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sallowsarchives · 3 months ago

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Clash and Convergence

Part I | Part II | Part III

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary: Tensions are running high as you continue to grapple with your conflicting emotions. However, with another job thrusting you both back into close proximity, could this new development be the key to easing the tension and mending the rift between you once more? Word Count: 8.2k Warnings/Tags: no use of y/n, angst, gunfights, injury, canon-typical danger, dead bodies (nothing too graphic), not proofread!! A/N: Hey again! Alright so compared to the last chapter, I've taken some creative liberties and sort of deviated from the canon for this one, so I’m hoping this one turns out good. Also, no smut for this part but I promise it’s coming in the next chapter, which I hope to finish as soon as I can. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and feedback is always appreciated!

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A few weeks had passed since that night, yet despite the passage of time, the unspoken tension between you and Arthur remained.

In the first few days after the party, you withdrew into yourself, steering clear of the usual banter and small talk. You went about your tasks with mechanical precision, your movements efficient but devoid of the usual liveliness.

The memory of the events that occurred lingered in the back of your mind, casting a shadow over your usual routines. Your tried to bury those thoughts, focusing on the small, manageable tasks that kept your hands busy and your mind occupied.

Lately, the days had been filled with nothing but the usual activities—scouting for potential heists, tending to horses, helping with chores, and maintaining the camp.

Arthur was rarely at the camp, often off on some job Dutch had given him. Some days, you'd catch him heading to his horse early in the morning, riding out to God knows where and wouldn’t return for a few days. When he did, he'd usually arrive with freshly caught game or extra cash to contribute.

On the days he was gone, the camp felt a little quieter, a little less tense. His absences were a small blessing, giving you the space needed to collect your thoughts and maintain the fragile peace between you both. During those times, you could almost pretend that things were as they once were.

But on the days he was present, you both made a concerted effort to avoid each other. Conversations were brief and strained, and any interaction was kept to a bare minimum.

He often busied himself with tasks around the camp—chopping wood, organizing supplies, and carrying hay bales to the horses as if they weighed nothing.

When he wasn’t working, he’d sit by the campfire, engaging in small conversations with the others or scribbling in his journal. On some days, he’d spend the entirety of his time hidden away in his room.

You, on the other hand, would retreat to the outskirts of the camp until Miss Grimshaw scolded you, at which point you'd bury yourself in tasks of your own, your demeanor just as distant.

You found solace in the routine of chores, focusing on the small, manageable tasks that allowed you to avoid any unnecessary interaction with Arthur.

You missed the days when you'd head into town with the girls or accompany some of the men for small jobs where you’d use your nimble fingers to good use. Blending into the bustling crowds, you’d quietly lift wallets and purses from unsuspecting townsfolk, finding a strange satisfaction in the simplicity and thrill of the task.

But lately, with the Pinkertons breathing down the gang's necks even more, there hadn’t been much in the way of work. The lack of action only heightened the tension, making the days drag on with a restless energy that seemed to seep into every part of your life.

Before long, the unease between you and Arthur became palpable to those around you. The camp was abuzz with quiet speculation, though the mood remained outwardly unaffected.

Conversations with the others were tinged with curiosity as they noticed the stark shift from the usual lively banter to the strained silence that now characterized your interactions.

The frequent arguments and sharp exchanges had given way to a stifling quiet, and it didn’t take long for the gang members to sense that something was off between you two. The change in dynamic was unusual and unsettling, prompting whispered conversations and knowing glances among the camp.

One evening, as you were helping Pearson with the supplies, you overheard Javier and Bill talking by the fire.

“Have you noticed how quiet it’s been without those two at each other’s throats?” Bill said, shaking his head.

Javier nodded, glancing discreetly over at you. “Yeah, it’s strange. Almost miss the excitement.”

Lenny and Karen, who had joined the group, shared their own takes.

“It’s strange,” Lenny said. “I mean, they’d always bicker and fight, but there was some kind of spark to it. Now, it’s just… cold. A whole lot of nothin’.”

“You’d think they’d have worked it out after gettin’ the chance to spend time together. But it’s like whatever went down just left a permanent chill between ’em,” Karen added.

Pearson, catching the conversation, gave you a look but said nothing. You simply shrugged and continued with your task, trying to ignore the growing weight of the situation.

Though the camp had noticed the shift between the two of you, no one had really confronted you about it—except for one person.

Hosea, ever the keen observer, had picked up on the change in demeanor from you and Arthur during the ride back after the party.

That night, as soon as you arrived at camp, you dismounted the coach before anyone even had a chance to offer a greeting and headed straight into the house without a word.

The usual warmth of the campfire and the lively chatter that greeted the return of its members felt distant and muted to you, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions churning inside.

Arthur had watched you storm off with a mix of frustration and concern, feeling a pang of guilt but too wrapped up in his own stubborn pride to approach you. His internal conflict was evident, as he struggled with his own emotions while grappling with the distance growing between you both.

The weight of his own pride and the fear of further complicating things kept him from reaching out. He knew he was part of the issue, yet he couldn’t bring himself to make things right, leaving him brooding by the fire long after you had disappeared into the house.

Hosea didn’t miss the tension in the air as you left abruptly or the way Arthur’s mood had darkened. He watched Arthur’s restless movements, the firelight dancing over his face and revealing a rare glimpse of vulnerability and frustration. The usual calm and quiet confidence Arthur exuded was replaced by visible agitation, a stark contrast to the man Hosea had come to know.

At first, Hosea hadn’t thought much of it, assuming it was just another round of the aftermath from the usual quips and disagreements between you and Arthur. But as weeks went by and the tension persisted, he began to sense that something deeper was at play.

Fast forward to now, as you were engrossed in cleaning a rifle— which Hosea had actually gifted you after witnessing your impressive marksmanship on a hunt you had accompanied him on—you caught sight of him approaching out of the corner of your eye.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked gently, settling himself on a nearby log. His tone was casual but his eyes held a deep concern. "I've been meaning to check in, see how you're doin' after the party."

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak without betraying the turmoil inside. Hosea sat down beside you, watching as you continued to clean the rifle, the rhythmic motion of your hands almost mechanical.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice soft and careful. "I, uh, noticed you’ve seemed a bit... off since that night. You've been keepin' to yourself more, and there's not as much of that fiery spirit you usually show. I don't mean to pry, but, well, I reckon somethin' happened, didn't it?"

You looked up, meeting his gaze. There was no judgment in his eyes, only an open, sympathetic understanding. Sighing, you tried to find the right words.

“Arthur and I just had a… disagreement. Nothing that hasn’t happened before.”

“Disagreements are one thing, but this feels different,” Hosea said, his voice carrying a hint of concern. “I’ve seen you two go at it before, but there’s a coldness now that wasn’t there before. Something’s weighing heavy on both of you. You want to talk about it?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone nonchalant. “It’s really not that big of a deal, Hosea. Just a rough patch, like always.”

Hosea’s brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t push further.

“Alright. Just don’t let it fester. If you need to talk, you know where to find me.”

You nodded, giving him a tight smile. “Thanks, Hosea. I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. Just need to keep busy.”

With that, you turned your attention back to the rifle, the rhythmic motion of your cleaning a soothing distraction from the thoughts clouding your mind. Hosea left you to your task, though his concerned gaze lingered a moment longer before he walked away, leaving you with your uneasy thoughts.

You knew his concern was genuine, but you were determined to keep things at a distance and focus on moving forward, despite the emotional undercurrents swirling beneath the surface.

You took a deep breath, letting the familiarity of the rifle and the routine of your task provide a semblance of control amid the chaos of your feelings.

Later that evening, as the campfire crackled and cast flickering shadows around the camp, you sat with Abigail, the two of you enjoying a rare moment of light conversation.

The warmth of the fire was a welcome contrast to the chill in the night air, and Javier’s gentle guitar strumming in the background added a soothing ambiance to the evening, offering a brief respite from the weight of your thoughts.

As you and Abigail chatted, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere, the quiet rustling of footsteps and the gentle clearing of a throat drew your attention. Turning around, you saw Arthur standing there, his expression guarded yet earnest.

Arthur had arrived at camp some time in the afternoon, his presence marked by the familiar rhythm of his horse’s hooves and the clink of his spurs as he carried in another fresh load of game. His arrival had been met with the usual nods and grunts of acknowledgment, but he had kept to himself since then.

Arthur’s presence seemed to amplify the quiet of the evening, his stance betraying an unease that matched the tension between you two. The firelight cast shifting shadows on his face, revealing the weariness and frustration etched into his features.

“Evenin’,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “Uh, Dutch needs to talk to us both.”

Arthur shifted his weight, his gaze flickering to the side before meeting yours again. “He uh… said he wanted to talk to us about something,” he added, his tone attempting to be casual but betraying a hint of the underlying strain.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself against the rising unease about what Dutch might need to discuss. Abigail, noticing the awkwardness in Arthur’s demeanor, chose not to comment. Instead, she offered a sympathetic smile and stood up, her gesture a small comfort in the tense moment.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” she said softly, giving your shoulder a reassuring pat before heading off to give you and Arthur some space.

As you watched her walk away, you felt a brief flicker of gratitude for her understanding. You turned back to Arthur, who was still standing silently, his gaze shifting uncomfortably, before making your way towards Dutch’s quarters.

Arthur’s footsteps were heavy behind you, his usual easy stride replaced by a more deliberate, uncertain pace. He cleared his throat, as if to break the silence, but no words came.

The crackling of the campfire and the soft murmur of distant conversations slowly faded, leaving only the sound of the wooden floorboards creaking under your steps as you both made your way inside the house and up the stairs.

You raised your hand and knocked on the door, the sound echoing louder than you expected. After a moment, Dutch’s voice called out from inside, inviting you both in. With a deep breath, you turned the handle and stepped into the room, ready to face whatever Dutch had to say.

Upon entering, you found Dutch and Hosea on the terrace, engaged in a low conversation. The evening light cast a warm glow over them, adding a sense of calm to the otherwise tense atmosphere. Dutch looked up as you approached, a smile etching onto his face.

"Ah, there you are, come on out, we’ve got some things to discuss."

Hosea gave you a nod of acknowledgment, his expression one of quiet understanding.

Dutch gestured for you and Arthur to join them at a small table set up with a few maps.

“I wanted to go over a few things with you both,” Dutch said, his tone casual but authoritative. “Hosea and I have been discussin’ a plan, might just be what we need to get away from here and finally throw the Pinkertons off our scent for good.”

Hosea turned to you, adding to Dutch’s explanation. “There’s another job, particularly concerning the stagecoach details you picked up from the party, actually. You know, the one rumored to be packed with jewels and cash. We’ve gotten word that it’ll be rollin’ through just north of Lemoyne, somewhere in New Hanover, tomorrow.”

You felt a jolt of realization as Hosea’s words hit you. The mention of the stagecoach, packed with jewels and cash, immediately brought back the details you’d nearly forgotten in the whirlwind of recent events.

Your mind raced, piecing together the fragments of information you’d gathered during the party. This was the opportunity that could turn everything around, but it also meant diving right back into the chaos. You could sense the weight of the mission ahead, the stakes higher than ever.

You nodded slowly, absorbing the gravity of the situation. “Alright, so what’s the plan?” you asked, trying to focus on the task at hand despite the whirlwind of emotions.

Hosea glanced at Dutch, who took over the explanation. “We’ve got a basic outline. We reckon the stagecoach will be guarded, so you’ll need to stay sharp. Essentially, your task is to take out the guards and haul that coach right back here for safekeeping,” he said, pointing to a spot on the map.

Arthur leaned in, his expression serious. “Sounds like a plan. Who else is comin’ with us?”

Dutch and Hosea exchanged a glance, then Dutch answered, “It’ll just be the two of you. We’re countin’ on you to get it done.”

You blinked, eyes widening as you begin to feel a surge of frustration. “Wait, what? You can’t be serious,” you said, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Arthur's eyes widened slightly, his unease becoming more evident. “Just the two of us?” he repeated, trying to mask his discomfort with a gruff tone. He looked between Dutch and Hosea, clearly taken aback by the lack of backup.

Dutch looked momentarily taken aback by your reactions, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s the problem?” he asked, clearly oblivious to the underlying tension between you and Arthur. “I figured you two would be the best for this. It’s a straightforward job. I know you can handle it. You seemed to do fine back at the mayor's party.”

Arthur fidgeted with his hat, looking uncomfortable. He glanced at you, his face showing a mix of frustration and reluctance.

Hosea, sensing the growing discomfort and understanding the gravity of the situation, stepped in. “Since you were the one who uncovered the details about the stagecoach,” he said, addressing you directly, “We figured you’d lead this one. You know the specifics and what to expect. Arthur here is our best bet to go with you, handle any trouble, and watch your back while you’re at it.”

“And besides,” Hosea continued, his tone softening, “I know you’ve been itching to get out of camp and put your skills to use. This job could be a good chance for you to get out of the camp for a bit and do something you’ve been craving.”

Oh you had been hoping for a change of scenery, but not the kind that would throw you right back into close quarters with Arthur.

This is just fantastic… Just what you needed, no? You couldn’t make this up if you tried. Here you were, thinking you’d get a breather from the endless tension, only to find yourself on a direct collision course with it. Really, the universe must have a twisted sense of humor.

Arthur’s dry laugh cut through your thoughts, and you glanced at him, noting the mix of annoyance and amusement on his face. Yeah, he’s probably thinking the same thing. Didn’t expect this to come with a side of enforced teamwork. We’ve barely been able to keep it together when we're in camp. Now we’re supposed to be a seamless duo out there?

Before you or Arthur could voice any further objections, Dutch cuts in with a firm tone. “It’s settled. You two will handle this job together, and that’s final. No more complaints or arguments.”

The finality in his voice left no room for negotiation.

Arthur let out a deep frustrated sigh. “Well, ain’t this just perfect,” he grumbled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. You shot him a resigned glance, both of you silently acknowledging the irony of the situation.

“Now you two get some rest tonight, and we’ll go over the details tomorrow. I trust you two will make it work.”

With that, Dutch gave a nod, signaling the end of the discussion.

As you were about to leave, Hosea approached you and Arthur with a gentle demeanor, clearly aware of the tension between you two.

“I know it’s not ideal, especially with how things have been between you two,” he said quietly, his voice filled with understanding. “But you’re both capable. I have faith that you’ll handle this just fine.”

Arthur shot Hosea a skeptical glance but nodded in acknowledgment, his gruff exterior softening slightly. “We’ll do what we can,” he muttered, though his tone suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced.

You managed a tight smile, appreciating Hosea’s attempt to offer reassurance despite the circumstances. “Yeah, I suppose we’ll give it our best shot.”

Hosea nodded approvingly and patted Arthur on the back. “That’s the spirit. Now, try to get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

With that, Hosea gave you both a warm, encouraging smile before stepping back, leaving you and Arthur to face the uncomfortable reality of the task ahead.

The promise of the job loomed large, and the need to navigate both the heist and your fraught relationship now seemed inescapable.

The silence stretched, awkward and thick as the both of you grappled with the weight of the situation in your own way, the unspoken tension hanging between you like a heavy fog. You could almost feel the gears in Arthur’s mind turning, his usual confidence replaced by a reluctant resignation.

Arthur shifted his weight, glancing sideways at you before speaking. His voice was low, tinged with hesitation.

Arthur shifted his weight, glancing sideways at you before speaking. “Look, I know this isn’t exactly ideal. We’ve had our share of run-ins, and I’m not expecting us to suddenly be friends or anything. But, for what it’s worth, I’ll do my part to make sure this job goes smoothly.”

You studied Arthur for a moment, taking in the sincerity behind his words. Despite the tension, there was something begrudgingly reassuring in his willingness to make the best of the situation. You sighed, trying to keep your tone neutral but not entirely devoid of acknowledgment.

“Yeah, well, I’m not expecting us to be the best of friends either,” you replied, forcing a small, wry smile. “But I appreciate the effort. We’ll both just have to keep our heads in the game and get this done. For now, let’s try to focus on the job and not let our… differences get in the way.”

Arthur gave a short nod, the lines of tension on his face momentarily easing. “Fair enough.”

There was an awkward pause, the silence stretching out between you. Arthur finally cleared his throat, his eyes flickering towards you. “Look, about what happened—”

You cut him off, your voice sharp. “We don’t need to rehash it. Let’s just focus on this job so we can continue with our ways.”

The last thing you wanted was to dredge up the emotions and pain that had been bubbling beneath the surface. Revisiting the topic felt like opening an old wound that had yet to heal, and you weren’t ready to face that vulnerability all over again.

Arthur’s expression shifted, a mix of resignation and understanding passing over his face. “Alright,” he said, his tone flat. “We’ll do that.”

With that, you give him a nod before turning heel and walking away downstairs, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet.

Arthur watched you go before heading to his room, the weight of the conversation and unresolved issues hanging heavy on his mind.

As you settled into your sleeping roll, the familiar comfort of the bedding did little to ease the turmoil inside you. The day's events, combined with the strained interaction with Arthur, made it difficult to quiet your racing thoughts.

Despite the brief truce, the underlying tension between you and Arthur was far from resolved.

The next morning dawned crisp and clear, the sunlight filtering through the cracked windows. The sky outside was painted in soft hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over the sprawling estate of Shady Belle.

You woke with a start, the unease of the previous night still heavy in your mind. The camp was already bustling with activity as the early risers went about their morning routines, preparing for the day ahead.

You and Arthur had gotten up early, each in your own way preparing for the job that lay ahead. The conversation this morning with Dutch and Hosea had been brief, focusing mainly on the specifics of the job and the logistics of the route. The details were clear, and the plan was set.

With that in mind, you were left to prepare for the task ahead. Preparing your saddle bag, you set about stashing away the essentials: ammunition, a spare set of clothes, and other provisions.

You grabbed your rifle, carefully checking it for any issues before securing it onto your horse, running a final check on your gear and making sure everything was in order.

The horse you were saddling stood patiently, its calm demeanor a stark contrast to the storm brewing in your mind. As you adjusted the saddle and tightened the straps, you tried to focus on the task at hand, pushing aside thoughts of the upcoming journey and the inevitable interactions with Arthur.

Arthur was nearby, working on his own preparations. Though there was no direct conversation between you, the occasional glance or nod indicated a mutual understanding of the importance of the task at hand.

You watched him for a moment, feeling the unspoken words and unresolved feelings between you. The air was thick with the weight of the unaddressed issues, but you both knew that there was no room for sentiment right now.

You let out a sigh before mounting your horse. The two of you had a job to do, and despite the personal issues that loomed, you had to find a way to make it work. This job had to go smoothly, and you needed to focus on that, no matter how difficult this job was already proving to be.

Arthur gave a brief nod, acknowledging your resolve, and mounted his own horse. With a final deep breath, you spurred your horse into motion.

Arthur fell into line beside you, and together, you set out on the journey ahead.

The road stretched out before you, winding through the dense forests and swamps. The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm light over the landscape.

The journey had been relatively uneventful so far, a few scattered encounters with travelers and the occasional wildlife breaking the monotony.

You and Arthur rode side by side, the silence between you still thick and uncomfortable. You focused on the landscape around you, the dense trees and winding paths offering a certain level of tranquility.

Arthur, for his part, appeared deep in thought. He occasionally glanced over at you, but the eye contact was fleeting.

His usual confident demeanor was replaced with a quiet determination, and the silence spoke volumes of the discomfort that lingered.

You had both briefly reviewed the details of the job, and the execution was expected to be straightforward. The plan was simple enough: intercept the stagecoach, secure the loot, and make a swift escape with the coach to a hiding place somewhere near camp.

After a beat, Arthur finally broke the silence.

“You ready for this?”

You nodded, keeping your eyes on the road ahead.

“Yeah, just like any other job, right?” you replied, keeping your tone steady, though the edge in your voice was unmistakable.

