#also ironically made me take a pause from another fic im working on

[kennothythebard]

dude the kleinsen road trip fic is So Good and ive read the chapters that are up several times

OH MY GOD THANK YOU SO MUCH?????????????? I SWEAR I’M WORKING ON THE FINAL CHAPTER IVE JUST GOTTEN BUSY WITH WRITING FICS FOR SECRET SANTA AND OTHER STUFF IT’S GONNA BE UP SOONER RATHER THAN LATER ok i’ll stop shouting now but thank you so much for taking time to tell me that you like the fic, I’m really quite proud of it and i’m really glad you like it.

[votederpycausemufins]

Well, this is the last chapter of the sort of… intro part of this fic. But there is so much more to happen.

im always gonna tag @helleborusangel and then the scattered au was made by @hermitcraftheadcanons

False killed another drowned while Stress continued to fix up their base. A creeper had managed to show up and destroyed a bit of their base, and before they could fix it there was another, and then drowned were coming up from the ocean. While the two of them would have loved to move further away, even head towards spawn, but they had tried that already and it didn’t go well. Stress had gotten killed and was sent back to her spawn in the middle of the coral, leaving False to run back and help her out.

They hadn’t managed to get any beds to set spawn, as right now they weren’t even sure if beds would work since their starting spawns were messed up as well as chat bugging out and regen not working. So, because of all that they were on the island closest to the coral reef and were setting up a base there. With everything going on, they were doing pretty well, having gotten a good starter base set up and were almost at full diamond.

They hadn’t set up a nether portal just yet, prioritizing better armor. Of course, they would head in for the first time with iron armor for scouting so that they wouldn’t lose their hard work to a bad spawn, but if they were going to explore that dimension without regeneration, the more protection they had, the better. The priority after that was getting their way into a fortress and finding supplies for potions. Blaze rods, netherwart and glowstone were going to be a priority, but while it would be nice to have regeneration potions, but the pair had found melon seeds in a shipwreck, so instant health would be a much safer option.

False heard Stress call out to her, and then the fighter killed another drowned before running back into the base, the whole place now patched up and better lit than before. For the most part, it was just the essentials with the only decoration being the style of the build itself, but there was one exception, that being a small tank that held a tropical fish that had been stuck with Stress where she had first spawned.

“Well luv, do you fink we’re prepped enough to head to the nether?” Stress asked, ready to switch her armor up. “I’ve already got a portal set up that we just need to light.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Plus we might be able to find Wels and Keralis since they seem to both be in the nether.”

“Oh, Keralis is in there too?” Stress asked, taking her comm out to look at the messages.

“Well, he got killed by some piglins and also got Hot Tourist Destinations, but never actually used a portal to get to the nether.”

“Alright, well when we get through, we can look for the two of them.”

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Keralis was once again very glad he could make stew out of the new nether fungi. While he had found a few red and brown mushrooms, he hadn’t found many and fighting hoglins in a mishmash of armor wasn’t the most appearing idea right now. There was the slight problem of it not being mushroom stew and instead some suspicious stew, and he was getting various effects from it, but some food was better than nothing at all.

The builder was glad he had at the very least spawned in the warped forest, so the most he needed to worry about were endermen and any stray piglins that wandered into the forest from the nearby wastes. And even then he had gold armor so they wouldn’t really bother him unless they saw him opening his own chests which he didn’t think was fair.

Using some bone meal he had obtained from a soul sand valley, Keralis worked on getting another crimson fungus for some more stew. Warped fungi was easy enough to get, seeing as how he was in a warped forest, but crimson was much harder. But hopefully he wouldn’t need to do that much longer.

With his supplies from the forest and nearby basalt delta, Keralis had gotten plenty of gold to trade with piglins. The mobs gave him supplies in return, and they had almost given him enough obsidian for a portal into the overworld. Where he would end up when he got to the other side, Keralis had no clue, but either way it would be better than the nether.

He sighed when the bone meal ran out and there were still no crimson fungi. If he wanted to eat later that… day? Night? Just… later on in general, he would need to either head to the crimson forest, or get more bone meal. And right now, the soul sand valley was closer.

Keralis got geared up and then started the trek to the other biome. He already had a safe path there, so he took his time to walk and not tire himself out and need food he didn’t currently have on hand. That said, he was keeping his eyes out for any trouble on the path as well as looking for any piglin he could barter with. He mistook a ziglin here or there for their unzombified counterparts, but unluckily there didn’t seem to be any normal piglin in sight.

But while his luck for piglin seemed to be low, his luck in general was not, because he was able to spot a portal on a hill in the wastes. And it wasn’t a ruined portal. Even if it had been, Keralis likely would have gone to it to see if there were any supplies he could use. But instead, this was just a lone, lit, hermit made portal.

Keralis booked it to the portal, nearly falling into a gap in the netherrack that led straight down to lava. But he was fine and no mobs were around to attack him. So he stepped into the portal and let the magic whisk him away, coming out on the other side a few moments later.

He was glad to see stone brick on the other side of the portal, something that didn’t really appear in the nether. A set of stairs was nearby and Keralis walked up them, finding a nice looking starter base sans beds, but with a small aquarium with a single fish. He moved over to a window and looked out to see the sun rising and no monsters around. He could also see the ocean and a coral reef under the water. After days in the nether, it was an amazing sight, and Keralis just sat there to take it all in. And also hopefully meet whoever built this place when they returned.

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Scar had majorly screwed up and found himself caught in a death loop of sorts. He had accidently lost his footing while pruning some chorus plants and tumbled into the void. When he respawned, he happened to be looking right at an enderman, who promptly killed him. And then killed him again when he respawned. And then yet again. Eventually he wised up enough to keep his eyes closed tight for the next respawn, and he was left alone, but keeping his eyes closed suddenly seemed like a horrible option.

The end was already quiet enough, and other than the feeling of the endstone under his feet, Scar could have mistaken himself for floating in the void. It had been so quiet before with only the sounds of endermen, but now it was louder. Scar snapped his eyes open to look around for the source of the noise, only to get killed again, but then he was careful the second time, looking for what was making that new noise.

It sounded like whispering, but it definitely wasn’t endermen. It also sounded too close to just be something quiet in the distance like the shulkers at the end city. Feeling a little frustrated, Scar shouted, hoping whatever was making the noise would hear him and answer. “Hello?! Is anyone out there?!”

Scar couldn’t help but let a shiver go down his spine as the whispering stopped. That probably wasn’t the best sign, but at the very least whatever was making that sound could hear him. Though understanding might be a different story. “Hey, if you can, I need some help! I’m kind of stranded out here!”

Scar paused, hoping for an answer. At first none came, but just before he completely lost hope, he heard a familiar voice. “We may provide some help. You have done a number of things that we can repay you for. But that amount is still not much, and when we stop, we will stop unless you can give us more.”

Scar knew the voice of the vex. Technically he and Cub had left that behind in season six, but desperate times did call for desperate measures. The vex didn’t tell him how many times they would help him, so he knew he would need to be careful with using that help. That being said, he knew there was one thing that would definitely help. “Are you able to get me back to the overworld? Preferably somewhere safe?”

There was more whispering as the vex discussed between themselves, but after a few moments, they responded. “Unfortunately, we are unable to do that. A higher power is the reason you are here in the first place. However, there are strings we may pull to give you access to an escape.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Scar replied. While it wasn’t an immediate exit, having one on the way was still a good thing to have. “Um, well, do you know who the closest hermit to me is? Other than TFC that is, since I know he’s in the end with me.”

Scar was pretty sure that would be a good question. The closest player would likely be whoever was almost to the end themselves, or maybe they were in the stronghold. Once he knew that, he would hopefully have another request that the vex would allow and they could send a message to them for him. But instead, the vex gave him a much more unfavorable answer. “Look up.”

Scar was confused, but then carefully looked up, avoiding the gaze of any endermen. He scanned the horizon for something, anything that might show signs of a hermit, but there was nothing. His next guess was that maybe a hermit had already claimed an elytra and was flying around, so he looked further into what passed as a sky in the end. And then he saw the bright color that was Bdubs.

At first Scar wanted to smile as seeing his friend, but then he realized the man wasn’t wearing any sort of elytra and was falling fast. Without much more thought, Scar backed up and watched Bdubs get closer before he finally ran to the edge of his small island and jumped. Scar yelled Bdubs’ name as he reached for the hermit, the other man not reacting until Scar managed to grab his arm. Bdubs’ eyes shot open and he looked around in surprise before his eyes finally rested on Scar. “Scar! How did you get down here?”

“You were falling past the island I’ve been stuck on. Look!” And Scar pointed to the island which was rapidly disappearing above them.

“I thought I was just ages into the void. I lost my comm forever ago so I had no clue how far down I was. No wonder I haven’t died.”

“Yeah, well sorry that I can’t really get us out of this. But maybe you can shift yourself a bit to the side so maybe I can catch you when you respawn again.”

Bdubs chuckled, glad for some sort of hope. “Yeah. See you in a couple days.”

The two held onto each other as they continued to fall, but Bdubs watched in horror as Scar was the only one of them to take damage from the void. A few moments later, he disappeared into smoke which Bdubs tried to grab on to in vain, but a moment later, it was all gone, and he was back to falling alone.

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TFC hid behind an obsidian pillar to catch his breath as the purple magic of the dragon’s breath was blocked by it. He was running low on health again, so he needed to be careful about getting near the dragon so she could fling him up at the right time. Without blocks, bows and arrows, ladders, or anything really, TFC just had to hope that he could reach the crystals and punch them just before dying. He had already managed to take out two, but there were still plenty to go, especially the caged ones.

There was a roar and TFC cursed as the dragon phased through the pillar and he found himself falling a moment later. He wasn’t close enough to any of the pillars with crystals to try and take them out. That was, unless he somehow managed to catch himself on the iron bars around the nearest crystal and not kill himself. But that was unlikely. He was already old and prosthetics weren’t the best for stuff like this.

So, it ended up that TFC found himself hitting the ground and respawning on the obsidian platform again. He slowly got himself to sit on the platform without managing to throw his back out and used it as some time to rest. He knew the dragon would probably find her way over to him eventually, but right now he was done with fighting.

He pulled out his communicator to check on how everyone else was doing, frowning upon seeing Scar’s many end related deaths. TFC wondered if it would have been better if Scar were the one stuck on the island instead. He could probably deal with the dragon better than him. Probably anyone could. Maybe once upon a time defeating the dragon alone was a feat he could manage, but his old bones weren’t built for that anymore.

He knew it was probably in vain, but TFC tried to send another distress message into the chat. He didn’t really have many other options for what to do, and for all he knew, it could eventually fix itself and everyone would just assume it was still broken if he didn’t check. But, with a sigh, he just got another error message. Maybe another time, that’s all TFC could hope for.

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Etho continued to shiver in the covers of the bed he had been put in. When he respawned on top of a mountain, he was surprised to see Grian and the bots up there. Even though there weren’t any trees or animals or life whatsoever other than the other people themselves, they had somehow managed to get a bed and some food. And looking at his communicator, they had managed to somehow all keep from dying from the cold, only having a few instances of falling or even one of starvation.

Etho looked over to Grian, who was currently sitting in the snow and shivering even more than he was. The avian had their wings wrapped around himself and was rubbing his arms to keep warm. Etho had tried more than once to get out of the bed so that Grian could use it, but the bots had both insisted he use it instead.

At first, he had complained, saying he would be fine and he didn’t want Grian to deal with the cold like this. But then he watched as Grian suddenly summoned purple flames in his hands, the fire’s warmth reaching the bed at least a little. The color seemed to reflect in Grian’s eyes perfectly, his irises matching the amethyst color at the moment. At least, that was Etho’s first thought, but then he remembered Ren and Impulse’s eyes being different colors, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure.

“S-So, how did you g-guys get this st-stuff?” Etho chattered out, making the two bots tuck him into the cover more.

“Dad made them.” Jrum answered. “When he respawns, he’s able to use magic to make us stuff like food or this bed.”

Etho nodded, but then looked up again. “Wh-why hasn’t he tried making something to get you guys down?”

The bots didn’t immediately answer, instead looking at each other nervously. “Well, something’s been up with Dad. When we got here his wings got weird looking and then there was that thing.” And Jrum pointed to the small ice and bedrock structure Etho had spawned next to. “And then he started attacking us so we had to push him off the mountain and when he respawned he wanted us to abandon him here and then you showed up!”

“S-so in other w-words, s-something’s wrong w-with him, b-but y-you don’t kn-know what.” And the bots nodded. “W-Well, th-that sums up a l-lot of th-things going on. L-Like e-every time I r-respawn, I sh-show up n-near someone e-else.”

“Really?”

“Or s-something l-like that. I s-started out at s-spawn with Joe a-and Beef.” Etho paused to rub his arms for a bit more warmth. “When I res-spawned, I w-was in a r-ravine with Ren. H-He s-suddenly attacked m-me like your d-dad did so then I w-was in the e-end.”

“Did you find Scar or TFC?” Grum asked, surprised when Etho shook his head.

“Neither. B-Bdubs is s-stuck in the v-void and isn’t d-dying. I d-didn’t see him but I f-found his c-communicator. I d-died before I c-could find out m-more. After that was th-the desert.”

“So Iskall or XB, right? They’ve both died of dehydration so that means they have to be somewhere hot.”

“Y-yeah, probably. But I d-didn’t see anyone. J-just a l-lack of dead b-bushes.” Etho explained. “A-anyway, s-sort of at that point I r-realized I w-was a-appearing n-near other p-people, s-so I made s-something to j-jump off of t-to send me e-elsewhere.”

“Okay, where did you go next?” Jrum asked before getting an idea. “Oh! And are you able to look at coordinates when you show up there, because then you might help people who are safe figure out where those who aren’t are!”

“Y-yeah. I’ve g-got access to those. J-just haven’t taken advantage of th-that too much. I s-spawned with Imp-pulse next a-and used a-all the time I h-had to tr-try and break a block w-with him.”

“Well, he’s still dying a lot, so if you did, it doesn’t look like it helped much.” Jrum said, Grum elbowing him. “Ow! Hey! It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but you shouldn’t say things like that. Etho is doing the best he can in a situation like this.”

“I-It’s fine. I g-get it. After th-that, I sh-showed up h-here.”

“And you have surprisingly lasted the longest up here based on the death messages.” Grum agreed. “Well, actually, it was longer when you were with Ren, but it’s getting close. You slept for a while when we first got you into the bed.”

Etho nodded. “H-How long h-has i-it been?”

The bots both looked up at the sky to look at the sun before looking back to Etho. “It’s been at least a day. We weren’t really paying attention to when you showed up. Uh… it’s sort of like… the middle of the fifth day we’ve all been stuck in this season.”

Before Etho could respond, there was a chirp and Grian started using fire to warm himself up again. Etho stared at the avian and then Grum and Jrum carefully moved Grian closer to the bed so the warmth of the fire would reach him, but not too much in case they upset Grian. “When we first got you into bed and you fell asleep, Dad got upset and attempted to attack you, so we’ve been trying to keep that from happening again.”

