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sylverstorms · 3 years

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Miss Fortune x Reader ----Salt-Crusted Heart

For an easier read, head to Ao3.

Another day. Another hunt for a fetter.

Feels like this is your life now, your present and your future. It feels like this war against the ever-spreading mist and Viego will never end. Your days as a trainee Sentinel, where the tough schedule of the Academy was your only problem, seem so far away now it’s like they belong in a dream. Like that was a different you.

And it was, wasn’t it.

That ‘you’ hadn’t ever slashed at anything other than a training dummy. Now you’re out here –with a very dysfunctional crew of lunatics— fighting mist monsters.

Said dysfunctional crew is, once again, arguing amongst themselves on which way you’re supposed to be headed next. Everyone’s got their own opinion and somehow it never matches with anyone else’s. You don’t even know how they manage that.

It takes a few light years for the majority to agree you’re heading to Bilgewater.

By the time you Wayfinder them there, you’re not surprised that all you see is darkness and sickly green mist. Half the world has gone to shit already and you’ve come to terms with that. More or less. Probably less.

“Wow.” you say as you take in the ghostly-looking town ahead of you and the armada of ships at the port below, blocking this side of the island off completely. Not that there’s a lot to block because the place is a ravaged hellhole anyway.

The environment has this wrecked, haunted vibe that would be super interesting to see in a movie with an apocalypse theme. Perhaps not so much on an actualapocalypse, though.

“Likin’ the view?” Graves asks, the corner of his lips sealed over his cigar.

“No, it was more of a ‘this is so much worse than I could have imagined’ type of wow.” you explain.

“It really is.” Riven agrees.

“Funny thing; the mist ain’t changed it all that much.” Graves laughs.

“Hey. Focus.” Lucian chastises. This guy, you’re convinced, is allergic to lightening the mood. He’s also not someone you dare say this to. “See that?” he points at the sea, to the massive ship there, towering over the rest.

You’re so focused on its fine craftsmanship and the little details you keep finding the longer your eye remains on it, you miss his point entirely, at first. Then you blink and look closer –at the thin, telltale trail of green-black smoke floating upwards from its deck.

There’s no mistaking it; a fetter is on that vessel.

“Now, listen up, everybody. Big Ol’ Graves is a legend around these parts, so my name will get us on that beauty. But. People here can be a bit… unfriendly towards new faces.” he begins. “Let’s not walk up there like an attack force and end up riddled with holes, ye?”

“Good idea.” you nod.

“Rookie, Graves, you’re heading up first.” Lucian motions with his chin.

“Bad idea.” you comment, but his skewering glare has you agreeing with the plan the same second.

“Signal if you need help.” Senna adds.

Graves only laughs heartily and grabs your uniform with his large hands, pulling you along. You know you won’t like what you hear when he leans down and whispers to you:

“We won’t have time to signal if they decide we’re not worth listening to but let’s not tell them that, Rook.”

“That’s… just what I needed to hear.” you grimace.

“Ha! Which means you’re goin’ up first. Chances are they won’t instantly shoot your pretty face off.”

“Wait… what about that ‘my name will get us up there, no trouble’?” you ask.

“Hah! That was just to impress Vayne, kiddo. My name is far more likely to get us killed in these parts.” he laughs but you don’t. “Did she look impressed?”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, she didn’t, mate.” Nothing has ever moved Vayne other than when she kills monsters in a particularly violent way.

“Ah, shit. Maybe next time.”

Yeah, if there is a next time.

Your chances aren’t looking good as soon as you step onto that deck and every weapon imaginable is suddenly shifted to you.

…

Graves tells you to put your ‘social skills’ into good use. You are not aware that was one of your talents, so it’s probably more of his bullshit. Either way, death by a thousand bullets gives you a solid motivation to turn the charm on and talk.

“Gentlemen, I’m sure we can all come to an agreement here. No need for all that firepower.” you say, totally not sweating at all underneath your white jacket. “You have something that we need and I’m sure we can negotiate a profitable deal for everyone.”

Jackpot. Bounty hunters want money more than anything. And there is not a sweeter sound to their ears than the promise of wealth. Even if you’re just talking nonsense to save your ass.

“If I could just speak to the captain—”

“The captain is listening.” a commanding voice says from up ahead. Some of the crew members part to let her through…

And.

You see a vision in this nightmare.

The woman that walks forward stands out like fire over water, like stark color on Bilgewater’s salt-washed palette. Maybe it’s the vivid red of her flowing hair, stark against the gold-trimmed black of her hat, or the emerald green of her eyes, or the way she holds herself, a queen on this deck. Whatever the reason, you cannot tear your gaze off of her.

Tongue-tied at the moment, you let Graves do the talking. Big mistake.

The goddess’ visage darkens when she sees your company, who she addresses in a less than pleasant tone: “Look what washed in with the tide. Malcolm Goddamn Graves.” You wouldn’t want that glare directed at you, ever.

“Fortune? Ah, hells, naw.” he curses. “What are ya doin’ here? How did ya get a whole damn fleet a’ warships?”

“A lot has changed since we last met. Fools around here decided to challenge me for control over Bilgewater. I locked this place down until we can resolve this inconvenience.” she says, like cutting off half the freaking island is not a big issue.

The sound of her heels on the wooden floor is downright ominous as she approaches. Her eye scans you lightning-quick, then the entirety of her attention is on Graves. The very next second…

A blunderbuss pistol is pointing right to your face, same as his.

“Whoah.” you gasp.

“What’s Gankplank paying you?!” she demands.

“I ain’t workin’ for that bastard! I ain’t even on speakin’ terms with his orange-eatin’ ass! Ya know that!”

“What I know is you came onto my deck with fancy new equipment and a whole team of mercenaries at your back. You know, just in case you thought you were being subtle, in all that silver and white sticking out in Bilgewater like a sore thumb.” She has a point. “That getup isn’t cheap and there’s only one cretin around here with that kind of coin. Now tell me what he’s planning, of you’ll be smoking that cigar through a new hole.”

“Um –ma’am? He’s telling the truth.” You almost regret speaking up when her piercing stare lands on you. “And we’re not mercenaries. We’re Sentinels of Light.” you add.

“You put on a convincing performance, cutie.” she says.

In any other scenario, a goddess like that calling you cute would make you blush. But the gun still very much in your face makes it difficult to really register the word.

“Like you’ve never heard of the ‘Saltwater Scourge’, ‘Reaver King of the High Seas’… ‘Scum-sucking Hagfish Who Takes All You Ever Cared About’…”

Oh, okay. So, she’s got a screw loose as well.Not surprising considering the company you attract, lately.

“Nope. Kiddo’s right, Sarah. They’re Sentinels, alright.” the very familiar voice of your boss, which normally doesn’t make you happy to hear, has the opposite effect now. Lucian walks up behind you to save the day.

“Lucian?” she asks, finally lowering her weapons. “…this is your crew?”

“Yep. And I’d appreciate it if you kindly refrained from killing them. Need about every gun we can get.” he replies.

“Follow me.” she says. “It seems we have a lot to discuss.”

…

Captain Fortune does not drive an easy bargain.

From what you hear later, she’s given Lucian a real hard time with negotiations. And even now, she’s the one who holds all the cards.

If you are to defeat Viego and make it clear to Bilgewater it was her who made it possible, she is willing to trade with the fetter and even let you stay on her ship in the meantime. Otherwise, if she gets the feeling it’s him who gains ground and holds the power in this place, you’re basically screwed.

The others are uneasy. They’ve suggested multiple times you steal the fetter from Fortune and dash for your lives after. Thing is, with how close she keeps that relic, that plan is looking impossible.

Which brings you to where you are right now, all the Sentinels and Miss Fortune gathered around the same map, planning your next action.

“Yes, but if I help you get there, what’s in it for me?” she asks.

And really, you don’t have anything to offer her in return. Even Lucian looks to Senna for help. Who, in turn, looks at you.

Why do they keep doing that? What have you done to convince these people you are good at talking? Especially to women like the captain.

“How about the… moral reward of helping save people from these monsters?” you suggest.

Her green eyes –and holy shit are they green— look at you like she wants to both scoff and laugh sardonically. “Tell me that is a joke.”

“It –it really isn’t.” you reply.

She huffs. “Look. I’m sure you’re all nice people. But nice people here get their throats cut.” She motions with her hand. “The cutthroats get the spoils. That’s how it works. I only care about the spoils.” she states. “So, if you want things from me and my crew, you need to make it worth our time.”

