, which warms the cockles of my own way-too-honest heart. (It should, perhaps, be noted that this is why Benjamin Tallmadge is my favorite Turn character and that these traits are reflected in one of my most formative female characters, Keladry of Mindelen.)

Serenade by CSI Clue. Happy fic. Steve gets a girlfriend and everything is adorable. Choice is Not a Word a Bullet Knows series by bomberqueen17. Winter Soldier followup, so much poly capfam, at least one really awesome OC. A Pretty Boy with a Bird Tattoo by Kryptaria and rayvanfox. Steve/Bucky/Nat OT3, punk college AU. My favorite of their collaborative works (because Nat), but their other stuff (stucky, all of it) is super awesome too. Source Code by Closer. Steve is tired of everyone thinking he’s a robot clone or whatever the conspiracy theory of the week is. Freezer Burn series by Domenika Marzione. Comics/MCU mashup that follows a different Avenger in each of the major stories. Freezer Burn follows Steve, Thaw follows Clint, Revenant follows Nat.

Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds) Spencer Reid gets put through such shit by the Criminal Minds writers (and the fandom, honestly. We love to watch him suffer), but he continues to be dedicated to justice and peaceful solutions. In addition, he is one of the biggest nerds and genius’ on TV, and is generally way less obnoxious and improbable about it than others of his type. It should be noted that I am not up to date on this show, having missed almost every episode that aired while I was at University, and that I am refusing to watch the current Reid-in-prison-without-his-memory arc. Because that was a bridge too far.

Foxtrot Whiskey Bravo by Kuria Dalmatia. Reid and Elle have a friends with benefits relationship. Very unangsty for my possible Reid picks. The Comstock King’s Daughter by TheKnittingLady. Reid/OC. Reid and his date get kidnapped by an Unsub, things go better than they could. The least depressing/angsty story by this author, the story by this author requiring the fewest content/trigger warnings. This author is *very* good, but her work is pretty messed up. Writes almost exclusively Reid-centrics, usually Reid/OC. Liar by Addicted Archangel. Reid is imprisoned for a crime he did not commit. Somehow not as angsty/whumpy as the current canon storyline. Begins with his conviction, ends with his release.

Gilbert Blythe (Anne of Green Gables) Honestly, who doesn’t love Gilbert? Pining away for Anne and being generally adorable. No long winded explanation here, but can we all just take a second, think of Gilbert Blythe, and smile?

Blythe Spirit and Unromantic Ideal by Morte Rouge. The first three books of the Anne of Green Gables Series from Gilbert’s POV. I promise it’s not repetitive. Some grammar issues.

Christopher Perry/Halliwell (Charmed) This tortured soul happens to fall right in the middle of one of my favorite tropes: Time Travel. Chris travels back in time to prevent his older brother, the most powerful witch to ever live, from turning evil and taking over the world. He lost literally everyone, led the resistance, watched his brother kill his fiance, and when he went back in time was hated by the younger versions of his family for being so driven and not letting them have a life and also for breaking up his mother and father (they, of course, did not know who he was). Also, he’s a sarcastic little shit. It’s like he’s the definition of my preferred angst-button.

A Pair of Ragged Claws by cunneware. Wyatt’s most deadly assassin arrives from the future. It is revealed that she has been magically enslaved by Wyatt, and when that magic is lifted, she decides to aid Chris in his mission to prevent Wyatt from turning evil. Ultimately, it is revealed that Chris is the sisters’ son/nephew. The Last Horcrux by Stonage Woman. Crossover with Harry Potter, AU from book 6. Taking place in the original future where Wyatt is evil, with all the accompanying super-depressing things that come along with that. Harry is in his 40s, still fighting Voldemort, and essentially adopts Chris. If you would like to know where my angst-o-meter sits, this one registers at like an 8 of 10.

Edmund Pevensie (Chronicles of Narnia) Edmund is generally a shit in The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. Nobody will argue that point with you. What’s important to me is how he grows. He decides to become worthy of Aslan’s sacrifice. He decides to live up to his sobriquet “The Just.” He acts to atone for his selfishness and live a life of service.

Harold and Morgan: Not a Romance by rthstewart. This is super a romance. Edmund got married in Narnia to a banker from the Lone Islands. It’s adorable, and I’m quite convinced she’s on the autism spectrum. The Stone Gryphon ‘verse by rthstewart. The Pevensies deal with being back in WWII England, mostly by being ridiculously badass. Not a whole ton of Edmund yet, but it’s awesome, I love everything about it, and could hardly write Narnia recs and not include it. Letting Go by Lirenel. Prince Caspian AU in which Edmund arrives separately from and substantially before his siblings because he wasn’t holding their hands at the train station. The Ledbury Run by Maddy Carr. Back in England, Edmund and Peter participate in a cross-country race and find in their path a downed German paratrooper.

Simon Tam (Firefly) Simon had it all. He had money, he had his dream career, he had parents who were pleased as punch to have him as their son. He gave it all up to rescue his sister from government experimentation and subsequently became a fugitive. He has some trouble adjusting, as you can imagine, from golden child to desperate man on the edges of society, but he never considers going back. Not once. Because his sister was more important to him than all the accolades he could earn.

Alec Hardison (Leverage) Hardison is a hardened criminal. Ish. He takes immense pride in his hacking ability and would be offended if I said he was one of the best in the business. Because he’s the best. But really, Hardison’s a soft touch. He was the one most easily convinced to join the Leverage team and use his crime powers for good. His first heist? Hacking into the Bank of Iceland to pay his Nana’s medical bills. He decided that the Leverage crew was his family, and promptly adopted them all. He’s the team-builder, the block they all built on. He provided the space, he provided the nurturing eye, he paid attention to what his team members wanted and gave it to them. Though he’s a criminal, he’s the moral center of the Leverage crew. Also he’s a giant nerd and completely hilarious.

The Justice League Job by Eatsscissors. Casefic about a stolen comic book. Hardison/Parker.

#i was tagged in a thing #favorite male characters #honorable mentions include #briar moss (tamora pierce)#ben wyatt (parks and rec)#and #benton fraser (due south)

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