Arthur sighed, clearly sensing the strain in your words. “Look, I know things ain’t been... easy between us. But we gotta get through this.”

You glanced over at him, your expression hardening.

“I know that, Arthur. I’m not gonna let whatever’s between us mess up the job. I’ve got a job to do, and so do you. I intend to see it through without letting personal grudges get in the way.”

Arthur nodded slowly, his eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and resignation. “Yeah, I know you will. Just... stay close, alright? We need to be on the same page.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Understood. Let’s just get this done.”

The tension lingered, but for now, it was buried under the urgency of the job.

The terrain shifted subtly, the once marshy ground giving way to the rich, green embrace of dense forests, rolling hills, and steep mountains.

The road followed a river that wound alongside you, its surface catching the overcast sky’s light in a subdued, shimmering dance. The rhythmic flow of the water provided a gentle counterpoint to the tension between you and Arthur, a quiet reminder of the natural beauty surrounding your uneasy journey.

Arthur’s gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his focus unyielding. He kept his gaze sharp, scanning the surroundings for any signs of trouble. Despite the coldness between you, you couldn’t help but notice the way he took his job seriously, his focus unwavering.

His attention to detail was evident as he navigated the terrain, maneuvering his horse with practiced ease. Each time he glanced over at you, his eyes were a mix of concentration and something softer.

Eventually, you reached a vantage point overlooking the road where the stagecoach was expected to pass. You dismount your horse, feeling the weight of the upcoming task settle heavily on your shoulders. Arthur followed suit, his expression serious as he joined you.

"So, how do you wanna do this? You take the front, and I cover the back?" Arthur's tone was practical, but there was a hint of something less guarded in his voice.

A smile unexpectedly crept up on your lips, a rare break from the seriousness that had defined your recent interactions, as you thought of how you approached these jobs with a different flair when you were with the girls.

Arthur glanced over, his expression guarded but curious. You continued, “Or I could play the helpless lady who needs help while you sneak up on ‘em?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and a small, begrudging smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, so you’re thinkin’ of dustin’ off the old act, huh? Think you still got it?”

You raised an eyebrow, the tension easing just a bit as a genuine smile tugged at your lips. “Oh, I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve. But you better keep up if you’re gonna be my backup.”

Arthur nodded, his smile widening slightly. “You got it.”

You checked your gear, slinging your rifle securely behind you. Arthur did the same, both of you falling into the familiar routine of preparation.

As you moved into position, the earlier unease shifted into focused, purposeful energy.

The playful banter had served its purpose, bringing a brief moment of levity to the serious task ahead. Now, with the weight of the mission on your shoulders, you prepared for the role you’d play and the action to come.

“You think this’ll work?” you ask, your voice tinged with both curiosity and apprehension.

Arthur glances up at you as you both make your way slightly further down the hill.

“It’s our best shot. We’ll need to time it right. ‘Sides, we’ve got the element of surprise on our side.”

You nod as you stop just before the road, positioning yourselves behind the trees and thick bushes, your eyes scanning the road for any sign of the stagecoach.

The sun was at an angle indicating that sunset was within an hour or two, casting long shadows that merged with the undergrowth, providing natural cover. The sound of the flowing river in the distance had faded into the background as you both waited in tense silence.

Then, amidst the quiet, you both heard it—a distant rumble growing louder. The roll of the coach’s wheels crunching over the road, steadily approaching.

You exchanged a sharp glance with Arthur, the anticipation spiking as you prepared for the imminent arrival of your target.

Peeking over the edge of your hiding spot, you counted around five guards stationed around the stagecoach, each one mounted on horseback with rifles gripped tightly in their hands. They occasionally glanced at each other, their movements synchronized but relaxed, their attention more on the road ahead than on the dense cover flanking either side—rookie mistake.

The impending arrival of your target presented a perfect opportunity. Their lack of vigilance provided a window to implement your plan.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you signal to Arthur with a subtle nod, your heart racing as the time to act approaches.

You step out from behind the tree and move to a position where the road curves, creating the illusion of a stranded traveler in need of assistance.

As you raise a hand to signal distress, you adjust your expression to one of genuine concern before you stumble forward, making sure to catch sight of the approaching vehicle, your movements exaggerated for effect.

The guards notice your presence immediately, their posture becoming tense as they exchange wary glances. The coach begins to slow, and one of the guards shouts over.

“Hold up! What’s the matter?” His voice carries a mix of suspicion and urgency as he strains to see what’s going on.

That’s your cue. You force a shaky voice as you call out, “Help! My horse threw a shoe, and I’m stranded here! Please, I need assistance!”

You stagger slightly, clutching your arm as if in pain, and glance anxiously towards the coach. The guards’ expressions shift from suspicion to concern as they assess the situation.

They exchange a few quick words, and one of them starts to dismount, moving towards you with a wary but reluctant gait.

Concealed by the trees, Arthur remains hidden, his sharp eyes locked on the scene. He watches as the guard approaches, waiting for the precise moment to make his move. Your heart races as you maintain your act, trying to keep your expression a mix of fear and gratitude.

As the guard comes closer, his eyes seem to fixate on something behind your back and his expression shifts to alarm, his hand moving instinctively towards his weapon.

“Hold on a minute,” he calls out, voice now laced with suspicion. The tone of his voice immediately alerts the other guards, who begin to look more closely at the situation. “What’s that on your back?”

Arthur’s eyes narrow as he notices the shift in the guards' demeanor. His movements are fluid and calculated as he positions himself strategically, drawing his rifle with practiced precision. He takes a deep breath and steadies his aim, preparing to act at a moment’s notice.

You freeze, trying to keep your expression composed despite the sudden shift. Your heart skips a beat, and you shoot a quick glance toward Arthur, who’s watching intently from his hidden spot.

The guard takes another cautious step closer, his gaze fixed on your rifle. “Seems a bit odd for someone stranded to be carrying a rifle, don’t ya think?”

As steady as you can manage, you respond, “I— I just needed it for protection. I didn’t expect trouble.”

You can feel the weight of his scrutiny, and you silently pray that your composed demeanor is enough to keep suspicion at bay.

As the guard’s suspicion grows, he signals to the other guards, who start to move in closer, their hands gripping their weapons with increased wariness.

The tension thickens, palpable in the tightening of their grips and the narrowing of their eyes. You can almost see the wheels turning in their heads, questioning the authenticity of your situation.

Arthur’s eyes narrow, realizing that the plan might be in jeopardy. His fingers tighten around the handle of his own rifle, ready to act.

The guards' wary movements signal that they're about to take a closer look at you, their caution evident in their deliberate steps. You catch Arthur's eye, and he gives a barely perceptible nod—a clear signal that the time to act is now, before the guards get any closer or the situation escalates further.

With a deep breath, you prepare yourself, knowing that the success of the job now hinges on a delicate balance between deception and action.

As the guard steps closer, his suspicion hardening into action, the tension snaps like a taut wire. The moment he raises his hand to signal the other guards to move in, the situation escalates rapidly.

The air fills with the sudden sharp crack of gunfire as Arthur’s rifle erupts from the trees. His shots ring true, striking one of the guards and sending him crashing to the ground. The remaining men, caught off guard, scramble for cover as the shootout begins in earnest.

You draw your own rifle, aiming at the nearest one as you move quickly to the side, seeking cover behind a large rock.

Your shots are quick and precise, the loud reports of your gun blending into the chaotic symphony of the firefight. The guards on horseback begin to return fire, their rifles barking in rapid succession.

Amid the chaos, you catch a glimpse of Arthur, moving with practiced precision. He’s taking them down with controlled bursts of fire, his movements fluid and efficient. He’s clearly in his element, but even so, his eyes occasionally flicker toward you, ensuring you’re holding your own.

The stagecoach driver, realizing the situation has gone terribly wrong, frantically tries to maneuver the vehicle away from the danger. His hands tremble as he struggles to keep the frantic horses under control.

One of the guards, attempting to flank you, takes a well-aimed shot, forcing you to duck behind your cover. You peer out, seeing Arthur’s form in the distance as he intercepts the guard, eliminating the threat with a single, decisive shot.

As the last of the guards fall, the chaos begins to wane. The sound of gunfire now replaced by the restless snorting of the horses.

You scan the area, assessing the situation, and your heart starts to slow as you see the immediate threat has been dealt with.

Arthur, breathing heavily from the exertion, emerges from his cover, his eyes scanning the scene for any remaining danger. He gives you a quick nod of acknowledgment before turning to secure the stagecoach.

You emerge from your cover and make a beeline for the stagecoach, reaching the vehicle just as Arthur approaches it, his face a mask of focused intensity.

The driver has managed to bring the horses to a halt. Without a moment’s hesitation, Arthur nudges the man with a sharp flick of his rifle. Clearly intimidated by Arthur’s commanding presence, he scrambles off the seat and retreats into the road with a frantic pace.

With the situation now under control, you watch as Arthur focuses on calming the restless horses. He approaches them carefully, his voice a soothing murmur that cuts through the chaos. The horses’ breathing begins to slow, their agitation easing under his calm presence.

You take a moment to catch your breath and collect yourself, observing Arthur’s handling of the situation. His actions are steady and confident, and you can see the familiar ease with which he interacts with the animals. It’s a side of him that, despite everything, has managed to impress you.

Catching the subtle shift in your expression, he glances over at you. His gaze lingering for a moment. For a brief instant, his own hardened expression softens, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a small, almost self-satisfied smile.

You blink, momentarily flustered. You hadn’t realized how much you were letting your guard down, caught off-guard by the warmth in his eyes and the easy way he spoke.

The sight is fleeting but significant, a silent acknowledgment of the shared success and a momentary easing of the tension that had previously clouded your interactions.

You attempt to steady your voice, but it comes out softer than intended. “Come on, let’s check if this thing has exactly what they said.”

Arthur gives a nod, his focus shifting to the task at hand as you both move to inspect the stagecoach.

As you open the coach's doors, the sight inside is nothing short of astonishing.

Chests, small pouches, lockboxes, and crates are crammed into the coach, each one overflowing with a dazzling array of jewels and cash. Arthur’s eyes widen as he takes in the sheer volume of riches.

Seeing the score, the weight of the day's hostility seems to have dissolved, replaced by a palpable sense of accomplishment and satisfaction.

Arthur whistles, clearly impressed. “Damn, we hit the mother lode, this is more than I ever expected.”

You nod, grabbing a small bag to carefully assess the loot. This one was filled with sparkling rings and ornate necklaces. The sight is overwhelming, and the weight of the haul is tangible even before you touch it.

Beside you, Arthur takes to opening a lockbox with his hunting knife. The contents inside reveal neatly stacked bundles of cash.

“This is a hell of a find,” he says with a hint of admiration in his voice. “Dutch is gonna be thrilled.”

“This is more than enough for the gang,” you comment, carefully handling each piece. “Who in their right mind would only send five guards to accompany this?”

“Seems like they were a bit too confident in their security. Their loss is our gain, though.”

“Let’s get this sorted and packed up. We need to move quick before anyone starts sniffing around.”

You whistle for your horse and begin stashing a few bundles of cash and select pieces of jewelry into the saddlebag. Arthur mirrors your actions, moving with deliberate speed as he fills his satchel with a mix of valuable items from the coach.

You and Arthur quickly secure the remaining loot and prepare the stagecoach for its journey before he climbs up to the driver’s seat, taking the reins with a firm grip.

“Let’s get this thing moving,” he says, his voice low but determined.

You nod, taking your place beside him whistling to your horses once more, signaling them to follow. The stagecoach lurches forward as Arthur cracks the reins, guiding the horses into a steady trot.

With the weight of the haul securely packed and the adrenaline of the heist gradually fading, a sense of accomplishment settles in. The tense moments of the plan's execution now give way to the satisfaction of a job well done.

Arthur glances over at you, a trace of a smile lingering on his lips. “Good work back there. Reckon we make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

You catch his gaze and, despite yourself, feel a flicker of warmth. “Yeah, just don’t get used to it.”

Arthur chuckles softly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Half an hour in, you continue your journey to the agreed location with the fruits of your labor securely in tow.

The adrenaline from the earlier confrontation has faded, replaced by a sense of accomplishment and relief. The surroundings have returned to their tranquil state, the earlier chaos now a distant memory as you and Arthur ride side by side, the silence between you now more comfortable and less charged than before.

With the sun setting, you keep a vigilant eye on the surroundings, focusing on the road and surrounding area ahead for any signs of trouble.

Suddenly, the faint sound of galloping hooves slices through the calm, growing abruptly louder. The rhythmic pounding signifies an approaching group, and the urgency in their pace suggests they might be heading straight for you.

You glance over at Arthur, noticing his instant shift in posture, his hands tightening slightly on the reigns.

Following the sound, you look behind and see a horde of riders emerging from the tree line, their horses kicking up clouds of dust as they charge forward. The group is sizable, and their intent is clear—they’re coming fast and with purpose.

Arthur’s jaw clenches as he takes in the approaching threat. He adjusts his grip on the reins, his frustration evident but his focus unwavering. “Damn it,” he growls. “We can’t outrun ‘em with this load.”

With resolve, you kneel a leg on the seat, bracing yourself against the coach roof for stability. Your expression is determined as you aim your rifle at the approaching riders.

“You just keep those horses running. I’ll handle the welcoming committee,” you call out to Arthur, your voice steady. Arthur glances over, a flicker of amusement in his eyes despite the urgency, before his gaze sharpens back on the road.

The coach surges ahead, the horses racing faster as Arthur skillfully maneuvers them away from the oncoming threat. The clash of gunfire and the thunderous pounding of hooves create a frenzied soundtrack to the chaos unfolding.

The vehicle sways with the sudden bursts and you brace yourself, focusing on keeping your aim steady amidst the chaotic barrage.

Bullets ricochet off the ground near the coach, their danger unmistakable. You grit your teeth, cursing under your breath as you see both your and Arthur’s horses veering sharply to another direction to evade the attackers, separating them from you.

From beside you, Arthur's curse breaks through the chaos. You glance over to see the road ahead sharply climbing, winding up the mountain with a steep incline.

The horses strain against the uneven terrain, their hooves scrambling for traction as the coach teeters perilously, the situation now becoming more complicated, with the treacherous path adding another layer of danger to the already tense escape.

You turn to see Arthur’s face set in grim determination, his focus entirely on the road. His efforts to control the coach are apparent as he wrestles for control, fighting against the treacherous surface.

“Dammit!” Arthur growls, his knuckles white as he grips the reins tightly. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind for a getaway route!”

The incline grows steeper, and the coach struggles to gain traction.

You return your gaze to the unmistakable sound of more guards closing in, aiming steadily at those who are getting too close for comfort.

Their pursuit is relentless, and the weight of the situation becomes increasingly apparent. Each shot you fire feels like a desperate attempt to stave off the growing threat, as the gap between you and the pursuing riders narrows with every passing moment.

“They’re gaining on us!” you shout over the cacophony of gunfire and the rumbling coach. “There’s too many of them. We have to leave the coach!”

The sound of men shouting and the sharp crack of gunfire splintering the wood of the coach fills the air, heightening the chaos. The horses, already on edge, begin to panic, their frantic movements causing the coach to lurch.

The coach tilts precariously toward the edge of the mountain, and for a moment, you feel yourself tipping dangerously close to the edge of your seat. Rocks tumble down the steep incline as the coach seems on the verge of tipping over completely.

In a split second, Arthur’s arm shoots out, grabbing you firmly by the waist and pulling you back into place while still maintaining control of the reins. The coach rights itself with a jolt, the wheels crunching heavily on the loose gravel as it stabilizes. The sudden movement pulls you both back from the brink, but the threat of the approaching guards remains ever-present.

“You alright?” he calls out, his voice edged with worry amidst the chaos, his hand still wrapped around your waist as you cling to him for stability.

You nod quickly, forcing a shaky nod. “I’m good… Just keep this thing steady.”

Arthur’s hand slips away as he refocuses on guiding the coach.

You lean back, gripping onto the seat with both hands to brace yourself against the relentless jostling.

You can feel the coach shudder under the strain of the terrain and the impact of the guards’ gunfire. The unstable footing and the increasing danger make it clear that staying in the coach is no longer an option.

Realizing there's no way back, you scan the surroundings desperately for an escape route. Ahead, on a flatter section of the mountain, your eyes land on a bridge spanning a rushing river below. It’s a precarious-looking structure, but it might be your only chance.

“Arthur! That bridge up ahead!”

Arthur’s eyes dart to the bridge, and he curses under his breath.

"That thing looks like it's barely hangin' on," he mutters, a worried frown on his face.

The two of you exchange a worried glance, the urgency of the situation clear. With no other options and the guards closing in, the risk of crossing the unstable bridge might be your only chance at escape.

Arthur takes a deep breath, his expression set with determination.

He grips the reins tighter and steers the coach toward the bridge, maneuvering through the challenging terrain.

The stagecoach lurches and tilts dangerously as it approaches the bridge, the horses straining against their ropes. Every bump and sway sends a jolt through the coach, and the bridge creaks ominously under the pressure of the approaching load.

The guards’ shouts grow louder, their pursuit relentless, adding to the mounting pressure.

Arthur's knuckles whiten as he clenches the reins, his eyes locked on the rickety structure ahead. “Hang on!”

The wheels hit the first few planks with a jarring thud, the structure shuddering violently while you brace yourself against the seat, gripping it tightly. The bridge sways and creaks under the strain, the narrow path making it clear that any wrong move could spell disaster.

The wooden planks of the bridge groan in protest, threatening to buckle under the weight. You can see the river below churning violently, a reminder of the precarious situation.

As you and Arthur drive the stagecoach across the rickety bridge, the relentless pursuit of the guards continues. Gunfire cracks through the air, and the panicked horses struggle to keep their footing on the unstable wooden planks.

“Arthur, watch out!” you shout, gripping the edge of the coach seat tightly.

Arthur's eyes dart to the side, spotting the weak planks giving way under the weight and stress of the coach. The bridge shudders violently, and a loud cracking sound echoes through.

Without warning, the bridge gives way entirely. The horses scream in terror as the entire stagecoach plunges into the rushing river below.

The world blurs around you as you're thrown from the driver’s seat, hitting the icy river with a jarring impact.

Cold water engulfs you instantly, and the current's force pulls you under, dragging you downstream. As you struggle to stay afloat, you catch fleeting glimpses of the stagecoach being smashed to pieces against the rocks and debris.

The river’s powerful current quickly separates you and Arthur, each of you fighting to keep afloat. Your heart races, and every instinct urges you to fight the current. The roar of the river overwhelms your senses, making it difficult to think clearly. You reach out, trying to find something solid to grab onto, while the chaos of the river makes every movement a battle.

"Hold on!" Arthur's voice, hoarse with effort, barely reaches you over the roar of the river, eyes widening in alarm as he sees you being dragged away by the current.

"Arthur!" you scream back, your voice filled with panic as the water pulls you under again.

You fight to surface, gasping for air, the relentless force of the river carrying you further away. The rush of water roars in your ears, drowning out any other sound, and your vision blurs with each desperate attempt to find your footing.

In the chaos, the water pulls you under once more. As you struggle against the current, a sharp pain explodes in your head. The impact sends you spinning, and the world around you blurs into a dizzying haze. Each breath is a struggle, the cold water overwhelming your senses as you fight to stay conscious.

The agony in your head intensifies, and the cold, relentless river drags you further from the surface. The muffled, distant sound of Arthur’s voice calling your name is the last thing you hear before darkness engulfs you.

A/N: Alright so not much going on between the two this chapter, hopefully everything is resolved in the next. Stay tuned for the next one which is the final part!

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dragonsorceress22 · 6 months ago

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Game: 10 first lines challenge

oh good i have to follow @solomonara and do this huh? >.< :P lol

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works (or as many as you are able) to and see if there are any patterns!