Their time sure isn’t cheap.

You know you don’t have anything at Headquarters with the kind of value she’s looking for. Definitely no coin and no gold for her services. But. You’ve heard multiple times during classes that the materials the Sentinel outfits are weaved from are extremely durable and therefore, extremely desirable.

“Would you and your crew be interested in a wardrobe overhaul?” you ask. All eyes are on you, but hers are the most intense. “Every prestigious fleet has to look the part, no? Plus, these clothes…” you say, grabbing the nearest knife and dragging it across your sleeve. The fabric is not so much as scratched. “…are pretty cool.” you tell her.

Miss Fortune leans back in her captain’s chair with a pretty smile painted on her –very attractive— lips.

“Now you’re talking my language, cutie. I’m sure we can work something out.”

…

On one hand, you have Gwen sewing day and night –your fault, you feel bad for it— while the rest of you handle the fighting. On the other, you do have a ship taking you wherever you need and making your job of clearing the darkness ten times faster.

Even Lucian has given you a pat on the back for that one. That was certainly unexpected.

“We need Fortune to take us here.” Senna points on the map. “Rookie, you go tell her.”

You almost choke on your water. “Why me?” you ask.

“Because you’re finally making yourself useful.” Lucian replies. Ouch.

“I’ve been very useful from the start!” you argue. The others look amongst themselves. “Hey!”

“I mean… points for effort.” Diana comments.

“Moral support is useful, I agree.” Riven smirks at you.

‘Asshole’ you mouth, rising from your seat. Her grin only widens.

You send them a narrowed, unimpressed look over your shoulder on your way out. Some of the crew members that see you walking towards the captain’s cabin whistle your way. You’re sure there’s tons of colorful comments behind your back but you have bigger things to worry about.

Like… the way a certain redhead looks leaned back in her plush chair, a queen on her throne, toying with a gold coin that flips over her nimble fingers with effortless ease. Focus on the mission. The mission, I say. Oh, Gods…

“I love how they send you in to ask for extra.” she says. “So. Are you the silver tongue of the group?” There’s something in her little smirk and the way she says ‘tongue’ that gets to you, but that’s probably just your vivid imagination.

That and the months you’ve spent without any outlet for your stress other than fighting, on top of more fighting.

“No, the others are just that terrible at basic social interactions.” It’s the truth.

Fortune gives a small chuckle. “Let’s see how good you are, then, Sentinel.”

You pleadwith your hopeless lesbian brain not to fry on the spot. “We sort of need you to get us further than discussed. While hoping that… the scenic route will be its own reward?”

“Cute.”

“Does that mean you’ll do it?” you perk up.

“No.”

“I’ll send Lucian here next time so he can bore you to death until you agree.” You never claimed to be above blackmail.

“A bold statement.” she replies. “Tell you what. If you demolish a few of my enemies’ ships during your hunt for the mist things, then deal.”

Sentinels aren’t supposed to do that. And if you tell Lucian, that will be his exact answer. You can already hear his unpleasant voice in your head. However, you’ve already figured out the world doesn’t work by the Sentinel Code, so…

“Accidents do happen on the battlefield.” you say.

Sarah gives you that slow smile that makes a certain part of you feel hot under your outfit. “And don’t bring any of the others in here to negotiate. I’d rather look at your pretty face.”

Uh.

Um.

By the time you exit the cabin, all you can think is, what just happened?

…

Combat is a rush, sometimes. As is knowing you’re getting stronger and faster by the day. You still don’t hold a candle to the rest of your group, but you can finally say you’re helping them out.

Being further up in the enemy’s face, though, is also petrifying. You see a twisted reflection of yourself in every mist wraith’s dead eyes. There are nightmares that come hand-in-hand with the experience… and then there’s physical pain.

You’ve been hurt before. Their talons can slice through even your magic-reinforced outfits. Still, every time feels worse than the last. The laceration you’re currently sporting on your side is burning like the fires of hell.

You’re trying not to scream by the time Riven lowers you onto the deck. Your vision is blurred with sweat and the tears you’re fighting to keep at bay.

“What’s going on here?” you hear Fortune’s voice in your haze.

“Tell me you have a healer on board!” Riven shouts.

“And they can get here fast!” Senna adds.

You’re not sure how much time passes. It feels like light years until someone kneels beside you and starts working on your wound. The healing magic pulls and sears at you. Every muscle in your body is taut with the effort to keep still.

“Isn’t …a healing spell supposed to numb the pain, first?” Diana asks.

“Look, blondie, I’m no professional here, ye? Just picked up a few things from mah old man. If ya wanna criticize, come here and do it yourself.” he answers. And it’s …not the best feeling in the world to hear your healer say that.

“No offense. Just worried for our teammate.” Senna adds. At least one of your bosses cares about your wellbeing.

The other just benches you for the next mission.

…

Out of all the people you expected to come see you while you’re recovering, Sarah Fortune is the last who came to mind. You’re almost shocked mute when the captain comes to sit on the edge of your bed, graceful and fluid as ever. Gorgeous as ever, too, while you’re sure you look pale as a ghost, eyes sunken as a shipwreck.

“Hey, Rookie.” she greets.

“Ah, great. That nickname’s never gonna come off, is it.” you roll your blue eyes.

“How’s the battle scar?”

“I’m not bleeding all over your fancy deck anymore, at least.” you say. “Guess I should be glad for that.” Although you are a bit frustrated that the ‘healer’s’ hand was so shaky there’s a scar left there now, permanently, when it could have been avoided. “And that the dude wasn’t drunk bad enough to stitch my organs to my skin.”

“Yeah, luckily he was only a little drunk.” she nods.

“That makes total sense for a healer. Who, from what I know from four years at the Academy, should always be sober.” you cannot keep it in any longer.

“That’s… a tall order here.” Yes, of course, the place is far too shitty for that.

“I gathered.”

“Come, now. Don’t be upset about the scar.” You’re upset about the pain that could have been avoided if the damn guy just didn’t drink his ass off in the middle of the day. “…Want me to kiss it better?”

You’re so far up your mind –filled with thoughts of being a dead weight on the team on top of your dead classmates because of Viego— you don’t even hear her. Your head is pounding from the pressure the memory causes you, a killer mix with the effect of the painkillers you’ve been on, all evening.

“I’ll be fine, thanks.” you reply, your voice hoarse and alien to your own ears.

…

You and Fortune talk a bit more on the two days you’re out of commission.

You learn a few things about her, like the fact you have a common interest in psychology. Like the fact you shouldn’t ever ask about her past or her family, unless you want her to close up tighter than a clam, at the speed of lightning. In the meantime, if it feels like she may be throwing more smirks your way than when she talks to anyone else, you blame that on your wishful thinking.

That woman is way out of your league.

It is one in the night and everyone on the ship is either well asleep or completely passed out from booze. You wake up from a nightmare, then fully register the way the ship is swaying from the angry waves. The resulting nausea has you completely losing the desire to fall back into the land of dreams.

You thought you’d be the only one awake when you walked up to the deck, yet you quickly realize that’s not the case when the sound of heels approaches from behind. You already know it’s her. The night breeze does a wonderful job of carrying her perfume straight to your nose. As if she wasn’t already fatally attractive without it.

You keep your eyes on the waves, so dark blue they look black.

“Oh, this is a surprise. Such a romantic soul, admiring the sea in the dead of night.” she says. The slight –sexy as fuck— slur to her words must have something to do with the bottle of whiskey in her hand.

“Yeah, my thoughts are not that deep.” you chuckle. “More like ‘fuck this constant motion under my feet’.”

She gives a small, airy exhale that could pass as a laugh, leaning on the railing next to you. Kind of close, too. “Ah and here I thought Sentinels didn’t swear.” she says. “And that they don’t drink. Unless you care to prove me wrong there, too.”

She takes a swing of the bottle and passes it to you. The smart part of your brain tells you it is a bad, bad idea. The rest of you is seduced by the promise of the buzz and the challenge in her eyes.

Well. Since you’re not really getting anywhere closer to where her lips are in anything other than your very private fantasies, you think may just take the chance for an indirect kiss that’s presented.

The gulp you take from the bottle –you intended a sip but the fucking ship moves so much— burns a trail down your throat and past your insides. You almost cough. How heavy is this thing?

“Ahem. So.” you begin. “What’s keeping you out late?”

