#the right arm was cut off on the original so i tried to reconstruct it idk how to say that lmao

[schn33wi11ch3n]

[stellacaerulea]

I'd reblog the original post with my opinions but I don't know who else might be interested so I'll make a new post that will show up in the main tag - sorry @nightmist-aria , I really wanted to add to your notes

The current Ninirite political landscape up to around v2c2 was basically: Lilith pretends she rules anything while Mercury threatens to cut support (both financial and political) to her government if she doesn't do as he says - I mean, that's how she got elected to begin with, by riding on Mercury and being promptly shot down when she tried to walk with her own legs [Sweet Doll].

Then it came to a peak when Desire ravaged Ninir, and Mercury took the chance to take over Lilith's cabinet while she was unconscious and got every reconstruction contract for his company. When she woke up and found out everyone but her was in on it and that even her own people saw her as a puppet queen, she decided to put an end to it and instructed Fidel to help her fight Mercury off - including feeding him doctored weapon purchase reports [v2c1], actually going against her corrupted PR counselors' "instructions" [Sugary Lullaby], disqualifying the judges of the Cician idol tournament right before the finals [v2c3] and signing a treaty with Ophelia against Mercury [v2c9].

So all in all, the current background politics is: Lilith is fighting Mercury with what she has and arming herself to make it a war if it comes to it.

[naminethewriter]

Order

Loceit Week, here I come! I’m being very spontaneous with this, so we’ll see how it goes 😉💛💙 @loceitweek2021

Here on Ao3

Masterpost | Loceit Week Masterpost

Characters: Logan, Janus, Patton & Roman mentioned

Relationships: platonic Loceit

Rating: G

Words: 1,010

Summary:  Logan values order but the library is anything but orderly when Janus arrives on his search for Logan.

Normally, any realm that Logan had control over would be perfectly organized. He preferred it that way. Efficiency was one of his values and things getting lost in clutter was the least efficient thing there is. So of course Janus expected the library, a storage space for all the knowledge Thomas had acquired over the years, to be as clean and organized as it always was. However, once he made it through the big double doors, he was greeted by stacks of books all around the space and many shelves either half- or entirely empty.

Logan sat in the middle of the room, at one of the reading tables, typing away at his laptop though he regularly stopped to check over a book to his left until nodding, moving it onto a pile on the right and grabbing another book from another stack to his left. Janus watched this process for a few minutes before clearing his throat and stepping towards the logical side.

 “Logan, dear. What are you doing? It doesn’t look like a complete mess in here.” Logan’s head shot up and now Janus could see how frazzled he looked. Logan stared at him a few moments before his brain seemed to catch up to what Janus had said.

 “Oh-“ He took a look around. “-I guess it has gotten a bit chaotic in here, my apologies.” Janus held up his hands in a placating manner.

 “Don’t apologize, it is no issue of mine. I was just… surprised considering your usual care for order.”

 “Ah, yes, I see where the confusion originated from.” Logan nodded and rightened his glasses. “While this may seem to be chaos, it actually serves the purpose of me having an easier time to organize.” Janus lifted an eyebrow.

 “Of course. That is definitely apparent.”

 “You see,” Logan continued without acknowledging the interruption, “I am currently cataloging these books in a digital Format, so I – or anyone else for that matter – can look up the book they are looking for and identify it on the characteristics defined in the catalog.” Janus took a seat across from him, folded his hands and leaned his head closer.

 “And you are doing that instead of using your perfectly reliable previous system, why? Considering how many books there are I find it hard to believe that you have the time to do this next to your usual commitments for Thomas’ well-being as well as take the time for yourself that you need.” Logan crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

 “What are you insinuating, Janus?”

 “That it is uncharacteristic for you to do such a major reconstruction of your usual habits and routines without some sort of prompt.” He smiled in a way that would seem kind to anyone who didn’t know him well enough. Logan could instead see the challenge within.

 “Contrary to what you seem to believe, this is a project that I wanted to get around to for a while. My organization system before was efficient but still held too much room for failure. This method will be much more secure.”

 “Oh, I’m sure it is. Still, this came a bit sudden. There is no unanticipated break for Thomas, your timing is questionable. As we both are sure to agree, this is a massive undertaking and as sure as I am that you would consider organization a hobby of yours, you are aware that you technically do not have any more time than usual to do this, so why did you make the decision to start this project right now and work on it through dinner?” Logan quickly glanced at the clock on his computer screen. Indeed, it was past dinner time. That explained Janus sudden interest in Logan’s activity. He swallowed.

 “I apologize, I lost track of time.”

 “I know that Logan, I’d rather you answered my question,” Janus said, a hint of coldness in his voice. Logan sighed.

 “A few weeks back, Thomas encountered a certain trend of people organizing their bookshelves based on the colour of the cover rather than the contents. Since then Roman and Patton have been pestering me to let them use that method here in the library as well, because – and I quote – ‘It would look so pretty!’ and ‘It’s all about the aesthetic, nerd!’”

 “I see,” Janus hummed. “And I presume they have annoyed you into giving in?”

 “Even I only have so much patience for foolishness. However, considering that I would not be able to follow this new system effectively, I decided to use this opportunity to install my digital catalogue and then let them- “ Logan pulled out one of his vocabulary cards. “-‘go wild’ once I was done.”

 “And how far have you come?”

 “I have finished with the non-fiction books and am currently working on the fantasy section,” Logan explained while holding up the last book he was working on. Janus nodded.

 “Alright.” He summoned his laptop. “I will help you finish that section and afterword you will eat and take the remainder of the day off to do something more relaxing.”

 “This is-“ Logan tried to protest weakly, but Janus cut him off.

 “I’m sure it is, however staring at the screen for so long is straining on your eyes and I’m sure you still have many more books on your reading list that you should get to as well, correct?” Now Janus�� smile had morphed more into a satisfied smirk. Logan huffed.

 “You are not wrong. Very well, I accept your terms.”

 “Of course, you definitely had a choice,” Janus chuckled before securing his own stack of books to work through and receiving access to the databank from Logan.

 “Thank you, Janus. I truly appreciate your help,” Logan said, over both their laptops. Janus gave him a genuine smile.

 “My pleasure. I do use this library; it would be beneficial for me as well if I could continue to find what I’m looking for. And I look forward to spending more time with you.” Logan blushed and ducked his head back down.

[runrundoyourstuff]

Seasons

(A Steven Universe Fic, 2632 words)

Written with love for a holiday exchange with the wonderful @mimik-u !

Prompt: Steven teaches one of the Diamonds about something beautifully mundane (a la Peridot learning about rain.)

--

It’s almost comical how the Dondai pales in size when compared to the Arm Ship—and the magnitude of the difference only grows as Steven descends the ridge. There are some items, both of human and Gem origin, that seemed larger when he was smaller—when he was younger—when everything mysterious in the world, every new thing he learned about himself, filled him with wonder. The Diamond ships, however, are not among these items. They’re as large now as they always seemed to him, if not quite as foreboding. As are the Diamonds themselves, and he is reminded of this, as Yellow disembarks from her spacecraft.

She doesn’t see him right away. Or if she does notice the car, she doesn’t have the frame of reference to recognize it as his, and even after he parks it beside the ship and gets out, it’s several moments before she turns around and acknowledges him standing there.

“Steven!”

“Hey, Yellow.”

“When I called, I hadn’t realized…” She sputters. “Your...your family returned my message to inform me that you were leaving on a conquest—”

“A conquest?”

“Yes, they said that you were going to travel—”

“Yeah, but not on a conquest!”

“Of course, of course, a scouting mission, then—”

“No! Nothing like that! Just a trip! I just...needed to hit the road for a while. Figure out what’s next.”

“I...right, of course. Your—I mean, the Pearl said that you would be taking a hiatus from your Diamond duties…”

At this, Steven chuckles. “Pearl wants me to.” But then he becomes serious. “I shouldn’t laugh. She’s trying to make sure that I take care of myself. She—all of them really, want to make sure I know that I don’t have to be involved in any Gem stuff if I don’t want to. That it’s my choice. And ya know, it’s true that I don’t want it to be my whole life, not like it was when I was a kid. And because there’s no hierarchy anymore, I do want to give other Gems a chance to manage things on Earth if they want to—to show them it doesn’t always have to be a Diamond, and I’m not a Diamond anyway—but I do want to be involved, ya know? Or at least know what’s going on! I put so much work into everything, and not all of it was bad. I was really proud of a lot of what we did, and the Gems are my family…” A pause. “Anyway, that’s all to say that I routed some of the messages from the Base to my phone.”