Why am I... nervous to see if there's really a pattern to them... lol

Different Means: Kuroba Chikage did not startle when the shadow of a man fell across the book in her lap, blocking the warm glow of the far bedside lamp.

2. Better Together: “Here, here,” KID hissed.

3. Cut Scenes Detective Conan Movies - Private Eye's Requiem: A daylight diamond heist.

4. Like a Secret, Like an Oath: Shinichi moaned in the dark, a reckless sound that made the man wrapped around him murmur gentle shushings against his ear.

5. Best-Case Scenario: “Haibara’s finally done it.”

6. In My Dreams: Shinichi was standing in a nightclub, the lights bright, the music loud, and the people on the dance floor all completely ambivalent about KID’s announced heist, set to take place right there in just a few minutes.

7. Lucky Cat: Kaito was dressed all in black, crouched outside the hedgerow surrounding the pristine grounds of a manor house, scoping the place out when Akako appeared out of nowhere right behind him.

8. Bring in the holiday together: KID backed silently into the empty supply room, easing the door shut as he went.

9. Return from Ruin: Shinichi – Conan, still Conan, always Conan – had known for a little while now where he might get a sample of the Apoptoxin that had ruined his life.

10. The Frame-Up in the Safe: The mansion security was laughable.

...Welp. Guess I had nothing to worry about with the whole "patterns" thing cause... there is no through line here. Some of them are stupidly short, some are stupidly long, and others are normal. Some a dialogue some aren't. I got nothin' lol

I don't have the energy to figure out ppl to tag so... have at, all ye who write!

#fanfictioneering #every single one of these is #kaishin #dcmk #I am predictable in that way at the very least lol #tag game #dragonsorceress22

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jev-urisk · 3 months ago

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Morreial's heist supplies: Tag Game ✨️

Original game by @thecomfywriter (Post HERE). Thanks for the tag @the-golden-comet!

Premise: Write your OC using these tools (from Ch. 18 of Throne of Vengeance) to commit a heist involving an armored vault. A piece of string, a lantern, oil, matches, a book, a cup, an enchanted shovel, and a pair of gloves. And, a navy blue Henley

Love, LOVE this prompt. It's perfect for Kazimier💋, my shapeshifting incubus OC from my WIP 🌐7 Circles🌐

It's kinda spoiler-y, because it goes over some of Kazimier's abilities and really shows the kind of bastard he is. You've been warned.

Tonight is your final meeting with this criminal. Kazimier smirks behind his drink, an appraising glint in his mismatched eyes. "You wanna know how I did it?" he teases. He knew you did, but wanted to hear you say it anyway.

"How did you steal it?"

He leans back, swirling his glass. "So the safe in this fancy hotel was owned by a Nexi couple, right? They shipped the damn thing down from Nexis years ago an' had it installed in their always-booked penthouse suite. I woulda' sacked it a decade ago but this safe has an arcane lock, capisce?"

You shake your head no, and he rolls his eyes.

"Magic technology, unpickable. An' the only way to open this particular lock is to touch their wedding rings to this weird circle on the front, yeah? So the first thing I do is track down a mediocre fairy lantern replica."

"Wait, what?" you can help uttering, and it earns you a scoff.

"What? It's not like faeries are real, an' if they were they'd appreciate how stupid some folks are over their alleged arda'facts. The husband was one such stupid folk, and after broadcastin' that someone on the black market found a new lantern, a few fake death threats, and a well-placed comment made by a poker dealer- I got him to agree to a meeting in a car. One of them fancy Nexi ones that comes with a driver an' I made sure the person at the wheel is one on my payroll. I arrive as a representative of the auction house, shapeshifted to look like a vampiress."

"Wait, so you-"

"Had tits, yes. Along with long brown hair, skinny ankles, and a pencil skirt shorter than your attention span."

You grimace, "I wasn't going to ask about you having, uh.."

"-AAAnnyway, the moment I set down my briefcase bag it starts leakin' a sleeping gas and I keep him distracted. Soon enough he's out like a light and I crack open the hollowed out copy of 'Auctions Uncatalogued: A Dry Fuckin' History Book' for a few supplies. I knew he was a thicc bastard, so I came prepared with some oil and string to get the ring off, as well as gloves to keep the guy's taste outta my brain."

"What does that mean??"

"I'm not gonna explain how to get little rings offa big fingers, bud. Ask the internet. OH, I also filched his shirt- a blue henley kinda' thing, and his slacks. The car keeps movin' and I use his weird-Nexi-phone to call his broad, who is very occupied in some high-stakes gambling and tell 'er using her husband's voice that I need her ring to make an exchange of some Nexan technology in the safe for the super legit fairy lamp some vampire just showed me. I shapeshift into the husband, put on his clothes, and am in and out of the casino without the broad suspecting a thing. She hands me the ring, I complain bitterly about her not spendin' enough time with me, she tells me not now and goes back to her gambling. Perfect marriage. An hour later I've exchanged their top-grade arcane technology for a dinky old lamp and am waitin' around for the wife to show up." Kazimier finishes, quirking his brow as he drinks some of his cocktail.

After a few moments it seems like he;s truly done, but it might be another instance of him leading you to egg him on. "Well what happened when the wife showed up?" you ask, hooked despite yourself.

Kazimier's grin widens, "She found a brown-haired vampress in her penthouse wearing nothing but her husbands blue henley." He takes in your expression and keeps going, "The broad probably would've killed me if I didn't 'confess' that her husband had just left for the bar in the lobby with the other girl. Boy did that lie get her back out the door in an instant. From there I put a little oil in a glass cup, light it with a match, an' drop the little moltov offa' the balcony. A signal to get in position. I count to sixty and jump off myself- make my getaway."

You lean back, taking in the convoluted mind you're sitting with tonight, somewhat stunned. "Wait- Why did you need to borrow my enchanted shovel, then?" you add, happy that it was returned to you clean and unharmed the moment you sat down but curious since Kazimier said it was needed for this heist.

"Oh, that? I killed the husband." Kazimier says with a casual shrug.

"You used my shovel to bury a Nexan?!" you hiss, leaning forward. This wasn't what you expected at all when Kazimier offered you a deal.

Kazimier leans forward, all the humor gone from his face, only the tilt of his head hinting at his amusement. "I used your very unique shovel to kill, a Nexan, sunshine." He kills his drink and with a parting chuckle you and your shovel are left behind, tools that have fulfilled their use and you realize with ice in your blood why Kazimier just told you everything.

Tonight is your final meeting with this criminal.

Taggames: Taggames: @katenewmanwrites @smellyrottentrees @wyked-ao3 @lychhiker-writes @cowboybrunch @zackprincebooks @urbiggestfan-01 @quillswriting @tragedycoded

#darksouls 'you died' flashes across the screen #7 circles #7c kazi #tag game #this one was a lot of fun #original fiction #urban fantasy #writers on tumblr #short story #creative writing #writing prompt #writing inspiration #oc #shapeshifter #be gay do crimes

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mortispoxi · 7 months ago

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@annethecatdetective I adore this because a) I’m a Drumknott enjoyer and love adding him to the narrative whenever I can, and b) it fits so well into the storyline I had going in the tags when I originally wrote this post

Because Vetinari would undoubtedly employ a variety of different methods for how and who is delivering his responses to The Times to keep playing his little game of cat and mouse with De Worde.

The thought of Drumknott being among the ones chosen, whether they're aware of the contents or not, to drop off the envelope has me cackling though. Drumknott is more than capable of doing this without incident. If he wasn't the patrician wouldn’t have dreamed of sending him out in the first place. But the entire operation hinges on his ability to walk in and out of the room completely undetected. Even a troll would put two and two together if Drumknott were to somehow get caught smuggling something in without a word to anyone because it would be like a flashing neon sign screaming that Mrs. Venerable *is* Havelock Vetinari. Granted, the man carries office supplies wherever he goes, so to the inattentive observer it would not raise suspicions since it looks like any normal drop-off. However, when Williams wants to get to the bottom of something, nothing is going to stop him from looking for clues even in the seemingly mundane. Anyone carrying in letters, envelopes, packages, and other office supplies could be a suspect, thus it's imperative that Drumknott's little "heists," on the occasion he is the one making the delivery, must go extra unnoticed no matter how good he is at doing so.

Therefore, I can picture the first time Vetinari asked him to drop off this seemingly ordinary manila envelope to The Times without alerting anyone to his presence was also the day The Lady smiled upon little Rufus Drumknott because when he showed up he walked smack-dab into a particularly heated argument between William and Sacharissa over whether it was time to leave well enough alone and stop looking into Mrs Venerable. No one noticed this man, who seemed to be doubly silent and swift footed today, wander into the background of this ongoing chaos to place an envelope on an unoccupied desk, then exit without a sound.

Lord Vetinari is one of the many anonymous authors that make up the Times’s advice column. He goes under the pseudonym Mrs. Venerable and he primarily writes as a hobby but likes the catharsis of being able to help the citizens of Ankh-Morpork with their smaller life problems. The people working for the paper have no idea who the true identity of Mrs. Venerable is. All they know is that in the early mornings, letters regarding questions asked by readers the day before are dropped off in a sealed envelope without name or address. Readers of the Times hold Mrs. Venerable in high regard because her answers are always tactful and even comedic in nature. Questions involving how to deal with a terrible spouse get responses from Mrs. Venerable that usually include the phrase, if you don’t divorce them I will start the proceedings for you.

#discworld #mrs venerable #rufus drumknott #havelock vetinari #william de worde #sacharissa cripslock #gnu terry pratchett #hell yeah let's get drumknott in the mix #mind you drumknott was not trained in his youth to be an assassin #so his ability to run around very quietly and quickly was more than likely self taught #this is (partly) what he trained for #time for his training to pay off!#but i also just love the idea of the lady seeing this unfold and thought to herself “i see your game. Let's add a little spice”#also it was a very bizarre moment for me suddenly getting 100+ notifications for days over this post again #but thank you nonetheless #mp

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obsidiancreates · 2 years ago

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Can we have dad Actor regaling his boys with 1920s dad stories??

Or Dad Dark??

Or both????

Actor sighs as he picks at his microwavable mac & cheese. "How did I ever think I was the destined hero when I can't even figure out a modern oven?"

"Doesn't help that The Googles were the ones who bought it," Date assures as he stirs some broccoli into his own microwave mac. "I think they got a complicated one on purpose to torture everyone."

"Still, it's disheartening. I used to understand everything about movie cameras and our own stove-"

"Really?" Dark approaches the table with his own place of freshly-cooked chicken breast and roasted veggies. "Because if I remember Celine's experience right, you nearly burned your nose off once trying to figure out why the broiler oven wasn't heating properly."

"I knew how too cook with it, I meant!"

"Sure you did." Dark's shell cracks for a moment, the red echo scowling but not screaming, and then pulls back together as he calmly eats his dinner.

"Oh, no, Dad, don't tell me you were one of those husbands," Date says with a grimace.

"I was away a lot, that's all, sh- they? Have we ever discussed this?"

"Celine was she, Damien was he, I don't care, use what they used when talking about them in the past."

"Well, Celine never got to see my cooking skills, is the point."

"Even on the long stretches between movies he was home for."

"I did cook a few times! I once went over to Africa for a shoot, and William tagged along for some big-game hunting-"

"Bad thing to walk into the room too," Illy grumbles, sitting down with his dinner.

"Now, yes, we know it's a stupid and awful thing to do. Doesn't change that William used to do it. Anyway, I went to Africa on this shoot, and I learned how to make this one dish, what was it called..."

"Jollof rice," Dark supplies.

"That's it! So see, I did cook for you- her."

"And then William took her to Africa as well and she tried authentic Jollof rice."

"Hey, hey," Date cuts in. "Let's try to keep the passive aggression to a none during dinner."

"I thought it was funny," Heist says as he too sits down.

"Very funny to remind me how everything went wrong," Actor scowls into his quickly congealing and cooling cheese. "We did have some good times, you know. You remember those too, don't you Dark?"

"Maybe."

"And?"

"And it's just enough to know why the ending betrayal hurt Damien so much."

"Okay, ha-ha, this is getting kind of hostile, so how about we think of something else? Anything else, actually?" Date gestures at Dark. "What about... was Celine ever into the flapper movement?"

"Of course she was. Her closet was full of either flapper or occult-appropriate outfits and nothing else."

Actor chuckles, mixing up the mac. "I bet she combined them too."

"Of course. Most of those fringe and tassel heavy dresses needed some magical help to keep them from falling apart. Especially the beaded ones."

"Wish I'd had that for some of my set costumes."

"She told you to let her teach you to sew."

"I should have taken her up on it."

Dark pauses, his knife stilling halfway through cutting his chicken. The surprise at Actor admitting a fault is obvious even without his shell breaking.

Then he blinks, and gets back to his cutting. "You should have."

The reminiscing becomes much more amicable from there.

#I hope Divorcee Conversations sufficed!#markiplier #markiplier egos #descendants of the trio au #good dad au #actor mark #darkiplier #adwm mark #ahwm illinois #ahwm mark

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dailyadventureprompts · 3 years ago

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5 more spooky adventures for Halloween 👻

Hello Boils and Ghouls and my fellow non-binary Fools, it’s time I served up another batch of tricks and treats for this very special creeping season.

While I post adventures throughout the year that have the horror tag for fright, spooky tag for an air of goofy fright, and the gothic tag for the 𝔞𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔠, every Halloween I like to make a special curated effort. This year’s theme? Different Genres of horror, and how you can implement them into your games.

The Red Reaver: A stalking specter of the last war that draws from slasher movie goodness, harrying your party through the wilderness as they try to carry out their mission far from civilization.

Old Crow Tower: A slowburn haunting and dungeon delve, where the creepy atmosphere belies the fact that the party is being drawn into unleashing the ghost of a mad occultist. Part treasure hunt, Part political drama

The Snarlcart Witch: In this story the party comes face to face with a local boogyman and find that tales of childhood fear bely a looming and villainous threat. I don’t tend to like “gritty fairytales”, but I enjoyed seeing how one could make a kid-snatching witch even more terrifying by embracing the practicality which fairytales so often were meant to hide.

Blood in the Gutters: Beneath the market an ancient terror lurks, a clan of vampires who once drank blood from sacrificial altars have been forced underground for centuries after the changing of faith cut off their food supply. Tired of ruling a warren of sewers and forgotten cisterns, they’ve begun reaching out once again.

The Hobsnight Heist: My take on an in-game version of Halloween, choosing to associate it with the autumn fey rather than the underworld. Also included is a delightful oneshot/campaign starter involving trying to steal a giant pumpkin from the feywild in order to win a country fair contest and snub a corrupt local politician.

Also if your thirst for blood terror cannot be sated by what I have presented, feel free to check here for last year’s resurrected offering.

#Halloween #Adventure Compendium #D&D #D&D adventure #Homebrew Adventure #Adventure #DnD #Dungeons and Dragons

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oriocookie · 2 years ago

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thanks for tagging me!!! i’m reblogging this on the wrong blog (my irondad blog is @silentspidey ) but i have So Many. i’m about to make this post a whole lot longer.

1. chapter 2 of returning the favor

2. Five Times Avengers And Co. Had To Go Buy Period Supplies For Their Teammates

3. two-player game

4. sleepy tony (placeholder title)

5. iron (mini) van

6. i arc reactor you

7. tony stork

8. educated guess

9. peter parker, get down from there

10. 5 times peter took something of tony’s to school and one time tony came to get it

11. chapter 3 of A Silent Spider-Man

and all of my non-irondad ones

12. chapters 3 and 4 of Piedmont and the Pines

13. heist fic kiribaku (placeholder title)

14. sleeping beauty kiribaku (placeholder title)

15. mystery inc eldritch polycule (placeholder title)

16. Reconciliation (fnaf)

17. high school turtle bros (placeholder title) (rottmnt)

yikes sorry about that. uh i’ll tag @call-me-coley @winter-turtle @multifandomforthemostpart and anyone who wants to do it!

WIP Ask Game

Tagged by @oliocelottafanfics! Thanks for tagging me!! (posting this on my side blog)

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have wips.

Here are the current WIPs on my drive (all for autistic Peter):

1. Peter drink water challenge

2. Ableism and shitty people

3. 5 Times Someone Stood Up for Peter, +1 Time Peter Stood Up For Himself

Tagging… @mrs-potts-stark @thisisnotourlasthunt and whoever wants to do this!

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onyxbird · 2 years ago

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tag game: last sentence of WIP

tagged by: @be-gay-do-heists

...

From the actual last WIP I worked on, an Agents of SHIELD fic involving Roger-Rabbit-style live cartoon creatures*:

Abruptly, the tentacles uncoiled from Fitz' wrist, so that the entire beaming little octopus (or sextopus, as Fitz would argue, given the number of arms) could climb out of his frame to wrap himself around Ward's arm.

The end of one tentacle stayed in place on the broken piece of frame.

*Both this WIP and me starting to work on it again after a long break pre-dated the Lethal Weapon situation, incidentally.

And not in fic form yet, but from my description of the ill-advised Agents of SHIELD/Lethal Weapon (2016)/my theory of the Lethal Weapon universe crossover concept that I just pitched to @darkfinch:

A Toonish action that large has to be tied to some kind of comedy "bit," especially the further into Live-Action space it's performed. So Murtaugh and Riggs have been dealing with this seemingly humorless Live-Action agent in a perfectly tidy suit, and in the thick of things, he just hands back the small gun his nerdy little engineer supplied him with and deadpans "Dream a little bigger, darling," and that's when Fitz puts back the reasonably sized gun and pulls out the anti-tank weaponry.

...

Tagging @vickyvicarious, @eliot-wolfgirl-spencer, and @innytoes, if any of y'all want to play, since I don't think I've seen you tagged yet.

#tag games #wip games

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whgmasterofceremonies · 3 years ago

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WHG 15 - Day 7

It’s hotter than ever out here, but the tributes need to rise extra early because a feast has just been announced!

Elizabeth and Reine go straight for the kill, and Lewison falls for the trap. Ash and Delexus are probably the smartest ones!

And Delexus remains the smartest one! Elizabeth propels herself to the highest kill count of the Games! Could this end today?

We’re down to two tributes...

And in typical anticlimactic fashion, Delexus wins with only one kill under his belt! Congratulations! What an exciting last few days!

And that’s the end of the Writeblr Hunger Games! Feel free to keep writing about the Games or post-Games, and I’d love to be tagged in them (at my main blog: @concealeddarkness13), so I can continue enjoying your writing! And there is a collaboration where some tributes didn’t die, but instead escaped from the arena and are now going to have a heist against the Capitol! If you are interested in joining, just let me know! Thank you so much for participating, and there will be one more official summary post that will be posted tomorrow!

District 1 (Luxury Goods)

Lewison, “Louie”, “The Flighting Fancy” (he/him), @sparkles-and-hens

Arthur Nightshade, “Arthur” (he/him), @writingmilkshake

District 2 (Masonry)

Delexus (he/him), @oopsimfade

Fenrir Greyback, “Fenrir” (he/him), @writingmilkshake

District 3 (Technology)

Ellery Kato (she/they), @the-moving-finger-writes

Avi Danzig (he/him), @the-moving-finger-writes

District 4 (Fishing)

Scorpio Illim (he/him), @thoughts-of-nora

Syl Turner (they/them), @thoughts-of-nora

District 5 (Power)

Colson Saure (he/him), @oopsimfade

Ruby Johnson, “RJ” (she/her), @knmartinshouldbewriting

District 6 (Transportation)

Kyler (he/him), @myhusbandsasemni

Aerith (he/him), @myhusbandsasemni

District 7 (Lumber)

Elizabeth Ward (she/her), @dreamwishing

Rabban (they/them), @writingmilkshake

District 8 (Textiles)

Enzo Torres, “Enzo” (he/him), @knmartinshouldbewriting

Ariel Walker, “Ariel” (she/her), @knmartinshouldbewriting

District 9 (Grain)

Avery (she/her), @pen-of-roses

Aster Reine, “Reine” (she/her), @pen-of-roses

District 10 (Livestock)

Ashley Gomez, “Ash” (she/they), @madammuffins

Triel Reeves, “Triel” (she/her), @concealeddarkness13

District 11 (Agriculture)

Hugo Atwater, “Hugo” (he/him), @ratracechronicler

Volt Powell (she/her), @maple-writes

District 12 (Mining)

Sean Beckett (he/him), @the-unwrittenwriter

Erin Williams (she/her), @the-unwrittenwriter

Transcripts:

The Feast

The cornucopia is replenished with food, supplies, weapons, and memoirs from the tributes’ families.