“I have great company.” At first you think she means you, then you realize it’s the bottle that’s lucky. Hah, fell right into that one. “And… my cabin is very cold tonight.”

It’s really chilly, yeah, but it’s not that bad, you think. Maybe the two of you are just used to different climates, though. “I’m… sorry to hear that.” you reply.

“Well. Guess I should head in or it will never warm up by itself.” she says.

You nod and bid her goodnight, turning your eyes back to the inky waves. But then you feel her weight softly crash into your back, ample chest pressing against you, one of her hands on your waist and the other on the railing next to yours for support. Her lips are right by your ear, so close you feel them brush against the shell as she says:

“Oops.”

Then she’s gone, taking her extremely sexy perfume with her, while your stomach drops to the sea and sinks right to the very bottom. It takes a few moments to realize you’re still holding the railing so tightly your fingers have gone white.

What the…

You go back to bed trying not to think about whatever that was.

The next day, you have no idea why she’s not speaking to you at all, or why she doesn’t even look at you when she addresses the Sentinels, none-too-pleased with your progress.

…

When one of the crewmates tell you the captain has summoned you, you do a double take and ask if she really means you. Fortune has been in a weird mood towards you since that night, to say the least.

You are mentally braced for the worst when you enter her cabin. You’re already tired from fighting mist wraiths all morning and you don’t think you can handle whatever it is that’s going on with her at the moment.

Scratch that. You’re sure you can’t when she gets up from her seat, walking almost in a circle around you, like a shark. You lean back against the wooden surface of her desk, waiting. Cautious.

“Have I not been clear enough, all these days?” she asks, as if wondering out loud.

“Um…. excuse me?” you question back. Has the mist gotten to her? It has been known to cause strange behavior after prolonged exposure.

She’s at the door now, facing you without really looking at you and it makes you feel trapped. Your one escape is blocked. “You’re not from around here, so I thought it was best not to be… Bilgewater-forward.” she says. “On the other hand, I don’t think I’ve been that subtle?”

“…I’m. I’m not…sure I follow.” you speak, quietly.

“Do you really have no idea or are you just trying to be polite?” She finally looks into your eyes.

You shake your head ‘no’.

She licks her lips. “What, was I supposed to give you a formal letter inviting you to my cabin for sex the other night?” Your jaw, you think, hits the floor and shatters. Your whole body shivers and goes rigid. “If you don’t want to, just say it so I won’t wait around for nothing.”

You… don’t know what words are at the moment. The ground has disappeared and you’re a falling mess. It is the worst case of freezing on the spot you’ve ever experienced.

“That’s not… that’s not… the case.” you manage to say.

“Good to know.” she nods, casually, then strides up to you and grabs the front of your high-collared Sentinel jacket, bringing you lip-to-lip. “Is this clear enough for you?” she breathes against you.

It’s more than clear enough when her plump lips seal over yours, tasting of sweet-flavored lipstick and alcohol and sea-salt. In fact, it is clear like a nuclear bomb going off on the back of your head.

The heat wave burns down your stomach violently and it only gets worse when she pushes her tongue into your mouth, licking over yours, her hips practically straddling you with how tightly fitted you stand. Every movement of her mouth or her body echoes all the way down yours.

It’s beyond anything you could have ever conjured in your head, having her angle your chin however she wants it while her hips slowly rock against you. It’s almost too hard and too fast and too good –and you get too close.

But then—

A knock comes on the door.

“Captain?” someone asks from the outside and it’s both a blessing and a dark curse.

Sarah tries to catch her breath, every exhale tickling your ear. “One moment.” she calls over her shoulder, sounding every bit the captain she is, as if the past minutes where you were literally dry humping each other didn’t happen.

She pulls back from you with a satisfied little smirk at how wrecked you no doubt look, pulling your outfit straight. Her thumb wipes off the smudge of her lipstick on the corner of your mouth, then she goes to a nearby mirror to reapply hers.

When she walks back over to you, your knees shake at just the sight of her. You don’t know how you’ll ever calm down from this. Safe to say she’s ruined every kiss you’ve ever had or will have.

“My bedroom will be open to you tonight. Consider this your formal letter, yes?” her long fingers brush over your jawline, as she stalks back to her seat.

“Come in.” she calls, poker face on, sounding bored.

You make your escape as tactical –and dignified— as possible and don’t look back until you’re practically off the ship.

…

To say you are distracted for the rest of the hours until night completely settles over Bilgewater is an understatement. Your head is in the clouds and you have no idea what’s going on around you. The whole world could catch fire and all you’ll be thinking about is Fortune, Fortune, Fortune…

“What’s got you so quiet tonight, little Sentinel?” Riven asks.

Only the best damn kiss of your entire life. Plus the fact you’re living a dream and you don’t want to wake up. “Maybe I’m just trying to imitate Vayne. From now on you’ll hear my voice only when we kill stuff.”

“Ha, ha.” Vayne comments in typical Vayne style from her seat, hunched over her weapon and making calibrations.

“All I’ll say is, be careful.” the Noxian lowers her voice a bit, the words kept between the two of you.

“Of what?” you play dumb.

“Just in general.”

You don’t know what Riven suspects but you can’t really bring yourself to care. You’ve been through a lot these past months. You deserve to feel something good once in a while. Your love life is none of their business unless it interferes with their business, which it won’t because you’re sure this won’t mean anything beyond Fortune’s bedroom.

You wait until everyone on the ship is asleep and take a liquid courage boost to sneak to the captain’s cabin.

…

One knock. That is all your knuckles manage, one contact with the door, until it swings open and a familiar hand grabs at the front of your outfit, pulling you in.

You’re pressed back against it as soon as it shuts, crimson lips hot on yours before you can even think to say anything. Gods, is she always so insistent?You could melt into a wet puddle on the floor from the way she presses into you alone. This woman knows exactly what she wants and how to take it.

Somewhere in the back of your head you hear the sound of a lock turning.

“Took you long enough.” she whispers when you break apart.

Once again, whatever you were about to say is cut off by her tugging on the high collar of your jacket. She either has a thing for it or for pulling you around in general, you think. No complains, whatever the case.

“Won’t you give me the tour around, first?” you ask, playing coy only thanks to the drink you’ve had. Otherwise, you’d be your usual self; a mess.

“Oh, sure.” she says as she shoves you into her bedroom, illuminated by a single candle. “Wardrobe, guns, bed.”

Well. It still feels like the best tour you’ve ever had when she walks you back until you’re falling on her very comfortable mattress, with her perched above you like a predator. She gives you a little smirk as she straddles your thigh and sits up, undoing the taut buttons on her shirt, painfully slow.

Oh… It would be very awkward if you died from a heart attack now, yet it feels like you’re on the verge of one.

“Nothing smart to say now, Sentinel?” The confidence comes with her looks, you’re sure. She knows she’s hot as fuck.

You shake your head, speechless, eyes travelling from her toned midriff to her perfect chest, to her hypnotic eyes and the sensual way her hair spills like a red waterfall across her shoulders. This is a dream, it’s not real life, but don’t wake me up ever…

Fortune leans back down, taking your chin in two fingers as she studies your flushed face. You don’t know what she’s looking for, but something in her visage softens a fraction.

“If it’s too much at any point, tell me.”

“If I can talk, I will.” you say, mesmerized by the way her eyes look under the dim light.

Your next liplock is a little less rushed than your previous ones. She takes her time exploring your mouth and you gradually get bolder with where you touch her, fingers grazing up her sides to her stomach, to the underside of her bra.

Her lips leave yours only to burn a trail down the corner of your mouth, across your jawline and to your neck. Deft fingers undo the clasps and pull down the zipper of your white jacket, guiding it past your shoulders without taking it completely off. She definitely has a thing for it. You’d comment on that, too, if you could think about anything other than how good she smells.

Clothes come off while she sucks on your neck, teeth pressing against you just shy of leaving marks. When both of you are down to your underwear and breathing heavy, her fingers caressing dangerously low on your waistline, her lips come near your ear.

“So… I want to make you beg, but I can’t help but feel like I’m already corrupting you a lot.”

Corrupt away. you want to tell her.

“Does that turn you on?” you whisper in her ear and feel her response with how her hips press down harder onto yours.

“Yes.” That breathless admission becomes your undoing.

You get lost in her lips after it and the sensation of her fingers on you –inyou— working you up towards what could be simultaneously your ruin and your salvation. You touch her in turn, filling the room with both your moans and gasps, until that glorious peak of white-hot pleasure where the whole world comes to a stop for a few moments.