“Th-thanks.”

Since Etho wasn’t stuck in the snow, the cold wasn’t enough to kill him, so the bots did their best to keep him warm and fed. At the same time, they talked things out with Etho about what they could do since Etho could find people and Grian seemed to be able to get them necessary items.

Eventually, night fell and Grian forcefully got closer to curl up with the bots, each of them finding themselves pinned under one of their dad’s wings. They were worried about Etho at first, especially when Grian moved closer to the bed, but the only thing then needed to worry about was Etho’s bones accidently being crushed when Grian plopped himself onto the bed and tried to squeeze all four of them on the mattress made for one person.

Surprisingly, they all managed to get to sleep in that position, but it didn’t help advance the day forward like the first time Grian used the bed. Despite being metal, the combined body heat of Grian and Etho kept all of them warm, as well as from them just being out of the snow. Since the bots technically didn’t need to sleep, they mostly stayed awake to keep an eye on things, though taking it in shifts so they didn’t overdo it. But the night was calm, and it looked like everything was going to be fine.

And then just as the sun was coming up over the horizon, things changed. Grian got up suddenly, winding Etho and causing the bots to fall to the ground. His wings were puffed up in agitation and flames came from his hands, though his hands were over his ears, making it look like his head was on fire.

Jrum was the first to get up and go over to Grian, but the avian’s wings just swiped at the bot and kept them away. Grum tried next but just got the same result, though he was hit away at a different angle, nearly sending him off the edge of the mountain. Etho, despite having nothing except a bit of food, got up from the bed to get close to Grian, managing to dodge his wings.

By the time Etho reached Grian, he had started hyperventilating. The ninja put his hand on Grian’s shoulder and he whipped around, bright amethyst eyes staring unfocused at Etho. “C-can you t-tell m-me what’s up? What’s going on?” Grian didn’t respond verbally, but his eyes flicked over to the pillar next to them on the mountain. “That’s c-causing it? L-Let’s s-see what w-we can do a-about it.”

Etho walked over to the pillar and looked it over before trying to break the ice since he obviously could break bedrock. He was a little weak from the cold, but Etho was sure he could do this. He had done it for Impulse, and that was underwater. The thing was, he couldn’t get far before he found himself face down in the snow, a hand on the back of his head keeping it down so he couldn’t look up. With a bit of struggling, however, Etho was able to twist his head to the side and his good eye looked up at Grian.

With his voice muffled by the current situation, Etho tried to say something to Grian, not sure if he would hear or even respond. “Grian, what are you doing?”

For a moment, Grian didn’t answer, then he cocked his head to the side confused as well as gave a smile. “Oh, do you mean-?” He cut himself off by laughing. “What I'm doing is making sure you keep going. You won’t fix anything like this.” Etho tried to question what Grian meant, but there was suddenly more pressure pushing him down and preventing him from talking. “Go on now. Freeze to death. You’re only really getting that here.”

Etho was vaguely aware of the bots trying to get him to the bed and pull Grian away, but they didn’t seem to be strong enough for that. There was the clank of metal hitting together, then on stone further down. “Welcome to day five. I’ll speed us through so we can get to the good stuff.” And then Etho froze to death.

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As the sun was rising, Joe got up with a start. Something didn’t feel right. He jumped out of bed and went looking for Beef, finding him still taking a nap in his own bed. Joe shook the other hermit awake, not wanting to be alone if his new bad feeling was dangerous at all. Beef complained a little at first, but when Joe explained further, he dragged himself out of bed and geared up.

Swords were drawn as they left the building, looking everywhere they could for danger and making sure to watch each other’s backs. Any mobs from the night were dying from the sun aside from some creepers which they took care of with a couple arrows. But other than all that, there was nothing that really stood out.

Giving up, they started back to their beds, taking a different path back, and then suddenly Joe realized what was the problem, and why he felt off the night before. “Beef, I think that’s our problem right there.”

Beef looked over to Joe, then to where Joe was pointing. Right where the main building of spawn was, or at least, where it had been. Standing in its place, towering above the other buildings, was a tower of various blocks like obsidian, bedrock, endstone, blackstone, and more. The pair moved to get a better look at the new building, finding an entrance at its base which was a few blocks above the surrounding terrain, though it had also appeared with a hill.

“Well, I think we should stop working on makin’ more shelter.” Joe spoke up after they had just stared at the tower for a few minutes. “We can make signs to tell people what’s up, but we need to gear up and find X and Grian.”

[infinites-chaser]

Librarian! PH. 52 MLQC MC / Victor :)

HELLO ANON U WERE ONE OF THE FIRST PEOPLE TO RESPOND TO MY LIBRARIAN ASK GAME I’M SO SORRY IT’S TAKEN SO LONG,,, victor is just. hard to write. aLSO I'm doubly sorry since i’ll be combining this with the Victor ask from @truth-be-told-im-lying ​ hope neither of you mind T-T i don’t think my mind could do two victor ficlets akwlfjsdkls

ANyway I love you both LOTS AND LOTS hopefully this attempt at Victor isn’t extremely out of character;;; it’s a lowkey soulmates AU if that counts for anything :> aND this fic gets the special treatment of an actual Title bc True was wonderful enough to help me by typing Victor as an Enneagram Type One

okaaay and without further ado, 

49, 52 + Victor/MC

‘[He] wakes up in [his] bed, determined to begin again.’- These Ghosts Are Family, Maisy Card. (pg. 49)

‘As [he] pushes through the onlookers to meet [her], he is certain he is the only person moving.’- These Ghosts Are Family, Maisy Card. (pg. 52)

((pronoun changes in both quotes to better fit the ficlet))

spoilers for Victor/MC’s childhood!

spend my whole life searching

Victor doesn’t believe in soulmates. (After half a lifetime of searching turning up nothing, he doesn’t believe in much.)

Once upon a time, he might’ve. (He wanted to). His heart rate doubled and sped up to match hers— a carefree little girl skipping across the road, too far away to hear his nerves cry danger, too caught up in dreams and fantasies to hear his warning shout. Time slowed down so he could save her, and on that afternoon on the crosswalk, drops of rain suspended in the air, he did.

At that age, he hadn’t had the sense to wonder why a young girl like her had been crossing the street without supervision. Why her smiles had come freely, but had always looked a little sad, a little wistful. Why she’d been so eager to accept his baked treats. Why she’d been at the playground without a parent. Why she’d always been alone.

Now, seventeen years later, he wishes he did. Wishes he’d known something as simple as her last name.

He dreams of her. Of finding her again: the girl whose heartbeat matched his. The girl whose smile had slowed down time itself for him, as if short moments with her could’ve each stretched into a gentle eternity. He’d wanted them to. He’d wanted to capture every moment spent with her, to make them last, to savor them, so they’d pass slow and sweet like honey on the tongue.

Time had passed slow when he’d wanted it to. Those sunlit afternoons had been sweet, they’d been happy.

Only, time is a fickle thing. When he takes his eye off it, it races away, too fast for him to keep up.

The kidnapping. The experiments. The torture.

The escape.

She saves him. He’s too slow to save her.

And even if he can stop time, here’s the thing: he can never turn the clock back.

Still, he wakes up. Every morning, he gets out of bed. Gets dressed and goes to work. The world around him moves on, and demands he does, too, even if his heart’s still eleven years old and clutching her motionless body, eleven years old, the only sound in his ears his pounding pulse, the absence of the accompaniment of hers an accusation more painful than any hateful words.

It’s a recurring theme in his life, time. It’s ironic, really, when he thinks about it. That he can stop time without lifting a finger, and yet, when it comes to things he cares about, people he loves most, he’s always eleven years old again, always too late.

(His Evol’s time control, but perhaps, all this time, he hasn’t been controlling time, it’s been controlling him. He’s imprisoned by a single moment, a memory, a regret. A past that can never be undone.)

Whenever he has spare time, he devotes himself to searching. Resigns himself to the fact he’ll probably never find her, if all he has to go off of is a child’s face, once preserved in his memory, now fading. Hair color. Eye color. Age. A name. Nothing more.

The searches turn up nothing. 

He spends late nights in the office to distract himself, builds up a capitalist kingdom of a company, if only to put off for a few hours more the prospect of returning home to face his nightmares alone.

His father praises him for LFG’s growth over dinners filled with awkward silences. The name Victor Li appears more and more often in business newspapers. Investors approach him. He gets interviews. Gets offers for TV appearances, for sponsorships.

He takes them, these material successes. Wonders if any amount of them could ever make up for the failure from his childhood. If they could bring her back. He tells himself if he finds her, when he finds her, when he brings her back, it’ll be to a more perfect world. One in which he’ll never fail her again. It’s a foolish thought, but it keeps him going. With it in mind, he proceeds to work twice as hard.

Souvenir is what saves him. A small allowance, a self-indulgence, a seed of hope planted in what he thinks is his darkest time.

It’s for her, more than any of his frantic searching ever was. A dream, a foolish one, that one day she’ll step through his memories and through the restaurant’s door, that one day they’ll share a pudding together again, their hearts beating as one.

He doesn’t get to open Souvenir often; his job doesn't let him. He made sure of that, long ago. But when he does, after the last customer’s left, and he’s put up the closed sign, he cooks for two.

(The first time, Mr. Mills had taken a single look at his silent, still face, and his expression must've spoken volumes. The older man hadn't said a word, only helped clean the kitchen after, the normally gentle lines around his mouth pulled taut in a worried frown.)

He sets the second place at the table himself: carefully places fork, knife and spoon beside lukewarm appetizers, tucks a napkin under soup bowls going cold. Watches the empty seat and the untouched meal for an eternity before finally eating his own. His technique's impeccable. It has been ever since he'd aced his culinary lessons, since he'd bought out the school. He'd used the finest ingredients. He always does.

The food still crumbles like ash in his mouth. (It always does.)

Mr. Mills will find him there, nursing a glass of wine long into the night. He knows better not to question it, but sometimes he'll pull up a chair, drink a glass, too. talk of everything and nothing, talk of his parents, his sister's family, of times gone by.

Victor will never admit it, but the older man's presence makes those nights less hard. his stories, his memories — they keep the ice in his heart from spreading any further when it feels like nothing else will.

Ten years stretch into thirteen, into fourteen, into fifteen, into a broken clock, time stopped because does the passage of time mean anything if he measures it, measured it in time with her? If she's gone?

The meals shrink. First appetizers vanish, then entrees too, until all that's left are desserts, puddings that he stares at all evening, puddings a girl had loved once, that he can almost imagine her sitting there eating, her noticing him watching her and her answering blush and smile. His smile back.

Almost, because after all these years without her, he can’t quite imagine her face. Not as she would look now. Not even as she was, seventeen years back.

(He dreams and finds he doesn’t remember what her smile looked like, exactly. Doesn’t remember the sound of her heartbeat mingling with the sound of his.

Memory is cruel. Memory is imperfect. No matter if you can stop time, no matter how hard you try to memorize a moment, when you revisit it, it’ll never be the same as when you lived it the first time.)

Then:

The day starts like any other. He wakes up, gets out of bed, gets ready for another day of work, another night of searching. He scrolls emails while waiting for his espresso machine to heat, then puts his tablet aside when the coffee's done. He eats in silence. As always, he's done five minutes before he needs to leave for the company, the perfect amount of time for him to do a last-minute check in the mirror— his tie's straight, his shirt unwrinkled, not a hair on his head out of place. The reflection that stares back at him is unchanging; these days it barely shows even the passage of time.

He sighs. Shakes the thought off like the piece of lint it is on his otherwise immaculate state of being, and heads for the door, the lock automatically clicking behind him at eight o'clock am, exactly on schedule, exactly as planned.

He's about to take a seat in his car when an inexplicable urge to walk to work takes hold of him. He pauses. Calculates and re-calculates the time it would take (fifteen minutes, not accounting for rush hour traffic making crosswalks slow), and he's about to decide it's not worth it, it's a silly thought, but the urge intensifies.

Do it, the eleven-year-old in his heart seems to be telling him. You won't regret it.

He frowns and rubs his forehead— for a moment, he wonders if all his searching, all his foolish hopes are finally getting to his brain.

He decides to take the walk, anyway.

He regrets it, not nine minutes later, when despite the sun's light shining strong through the clouds, a light rain begins to fall.

Worse still, the traffic lights haven't changed once in the past ninety seconds. He won't be late, he'd accounted for this, but he's stuck in a crowd of pedestrians, and their chatter's beginning to grate on his nerves. He's considering calling the mayor about it after exactly one hundred seconds have passed— clearly, the light's broken, this is far too long for commuters to wait— but then, finally the walk sign flicks on.

He's already across the street when it happens:

First, a phone rings.

Then, the loud honking of a car.

Tires screech.

Time slows. Time stops.

He's back on the crosswalk in a matter of heartbeats, the inattentive idiot in his arms (it's a girl, it's always a girl, hair dark, eyes wide, expression shocked).

"You..." She says, blinking up at him with those wide, almost-familiar eyes. Distantly, he registers the echo of a heartbeat overlapping with his.

"Who are you?"

Who are you? His mind asks, but deep in his heart, he already knows the answer. It can't be.

"Evolver?" He says instead, shoving down memories that threaten to surface: another rainy day, another crosswalk, another heart that had seemed matched to his. He tells himself he's being delusional, that he thinks he can hear her heartbeat because she's in his arms, wide-eyed and fragile, her heartrate skittering back and forth like a fool— this isn't like his careful, methodical searching, this is a fluke beyond flukes, it means nothing, it'll lead to nothing in the end.

But she's in his arms, warm and soft against his protective embrace, she's in his arms and it feels so right it's almost painful, his pulse pulled into a panicked pace to match hers.

He sets her down abruptly, as if burned, and turns to go.

"Someone can't come to your rescue every time."

Around them, suspended raindrops begin to fall. The world, resumed. The world, once again predictable and mundane. Except for her.

He knows, without looking back, she's staring after him, her heart, his heart, still racing.

He allows himself a smile.

He allows himself some small sliver of hope.

(His frozen time starts moving again.)