“I see. I…” She pauses. “I didn’t intend...You did not need to come. I merely called because I didn’t want to catch you off guard. Give your...our...Given my history, I thought if I showed up on your planet unannounced—”

“It’s not my planet.”

“No, of course not. I meant the planet on which you reside. I’ve already...I did not intend to make you feel that…that you needed to come fix—”

Steven raises a hand. “I know. I just happened to be in the area, so I thought I’d stop by. Say hi.”

“Ah. Alright.” The silence resounds. Yellow’s eyes flit away.

“So,” Steven says after a moment—looking for something, anything, to cut through the quiet. “Why Zona?”

“Is that what this place is called?” Yellow glances around. “I needed an area of the Earth where I would cause the least disruptions, where I could dig a sufficiently large hole such that I could access the Cluster. I initially planned on going to one of the Kindergartens, as we’d already irrevocably destroyed all hope of organic life thriving there—I thought I could minimize the destruction. But each already has a fairly extensive subterranean framework that makes it impossible for me to dig deep enough.” She sighs. “I realize this place isn’t perfect. My digging will certainly disrupt some of the plant life. But it appeared at least that there were few humans in the vicinity…”

“Mm.” Steven leads against the hood of his car. “I’m surprised you brought your ship out here and didn’t just Warp. We’re not that far from the Beta Kindergarten, and there’s a Warp there...”

“Those Warps weren’t built for us. We’re much too large.”

“I guess that’s true, but you could always shapeshift.”

“Hmm. I suppose. But there was also the equipment to bring.”

“Equipment?”

“Yes, I...There are...billions of shards in the Cluster. I figured...if I am going to dismantle it and reconstruct each of the Gems whose shards it conatiend, it would likely be easier for me to do it on Earth, rather than bringing all the Shards back to Homeworld. I don’t want to risk losing any of them or damaging any of them even further in transit…And while I may need to ultimately to transport some of them back to Homeworld to locate all the pieces, and though it may be disconcerting for the other Gems to reform on Earth...I…” She leaves the syllable hanging in the air, turns her head away. Steven can just barely make out her tense jaw as though she is gritting her teeth. Sparks radiate from her skin.

“Yellow? Are you...okay?”

“I’m fine!” But then she bows her head, inhales and releases, murmurs: “I apologize, Steven. I am not angry with you. I simply…It has been difficult enough for me to face each of the Gems I have reconstructed on Homeworld. Once they recover from the shock and the terror, they have each looked at me with such disdain. And those Fusion experiments, while they were certainly terrible, pale in comparison to the Cluster. I can only imagine what each of the Gem’s contained within it will feel. And I will deserve it. I hurt so many Gems in the service of the Empire.”

Steven opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Yellow continues, speaking ever rapidly, ever louder, as though desperate to expel the words. “Do not try to assuage my guilty conscience! That...is not your responsibility. I shouldn’t have just put you in a position to think that it was.”

Another tentative backpedaling, Steven thinks. A walking on eggshells moment, like he’s witnessed with the Gems and Dad over the past several months. And difficult though it is for him to sometimes believe, it’s not as though Yellow is wrong, at least not if he trusts his therapist. But there is a distant look in her eye, a panicked tension in her cheeks, which, when coupled with the fact that this is the first time he’s seen her since his breakdown, makes Steven wonder if she is remembering that day on the beach.

His own memories of it are fuzzy-to-nonexistant; he remembers the pain, and the panic, and the anger he’d held despite knowing that he shouldn't. Then, he has a vague impression of multiple embraces, of Connie kissing his forehead, of crying hot, cathartic tears...And then he’d woken up in the Cluster’s hand, with the eyes of most of the people he loved and almost everyone he’d ever fought all on him.

Despite his own lack of recollection, however, Connie assures him that she’d given everyone—the Diamonds included—something of a blunt talking to that day, a rallying speech, but she won’t elaborate on the specifics of what exactly she’d said. Might that—whatever its contents— be behind Yellow’s hasty assurances now?

“Okay,” Steven responds finally. “I won’t try to make you feel less guilty. But can I show you something?”

Yellow furrows her eyebrows. “Very well.”

“It’s just on the top of the canyon.”

They deliberate for a few moments on the details. Yellow offers to carry him, but even if she’s not White, Steven declines being held in a Diamond’s hand, and while she could shapeshift to fit in the passenger seat of the Dondai, she ultimately elects to simply follow behind the car as Steven slowly drives it up the cliff.

They reach the plateau just as the sun begins to dip in the horizon, casting a golden glow over the grass, over the Autumn leaves, just starting to paint themselves with the vibrant shades that return year after year.

Steven opens the door and steps out. “You never spent much time on Earth, did you?”

Yellow considers. “No.”

“Do you know what I think my mom fell in love with about this planet?”

“Organic life, of course. Humans.” She gestures to Steven. “Obviously.”

“Well, yeah, but not just them. Us. I think it was this stuff too.”

Yellow squints. “These weeds?! These...dying outgrowths?!”

“With things that change. Things that grow. There’s so much of it here.”

“Hm.”

Steven paces over to the grass, then sinks down onto it so that it brushes against his bare calves. It’s mostly soft on his skin but there are dryer patches too, scratchier places on the ground as some of the longer areas start to dry out for the season. The sun dips lower in the sky, and it leaks hues of pink and orange onto the daytime canvas of darkening blue. Yellow looms behind him.

“Feel this.” He pats the ground next to him, and tries not to wince as Yellow’s gargantuan hand settles down on the grass. “You might not be able to tell, but it’s growing. Even right now. By the time the snow—frozen water that falls from the sky—starts to cover it in a few months, it’ll probably be a few inches taller than it is right now. And then it’ll take a break for a while, but when Spring comes next year—when the weather gets warmer again—it’ll start again.

“The trees too. Look out there—they grow taller every year, and every year the leaves change into those beautiful colors you can see. And the shades are similar every year, but never exactly the same. Then the leaves fall off, and then bud again and come back. And the trees keep getting taller. And every time the leaves return, the whole tree is a little bit different too.”

Yellow hesitates. “These are familiar to me. Someone, I believe a Peridot—your Peridot—”

“She’s not my Peridot, but I know who you mean.”

“Yes...Well, she brought some of these...trees...from Earth to Homeworld, and determined how best to make them grow there. I’ve been gazing at them through the windows of the palace ever since, but I hadn’t realized how elaborate, how ever-present, their growth cycles were…”

“I’ve lived on Earth my whole life, and I only just started thinking about it recently. It’s easy to take for granted, but it’s really incredible when you stop to think about it.” He angles his head upward. “And it’s not just the plants. Look at the sky. It changes like this every day.” A pause. “Well, it’s really not the sky that’s changing—Connie told me that it’s an effect of how the planet moves around our sun. But from down here on Earth, it looks like it’s always changing. In a different way every day. I don’t think it’s like that on Homeworld.”

Yellow settles next to him at last, squatting, and then kneeling. “It isn’t. Things are constructed on Homeworld—not grown. We have a sun, but our sky does not transform like this.”

“Exactly. And I think that’s why my mom fell in love with the Earth so much. She was so in awe of how everything naturally grew and changed here.” Steven sighs, clenches him gemstone beneath his hand. “I’m still angry at her a lot of the time, but, like, I get it. She saw herself as this monster.” Here Steven pauses, glances away for a moment before finally letting the words return. “And she didn’t think that she was capable of growth or change. All she thought she could do was pretend to be someone else. And then she found herself on this planet where all anything did was grow for real, and she wanted to be a part of that even in some small way, so she made me.”

“Steven…”

“But the point is, she was wrong. She could have grown as herself. I think she did, even if she couldn’t see it. And she and I aren't the only Gems that grew. All of my friends and family have. None of us is the same as we were when I was a kid. Maybe it just took coming to Earth to see that, ya know? Gems can grow and change, just like the trees can, and the grass, and the sky.