There is a time limit to your time together, now and generally, you are aware. But you allow yourselves a few quiet moments together as you lay there with the excuse of catching your breath, even if you already have.

Tough game you’re playing here. The smarter part of your brain says. It’s all too easy to get addicted to having her atop you like this. The better the dream, the more bitter the wakeup.

When Fortune lifts herself off you to slide under her heavy covers, you register the chill of night. You dress almost sluggishly, your body so very exhausted from the activities of the whole day.

Kissing her goodnight is almost an urge you fight under control, not wanting to make her uncomfortable if this was all she wanted out of your dalliance.

“Well, my bunk is calling.” you turn around to tell her, trying not to blush when you see her with her elbow resting on her pillow, cheek cutely pressed on her fist, watching you like a languid cat.

“Hate to watch you leave but I love to watch you go.” she smirks at you.

You roll your eyes. “Goodnight, beautiful.”

…

It is after a long damn day of fighting that you get to finally sit down and enjoy a meal and drinks.

The crew was cold and distrustful towards you at first, but they seem to have opened up more over the course of weeks –especially today, after you secured them a chest filled with gold coins left behind by wealthy people who were running from the wraiths. From the corner of your eye, you subtly watch Sarah Fortune interact with her men, hoping it’s not obvious how badly into her you are.

“So…” Riven begins from the chair next to you and you know that’s not going to be good.

“What?” You face her, playing cool.

“I’m sure you don’t need me to say that she’s bad for you… but I will, anyway.” You give Riven a blank stare that absolutely doesn’t fool her. Shit.

“Like how do you even know.” You finally break.

“It wasn’t obvious since day one there was something there?” Yeah, maybe to everyone except you.

“Wait.” Hold on a second. “Does everyone know?”

“I think everyone except Diana has pretty much figured it out.” That certainly explains the looks Lucian has been giving you all day. Double shit.

“What? The thing between Fortune and Rookie, here?” Diana asks from behind you.

Triple—

“Scratch that. Everyone knows.” Riven tells you. “And we all agree. She’s bad for you.” You hate the emphasis on that. “As in the worst.”

“I getit, Riven, thank you.” You shake your hand in her face while the other covers yours.

“I mean I know ruthless, player redheads who can and will absolutely murder you without a second thought are, like, a kink of yours—”

You don’t think your face gets any redder than this. “What—” you nearly choke on air. “That –how do you figure that out? That’s not even true.”

“Dude. When Katarina Du Couteau was brought into our conversation you nearly gasped and fangirled for the next hour.”

“I just heard a lot about one of our biggest Demacian enemies and wanted to know if it was all true!” you defend yourself.

“You asked me if she’s as hot as rumor has it, not about her war achievements.” Riven laughs.

“And you didn’t answer! Well, is she or isn’t she?” you ask. For… scientific purposes.

“I’m not going to answer that!” Riven lifts her hands up.

“She is.” Graves says as he slides into the seat next to you, drink in hand.

“Thank you!” You pat him on the shoulder.

“We should totally have her join the Sentinels.” he adds.

“Hah!” A vein pops at Riven’s temple. “And the answer will be something along the lines of ‘bold of you to assume I give a single fuck about the world’.” comes the imitation.

“Whoa, that’s exactly how she sounds like.” Graves says.

You’re glad the conversation has shifted away from you, at least.

From the opposite side of the room, you feel a familiar pair of eyes on you, yet they’re averted the second you raise yours to meet them.

…

They may know about your one-time thing with Fortune and heavily scrutinize it, but they still send you in now that they need to ask for more from the captain. With that, your teammates lose every right to comment on what you do and don’t do with her.

“We’ll get you the coin from that ship –well, Graves will, since they already hate him—and you help us out here. Deal?” you ask her.

There. You can be a professional and negotiate terms with the most beautiful woman in the world, who you also happened to have had mindblowing sex with, without constantly looking at her lips.

“Deal, but…” she begins. “You’re sitting all the way over there… why?”

So much for keeping your mind out of the gutter. “Um.” You lick your lips, unsure of what to say, while she smirks slow, like the cat that got the canary.

“Come here.” A pat on her desk, right in front of her chair.

Against your better judgement, you walk around the furniture and lean there, really, really close to her, especially when she stands, towering over you in her heels. You can tell she likes it, too.

“Don’t look at me like that, we leave in ten minutes.” you say. It doesn’t even phase her.

Her fingers move to the zipper of your jacket and although you should stop her, you don’t. “Really?” she leans closer, closer still, until her tantalizing mouth is a hair’s breadth from yours.

“…really. Nine, now.” you waver.

“Guess we have to be fast, then.”

She lightly pushes you onto her desk and starts undoing your belt buckles. The thought of what you’re about to do alone could make you come on the spot. It’s not just the thought that’s threatening to do that, when you feel her cool fingers slide right where you need them.

“You’re going to ditch me for your little Sentinel friends, who don’t like me?” she asks in your ear.

Oh, Gods…

“Ah, I like you enough for all of us, Fortune.” your lips move against her jawline as you speak. A little further down and you can feel how quick her pulse is. You wouldn’t have guessed, with how composed she looks fingering you on her desk.

“Sarah.” she holds your chin with two fingers as she says it, like a secret between you. “Call me Sarah when you come.”

You do.

…

It becomes a nightly thing after that, your visits in her bedroom.

She’s insatiable and she makes everything bothering you go away for those precious hours. But. The more you see of her, you cannot help but feel like something’s very wrong with Sarah.

Underneath the visage of the ruthless captain, the queen who can just reach out and take anything she wants, you see… cracks. She doesn’t sleep well. She drinks. You’re pretty sure you’re another distraction –coping mechanism?— although it doesn’t bother you. She’s the same for you, isn’t she?

It’s not like you have feelings for her.

…Right?

No, no that would be terrible. You definitely don’t. You are allowed to love the way her fingers are running lazy circles on your thigh right now without any sort of complicated emotions involved.

“You should quit while you’re ahead.” she tells you, half muffled into her pillow, stark black against the red of her hair.

This or the Sentinel war? You wonder.

“You have little cuts everywhere. They don’t even have time to disappear before new ones open on top of them.” she moves the back of her pointer to the biggest visible line near your knee, then up your arm, until her hand rests on the crook of your neck. “Leave the others to deal with the mist. It’s not your problem.”

“The world’s problem is my problem. Guess where I lived and what region fell to Viego first.”

You refrain from telling her how many people close to you met his blade before that. How many of the classmates you ate and trained with for four years you had to see skewered by him, on his insane quest for his ‘love’. You don’t want to sour your time together with your burdens. Your pain, your nightmares, are your own to deal with.

“If you keep going you’ll fall to him first.” she counters. “You’ll die protecting one of those idiots in your group or some random civilian.”

“Thanks, Miss Fortune-teller.” you say, a tad irked at her blatant disregard for anyone who isn’t herself.

“I don’t have to be one to tell.” she gives you a sad smile. “It’s always the good ones that die. It’s always the monsters that win.”

You can’t help but wonder…

What made you this way?

…

You see now why emotions are considered a distraction on the battlefield. Even as you kill monsters, all you think about is her.

Come to think of it…

You’ve never seen her smile for real. What you’re looking for is a far cry from those smirks she throws around to bring people to their knees, or the sardonic ones she levels Lucian with. Even those she offers you behind closed doors have a shadow underneath them. It makes you wonder about what would make her happy enough to give a genuine smile.

When you happen across a shipwreck filled with valuables, you think this may be it. The Sentinels take what they need and agree to give the rest to Fortune to stay on her good graces.

Her whole ship lights up with the joy of riches. The crew is ecstatic. Laughter and cheers fill the deck.

And yet.

Her glee is pretend, just for the sake of her men. Her eyes are hollow.

When she eventually retreats to her cabin, you follow her and knock on her door. “It’s always open for you~” she calls from the inside, already in the company of a whiskey bottle.

You turn the key behind you, then lean forward with your hands on her desk, staring at her.

“Why this serious, sexy?” she asks. “Need me to help loosen you up a bit?”

“You need to part with the fetter, Sarah.” you state. “It affects you in ways you won’t notice or understand but it always does.”

“Ah, part with it so you and your crew of misfits can steal it from me? Hmm… no.” she chuckles.

“I care more about what it does to you than the fetter itself right now.” you try again. Only to fail again.