Elizabeth Ward tracks down and kills Avi Danzig.

Ash decides not to go to The Feast.

Delexus decides not to go to The Feast.

Lewison falls into a pit and dies.

Reine tracks down and kills Fenrir.

Day 7

Delexus camouflages himself in the bushes.

Elizabeth Ward, Reine, and Ash get into a fight. Elizabeth Ward triumphantly kills them both.

Fallen Tributes 7

8 cannon shots can be heard in the distance.

Triel, District 10

Sean Beckett, District 12

Aerith, District 6

Avi Danzig, District 3

Lewison, District 1

Fenrir, District 2

Reine, District 9

Ash, District 10

Night 7

Elizabeth Ward dies from thirst.

The Winner

The winner is Delexus from District 2!

#writeblr hunger games #round 15 #day 7 #night 7

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tauremornalome · 4 years ago

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tagged by the amazing @thiswaycomessomethingwicked (go check out their writing!) in the First Line game

The rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.

tagging: @alessandriana, @ajcrawly, @simaraknows, @koscheyyy, @selkiebinch, @writingat-night and anyone else who wants to do it!

The problems with my writing being 1. that a lot of it is embarrassing historical hetalia stuff, 2. that i hardly ever write with the intention of publishing, it turns out that often my fics don’t have a set fist line? cos they tend to come in the form of a collection of loose self indulgent little scenes. So this is definitely not going to be 20 of them. Untranslated Polish versions in the brackets.

1. wildfires and weeds (mdzs, wen ning & jiang cheng, vaguely pre-slash): Courtesy of Wen Ning's heightened fierce corpse senses, and Jiang-zongzhu's being likewise sharp thanks to his high level of cultivation, they manage not to run into each other even when they find themselves in the same general places at the same time - official joint nighthunts mostly, these days, since Jiang Wanyin has enough political awareness and faith in his nephew's abilities not to follow him on the more private ones.

2. provisional title “spiderman meme lol” (legend of fei, xie yun/zhou fei/wu chuchu pining): After parting with Yin Pei and burying Ji Yunchen the three of them leave together, and Xie Yun - well, he already knew he was absolutely, irrevocably fucked, but it takes him another two days to notice that he is not alone in his misery.

3. the crack-treated-seriously heist fic (mdzs, jiang cheng & jin guangyao): He had already sealed the room shut months before, so he didn't toss the damn flute along with the last shards of his sanity there when he first came back from the siege, broken and bloodied and still furious.

4. Najjaśniejsza, Serenissima, Świetlejszaja (historical hetalia, poland & grand duke constantin): "Ha!" The duke gestured wildly with his open hands. "I am a fool, Kuruta is a fool, and so you are a fool, too, Felya, even though you have yet to learn to admit it." [- No! - Wielki książę uderzył się dłońmi w uda. - Ja durak, Kuruta durak, i ty też durak, Felja, tylkoś się jeszcze nie nauczył przyznawać do tego.]

5. Pour Away The Ocean (tma, lonelyeyes): The Apocalypse nearing or not (oh, it's coming alright: he knows Jon will get the statements soon, so it's a matter of what? days?), it would be a shame to refuse a rarity that is an actual invitation to a Lukas family funeral. The last Lukas family funeral to ever be held, perhaps, though he doubts the hosts know about that. Peter had never been an overly sharing conversationalist.

6. untitled anti-dior rebellion fic (the silmarillion, doriath after thingol’s death): The change can be felt at the exact moment when the door to Lady Melian's chamber closes behind Mablung, the king's dead body in his arms, and everyone seems to understand immediately what it means. It is as if the thin thread bonding the queen to the mortal world broke, cut on the edge of that door-frame. The last time Lalorniel left the Girdle’s protection was before the first sunrise and now, several hundred years later, the feeling of being exposed to the whole world throws her off her tracks. She looks to the side and sees that Medlindir felt it too, and she wants to reach to him with her mind, but she doesn't - the world around them has suddenly gotten very big and some irrational part of her fears her fae could get lost in it. [Zmianę czuć już w momencie, w którym za niosącym skrwawione ciało króla Mablungiem zamykają się drzwi komnaty Meliany - i każdy chyba od razu rozumie, co to znaczy. Zupełnie jakby to nić wiążąca królową ze światem cielesnym pękła, rozcięta tą framugą. Lalorniel poza Obręczą bywała ostatnio jeszcze w czasach przed pierwszym wschodem słońca i teraz, po kilkuset latach przerwy, uczucie bycia odkrytym przed całym światem wytrąca ją na dłuższą chwilę z rytmu. Zerka w bok i widzi, że pełniący razem z nią straż Medlindir też to odczuł, i odruchowo chce sięgnąć do niego myślą, ale nie robi tego - świat wokół stał się nagle za duży i irracjonalnie boi się, że jej fae mogłaby się w nim zgubić.]

7. dwóch ołowianych żołnierzyków (historical rpf, prince poniatowski): Years later those who choose to believe this sort of thing will be telling stories of a ghost that supposedly visited the prince one night in March of the year 1813. An angel with black-and-white magpie wings. Unnamed white lady from the portraits covering the walls of the Copper-Roof Palace. [Lata później ci, którzy wierzą w takie rzeczy, będą opowiadać historie o zjawie, która miała się księciu ktorejś marcowej nocy roku 1813 ukazać. Anioł o czarno-białych sroczych skrzydłach. Bezimienna biała dama z portretu wiszącego w jednym z pokojów Pałacu pod Blachą.]

8. provisional title “DepTaj Margrabiego!” (the year 1861 in warsaw except its set in a harry potter-style ministry of magic. don’t ask me.): The margrave transfigured his bed back into an armchair and gestured with his wand at the coffee machine, praying quietly for someone up there to send them some kopi luwak with the next supply package. [Margrabia przetransmutował łóżko z powrotem w fotel i machnął różdżką na ekspres do kawy, modląc się w duchu o to, aby ktoś na zewnątrz był na tyle domyślny, żeby w następnej paczce nadesłać zapas kopi luwak.]

9. the year 1861 in warsaw again except now there is a zombie apocalypse going on (once again, don’t ask me. ocs and some hetalia elements.): "Swear," Sergey hisses with fury as he struggles to push the heavy dresser. [- Przysięgajcie - syczy Siergiej wściekle, szarpiąc się z ciężkim kredensem.]

10. time will say nothing (historical hetalia, poland/france/pauline bonaparte): Pauline is the one to fall asleep first, as always, not wearing anything else over her thin nightgown - so it can be expected that she will usurp all of the bedsheets to herself during the night. Feliks, who lies in the middle, succumbs to sleep soon after, his face turned to France, mumbling some apologies about not having the energy to move to the other bedroom, which earned him a soothing shush from François. [Paulina zasypia, jak zazwyczaj, pierwsza, nie zarzuciwszy na cienką koszulę nocną drugiej warstwy ubrania - można więc spodziewać się, że w ciągu nocy zauzurpuje sobie całą kołdrę. Leżący pośrodku Feliks pogrąża się we śnie niedługo po niej, twarzą zwrócony w stronę Francji, wymamrotawszy przedtem jakieś przeprosiny za to, że nie ma siły przenieść się do drugiej sypialni, na co François uciszył go uspokajająco.]

11. Minąwszy przeznaczeń mielizny (oc, hetalia-adjacent): Sergey wakes up with his cheek pressed to the travel briefcase, a little surprised with the fact that he had apparently managed to fall asleep despite the train's hellishly loud noises. The curtains in his compartment are closed, but he knows that outside it must be even more dark than in here - nothing less should be expected in this part of the world in December. [Siergiej budzi się z policzkiem przyciśniętym do teczki podróżnej, lekko zaskoczony faktem, że oto jednak udało mu się zasnąć w hałasującym niemiłosiernie pociągu. Zasłony w przedziale są zaciągnięte, ale wie, że na dworze musi być jeszcze ciemniej niż w środku - niczego innego nie należy się spodziewać w grudniu w tej części świata.]

I am very fond of the opening lines to the doriath fic and the zombie fic (there is a dialogue happening as they are barricading the door and running up the stairs). As for the patterns, I already knew I had the Sentences Too Goddamn Long Disease, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I also like to open with dialogues, which might not be very visible here, but is objectively the truth. This list sadly does not include my 30 minutes shitpost drabbles (which are mostly crack hetalia anyway).

#l9 #oof

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sugarcookiesandsins · 4 years ago

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Charmed [Episode 6]

➰ ot7 x reader, poly!bts x reader, mafia!bts ➰ they wouldn’t notice her until she was standing above them, a smoking gun in her hand a bullet in their heart 🌡 M 🛑 details about weaponry and similar materials, dark humor, swearing, mentions of violence 🕛 4.k+

(Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list)

Tag List: @missseoulite @omgsuperstarg @slutkoo @asifetch7 @kawaiimusiccollection @namupeachs @xicanacorpse @bubbletae7 @crackhead1-800 @yeomjoo @crajishie @loveyoongles @knjkitten @btsarmysvtcarat @i-like-puppy-mg @inner-desire @nicoledelacour27 @kittaebrat @namjoonsslutakakoreanmanswhore @btsxdoll @impartoftoomanyfandoms @thia-aep @pusiushie

Following your explanation, the boys sat in silence as each of them took in the various blueprints and notes spread out before them. Processing it took them some time, and Eli took the opportunity to soothe his dry throat with the remnants of his drink.

“It’s complicated, to say the least.” Namjoon’s voice was distant as his mind wasn’t all that focused on the words coming out of his mouth.

Yoongi only snorted in response, but it was more of a reaction that he had given for the duration of the discussion so Eli considered it a win all in all and looked to the other members for their reactions. Seeing nothing else of note in their eyes, he reached for the papers to clean them up, planning on returning to his room and cleaning up, before going out for supplies. Sure, Hoseok or Jimin could probably hook them up with all that they needed but call it a con’s intuition for wanting to check out the equipment themselves.

Grabbing hold of the documents, he rifled through them and aligned the corners as he always did before getting up.

“I’m headed out for some of the basic equipment so yall can break it in before D-day.” Not waiting for an answer, he headed back to his designated room, barely sparing a minute to toss the papers onto his desk before heading to the bathroom.

With the door locked and the hot water soothing your muscles, you had some time to yourself to think. Your relationship with the rest of the boys could be simmered down to two words: grudging acceptance. Neither side was about drop their pride and invite the other out to dinner, but at least Jungkook wasn’t lunging for your throat every time he laid eyes on you.

The heist was risky, and would take some real trust and teamwork, and “grudging acceptance” wasn’t exactly the best relationship to have with the people you would be trusting with your life while completing the mission. You still were damn sure that they wouldn’t hesitate to leave you behind if they needed to; their relationship was one where they looked out for each other and solid walls were drawn against those who weren’t inside when those walls were built.

In a way, you understood. Though you didn’t have the exact details, it was obvious they went through some trauma together, one that bound them together by something greater than blood ties or brotherhood. You were the same way; the only difference was that you were alone when you built those walls and they had each other.

Shutting off the water, you stepped out into the foggy bathroom, the heat blushing your skin red. The mirror was fogged up, and the metaphor almost made you snort. It seemed that even the world was trying to tell you that within all the personas and costumes, you had lost sight of your true self, even as it stood within reach, blurry but there.

The skin on your chest was red and irritated, most likely from the bandages you used to keep your secret. You needed to spend a night away from them, if only so you could let your skin breathe.

Getting your costume back on, you waltzed out of your bedroom towards the living room, most of the boys had disappeared, but Jimin was still where you had left him, albeit in clothes more appropriate for your shopping trip. In a way, you expected Hoseok to be there as well, but Jimin oversaw their equipment.

“Do you know the weights and heights of everyone,” Eli casually asked as he thumbed through a small journal filled with more of his chicken scratch trying to find the specific page he wanted.

“Don’t tell me you’re interested in us,” Jimin scoffed obviously getting the wrong impression from Eli’s words.

“Interested in keeping you all alive yeah.” Eli turned his back on the still lounging Jimin, who had somehow managed to get even more attractive as he leaned back invitingly on their soft couch. “Don’t fool yourself shorty. I doubt you have anything that would make me want to chase after you.”

Making his way to the foyer of the apartment, he didn’t even look back to see if Jimin was following him before he slipped out and towards the elevators.

The ride down was silent once Jimin joined him, each absorbed in their own devices to pass the time. Upon exiting the tall high-rise building, Eli was none too surprised at the sleek black SUV waiting for them. They needed to buy a lot of equipment and they would need a large car to hold it all.

While in the car, both still maintained the strict silence that they had started in the elevator. Eli’s eyes were focused on the passing scenery, letting out tiny grins at the snapshots of daily life he saw beyond the tinted glass windows. They were all so oblivious to the harsh realities of the world and even if they did know, their brains would probably cut out the information deeming it too harmful to remember.

PJM

He seemed utterly uninterested in anything other than the mission. It really was odd to see how quickly his attitude adjusted when he explained the plan to us this morning. Not once did he let out his signature smile, all teeth and stupidity. It was long, complicated, and required a lot more trust than I felt anyone was willing to give him at this point in whatever relationship was forming between us.

Going out with him was most definitely not my choice, but Namjoon had insisted on it because apparently it was obvious that I was the one with the most prejudices against our new add-on. We all knew it was a blatant lie, but Jungkook had no qualifications to go shopping therefore here I am.

The car is surprisingly silent, and looking over at Eli, he’s focused on the outside world. There was longing in a sense, something we all felt from time to time; we wonder and dream of our lives with intact families and normality.

The car stops in front of a hotel, conspicuous and in the center of town; it’s perfect. Getting down, it’s no surprise that we make an impression on the surrounding people. Jimin’s face is common on the news channels and everyone knows the people he associates with, so everyone gives us a wide berth as we enter the hotel.

Walking to the front desk, the person manning the fort gives us the biggest customer service smile that I have ever seen. Jimin merely nods back before handing over a medallion and asking for, “Room 113 please” with the most conversational tone.

“Forgive me sir, but our staff is still cleaning the room for you. Please feel free to wait in our lobby and I will call you when the room is prepared.” When you enter this line of work, you should always be prepared to deal with word games and subliminal messaging. We both understood what his words meant, there was already someone shopping so we could not go in.

Most places like this did not worry about anonymity between guests, hoping that it would work as sort of a motivation to not betray the location; if someone got captured then they could name everyone else that they saw. It was more commonly seen in stores that had not gotten a footing in the black world of crime. Yet, the truly powerful locations did not need to rely on such childish motivations as that.

Jimin and I made our way to the couches a couple feet away from the receptionist. The world continued to move on around us. Initially, some were focused on our identities, but as they each needed to be somewhere else, we were left alone in the middle of the lobby. The hotel itself seemed to be the playground of the higher class based on all the brand names glittering around me and the large entourages that revolve around a single person.

In a way, that life seemed bland to me. What fun was there to have everything handed to you, sure it was novel for a little while but then it would lose it’s charm. Inherently, people get bored which is why you see celebrities always doing.

It wasn’t long before the receptionist approached us from behind the desk and informed us that they were ready for us. He motions us to follow him and we do.

The receptionist returns to behind the desk and programs a reader card to let us into our requested room. He faces us again and hands that card over with that same sickeningly bright smile. “I hope everything is to your standards.” He knows, though I do not know why I ever doubted it for a second.

Jimin nods and I follow his example of silence as he leads me down a hallway and to our room. Unlocking it with the given card, he lets me inside before shutting and locking the door behind us both. The space is small and not a room at all; it was an elevator.

Surveillance was full force as someone welcomed us to the store and instructed us not to touch anything as the decent began on its own. By my estimate, the level that we stopped at was one below the basement. The doors opened before us and we walked into a well-lit room, almost as big as a proper ballroom. Certainly, not as high but just a big in width and length. The rich vibe continued down here as well with the red walls and gold trimming on the walls and on the cabinets filled to the brim with guns and other equipment.

At the far end of the room, a man in a fitted suit stood relaxed in his posture. Not single strand of hair or muscle moved out of place as we approached him. “Welcome. Please take a look around at your leisure and feel free to ask any questions. We are here to assist.”

Jimin jets off towards the far end of the room, firmly in the directions of some automatic handgun; they suited him. I had initially pegged him at a knife person, but then again he wanted efficiency more than any perceived bloodlust so I relented on my initial judgement. His steps were quick, barely holding on to the perception of calm, but he was like a child in a candy shop, no doubts about it.

Letting him satisfy his own curiosity, I turned to the tactical gear. I would worry about the boys later, getting their measurements from Jimin now would be impossible when he seems much more interested in the custom grips on an Italian classic.

Shopping for harnesses was ironically reminiscent to shopping for clothes; they were all on gold hangers and organized by size and prices. The boys (read: Big Hit) were paying for all this anyways so I’d take advantage of that; only I knew what was really needed for this.

Shifting through them all, I decided on one with multiple points of weight distribution that had multiple clip combinations so one could vary their support based on their preference or on the limits of rope. As I was looking, I felt a presence on my 6 or 7 o’clock; it was either Jimin or the attendant.

“Is this what you wanted the body measurements for?” Jimin.

“No,” I scoffed. “I needed that information to plant fake bodies when we all fail this and need to get the heck out of dodge.”

“The confidence you have in us is astounding.” He didn’t waste time is coming back for me with the same amount of sarcasm.

“I have as much confidence in you as I do in my own survival with the group of you.” Snatching the paper with the written measurements out of his hand, I didn’t bother to head his response as I pulled out different sizes of the same harness. They would cost a pretty penny, but you weren’t footing the bill.

“Take these to the table.” I was already searching for the ropes; something strong preferably suspension or paracord, but mountaineering might work.

“Do it yourself.”

“Like you know what we need for this. Just do what I ask and maybe my confidence that we’ll survive this increase by a tenth of a percent.”

“You’re difficult.”

“But I’m good and that’s what you really need right now isn’t it? Now go.”

Deciding on some dark colored SWAT rappelling rope in 200 feet lengths. It was double braided and would be more than enough to carry our weights at 9mm in diameter. However, ti was a hefty weight, but I’d leave that to the boys. Additionally, I picked up some paracord, just in the case of an emergency lashing or situation.

Next, some infrared googles. They were also a hefty price, but trusting the boys to already have their own, I waited until Jimin returned from his second trip from the far table to confirm. Given a OK, I think he had given up on arguing with me for the sake of it, I picked out some durable ones with a heat sensor attachment.

Last in terms of tacticals, would be body suits. These would go under our regular clothes, additional protection and heat without the bulk. Of course, some bullet proof clothes would be going on top, but still a good base is always necessary.

Now to the fun part, weapons.

Jimin had already beat me to it, having laid out some stuff that he wanted for himself or that he got at the request of the other boys. A computer chip, most likely for Yoongi, catches my eye. Having a computer for research and planning would be so much easier than having to piece together scraps of paper.

Grabbing a sleek laptop off the shelf, I added it to the ever-growing pile of supplies on the table under the raised eyebrow of Jimin. He reaches for it, but I smack his hand away and firmly state that “I like doing these things myself.” I hear no further argument.