[vaguely-concerned]

The Mandalorian episode 8 reactions

Spoilers ahoy! In short I liked it a lot and now my brain is desperately trying to process it all haha

- thank god taika waititi knows I needed us to open on two unsympathetic comedy stormtroopers after all the stress last time. (in general this episode was very funny and it needed to be because dang mando is having a Bad Day in this one) that scene did such a good job of hilariously humanizing the stromtroopers but in a way that highlights what kind of people would stay with the empire even after the fall. they’re real breathing humans but they’re also baby-punching fascists and it’s not much of a loss to anyone that IG-11 goes to town on them

- ooooh cara is from alderaan!!! that explains just how deep her hatred for the empire is. (*me thinking wistfully about bail organa, the OG good dad of the star wars universe*) also I say this all the time but she is so cool and beautiful and important and the little ‘oh uh oops’ look she threw down at the baby after blowing that droid’s head of was  p r i c e l e s s . too bad she’s staying on navarro while mando leaves :(

- FINALLY name confirmation! I’m going to have to go and fix the spelling for my fics and I don’t even care haha. also pedro pascal is so amazing at making his voice expressive jesus christ you can feel the weight of it just from the small pauses between his words (’mandalorian recruits’ = evil empire speech for ‘children’ I’m assuming so. augh) 

- cara SHIELDING HIM WITH HER OWN BODY even though he’s literally still in full armor and her beautiful buff arms are completely unprotected *elmo surrounded in flames gif (ironically)* that might actually be more non-violent physical contact than mando’s had since he was a kid (lol but also ouch). there was something almost sibling-like in the way they huddled together, im hurt 

- with that grilled flamethrower trooper baby yoda has officially committed his first unassisted murder! *drying proud tears* they grow up so... well obviously not fast in this case but you know what I mean

as usual the baby was a delight. I mean you know this I know this but it bears repeating basically forever

- you know what in one way it felt a bit too early but in another I really like how they showed mando’s face. I think it’s because that reveal isn’t witnessed by any other characters except IG-11 (who is best boy <3 but also there in the role of a medical practitioner and audience stand-in so it doesn’t count in the metaphor lol) -- it’s entirely meant for us, the audience. the whole season really has been a long journey towards specificity in his character; we open up with him being a faceless, nameless and damn near wordless figure, and then they’ve let us closer and closer to him until... now we have his name and his face both and that probably means we know him better than the vast majority of the characters in the show (which is admittedly not saying much haha). it still leaves a LOT of potential in the interpersonal dynamics within the series, but does something interesting for our view of him (and sets up an interesting possibility for a sort of tension between the two as well maybe?). 

it feels weird and too intimate but I think that’s exactly what it’s supposed to do. I’d actually been trying to put this into words before this episode -- I didn’t feel able to write fic for this show until episode 7; before that taking on his POV felt... invasive, almost? awkward? but now it feels like the show has reached a place where we get close enough that it’s starting to be possible. he’s having to become more and more real (because he has a baby he loves and who needs him now and he can’t just dissociate anymore haha)

there’s also something really beautiful if fragile in how it plays out like... for this one moment he needs to allow himself to be made vulnerable (by a droid, no less) and through that act of tremendous courage, even though it confuses and pains him, choose to live. after all he was completely free to shoot IG-11 the whole time and he didn’t. I. Hm. mhm. im trying to figure out what I mean give me a few days to write fiction about it and maybe I’ll get it lol

- the way mando disappeared into himself/seemed to be just... resigned to it all was uh. awful! absolutely awful. 

thank GOD all these people around him straight up refused to let him die, at a few points it was almost a feeling of ‘SOMEONE PLEASE GIVE ME A GRENADE TO THROW MYSELF ON I’M NOT READY TO BE FULLY ALIVE AGAIN BUT I’LL HAVE TO BE BECAUSE I HAVE A LITTLE ONE TO BE A DAD FOR’ (at a few points where it’d be natural if he was triggered he instead seems to want to give the child to someone he thinks is more suited and then a) fight (and probably die but y’know at least he’d get to shoot someone) or b) at least stay with and honor the dead. oof) 

- very rude of mando to make a grave for kuiil when he’s not even dead tbh. how unlike our main boy in the helmet to be impolite like that, I’m surprised 

(I had so desperately hoped IG-11 at least would survive as a sort of legacy -- a testament to his skill and kindness and wisdom :( )

- I KNEW nothing would get the armorer in her own damn forge :D:D:D she is so incredibly cool and I love her. the way she stands there unshaken despite everything like a pillar of what their culture actually is at the core. and also when she’s like ‘well of course this is your son’ and the camera cuts to baby yoda as if to say ‘as I keep telling you dad’ 

the mirror of her immovable upright certainty and mando on his knees in front of the pile of dead people’s armor -- an image which makes it feel like this is not the first time he’s been there, right?

mando not enthused at the idea of evil sorcerers tho lol I foresee some trickiness in your future my boy

- of ALL the funny references they had to make sad it had to be the self destruct D: I’ve always had a lot of feelings about droids in star wars so I’m probably going to have to process this a bit. also “I’m not sad” oh honey

- I have only a very vague knowledge about the darksaber (I couldn’t get into rebels sadly despite my love for clone wars), but I do understand that it’s taking the nazi gold comparison they’ve got going on with the beskar and dialing it up to 11, that’s apparently a Big Deal. they’ve done such a good job with gideon in setting up a bad guy who works on several levels -- he wants the thing that’s most important to mando today for what’s implied to be Not very great reasons, he’s a physical reminder of the cultural and personal trauma this series is looking at, and as a remnant of the fallen Empire he’s doing a lot of work as the specter of this sort of lawless unsettled in-between age. good stuff! 

- greef karga earned himself a big place in my heart in this one. you might be sketchier than my understanding of horse anatomy, greef, but I love you nonetheless haha. when he starts to drink nervously while they’re trying to get out of the bar & when he’s immediately doing the sales pitch on Navarro once the blaster fire dies down fdkslhfkas. and that “Or maybe he’ll take care of you” shows that there is some real concern and friendship there and it’s so sweet. 

- mando carrying the baby like he was carried safely and with love by the mandalorian in the flashback............ damn dude. and he’s an official full time dad now what a time to be alive

- obligatory flamethrower report: do I even need to say it, mando’s flame thrower. must I point out how badly you have been shown up. honestly this has just been embarrassing for us all let us speak no more of it

[malecftw]

Distractions

A/n: so this was an idea I’d been playing with for a while. It’d been sitting in my drafts for like a month and rn I was just feeling best friends to lovers, a slow cute fic sooooo that’s what came out lol tadaaa. I’ve never really written for David or the Vlog Squad before but let me know if you liked this, maybe I’ll write more in the future. Hope you like it :)

Word count: 1814

Warnings: Idk if Jeff being rejected counts as a warning but here we are, I mentioned the word vagina and idk why but in the context it seemed weird but also okay so yh lmfao y am i acting like im 12

Masterlist.

The LA air was soft and warm, making a strand of hair fall out of your loose bun and tickle your cheek. LA seemed quiet at this time of day, the sun was beginning to set, golden hour was upon you. Lana Del Rey was playing on the background, her deep, soft voice flowing out into the crisp summer air through the open windows. The smell of food made it’s way into your nose, your stomach beginning to rumble at the thought of dinner. Heath, Scott, and Jeff were having a beer at the barbecue whilst Jason was grilling the various types of meat. Kristen, Mariah, Carly, Erin, and Corinna were setting out white plastic chairs in a circle on the grass. Rosé was being spilled, laughs were had and a carefree feeling overtook you.

You still couldn’t believe this was your life. You were living in one of the most famous, loved places on earth surrounded by good friends who were always looking out for you.  Your daydream was cut short when you got nudged in the side. Your head turned around to see Zane standing next to you, leaning on the glass just like you were. “What’s up?” “Not much.” He nodded and directed his eyes to the skyline of LA. “So when are you going to tell him?” He asked, not taking his eyes off of the beautiful view before you. “Probably never.” Your nails clicked slightly against your plastic cup, preferring a soft drink before having a glass of wine with dinner. “Why are you so hesitant. You’re perfect for each other.” You shrugged, being uncharacteristically comfortable with the topic around Zane. “I don’t know. I’ve been flirting with Jeff. I’m just going to look like a slut if I fess up now.” He clicked his tongue at your answer. “Please y/n. You were never in a committed relationship with Jeff. Hell, you never even kissed. He’ll get over it. And we know you, none of us would ever put your name and the word slut in the same sentence.”

A sigh escaped your mouth yet you didn’t have a chance to reply when Heath called out to Zane. He quickly squeezed your arm in comfort before heading over to the boys near the barbecue. You pushed yourself off of the glass and made your way inside. Enough with the overthinking, it was time to make yourself useful. “Nat, can I help?” Natalie looked up at you, pausing mixing the dressing and the salad for a second. “Sure y/n. Could you bring this over to the yard, just put it on the table.” She said with a smile and pushed the salad bowl into your hands. You just nodded and did what she asked. The notification sound of your phone distracted you as you set the bowl on the table and while you quickly replied you felt an arm being swung over your shoulder. “What’s up y/n? Why so quiet?” Jeff said, a silly smile on his face as his eyes screened over your expression. “Not now Jeff.” You shrugged off his arm and started walking away when he grabbed your arm, concerned for your obvious distress. “Hey what’s wrong?”

“Is everything okay here guys?” David walked up, noticing your tense figure and Jeff’s already apologetic one. He didn’t even know what was wrong but was already stressed thinking he was the cause. You looked back and forth between the two guys. Life was playing another trick on you and frankly, you were sick of it. Why couldn’t you just go for the obvious choice? You had a beautiful man right in front of you willing to take things to the next level but no. Instead, you had to fall for the one dude that wouldn’t notice an eager vagina if it slapped him across the face. 

As you were having this inner dialogue with yourself the two guys still looked at you, confused by your off behavior. “Nothing is okay David, just leave me alone.” You headed for the living room and David took your words like a man. “What the fuck did I do?” He shouted as he ran after you. “Nothing. That’s the problem.”

“Wait what? Y/n what the fuck?” Of course, he didn’t get it. You hadn’t made a move since you were too busy distracting yourself with Jeff. “I just... Just... Just drop it okay. It’s about me, myself and I don’t worry about it.” “Sure doesn’t sound like it.” You rolled your eyes but were secretly grateful for everyone staying outside to give you some privacy. You even notice Nat sneak out of the kitchen, feeling the uncomfortable switch in the room when you walked in.

“Y/n. Just talk to me. Remember that time when you accidentally spilled glue in my hair and we had to shave my head? Didn’t snitch on you then. I looked like a bald man child. I still didn’t snitch. And let me tell you, it wasn’t a look.” David said in a cute attempt to make you feel better. “Of course you didn’t snitch. It was your own fault. Who the hell decided to smack my hands with their head while I was holding an opened bottle of kids glue.” “I’m sorry I forgot to turn on my spidey sense, else I would’ve known you were standing right behind me before I stood up.” “It’s not my fault you were shorter than me.” David placed his hands over his heart, jokingly looking offended. “Ouch.” He teasingly took a couple of steps closer to you causing him to tower over you. “Not anymore though. Now you’re tiny.” You look up at him, arms crossed, confused and annoyed by your feelings for the big man child in front of you. “Now, tiny, are you actually gonna tell me what’s up or am I going to have to keep you hostage until you do?

A pressed sigh leaves your lips. Now or never. His expression turns more serious when he sees your big eyes gloss over. “Hey whatever it is, we can work it out. You and me.” “I’m not so sure about that.” “Well I am.” “I just don’t want to mess things up between us. You’re my best friend.” David immediately knew where this was going and a wide smile formed on his lips. “And?” He said teasingly, eager for the moment in which you’d fess up the same thing he’d been feeling for a while now. “Ugh David you’re a pain.” You say as you softly poke his stomach with your index fingers. “But am I going to be your pain?” His voice has turned hoarse, excited yet on edge. He never dreamed of going there with you. He never had those feelings for you. Until one day, he started seeing you in a different light. He couldn’t pinpoint one moment, it just slowly happened. At first he’d thought it was a silly random idea his mind for some reason made up, but he couldn’t help but think about it from time to time. Then he started getting used to the idea of you two together. It grew on him. Suddenly it didn’t seem weird, it didn’t seem awkward. It just seemed right. But then you’d started flirting with Jeff and David knew he had no chance.

Until now.

You swallowed loudly, your hands pausing, staying put on his sides. “If you want to be.” He nodded slightly, it was the only answer he needed before leaning in. He paused, needing your permission. He needed to know this was it. That this was something you both chose. You slightly pressed your fingers into the clothed skin of his sides, allowing him to connect your lips. It’s wasn’t earth-shattering, it wasn’t filled with sparks and fireworks. It was sweet, soft and gentle. It was what you both wanted. Needed. It wasn’t filled with sexual desire or incredible passion. It was the confirmation you’d both been waiting for. You’d found your person. Ironically enough, he’d been there all along. Love was a big word, you’d known you loved David for as long as you could remember. But back then, you loved him as your best friend.

You both pulled away smiling like idiots. You could see the love and happiness on his face, but he also looked pensive. “So what about Jeff?” You nodded. Of course, it looked really bad. “I like Jeff. I thought I could learn to love him. I needed to learn to love him. I was still waiting for the click in my brain, but it never happened which is why I never took it to the next level. It wouldn’t have been fair to him. He deserves better than a girl whose heart isn’t really in it.”

David’s eyes moved from you to something behind you so you turned around. Of course, like in any other predictable movie or show, Jeff was stood right there, leaning against the window frame. Your mouth fell open, You wouldn’t blame him if he was angry even if he didn’t seem that way right now. “Don’t worry about it y/n. It’s okay.” His thick New York accent filled the room. In a few big steps, he was stood right in front of you, looking to David quickly before grinning. His arms wrapped around your neck and kept you in a playful headlock, messing up your hair as he laughed. “You respected me enough to not go there with me. I appreciate that. At least now I still get to tease you and prank you. David’s lost those privileges.” Relief washed over you. This was the most drama-free ending to this situation you never thought you’d get. 

David put his hands in the air, looking happy and relieved as well that things went as smooth as they did cause let’s face it,... They rarely do. “Hey, as long as I get to film it that’s cool.” He said laughing and you smacked his chest. Jeff let go of you and shot you and David a smile before joining the others in the backyard. David sighed as he took you in his arms, looking down at you before bringing both of your attention to your intertwined fingers. “You ready baby?” He asked, voice high and excited to show off what had been his for the longest time but never really realized until now. You nodded and slowly made your way into the backyard. Jeff probably already told everyone since not a single soul seemed to question what had happened.  “Yes, baby girl you finally did it!” Zane shouted, holding up his beer and everyone cheered.

The smiles on each one of their faces only made it more clear to you.

This had never been a matter of if. 

This had been a matter of when.

[jujywrites]

WIP Challenge

I got tagged by @kikithedeceiver to do this!

Challenge: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

Here’s the thing. I don’t have many separate WIP files; most of them are in one huge doc. and most of the separate wip files are... pretty dead? but ok whatevs. under a read more since it’s long...... and my ego won’t let me skip snippets hjkhkhk thanks for the idea Kiki

From my main miscellaneous folder:

50 Grades of Steele. 1 and a half chaps of a role-flipped 50 Shades of Grey rewrite (i haven’t read the books so I extra don’t care about the characters lol). why do i still have it i’ve lost interest.... *side eyes her entire wip ecosystem* ...Then I see my interview subject, seated at her desk.

"Mr. Grey. I'm pleased to meet you."

And I stop breathing. [end CH1]

[open CH2) I forgot to mention something: I exaggerate occasionally. But I'm not now. I literally stop breathing for a few seconds. A thousand thoughts are racing through my mind, which doesn't help my chest stop seizing, but the main problem here is that Anastasia Steele is quite possibly the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

Fanfic idea masterlist. my most active file and where I keep most of my WIPS, unless they get too “large”. Organized by fandom. lotta stuff i keep passing by & may as well be dead but don’t wanna delete. here’s a zero-draft snippet of probably the next chapter of my G-rated yukyoru fic collection

He grabbed a pillow and placed it to his chest, grabbed her arm, and yanked her to him, praying his idea would work.