“That’s sweet, but I don’t trust you.” Talk about words being sharper than knives, sometimes. “Don’t take it personally; I don’t trust anyone.”

“What a joyful life this must be.” you bite back.

“Coin is joy for me, sweetheart.” she leans back in her plush chair, taking another swing from the bottle.

“You didn’t seem very happy to me, back there.”

She gives you a look and finally sets the whiskey down. “Come here. I’ll tell you a little secret about me.” she says, a tad more serious than before.

Cautiously, you step around the desk until you’re in front of her seat. Her hand shoots up like a bullet, then, taking hold of your jacket and dragging you down until the two of you are eye-level.

“You know what would really make me happy right now?” You feel her leg move up the inside of yours, deliciously slow, as she speaks… until she hooks her calf behind your knee and makes your weight fall onto it. “For you to shut up about fetters and concerns and go down on me.”

Fuck.

Deep down, to a small part of you not ruled by your hormones, you know using sex to avoid any sort of deeper conversation between you is unhealthy. You know an arrangement where there’s no trust is unhealthy.

Then again, the circumstances that brought you together are anything but healthy.

And what sort of pretty flower can burst forth, really, from a corrupted seed?

…

When you return from your mist-slaying, late in the evening, the crew is uneasy.

“Don’t bother the cap’n right now.” One of the men says. “She ain’t havin’ the best o’ days.”

You later find out that they had a run-in with an enemy fleet. That the Reaver King has resurfaced and is looking to claim Bilgewater for himself. Major shit is about to go down, the bounty hunters tell you and you do not want to be outsiders caught in the middle when it finally hits the fan.

You give Sarah her space until the need to check up on her becomes overwhelming.

One knock on the door. “Leave.” she hisses from within the office like a tensed cat. Another knock. “You have ten seconds before I put a bullet through your skull!”

“Can’t imagine I’ll be very attractive then.” you reply.

The door swings open; her eyes are the epitome of a raging storm. You’ve never seen her like this, so hateful and distressed… and it hurts to witness. “My ‘leave’ applies to everyone. You, included.”

“Cool.” you nod at her. Pause. “So… can I come in now?”

Sarah throws her hands up in exasperation, pivoting with an angry, whispered ‘whatever’. She paces across her cabin, an agitated lion one step away from pouncing. Her hands run through her fiery hair as though they cannot keep still.

“You need to leave Bilgewater asap and never come back.” You don’t know if she’s talking to you or thinking out loud. “You need to go. With or without the rest of them, I don’t care, just go!”

“What’s… gotten into you?” you dare ask.

“He’s back. He always comes back, no matter how many times I sink the bastard. It’s like he cannot die. He just won’t die!” her voice is raw with her rage. “You Sentinels fight the darkness but you don’t kill evil. Evil will still be here –rooted here— even if you win.”

You open your mouth but can’t find anything to say.

“I have to win my own war. I will be victorious no matter the cost, no matter the bloodshed.” Sarah goes on. “But I need to know that you won’t be here. Do you understand?!”

You just look at her, sad and frozen, trying to understand. There’s nothing you can say to ease what’s hurting her and nothing you can do. You’ve seen this wretched thing eat away at her every day since the moment you met. It’s too deeply engraved in her heart for you to hope to change it; and it has little to do with the fetter in her possession.

Sarah crosses the room in two large strides and grabs your biceps. She looks like she’s ready to throw you off her ship herself…

Until.

She pulls you into her arms, instead.

Tight, like she’s afraid you’ll be gone the moment she lets go, she holds you close. Her head is tucked into your shoulder, her nails press hard into your back. You slowly bring your hands up to encircle her waist in return.

“I’ve lost everything. He took everything from me. I won’t give him the chance to take you away, as well.” she says.

Oh. you think. She cares about you, after all.

If only that was a good thing for either of you.

…

You feel it, when the moment comes.

Maybe you’ve always felt it and just didn’t want to admit it.

When Sarah stands in front of Viego offering the lot of you up along with the fetter in exchange for his ruined power, you know the agony you feel, like a blade splitting you down the middle, is your own doing. There is nobody but yourself to blame for it. The others warned you. Your own instinct warned you.

You didn’t listen.

You wanted to trust her. Maybe even to love her.

But her hatred runs deeper than whatever measly thing you were to her.

As the mist shrouds Fortune and turns her red hair luminescent blonde, as it eats away at her colors until they’re all black and sickly green, until the eyes you knew turn cold and unfeeling, you feel something in you crack. Maybe it’s your faith. Maybe it’s your heart.

There’s a lesson to take from this, you’re sure, despite how your emotions choke you. Right now, though, you focus on avoiding her bullets and having your teammates’ backs in the rain of chaos that follows.

You end up deep in the water, bleeding, defeated. You and the other Sentinels have never been crushed by your losses, but it will take some time to pick up your pieces and continue onward until the end of your war.

You allow yourself one scream muffled in the dark sea.

When you swim to the shore and pull your body out of the mud, you are silent.

“Are you okay? I know that was harder for you than it was for us.” Riven lays a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m fine. I’ll let it hurt after we get Viego.”

For now, you can’t afford taking the pain of a broken heart with you on the battlefield.

Sarah. You later think. Now I understand why hurricanes are named after people.

#miss fortune #sarah fortune #miss fortune x oc #miss fortune x reader #sentinels of light spoilers #league of legends #fanfiction #creative writing #riven

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confusedgoldenflower · 3 years

Text

There is No Glorious Purpose Chap. 2

Hello, you beautiful Tesseract-loving bastards!

I've been meaning for a long time to update but I've been having a really bad time with the whole motivation thing, and what I had first thought of doing with this fic got thrown in a wood-chipper and sunk with the Titanic... so, I'm trying to pick up the pieces and decide where I want to go with this. I also wanted to do it episodically: Chapter One aligned with Episode One and so on. That has not worked partly due to the issues of the above so, well, I guess we'll find out together!

So sorry for any grammar issues, I did my best to look it over but got too sick of staring at it over and over again in my drafts.

Small Thor cameo!

Chapter Two: You Oafs

“Yeah, well, you’re a mischievous scamp--or at least, the other you is. Been killing our minutemen and stealing our reset charges. Been happening for quite a long time….” Mobius whistled lowly. Loki nodded slowly.

“If you know me or us as well as you say, what need have you of my help?”

“Like I said, mischievous scamp. And I know what makes a Loki tick, sure, but even Sherlock needed Watson sometimes--you do know about them, right? Really fun stories with a super smart detective and his below average side-kick--.”

Loki ignored the rambling, “I agree.” Perhaps then… after… peace? “Just tell me, please… is it true that I directly led to my mother’s death?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, definitely. Thor was pissed and then he dragged you along to Svart--Svartle… anyway, the planet of the Dark Elves with Jane because she absorbed the Aether. Then you faked your death, again . There’s that ‘doing a horrible thing then getting away,’ again. But Thor totally gets you back on Sakaar with those Obedience Disks. Yeah, yeah… oh, right, you don’t know--and won’t. He slaps one of ‘em on you when you betray him again, then dials it up all the way while he returns to Asguard. For a god, you get put down a lot .” Mobius chuckled.

Loki sucked in a shuddering breath, reverently laid the Tesseract down and stood, “let us catch this scoundrel then.” He faked a smile for the agent.

“Ok,” Mobius clapped and rubbed his hands together, “what a therapy session!”

Loki had a fleeting thought of, “he must be some Midguardian fool, possibly in some relation to Thor,” before he remembered that the all powerful Time Keepers had created the oaf in front of him.