“So yeah,” Steven continues. “White hurt you, and you hurt Mom, and Mom hurt Pearl and Garnet and Amethyst and Spinel and you, and everyone she hurt hurt me, and I hurt Jasper and Dad and a lot of people and could have hurt a lot more, and you hurt all the Gems who were corrupted, and who became the Fusion experiments and the Cluster...and that’s all true, and we all have to deal with that and make the things we did wrong right the best that we can. And it’s hard, and it sucks. But the ways we’ve been hurt and hurt other people aren’t all we are. We can grow and change too. As ourselves. I think the Earth is just one big reminder of that.”

Yellow’s brows are once again furrowed, her jaw agape. “I…”

“So, yeah, it’s going to be hard to face all the Gems in the Cluster as you put them all back together. But it’s the right thing to do. And if it ever becomes too much, you can always come up here, and watch the world change and grow to remind yourself that you’re growing too. You’re better than you were, and if you keep working at it, you’ll keep getting better.”

Then, without waiting for Yellow to respond, Steven stands, walks back over to the Dondai. “Now, I gotta hit the road. I want to get to Vegas by tomorrow. It was nice to see you, Yellow.”

“You as well, Steven.” Yellow rises to her feet.

“Good luck,” he calls out the window as he pulls away, and glancing in the rearview mirror, he sees Yellow’s arm raised in farewell, something like a small, apprehensive smile on her lips.

Six months later, after a sojourn up and down the West Coast, Steven returns to the ridge en route back to Beach City for a visit. He pulls up just as the sun is rising over the canyon, glinting off Yellow’s arm ship, and off of the chest and arms and backs of the little gaggle of Gems gathered next to the ship and the adjacent hole. Yellow is not among them, though. She stands on the crest of the cliff, gazing at the trees, at the little buds beginning to spring into being on each branch.

“Steven.” She turns to him in greeting as he gets out of the car.

“You’ve been busy!”

“Yes, we’re progressing nicely.”

“We?”

Yellow nods. “Some of the Gems I reconstructed from the Cluster decided to remain here to help. Then others in Little Homeworld—and even a few on Homeworld itself—learned about what we were doing, and traveled here to volunteer.” She pauses. “They’re here for the sake of the Gems inside the Cluster, not for me. Still, it is nice not to be alone.”

“Mm.”

Yellow turns from the trees to the canyon, in the direction of the rising sun. The growing orange light catches her Gemstone too, and it glimmers in it. “It’s a beautiful morning.”

“Yeah,” Steven says. “It is.”

[ao3]

[isagrimorie]

👀

for this meme ask: send me a 👀 and i’ll post a snippet of art/writing that i never got around to finishing this year (r.i.p)

“One Day it would just drop out of the sky and tear down your world.” - The Pandorica Opens 

The Revelan alien music was something else almost psychedelic in some areas. They stuck around for all of the sets up to the moment the last fireworks exploded above them and the lead singer shouted, “Good Night, Revel!” 

The crowd they were in took the hint, the Doctor wanted to go behind the stage but Graham convinced the Doctor it was time to head back to the TARDIS.  

The Doctor looked despondent until Graham started singing an ode to West Ham, he even corralled a bunch of aliens to join in; not to be out done Ryan and Yaz countered with a loud Sheffield United song. The Doctor joined in with a spirited, if confusing, rendition of a Bristol FC chant. 

The aliens they were with slowly broke off from their group as the Doctor led them back towards the alley where the TARDIS was parked. The Doctor continued her confusing Football club chants, hollering, “We will follow Rangers/Everywhere, anywhere/we will follow on!” 

“Oi, Doc, first Bristol, now Glasgow Rangers, where’s you’re Yorkshire pride?” 

“I was Scottish for a long time!” The Doctor chirped back, she put her curled fingers over her eyebrows, “Had these fierce angry eyebrows— Oh, hello.” 

Yaz stopped when she saw the Doctor address the people ahead of them. Cops, Yaz thought. She would know that kind of wide stance anywhere.

A woman stepped forward in very severe looking clothes, her skin had a grayish hue under the dim blue lights. Yaz stepped forward next to the Doctor, she didn’t know what was going on but she sensed there was going to be trouble, and not for the first time, Yaz missed her own police issued extendable baton. 

“Is this your travel capsule?” the woman asked, her eyes were sharp. 

“Was it in the way?” The Doctor asked, apologetic. 

“Doctor,” Yaz said, quietly, trying to convey in tone: Be careful. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ryan freeze. They hadn’t spoken much about his life, after meeting Rosa Parks but Yaz knew enough to know that he’d had his run in with the less scrupulous members of Hallamshire police. 

But all this seemed to be lost on the Doctor. 

“So this is yours?”

“It isn’t so much mine as I’m hers,” the Doctor said, “If it’s in the way I can move it, no need to impound it.” 

The woman turned her head in profile the woman’s cheek bones were as sharp as her eyes. 

“Doctor,” Yaz said, louder now. 

Frustratingly, the Doctor didn’t heed her warning even when Yaz tried to step forward to cut off the Revel cop heading for the Doctor. 

“I’m sure this is some sort of misunderstanding,” the Doctor said, tone placating. 

The woman was laser focused on the Doctor. “We are arresting you.” 

Graham, who was silent through the whole thing finally spoke up, indignant, “For parking in the wrong area?”

“We should run for it,” Ryan hissed. 

“What are you arresting the Doctor for?” Yaz questioned, trying to match the official tone. The tone she was trained to use. 

“We are arresting you,” the woman continued on as if they weren’t there. “For war crimes against the people of Revel—”

The Doctor looked stunned. 

War crimes?

“You have the wrong person!” Yaz shouted. 

“Oh, am I?” The woman nodded in the direction of the TARDIS, “Is this not the TARDIS?” 

“It is,” the Doctor said, voice soft. 

“Then I have it right.” 

“A moon and a festival of reconstruction. Stupid, stupid, Doctor.” The Doctor murmured and then looked at the woman, “Revel isn’t it’s original name.”

“No, it’s not,” the woman confirmed. “We used to call this—”

“Skull moon,” the Doctor’s now is barely above a whisper and suddenly, Yaz felt a chill run through her.  

“You are being arrested for war crimes, warrior—”

“That’s not what she’s called!” Graham responded, angry.

“—also known as the Butcher, also known widely in the universe as the Doctor.” 

Yaz felt the moment all the fight left the Doctor, it was the same time Yaz felt like the world shifted beneath her feet. Ryan let out a shout, and grabbed the Doctor’s arm but it seemed she was immovable like a marble statue. 

“Ryan!” Graham shouted just as the woman turned to the officer beside her and said:

“Staze them.” 

This seemed to rouse the Doctor as she shouted, “Don’t!” 

Too late, there was a shock of pain and then, nothing.

This was supposed to be a long case fic/trial story set between series 11 and 12 where Thirteen is put on trial for her war crimes during the Time War (and look at that we’ve circled Thirteen back around in Revolution of the Daleks.

Unfortunately, I got bogged down with all the trial and legal stuff and worldbuilding.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Impulsive and Idiotic (NSFW)

Read on AO3.

Summary: In your memory, there was a massive, crater-sized hole in Hux's chest, smoke billowing out of it in pillars. But you knew that couldn’t be true--after all, in this same memory, you, a complete stranger to him, rushed and crumbled at his side, and pressed your hand to the wound, seeking out life in his eyes.

Words: 3800

Warnings: Face-fucking

Characters: Armitage Hux x Reader

A/N: I had promised my very good friend @tonictransistor a fix-it fic if Hux ended up possibly biting the bullet in Episode IX. So, Tora, here you go. This is the scene that ended up on the cutting room floor, along with all of the other good parts of the movie, probably (hyuck hyuck hyuck).

I love you so much. I hope this eases your pain, a bit. And I hope any other Hux lovers enjoyed it, as well. <3

“I found the mole.”

You weren’t sure if you heard the blaster go off before or after those words. Adrenaline had fueled you so completely you couldn’t even reconstruct the minutes prior to the shot--who was there, what they had been saying to you. All you can recall is watching, stone-still, as General Hux was blown back, collapsing in a limp, sparking heap only feet away from you. In your memory, there was a massive, crater-sized hole in his chest, smoke billowing out of it in pillars. But you knew that couldn’t be true--after all, in this same memory, you, a complete stranger to him, rushed and crumbled at his side, and pressed your hand to the wound, seeking out life in his eyes.