Seconds passed and he didn't transform. He put his arms around her gingerly. Should he try to immobilize her or would that make it worse?

She made the decision for him. "Mom," she sobbed, clutching him with an iron grip. "N-Need to help...!"

His stomach dropped to his shoes.

Thudding footsteps announced Yuki's arrival. "What's wrong?! Honda-san--"

He didn't say "What did you do?" The thought raced by and Kyo said, "Grab a pillow and help me!"

As Yuki positioned the pillow and himself without having to ask, Kyo said, "She won't wake up. I don't know what to do!"

"Night terror," Yuki said tightly. He was too close but it almost didn't matter. "Not much you can do besides wait."

MayxWard BDSM fic agents of SHIELD. mix of notes and actual writing. kind of a half AU. Melinda climbed into the driver's side and buckled in, then started up the car. "If you've not ridden on the left before you might have motion sickness. It's normal. Just close your eyes until—" She paused as she looked at him; his hands shook so much he couldn't manage the seatbelt. "Here, let me."

"Thanks," he muttered with a sigh, looking rueful.

Modern AU Zelink. What it says on the tin~ Teenage-ish Zelink, with a mash of supporting characters from other games. another mix of notes and fic. Link wasn't sleeping tonight. Tonight was the night he'd been planning for and awaiting for weeks. He was going on a quest: the quest to meet Princess Zelda. 

She wasn't really a princess, of course. That was just her nickname. Zelda Nohansen was Hyrule's sweetheart, the most sought-after young actress in the movie business. And Link had fallen in love with her the first time he'd seen her, two years ago in a tiny theater in Kakariko.

PMMMfic homumado. Madoka Magica. AU, been around since about an hour after I finished the series (5 years yikes, still gotta watch Rebellion). Homura's time power still somewhat involved, but Mami's an adult, everyone's at a boarding school (I think?) where ~things aren't as they first seem~ and Madoka has mysterious powers and night terrors. just notes at the moment.

SoubixHitomi.  Loveless. 3 unfinished/dead first-person Shinonome-senseixSoubi snippets, all of ‘em spicy.

yvy abo. Yuri On Ice. Yuri (Katsuki!!)/Victor/Yuko(!!?!), my attempt at. well. omegaverse(!!!!!!!). orignally started as part of a “bad YOI fic” bigbang and now I’m taking it seriously dgdgfg. Alpha Yuko. “Please, please stop,” she whispered, like saying it aloud would make any difference. But the pressure in her head kept building. Her limbs had begun to itch restlessly.

And Victor wouldn’t let go of her hand.

With the last scrap of her control, she straddled him quickly and kissed him awake.

Even in half-sleep he arched to meet her, and when he opened his eyes sapphire blue had already turned stormy with lust.

yvy canonfuturefic. Yuko-focused following of canon, or: how canon can I keep YOI while still rareship OT3ing it. She and Yuri fall in and out of love, in between falling for Victor. Victuri is still my life I swear   

“You have got to watch this,” she tells Yuri. She watches Yuri’s face instead of the video, having seen it at least forty times by now.

Yuri’s eyes transform into beacons of awe, and Yuko swallows around her rapid heartbeat, breaths coming too short. She sees everything she’s feeling and more on his face. She remembers that she loves him, that he’s real and here and more important than the beautiful boy on her phone who’s trying to pull her under to a scary new world.

ZnT ot3 bdsm AU. Zankyou no Terror, 9/12/Lisa. mix of notes and fic, not just PWP. in heavy need of editing bc a lot was inspired by a non-spicy book.

“But it’s not just me. It’s everyone. You need everyone because you have no idea how to need yourself. Or even how to be yourself.”

“You’re wrong.” The force and volume of her voice shocked her and pushed her onward. “You and Touji. I don’t need anyone except you and Touji! Because you both taught me how to be myself-- no, how to find that on my own. I know exactly who I am, and that me isn’t complete without both of you!” She could feel the tears streaming down her face, yet somehow her voice didn’t waver. She felt so full of conviction she could burst into flames. “Don’t you understand, Arata? We’re all meant to be together.”

From my SnK folder:

Cave of the Crystal Maiden (working title). Aruani. Modern AU. MMORPG shenanigans with a dollop of magical realism/supernatural. Just notes. @portraitofa-girl suggested “meeting online” and it’s been there literally for years oh lord im sorry. no fic yet, just notes.

Falling Anthem (working title) Modern AU Levihan, art student Hange and young professor Levi. just notes. fic one in a planned series. also has been years ;_;

Raindrops and Soft Steps. Jearmin. unsurprisingly, modern AU. One morning, when Jean looks out of his bedroom window, he sees a boy dancing across the street. In the street, to be exact. There wouldn't be anything unusual about that, Jean supposes, except it's raining cats and dogs outside.

In my IAMXfic folder (fff i almost skipped this):

2ndPOVCalberto (DO NOT CORRUPT WITH HET) ChrisxAlberto? not much to say?? yes i know they’re real people??? which applies to everything after this oh my god *crawls under desk* Of course she knows; she is annoyingly perceptive when it comes to romance. The only thing preventing you from asking her (like a fucking lovestruck teenager) if Alberto likes you back is emptying that beer bottle. By then the only thing on your mind is ordering another.

CalbertImmi. i can’t even keep my poly shit outta RPF ahaha omhg Imogen has a conversation with her lover's lover. (AlbertImmi, sequel to...) Imogen finds herself in an unenviable position. (emerging CalbertImmi)

Alternate summaries (CC POV, first fic?): Chris loves two people. He doesn't want to choose. Chris has fallen in love a few times in his life. But he's never fallen for two people at once. (Chris also isn't good at choosing.)

ChrisxJ. several self-insert fics bc CC is just that powerful, apparently. haven’t looked at the file in a long time,,,,,

He started calling people to the stage with him, and one by one, my row emptied.

"Come on, yeah, come on," he was saying, waving his hand in an inviting gesture and grinning like a little kid. "Hey, you want to?" I did a double take.

"Me?" I mouthed, pointing at myself just to be sure. He nodded, smiling wider.

So it was that I walked unsteadily down the ramp and waited in line, feeling like I didn’t belong there. Soon I was next in line. What would I say? What would I do? I was sure if I opened my mouth I’d either burst into tears or faint.

Genderswapped IAMX sci-fi. The sci-fi was inspired by a word prompt, genderswapping by my own brain. (play spot the Immi lmao) Across the aisle, Sam rolled his eyes. “Leave Chris alone; she’s nervous.”

“And put on your own seatbelt, Johann,” shouted Jess, two seats back and in Sam’s aisle.

Patrick turned  to look at Chris. “Subspace travel is a bitch,” he said simply, and turned back to his book.

“Oh, I feel much less nervous now,” Chris said with a sardonic grin. “How do you know that, anyway?”

"I'm not exactly what I seem to be." He didn’t look up.

Chriimmi (While I Was Gone inspired). Chris/Imogen, inspired by scenes from Sue Miller’s While I Was Gone.

"You really ought not to do that, you know," he said softly.

"Do what?"

"Sneak up on me."

My eyes slid from his face. "I didn't mean to. It just... happened."

"Mm." I glanced back at him; he wore a lopsided smile. "Not that I minded." The tension was so strong the air nearly vibrated with it, yet I held my tongue, terrified that I was the only one feeling it. He took a breath, deep, nearly rising on his toes. "No. I didn't mind at all." He took my hand, circled his thumb over the back. My breath caught as I felt it, as I watched him looking down at our hands.

Chriimmi bathtub dream. dream inspired Chris/Immi smut.

Chriimmi twitter. twitfic plus some, inspired from an actual tweet iamx made that i’m still not over. 

@ imogenheap Come sing your lovely lyrics with us in London. @ IAMX misses you. CCx

ChrisxImmi main. grab bag of Chriimmi I was too lazy to put into separate docs.

“What do you think?” She grinned, twirling.

He cleared his throat. “Ah, I-Imogen, what are you wearing?”

“Well, I didn’t want to clash with your theme…  Janine helped me. Does it work?”

Scandalously short skirt, midriff-baring top, knee-high boots.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? You’re trying to fucking kill me.”

Her grin only widened, even though a blush had started.

Fic edit chriimmi ver. yeah. editing someone else’s original fic to be chrimmi. either never posting or editing the frick out of. ~_~

He kissed her neck, whispered into it, “I love you.”

Imogen laughed. “Bollocks,” she said lazily.

”I do!” Chris protested. She looked down at him, nestled on her shoulder. He looked back, open, a little adoring. “I fell in love with you halfway through the show; I sang every note just for you.”

”Oh, please. You couldn’t have seen me.”

”No,” he said. “But I knew you were out there… I knew it had been you the minute I saw you backstage.”

Hospital Chriimmi. In which my guilty feeling over RPF are even worse bc of the inspiration ^_^U “Ms. Heap. What a pleasant surprise.” It’s surprising, how well she remembers his voice.

“Mr. Corner, what have you got yourself into?”

“Oh, just a bit of lingering insomnia. You know how it is.”

She takes a seat in the chair near his bed, crossing her legs. “Well, I’ve certainly had a sleepless night here and there, but I’ve never ended up in hospital from it. So no, I don’t suppose I do know.” Her tone is light, but her smile has begun to crack.

ImmixChris genderbend smut. the my secret friend video is... fertile material. have not actually written the smut yet.

...he saw us as characters– we put on those clothes and become separate from ourselves, removed. Whereas I simply felt like myself in men’s clothes, and instead of feeling what He felt for Her, I just kept right on feeling what I felt for Chris, amplified to a distracting level.

ReluctantdommeImmixSubCC. ...shrug emoji? notes and uh. visualizing.

Vampire Chriimmi. based on a dream. smutty. inspired by True Blood so wow that’s old.

From my Markipairings folder:

demon dream. markiplier self insert...... ughhhhhhhh o///o

"You can have me," I tell the creature. "But this one," I jerk my head toward Mark, "comes with me. He's mine, you see." A bold proclamation to make, but in the moment I know that the truth in those words surpasses everything I've ever said. He is mine, and saying the thought out loud fills me with courage. He squeezes my hand, two short and a long one so strong I think he might break it.

I know we’ll win.

DommeJujY. same as above, same as the next four. smutty.

Fight team AU. i forget where i got this one from. vaguely inspired by loveless i guess.  The first clear thought I had was, He shouldn't have gone ahead of me. The second one was, I should have been able to protect him. But these came later, after the rage went away, after I hugged him and apologized, after I bandaged him…

Gaming meetcute. i win some contest or whatever to secretly tagteam w/ Mark. stuff happens and yeah......

The adrenaline surges through my veins as I take in the scene. Mark's avatar is flailing around, backed into a corner by some Eldritch Abomination and holy shit, the graphics in this game are amazing.

"This is not good, I can't move, I can't move…"

There's a voice in the back of my head screaming to shut the game down, to get that horrible thing off the screen. I ignore it.

Markinpanties. .......smut.

shifter-slight sci-fi AU. shrug emoji.

I looked up from the ground and saw I was heading straight for a brick wall. There was no time to slow down. I braced for impact...

It didn't happen. I opened my eyes and found myself in a café.

What.

Looking behind me, I saw a door. On impulse I walked over and opened it; the tree-lined street I could see through the glass was indeed there. No brick wall to smack my face into. Bewildered, I turned around and looked for a seat, choosing one near a window.

Gouldiplier~. master doc of ficbits of my cracky mccrackship, MarkiplierxEllie Goulding.

I check my phone during break time again. My selfie has been liked and retweeted thousands of times, and I shake my head in disbelief; I don't think that will ever stop surprising me, deep down. To make things even better, Mark's liked it! I'm in the middle of a happy jig when I realize there's a text from him and a squeak of joy slips from me.

hellooo gorgeous

looks like you're having fun. Hope the shoot's going great! <3

I quickly send a reply. it has been. Be glad when it's done tho. Missin u lots xo

Markipicbunnies. fanart of Mark for Gouldiplier insipration. photographer au. 

"Ms. Goulding, I'm really not sure about this…"

"I produce pictures that are intimate because I'm an intimate being, Mark." Ellie looked at him directly, a hint of a smile shaping her lips. "Deep down, I think you are too. We just need to draw you out a bit."

showersexgouldiplier. WELP. IT’S SMUT.

Also I have folders for my 2010/11 nanowrimo novel that are kinda still WIPs but also kinda not

i’m gonna tag.... @kippielovesyou @kiridork and @mistergrass and anyone else who wants to do this can too :3

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: Thief and Assassin (Seven chapters of 12)

Leonard is the head of the Centralis Thieves Guild. Sara, unexpectedly, has found herself the head of the Assassins Guild. To save their city and the kingdom, they'll have to work together-and they might find themselves falling for each other in the process.

So, barely two weeks ago, I was thinking about all the fantasy books I used to read and still love. And the germ of an idea started-what about a CaptainCanary fantasy AU? Thieves and assassins are fantasy staples, after all. What, I thought on my commute home that day, if Leonard and Sara were the heads of the Thieves and Assassins Guilds, respectively, and had to work together to save their city?

And this happened. I'm posting seven chapters now, with four more and an epilogue to come soon. (Three more chapters are done and the rest are close.) I adore this AU, and I hope you do, too!

Many thanks to @larielromeniel for the beta and @pir8grl for reading, encouragement and many tips on useful clothing and setting-type things! For @dragonydreams

I’m just posting Chapter One here, since I posted so much at once. Full chapters posted here on AO3 and here at FF.net.

“Boss!”

Leonard, who’d been leaning back and contemplating the old fire-blackened beams overhead while balancing a dagger on one calloused fingertip, let his chair thump back to the floor, raising an eyebrow as his second in command thundered up the stairs and into his office. Mick tended not to run anywhere for nearly anyone these days, so this must be good…or bad, as the case may be.

His old friend halted in the doorway, catching his breath and grunting as Leonard merely looked at him with an inquiring expression. But Len didn’t speak, and Mick quickly got tired of waiting for his boss to ask.

“There’s a new head of the Assassins Guild,” he said shortly, folding his arms. “An’ she did it like you—the old way.”

That was…not even remotely news Len had expected. He’d admit that his mouth fell open, but he quickly closed it—although not before Mick saw the expression of shock and smirked victoriously.

Len ignored the expression but climbed to his feet, straightening his black tunic and thinking furiously.

“Then Darhk…”

“Is dead.” Mick actually grinned. “As a doornail. Cold meat. All that stuff. I think some of the junior Guild members threw ‘im off the South Gate cliffs.”

Given Darhk’s appetites and what he’d done to the once-respected Centralis Assassins Guild, Len wasn’t really surprised. But he was more concerned about other things at the moment.

“Her, you said.” he frowned thoughtfully. “Someone local?” He doesn’t know of anyone currently in the Guild, male or female, both or neither, who’d be able to take Darhk. If he did, things would have been different long before now. He’d have seen to that.

“Word is no. Newcomer to the city.” Mick paused. “From what I hear, I don’ think she knew what she was doing.”