Then comes the guns. Semi-automatics have a soft spot it my heart so I grab an all-American Hollywood classic, twin Desert Eagles, metal caps, and a spool of wrapping leather; custom grip can only be truly custom when you make them yourself. Snagging some holsters, I argue mentally between thighs and sides, before just getting both; no point wasting time. Then for knifes, I grab a classic butterfly, before grabbing some more practical Damascus hunting daggers that were lightweight so they could be thrown as well.

Nodding at Jimin, I let him take care of the payment as I continued to explore the room for anything else that we might like. Closer to the door, I see a locked cabinet with oddities that most would not look twice at; they sell information. A couple flash drives being bid off, probably filled with some military programs or governmental passwords. I wouldn’t put it pas them to have one or two automatic Trojans with a logic puzzle for those dolts that didn’t know how to use a computer. Then on the far side, something unexpected.

“They say that’s a charm from the Banshee herself.” Jimin, seemingly done with the purchase, came over towards the elevator as the store took care of sending our goods topside.

“The Banshee?” This was one I hadn’t heard before.

“Yeah. She’s an assassin with some sort of moral code apparently when she kills. And she takes or makes charms from each kill to remember them. Morbid, but then again anyone who’s that good ought to have a few screws lose to not go crazy.” He wasn’t wrong.

Even Master had told me it was odd when he saw the charms, but he got used to it. The box of filled bracelets I left with Master, the only thing of personal value that I really owned anymore so my wrists were naked and empty. Yet, the feeling never hit me until now, when I saw the only charm I ever lost (a round mosaic for a contemporary artist who also profited from fakes) for sale. The Banshee name had power and with power comes profit; the betting for the charm already past the million mark.

“Don’t think to hard. You won’t ever meet her.” Jimin laughed, the kind that came from his belly and was not held back by propriety.

“And you have?” It was a good enough act, lovestruck youngster falling for a power girl he had never even met before.

“Nope. But I want to. Her story sounds interesting enough.” That was the most uncharacteristic thing I had ever heard come out of his mouth.

“Her story,” I snickered, my face trying very hard not to mock him with its expression. “A mafioso and an assassin on a coffee date. That sounds more like the first line of a joke.”

He didn’t respond, but looking back as he pushed me towards the elevator told me he was thinking. The cogs were turning either to make up a lie or to figure out how to put it in words.

“I want to know what made her this way. She is truly someone that does not care, and something must have happened to make her that way.” His voice was quiet and rippling under the surface I could hear some semblance of emotions from him. It was a change, and I let him talk. “Even you can agree with this; we didn’t just wake up one day and decided we wanted to be like this. We went through the ringer and decided that we never wanted to be that low ever again, so we went for the heights.”

“We braved the cliffs and grew wings.” Simple words, but with more meaning that even a full paragraph could hold. He simply nodded in response and the rest of the ride up was silent, each lost in our pasts.

The ride back to the apartment was no different, except for the back piled with our new supplies. Quiet and heavy, not even the driver disturbed us in our thoughts.

The boys were waiting for us when we went upstairs, all cleaned up and hair coiffed to perfection.

“How was it?” Namjoon, objective as ever wanting to make sure the boys hadn’t lost their biggest weapons source because the two of us butting heads.

“Uneventful.” Me, as I turned to the boxes.

“Normal.” Jimin, as he joined the boys on the couch.

“Did you bring us presents?” Taehyung, relaxed as always, stretching his legs on the coffee table as he watched me organize.

I put everything that I had bought for myself in one box, including my harness, a loop of SWAT rope, the extra paracord, and the body suit. The rest was laid out on the floor next to the boxes that Jimin had already organized the others’ stuff into, most likely at the store itself.

“I bought all of you harnesses and new rope. I suggest getting used to wearing them around and working with the additional weight so break them in to your own comfort.”

Jungkook scoffed, “We have our own already.”

“Of course, you do. But do they have at least a 5-point weight distribution and at lest 10 hold holds for various roping combinations?”

He stayed silent.

“No? Then I suggest you break in the one I got for you or I won’t be responsible for you screwing this up for the rest of them. I didn’t bother holding back with him. Jungkook had started to get on my nerves. I was starting to get the feeling that no matter what I did, I would never get on his good side. I had reached a conclusion; it wasn’t me personally he hated, it was the idea of me; all fun and games when matched with his cold perfectionism. He thought I was stupid and infuriating, I thought the same of him; it worked out.

Walking back to my own room, I could practically hear Namjoon trying to figure out a plan to get me and Jungkook back on better terms. But that would have to wait for another day; I needed to get my stuff together.

Making it back to the relative haven of my room, I unpack and start customizing. First was the guns, taking the leather, I cover both handles in a primitive but more familiar imitation of custom grips, adding in the end the metal cap at the bottom of the grip because if you can’t shoot, you can at least swing. Sure, it does mess with the balance of the gun but you get used to it after a couple years of practice. Next, comes the computer. Booting up, I have never been more thankful for technology and resolve to ask someone to scan the document to upload, but after spending a couple hours with Jimin, I am ready to be alone.

Then again, when does the plan of the universe ever work in my favor? Just as I put away the rest of the gear, keeping the harness out to break in after I relax, I hear a knock on my door.

“Can I come in?” Taehyung. Lovely.

“Sure.” I didn’t bother to try to contain my annoyance, but this was Taehyung we were talking about; he was selectively blind, and deaf for that matter, to the world around him. He heard me say that he could come in but he somehow didn’t hear my annoyance.

He waltzed right in and seated himself on my bed as turned around from my desk. Glancing out the window, I could see the first signs of the evening clouding over the brightness of the day, so it was no surprise that he was dressed to go to work. Silk shirt unbuttoned just enough for anyone watching to get a peak of tanned skin tucked into tight denim. A lone silver chain hanging around his neck and thin rings of the same material making his fingers seem longer than you have ever thought was humanly possible.

Once again, he lounged. Looking back, you have never seen him as anything other than relaxed, except for that one time when you technically broke in so context matter with him. He didn’t even bother taking of his leather shoes which made you scowl.

“Any particular reason you’re hear or is it just to grind my gears?”

“Both, but mostly I have a question for you to answer for me.” He reached for his pocket and pulled out a swatch of white fabric that almost made my heart strop.

“A bandage? You want me to wrap something for you?” I didn’t let it bother me. The bandages I wore were a dime a dozen and he could have gotten it from any mom and pop medical store along the road.

“No I was wondering why you had these. If you’re hurt, that’s not good for any of us see?” Sitting up, he kept waving that bandage in front of me, taunting me like he knew all my secrets, but he didn’t.

“You went through my stuff?” Sighing, I relented. “Should have expect nothing less from a sneak thief. They are bandages for emergencies. I don’t trust for a second that Jungkook still doesn’t want to put a bullet between my eyes.”

“True. You and Jungkook really don’t get along. Though that is to be expected when the both of you have different ways of surviving.” Taehyung was smarter than you, and probably anyone else, gave him credit for. His mouth was working to distract while his eyes watched and learned from the people around him.

I didn’t respond, but I didn’t need to. Even Taehyung seemed to sense that our conversation was over as he left my room with some important parting word. “The most dangerous liars are the ones who give themselves to the lies, body, soul and heart.”

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eddiemunsonsmiddlefingers · 4 years ago

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First Line Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @cr-noble-writes!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

All fics below are Destiel unless marked otherwise.

"Michaela follows the police down a hall to some sort of conference room, her hands clenched so tightly around her forearms she’s sure her fingernails will leave bruises." - Icarus Rising, WIP (Trans!Dean, Endverse-esque!Cas, Kid!Jack)

"Sometimes Sam whimpers in his sleep, babbles “Jess” over and over like a prayer." - Untitled WIP (SPN rewrite)

“Still waiting for your unicorn, are you?” - Gold Dust, WIP (Soulmate!verse)

Every time Cas slaps palms with Ruby at a show he wonders if this is the time something got fucked up in the supply chain and he gets bath salts instead of ecstasy. - One Slip, WIP (Dysfunctional Relationship AU)

"Cassie's impossibly smart, Aaron's impossibly nerdy, Lisa is bendy in all the right places, Benny's the only person besides Cas who can beat Dean at pool, and...well, okay. Josie was a major mistake, but it's not like he or Cas could have guessed what she did in her spare time." - Oh My God They're IDIOTS, WIP (Modern AU)

"Steady beeping works its way into Dean’s dreams." - If One Cannot Remember, One Cannot Grieve (Canonverse)

"Dean expects to see his bedroom ceiling when he opens his eyes, but instead he gets an umbrella of green leaves against a clear blue sky." - Roll for Perception (Canonverse)

"Dean’s at some underground rave doing his best to forget exactly how fucked the world is in the year of our Lord twenty-ten." - What About All the Broken Happy Ever Afters (Endverse)

"The silence is so complete after Dean’s phone stops ringing that he pretends he died as well, that he’s in that liminal space waiting for a guide to take him to his final resting place." - A Peculiar Kind of Peace (Canonverse / finale fix-it)

"It’s been five hours since election results started coming in, and Dean hasn’t stopped moving." - Of Monsters and Men (Canonverse)

"Dean is prepping vegetables in the back room when he feels a hand on his shoulder." - Card-Carrying Bisexual (Modern AU)

"Crowley doesn’t want to go to the game. " - The Kiss Cam (Drowley that rapidly goes to shit, then Destiel)

"It’s been twenty four hours since Dean and Cas came back from a milk run to Kentucky, and Sam’s tolerance has officially hit and surpassed its natural limit. " - Say it Straight (Canonverse)

"Archangel returns? Bank heist aborted by winged hero." - The Heroes of Port Angeles (Superheroes)

"Dean never had much faith in God even before he met the guy, so for a split second after Chuck’s declaration he thinks he’ll be okay." - No Right to Ask, No Reason to Give (Canonverse)

"The hunt was supposed to be little more than a milk run, but then again that’s how all their fucked up stories begin, isn’t it?" - What all Fairy Tales Have In Common (Canonverse)

"Gabriel knows how to throw a good party and holiday get-togethers are no exception." - The Liquor Delivery Man (Modern AU)

"Rowena insists the spell she cast on Gabriel is temporary just as surely as she insists she had every right to cast it." - Magic Carpet Ride (Canonverse Sabriel)

"Dean meets Castiel Krushnic when they land in the same dorm room freshman year." - Adventures in Problem Solving (College/Idiots to Lovers AU)

"Gabriel blinked, and darkness consumed him." - Gabriel and the Big Empty (Gabe-centric Canonverse)

---

Hm....to be honest, I don't have a favorite. I hate starting fics and think all my opening lines suck. XD I do have a tendency to just...throw the reader into the middle of the action though, which I hear is a good thing.

Um...um...tagging...

@jemariel @sharkfish @saltnhalo @imthatpeculiarone @leafzelindor

@pallasperilous @kingdumbass @tobythewise @wargurl83 @darmysasagiri

I love getting tagged but feel weirdly nervous about tagging people (and also haven't had a lot of time to scroll my dash to know if you've done it already)...basically feel free to ignore, I won't be offended. XD

#tag games #spn #destiel

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snowdice · 4 years ago

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Snowdice BINGO 5 Voting

Okay! Prompts are in and it’s time to vote. You will have the rest of today and all day Sunday to vote. I separated the prompts by universe. You have 3 votes which you can apply in any way you want. So, you could vote for 3 different prompts, give one prompt 3 votes, or give one prompt 2 votes and another 1 vote.

You can submit in an ask, reply to this post, or reblog this post.

Make it clear what you’re voting for, please! So do something like.

A-2, M-1

T:3

S1, B1, L1

The prompts are under the cut and separated by universe!

Block the tag “bingo 5 votes” if this annoys you!

Cops and Not Robbers AU

A: Roman, Logan, and Dee get into a mission that goes wrong in the most hilariously ridiculous way (similar in mood to the Roman-Remus mix-up)

The Dangers of Stereotypes

B: Remus and Patton being lovable goofballs and Logan has to deal with them.

The Prison You Deserve Universe

C: Virgil goes home, but, for the first time in a long time, he's not alone.

D: Virgil bakes cookies for the first time, with a little help. Shenanigains ensue.

Cuffed

E: Virgil gets caught in the crossfire between Remus and Logan and is hurt or drugged or something from their shenanigans. They immediately drop the fighting to look after him.

Road Trips and Everything in Between

F: Teen Janus having a nightmare and Remy comforting him?

G: Janus meeting Virgil for the first time in Road Trips.

H: Janus and Remus apartment hunting.

I: Janus and his series of firsts for the Patton-nappings in post-road trip. The first where he actually knows what's going on, the first where Pat came just for him and not because he was there too/Virgil wanted to get his bro, the first he & Pat are at base and they sneak off together to get Virgil (poor Lo), his first (w/ or w/o V) nabbing of Pat, or the very first Janus-involved one where he's there when Pat comes for Virgil but was not aware this was a thing yet, ect.

Birds of Different Feathers

J: More of Janus and Remus’ relationship

K: When Patton and Virgil got together

L: Virgil’s perspective from Kill Dear when he was first captured. An outside impression of the camp and the conversations with “the enemy” would be very interesting, if it included him and Janus being awkward it would be wonderful

M: Janus' perspective on Logan during the first week of captivity in Kill Dear.

N: Remus maneuvering to ensure people leave Roman out of the shadier parts of military life. Choosing to become the dark hand of the north.

O: Virgil trying to escape to murder Roman during Kill Dear and Janus having to foil his plots.

Labeled

P: Virgil actually gets in trouble in senior year thing from your ‘Labeled is making me sad’ post? (That is the following thing I wrote: Virgil does get in actual trouble at school in his senior year. (The principal is a bit leery of calling Patton at that point.) He and his teacher got into a disagreement in a chemistry lab. It was a perfectly civil and Virgil wouldn’t have gotten into trouble about that. Except… then the words “here I show you” came out of his mouth and… he started a small chemical fire despite his teacher’s vehement protests. Logan was like “…Patton you’re going to have to pick him up because I will not be able to physically restrain myself from high-fiveing the child.”)

Q: Patton's first parent-off/bake-off ect with a member of the pta, maybe during or about a bake sale. (Bonus if some of the ladies are over there admiring the view of his hot af professor husband who's helping set up, which is not at all getting in the way of dealing with Karen and her dang muffins. Honestly.)

R: Logan and Virgil turn training into a real-life game of Fruit Ninja (with or without superpowered lightsabers).

S: Virgil seeing Patton’s home office and the mess that it is for the first time. (Referring to this: Patton also has an office in the house. Well. An “office.” It’s actually a dinning room that they never use. It’s sort of a marital compromise. The rest of the house is clean and organized, but Patton is free to live his natural life in the office. He does actually use it as an office space when he writes papers and stuff. It also has his sewing stuff, painting supplies, and a small television. Papers from 20 years ago lie crumpled in the corners. There are half finished hats from when he wanted to pick up crochet. Missy hides treats in there when she can’t get to the yard to bury them.)

T: Logan’s class while he’s going through the adoption. Moments of memes, their unflappable professor being late or distracted or confused. Preferably with a Roman or Remus Cameo.

U: Virgil and Emile's first appointment

V: Virgil begrudgingly asks Remy for advice for his first date. (Original prompt is a date with Roman but it doesn’t really work so it’ll be a date with a random side character.)

W: Bluebird buys Virgil a sandwich

X: Familial Virgil & Logan & Patton. Word prompt: “sugar,” “shoo fly pie”, and “messy.”

Author’s choice

Y: Virgil sometimes wears his big headphones without actually listening to music so he can hear what other people are talking about when they think he can’t hear them. He accidentally hears them planning a surprise for him and he has to act like he doesn’t know so that he can continue listening in (cuz it’s calming to know that people aren’t talking bad about you at any chance they get) and everything’s super sweet

Z: A dramatic heist thing where Virgil, Patton, and Roman try to steal some Crofters from Logan. Bonus points if Remus barges his way in, insisting that he be the demolitions expert.

aaa: Kid!Virgil makes friends with a raven/crow/corvid

bbb: Diesel Fuel, verse: any/all.

#not writing #just talking #snowdice bingo #bingo 5 votes #my prompts

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raymondcftn580-blog · 3 years ago

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ceealaina · 4 years ago

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Title: Time May Change Me Collaborator Name: ceealaina Card Number: 3088 Link: AO3 Square Filled: Adopted - Time Travel (to the past) Ship: Stony Rating: E Major Tags: Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame, Endgame Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Summary: A slight shift in timing during the time heist mission leaves Tony and Steve trapped in 1970. Stuck together while they try and work out a new plan, they instead start to see each other in a whole new light. Word Count: 13,609

It started to go wrong the way these things usually did for them — the second they split up. (You’d think by now they would have learned.)

Tony’s timing (hah, how fitting that time was working against them) had been off by seconds. He was just about to cut into the appropriate container, grab the Tesseract and get the hell out of dodge when he’d been interrupted. It probably could have been worse. At least he hadn’t been cut red -- or blue -- handed. But he was caught so off guard by being met with fucking Howard of all people that he hadn’t been able to find an excuse to stay, walking his father out and making bullshit conversation and feeling his heart sink deeper with every step further he took from the Tesseract.

Steve hadn’t fared much better. He had, initially, gotten his hands on the Pym particles. But, distracted by a glimpse of Peggy, of seeing first hand the life she’d lived without him, he had hesitated a moment too long before leaving. He thought he’d made it out. He was outside and had signalled to Tony -- who was talking to his father, no way that was a good idea -- and was just waiting for him to join him when he heard shouts. Steve had to make a quick get away after that, leaving Tony to extricate himself as quickly and unsuspiciously as possible, and hope they’d manage to find each other again. Steve got away, but somehow the Pym Particles were lost in the process. Because that just seemed to be how their day was going.

Tony found Steve a couple hours later, sitting forlornly on a bench in some little park. He’d abandoned most of his borrowed uniform in an attempt at disguise, leaving him in a white t-shirt and a pair of alarmingly high-waisted bell bottom pants that he’d gotten from god knew where. There were a few birds scattered by his feet and Tony resisted the urge to make a crack about old men feeding pigeons in the park as he flopped down onto the bench beside him.

“Cheer up, Cap,” he told him, giving him a conciliatory pat on the shoulder. “It’s not so bad.”

Steve lifted his head to glare at him, but it was half-hearted at best. “Not so bad?” he repeated. “Tony, I lost the Pym Particles.”

“And I didn’t get the Tesseract.”

“Oh, great, things are going to be just fine then.”

“Wow. Sarcasm is not a good look on you, Rogers.”

“I’m not in the mood, Tony. We’re trapped here, and apparently we don’t even have the thing we came for. It’s over, we lost.”

“Well... Not exactly.” At Steve’ confused stare, Tony gave a half shrug. “The good news is, we technically have all the time in the world. Once we get the particles, we can go right back to where we were when we left.”

“We still have to get the particles,” Steve pointed out, but there was something almost resembling hope on his face. “And the Tesseract. And they’ll have stepped up security, if they think there was a breach.”

“Yup,” Tony admitted. “And since bouncing in as Captain America Iron Man could probably result in some catastrophically timeline-altering bullshit, we’re probably going to have to play the long game.”

“What do we do in the meantime?” Steve asked. “It’s 1970, and we didn’t exactly come prepared. You technically haven’t even been born yet; I don’t think your driver’s license is going to fly. We’ve got no IDs, no money, and no place to stay -- SHIELD's list of safehouses isn’t going to cut it right now. How are we playing the long game?”

Tony gave him a crooked grin. “I’m gonna tell you something, and I really need you to not judge me over this, Cap.”

“Oh, this should be good.”

“So back when I was thirteen and in my last years of high school, I was young, and bored, and…”

“A pain in the ass?” Steve supplied.