“Sir!” You cupped his cheek, forcing his line of sight in your direction. “Sir, are you okay?” 

The General groaned, hissing through clenched teeth and struggling to focus on who had come to his aid. “What are you doing?” His voice was decibels above a whisper. “Get me out of here, already!”

Heat searing your face, you nodded. “Yes, sir, General.” 

The control room had already resumed operations, the rest of the officers seemingly content to continue with duties while a body of a General lay on the ground. Allegiant General Pryde had discarded thoughts of Hux seconds after shooting him--you could no longer even find him in the room. Glancing around, you seemed to be the only person on the Steadfast remotely concerned. You held your breath, forcing your hands under Hux’s shoulders, hoping to guide him to his feet, but he growled.

“No,” he said. “Not like that. Drag me. Let them think I’m dead.”

You balked. “Uh, General--”

“Drag me.”

“Yes--uh, yes, sir.”

At that, Hux went limp. You grasped his wrists, bending at the knees to make your job a little simpler, and pulled. He winced--the blaster shot hadn’t killed him, but it didn’t look comfortable, either. To your surprise, he was lighter than you anticipated, but still functioned as Lighter-Than-Anticipated dead weight. After a few seconds of pulling, your grip slipped, and you squealed, tumbling onto your ass. 

“General, please…”

Hux’s face twinged. Panicking, you scrambled to your feet, snatching his wrists again--this time, his hands grabbed your wrists, too. You weren’t sure how much blood needed to flood your face for it to change color, but at this point, you had about half of your supply there. 

Steeling yourself, you pulled again, throwing most of the work to your legs, and Hux glided across the glossy floor--within seconds, you’d both crossed through the blast doors, into the emptier hallway, where you continued to drag him.

“We’ll be at the medbay in a few moments, General,” you whispered. “It’s only--”

“Don’t be stupid,” he said. “We’re not going to the medbay.”

You swallowed. “We’re not?”

“No.” His voice was tight. “Get to an emergency pod.”

“Oh,” you said. “We’re escaping now, sir?”

“Pryde... doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Hux replied. “I’m not going to--argh--stick around and watch him fail at my own expense.” 

“Right.” You didn’t want to make him talk any longer than necessary. But there was one last thing. “So, uh, where are the emergency, like, escape ships, again?”

Hux’s neck twisted when he tried to meet your gaze from the ground. “You don’t know where the escape vessels are?”

Forcing a smile, you shook your head. “No?”

He looked toward the ceiling with a sigh. “Of course, my only ally is an imbecile.”

You blinked. Was he serious? “Oh, I’m sorry, General,” you said. “Next time, maybe you can just drag yourself out of being shot point-blank.”

“I’m perfectly capable of it.”

“You’re perfectly capable of dragging yourself?” you replied, continuing to drag him in a random direction. “You sure seemed like it.”

“Let me go.” Hux jerked away, but you clutched hard to his arms. “Let me go!”

Gritting your teeth, you released him. “Fine!” This wasn’t going as you anticipated. You knew Hux to be prickly, but this was beyond stubborn. 

Hux huffed, rolling over and seething as he balanced himself on his hands and knees. The bandage on his leg continued to darken with his blood, and his torso seemed as if it had been seared, blackened. He must have been in incredible pain. Yet you wouldn’t know it--he steadied himself in silence, wobbling while he brought himself to two feet. 

You watched, mouth agape, unable to avoid staring at his red hair falling, tousled, across his forehead, the flushing of his cheeks that so resembled what you’d imagined many times prior to this moment. His lips, full and soft, were parted in a mixture of effort and frustration, his eyes wild with determination. Those eyes met your own, immobilizing you, and he smirked.

“I didn’t request your help, offi--” Hux stumbled before he finished his sentence, cursing himself as his knees hit the floor.

You sighed. “Come on, General,” you said. “I’ll get you there.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, yeah, obviously,” you sneered. And then, softer: “Please, sir.”

Hux leered at you, grappling with the smooth steel walls, bringing himself to stand again, and you were at his side, his arm draped over your shoulder. This closeness churned your stomach with some form of insect. Butterflies seemed inappropriate. You balanced him, curling an arm around his waist. He stepped, and you followed. To his credit, he was mostly correct--for the extent of his injuries, he was depending very little on your support. 

“Escape vessels are located on every floor, near the turbolifts,” he said. “We’ll use my code to access them.”

You nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you know how to fly a ship?”

A pause. “Uh…”

“Do you know anything about your job, officer?”

“Of course I do,” you replied, frowning. “But I only started on the Steadfast a few…” You paused. As anxiously as you wanted his approval, for as long as you’d been pining for it, you weren’t willing to get it by justifying yourself. “Is part of your job description getting shot, General? If so, you’re really exceeding expectations today.”

Hux tensed against you, but said nothing. “The vessels are mostly auto-pilot.”

“Yes, sir,” you said. “Just tell me where to set it for when we get there.”

The both of you hobbled together, Hux’s labored breathing filling the halls. You glanced at his torso. His black uniform hid the severity of his wound--but the gleaming of the fabric under the ship’s lights told you all you needed to know. It was wet. A terrified breath shivered in your chest. For the few weeks you’d been on the Steadfast, you’d grown… attached to the General. A crush seemed too childish to describe it, but the reality of your distant admiration seemed to leave it as the only appropriate term. It wasn’t just his beauty--though, of course, that had been a factor. It was his cunning, his wit. His sense of humor was dry and sharp, his expertise undermined by Pryde and Ren. 

You couldn’t believe you were so close to him, now, that you were the one escorting him to escape. Of course, you trusted his judgement--but the level of damage he’d sustained concerned you. It would be awful to have to watch him die.

The next corner you turned, you were greeted by a massive, locked door with an emergency warning plastered over it. How had you missed these? Hux grunted, flinging himself off of you and against the wall, gasping for air as he typed away at the security pad. You winced, reaching for him, but he swatted you away. He finished, and the lights in the hall flickered red, turbolifts on either side of you stalling as their alarms cut through the air.

“Uh, General?” 

Hux growled. “They killed my access.”

“What?”

“Don’t make me repeat everything I say.”

“What are we going to do, though, sir?” You peeked around the corners--two lines of troopers were marching toward the origin of the alarm. “Sir?”

“What?” he snarled, shooting you a glare. 

“Troopers are coming.”

Hux turned back toward the pad, typing in something else. “You must enjoy pointing out the obvious.”

“Oh, is that obvious?” you replied. “Incredible eyesight you have, General.”

“Of course it’s obvious, you fool.” He finished another code--nothing happened. “Troopers are trained to respond to any unsanctioned use of an emergency pod.”

“I have a feeling you weren’t expecting this to be unsanctioned.”

A muscle in his jaw tensed. “Every one of my codes is decommissioned.” Gaze narrowing, he slammed his fist against the wall. “I’ll just use Ren’s.”

Your eyes widened. “The Supreme Leader’s?” you asked. “You know his codes?”

“Of course I do,” Hux replied coolly, typing them in. “What kind of mole would I be if I didn’t?”

Concern nagged the back of your head. “Aren’t you worried about when he finds out you used his codes to escape?”

He snorted. “He’s as likely as the rest of us to end up dead before the end of this cycle.” With that, he hit enter, and the alarms stopped. 

The door whined when it opened, revealing the interior to a tiny, cube-shaped pod with multiple seating options. You glimpsed around the corner again--the troopers were closing in--seeing your face, they started running. One of them shouted out to you, ordering you to stop. Grimacing, you grabbed Hux’s shoulder, ignoring his protests, and pulled him into the ship. You both toppled on one of the rows of seating, and you clambered to the control panel, regarding it with complete resignation.

“Hit the button.” Hux crawled toward you, hampered by the wound in his chest.

“What button, sir?” There were a dozen buttons in front of you.

“Stop!” 

You turned around--the troopers had you in their sights, their blasters raised. 

“The button!” he said, pointing to a huge red button in the center of the console.

“Don’t move!” a trooper shouted.