Len paused in tucking a few stilettos up his sleeves. “She didn’t mean to kill him?”

“Nah. That, she meant. She didn’t know it would make her Guild head.” He shook his head. “Or…so Sarab said. I was down at Saints n’ Sinners when he came in. It’s still quiet…but it will be all over the city soon.”

Len winced, reaching out to collect his dagger from the desk. With a quick spin, he sheathed it at his belt. “That…”

“That could be real good--or real bad.” Mick nodded. “You wanna talk to her, boss? ‘Fore it all crashes in on her?”

Len paused, eyes fixed on the other item on his desk.

He remembered. He remembered what it was like…the determined challenger, the terrible Guild head who seemed hellbent on destroying everything that made the Guild system in Centralis work, the knowledge that loss meant death, and a particularly brutal one--and the realization that, even after victory, the hard work was just beginning.

“Yeah,” he said, picking up his Guild emblem and lowering the heavy platinum chain over his head, wrapping long fingers around the snowflake-shaped sapphire depending from it. “I do.”

Sara A’Stella, Ta-er al-Sahfar, master assassin, newly made Guild head in Centralis, was slowly, methodically, banging her head against the smooth, dark surface of her new desk.

Not hard enough to hurt herself, oh no. But enough to distract herself, from what she’d blundered into here and what she’d done to her future when she did.

She doesn’t regret killing Damien Darhk. She’d spent barely three days in Centralis and had known nearly immediately what needed to be done. But she hadn’t realized what that death, at her hands, would mean here.

Her fingers closed around the chain of the Guild emblem around her neck. The nearly black stone had belonged to Darhk, although Sara would be expected to get her own stone soon. The sooner the better—she hated having something that Darhk had owned on her person.

But what a new emblem would mean…

“Sara!” Amaya A’Zambesi, Sara’s dearest friend, who’d accompanied her to Centralis and thus gotten herself embroiled in this whole mess, too, poked her head in the door and frowned. “Stop that!” She paused, and Sara could very nearly hear her snicker. “You’re going to damage that very nice desk.”

Sara let her forehead rest on the surface. “If I knock myself out,” she pointed out thoughtfully, “I won’t have to deal with anything for a while.”

She heard Amaya sigh. Her friend, whom she’d met while traveling, wasn’t, properly speaking, an assassin, though she was a very talented warrior and mage—where she came from, the traditions weren’t always separated. Still, she’d made it clear to the members of the Assassins Guild that she wasn’t leaving Sara’s side, proper assassin or not, and Sara was beyond grateful for that.

“Well, here’s another reason to stop, then,” Amaya said then, just a bit tartly. “The head of Thieves Guild is here to meet you—to ‘pay his respects,’ he says.”  She paused as Sara lifted her head to stare at her, then smirked. “He’s quite attractive, actually. And very highly respected, from all I’ve heard.”

Sara sat up hastily, running a hand over the pale braids pinned up to her head and checking her clothing. After the battle early this morning, she’d scrubbed for what seemed like an hour and sent the clothing she’d been wearing off to be burned. She still didn’t feel entirely clean.

She wasn’t sure she ever would again.

Amaya’s eyes were sympathetic as Sara glanced back at her and cleared her throat. If something were amiss, Amaya would have said something, Sara knew. But she also understood.

“That was quick,” Sara said after a moment.

“Thieves always have the best sources of information.” Amaya paused. “His second’s with him. You…”

“You’re my second.” Sara stood, trying to sound uncompromising.

“Not an assassin,” Amaya reminded her. “The Guild…”

“Tough. They’ll have to live with it for now.” Sara shook her head. “I’m not taking anyone who had any kind of position of power under Darhk just because ‘that’s how things were always done.’ That’s how they got Darhk to begin with.” She hesitated. “Thieves Guilds traditionally work together with the Assassins Guild. I know we haven’t been here long, but…”

Amaya was shaking her head. “Not here.” She nibbled her lip. “I have done some asking. There hasn’t been that sort of arrangement here at least since Leonard took over the Thieves Guild. No love lost.”

That can only be a good thing. “Leonard,” she mused. “No patrial?” And no patronym, although those are rare, only given by high nobility or royalty to families for services to the kingdom.

Sara doesn’t use hers.

Amaya shrugged. “A’Centralis, I presume, although he didn’t give one.” She eyed Sara. “And you probably shouldn’t keep him waiting any longer.”

Sara waved a hand. “All right. Uh. Do I go down to him, or…”

Of course, Amaya had already found all that out. “I’ll send him to you. But be standing until he gets here, or you’re treating him like a supplicant.”

“Can’t have that.”

Amaya gave her one more encouraging smile, then departed. Sara fidgeted a little, looking around as she stood there in Damien Darhk’s old office, wondering how this had become her life.

She’d come to Centralis to join the Guild here because it was relatively close to Stella, and she couldn’t go back there—not yet. She hadn’t known that a mad man had taken over the Guild, that he was ruling it with an iron fist (and not in a good way), that she’d regret her decision to join nearly immediately and plan to leave—until she’d walked in on him “disciplining” three apprentices early this morning when she arrived to turn in her Guild token.

Two of the kids hadn’t made it. The third was still holding on. Everyone had known Darhk had a touch of magic—many people did. But until then, Sara hadn’t realized it took the form of blood magic.

There was a quiet step at the doorway. Sara looked up, trying to look both receptive and deadly. She knew she was both, but it was different trying to exude that.

The head of the Centralis Thieves Guild was a tall man with close-shaven graying hair and piercing blue eyes, eyes that were looking directly at her with an intent and curious expression. Amaya was right, Sara realized, eying him: He was attractive, graceful and poised with lean but undeniable muscle. Older--Sara put him at about 10 years her senior—but definitely attractive. Sexy, even.

And that was so completely not what she should be thinking right now.

Sara cleared her throat. “Hello,” she said quietly. “I’m Ta-er…Sara A’Stella. And I suppose that you know by now that…” She spread her hands, indicating the office around her. “…I’m the new head of the Assassins Guild.”

The man regarded her another moment, then inclined his head, those remarkable eyes still holding hers.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice low and intense and every bit as attractive as the physical aspect. Damn.

Still, the words weren’t what she was expecting. “Excuse me?”

“For taking out Darhk.” The man shrugged, a one-shouldered gesture, as he took one step into the office, pausing before going far enough to connote any sort of threat. “I’d dreamed of doing it myself, but….” He let his voice trail off, then shrugged again, smirking at her.

“Anyway,” he drawled, spreading his hands out before him just like she had. “Leonard. Head of the Thieves Guild. A’Centralis, but I generally just use ‘Len.’”

Sara lifted her chin, watching him, wondering what he was thinking. “Len,” she returned. “And why is that?”

The question was imprecise, and she regretted it immediately, but Len zeroed right in on what she really meant—and chose to answer it.

“Because he was bad for the guild and bad for this city,” he said flatly, looking her right in the eyes. “Really bad. I did whatever I could to counteract it. But there was only so much, and…” He let both shoulders rise and fall. “I had my own to watch out for.”

“Your own.”

“My guild.” For the first time, there was a crack in that smooth façade. Sara, watching, saw anger and determination and even a touch of regret in those ice-blue eyes. “I took it 10 years ago. In the old way—same as you.”

The old… “You killed your predecessor.”

“I did.” Len dipped his head. “And for much the same reasons. But…I knew what I was getting into. I don’t believe you did.”

Was it that obvious? Well, to anyone who hadn’t been there when a Guild member had moved to give her Darhk’s chain and emblem and Sara, still covered in blood and with a sword in her hand, had recoiled?

There seemed to be no point in denying it, though. “I didn’t.” She tipped her head to him. “In…in most places I’ve been, there would have been a vote after the dust had cleared. I figured I’d just…remove my name from contention. I didn’t realize Centralis went by the old ways.”

There was…no, not sympathy, thank gods…in Len’s eyes. Understanding, though. “Then why,” he asked quietly, “did you do it?”

If he knew as much as he had shown so far, he probably knew this too. But Sara can understand why he would want to hear it from her.

“I walked in on Darhk practicing black magic,” she told him bluntly, folding her arms, watching him carefully. “On three apprentices who’d flubbed a mission. Because of his shoddy training practices and handling of Guild matters, but that didn’t matter to him. He was taking their life energy.” She sighed. “Two of them are dead anyway. We’re not sure about the third.”

He had an excellent card-sharp’s face, did this Leonard, but he either let her see his thoughts or didn’t care to hide them at the moment. Satisfaction, regret, and a cold, cold fury chased each other across his features until they resolved into determination. He stared off into the distance a moment, then nodded firmly and transferred that blue gaze back to Sara.

“The Thieves and Assassins Guild traditionally work together, in most cities,” he told her. “That hasn’t been the case here since I took over--and then refused to deal with Darhk.” He nodded. “I’d be honored to try to reestablish that alliance…with the Guild under you.”

Despite the seriousness, was there something suggestive in that tone, in those words? Oh, Sara thought there was. But to her own surprise, it didn’t anger her or even annoy her, although by all rights the presumption should.

She liked Leonard. Liked him with an instinctive and surprising thoroughness. He had a thief’s caution, but her instincts told her that he’d spoken truth to her and, what was more, shown her truth in his own unconcealed expressions.

She made her decision right then and there. But he didn’t need to know that yet.

Instead, Sara lifted an eyebrow at him. “You don’t even know me,” she returned.

A quick smirk, and Len leaned forward. “I’m a very good judge of character,” he drawled.

Sara, trying not to smile, smirked back. “We shall see.”

“I look forward to it.” And then, with a wink, Len rose again to his full height and became serious again. “You know you’ll have to be formally presented to King Hunter and the captains of the Triple Guards,” he told her. “Soon: within the next 48 candlemarks.” He paused. “I’ll sponsor you, if you wish. But if you don’t, they’ll presume you might not be planning to abide by the usual set of rules.”

Sara stared at him, then sighed. She hated court functions. But he didn’t need to know that or how she knew it. “And Darhk did?”

“He knew how to play the game. It gave him a measure of safety.” Len hesitated, eyes still serious. “Trust me when I tell you that Hunter will be pleased. Even a monarch can’t just remove a Guild head. And there had been threats made to his son…”

Hunter? Sara didn’t realize she’d murmured the name out loud until Leonard lifted an eyebrow at her. She shook her head. “I’ll never get over just how…how mainstream the so-called Lower Guilds are here,” she told him. “You call the king by his patronym?”

Len’s lips twitched, and Sara saw mischief in his eyes. “Mostly that’s just to annoy him,” he told her. “But, yes.” He shrugged. “Thieves and assassins happen. Especially in any sizable city. Best to have them regulated and trained and policing themselves. It’s worked here for a long, long time.”

“Until a Damien Darhk happens,” Sara reminded him.

Len tipped his head to her. “Until then,” he agreed, then changed the subject. “I’d be honored to sponsor you in front of the king. You took power this morning; if you are going to play by the rules, we should probably go to court tomorrow afternoon, if not tonight.” A look of distaste crossed his features. “I’m not a fan of evening court; too much posturing. Afternoon’s bad enough.”

“Tomorrow is fine.” If she can’t find a way out of this by then, she never will.

“You’ll need court formal garb.” He rather too obviously avoided studying her worn leathers, perfectly serviceable for every day, but hardly impressive.

Sara rolled her eyes, inspecting his own unrelieved black. The starkness of the outfit contrasted with the cut, which she knew perfectly well was tailored and would not have been cheap. Her fellow Guild head knew he looked damned good—and may have been trying to impress her.

“I can handle that,” she informed him. Or, more correctly, Amaya would. “And…thank you. I do appreciate the offer.”

A flicker of something in those amazing eyes again.  “Believe me when I tell you, Sara…” Argh, the way he said her name! “…that it’s my pleasure.”

For all the suggestiveness in the tone, there was a very real thread of sincerity too. Sara dipped her head, agreed to wait here for him at two candlemarks after noon the next day, and watched as he turned for the door.

She didn’t realize that she was going to tell him until she did it.

“Someone put him into power. Darhk,” she said, watching those impressive shoulders under the night-black tunic freeze. “Someone’s been pulling strings. There’s something rotten going on in this city.”

After a long moment, Len looked back at her. “I suspected that,” he said quietly. “But…we’ll talk?”

“Yes.”

And with that, the head of the Centralis Thieves Guild left her office, more questions than answers in his wake. Sara thoughtfully watched him go—and wasn’t ashamed that she admired the ass in those tight black pants—then sank down into the chair with a sigh.

“This is either going to be a lot of fun,” she murmured, thinking of Leonard and his sexy voice and his friendly innuendo. “Or an utter disaster.”

Keep reading here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

[valdomarx]

Fic: He Don't Love You (Like I Love You)

Universe: Early 616, inspired by Iron Man #50 Relationship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Tags: Identity Porn, Humor, Misunderstandings, Evil Villainy, Snakes, Jealous Steve Rogers, Hopeless Tony Stark, Love Triangles, Mutual Pining Notes: For the prompt Love triangle for the cap-im alphabet challenge, and for my stony bingo square canon: 616 pre-Heroes Reborn. Also on AO3.

Summary: Misunderstandings! Heartache! Heroic escapades! The beguiling tale of a LOVE TRIANGLE between handsome industrialist Tony Stark, his valiant alter ego Iron Man, and their intrepid teammate Steve Rogers. In this issue, our favorite Avengers face their toughest foils yet: THEIR OWN HEARTS! A drama not to be missed!

60 seconds… only one minute to live! Tony steeled himself for action as he checked the power gauge on his suit and saw that it was almost completely empty. His pitched battle with the Serpent Society had drained nearly all of his power, and if he wasn’t able to recharge soon, the chestplate that kept his heart running would fail and death would finally overtake him.

He stumbled into his office, struggling to stay upright in the heavy armor. Shake it off, Shellhead! he scolded himself. You gotta keep it together! He gasped as he dropped to his knees and crawled the painful few feet to his power outlet. Now he just had to strip out of his armor and he could charge.

With the power levels dangerously low, it was exhausting to merely remove the faceplate and drop the heavy metal gauntlets that had been encasing his arms. With a last desperate effort he kicked off his repulsor boots and retracted the armoring from his legs, leaving his chestplate exposed and ready to charge.

He grabbed the power cord and connected it too fast, the force of the connection jarring his already aching chest further. The power arched into the chestplate, and finally he felt the plate humming back to life. His heart hammered brutally hard: that had been far too close a call for his liking.

He heaved in a few quick breaths from where he was slumped pathetically on the plush carpet. Just a few more minutes and he would be recharged and back to fighting fitness.

Unfortunately for Tony, his moment of relief was short lived. As he lay panting on the floor, he heard heavy footsteps in the corridor outside his office. If anyone were to walk in now, they’d be sure to learn his greatest secret: that he was both millionaire technology entrepreneur Tony Stark and the masked hero Iron Man!

He couldn’t risk being discovered. The footsteps were rapidly approaching and there was no time to hide. Tony hurriedly disconnected the charging cable and threw on a shirt to hide his chestplate from view, and he was just pulling on a pair of slacks when the door to his office swung open. He could only hope that he had disguised himself in time.