“Ya know, for the record, maybe ‘undying fidelity,’ wasn’t the right thing to say to Thanos. Just saying. But this is good! We’re gonna be a great team.”

~~~@%*^*%@~~~

“Loki,” the orange clock whined on his ‘gifted’ desk. Though still somewhat transparent, Miss Minutes was a fairly good illusion.

“Yes?” He replied pleasantly, blue hand turning the page of a magazine. His slack-clad legs were propped on the desk, fine business shoes not too far from where she stood on a rather large book. The suit replacement of the prison wear wasn’t bad, he, of course, would have done better had he access to his seidr. But it was fine for the time being.

“Are you paying attention?” The angry little clock motioned to the old Midguardian computer screen which read in that same horrible orange color:

LET’S SEE WHAT YA KNOW!

Q2. Thanos has two apples. He eats both but realizes he wants more. He goes back in time 20 minutes and eats the apples again. Does this mean the apples will not have existed in the timeline he left?

No, because time is constantly happening

The question doesn’t matter because a branch cannot change another time branch

Thanos would’ve been hungry prior because the Grandfather paradox already accounted for the change in matter before it’s move.

TVA FILE EDIT VIEW MODE HELP

Of course he was paying attention, and of course he chose not to amuse them! One order after another; feeding off of each other even. He may have bowed to Thanos but he had never kneeled. Not truly. And he clung to that remaining dignity.

“Naturally,” he returned pleasantly. She sighed.

“What happens when a nexus event branches past red line?”

“Ragnarok.”

“Come on, Loki. What is it?... Loki!”

“It is when the TVA can no longer reset a nexus event. Are you satisfied?’

“Right. And that would lead to the destruction of the timeline and the collapse of reality as we know it.” He lowered the magazine lower into his lap and took his feet off the desk.

“Yes, indeed. Are you alive or a recording? Clearly, you can hear me.”

Her big cartoonish eyes moved around, “uh… sorta both?”

“So not an illusion or projection?” He swiped at her with the rolled up magazine.

“Ah!” A small smirk ghosted his face and he went after her again.

“Watch it! Where are your manners? Oh! Hey! Quit it! That is not nice, ya jerk!” She floated and then fazed back into the computer. He gave that ugly thing a few whacks as well. She pouted on the other side of the screen.

“Trainin’ going wel--is that my jet ski magazine? Put it down, Blue-Raz.” Mobius ripped the magazine from him, swivelled to his desk then swiveled again to flop a jacket in front of Loki.

“Gear up, there’s been an attack. Let’s go.” The agent commanded. Loki picked up the jacket. It unfolded from the collar, back facing him. “VARIANT” was emblazoned across it.

“Ah,” was all he commented as he moved to slip it on before his handler got any ideas while he was led down hallways. Norns knew the agent would have plenty of examples in his own life up to that point, much less his future or other variants.

“Good. Yeah. Smart.” Mobius commented with his fists in a move reminiscent of excited warriors as said human stopped to look back at his charge and the newly bestowed article of clothing. B-15 gave her usual droll stare. Her minutemen stood around her in a group.

“ C-20 and her team went dark shortly after they jumped into the 1985 branch. All signs point to another ambush. We've grabbed enough temporal aura to know it's our Loki Variant.”

The “actually dangerous” sort, Loki groused silently. Then Mobius opened his mouth.

“Here's the deal. When we get out on the branch, we're not just looking for a Time Criminal. We're looking for a Loki. A variation of this guy. A type we should all be very familiar with, because the TVA has pruned a lotta these guys, almost more than any other Variant. And no two are alike. Slight differences in appearances, or not so slight. Different powers, although, powers generally include shape-shifting, illusion-projection, and my favorite... Duplication-casting. Illusion-Projection.”

Mobius gestured to him when applicable in his little speech, also projecting other variations of Loki with his TemPad--all assumedly pruned likewise. Variation 8: L6792 looked exactly like he would now had he’d been afforded the luxury of keeping his clothes, but also with slight differences that led Loki to think that that variant must have been favored royally in some way he was rejected.

Variation 8: L1247 looked like a Midguardian sportsman happily holding a trophy of some kind. Variation 8: L6792 was an atrocity of him and the Hulk combined. Variation 8: L8914 was more strongly built with more prominent hair curls in their longer hair. They stood like dignitary with their hands behind them. Variation 8: L7803 looked like an oaf. A full, half-face helmet emblazoned with the horns in the wrong direction and even a piece of turf over the shoulder like a cape. Oh, dear….

“No.”

“...Huh?”

“Those two powers are completely different, although, I am unsurprised you cannot comprehend it.”

“Loki, what are you talking about--look, I’ve dealt with more of you than you’ve dealt with yourself.”

“The truth remains that those powers are not the same.”

“Then, please, Loki, tell me.”

Loki smiled easily and supplicatingly at the contempt and patronization, just like talking to anyone in Asguard.

“ Illusion-projection involves depicting a detailed image from outside oneself, which is perceptible in the external world, whereas duplication-casting entails recreating an exact facsimile of one's own body in its present circumstance, which acts as a true holographic mirror of its molecular structure.”

“Ok, take a breath. Noted. We’re gonna break into two teams, including myself and Professor Loki here”

B-15 still looked unamused and dubious.

“Whoever the Variant is, we haven’t been able to find them so I’m the Sherlock and he’s my Watson. Look, this’ll work.” Mobius said to her. She side-eyed Loki, Loki who had nothing but a branded jacket to protect himself with.

“And so my agency in this is to… tell you how brilliant you are.”

“Go outside, maybe touch some grass.” Mobius returned with a tilted smile under his twisted nose.

“Ah. I shall protect myself with your wit, then, should this superior being choose me as a next target.”

Mobius chuckled and mimed “talky-talky” again.

He passed through the portal B-15 had summoned, closed in on both ends by TVA agents. Immediately, he could feel his seidr swell within him again and redonned his Aesir glamor. The choker chafed as he glanced around, and he found himself much preferring the biting metal of the chains he was usually imprisoned in. The place they passed into was a celebration of old Midguardian times, further back than what the TVA modeled itself after, in direct juxtaposition of the modern technology with the humans held in their hands, and had used to both get to the location and create their sometimes elaborate costumes.

“Apex of nexus signature located, ma'am,” a minuteman said as they walked.

“Allow me to ask you this, why do we not travel to the moments prior to the Variant’s attack, to when they arrive.” Loki asked as the tent grew ever nearer.

“Nexus events destabilize the time flow. This branch is still changing and growing, so you gotta show up in real time. Did you watch any of the training videos you were supposed to?”

The minutemen twisted their batons, the ends glowing a shade that seemed to haunt the TVA as they neared.

Loki chuckled a laugh that was never and would never be heartfelt, “my dear Sherlock, you should know I am quite the scholar. But these ‘reset charges,’ they ‘prune’ a branched timeline which ‘allows time to heal all wounds.’”

Mobius made an odd gesture towards him, “he’s on it.”

Within the dark, torch-lit tent, limp minutemen laid about the displays which held real weapons and a large, stepped seating construct. Their bodies were splayed out in obvious struggle. Unactivated batons laid around as well, a few clenched in hands. A helmet bearing “C-20” laid, discarded within the scene. Loki hovered a hand over one display as he passed and they grouped around the scene.

“So he's taking hostages now?” B-15 spat.

“The Variant's never taken a hostage before,” Mobus returned.

“Maybe he's upping his game.”

“Or he pruned her,” a minuteman remarked.

“A Loki couldn't have gotten the jump on C-20.” B-15 returned.

“Fan out and search for her. And hurry up, we're at three units until red line.” B-15 ordered, her minutemen immediately moving to obey.

“Let's go. She's right.” A peon echoed.

Mobius concurred, “Come on.”

“Wait….” Loki said, brow knit as he studied the scene.

“What do you see?” Mobius asked as he stepped away from the entrance.

“I see wolf’s teeth.”

“Yeah, ok,” Mobius motioned for him to hurry and Loki got brief satisfaction that the human had no idea what he was talking about.

“‘Where there are wolf’s ears, there are wolf’s teeth,’” Loki echoed one of many sayings he heard during his childhood, especially before bed. He swallowed down the thought of a certain story about blue, darkly lined and vicious monsters.

“Ridiculous, really,” he laughed hallowly, “my people are gullible fools by nature. You remind me of them; the Time Variance Authority and the great gods of Asgard. One and the same. Drunk with power, blinded to the truth. Those you underestimate will devour you, and we’ve just walked into a wolf’s mouth.” He raked his eyes across his audience as he spoke, kneeling down in front of the helmet and stroking his hand in the grassy turf. The minutemen seemed to falter ever so slightly, B-15 rolled her eyes, and Mobius stared.

A TemPad beeped, “two units, he’s wasting our time.”

“No, step outside this tent and my other Variant will devour you,” Loki stated plainly. It was easy, nearly in a terrifying way, how he fell into the usual routine he had had with his oaf of a brother and his lackeys, who, similarly, never headed his words.

“We need to look for C-20.” B-15 repeated.

“Come on, Loki, we don’t have time for your lies.”

“Oh, I am not lying, and out of curiosity, when you find them, will you prune us both seeing as you will not have any need of me?”

Mobius sighed and gesticulated like a frustrated middle-aged Midguardian, “he’s lying.”

Loki’s head turned to the side minutely, in a ghost of a head shake. His stomach turned the way it usually did when he knew things were about to--.

“Aghr!” A minuteman had exited and had been consequently slaughtered. A brawl broke out just outside the small entrance. Innocent event-goers made exclamations outside as well. Batons revved, and B-15 and Mobius stalked to the opening. Loki walked behind them.

“The charge!” Someone yelled. The fight continued. A cloaked figure with amazing skill in combat fought them all while a crowd of civilians formed around them. There were a few smiles and jeers, no doubt thinking it was all a show.

“On behalf of t-... the Time Va-...Variance Authority, I hereby-... arrest you for-... for crimes against the… Sacred Timeline, V-… Variant!” B-15 huffed between blows.

“Ergh!” A minuteman got pruned. Loki’s cloaked variant said nothing, only continued fighting. He backed back into the tent, took aloft a jousting lance, broke it half and reemerged. For all their combined ability, the TVA was losing. The glow of pruning swung around arbitrarily. He dipped into the fight and caught his counterpart’s cutlass in the cross the two ends of the lance made.

“Pardon me, I mean no intrusion,” he said calmly to his other self, noticing a similar collar of metal that had adorned his own garments. He could feel the other’s tension as they reclaimed their sword and focused solely on him. It proved more of a poor decision than anticipated and he found himself holding his breath in pain more than he’d wanted. The wood was also useless and even though both it and he put up a valiant fight, his other self had taken hold of a baton along the line. His weapons were useless as they continued to share blows. He lowered the stubs of wood and opened his arms. The glowing end came close.

Then it wasn’t.

The grunting that followed was B-15 and Mobius disarming the variant of the baton and nearly restraining them.

“About to redline!” A remaining minuteman nearly yelled. B-15 and Mobius shared a look. A door was opened and Loki found the cloaked figure disappearing into a flurry of gold.

“What in the Rolling Stones was that, Blue-Raz?!” Mobius had him hard by the shoulder of both his jacket and dress shirt.

Loki blinked once then made eye contact with Mobius, “what ever do you mean?”

“He was about to kill you!”

“Prune,” Loki politely corrected. Mobius gawked.

“I kno--what were you thinking?!”

“Your only use of me is to capture me, I was assisting in that.”

“By letting you be killed by yourself?!”

“A mere distraction to the larger goal, Mobius.”

“And it almost worked,” B-15 piped from somewhere beside them. Her voice had dropped a tone or two.

“Yeah… almost had ‘im too.” Mobius admitted, letting Loki go. “But seriously, man, what was that?”

“Nearly fulfilling my role, as you yourself stated.” Loki replied pleasantly.

“We also barely pruned it in time and got outta there with our lives.” B-15 stated.

“Yeah…” Mobius rubbed the back of his head with his other hand on his hip as he stared at the floor. I was not lying, Loki wanted to say. To push. To scream. But he instead focused on the ache in his back. It should be fine in a matter of a few more hours given the time he had for recovery before the Tesseract opened the portal in New York and he was knocked from the Mind Stone’s, and thus Thanos’, direct influence.