You looked at Hux and dove, slamming your palm on the button--the doors flew shut, and you were thrown as the ship jettisoned forward, peeling away from the Steadfast using the two massive thrusters at its sides. The Star Destroyer became miniscule within a blink, and then the thrusters fell off, leaving smaller ion drives in control. The pod’s systems beeped, lights on the console awakening, and a prompt on the dash requested to know a destination.

“Where are we going, sir?” You glanced at Hux, who had deflated into his seat, face pale. Heart skipping, you leapt to his side, nudging him gently. His eyes, tired, met your own. “General?”

“I’m fine, officer.” His jaw was firm. “Just set a course for Arkanis.”

“Where’s that?”

He groaned. “Must you constantly remind me of how ignorant you are?”

You were growing weary of his snark. “I don’t have to put in anything on that prompt, you know.” 

“Discipline must be lacking in your unit,” he replied with a frown.

“If it is, it can only be the fault of those above me.”

Flouncing, you moved to the console and answered the prompt. The ship accepted it, and the engines whirred in response, controls moving independently. A long, quiet breath leaked from your nose, tension leaving with it. There was a desire to sit, but you resisted it, still too nervous to make yourself vulnerable. Why did you keep bickering with him? Fear nagged that you were driving him away; the silence in the ship worming its way into your mind. You were alone with General Hux, now--and you could swore you felt his stare sticking to you.

“Tell me your name.” 

Blushing, you spun, meeting his gaze. “Uh…” His curiosity seemed sincere. So you gave it to him.

He repeated it--somehow, it sounded superior on his tongue. “You’ve been serving the First Order for how long?”

“A few years, now, General.”

“Hm.” He paused, attention dipping to the floor and then back to you. “You may call me Armitage.”

You nodded. “Yes, sir, uh, Armitage.” Pinching your lips between your teeth, you shrugged, sitting an arm’s length from him on the bench, trying to ignore his wound. “Do you want me to look for medical supplies, or…” 

He rolled his eyes. “No.” A sharp breath left him, and he winced. “This requires more than a few pitiful salves.”

“You want to be in pain?” 

Armitage’s expression was as hard as iron, and even colder. “There are worse trials than physical pain.”

The intensity of his gaze sent goosebumps racing over your skin. You swallowed, sitting back. “Well,” you said. “I’m glad that I, uh, could help you.”

“Your reaction was impulsive and idiotic.” He held your stare for a moment, then dropped it. “But I suppose that without you, I’d be in danger of being blown up along with everyone else on that ship.”

You tried to suppress your smile. “You really think everyone’s about to get blown up?”

He sneered. “I don’t think,” he replied, “I know. Ren is a reckless fool. Pryde is too arrogant to see past his own brown nose.” Armitage settled into his seat. “Even if there was, by any measurable degree, a victory, neither of them are prepared to wield any level of power. Ren would self-destruct, and Pryde would split his own skull trying to stop it.”

A surge of attraction pulsed through you. You’d spent hours fantasizing about exactly this--sitting near Hux, hearing him speak, being entrusted with his thoughts. Yes, you’d had some verbal spats--but some part of you suspected that he liked it. A blessing. You liked it, too.

Face burning, you scooted nearer, and he hesitated, regarding you with suspicion. His eyes flickered over your frame, and after a moment, he softened. You inched toward him again, now close enough to touch his face.

“You know,” you said, looking between him and your hands, “I always thought it was ridiculous they installed Pryde as Allegiant General when they have you.”

Armitage’s lip twitched, almost imperceptibly. “It was because Ren didn’t trust me.” His gaze shifted to the wall. “But, like almost everything else he’s done since he became Supreme Leader, it’s hollow. Pryde is no less power-hungry than Ren is himself.”

You cocked your head. “How did he become Supreme Leader, anyway?”

“A coup,” he replied. He made it seem so simple--but you still couldn’t understand. Noticing your confusion, he continued. “Ren killed Leader Snoke while I was out cold. I had no say in the matter.”

“He… killed him?”

“Yes, though he fancies himself a good liar.” Armitage smirked. “Leader Snoke was just as flawed.” He finished his thought with a slight shrug. “None of those cretins have any clue how to run an effective government. The First Order would’ve tumbled into flames with any of them at the helm regardless.”

Discussing his criticisms of the Order was bringing life into his face--and you relished it. “You should’ve been Supreme Leader.”

At this, he froze. He locked you in his stare, jaw stern, brow drawn. You were paralyzed, chest tightening, mind fluttering with panic. What had you said that was so wrong? Averting his eyes, you made to distance yourself, but his hand shot out, seizing your wrist. 

He swallowed. “Say it again.”

Mouth dry, you blinked. “You… should’ve been Supreme Leader?”

A shiver rippled over his body. His lips trembled. “Say it. Again.”

“You should’ve… been Supreme Leader.”

Armitage tugged you closer, scrutinizing you, ferreting out evidence of deception. “You truly believe that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Supreme Leader should’ve been mine.”

“Yes, yes, sir.”

He brought his mouth inches from yours, examining every detail of your expression. His breath tickled warmth over your skin, his grip on your wrist crushing. “Perhaps you’re not as ignorant as I presumed,” he murmured.

“It’s about time I heard you say that,” you replied.

“Would’ve been easier to determine if you hadn’t spent all your time floundering around.”

“Says the man with multiple blaster wounds in his body.”

Armitage drew even closer. A slight shift, and your lips would meet. Your throat was thick, heart thrumming loud in your ears. If you remembered to breathe, it would have been a miracle; your full attention had focused on the angles of his face, the turbulent green of his eyes, the coppery lock of hair still crested over his forehead. Palms sweating, you went to speak--and were silenced, hungrily, by his mouth. 

A whimper escaped you, and you melted into his grip, returning the kiss with a desperation that almost embarrassed you. His teeth scraped your lower lip, his tongue fighting its way into your mouth as you moaned. Armitage was furious, voracious, consuming you like a sunburst--hot and sudden and fast. His hand moved from your wrist to your face, weaving through your hair only to tug it like reins. You squeaked in pain--and he did it again, now eliciting a wail. This would’ve, in theory, broken the kiss, but his ferocity consumed you, swallowing your cries like a storm. He nipped your lower lip again and released you with a gasp.

“Tell me you need me.”

Nodding, you replied, “I need you, Gene--”

“No,” he said. “Call me Supreme Leader.”

Heat crashed over you. “I need you,” you whispered, “Supreme Leader.”

Growling, he kissed you again, attempting to push you back--but he flinched and retreated, grasping at the wound on his chest. It was only then that you were able to see how ruddy his cheeks had become, how flush with desire he appeared--and you saw, too, the tent between his legs, the evidence of his need for you.

Armitage grunted, drawing in a long breath through his nose as he waited for the quakes of pain to subside. He looked between his hidden erection and you, pausing, before tearing at his pants, pulling free his thick, throbbing cock. It was bigger than you expected--and far prettier than you had imagined. It curved like a scimitar toward his abdomen, the head pink with blood and shiny with cum. You swallowed again, mouth watering while you pictured running your tongue along the shaft. 

Shoulders swelling with anticipation, he fisted his member, soft pants escaping his chest while he jerked himself. His eyes, glittering flames of emerald, watched you burn for it. “I can tell from looking at you that you want to suck me off,” he said. “Don’t you?”

You squeezed your thighs together, putting pressure on your aching clit. And yet, you couldn’t resist. “I don’t know,” you replied. “Are you sure you trust me with such a complicated task?”

“Don’t be a tease,” he growled.

Holding your breath, you dipped low, careful to avoid any of his wounds as you hovered over his length. “I’m not sure,” you said, and brushed your lips across the tip. “Is this how you do it, Supreme Leader?”

“Stupid girl--” Armitage hissed, clawing at your scalp. He held you still, trying to fuck up into your mouth, but his very first thrust had him keen in pain.

Snickering, you were somehow elated. “I’m just too stupid to figure out how to suck your dick, sir.” You dragged your tongue up the underside of his member, grazing your lips on the head, cleaning the drop of pre-cum that had beaded there. “Am I doing it right?”

“Brat.” He curled his fingers in your hair, driving your head down. “Be good and suck your Supreme Leader’s cock.”

With a smirk, you relented, dropping your jaw and sliding his cock into your mouth until the head hit the back of your throat. Humming against him, you wrapped your lips around the shaft and groaned, his flesh hot silk on your tongue. You felt his heartbeat thump at the base of his length, like a drum tracking his desire to cum. He controlled your movements, bobbing your head up and down, pushing you deep onto his dick and pulling you up for air. 