“Precocious.” Tony gave him a dirty look. “Point being, I may have run some scams, started selling fake IDs… Pre technology era, it was surprisingly easy, actually. Which probably doesn’t say much for the security of our country, but works out well for our purposes.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “You want to run scams selling IDs?”

“Well, the IDs would be for us, but basically… Yeah, at least until we get ourselves situated. Unless you got a better idea? I mean, stripping usually pays under the table. Not sure how prominent male strippers were in 1970, but I’m sure you could fetch a pretty penny with that ass.”

Steve gave a long, pained sigh. “Nope. ID scams it is.”

THREE MONTHS LATER

Steve padded down the hall and into the avocado green kitchen that never failed to make his soul cry a little. Tony was already there, sitting at the kitchen table with a legal pad and a mechanical pencil, muttering to himself as he sketched out equations that Steve couldn’t even begin to process. Steve arched an eyebrow at him, beelining for the coffee pot; Tony’s bad habits were starting to rub off on him.

“You get any sleep last night?”

Tony waved his free hand in a so-so gesture before scribbling a few more numbers and looking up to give Steve a slightly crooked grin. “Couple hours.” He made a show of looking Steve up and down, and even though he should have been used to it by now, Steve felt a shiver run up his spine. “Cute shorts, Cap.”

Steve rolled his eyes, shifting to tug at the super short hemline for the umpteenth time. “It’s July, Tony. It’s 90 degrees out there. And apparently this is what the 1970s have to offer for running shorts.”

Tony leaned back in the chair, balancing it on the back two legs. “Hey, I’m not complaining.” He gave him a wink. “Seriously, Steve. You look good.”

Instead of answering, Steve turned to the refrigerator, pulling out a carton of eggs. Since they’d been stuck here, there had been a million little things that Steve had barely even noticed in the future that he missed terribly now, and currently his Super Special Super Soldier Protein Bars (Tony’d had them patented in 2013) were topping the list. He was sure someone, somewhere would have Thoughts on his shifting priorities and how they reflected the Decline Of America, but energy bars were infinitely preferable to having to mix raw eggs into his orange juice, and there was no way around it. He had to pinch his nose as he knocked the drink back, trying to swallow as quickly as he could, but it didn’t do anything to mask the texture.

The sentiment was apparently shared by Tony, who made a face as he watched Steve3. “I could probably reverse engineer some kind of protein bar that meets your super soldier needs,” he offered.

Steve gave him a fond smile. “I’ve had worse,” he told him, which was true, but not by much. “And I don’t think I’d trust your cooking. Anyway, I think I’d rather you reverse engineer a way for us to get the Tesseract.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony frowned back down at his legal pad and aggressively scratched out a few numbers. “I’m working on it.”

Steve arched his eyebrows at him. “And I’m going for a run.”

Tony waved him off, but as Steve headed back into the hall, he heard him call, “Bye, Cap! Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave!”

As he started his regular run through the winding streets of small town Jersey (ew), Steve’s mind started to wander the way it always did when he worked out -- even if he had to hold himself back to keep from attracting unwanted attention. And, the way it seemed to be doing more and more lately, as his worries took a backseat, his mind drifted to Tony instead.

Steve couldn’t say exactly when things had changed between them. It had been the same as usual, at first, the two of them poking and prodding at each other. Steve respected Tony, always had after New York, and he was pretty sure Tony felt the same way about him. But they also knew how to push each other’s buttons, and didn’t seem to be able to stop doing it.

As the spring had dragged on, and their plans to get back into Fort LeHigh went exactly nowhere, and frustrations grew, Steve had expected things to get even worse between them. But instead the exact opposite had happened. Maybe it was the fact that he had a kid now, maybe it was the fact that it felt like the whole world was against them right now, nothing going right, and they were the only ones who had each other’s back. But Tony was different now, and Steve had a feeling that he probably was too.

They had talked about it, once, after yet another tossed out plan. Tony had admitted how much this was weighing on him, how scared he was that this would fail, how many people were counting on them -- Morgan most of all. And then, in a voice that broke Steve’s heart, Tony had admitted that making the effort to get along with Steve made him feel a little bit better about failing to get them out of there. Steve had tried to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault, that coming to 1970 may have been Tony’s idea, but that he’d also been right about it being their only chance. But he knew Tony enough to know that that guilt wasn’t going to stop no matter what Steve said. So he made the effort to be kinder to Tony in turn. And somewhere along the way, it stopped being an effort and just became their relationship. They still teased and prodded at each other, but instead of antagonism, it was all fondness, Tony looking delighted every time he’d get a smile out of Steve. They argued too, sometimes, because they were still them, but the arguments were fewer and farther between, and more often than not they’d just fizzle out entirely until they could come back to it later and have an actual conversation instead.

The team was his family, he loved and trusted them with every ounce of his body. But the little house he shared with Tony was starting to feel like home in a way that he hadn’t found since 1942. Steve knew he shouldn’t be getting too comfortable, that he was probably getting too complacent about their lack of progress. But it was easy to take heart in the fact that they’d be able to return to the same point in time. And he was enjoying the familiarity of their little life here. Tony had gotten a job at a local garage, kept making jokes Steve didn’t quite understand about how he was an actual mechanic now, and Steve had managed to pick up some freelance work drawing cartoons for the local paper. On the mornings when Tony hadn’t stayed up all night, Steve would start the coffee pot, making sure there was a fresh mug waiting for him when he dragged himself out of bed for his shift. And in turn, Tony would prepare dinner, because apparently cooking was a thing he’d learned in the past five years, more often than not making Steve’s favourites. They just knew each other now, things easy and familiar. Steve had expected to be bored, to be slowly going crazy with all the sitting around and waiting. But instead it was almost pleasant, like he’d been able to press the pause button on his life for one damn second.

Apparently Steve Rogers was the domestic type, who knew?

And then, of course, there were the other ways that Steve was starting to know Tony. Over the past few weeks, Tony’s teasing ogling had turned a little less… Teasing. Several times now, Steve had caught Tony staring at him when he thought Steve wasn’t looking, his gaze soft and heated and wanting in a way that made Steve squirm. And his comments on Steve’s body had an edge to them, a bit of truth to the words that hadn’t been there before.

And, well, the house wasn’t big. Steve wasn’t going to pretend that he hadn’t heard Tony jerk off on multiple occasions, that he hadn’t strained his ears to listen for the whisper of his name on Tony’s lips, that he hadn’t then jerked himself off with a little more noise than he would normally, picturing Tony do the same. Maybe it was just the fact that it was only the two of them here together, but Steve couldn’t escape feeling that there was something building between them.

***

The day had ended up being scorchingly hot, and Tony had picked up an extra shift at the garage, so Steve had cooked dinner. He’d never really bothered to learn to cook properly -- Tony liked to joke that his taste buds had been so ruined by Depression era food that not even the serum could save them -- but he could manage a few staples. He’d burned the first attempt at cheeseburgers, but the second set were better, and all the chaos was worth it when Tony shuffled into the kitchen, looking exhausted, only to inhale deeply and then positively beam.

“Steve,” he declared, still in his mechanic’s coveralls as he slumped into one of the kitchen chairs with a cold beer in his hand. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I love you.”

It was fully dark by the time they finished their meal. The windows and the kitchen door were wide open in the hopes of catching a breeze, and the sounds of the crickets outside filtered through the house. The heat hadn’t dissipated at all with the disappearance of the sun, giving everything a hazy, dreamy feel. Tony had unzipped the top half of his coveralls, leaving them hanging around his waist with only a threadbare white muscle shirt covering his chest. Steve kept having to look away but couldn’t seem to keep his eyes from drifting right back. Those coveralls were his number one weakness right now; he’d had multiple filthy fantasies about peeling Tony out of them.

“Fuck, it’s hot,” Tony muttered, knocking back the last of his beer. His legs were spread on the chair, posture loose and easy, and Steve watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

“You could go and change,” Steve pointed out, even as his dick screamed at him to shut up, that was the last thing he wanted.

Tony sighed. “Yeah, but then I’d have to move,” he complained, offering Steve a grin. “Anyway, it’s my turn to do the dishes,” he added, not seeming to care that he’d just negated his last point entirely.

“No, hey. You've had a long day,” Steve said. “I’ll do them.”

Tony hummed, considering. “You wash and I’ll dry?”

“Done deal.”

Washing the dishes with Tony was one of his favourite chores, and tonight was no exception. They alternated between companionable silence as they worked, broken only by the gentle splash of water as Steve rinsed another dish, and easy chatter, nohing of importance, just dumb jokes and mindless anecdotes.

“So then,” Tony concluded, giving a glass a half-assed swipe with his dishcloth and putting it away mostly wet. Steve thought about calling him on it, but didn’t. “It turned out that he’d somehow wired the radio to the headlights? And every time they came on, the radio would turn off. That’s why it wouldn’t work at night.”

It wasn’t even that funny of a story, but Tony’s laughter was contagious. Steve turned to smile at him, and something in his chest caught. Tony was grinning, face lit up with humor and a hint of anticipation as he stared back at Steve. He had a lock of hair falling over his forehead, curling in the hot summer air, and he was still wearing those damn coveralls, biceps on display. Hardly aware of what he was doing, Steve let the dishcloth slip into the sink and curled a soapy wet hand around the back of Tony’s neck. He had a brief moment to notice Tony’s tiny shiver at the water on his skin, and then Steve leaned in and kissed him. Tony’s lips were warm and soft and slightly parted, practically inviting Steve to deepen the kiss, to suck gently on his upper lip. Tony made a soft noise in response, barely more than a huff of air, and all of a sudden Steve realized what he was doing.

With a start he pulled back, almost immediately missing the touch of Tony’s skin beneath his fingers. “Oh god, I’m sorry,” he burst out, staring at the floor and pressing his fingers gingerly to his own lips, like he could hide what he’d done. “I don’t know what that was. It’s just the heat, and, and… You…”

Stomach twisting with nerves, Steve chanced a glance up at Tony, expecting him to be upset, or angry, or even hurt for some reason. But instead Tony was just staring back at him with a soft, pleased smile on his lips. “It’s okay, Steve.”

And sure, he probably just meant that he was forgiving Steve’s lapse of judgement, Steve knew that. But he could also be giving Steve permission, and so he leaned in, kissing him again. And when Tony didn’t shove him away, only sighed against his mouth and pressed his palms against Steve’s abs through his tight, white-t-shirt, Steve deepened it once more, pressing his tongue past Tony’s lips to taste him. His hands shifted to grip at Tony’s hips, thumbs sliding over the bare skin where his shirt didn’t quite touch his coveralls, and he was only half-aware of turning them until he had Tony pressed back against the counter, Steve looming over him and holding him in place.

They were both breathing hard by the time he pulled back again, and Steve couldn’t stop staring at Tony. His hair was more mussed now, though neither of them had touched it, little strands curling around his neck and ears. His lips were red and swollen, eyes dark and heavy, and he was still giving Steve that soft smile. He tilted his head a little, squinting like he was trying to read him, and then he grinned.

“Close the door, Steve.”

Steve blinked at him, wondering if he was somehow so horny for it that a little kissing had completely fried his brain. “What?”

Tony laughed softly, the sound sending something warm and pleasant furling through Steve’s stomach -- though that may have been helped by the way that Tony slid his hands up Steve’s chest, dragging over his tight nipples in the process, and fiddled with the collar of his shirt.

“Shut the kitchen door, Steve. So we can go to bed.”

Steve nodded, a little dazed, and reluctantly let go of Tony’s hips. He didn’t know if Tony meant to go to bed because if they’d reached this point it was time to call it a night, or to go to bed, but he moved over to the kitchen door. He could feel Tony watching him with every step, his gaze heavy on his back and setting Steve’s nerves into hyperdrive. He shut the door firmly, the click of the lock seeming thunderous in the weighted silence of the room. Swallowing thickly he turned back to Tony.

“So, uh…” His voice sounded strange to his own ears and he trailed off, not sure what he even wanted to ask. Tony seemed to know though, giving Steve an amused smile. He held out his hand toward him.

“Come on, handsome.”

Steve moved back across the room, and curled his fingers around Tony’s. There were calluses on Tony’s hand, dragging against his own smooth skin, and Steve shivered at the sensation. There was a soft huff of laughter from Tony and then he was tugging gently on Steve’s arm, leading him down the hall toward their bedrooms. It felt hopelessly domestic, and something that had nothing to do with sex tugged at his heart. They didn’t speak, not even when they reached Tony’s bedroom door. Tony didn’t hesitate, his hand still clasped around Steve’s as he pulled him inside, and Steve was helpless to do anything but keep following.

Tony led him over to the side of the bed, angling himself to face Steve as he sat down beside him. Steve’s breath caught as Tony locked eyes with him, running his hand lightly over his chest before he curled his hand in the cotton of his t-shirt, tugging at him gently until they were kissing again. Steve let himself melt into it, hyper-aware of every point of contact between them as heat flooded through his body. Steve let his hand slide over Tony’s ribs and the two of them tipped back against the mattress until they were lying side by side, sharing kisses so sweet they almost ached. One of Tony’s hands came up, running through Steve’s hair, and he shuddered against him, pulling back to look at Tony with heavy eyes.

“Tony, what…” Steve tightened his hand against Tony’s waist, not wanting him to pull away. “What are we doing?”

Tony huffed out another soft laugh, shifting closer until his chest was pressed to Steve’s. “I think that’s kind of obvious, Cap,” he told him, voice low and rough.

Steve whined softly, his hand clenching against Tony’s side before he forced himself to loosen his grip. “What… What about Pepper?” he asked, because he couldn’t not.

But Tony just smiled, unperturbed. “Don’t worry about it. We have an understanding,” he told him vaguely before pressing in closer. Steve could feel their lips brush against each other, unbearably intimate. “Just relax, Steve,” Tony hummed. “I want this. I think you want this too, right?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah,” he said, voice rasping over the word. Tony beamed.

“Then don’t worry about anything else.”

Tony kissed him again, soft and slow, and Steve let himself sink into it, everything that wasn’t Tony’s lips on his fading from his mind. Tony shifted against him, pushing himself up on one elbow so he could press Steve onto his back, leaning over him. He moved his hand up under Steve’s t-shirt, and Steve gasped a little, abs flexing at the touch of his cool fingers. Tony grinned against his mouth, tugging at his lower lip.

“There we go,” he hummed. “God Steve, you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to touch you like this?” He pushed at the fabric, movements getting a little sloppy. “Come on, gorgeous. Let me see you.”

Steve felt hot all over, could feel his cheeks flushing red. He pushed himself up far enough to haul his t-shirt off over his head.

“Oh yeah,” Tony breathed. “There we go.”

Steve rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide his fond smile. “You know, you have seen me shirtless before,” he pointed out. “This morning, even.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, but he sounded distracted, eyes locked somewhere around Steve’s nipples. “But it’s different now.”

Steve arched an eyebrow, peering down his chest skeptically. “I didn’t run that hard,” he told him, voice teasing.

Tony shook his head. “You’re not different. It’s just… Knowing I actually get to touch you, get to have you?” He visibly shuddered at the thought, and the idea of Tony wanting him that much sent something hot and squirmy rolling through Steve’s body.

“Tony, fuck,” he muttered, hips rolling up as he yanked Tony back down on top of him. Tony made a startled noise that shifted to groan as he ended up with Steve’s cock pressing into his hip.

“God,” he breathed, breath hot on Steve’s skin. He dragged his teeth over the tendon in his neck. “The things I wanna do to you.”

“Please,” Steve moaned, sliding his hand down Tony’s back to squeeze at his ass through the coveralls. “Whatever you want, anything.”

Tony grinned into his neck. “Whatever I want, huh? Never thought I’d hear those words coming from you, Cap.”

Steve opened his mouth to offer some kind of retort, but bit out a string of curses instead as Tony’s thumb found his left nipple, rubbing over the pert flesh. Tony was barely touching him, just flicks of his fingers and teasing little brushes of skin on skin, but every point of contact was setting Steve on fire, feeling like it was on the cusp of too much. He let his eyes fall shut, hands clenching periodically over Tony’s ass and side as his cock throbbed in his shorts.

“Tony, god, please. I want…”

“What?” Tony asked, and his voice was thick and rough. Steve opened his eyes again to see Tony staring down at him hungrily, biting down hard on his lower lip. “What do you want Steve?”

“Please,” he whined, dragging his hand back up to Tony’s hips to hold him in place while he rocked his hips up against him. “Wanna… Touch. Please.”

He could feel the hot air of Tony’s breath as he laughed against his neck, and then he slid lower down Steve’s waist, sucking the nipple he’d already been teasing into his mouth. Steve didn’t even try to hold back his shout as Tony bit down on the tender skin. His body arched up into the touch, nearly unseating Tony entirely.

“Christ,” Tony muttered. “You’re so fucking sensitive.”

Steve whined as Tony’s warm heat left his body, but when he opened his eyes in protest, Tony was grinning at him as he stripped off his tank top. Steve let his eyes drag hungrily down Tony’s chest, noted the way he flushed a little in response, and then scrambled to arch his hips and kick his shorts off down his hips. Tony was doing the same with his coveralls, and distantly Steve felt a little disappointed that he hadn’t had the chance to peel him out of them himself. But then his cock was springing free, resting hot and hard against his belly, and Steve couldn’t stop himself from curling his hand around it, groaning in relief.

It took him a minute to realize that Tony had stopped undressing, staring at Steve’s cock with heavy eyes and his lips parted. “Holy shit, Steve,” he ground out. Then he was kicking off the last of his clothes and moving to lean over Steve again, covering his hand with his. Steve gasped at the sensation -- he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had someone else touching him, and this was Tony -- and his cock grew heavier in their shared grip. “Fuck, Steve.” Tony bit down on his earlobe, hard, tightening his grip around him. “You gotta let me taste you, honey, please.”

There was suddenly nothing that Steve wanted more and he whined a little desperately, catching Tony’s lips in a desperate, sloppy kiss before Tony moved down his body, kissing sporadically over Steve’s chest as he went.

From the first flick of Tony’s tongue against the head of his cock, Steve was lost. He rolled his head back, knowing if he tried to look at Tony now he’d last all of five seconds. He panted up at the ceiling instead, body thrumming and over sensitive. The hot summer air was giving everything a dreamy, dazed feel, not quite real, and he gave himself over to the sensation, losing sight of time and what was happening, but hyperconscious of how good he felt, the way his skin lit up everywhere that Tony touched him. His mouth was hot and wet, swallowing around Steve over and over again, until he couldn’t focus on anything else.

Steve had no idea how much longer it had been when he felt his balls draw up tight, his orgasm suddenly right there. He gave a ragged moan, patting clumsily at Tony’s shoulder.

“Tony,” he mumbled, and he hadn’t thought he’d been screaming, but his voice sure sounded like it. “Gonna…”

But Tony didn’t pull off, just swallowed him deeper. Wondering if maybe he hadn’t understood, Steve dragged his eyes open only to look down and find Tony staring back at him intensely. There was a look in his eyes like making Steve feel good was the greatest thing he had ever accomplished, and Steve couldn’t hold on any longer. Clenching his fingers in the sheets hard enough to ache, Steve spilled down Tony’s throat, cursing when that only made Tony swallow harder around him.

When he’d finished, Steve collapsed flat on his back on the mattress, body limp and ears ringing. For a long moment he was only aware of his own breathing, his heart racing in his ears. And then he felt Tony shifting against him, opened his eyes to see Tony on his knees beside him, jerking off frantically. He was running his mouth again, but Steve couldn’t seem to focus on what he was saying, only catching bits here and there as Tony rambled about how gorgeous he was, how hot that had been, how he couldn’t wait to do it again, and again, and again. Steve couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from the sight of Tony’s cock moving through his fist. He was thicker than Steve had expected, the tip wet as it poked between his fingers over and over again. He wanted to touch him, taste him, but he could seem to find the energy to do much more than reach up, mirroring Tony’s earlier movements and curling his hand over Tony’s, feeling the rhythm of him jerking himself off.