~~~@%*^*%@~~~

Loki subconsciously touched his hideously blue palm as he waited outside of the judge’s office for his handler. The doors were decorated with sandglasses. How quaint .

Mobius finally emerged, stalking right past him. Loki fell in step behind him. He realized such only after he’d done it.

An angry finger wagged in front of him as they walked, “one thing, Loki, that’s all I asked.”

“The ‘talk’ from earlier.”

“No! Catching the superior version of yourself. We lost guys out there today-- good guys!” Good, yes, ‘good guys’ who also happened to have erased who knows how many people from existence.

“There would have been a lot more had I not been there and, likewise, a lot less had I been heeded.”

“And there you go again. That narcissism! Do you ever stop? Get tired of yourself?”

Loki didn’t respond as Mobius stopped and whirled on him, only gave him his schooled expression.

“I’m on thin ice ‘cause of you. I saved you, remember that? Didn’t that mean anything to your Asguardian standards or personal morals or anything?”

“If you recall, I was about to meet that fate regardless as I helped you bring in my Variant. I also have little doubt you will delete me if I survive assisting you in their arrest either way.”

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy? Ok. Well that other you is worse, remember that. He’s killed a lot of people--more than you. You’re just a little blue ice runt, crying in the cold.”

Loki chuckled and didn’t even need to bite back the urge to correct this “Loki expert.”

“Ever get tired of playing this same old part?” Mobius continued bitterly, “I’m getting sick of your constant need for sympathy, Loki!”

“Mobius?” He asked after allowing a few minutes to pass.

“What?” Mobius mumbled.