You focused on your breath--you wanted him to whimper, wanted for him to shudder with pleasure, wanted for him to know how long you’d dreamed of this. Twisting your neck, you fought to seek his eyes, but the angle and his grip on your hair made it impossible. Instead, you moaned--loud and lewd, slobbering globs of spit with each squelching thrust, gagging for effect, matching and exceeding the speed of his hands. Armitage tried, in vain, to slow you, but you were driven by lust, fingers wiggling between your legs to tease your clit, groaning again when your nerves lit up like lightning.

“F-fuck--” he sputtered, “slow down.” When you failed to obey, he ripped you off of his dick, and you heaved in a breath, forced to meet his gaze. “Slow. Down.”

“What is it, Supreme Leader?” You grinned, drawing your tongue over your lip. “You can’t handle me?”

Baring his teeth, Armitage said nothing, instead choosing to shove you onto your knees. His hands squeezed you steady, and he sucked in a breath before standing, a quick sob of pain escaping his chest before he rammed his cock deep into your mouth. He grunted, fucking your face, lip curling in a twist of fury and greed, watching your eyes fill with tears as drool dribbled down your chin. You retched, sniveling while you endured his onslaught, fighting to relax your throat so that you didn’t actually vomit.

“That’s right...” His voice was ragged, tattered with pleasure and pain. “Fuck… fuck--”

You slicked your fingers over your clit again, and hummed in delight, fluttering your lashes-- and somehow, this was enough. Armitage gasped, driving into you, dick twitching and pulsing on your tongue as he spilled hot cum down your throat, his legs quaking with the effort. You swallowed, waiting for him to release you--and he finally crumpled, falling into his seat, lungs gulping down air. Sweat beaded his brow, his hair mussed now beyond repair, but on his face, there was a wash of relief. Of freedom.

Wiping your mouth, you snuck a seat next to him, watching as his mind returned to the reality you both occupied. Sighing, a smirk crept onto your face. “I’d say you’re having a decent day for someone who’s been shot twice.”

Armitage glanced askance at you, but you kept your grin, too pleased with your own joke. After a moment, his facade cracked, and the hint of a smile flashed over his face. He caught himself and cleared his throat, pushing fingers through his hair.

“Well,” he said, “you’re likely not an imbecile.”

“Really!” you replied, laughing. “I’ve redeemed myself.”

His face relaxed, and he nodded. 

“You have,” he said. “You have.”

[theinfinitybucky]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x reader (platonic, “siblings”)

Request: Can you do a one shot or a series where the reader is a healer and falls in love with Bucky? I also love fake dating au’s so if you can add that in, I would love you so muchhhhh. Thank you

Trigger Warnings for this Chapter: Blood, medical setting, one or two swear words

Author’s Note: This happens in a sort of after Civil War AU. I deny the existence of the plot of about half that movie… I “threw out” the Sokovian Accords in a sense. Pietro Maximoff is not dead because why not. It will probably take me a few chapters to get to the fake dating au part. I was going to make this a one shot but then it became a full blown series so poop.

MASTERLIST

“Love is the most beautiful of dreams and the worst of nightmares.”

Chapter One 

“Steve!” You ran up to Steve and pulled him into a tight hug.

He moaned in pain from the battle he had just fought. You had been worried sick about him since you heard about the “civil war”. It had been about a year since Bucky Barnes had shown up and decided to not kill Steve. You had been at the scene where Steve was found beaten and bloodied. You were unsure how you felt about the Winter Soldier at first. It took Steve a long time to convince you that he was good after SHIELD fell. You still were unsure of the possibility of the Winter Soldier ever being the “Bucky Barnes” that Steve knew ever again.

Stark had explained to you what had happened when you returned to the United States. You had collected enough from the news to put together that this whole thing was a giant mess. The moment you landed in the country, you realized that it was even more of a disaster than you originally expected. Customs tried to detain you before you got a call in to a US senator. The senator remembered that he owed you a favor and that you were cashing it in now.

You arrived at the hospital where Rodney was in a paralytic state. 13 hours later, their surgery was over. Here you were in exhaustion and the work still wasn’t done on all the Avengers, or what was left of the “team”. Healing people with your powers took the energy out of you quickly, but when needed you could even heal yourself from fatigue.

    “Hey, I didn’t know you were here. I thought you were still in Russia.” Steve pulled away from hugging you so he could observe you. He noted that you were wearing a pair of navy scrubs but had a belt with a handgun strapped around your waist.  He noted that you remained calm all though you had just entered a narrative that you was not previously part of until now.

Your biggest worry at the moment was the pain that he had to be in. His whole aura was crying out with exhaustion and agony. He had never done a good job of hiding his physical pain from you. You grabbed his hand and summoned the power to pull the pain out of him. The bruise of his black eye slowly turned back to its regular light color and his cuts pulled themselves together.

“Thanks.” He muttered as he watched your eyes turn back from a iridescent gold to their regular color.

“I got out of Rodney’s 13 hour reconstructive surgery about a half hour ago and had to pull a bullet out of Pietro’s back. Tony called me after the last surgeon botched Rodney’s back. I cut my mission short. Came back to the US.

    “I was able to trade that surgery for this.” You paused and slowly nodded to yourself as your lips pressed together. You walked over to a closet and punched in a code. You slightly opened the door to place on your hand on the cold metal of Cap’s shield. You yanked it up from the ground as it was always heavier than you expected.

“You traded him for this?” He took the weight of the shield from your hands.

“You’re right I should have charged more considering the hell I went through at customs.” You said sarcastically. You thought about how the transportation security administration agents had attempted to arrest and detain you.

    “I don’t want it.” Steve didn’t look you in the eyes. He tried to hand it back to you. You threw your hands up in refusal.

    “Steve, take the damn shield. It is a peace offering, I didn’t ask for it. I only told him that he owed him and this is what he gave me in return for the surgery.”

    “Do you know what happened?” Steve questioned you. You could see his anger shining through. This did not phase you at all. This was the reaction you had expected from him when he saw the shield.

    “I know he ripped Bucky’s arm off. I know he tried to imprison half the team while I was gone.” He saw that your exterior was completely calm even though Tony’s actions caused you rage too. “I talked to him about the consequences of the Accords… He’s going to have some lawyers look into it and get amendments made. The main governing body will be the new reconstructed SHIELD. I’ve also got a couple of favors due high up in the US government.

You paused again as Steve took in the new information. He didn’t respond to you even though you knew he trusted your words. “That won’t fix what has happened or what he did. It won’t mend this mess, but, Steve, it is better than the alternative.” They stood together for a few seconds in silence before Steve agreed.

    “Where is your friend?” You wondered as you had seen every other former member of the broken up Avengers. God, you couldn’t believe the disaster that had happened while you were gone. They broke up, like a freaking band.

    “He’s in 413. Would you mind taking the shrapnel out of his chest? Getting his arm fixed by the Wankandans wasn’t great. He might trust you more considering you haven’t tried to kill him and you are essentially a sister to me.” Steve looked to you with hope gleaming in his eyes. You couldn’t deny him the aid for his friend. The idea of it made you uncomfortable. You were like Bucky once and Steve had helped you. Now, this was your turn to do the same for Steve’s friend.

    “Okay,” you thought to herself for a moment, “How is he? Stark didn’t tell me much…”

“He’s doing better, not perfect though.”

“Better is as much as anyone can ask for someone who came from HYDRA.” Your words came out in a low tone.

    “Y/N, sorry, I-.” Steve tried to pull you into a hug because he felt bad for mentioning it.

    “It’s fine.” You pulled away from him before he could get his arms around your body. “I’m going to go get some tools. Can you tell him that I’m coming to remove the pieces?”

    “Yes. Thank you so much, Y/N.” Steve patted you on the back and you forced a smile at him.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. I’m Steve’s friend, but I guess he already told you that much…” You entered the room and looked at Bucky. He seemed rigid and you noted his eyes on the gun at your hip. “Don’t worry, the gun is not for you. I don’t go anywhere unarmed anymore after…” You began to say too much so you stopped.

    “I’m Bucky.” His voice came out roughly. He knew that you knew who he was and the opposite was true also.