Steve had been knocking around the mansion all afternoon, having already filled his daily quota of exercise and training that morning. His mind was too scattered today to concentrate on painting, and Wanda had politely but firmly turned down his offer to cook for her. He’d been at a loose end until Jarvis has taken pity on him moping in the library and let him know that Iron Man was due back from his mission shortly.

That was just what he needed to hear, Steve thought cheerfully. His buddy Shellhead was always a blast to spend time with. Maybe they could spar together, or Iron Man would show him another of his favorite sci fi movies. That Barbarella flick had really been quite the show! Either way, Steve would sure be glad for the company of his good pal.

He sure did wish he knew more about who Iron Man was outside the suit though. They were the best of friends on the battlefield and Steve loved the time they spent together in the mansion. But to never see his face, and to know that he had a whole other life that Steve wasn’t a part of… well, it made Steve a little blue if he was honest. Steve sure would like to see his dear friend’s smile, to touch his skin, to hold his hand. Maybe someday Iron Man would trust him with his secret identity.

He headed up to the office of Iron Man’s boss Mr. Stark to see if Iron Man was there and if he wanted to go out for a milkshake. Iron Man always knew the best places to go. But as he rounded the corner of the corridor, he noted that the door of the office was closed. That was unusual - Mr. Stark typically kept his door open and encouraged the Avengers to drop in whenever they wanted.

As he pushed open the door, however, Steve suddenly realized why Mr. Stark had wanted privacy this time. He stepped into the office to see Mr. Stark frantically buttoning up his pants, his hair mussed and his shirt buttons done up incorrectly.

Steve paused in the doorway. He was clearly interrupting something.

“Cap,” Tony called, sounding somewhat short of breath. “Don’t mind me, I’m just. You know. Straightening my suit. So, uhh, what brings you here?”

Steve politely averted his eyes. “I was looking for Iron Man…” he began, but stopped when his eye was caught by pieces of distinctive shiny red and gold armor strewn across the floor of the office. What on earth was going on? “Jarvis said he was here.”

“Yes!” Tony said, a bit too quickly. “Iron Man was here. But now he has - er - left.”

“Oh,” Steve said, dumbly.

Steve looked again, and took in Tony’s breathlessness, his clothes in disarray, the pieces of the armor tossed to the floor. A realization hit him.

Oh. Oh.

It seemed obvious now - Iron Man and his boss had to be carrying on some kind of torrid affair - and they were trying to keep it a secret. And Steve had walked in at the worst possible moment.

“I’ll just…” Steve strained to think of something appropriate to say. Heat prickled up the back of his neck as he made a concerted effort not to think about Iron Man peeling off the armor, being held in Tony’s arms, gasping with pleasure…

Steve was no coward, but this was a topic he was not even slightly ready to broach with his best friend’s boss-slash-lover. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said frantically as he turned tail and fled from the office.

Tony blinked at Cap’s retreating figure. Steve hadn’t seemed to suspect that anything was amiss with Iron Man, which was a relief. He sure was acting funny though, running out like that. But hey, the upside was that Tony got to enjoy a fine view of the good Captain from behind, which was an angle not to be underestimated.

He savored the thought of Steve’s gently bobbing ass for a moment before shaking himself. What was it that he had been doing? Ahh yes, recharging. He plugged himself back in to the power and settled into his office chair.

As much as he enjoyed the view of Steve from behind, Tony mused, he sure would like to see Steve's face more often too. Though Steve and Iron Man had been inseparable since the day they met, Steve had remained considerably more reserved when it came to Tony. They’d barely exchanged more than a few sentences to each other when he was out of the armor.

And the frustrating thing was that Tony was sure that Steve would have fun spending time together. They got on so well as Iron Man and Captain America, surely they would bond just as well as Tony and Steve. It seemed only natural that they should go to dinner together, or to take a visit to the theater.

But he and Steve never seemed to have the time to get to know each other outside of work. Perhaps that was why Steve had been so jumpy earlier - he was still uncomfortable around Tony. Whether it was Tony’s money or his fame, he tried to be friendly but he knew that many people found him intimidating.

He would have to change that. He didn’t want Steve to feel uncertain around him when he was Tony Stark - he wanted them to be as comfortable together as they were when they were Winghead and Shellhead.

There was only one thing for it: he would have to befriend Steve and show him that they were just as compatible off the battlefield as they were on it.

Steve liked to think that he was a pretty open minded sort of fella. Whatever consenting adults wanted to do on their own time was their business, that had always been his motto.

But he had to admit, over the week since he walked into the office, the thought of Iron Man and Tony together had been bothering him. While he was glad that his Shellhead had someone to be with, Steve couldn’t deny the little pang of longing he felt when he imagined Iron Man trusting someone else with his identity. Steve was, perhaps, a little jealous.

It sure would be nice for him to be able to be something more to Iron Man. But even if it weren’t for the secret identity issue, it seemed like Iron Man was already involved with someone else. Steve supposed that it made sense that he would form a bond with Tony - he had protected him as his bodyguard for a long time, and they must have spent a lot of time together working on the suit over the years.

But… Tony Stark? Really? He was good looking, sure, and heavens knows he had plenty of money. But Steve couldn’t imagine Iron Man caring about that sort of thing. He had always thought that Iron Man would want someone more… simple. Homey. Someone who knew him and adored him, just as he was. Maybe even someone like Steve…

Perhaps all was not lost, Steve reasoned. After all, he didn’t know for sure what was going on between Iron Man and Tony. Perhaps their relationship was casual, or maybe it was coming to an end. That would explain why Shellhead hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. Perhaps Steve did still have a chance after all.

Only one way to find out, Steve thought gamely. The next time he and Iron Man were sparring, Steve dropped a few subtly innocuous questions.

“So… you and Mr. Stark… you two are close, huh?”

It was impossible to see Iron Man’s expression beneath the mask, but Steve knew him well enough to read the cock of his shoulder - currently expressing a blend of confusion and discomfort.

“Uh,” Iron Man sounded uncertain even through the voice modulator. “I suppose.”

“All the work you do together… you must have really bonded,” Steve pressed. “You must like him a lot, to have worked for him for so long.”

“Erm. Kind of. I’ve had worse bosses.”

“Yes, but it must be more than that, right? You risk your life for him. He must be special to you.”

A long pause. “Hrm… Look, I act as his bodyguard because someone has to. To be entirely honest with you, he’s kind of a pain in the ass. Sometimes I don’t know why the Avengers put up with him.”

That stopped Steve short. Iron Man certainly didn’t sound that keen on Tony. But then why would he be with him?

Steve reeled as a horrifying thought occurred to him. “Is he… Iron Man, is he forcing you to stay with him?”

A staticky noise that indicated Iron Man was laughing. “Nothing like that. I… Well, I guess you could say that I owe him a debt.”

A debt? What did that mean? Did Tony have some kind of financial hold over Iron Man? Steve’s head was filled with even more worries about indentured servitude, but he tried to keep calm for Iron Man’s sake.

“You know that I’ll always care about you, right, Shellhead? If Tony is important to you then I'd like to talk with him, to get to know him better.”

“You really don’t have to-” Iron Man hummed.

“No, I want to. There are a few words I want to share with Mr. Stark.”

Iron Man acquiesced and Steve began to form a plan. He would just have to see for himself what kind of man Tony was, and whether he was worthy to date someone as wonderful as Iron Man. Somehow, he doubted this assessment would reflect well on Tony.

Tony bounced excitedly on the balls of his repulsor boots as he left the gym. Steve wanted to talk with him - and as Tony Stark! He hadn’t expected his plan to befriend Steve to go so smoothly, but here Steve was wanting to spend time with him all on his own volition! It couldn’t have been better.

Now he just had to wait for Steve to come to see him.

Sure enough, Steve inquired after his schedule one morning at breakfast and they arranged a time for Steve to come to his office. Tony did, in fact, have a funding meeting at that time, but he canceled it without a second thought. After all, running a multimillion dollar company wasn’t even close to as interesting as spending half an hour chatting with Steve.

When Steve arrived, Tony was just finishing up combing his mustache and slicking his hair back. A quick glance in the mirror. Looking good, tiger, Tony thought with a smile.

“Cap! Come in. Can I offer you a coffee?”

“Thanks but no.” Steve sounded gruff, and flat.

“Suit yourself. You want a snack? I can have Jarvis bring us some muffins.”

“Not for me.”

“Okay then. How about an armor upgrade? I had a few ideas about your uniform-”

“Enough,” Steve snapped, suddenly furious. “You can’t buy me off that easily.”

Tony blinked. Perhaps he had misjudged this interaction with Steve a bit. He did tend to get effusive with the presents when he was feeling enthusiastic. “Oh. That wasn’t my intention. I had just thought that it would be nice if we could be friendly-”

“Friendly?” Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what we are?”

Tony tried to hide how much that comment hurt him. This was not how he had imagined this conversation would go. He tried to rally himself. “I - I just thought - well, here we are, two fellas living together in the same house, and we barely know each other. I thought maybe we could watch a movie together, or catch a baseball game. You know.”

Steve was still squinting at him, a look that could either have been either thoughtful consideration or poorly disguised disgust forming on his face. Tony fervently hoped it was the former. He took a breath and plunged onward, determined to make good on his resolution to befriend Steve.

“Let me take you out to dinner some time, huh? I bet we’d get on real well without the Avengers around to distract us.” Tony smiled his most winning press smile and held out a hand to Steve. “What do you say, big guy?”

Steve could barely believe his ears. A dinner offer? Was Tony seriously hitting on him? Tony was already with Iron Man, and now he was casually asking out someone else for a date like it was nothing.

“And what,” Steve ground out, “do you think Iron Man would have to say about that?”

Tony waved a hand dismissively. “I’m sure he can entertain himself and leave us in peace for an evening.”

Steve was genuinely gobsmacked. Not only was Tony willing to cheat on Iron Man, he didn’t even give a second thought to the fact that word about his straying would inevitably get around. It was like he didn’t consider Iron Man’s feelings for a second.

Steve regarded Tony cooly, with his big fake smile and his stupidly fussed over mustache, offering to buy things for Steve as if that would impress him.

He would have no part of this heartless, petty man. And now he had no doubt that Tony was not even remotely deserving of a guy like Iron Man. Steve lifted his chin and stood up straight. “I’d rather share a dinner date with MODOK than with you, Tony,” he huffed. “And I’d infinitely rather spend time with a real guy like Iron Man.”

Steve took a small, mean pleasure in seeing the way Tony’s face crumpled. He looked genuinely ashen. But Steve couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty - after all, Tony was the person who had the heart of the best man in the world, and he was making plans to step out on him.

Steve turned on his heel and stomped out of the office, thinking that he would certainly never treat Iron Man that way. He’d never dismiss his feelings, or make advances on someone else. He’d treat Iron Man like the wonderful, kind, warm person that he was.

He threw a last vindictive glance over his shoulder to see Tony slumped against the edge of his desk. Well then. If Tony felt bad, then that was the consequence for treating poor Iron Man so shamefully.

Suck it up, Stark, Tony kept repeating to himself. The weight of the armor dragged him down as he slunk around the mansion, but at least inside the suit he could hide his face. And that was necessary, because every time in the last few days that he had caught a glimpse of Steve and remembered the disgust on his face when he had asked to spend time with him, his lip started wobbling and he felt like he was going to cry.

But there was, as always, work to do. Superheroes didn’t get time off for heartache - not even when the object of their long-standing affection had expressed more interest in sharing dinner with an grotesque giant head than with them. Steve was, very obviously, not interested in being friends or anything else with Tony. That was just the way it was going to have to be.

Tony tried to take a little space, but it wasn’t easy when Steve was so delighted to see him - as long as he was hidden in his Iron Man gear.

“Shellhead!” A cheery voice carried over the kitchen. “C’mere, buddy!”

Tony gave up on his apparently ineffective attempt to sneak unnoticed past the open door of the kitchen. Damn his clanky repulsor boots. He sighed and went to sit at the kitchen table opposite a beaming Steve.

“How’s it going, old pal?”

Tony managed to choke out, “Fine,” and mercifully the audio modulator hid the crack in his voice.

“Say, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. I know it might not be my business, but… Well, Shellhead, I’m worried about you. It’s because of Tony.”

Tony’s heart sank even lower. He was absolutely sure that he didn’t want to hear what Steve had to say about him right now.

“I know you feel connected to him, but Tony… he’s not a good man. You know you don’t have to spend time with him if you don't want to. I really think you can do better.”

Better, as in a better job? Now Steve wanted to be his career adviser too? Jesus. Why did Steve even care who employed him?

Steve reached over the table to hold his gauntlet, big warm hand wrapped around cold metal fingers. “I’m here for you,” he said, heartbreakingly earnest.

Steve certainly did seem real worried about his employment situation. Tony considered his position carefully. “I can see that you’re concerned, Cap. But listen. Tony isn’t as bad as they say. He… he actually likes you a lot.”

Steve’s lip curled. “The feeling is most certainly not mutual. I don’t like him one bit.”

And that hurt more than it should have. Tony felt his shoulders slump under the weight of armor and of misery. But Steve was still going, clutching his hand.

“The thing is, Shellhead, I don’t want you to feel like you have no other options. Because. Well. We spend a lot of time together, and I’d really like to get to know you even better. And we could, maybe, go on a date some time? And I know that you have to stay in the armor in public but I thought maybe… maybe you could trust me with your secret identity? Because I’d never tell anyone, and I’d really like… I’d really like to see your face, and hold your hand, and maybe even. Well, maybe even kiss you, if you’d like that. Because I like you a whole lot, and I know things are complicated with you and Tony, but if you’d give me a chance then I’d really like to prove how special you are to me.”

Tony’s jaw dropped open. That was… it was… Steve liked him? Steve wanted to date him? Waves of hope and spikes of panic crashed against each other inside his head and Tony could only stare while he tried to process.

The processing was immediately interrupted by the urgent beeping of his emergency communicator. Tony blinked down at it, his head spinning.

Stark Industries board meeting emergency session. Attendance essential. Final vote on the allocation of company shares.

Oh no. He couldn’t get out of this one. If he let the board sell the company shares, he’d never regain control of his company and they’d go right back to weapons manufacturing. And, most terrifying of all, his secretary Mrs. Arbogast would certainly kill him.

“Sorry, Steve, but I have to leave. It’s Mr. Stark. He has this meeting, it’s really urgent-”

Steve looked actually, literally like a kicked puppy. “Oh,” he said, sounding very small indeed. “If Tony needs you, then I guess you have to go.” He withdrew his hand from Tony’s and hung his head.

“But Steve, listen, about what you said-”

“No, forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything. You should go and be with Tony.”

Tony could have just kicked himself for ever having made Steve look that sad, but the urgent and continued beeping from his communicator said that now Pepper was getting on his case too, and it was time to leave before he ruined his company for good.

As he hurried out of the kitchen, clanging towards his office as fast as he could in the bulky armor, he looked back to see Steve who was staring down at the table and playing morosely with a paper napkin.

God, Tony had really messed this one up.