“This other Variant is after reset charges, why not supervise another ‘pruning’ in case we find the correct branch they target. How many happen in a day, usually?”

~~~@%*^*%@~~~

Loki almost choked when they entered into an Aguardian hall. The was beautiful and towering and held stones and architecture he could rewrite the books about. For one blissful second, he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of his homeland--or the place he was raised. His glamor fell over him unconsciously.

Then he had to play follow-the-leader with the TVA peons. He rounded a large corner and immediately knew how many steps it would take to get to his room, his mother’s and Thor’s.

“Loki?” A familiar voice boomed. Loki tensed. Mobius cast him a “good luck” glance and mumbled, “I’ll be back for ya, Blue-Raz”

Loki had the urge to run him through followed by his brother who should not—it didn’t matter, the timeline would be reset. The Thor bounding up behind him would be pruned with everything else… why did that hurt? He turned to face his adopted sibling.

“Loki, it is you? Isn’t it? I mean you look horrendous in that getup, but it’s you!” Thor held his hands out in what could only be described as reverence. But the esteemed Asguardian Prince was wearing dirty Midguardian clothes and had a beer gut to match. How? Barely any time had elapsed between that moment and when they were facing down in New York.

“It is me but what happened to you, brother?”

A shadow came over Thor’s face. His hands lowered and he reached out to Loki.

“Tell me the truth,” he whispered, “did you just escape the dungeons?”

Loki held his gaze for a few long moments. The timeline will be reset. There is no harm in it.

“No, Thor, I never—this me never went to the dungeons. Never came back to Asguard.”

Thor hissed an inhalation of breath as his eyes widened.

“Thor what happened to you? Why do you have mismatched eyes? Where is your armor? Or Mjolnir?”

“Oh, Loki! Loki. Loki. Loki.” Thor’s voice trembled with false laughter and an emotion Loki didn’t know, “what--you look horrendous. What in the Nine Realms are you wearing?”

“Thor, it is good to see you, but I’m afraid I don’t have the time for a chat.” Loki returned, clipped. Redline grew ever nearer.

Thor’s face fell again, “Loki… just tell me you’re alive. That I didn’t fail you on the Statesmen--Thanos is dead now, I-I killed him! I-... I killed him… I avenged you.”

“Oh, Thor,” Loki found himself saying as Thor’s eyes shined and tears spilled onto his cheeks. He allowed himself to be squeezed in the other’s arms… and found it to be the best hug he’d ever received… or the only hug….

“Thor… Thor, are you listening?” Thor only sobbed into his shoulder, holding Loki up against his beer gut and off of the actual floor.

“Y-yes?”

“Very soon, this timeline will be reset which means you will have never seen me here. So tell me, what happened to you?”

Thor whined in the back of his throat and plopped Loki back down, it was just hard enough to make pain spike up his nearly healed spine.

“I--You--Thanos--.”

Loki laid his arms on Thor’s biceps, squeezing gently, Thor shuttered then took a breath and smiled fondly at him. Fondly. Thor never did that. What sort of--how is he not the Variation?

“So after Ragnarok, Thanos… had all the Stones and killed half of what was left of Asguard including you. I wasn’t able to--I’m sorry.”

“Just tell me, Thor, I am right here.”

“Then I was found by the space morons and went to Nidevelir to forge Storm Breaker because Hela broke Mjolnir before Sakaar--Ragnarok happened because of her. Then we battled with the Avengers in Wakanda and… I didn’t go for the head! How could I have not gone for the head?! Thanos snapped and…. It was horrible, brother. Absolutely horrible. The whole universe. And so many extinctions followed and more tragedies. I-....” He hung his head. “I tried to drown my worries like the ‘oaf’ I am….”

“I thought your annoying little group was the ‘Avengers’ not the ‘Alcoholics.’”

“... Ha!” Thor slapped him on the back. The statement seemed to have brought about the intended reaction.

“Yes! Of course! So five years later, we found him and I slayed him! But Tony and Scott found a way to move through time to get the stones to undo it all, and so we did, and we succeeded! But still, Thanos haunted us and we had a final battle--which we won!” Thor seemed to have noticed himself that he was about to go into one of his long winded stories of victory, and cut it short.

Then his smile abated and his beard fell, “Loki, Steve and Tony lost the Tesseract in 2012 to you…?”

“Yes, yes, that would be me, brother.”

A gasp of breath as Thor readied himself for the most bone crushing hug in the universe was all that was afforded to Loki.

“Thor,” he wheezed slightly, “I know I was not kindest to you but must you kill me prematurely?”

“Oh, Loki! I never threw you off the Bifrost, and I-!”

“Charge is set, we gotta boogie!” Mobius interrupted, jogging over.

Thor allowed the interruption if only to interrogate him, “and who are you? How and why do you command my brother? If you are with Tha-!”

To Loki’s astonishment, a few electrical charges emanate off of his brother.

“No, time to talk. Put Loki down We gotta get outta Dodge.”

Thor’s grip tightened, “Thor, just do it!” Loki groused. Thor did. Mobius opened the portal.

“Sorry, big guy, big fan but I need your Buddy. You ever think of trying Old Spice?”

“Ah--I just--Loki just returned to me as he always does and you expect me to just give up?!”

“Thor, do not follow us, I would rather not see you get deleted.”

Heavy feet crossed through the yellow threshold and left 2023 Thor in 2014 with a gaping mouth and tear stained cheeks.

“So no Loki!” Mobius announced as he clapped his hands together, “that means we gotta get to work!” He went on to walk at a brisk pace. Loki trailed after, blinking back the stinging in his now red eyes.

“I was of the understanding that is what we were doing,” he put a hand over his throat while he cleared it.

“I need you to go over each and every one of this Variant's case files, and then, give me your... How do I put it?... Your unique Loki perspective. And who knows? Maybe there's something that we missed.”

Seeing as how you are so hypocritical, I would be surprised if you had not missed anything. Honestly, “all you Lokis are the same” yet in the same breath, “no Loki variant is exactly alike.” I think as I do.

“You are the expert, I trust your judgement” Loki said instead.

“That's why I'm lucky I got ya for a little bit longer. Let me park ya at this desk. And don't be afraid to really lean into this work. Here's a good trick for you: pretend your life depends on it. I'm gonna get a snack.”

For all his countless hours spent in not only the Grand Library, but others around Asguard and the other Realms, he found himself having little interest in sifting through all the instances in which that other version of him overcame the great TVA and triggered more animosity against themselves--and all other Lokis.

“Any motive, Sherlock?” He asked dryly.

“That’s what you’re for!” The agent chuckled, poked at his chest and walked away.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the agent walk away then turned his attention to the paperwork. The pattern was known to begin with but became… inane the more pages he flipped through: nexus event, dispensed TVA agents, the team goes silent, they’re found dead and without the reset charge, Mobius, the expert, is called in for investigation and then the branch is reset before redline.

One Loki… only one to best their happy little teams. I was bested, but I also have extenuating circumstances of the past year. Without Thanos’ interruption, could I have?... Yes, I fought alongside Thor and his foolish troup of warriors, I would have been able to exact my own damage. For a ‘timeline protection force,’ how are they schooled in combat?

“Pardon me,” he tapped the librarian’s bell. She turned to him with a nonplussed expression.

“Could you show me to the combat regimens of our dear agents?”

“No.”

“Infographics?”

“No.”

“Battle end-games?”

“No.”

“Well, you have been very helpful, thank you.” It was still a library after all and he more than knew his way around one seidr or not; his mind was still intact--somewhat intact and that had always been his greatest weapon.

So he sat back down at the table to form a plan of action, so to speak, of how he could find the files he wanted in the fastest and most assured way. But, he still had all the paperwork of this other Loki, dripping in red. Oozing. Gushing. Like Thor’s cape as yet more enemies were put to ruin under his brother’s sheer might. He never envied that red; never thought he could own it or have it become him… yet this other version had jumped--leapt into that pool of blood and ended all who stood in their way. Incapacitation would have sufficed. Has sufficed in innumerable cases. He’d both saved lives of his comrades and stupid brother, and saw the end goal in such a way.

He gasped and leapt up, running along the railing of the library.

“Mobius--.”

“No, I said, ‘don’t bother me until you’ve read all the files,’ and I know you don’t read that fast.” Mobius set his Js\osta down with a hard thonk .

“I have, but unimportant--.” Loki slid into the seat across from the agent in the cafeteria.

“No, read every file pertaining to the Variant.”

“The answer does not lie in the files, it lies on the timeline!” Mobius gave him a dangerous look at the slight raising of his voice. Loki took a breath.

“Look,” Loki began again with his arms fanning over the table, “they’re hiding in apocalypses.”

“Which one? There’s, like, a million?”

“Take Ragnarok, I assume you are familiar?”

“Yeah, total destruction of your weird coin planet and most of its people because of your sister Hela. I’m sorry.”

Sister? Hela? Thor mentioned her--unimportant now.

“Yes, well, that recent visit with Thor got me thinking…?”

Mobius regarded him but eventually sighed and sat back, making a small gesture, “yeah, sure, ok.”

“Nexus events happen when someone does something that is not meant to happen--.”

“A bit more complicated but yeah.”

“These can culminate into entire other timelines--.”

“Chaotic alterations of a predetermined outcome.” Loki did his best to ignore the interruptions. He forced animation into his movements as if trying to explain it to Thor. That was best, pretend he was explaining something that now seemed so basic to the warrior.

“Alright! So this is Asgard,” he plundered the agent’s salad bowl. Said agent gave sad push back. Loki continued.

“I could travel back to Asgard preceding Ragnarok and do whatever I wished; switch crowns, resoil linens, topple some columns. I could destroy the Rainbow Bridge.” He grabbed the small salt shaker and started pouring some in. Mobius mourned his food. Loki was not fed.

“None of this would matter. Not if I set fire to the courtyard. Or even killed the Allfather!”

“Why--Lo--God, Loki!”

“Excuse me,” Loki greeted Casey kindly at an adjacent table, “are you finished with this?”

Casey, who had his bunched napkin thrown on his plate in clear sign of being finished looked from his crumpled juice box to Loki, “you!”

“Yes, very nice to see you again,” Loki took the drink container and poured it into the salad, secretly relishing how the agent utterly deflated.

“Due to Surtur!” Loki finished.

Mobius rubbed his hand down his face, “what am I lookin’ at?”

“Apocalypses, Holmes.”

“Loki, you just apocalypse my lunch, I wanted to eat that!”

“You want my other Variant.”

Mobius leaned onto the table, “cut to the chase.”

“That is how they have escaped you for so long; no matter what happens, an apocalypse negates anything that would otherwise summon the TVA.”

“Oh, not bad. Not Bad. Hey, so, how do you weigh over five hundred pounds?”

That was a “jackknife”--as Midgaurdians may say--that he did not expect.

Mobius raised his hands, “hey, I’m not judging, just curious.”

“Focus, Mobius, please.”

“Ok, ok. My salad. Destroyed.” Another despondent hand waved at the bowl.

“I can show you my theory is true.”

Mobius laughed, “I’m not letting you go.”

“You come with me, naturally,” Loki pushed.

“Well, I’ve had enough of your troublemaking for one day.”

“No one has to know unless I am correct--which I am.”

“TVA agents can’t just go running around anyway. Waltzing into the White House would be a Nexus event.”

You are not listening!

“Pompeii, for instance, you Midguardians like talking about that catastrophe, we could go there!”

“Pompeii?”

“Pompeii. Everyone died and that town was not even the worst hit of the eruption of Vesuvius.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Talk, talk, talk. Oh, you’re so smart!” Mobius sneered and wiped his mouth with his napkin despite not having spilled anything much less eaten enough to make a mess of his face. No food for either of them it seemed.

“If I go along with this and you stab me in the back, you’re getting erased. Capische?”

“Understood,” I am fully expecting that regardless.

#loki #loki series #loki show #Loki Show Rewrite #loki series rewrite project #loki series rewrite fanfic #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #cannon non-compliant #gentle reminder that just because a character says something doesn't make it true

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