    “Nice to meet you, Bucky.” You exchanged the formality.

    “Do you mind if I, uh, pull the metal out of your chest?” You trailed and pointed at his chest. Your eyes fell on his arm which had been reattached already. Looking at it was strange. The arm did not make you uncomfortable, the whole concept was just foreign how it would even work you had no idea. Your knowledge of the body told you no such thing should be able to move even with nerves attached correctly. Was there a blood supply to it?

    “That’d be great.” He gave you an incredibly fake smile.

You could tell he was uncomfortable with your presence. You decided to ignore this and do as Steve had asked. You sat down and pulled some gloves on. He removed his shirt to expose an extremely toned stomach. You tried to not let your eyes stare for too long. You knew that he was so muscular because of what HYDRA had done to him.

    “This is gonna hurt a bit.” You began wiping away the blood on his chest with an alcohol swab.

Most of your patients would at least jerk away with alcohol going into an open cut yet he didn’t even move. You couldn’t detect any pain in his aura. Your eyebrows raised a little bit because you were expecting more of a reaction. You continued without saying anything.

He watched you as you were intensely staring into his arm as you tried to find the small pieces of metal without hitting veins or arteries. You were smaller than he had expected. Bucky was fascinated that you could stand the smell of blood and the sight without getting sick. He wasn’t flinching as you removed pieces of shrapnel out of his muscle tissue or when you was rubbing alcohol swabs on his bare skin to remove the blood.

The two of you had been sitting in silence for probably 10 minutes. Both of you refusing to talk or more so having nothing to say. You moved closer to his bare and bloody chest to begin to work on the more intimate area. You felt uncomfortable and slightly scared to be this close to him. You knew it was easy to set of the Winter Soldier inside of him and you worried any movement you made would.

He was not reacting at all to what should have been pain. It was upsetting you a bit because pain was a normal reaction to what you were doing. This was making the situation more uncomfortable. You almost wanted him to cry out so you wouldn’t have to sit in complete silence. It also did not help the fact that Pietro was staring at the two of you from his own bed across the hallway. You had already healed him, but he chose to stay in the hospital wing to “recover”. You knew he had chosen to stay to make sure Bucky did not make a move on you. Pietro had been trying to get you to go out on a date with him for months, but you continued to refuse. He was overzealous in his pining for you and continued to make you more uncomfortable every time you were present with him.

     “You know, you’re awfully nice for someone who was in HYDRA…” Bucky’s voice was completely calm. You stopped for a second then continued to remove a piece of metal and drop it into the basin.

    “Funny you say that…” You muttered for a split second before deciding to tell him what Steve hadn’t. “I used to be in the US Army, like you. Like Steve. That was before things changed.”

“I’m sorry.” Bucky made an attempt for forgiveness. The situation was still uncomfortable. You decided to accept his apology. It wasn’t his fault that Steve had not told him.

“Don’t worry. Steve doesn’t tell my friends what I don’t want them to know.”

“I’m your friend, now?” The edges of Bucky’s lips turned upward. This was the first time you had ever seen him smile. You made eye contact with the man before sensing Steve coming around the corner.

“What’s up, Steve?” You asked with inflection in an escape from Bucky’s question.

“Everything okay in here?” Steve wondered aloud.

“Yes,” you answered before Bucky could say anything. You flicked your hair out of your face for a second before continuing. You noted Pietro staring at you again and determined you could get Steve to do your bidding. “But can you get Pietro to stop staring at me? It is creeping me out. Also tell him the answer is, number one, no and, number two, I don’t care that he just “nearly died”. ”

Pietro was always saying that “he was in pain” or “nearly died” to get you to “heal” him again. You would pretend to do something and make your eyes glow so he actually thought you had just to get him to go away. Whether you were leading him on or not, you were unsure.

    “Gotcha. You’re in good hands, Buck.” Steve patted the Winter Soldier on the shoulder.

    “Thank you!” You called after Steve as he left. He held up a thumbs up to you.

You glanced up for a moment and watched Steve go over to Pietro’s bed. Pietro paused for a moment as Steve told him to go then noticed you watching him. You narrowed her eyes at him in hopes that he would get the message: “I will kill you if you don’t leave”. He headed for the door which let your tight shoulders relax by the moment he was out of sight.

    “Overprotective boyfriend?” Bucky wondered as he noticed your muscles release their tenseness down.

    “No, actually. Ever since I healed him, he has been asking me out for weeks. It is driving me insane.” You groaned and shook your head.

    “Won’t take no for an answer?” Bucky seemed to like your annoyance with Pietro.

    “I guess not… Bucky, I’ve seen men die with more grace than how he takes a minor flesh wound.” You waved a piece of shrapnel for emphasis before dropping it in the trash.

Bucky chuckled to himself. You laughed a bit and a small smile appeared on your face. You hid it the moment you felt it appearing. What you didn’t know was that Bucky was thinking how he liked you more than the other members of the Avengers that he had met. You were very calm with your voice soft and comforting.

You pulled out a particularly large piece of metal. “You have a very high pain tolerance…” You remarked uncomfortably as you dropped this one in the basin.

“When you’ve been through the things I have, you develop one.” Bucky sullenly commented to you. You met his eyes for a moment, but looked down again, going back to work. You pulled out the last piece and pulled away from his toned chest.

    “I wish I couldn’t understand, but I can.” You said offhandedly then set down the tweezers as you rolled on your stool towards the trash can. You removed the soiled gloves then disposed of them. You rolled the surgical table away from Bucky. Something about you interested Bucky. He used to would have never gone for a girl like you, he though to himself.  Secretive and toned down. Since his time in the cryogenic stasis, he had changed.

You noticed thoughts running through his head and decided to change the subject quickly. You didn’t like talking about how Hydra tortured you.

“Okay, we are through the worst part now, but you have to promise me that you don’t have any other wounds with shrapnel in them that I don’t know about. It will be a lot harder to take it out after I do this, so tell me now.” Your eye brows were creased in the middle with worry. This was where you were most worried. Going in his head scared you more than removing the metal pieces. Yet the 30 minutes you had spent with Bucky seemed to make you less scared than you were when you walked in the room.

    “I promise.” Bucky promised her with a nod.

    “All right then.” Your voice faded off. All though you were nervous, you did this to team members all the time. He was a team member now. “This shouldn’t hurt at all. It might be warm though.”

Bucky watched as you let your hands carefully fall on his forearm and opposite shoulder.

Your eyes drifted shut and he began to feel a warm current running up his arms. Your hands glittered with the golden dust of your power. You took in a deep breath as you found his wounds which scared Bucky for a second. You felt his heart rate jump through the connection between the two of you. A grin appeared on your lips. You stifled a giggle about his reaction. He almost laughed when he noticed his skin growing warm in a spot where it was pulling itself together and turning from a bright red to a soft pink then a natural tan. Your eyes opened and they were still glowing a golden color for a second.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you…” You told him as you pulled your hands away. The euphoria of your power faded as you let it go. He was still examining his skin in shock that he didn’t have any scars. He noticed you looking at his other arm, the metal one. You broke your gaze from it immediately when his eyes caught yours. You had felt your body trying to heal where a human arm was supposed to be. You prevented the power from taking over and trying to do that.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but… I could fix… that…” You paused awkwardly as you tried to assess if you were upsetting him. “For you…”

Your gaze held his for the first time and you did not immediately look away in fear. He smiled at you and shook his head.

    “No, Y/N. Thank you for offering, but I don’t want you to do that. It’s part of me now…” He misjudged your reaction of relief and began to panic. “I don’t mean to insult you. I-, I-.”

You only laughed and with a blush creeping up on your cheeks. “Don’t worry, Bucky. I understand more than anyone.” You looked up and met his eyes once more.

    “Thank you, Y/N.” He set a hand on your shoulder. It made you slightly uncomfortable to be touched by him so you made up a reason to leave.

    “I’m glad I was able to help.” You turned your head away from him as if you heard something. “I’ve gotta go, I can hear Stark bitching in his room.”

You looked towards the door and his hand fell from your shoulder. You stood and headed out. You walked past Steve who was making his way back in to check on Bucky. He patted you on the back and stopped you by the shoulder. He asked if you were okay. You just nodded to him then continued on your way.