Tony’s eyes snapped to his, his face looking almost comically startled, and then he was making a strangled noise before he came across Steve’s chest. It seemed to go on forever and then he was collapsing onto his side, not quite touching Steve but close enough that he could feel the heat from his skin anyway. It was like second nature for Steve to shift his arm, stroking his fingers feather light up and down Tony’s back.

He drifted for awhile, everything still having that hazy, unreal feel. At some point he’d been aware of the mattress shifting, Tony getting up only to return a few moments later, giving them both a cursory wipe down with a damp cloth. Distantly Steve had thought that maybe he should get up, return to his own room, that maybe Tony wouldn’t want him actually sleeping beside him. But before he could make a move, Tony had tossed the cloth in the direction of the bathroom and flopped down beside him again, this time slinging an arm across Steve’s waist. His skin was hot and sticky, but Steve couldn’t bear the thought of getting him to move.

He must have slept, because suddenly he was awake again, aware of the crickets chirping outside the open bedroom window and Tony breathing into his neck. His breathing was steady and even, but somehow Steve knew he was awake anyway. He wondered what he was thinking of, if he was just riding the high of an amazing orgasm, or if he was thinking of home, of his family. That made Steve think of Pepper again, wondering what exactly ‘an understanding’ meant, and he felt guilt twist low in his stomach.

“Tony?”

“Hmm?” Tony’s voice was soft but alert, and Steve drew in a deep breath.

“What’s your ‘understanding’ with Pepper? Did you, I mean… You didn’t just say that so we’d keep going, did you?”

Tony made a disgruntled noise and pushed himself up with the arm not draped over Steve. He stared down at him, eyes slightly narrowed, although he didn’t actually look offended. “What, you think I was so thirsty for it that I lied so you wouldn’t stop me from cheating on my wife?”

Steve winced; put like that, it sounded really bad. “Well, no. And I don’t know if you noticed, but I wasn’t exactly putting much effort into stopping you, I just…” He trailed off, giving him an awkward, helpless shrug. Tony blinked at him a moment longer and then flopped back down on the mattress, fingers drawing idle patterns over Steve’s abs. The silence dragged out between them and Steve was just about to do something to break it when Tony spoke, the words mumbled against Steve’s shoulder.

“Pepper and I aren’t actually together anymore.”

Steve blinked. “Oh,” he said, a little dazed. He didn’t know what he had been thinking, but that was the last thing he had expected. “Oh shit, Tony. I’m sorry.” He felt his heart sink. “Was it… Was it because you came back? To help us with the whole time travel thing, I mean?”

“What? No! God no, nothing like that! Pepper was actually the one pushing me to do it. No, we, uh... actually... haven’t been like that for awhile.”

He sighed, flopping onto his back and slinging an arm across his eyes. Steve immediately missed the weight of his arm across his middle, but he curled his hand around the back of Tony’s neck instead and waited patiently for him to figure out what he wanted to say.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “After I came back from… From space, things were different. It wasn’t anything she did. It probably wasn’t even anything I did, it was just… Different. Whatever we had wasn’t there anymore. She knew it too. But then she told me she was pregnant, had been before that squid-faced fuck arrived even. And I…” Tony pulled his hand away and rolled his head so he could look over at Steve. “I don’t know, Steve. For the first time since we lost, I remembered what hope felt like again.” He smiled, completely different from how he had smiled at Steve earlier, but just as warm. “She wasn’t even born yet, but Morgan was already saving my life. I wanted that baby more than I’d ever wanted anything in my entire life.” He snorted, his smile going uneven. “Even my dad’s approval,” he added, and Steve winced but Tony’s eyes were dancing. “So Pep and I talked and talked and talked and talked, and eventually we decided… Fuck it. We may not have been in love anymore, but we still love each other. We’re always gonna love each. And with all the shit we’ve been through together, we figured we could totally platonically coparent a baby.” He shrugged. “It’s been working out pretty fantastic, actually, but uh… Yeah. We haven’t been together in like five years so… You’re off the hook.”

“Oh.” Steve nodded. “That’s good.” He knew he should have felt better knowing this and he did. But he also felt weirdly bad about it. He thought every day about what had happened when Thanos’s minions had arrived in New York, replaying it all over and over. This felt like just one more thing that he could have stopped, like maybe if he’d just been there they could have ended it before Tony ever went into space, and maybe Tony and Pepper would still be together.

He didn’t say any of this out loud, of course, but Tony seemed to know something was up anyway. His eyes narrowed a bit before he rolled back onto his side, hand resting comfortably on Steve’s stomach like it belonged there. “Hey. Whatever you’re thinking? Stop. This really is for the best, I’m not lying. We still love each other, and it’s working really well this way. Honestly, I’m not sure what would have happened if we tried to do this as a marriage, but I don’t think it would have ended well. And anyway, the past is the past Steve. There’s no point in worrying about it because we can’t go back and change it.”

Steve gave him a look. “We’re living in 1970, Tony.”

“Okay, but we’re not changing the past, we’re just… Borrowing from it. Well, if you ignore the idea that we’re making minute changes in time just by our ongoing existence here, and that the longer we stay the further those ripples will travel. But we’re not actively trying to change the past, and anyway, all of that should be negated when we eventually return the stones to their original point, so…” He waved his hand, giving Steve a sheepish smile. “Point being, I think we both did things we regret. Going over and over them isn’t going to help anything. Just gotta… Stop thinking about it and move on.”

Steve was quiet for a long moment, combing his fingers absently through Tony’s hair; it was oddly soothing. “I don’t think I can,” he admitted quietly. He gave a short laugh. “Tactical mind. I keep running through scenarios in my head. All the things I could have done differently, all the ways it could have played out instead… I can’t stop it.”

Tony lifted his head to stare at him, eyes wide and horrified. “Still?” he demanded. “You’ve been carrying that around for the last five years? Jesus, Steve.” He shook his head, blowing out a long breath. “Okay, well. I know I can’t make that stop for you, but I can promise you that even if we can’t change the past, we are going to make up for it. We’re going to fix this, Steve. You and me, together.”

Steve nodded, curling his arm tighter around Tony’s back as something in him eased a little. “Together,” he repeated quietly.

***

Steve woke up the next morning alone in Tony’s bed. The air filtering through the window was already hot and humid, promising another sticky day. For a brief moment he was a little disappointed that he hadn’t woken up with Tony beside him, but he could smell bacon and coffee drifting down the hall from the kitchen, so he slid out of bed, hauling on the boxers that he’d left on the floor and padded down the hall to the kitchen.

Like most mornings, Tony was working at the kitchen table, but he looked up as Steve came in and his expression went a little dazed as he took in Steve’s barely dressed state. “Uhh.” Tony made a punched out noise before he seemed to get himself under control, offering Steve a broad grin.

“Morning, Cap,” he said, voice sounding a little raspy like… Well, like he’d been sucking cock. Between that and his obvious appreciation of his body, Steve felt his dick twitch in his shorts. He shifted a little, giving Tony a bright smile in return.

“Hi Tony,” he said, moving over to the coffee pot. He could feel Tony’s eyes on him as he poured the mug and when he turned back around it took a minute for Tony’s eyes to drag back up from he’d been staring at his ass. Steve couldn’t help his pleased little grin as he sat across from Tony at the table. “Any progress?” he asked, nodding at the legal pad covered in Tony’s weird shorthand.

Tony shrugged, but he didn’t even glance at the paper, eyes trained on Steve. “Same as usual,” he told him, taking another swallow of coffee. “Surprisingly hard to hack a security system that hasn’t been automated yet. And they’ve really stepped up their shit.” He eyed Steve, tilting his head a little. “You going for your run this morning?”

Steve shrugged, glancing down at his mostly naked state and grinning ruefully. “I mean, I might put on a few more clothes first, but yeah, probably…” He eyed Tony, who was ogling him again. “Why?” he asked, voice a little lower.

Tony slunk a little lower in his seat, eyes going dark as they locked with Steve’s. “I don’t have to go to the garage until a little later this morning, since I worked late yesterday and everything.” He grinned then, eyebrows waggling. “Wanna do a different kind of cardio this morning?”

They didn’t actually make it to the bedroom this time, only getting as far as the kitschy sunken living room before Tony got his hand in Steve’s boxers and the two of them collapsed to the ground in an uncoordinated heap. Tony jerked him off right there, whispering filthy things into his ear until he came. Steve had barely caught his breath before he was shoving Tony onto his back so he could return the favor.

Afterward, they both lay splayed out on their backs, panting up at the ceiling. Steve hummed, vaguely aware of Tony squirming around beside him. “I never noticed that crack on the ceiling,” he said. “Should have asked for a discount from the realtor.” Tony giggled, right in his ear, and Steve realized that all the squirming had been so he could move closer to Steve, pressing up against his side despite the heat and slinging a leg over his hip.

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time we get trapped forty years in the past and have to buy a house together,” Tony promised, giving a contented little sigh against Steve’s neck. It was strangely comforting having him close like that, leaving Steve feeling settled. He curled his arm around Tony, rubbing over the bare skin at his hip.

“It this… A thing now?” he asked.

There was a long moment of quiet from Tony before he answered, like he was choosing his words carefully. “It’s… Whatever you need it to be, Steve,” he settled on at last. Steve wasn’t entirely sure where that left them, but for now he would take it.

***

Tony whistled to himself as he rooted around in the engine of the Dodge Challenger, in a ridiculously pleasant mood. He was genuinely enjoying working as a mechanic; it was good hands-on work, helping to keep his brain calm, but there was a simplicity to the older engines that he had always preferred. There was a reason he’d kept so many classics in his own garage. It was more than that too though. Since he and Steve had started sleeping together, things felt brighter somehow. The urgency that had been plaguing him since they had fucked up their first time heist, the sense of panic that he had been trying to hide, it had all faded. He was still worried, of course, still working on a new plan, but it didn’t feel so hopeless now. Between the two of them, he knew they’d get it done.

Tony had moved to grab a wrench from the workbench when Joe wandered out of the office, leaning against the doorway. “Barbecue and beers at my place Saturday night. All the fellas are coming. You in?”

“Oh.” Tony couldn’t help his grin. He still wasn’t entirely used to his coworkers seeming to just like him, not wanting anything from him because, as far as they knew, he didn’t have anything to offer. “Yeah, sounds great!”

He turned back to the car, but Joe didn’t move away. Tony could feel his eyes on him, and he turned back, eyebrows arched expectantly.

“You know…” Joe hesitated another moment. “My brother never married. His roommate comes with him to family dinners and for Christmas. Charlie’s a great guy, and he and my brother have a really nice life. No one here would give you grief if your… roommate came along for a drink, is all I’m saying.”

Tony blinked, not quite sure what to do with that. “Oh. Uh, thanks. I will… Let Steve know.”

Joe gave him a warm smile then, followed by a quick pat on the back before he headed back into the office without another word. Tony turned back to the car, utterly nonplussed.

“Steve’s not my boyfriend,” he grumbled at the engine, but even as he said the words, his stomach twisted a little and a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Pepper yelled, ‘liar!’ He blinked down at the mechanics beneath him, thought of how they ate dinner together every night, how long they could spend talking and laughing together, the animosity left over from the last few years faded entirely. How the sex they had could just as often be considered, well, love making, as much as he hated that particular phrase. Tony felt something catch in his chest. “Oh shit, is Steve my boyfriend?”

When he laid it all out like that, like an equation to be solved, it definitely sounded like a relationship. But even bigger, when he focused on Steve’s face, really pictured his smile and his laugh, he felt something in his belly go warm and soft. He didn’t know how he had missed it before, but it was the same feeling he used to have when he thought of Pepper, and Rhodey before that. Tony groaned, sinking forward against the edge of the car.

“Oh god,” he muttered. “I’m in love with Steve Rogers.”

The rest of his shift passed in a blur, Tony caught off guard and a little overwhelmed. The thing was, when he really stopped and thought about it, these feelings weren’t exactly new. In fact, he had a feeling that even while he’d been completely in love with Pepper, and even when he and Steve had been at their absolute worst, there’d been a part of Tony still a little in love with Steve. The way they’d worked so intuitively together, even when they were at odds, the way they’d be so in sync over the weirdest things… there’d always been a spark there. And now alone together, able to talk, and relax, and really take the time to understand each other, he supposed it made sense that that spark would grow into something real.

When he finally wandered in the front door, mind still a bit of a wreck, Steve was standing in the kitchen, cooking them dinner, which looked like it consisted of panned fried hamburgers and… Tomato soup, for some reason. He must have heard the door, but he didn’t look up, humming to himself as the meat sizzled in the frying pan. His hips were swinging a little in rhythm to whatever song he had playing in his head, and his shoulders were loose and relaxed, carrying exactly none of the tension that Tony typically associated with Steve. The whole scene was hopelessly domestic, and Tony wanted nothing more than to step up behind Steve, wrap his arms around his waist and kiss the back of his neck, just to see the squirmy little ticklish shoulder shrug that he would get in response. He was totally gone for the man.

“Aw, fuck,” Tony muttered to himself.

Steve did look up at that, looking over at Tony with a bright smile. “Hey Tony.”

“Hey honey, I’m home,” he answered automatically, getting a chuckle out of Steve before he frowned at Tony a little.

“Hey, you all right? You’re looking a little stressed.”

Tony waved him off, stripping off the top of his coveralls and noting the way Steve’s eyes went dark at the sight -- it hadn’t taken him long to realize that Steve had a thing for this particular look. “Just a long day,” he reassured him, hopping up on the counter beside Steve. He made a grab for some of the cooked burger and got his hand swatted with the spatula for his trouble. “Wow, domestic abuse,” he deadpanned.

Steve rolled his eyes. “What a drama queen,” he retorted, equally dry. “They’re almost done, just a few more minutes. Then we can sit down, and you can tell me allll about your long day.” He looked back up to give Tony a lecherous look. “Or not, and we can just skip to the part where I make you feel better,” he offered, waggling his eyebrows and looking pleased when Tony snorted.

Tony was quiet a moment, watching Steve’s hands manipulate the food. “Hey, Steve?” he said finally. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

Tony fluttered his eyelashes at him, not wanting it to come across too seriously, in case he was reading everything all wrong. “Are you my boyfriend?” he sing-songed.

Steve choked on his own spit, coughing for a minute, but when he’d caught his breath back he was grinning like an absolute idiot. “I mean, I guess, sure,” he offered. “I hadn’t given it much thought.”

Tony arched an eyebrow at him; he knew Steve well enough to know that the flush on his neck said otherwise.

“Okay, I’ve maybe thought about it once or twice,” he admitted sheepishly. “We can be, uh… Boyfriends, if you want. Like you said, this is whatever we want it to be. I know these are weird circumstances, but if we want to, we can call it boyfriends for now.”

For just an instant Tony felt his smile freeze on his face, but he masked it quickly, leaning forward to give Steve a sloppy kiss on the cheek before he could read the look in his eyes. “In that case, boyfriend, call me when dinner’s ready. I’m just gonna wash up.”

He slipped off the counter and headed down the hall for the bathroom, adding an extra wiggle to his walk to make Steve laugh. But once he hit the bathroom, he shut the door behind him and leaned back against it with a sigh. Boyfriends for now pretty much said it all. He probably shouldn’t have been surprised. These were wild circumstances. There was nothing wrong with Steve wanting to take a bit of comfort where he could find it. And if Tony had been hoping for something more, that could stay between him and the bathroom walls.

***

They didn’t talk about it again, at least not in so many words, but they talked about everything else under the sun and that was somehow even better. Steve loved sex with Tony, really truly did. Just a look from the other man could set him shivering, heat spiking up and down his spine. Tony seemed to take special delight in finding all the ways he could make Steve fall apart, surprising him over and over again. Steve had all but given up his own bedroom, spending his nights with Tony instead and they’d spend hours lying there sometimes, Steve splayed out and feeling like he was slowly going out of his mind as Tony kissed and touched and teased every square inch of his body.

But afterwards, when Steve had come more times than he’d thought possible, when Tony’d had his fill and would slide off Steve to stretch out beside him instead, for Steve that was almost better than the sex. They’d talk well into the early hours of the morning. Steve had told Tony how desperately lonely he’d been for the past five years, how nothing he’d done seemed to ease that ache inside him. Tony talked about Morgan, how completely he missed her, telling story after story about how brilliant she was already, putting him to shame, but also how creative and sweet and kind. He’d sound awed when he talked about her, which had led to confessions about how his own father had been. Steve had been horrified, hands tightening around Tony like he could somehow make up for it. And then next night, when he told Tony how proud he was of him for letting the bullshit die with Howard, that even from the brief interaction he’d witnessed, he could tell Tony was an amazing father, Tony hadn’t bothered to hide the way he’d choked up a little.

Nothing was off the table (except, perhaps, their exact feelings for each other, but neither of them brought it up so it was fine), the darkness, and the heat, and the fact that they were the only two here who could understand their situation making it easy for secrets to spill out. Maybe it was just the fact that they were caught in a bit of a limbo, that deep down Steve knew that nothing they did here would really matter once they got back to their proper point in time. But his time with Tony was easing something inside him that he hadn’t even realized was aching, was making him feel whole again. He wanted to get back, to make things right, of course he did. He just also couldn’t help thinking that he wouldn’t mind being stuck here with Tony just a little longer.

They slowly settled into even more of a routine than they’d had before. They ate dinner together every night, talked about their day before they’d slink off to bed together. Some nights they wouldn’t even do anything, just sprawl out on the bed, touching despite the heat until they drifted off to sleep. They went grocery shopping together once a week, and one day Tony came home with a second hand badminton net that he’d found somewhere. Steve had never played badminton, but they set the net up anyway, and Tony had showed him how to play. There were more barbecues, with the guys from Tony’s work, mostly, but there were a couple for the paper that Steve worked at too. Nobody seemed to look askance at Steve bringing along his roommate. Maybe it was just an extension of fighting side-by-side for so long, but having Tony with him here just felt right in some kind of visceral way that Steve couldn’t put a name to but that he loved anyway.

***

Steve was once again going over the Fort LeHigh plans that they had managed to cobble together, when the front door slammed open. “STEVE!” Tony hollered at the top of his lungs.

“I’m right here,” Steve answered, turning to meet Tony as he heard him rush up the hall. “What’s wrong?”

But even as he asked, Tony came into view, an enormous smile on his face, and it was pretty clear that there was nothing at all wrong.

“What?” he asked again, because there still had to be a reason that Tony was home hours early, grinning like an idiot.

“I can’t believe I forgot,” Tony told him. “Do you know what tonight is?” he added, even though he knew perfectly well that Steve didn’t. “Planet of the Apes comes out. In theatres!”

Steve blinked at him. “Is that all?”

“Is that all?” Tony repeated incredulously. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

Steve cracked then, laughing. “Tony, you’ve seen that movie more than a hundred times. Which I know because you’ve made me watch it a hundred times.”

“Yeah, but this is different,” Tony insisted. “It’ll be in theatres, Steve.”

“You’ve done that before, too,” Steve pointed out. “Remember? That 45th anniversary theatre showing or whatever? I distinctly recall you and Colonel Rhodes talking about it.”

Tony just shook his head. “It’s different,” he said again, making a face at Steve. “Just hurry up and get dressed, you damn dirty ape.” He waggled his eyebrows, making a show of staring at Steve’s bare chest; he hadn’t bothered getting redressed after his run. “I’m taking you out.”