Steve was not moping. He was Captain America, hero of the people, and Captain America did not mope. He was simply in need of some quiet time… on his own… in the darkness…

Because Iron Man had the right to make his own decisions, Steve knew that. Iron Man had chosen Tony over Steve, and that was his right. Steve knew that he had to accept it, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

Still, as the weeks passed Steve didn’t feel any better. He tried to give Iron Man his space, and not to intrude on his personal life. The one bright spot in this sad situation was that at least he and Iron Man were still as effective as ever on missions together. On their way into battle, Iron Man would scoop Steve up and fly him overhead to asses the battlefield, and Steve’s heart would squeeze with fondness at being so close to his Shellhead.

But once the mission was done, Iron Man would disappear off… back to Tony, Steve thought sourly. And then Steve would see Tony swanning around the mansion like he didn’t have the best fella in the world waiting for him. Steve would never leave Iron Man hanging like that.

As if that wasn’t enough, Tony had Iron Man off on personal missions all the time - Stark Industries business was all he would say - and Steve and the rest of the Avengers were never invited on those missions. He tried not to fret, but Steve worried about Iron Man facing who knows what dangers alone.

Steve’s worries came to a head when Iron Man was sent to investigate the Serpent Society’s secret lair, and after a couple of hours he stopped checking in. There was nothing but horrible silence and sticky hisses over the communication channel.

It could be anything. Iron Man’s communicator could simply have been damaged, or he could be in a shielded room. Still, Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He resolved to go and find Tony - he didn’t much like talking to him, but he’d be glad to be able to check up on Iron Man.

But something strange was afoot. Tony wasn’t in his office, or in his workshop, and he didn’t respond to Pepper or Mrs. Arbogast’s messages either. Steve recruited Vision and the the twins to help him search the mansion, but with no success. By the time Steve had looked everywhere he could think of, both Iron Man and Tony had been missing for four hours and Steve was sliding into full blown panic.

Where was Shellhead? Was he hurt? Had Tony taken him somewhere? Why wasn’t he on his comms? Steve was approaching fully distraught when finally, a faint but familiar voice came over the comms system.

“... Avengers? Do you read? This is Tony Stark.”

“I’m here,” Steve enunciated into the comm system’s microphone, brisk and professional. “What happened? Where are you?”

Tony took a deep breath and forced his heart rate to slow. It was going to be alright now that he had Steve to help.

“I’m okay,” he said, not entirely truthfully. “I got captured by the Serpent Society. It turns out that these snakes have better hearing than most. They took my communicator and locked me in the basement, but I found an old ham radio and built a basic comms system.”

He heard Steve inhale through his nose. “And Iron Man? Is he with you?” he asked, a little pointedly. “He’s been missing for hours too.”

Shit. There was really no other way to explain where Iron Man was. “Uh - yes - Iron Man is. Uh. Right here.”

“I want to talk to him.”

“Now isn’t a great time, Cap.”

“I need to know that he’s okay.”

“I can assure you, he’s fine-”

“I want to talk to Iron Man right now, Mr. Stark.”

Tony rolled his eyes. God, Steve could be stubborn. “Fine,” he snapped, and stomped over to the corner of the room where he’d stashed his armor. He pulled on the helmet to modulate his voice and the boots to give his steps the right sound, and clanked back to the ham radio.

“Hi, Winghead.”

“Shellhead!” Steve’s voice immediately warmed. “Boy, am I glad to hear from you. Is everything okay with you?”

“We’ll be fine. I’m sure we can find our way out of here soon, but I need your help.”

“Anything you need, buddy.”

“I need you to pull out the plans of the Serpent Society’s not-so-top-secret lair that I drew up after our last encounter. It’s like a maze down here, so you’re going to have to guide us out.”

“I can do that.” Steve’s voice was firm and confident. “I’ll get the plans. Wait just a moment… and make sure Mr. Stark doesn’t do anything stupid in the mean time.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his brow, even though he couldn’t feel it through the faceplate. “Tony isn’t a total idiot, you know.”

He heard Steve huff. “If you say so. I’m going to find the plans - I’ll be right back.”

Tony heard Steve walk away, and he looked around to assess his situation once more. The basement he was in was cold and dark, deep below ground, and his captors had stripped him of his communicator and the few tools he had stashed in compartments in the armor. They had disabled the repulsors on his gauntlets and boots too… with hammers, by the look of it. Ugh, that was going to be a pain to fix. But they’d left him with the suit to wear, so at least he wasn’t naked.

It could, he thought with a wry smile, be worse.

It was going to be a challenge to find his way out though. He hadn’t been exaggerating to Steve - the compound was massive, and sprawling, and almost certainly full of whimsical snake pits should he make a wrong move. These people sure did love their snakes.

Thankfully, Tony heard Steve hurrying back to the communications desk. “I’ve got the plans,” he announced. “Now tell me everything you can remember about how you got to your current location.”

Steve frantically scribbled notes as Iron Man described the path that he and Tony had been led down when they were caught by the Serpents, and the view that they could currently see from the basement they were in. Eventually Steve managed to narrow down their location to sublevel 3B, marked on the map he was holding as an auxiliary storage area.

He identified the nearest exit that was likely to be unguarded, and plotted a route to take Iron Man and Tony safely there. There was just one small problem…

“Uh, Shellhead?”

“Yes?”

“Some of these routes you’re going to have to take - they’re pretty tight. Can you squeeze down a ventilation shaft that’s half a meter wide?”

Deep sighing from over the comms.

“Sure I can. I’ll manage.”

“And what about Tony? He’s probably not in the best shape.”

A little huff of offense. “Tony will manage just fine as well.”

Steve was distracted for a moment by the thought of Iron Man and Tony, squeezed together in a tight space, breath heaving, not an inch of air between them…

He wrenched his thoughts back to the mission at hand. Looking down at the map, he informed Iron Man where to find the grate for the ventilation system from the room he was in, and he heard a series of clanging and scraping sounds that indicated Shellhead was pulling himself up into the vents.

“Okay, I’m in. Tell me which way to go.”

“And Tony? How is he doing?” Steve might not have been a fan of the man, but it was still his job to protect civilians in danger.

More sighing over the line, and Steve heard a faint “Here you go, Mr. Stark, just take my hand,” as Iron Man banged around the ventilation shaft. When they were ready, Steve started directing them through the maze of shafts running through the compound.

They made good progress, until Steve spotted a corridor ahead that was marked on the map with jagged squiggly lines. He asked Iron Man to drop out of the vent and investigate.

“Urgh.” Iron Man sounded displeased. “There are… I’m not sure how to describe… there are giant garbage mashers in this corridor.”

“Garbage mashers?!”

“Yes, big heavy weights which slam down from the ceiling onto the floor every two seconds. You know, traditional evil lair stuff.”

Steve paused. “Ahh.” He investigated the plan of the base more carefully. “Okay!” he brightened. “Good news. There’s an override switch to turn off the mashers.”

“Phew.” Iron Man sounded relieved. Perhaps he had been worried about leading Tony through the stomping danger of the mashers.

“The override switch is near where you entered this room. It’s an ongoing switch though, so you’ll have to hold it down while Tony crosses to the other side of the room. Then there’s another override switch that he can hold down to let you pass.”

“Oh.” Iron Man sounded less than enthused about this plan. It should be easy, with Tony there to hold down the switch while Iron Man crossed the room. But Iron Man was so uncertain. Why? Was he worried about Tony freaking out? Was he feeling guilty about putting his employer in danger? Or maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to risk anything happening to his boyfriend…

It wasn’t like Iron Man to be uncertain about anything when it came to missions. His relationship with Tony must have been really affecting his judgment, and that made Steve worry more than anything else.

“... Shellhead? You got this? You just need to hold down the switch while Tony crosses. It’ll be safe and easy, I promise.”

Eventually, after a long pause, he heard Iron Man say, “Alright, Cap, let’s do this,” in a firm tone.

Tony looked down the room at the row of vicious garbage mashers, each one rising slowly to the ceiling before slamming to the floor with tremendous force. He looked longingly at the override switch by the door, but that was of no use to him on his own.

He was just going to have to toughen up and face this.

Each masher took about two seconds between rising from the floor and slamming back down. It was just about enough time for him to squeeze through, as long as he kept his head.

Deep breaths, he reminded himself.

“It’s going to be easy,” Steve’s voice soothed over the comms.

Of course it is, Tony thought with gritted teeth. No problem at all.

“Is Mr. Stark ready?” Steve inquired politely.

With a sardonic raise of his eyebrows, Tony pulled up his faceplate to speak in his natural voice. “I’m here and I’m ready, Captain.”

“Alright, then as soon as you’re ready - go!”

Tony spared one last longing look at the override switch before steadying himself. He gauged the rhythm of the first masher: SLAM, one two, SLAM, one two, SLAM; and at the right moment he threw himself under the masher, rolling to safety on the other side just before the heavy weight smashed into the floor behind him.

Great, thought Tony. One down, only seven to go.

“You’re doing great, Shellhead!” Steve’s voice called over the comms. Not that Steve could see or tell what was going on, but Tony appreciated the vote of confidence anyway. With his heart in his mouth, he threw himself beneath each of the massive crushing blocks and rolled underneath before they could drop and crush him.

By the time he made it to the other side of the room, Tony’s chest was heaving and his whole body danced and buzzed with adrenaline.

“I made it!” he announced joyously over the comms.

“Oh.” Steve’s reply seemed taken aback. “That’s good, Shellhead. And what about Tony? Is he safe too?”

God, right, shit, he was supposed to be protecting Tony. He centered himself, flipped up his faceplate, and used his natural voice. “We’re all good here, Cap! Now, where to next?”

Steve felt some of his tension unwind as they worked their way through the mission. He was leading Iron Man and Tony closer and closer to the exit - surely they’d reach safety soon.

In between, they’d had to deal with booby traps, false floors, rope swings, giant boulders rolling down tight corridors, and the inevitable snake pits. Steve guided them through each one with patience and care, and it was almost nice to know that there were some villains out there who still appreciated the classic principles of evil lair design.

There were times when Iron Man seemed distracted - Steve worried that having Tony there was messing with his ability to stay on mission - but despite the awkwardness when Steve had to talk to Tony, to his surprise he had to admit that the three of them made a pretty good team.

He still felt a pang of jealousy every time he heard Iron Man panting, short of breath as he waited with care for Tony to catch up with him. What would it be like to have Iron Man show that much worry for him? To know that wherever he went, Iron Man would be there, watching over him?

But now was not the time for that. Right now, Steve had a mission: get his teammates home safe.

(Yes, even Tony, his subconscious sense of duty helpfully reminded him. He is technically a member of the team too.)

He guided Tony and Iron Man until they were almost at the exit. Iron Man was starting to sound wheezy, like he was struggling, and Steve’s heart squeezed with guilt that he wasn’t there to help in person. But at least now they were approaching safety.

Before they reached the exit, there was just one more obstacle: the anaconda pit. Marked as an inconspicuous circle on the map, Steve had a feeling that the reality would be less benign.

“Can you see it?” he asked, trying to disguise the concern in his voice.

“The giant swampy pit full of giant slithering monsters?” Iron Man conveyed weary pragmatism even through the modulator. “Yup, I can see it.”

Tony surveyed the gaping hole in the floor before him, the exit door tantalizingly out of reach beyond it. Just this one final obstacle to clear, and he could get out of this tedious dungeon of cliches.

“It’s going to be easy,” Steve’s voice carried soothingly over the comms. “You and Tony just need to work together!”

Oh joy, thought Tony resignedly. That was sure to go swimmingly.

The pit was about five meters wide, with the sloshing sound of anacondas moving through water emanating from its depths. Tony deliberately avoided look down as he sized up the route to the other side.

“Iron Man, I want you to help Tony across first. Get him to run towards the edge, then you lift his as he jumps. Between the two of you, he’ll make it across no problem. Then he can catch you from the other side when you jump. Okay?”

Steve sounded infuriatingly chirpy. Tony gritted his teeth and did his best to sound nonchalant. “Sure, Cap, that’ll be no problem.”

He glanced behind him, but he knew that the door he had come through only lead to more underground tunnels. The way out was forward, and that meant going over the pit. With his repulsors disabled, his only hope was to jump and hope for the best.

He moved back to get as big a run up as he could, and threw himself into as much of a run as he could in the ungainly suit. With a tremendous clang, he launched himself from the edge of the pit towards the door.

There was a moment as he sailed through the air, just a moment, where he thought he was going to make it clean to the other side. But then he was falling, far too hard, far too fast, and it was all he could do to reach out and catch the far edge of the pitch with his fingertips. His feet scrabbled uselessly at the side of the pit as the anacondas slithered and hissed beneath him.

His fingers screamed with pain, but he just had to pull himself up-

“You okay there, Shellhead?” Steve sounded worried.

Tony scrabbled more and kicked desperately, trying to find purchase in the rock. “Yep, all good!” He heaved in a breath. “I’m doing just fine! Give me… just.. one second...”

With the last of his strength he managed to heave himself up onto the floor at the far side of the pit, rolling safely onto the packed earth in front of the exit door. For a moment he laid still and simply breathed, listening to the disappointed hiss of the anacondas that were going to go hungry tonight.

“Iron Man? Iron Man, respond. Shellhead!”

“I’m here,” Tony wheezed. “We made it. We’re okay.” He looked up at the door. “I think I can make it outside of the base from here. Then you’ll be able to pick up the signal from Mr. Stark’s subcutaneous tracker.”

“You put a tracker on your boyfr- on your employer? Why am I not surprised.” Steve sounded fond though. “You need a ride? I’ll ready a Quinjet to pick you up as soon as we pinpoint your location.”

Tony was dragging himself through the door and up the steps, when he looked down at the power gauge on the chestplate. Uh oh. The power level was hovering at around 1%.

Tony pushed his way outside, finally freeing himself into a frigid grassy field. The weight of the suit pulled him down, exhaustion and cold hitting him hard.

“Uhh, Winghead, about that ride? Do you think you could, uhh, hurry, maybe? That would be real nice-”

With that, he passed out face first into the grass.

Steve was out of the communications room and into a Quinjet the moment that the signal of Tony’s tracker pinged his location. Iron Man wasn’t answering the home made comms system any more, and Steve could only guess what had happened to him.

At least Tony’s signal was coming through strong and clear, which meant that he at least was alive and findable. After all the cruel things that Steve had said and thought about Tony, he sure was glad to have his tracking technology on hand. And, now he thought about it, the plane he was currently flying in had been a gift from Tony too. And so had the uniform that he was wearing, and the house that he’d made his home.

Steve chewed over the thought as he flew. He’d been selfish with his feelings for Iron Man, he could see that now. Hearing Tony and Iron Man work together, he’d realized that it wasn’t fair for him to stand in the way if they wanted to be together. And Iron Man was such a great guy, if he saw something worthwhile in Tony, then Steve really should have tried harder to see it too.

All he wanted was for Iron Man to be safe and cared for and happy. And if being with Tony was what it took to make that happen, then Steve wasn’t going to stand in the way.