And really, Steve was helpless to resist that thrilled look on Tony’s face. And even though he had to pinch Tony several times to keep him from whispering the lines along with the characters, it was a very enjoyable evening. They’d sat at the back of the theatre, Tony claiming it was because Steve would block the view for whatever poor asshole got stuck sitting behind them, but halfway through the movie, when their shared popcorn was gone, he curled his greasy fingers with Steve’s, rested their joined hands on Steve’s knee, and snuggled into him a little, resting his head against Steve’s shoulder. He could smell the faint, pleasant scent of Tony’s shampoo, and couldn’t resist turning his head a little to press his face against the soft curls of his hair. He pressed a soft kiss against Tony’s scalp and in return received a soft little content sigh from Tony.

Abruptly Steve realized that, for all the activities they’d done together, they hadn’t been on an actual proper date before -- and that’s what this was, whatever Tony’s original intentions had been in dragging him out.

Settling a little more comfortably against Tony’s side, Steve decided that was something he was going to fix immediately.

So the next morning, after Tony had made their customary Saturday morning pancakes, and they were sitting around the kitchen table, pleasantly full and content, Steve curled his hand around Tony’s. “So listen,” he said, doing his best to ignore the way Tony gave his hand a heated look before glancing up to meet his eyes. “I’ve been thinking, and we’re under a lot of stress, with working and trying to find a way out of here and everything.” Admittedly, it wasn’t his best excuse; the stress was real, but he felt a step removed from it, and was pretty sure Tony did too. Even from a purely business perspective (if you could consider the Avengers a business), this had definitely become the easiest mission he’d ever been on. Tony seemed to agree, giving him a mildly skeptical look but gesturing for him to continue. “So I was thinking that it probably wouldn’t hurt for us to plan to take a break regularly,” he said, feeling his cheeks starting to glow. “And I had a really fun time last night, so I was wondering if you’d let me take you out tonight? Repay the favour?” he added, all in a rush.

Tony tilted his head at him, curiously, and then he was beaming bright and wide. “Steve. Are you asking me out on a date?”

Steve shrugged, but he was helpless not to return Tony’s brilliant smile. “I mean, I guess?”

And just like that, Saturday night date night was born.

Steve knew he shouldn’t get too complacent, that getting used to this was only going to end in heartbreak. Tony had said this was whatever they needed it be, just whatever it took to get them through. The implication was pretty clear that once they got back home -- and they would, eventually, Steve had to believe that or else what were they even doing anymore -- things would go back to something like normal. He probably wasn’t doing himself any favors, giving himself this glimpse of what they could really have. But he knew, deep down, that he wasn’t going to be able to forget it either way, so he figured he might as well enjoy it now.

***

Tony actually happened to think vegetables were delicious. But there was something about the very specific look of consternation that Steve would get every time he found another box of poptarts or gummy candies or whatever hidden in the cart that Tony couldn’t get enough of. He was feeling punchy today for some reason, snickering to himself with everything he managed to slide into without Steve noticing. There was a good chance that Steve was just humoring him, since Tony couldn’t imagine anyone actually sneaking something past the man, but then again he’d worked with the STRIKE team for almost a full year without realizing they were literal Nazis, so who knew? Either way, he was having a stupid amount of fun with it.

“Oh my god,” Steve groaned as he realized that under the loaves of bread and packages of pasta, Tony had managed to fill the entire bottom of the cart with bags of jumbo marshmallows. “You are literally five years old,” he added.

Tony just shrugged, giving Steve a sugar sweet smile, and Steve fought back his own laughter.

“Make you a deal,” he offered. “You can keep three bags of marshmallows if you stop adding in everything else you see.”

“Oooh.” Tony eyed him; he didn’t actually care about the sweets, but tormenting Steve was its own brand of delightful, especially now, when Steve took it as the gentle teasing it was meant to be, didn’t get his back up about it. “Throw in some chocolate and graham crackers, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Steve stared blankly back at him. “What do you need graham crackers and chocolate for?”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Tony hissed. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t know what s’mores are?”

Steve didn’t even last a full second before he was breaking, snickering to himself. “You’re so gullible sometimes. I may not have ever had them, but I do know what a s’more is, Tony.”

Tony frowned, tilting his head before shaking. “Okay, nope, I give. I can’t tell -- are you telling the truth, or are you still fucking with me?”

“The… Truth?”

“You’ve really, honestly never had a s’more before? How is that even possible??”

Steve gave him a fond eye roll, even as he added the extra ingredients to the cart. “Contrary to what you seem to think, I wasn’t ever actually a boy scout. There weren’t any camping trips in 1930s Brooklyn. Where do you think I would have melted the marshmallows? On the heater? Admittedly, I spent a lot of time in the woods during the war. But that wasn’t exactly a romp with campfires and ghost stories, what with the whole hiding from the Nazis and Hydra thing.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Tony muttered. “But after that? You’ve really never had s’mores since? With the team or something? Nat seems like she’d enjoy a good s’more.”

Steve just shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell you. Never had ‘em.”

“Well, that changes tonight, Rogers. We’re having a bonfire.”

Tony had added three packs of hot dogs to the cart -- Steve would eat them, he knew -- and after they got home, relegated him to the kitchen while he got everything set up in the yard. Steve had looked skeptical, but when Tony finally called him out to where he had a bonfire burning brightly and a blanket spread out on the ground (because some of us have minor grass allergies, Steven), he looked impressed.

“Wow. Tony, this is… Really nice.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to sound so surprised,” he grumbled, offsetting his complaint by wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and kissing him on the cheek.

“No, I’m not,” Steve said, holding Tony against him a moment longer when he started to pull away. “You just… Don’t really seem like the camping type,” he added tactfully.

Tony snorted. “I’ve camped! … Once… Okay, a camper I am not. But Rhodey and I used to have bonfires on the beach when we were at MIT, and I was the designated fire starter. And when I was a kid, Jarvis used to let me help set up the fireplaces in the old house. I don’t know why, that was one of my favourite things.” He hummed, quiet and contemplative for a moment, and then pulled away to grab a package of hot dogs, slamming them into Steve’s chest. “Now grab a stick, Rogers, and start roasting.”

They sat out there for hours, cooking, and talking, and laughing. The sun had faded and the stars had come out long before Tony pulled out the s’mores ingredients, the two of them getting in a sticky mess as they squashed together the sweet treats.

“So?” Tony asked when they were full and satiated and sitting back on the blanket. He arched an eyebrow at Steve. “What’s the s’more verdict, Captain Handsome?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know, I think they’re kind of overrated. I prefer the marshmallows alone,” he told him, popping one of said marshmallows, unroasted, into his mouth.

Tony blinked at him. “Overrated?” he repeated incredulously. Then he saw the way that Steve was grinning at him, lips twitching up in a smirk. “You are such a troll,” he grumbled. “I’ll show you overrated.” Without any further warning, he launched himself at Steve, feeling a little gratified at the almost inaudible grunt that Steve made as he took his weight. He knew Steve could take him easily, especially when he didn’t even have an Iron Man suit, but Steve pretended otherwise for a minute, letting Tony knock him back as the two of them rolled around on the blanket and then into the grass, each trying to get the upper hand.

It didn’t take long before their movements shifted, less wrestling, more sliding up against each other with purpose. Tony could feel his cock thickening in his pants, sparks of pleasure going through him every time Steve’s hand would slide over his skin just right. He shifted a leg, getting it between Steve’s knees, and when he pressed up he could feel Steve hot and hard against him, the feeling made better by the sharp, needy little gasp that he made in response. They ended up with Tony spread out on top of Steve, the two of them rubbing off against each other as they shifted and rolled in the grass, stifling their noises against each other’s skin so the neighbours wouldn’t hear. Tony had his hand shoved down Steve’s pants, jerking him off with quick, sharp motions, and his face buried in Steve’s neck. He could smell wood smoke in his hair, and when he pulled back a little, he could see the starlight reflected in his eyes before they clenched shut as Steve came over his hand. Steve lay there for a moment, panting, and Tony took a moment to look him over in the dim light from the fire before Steve pulled himself back into awareness to roll Tony over onto his back and pay him back in kind.

It was up there with some of Tony’s best memories.

He should have known it wouldn’t last.

***

They were at the grocery store again, goofing off and being idiots, probably laughing too loud, when all of a sudden Steve froze, going pale. Before Tony could ask him what was wrong, he was grabbing Tony’s arm and dragging him around the corner and down an aisle, leaving their half-filled cart abandoned in front of the cereal.

“Steve, what?” Tony finally managed to hiss as Steve pulled him past the baking supplies and then zig-zagged ridiculously through the produce section. He half expected Yakety Sax to start playing over the loudspeaker.

“I just… I saw someone I recognized. Like from the forties recognized,” Steve answered vaguely, aiming for the front door.

“Do you think they’d recognize you?” Tony asked a little stupidly, although his behaviour made the answer pretty obvious.

“Uh, yeahhhh,” Steve answered anyway. “I think so.”

They made it out of the building without being caught though, Steve looking over his shoulder as they headed down the street. He made Tony cross the road, turning down a side street they wouldn’t normally take, and he was just breathing a sigh of relief when they rounded the corner and were met with Peggy, standing there waiting for them with a furious expression on her face.

For a long moment everything went almost comically still, Peggy and Steve standing frozen, staring at each other, Tony looking back and forth between them in a mild state of shock. Then the anger seemed to fade out of Peggy all at once, shoulders sagging a little as she took a half step forward, making an abortive gesture like she was going to touch Steve’s chest before she remembered herself.

“It is you,” she breathed.

Steve opened his mouth to say something, anything, but before he had the chance he was interrupted by Tony, still staring at Peggy with wide eyes. “Aunt Peggy?!” he blurted out, because he knew Peggy had cofounded SHIELD, and he knew she had worked with his Dad, he just somehow hadn’t expected her to be here, looking almost exactly as he remembered her from when she’d come visit when he was growing up. She used to spend hours sitting with him, listening patiently as he explained the workings of all his machines and inventions. She’d always encouraged him, and he found himself getting choked up seeing her now.

And then he glanced over at Steve, saw the look on his face as he stared back at her, and Tony felt his heart sink a little.

Peggy had turned sharp eyes on Tony at his outburst, looking him over, but now she looked back to Steve and without hesitation poked him square in the chest. “Explain,” she told him. “How are you possibly here? And why is this man who looks exactly like Maria Stark calling me ‘aunt?’”

Tony would never fully understand how, but somehow Steve managed to convince Peggy to come back to their place. And then he sat her down, and told her everything. How he’d been found in the ice, how the avengers had formed, about Tony being her ‘nephew’ and also Iron Man, and then about Thanos, how they’d lost everything and were doing everything in their power to make up for it now.

The one thing he didn’t mention, Tony couldn’t help noticing, was the relationship they’d developed over the last few months.

Peggy took it far better than Tony would have expected. Although, he supposed, if she’d helped found SHIELD, she’d probably been dealing with far crazier shit than this for years.

“So if I’m to understand correctly, you two are from the future. And you,” she turned to Tony here, “Are my godson. And you used Hank Pym’s… science experiment to figure out time travel and come back here and get that cube that Howard found in the ocean. To save the world.” She drew in a long breath as Tony and Steve both nodded, waiting for her to process the information. “God, Hank is going to be impossible to live with when he finds out,” she muttered. She drew in a deep breath, smoothing down her hair -- a move Tony remembered from when she’d try to keep her cool with Howard when he was a kid -- and then looked back over at Steve. “I take it you two are responsible for the breach a couple months back?” She didn’t wait for their confirmation, the question rhetorical. “Well, I suppose once again it’s up to me to clean up your messes, eh Captain?”

The smile she gave Steve was a little dry, but fond and familiar in a way that made jealousy twist low in Tony’s stomach. But even worse was the way Steve smiled back at her, sheepish and full of so much history and love that it almost ached to see. For a moment Tony felt like he had disappeared from the room entirely, the two of them only having eyes for each other. Somehow Tony managed to act normal as Steve and Peggy made plans for when and where they’d meet and how they’d stay in contact, even though it felt like he was losing a little more of Steve with every word that passed between the two of them. And when Peggy had left, and Steve turned to him with the broadest grin Tony had ever seen, still looked awed and dazed and delighted in the wake of her presence, the smile Tony gave him in return was almost genuine. He waited until Steve had left the the kitchen, wandering down the hall for something, before he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and whispered a very quiet, very heartfelt, “Fuck,” into the empty room.

***

Tony wanted to go home. More than anything in the world he wanted to see Morgan again, missing his little girl a constant pit in the bottom of his stomach, even in his happiest moments. But being here with Steve was easy in a way his life had never been before, no stressors, no superheroing, no being recognized on the street… No end of the world barreling toward them faster than they could stop it. Now that they were close to going home, he couldn’t seem to appreciate the last few days they had here together, just he and Steve alone. They still talked, and fooled around, and did all the things they’d been doing before, but the time was passing in a blur. It didn’t help that Steve had been distracted since they’d found Peggy; more than once Tony had caught him staring into space with a soppy smile on his face. There was a growing feeling creeping through his stomach that he might be making the return trip solo.

And then he was out of time entirely, the two of them meeting Peggy in some back alley for the hand off. It had, she assured them, gone off without a hitch, but that wasn’t a surprise. Peggy had always been strong and brilliant, confident and capable. On some level it probably should have been weird that he was jealous of his aunt, but mostly Tony was just resigned to the fact that this was it. Peggy and Steve were staring at each other again, couldn’t keep their eyes off of each other, and Tony felt like his heart was somewhere around his ankles.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll let you two… Chat,” he mumbled, uncharacteristically awkward as he took the two briefcases that Peggy had brought and headed for the main road, forcing himself not to look back at them.

In a weird twist of deja vu, he ended up sitting on the same bench where he’d found Steve on that first day, after everything had gone tits up. He sat there, staring off into space and thinking of a million things at once, and it hadn’t been a full half hour before a shadow passed over him and then Steve took a seat on the bench beside him, their thighs not quite touching.

Steve was staring forward, maybe trying to figure out what Tony was looking at but he hadn’t spoken, so Tony didn’t either. Eventually, though, he couldn’t stand the silence any longer, clearing his throat.

“You, uh… You don’t have to come back with me, Steve,” Tony told him, giving him an out. He felt Steve snap his gaze to him, heard him make a strangled sort of noise, but he narrowed his focus to a tree in the distance and kept going. “If you’re finally happy… We can do it without you. Probably. Maybe. I don’t know, we’ll figure it out. I know you’ve already sacrificed a lot, more than anyone ever should have to, really. You can be selfish, for once.”

He turned to face Steve then, because he really didn’t want Steve to stay, but he needed him to know that he truly meant the words he was saying. He had fallen in love with Steve, and because of that he couldn’t bear to stand in his way.

Steve was staring straight again, leaning forward with his elbows braced against his thighs, hands clasped together between his knees. He blew out a long breath, and Tony tensed, bracing himself.

“You’re right. I am selfish, Tony. I’m real fucking selfish.”

Tony bit down hard on his bottom lip; expecting it didn’t make it hurt any less. But then Steve was turning to face him, a shy, hopeful smile on his face offset by the determination in his eyes.

“And no way in hell am I giving this up. Giving you up.”

For a moment Tony was actually rendered speechless. “You… what?”

Steve shrugged. “I’m in love with you, Tony. It’s as simple as that. And I know you said this was whatever we needed it to be, and maybe that means you don’t have the same kind of feelings, but --,”

“God no, are you kidding?” Tony burst out before he could even stop himself. “I was already half in love with you when I said that, and it’s just gotten... more since. I just… I know that extreme situations aren’t the most conducive to long-term relationships, and I didn’t want you to feel pressured, so…”

He trailed off helplessly and Steve chanced a quick look around before darting in to kiss him. It was quick, because it was still a public place in 1970, but full of love despite that. When he pulled back, Tony shifted his hand to curl over top of Steve’s, squeezing tight.

“What… What about Peggy?”

Steve’s eyes were dancing. “What about her? She’s married, Tony, happily so. I just… I wanted to see first hand that she was okay, and she is, more than. She’s moved on, and… And so have I.” He grinned then. “She did tell me I was an idiot though, if I didn’t say anything to you because she’d never seen two people more obviously pining for each other. And uh, then she threatened that if I didn’t treat her godson right she’d be bringing me a wealth of pain.”

“Oh,” Tony said faintly, but he was laughing then too. “Well alright then.” He leaned in to give Steve one more quick kiss. “I love you, Steve,” he told him, because it seemed important that he say the actual words. “Now let’s go home and save the world. Again.”

THREE DAYS LATER

Tony snapped back to consciousness all at once with a sharp gasp, blinking his eyes open. The first thing his gaze focused on was Pepper and Rhodey, standing at the foot of his bed with watery, relieved smiles, Pepper holding Morgan in her arms.

“Daddy!” she shrieked. “You’re up!” She started wriggling frantically, attempting to leap onto the bed and making Pepper wince.

“Morgan, sweetie, remember how we talked about how you have to be careful with Daddy for a bit?”

“I don’t know.” And that was Steve’s voice, sounding gruff, but when Tony snapped his head up to see him leaning against the doorway, he was beaming brightly and looking just a little smug. “I think he can take it.”

After solemn promises from Morgan that she would be careful, Pepper finally set her down and Morgan scrambled up on the bed beside him. With strength that he knew he shouldn’t have had, he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight enough that Morgan protested a little. She smelled fresh and clean and like her apple honey shampoo, and it was quite possibly the best thing that Tony had ever smelled. God, he had missed her so much.

Morgan settled onto the bed beside him, telling him stories about everything he’d missed the past few days, everything she’d been doing with Uncle Happy. Tony did his best to follow along in his shell-shocked state, because the last thing he remembered was snapping his fingers, all of the infinity stones in his hand, and he was pretty sure that meant he wasn’t supposed to be here now.

Eventually it was decided that Tony should get some rest, and so with a final, clinging hug from Morgan, Pepper escorted her gently off the bed. Her hands shook a little as she closed them around Tony’s, leaning in close to place a soft kiss against his cheek.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered softly, a slight tremor in her voice.

They headed for the door but Rhodey lingered a second longer to lean in and give Tony a hug. “Gotta stop doing this to me, man,” he told him, and Tony could hear the tears in his voice, felt his own throat close up as he hugged Rhodey as tight as he could manage.

“I know,” he mumbled, burying his face against his neck. “I’m sorry.”

Rhodey pulled back just a little, enough so he could meet his eyes and give him a pointed look. “And sometime soon,” he added, “You are going to sit down and tell me exactly what the hell happened between you and Rogers while you were getting the Tesseract.”

Then he was moving away, leading Pepper and Morgan out the door with a hand on the small of Pepper’s back. Steve had moved out of the way to let them pass into the hall, but once they were gone he moved back into the room, coming to sit on the side of Tony’s bed now that it was just the two of them. For a long moment they just stared at each other and then Tony shook his head.

“Steve… What did you do?”

Steve shrugged, feigning casual. “Funny thing about spending so much time together. I knew exactly what you were planning with the stones. So I just stepped in and… Helped.”

Tony stared back at him incredulously, still half feeling like he was dreaming. “Right,” he said, voice a little faint. “Okay. And we’re alive and healthy and whole… How?”

“Uh, Carol brought a special something from somewhere. I didn’t catch the details; I was pretty fucked up for a bit too. But…” He gave Tony his best innocent, hopeful smile. “As you can see it did the trick.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony muttered. Then he was lunging forward, practically crawling into Steve’s lap in his haste to kiss him. Steve took his weight easily, pulling Tony the rest of the way toward him as he wrapped his arms around his back, mumbling soothing words and stroking a hand over Tony’s spine. “You absolute idiot,” Tony gasped, allowing himself the comfort as he buried his face in Steve’s neck. “You could have been killed too. What the fuck were you thinking?”

Steve huffed out a laugh, but his voice was rough and thick when he spoke. “I thought I told you, Tony. I’m real fucking selfish.” He pulled Tony back so he could see his face, see how absolutely serious he was. “No way in hell am I giving you up.”

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