Even if it broke his heart a little bit, the only thing that mattered was making sure that Iron Man was safe.

Tony heard the vague impression of movement above him, of rustling sounds and a low, familiar voice.

“I’ve got you, Shellhead. Don’t worry. I’ll take you home.”

Tony relaxed into the lull of unconsciousness again. Steve was here. Steve would look after him and everything would be okay.

When Tony’s eyes flickered open again, he found that he was lying on a sofa in the mansion’s library, armor still on and chestplate recharging. He could feel the gentle thrum of electricity feeding his chestplate and restoring his strength.

He turned his head to see that Steve was sat next to him. Steve looked absolutely wretched. He was slumped in the chair next to Tony’s sofa and he was twisting his uniform gloves in his hands, eyes downcast.

“I’m so sorry about Tony. I thought he would be there with you, but he gave his tracker to you, didn’t he? And he stayed behind. That was a very selfless thing that he did.”

Tony’s head spun. Err, what? Oh, right, the tracker… the tracker that Tony Stark had implanted… the tracker that Steve had followed to Iron Man. Oh dear.

But Steve seemed too busy berating himself to notice. “I should have been there. I thought… I thought with the two of you there together, you’d be okay. But now Tony is still in the hands of those awful villains and it’s my fault for not giving you better information.”

Tony pushed himself onto his elbows, the mesh of his armor digging in to his arms. “I have to say, I’m surprised to hear you care about his safety. I thought you couldn’t stand Mr. Stark.”

Steve looked, if possible, even more distressed. “It’s not like that! Tony is one of us, a real Avenger, and if I’ve been cold to him it was just because… well, it was because I was jealous.”

Tony flinched back in surprise. That didn’t make sense. Why would Steve, human perfection incarnate, feel jealous of a schlub like him? “What reason would you have to be jealous of him? You’re ten times the man he’ll ever be.”

Steve looked up, a flash of hope appearing on his face before it was quickly washed away by guilt. “I was jealous of you and him. Jealous that you two are together, than he had you… and I didn’t.” The last part was spoken in almost a whisper.

Tony’s mind whirred. “You think… Mr. Stark and me? Are… together? Jesus, Steve, no, it’s not like that.”

Steve perked up, suddenly more engaged. “You’re not? You mean, you’re single?” He stopped himself sharply. “But that doesn’t matter now. Tony is still in terrible danger, and it’s all my fault.”

Steve hung his head, and looking at him, Tony was hit with the realization that there was only one thing he could do. He steadied himself. “Actually, Cap, Tony’s just fine. He’s right here, in fact.”

Steve stared at him uncomprehendingly.

Do or die time, Tony thought. He unclasped the clips holding his helmet in place and carefully removed it. He looked up at Steve through eyes that weren’t hidden behind a faceplate. “Hi, Winghead,” he said softly.

Steve’s jaw dropped, and Tony could almost see the gears furiously working in his brain. “You mean.. you… Tony, it’s you? You’re Iron Man?”

Tony felt a pang of guilt for deceiving Steve for so long. It had somehow seemed like a good idea at the time. ���Surprise!” he tried, weakly.

Steve opened his mouth and shut it several times. Eventually, his face settled into a lopsided smile. “Hi, Shellhead,” he said with warmth.

“So, now we’ve established that there’s no imminent danger and that I am, erm, definitely single…” He gave a shy smile. “How about we have that dinner date you mentioned?”

Steve leveled a contemplative gaze at him, and Tony’s heart hammered beneath the chestplate. After a painfully long pause, Steve raised a curious eyebrow. “How do you feel about fondue?”

Tony felt himself break into a massive, toothy grin. “Fondue sounds perfect.”

[addcests]

mocha and mustaches in may

INJECTS ESPRESSO SHOTS DIRECTLY INTO MY BLOODSTREAM im so sorry it’s been months life i s  ha  r d 

ALSO THANK @cnrb FOR THEIR ART OF MY FIC IT GAVE ME SOME MOTIVATION TO FINISH WHEN I WAS RLY DISCOURAGED

title grande or venti [ao3]  chapter chapter 3 mocha and mustaches in may [ao3] pairing LPMM (slow burn?) words 2278 summary A newcomer disrupts Mastermind’s baristia routine. The newcomer falls asleep... again.

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SPECIAL OF THE DAY: Caffè Mocha

We combine our rich, full-bodied espresso with bittersweet mocha sauce and steamed milk, then top it off with sweetened whipped cream. The classic coffee drink to satisfy your sweet tooth.

. . .

Psyker had had a long day.

He could recall a certain someone nagging him in the back of his head about not juggling the course load he was taking currently, but it was only days like these that he’d actually heeded said nagging. Psyker brought up a hand to the side of his neck, rubbing at it wearily as if pressing against the skin would massage away the tiredness blurring the edges of his vision. As he walked along, he contemplated hitting up the gym, as he would most days but at the moment he just couldn’t muster the strength to even think about all the repetitions he’d push himself to do. Instead, he found himself before a familiar see through door, windows covered with well-placed ads of new coffees and pastries.

He exhaled a soft breath, watching the door fog up from the puff of warm air. A smile made its way to his face as he reached for the door’s handle, nudging it open gently as he was welcomed with the equally familiar jingle of a bell’s tune, greeted and wrapped in the warmth and cozy atmosphere that he knew only this café could provide.

And as much as he would rag on about coffee to Mastermind, the smell of the grinded beans was almost therapeutic. The rich and smooth flavors’ scent filling his nose were so bold that he swore he felt a little more pep in his step from the smell alone—coffee be damned.

Entering the coffee shop was his favorite, taking in the smells, the sounds and meshing in a ball of chilled, relaxing aesthetics.

—why, if only his roommate could hear him now.

He shook that scary thought from his head as he proceeded onto the next favorite part about visiting the shop; the entire reason he’d visit in the first place. (Lately, anyway.)  

“No, as I said before, that drink is without coffee. But I can add coffee if you’d like, for an additional charge.”

Or, perhaps, it’d be better to say not what he came to the shop for but for whom he came to the shop for. Right on cue, Psyker picked up on the blatant lack of patience he heard laced in Mastermind’s voice the first time they had met. It seemed to happen without fail, the annoyance prickling and dripping in each syllable of his far too done voice on almost any given shift Mastermind had.  

He felt sorry for the poor thing.

“No! … no,” he could hear Mastermind trying to restrain his voice. “No, we do not offer these drinks in the trenta size.” Psyker forced back a chuckle, listening to Mastermind try, once again, to come off as less of a… well, asshole losing any remaining patience.

In any case, it was days like these that—when Mastermind was busy with the unfortune of having difficult customers and when Psyker was feeling a little worn—he was happy to simply find himself an unoccupied table, somewhere that would be in Mastermind’s line of sight lately—and sit there, not wanting to further stress him.

He placed an elbow on the table, using it to prop up his chin and gaze aimlessly at the sea of people around him.

Normally, Psyker didn’t find the appeal of just sitting around and doing nothing—but when it was here, just sitting around wasn’t as novel as he thought but the weary Psyker found his opinion changing as of late. Itching to be productive, the atmosphere was great for getting busy. He could get work done too, free from distractions at home. However, by the time he assessed what it was he needed to do, he pulled off his puffy red and black winter jacket that he bundled himself in and placed it down on the table, folding it to make a makeshift pillow.

It wasn’t the first time that the shop’s soft beats over the radio, mixed with the mindless white noise of people chattering, had lulled him to close his eyes a bit and just rest.

Psyker’s final thought that crossed his mind was how it was ironic he could still find the café quaint enough to fall asleep in, despite Mastermind’s irritated voice fading into the background until sleep had claimed him.

>>> 

When Psyker finally woke from his slumber, the first thing he noticed was that his neck and back hurt and felt stiff, and that thought was then followed by the fact that he was drooling into his jacket, which meant he wasn’t using his pillow. Which meant he wasn’t in his bed at home.

The next thing Psyker noticed was that, upon realizing he was not at home, he jolted awake to find that he was in the little chair in the now quiet, and empty, café that Mastermind worked at.

Mastermind…

“—shit!” He cursed under his breath, because this was the second time he’s done this now to Mastermind. What time was it even? He rubbed at his heavy eyelids, forcing them to open as he peered down at his way too bright phone screen, cursing again as he fumbled with it to turn down the brightness only to drop it in his haste. Quickly, he lunged for it only to come short when he saw long limbs blocking his way.

“Hey, careful. You’re going to ruin the drink I just made you.” Mastermind glanced down then quickly averted his gaze to the tray he was carrying, steadying it.

Meanwhile, Psyker tried his best to calm his beating heart, thumping from jolting out of his sleep suddenly but also from the shock of Mastermind appearing out of nowhere before him. “You scared me!” he whined aloud.

Mastermind ignored Psyker’s outburst and placed the tray on the table, then easily bent down to where Psyker was, rolling his eyes as he simply picked up Psyker’s still too bright phone and offered it to him. “You dropped this,” Mastermind snarked, lips quirked up in a smile now.

Psyker could tell that hidden behind that smile, Mastermind was trying to force down a smirk, especially with the amount of sass he could detect in his voice, as if he were trying to mute a laugh that threatened to spill over. “Gee, thanks.” And then he made a face, something akin to playful annoyance because it wasn’t as if he couldn’t get his own phone! So, he voiced that.

Mastermind picked up on his sour face and a small chuckle slipped passed his lips as he turned his head the other way, feigning as if he hadn’t just laughed. But Psyker totally noticed. “That so? Well, you didn’t. I am trying to clean up and close, you know.”  

It wasn’t hard to hear the playful tone Mastermind was chastising him with, considering how late it must have been and that he was interrupting the process of closing down the shop. Again. “Oh… !” Psyker bit back a curse in the presence of Mastermind. “I didn’t mean t’ fall asleep again, I was, ya know, just waiting.” He ducked his head, mumbling under his breath as he explained.

Mastermind seemed taken aback by the sudden genuine reply Psyker offered but it was true! Psyker noticed Mastermind fidgeted a bit before slowly replying, “I know, I saw you, but it was really busy today… I appreciate you stopping by though!”

Psyker looked up from his defeat somewhat timidly, meeting Mastermind’s gaze and upon the words sinking, he positively beamed at the barista’s response, the corners of his lips tugging up just a bit that he was sure would not go unnoticed.

The way Psyker lit up seemed to throw Mastermind off as he fidgeted once again, holding eye contact with him until he began to fidget again, eyes averting from Psyker’s and smiling, albeit a bit awkwardly, in return.

The exchange between the two fumbling males was every bit of awkward both sides felt it to be. Why? They weren’t sure themselves, probably, and Psyker certainly was unsure but because it felt so they found themselves smiling in the companionable smile despite one another and themselves. In fact, a small laugh surfaced, escaping from Mastermind, each one light and bubbly, without any embarrassment. This seemed to dispel the slightly awkward tension the two were holding onto, as he tried to look Psyker in the eye once again. “Hey now, don’t let another one of my perfect drinks go cold on you.” Gingerly, he sat the tray opposite of Psyker’s belongings that were scattered rather haphazardly on the table, choosing to bite back a comment on the mess. “You look like you could use it on the trek home.”  

Psyker seemed to snap out of his trance as well, eyes trailing Mastermind’s movements as he placed the drink before him. “Hoh, what’s it today?”

“Just a mocha, not too many shots though because coffee this late isn’t a smart idea.” Mastermind paused for effect, “And because I wouldn’t want to offend the coffee-hater.”

Now Psyker’s lips pulled into a smirk of playful rebelliousness as he offered Mastermind a toothy grin. “Coffee tastes horrible.” Despite saying so, he pulled the cup to his lips and before taking a sip murmured, “you’ll never let that go huh?”

There was no verbal response. And there was no need. All the barista did was shift his weight on one leg, crossing both his arms over his chest as he offered the coyest smile Psyker had ever seen on the male yet. Still silent, he wore an upturned smile, not kind but instead playful with how he raised his eyebrows while tilting his chin up with just the right amount of defiance to still come off as teasing. All of this to suggest just what Psyker had said earlier—that there was no way he’d let this go.

Psyker’s heart jumped to his throat, just a little.

… particularly, because the jump-starting smirk Mastermind gave—was still giving him damnit—just a few mere seconds ago was now being replaced by quivering lips, forcing back an obviously muffled laugh as he bit down on his lips to stop the sound from escaping.

Unsure of what could possibly be so funny in such a short span of time, Psyker bristled just a little. “A-and jus’ what’s so funny?!”

Mastermind tilted his head the other way, hardly trying much at all to hide his laughter at this point.

“Well! What is it?”

Still, Mastermind would not yield, refusing to answer him.

“Have I somethin’ on my face… ?” Because that was the sneaking suspicion that Psyker was getting what with how Mastermind was now staring at what felt like his face. (And given how he could hardly hold eye contact earlier, he was like almost one hundred percent sure.) Suddenly feeling self-conscious, he swatted at his face and then placed a hand to his cheek, holding it there.

“N-not there!” Mastermind murmured out between chuckles hidden behind his hand.

Not there on his cheek, Psyker figured, so he moved his hand across his face towards his mouth and—he blinked because, “really? Whipped cream?” Psyker ran his tongue across part of his upper lip and tasted more of the vanilla sweetened substance.

After what seemed like forever to the slightly red Psyker, Mastermind ceased his laughing fit enough to finally speak. He stood upright, shaking his head, “I’d only put a small dollop, unlike the kids who wants a whole handful helping of the stuff, but still you managed to get a cream-stache.”

Whatever taunting reply Psyker had in mind was interrupted by the rough vibrations of his phone against the table nearest them. “Oh?” His eyes grew wide when he realized, again, what time it was and that it was probably his roommate wondering where the hell he was. Mentally, he cursed. A lot. “This is becoming a really bad habit,” he mumbled offhandedly, more so to himself than to Mastermind.

At first, Psyker couldn’t tell if Mastermind was offended, upset, or confused. Or all three. Before Mastermind could jump in, he decided it’d be best to clarify, “My staying late. I mean, it’s not bad. For you!” Psyker stumbled over his words and inhaled, taking a quick sip of the mocha he’d been holding. Licking his lips he tried again, “I don’t mean to keep holding ya up like this. It’s…”

… just so nice to be around someone like you.

Psyker didn’t feel so bold with those choice of words, syllables dying on his lips as he suddenly felt self-conscious and nervous again, but for different reasons than earlier.

Again, Mastermind looked like he wanted to jump in to speak, but this time he refrained, eyes darting down. Pensive or upset, Psyker was at a lost to differentiate the two.

“It’s just a lot of fun you know.” Psyker tried again, cutting through Mastermind’s silence, this time offering a lopsided smile and nudging Mastermind gently to catch his attention in hopes of getting him to look up again. “You’re a pretty great guy.”

Fidgeting Mastermind finally stopped to look up at Psyker. There was some hesitation, but a smile graced his features eventually. “You’re not bad yourself, Psyker.”

“Thanks.”

“… for a coffee-hater anyway.”

They shared a knowing look, one of inside jokes and laughs.

Psyker found that, despite the nickname being true, it was really starting to grow on him.