    “What did you think of Y/N?” Steve asked once you were out of ear shot.  He leaned up against the wall and watched his fellow soldier.

    “She is not at all what I expected.” Bucky chuckled.

    “You two have a lot in common.” Steve raised his eyebrows.

    “Steve, am I confused or are you trying to suggest something?” Bucky shook his head.

    “I don’t know, Bucky. You tell me.” Steve stared into his soul.

    “You know, I am the one who usually does this for you, right?”

Thank you for reading. Please give a like, reply, or reblog for more content in the future. I also am taking one shot requests go ahead and send your idea in to see it brought to life!

Chapter Two

[fictionxing]

When It Rains... Mando x Reader | 2033 Words | Fluffy Goodness

A/N: So uh, forgive any weird tense shifts. I’ll try and fix them tomorrow when it’s not 2am. Also might make a part two where there’s more flirting if there’s interest!

Of course you would get stuck here. It was, after all, supposed to be a quick job. Land on the planet, find the bail jumper (as there seemed to be many bail jumpers in the outer rim these days), cart him back to the ship. The contact didn’t bother to mention that the planet the bail jumper was on had an ever present storm that roamed across the plant and it was scheduled to occupy the area right after you landed. Which, none you knew until after you landed.

So, it was more like the ship got stuck here and, therefore, you, the Mandalorian, and the tiny green child were stuck here too. You personally found the rain calming and watching the rivets travel down the windows in the cockpit was fairly occupying. Your companions, however, were not enjoying the days spent cooped up in what is honestly a rather small ship. Privacy was becoming an ever present and highly sought after luxury.

And, to your credit, you tried to keep out of Mando’s hair. It couldn’t be comfortable being forced to wear the helmet all the time and the poor man needed to eat on occasion. The child, on the other hand, was beginning to find all new places he could explore, which only made you and Mando more stressed. He was curious which meant he was often mischievous after exploring all of the easy to access places. In turn, it meant Mando and yourself were often having to keep a closer eye on him than normal causing further frustrations.

Glancing down, you tapped at you HoloPad once more, attempting to see if you could get any signal at all. If you could find when the end of the rain would be here, it may make it easier for Mando. At least, you thought it could help, as it would signal an end to being in cramped quarters. However, the storm was causing all sorts of interference due to being both incredibly large and seemingly never-ending. You sighed and tossed the tablet onto the dashboard. It was of no use anyway.

Behind you, you hear the sound of the door opening and you turn to see the Child waddling towards you. When he see you, he coos and waddles faster, extending a hand towards you in order to give you whatever it is he’s holding.

“Mah!” he pronounced proudly, his small arms reaching up towards you.

“Ah, what do you have here?” you asked, grinning down at him. No doubt he was involved something mischievous but seeing him so proud of his present was heartwarming. Reaching down, you took the long metal tube he was holding, realizing it was the removable scope Mando kept on his Amban rifle. “Hmm, are you supposed to have this?” you asked, an eyebrow raising as you glanced down at the child. His ear drooped slightly, obviously upset that you weren’t pleased with his gift. He babbled for a moment and you sighed, reaching down to pull him into your arms as you stood.

“Thank you for the gift,” you said. “But, this belongs to Mando and I think he’s really going to miss it. We should probably return it to him.” He responded with a long coo, ears hanging low. It pulled at your heart to see him so sad, so you tweaked one of his ears and smiled once more. “Come on, let’s go find him, hm?” The child perked up a small bit at your good humor and you began to make your way down to the hold of the ship.

Climbing down the ladder with one hand was tricky, but you managed by going slowly. As you reached the bottom, you could hear the sounds of Mando rummaging through one of his crates. Before you came into view, you knocked loudly against the metal siding of the ship, warning him of your presence just in case. You could hear him softly sigh before calling out, “Yes?”

Taking that to mean you could round the corner safely, you stepped into the loading dock to see Mando surrounded by several opened crates and the Amban rifle sitting on the small table in a few pieces. “I’m sorry,” you apologized, setting the child on one of the unopened crates. “I just wanted to bring this back to you. Someone decided to bring me a gift, but I figured you needed it more.”

As you held out the scope towards him, you heard him sigh again - this time deeper than before. “I was wondering how I had lost it,” he said, reaching out to take it. “I probably should have guessed it was the womp rat.” Despite the rather uncouth nickname, you could hear the warmth in his tone. Even the battle-hardened Mandalorian couldn’t stay mad at the child, it seemed.

“I can say he has wonderful taste,” you replied. “Even without the rifle, that’s a handy piece of tech.”

You felt your body warm as he chuckled. “Yes, it is,” he said simply, moving back to the table in order to properly finish the job of reconstructing his rifle.

You stood there awkwardly for a few moments, not knowing quite what to do. After a moment, a rattling noise caught your attention and you turned to see the Child attempting to climb inside one of the open crates. Sighing, you pulled him out and setting him on the table next to Mando before turning and beginning to pack away the crate.

“You don’t have to do that.” You turned to look over your shoulder, seeing Mando grabbing a few items as well.

“It’s fine,” you assured, giving him a small smile though feeling a weight in your gut. “I’ll just gather up everything and close the lids and then I’ll head back up.” You didn’t to impose on his company if he didn’t want you there, but he was also currently occupied. It would only take a few minutes to tidy up and then you would leave him to his work.

“It’s my mess,” he replied. “I can take care of it.”

“Of course,” you said, wanting to argue but your logical side urging you to keep the peace winning out. “I’ll just… head up back up then.” You stepped around him, making sure to keep a wide berth. You heard the child coo in confusion as you walked past but you ignore him.

As you climbed the ladder, you felt a lump in your throat form. Once you had safely made your way back into the cockpit and the metal doors were safely shut behind you, you leaned against them and gently thumped your head against it. “Idiot,” you thought. “You know he isn’t the mood for your hovering.” Sighing to yourself, you pressed the heels of your palms into your hands to will yourself to stop the feeling of tears forming. “What a silly thing to be upset about,” you thought. It was becoming more apparent over the course of your time stuck together that you had started develop feelings of… fondness… toward the Mandalorian. While you originally admired him and found him to be a fair and capable partner through your adventures in the galaxy, you had come to treasure the quiet moments between you.

You knew what was happening - you weren’t stupid after all. His chuckles caused your stomach to come to life with butterflies. The brief and rather innocuous touches caused your heart to beat faster. And anytime you saw him with the child your stomach would flip. But a crush on a Mandalorian… it was idiocy. Yes, he was a good man and no, the fact that you’d never seen him didn’t bother you. But you knew, in broad strokes, what his code was and the obligations he was required to fulfill. He had made both very clear when you’d joined his crew. You respected it and even found yourself doing what you could to help him reach his goals. But within that… there wasn’t much room for romance. Thus, all of these feelings were pointless and made you act like a fool.

“No point beating yourself up,” you murmured. You can be his friend. You can help him. Both of those are important and worthwhile even without acting on your feelings. Focus on those instead. Taking a final deep breath, you began to stand up when the door behind you suddenly opened, sending you falling backwards.

Thankfully you didn’t tumble to the ground, but instead felt your back collide with a rather solid and hard chest. You looked up to see Mando staring down at you and you can see your shocked face staring back at you in the shiny metal.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly, and you could feel the rumble from them in his chest.

Blinking a few times, you finally came to your senses. “Yes! I’m fine!” you said, a little too loudly and hastily moved to stand upright. “Sorry! I didn’t realize you were coming up behind me.”

He was quiet for a moment, simply staring at you through the visor of his helmet. You felt yourself start to fidget and forced you hands behind your back. Suddenly he asked, “Is something wrong?”

The question took you by surprise. Again, you blinked at him a few times before your gaze fell the the floor. “Um, no?” you said.

“You don’t sound sure.”

“Just probably feeling a little cabin fever,” you said.

He didn’t respond, but instead moved into the cockpit more fully, finally letting the doors close behind him. “I…” he started, sounding unsure of himself. That was… new. “Are you…”

“Really, Mando,” you said, interrupting him and forcing a smile on your face. “It’s fine. I’m okay.” You gave him an affirming nod and turned to sit down in the co-pilot’s seat but felt his gloved hand catch your wrist. It surprised you, and you turned to face him again. He didn’t immediately speak and you wondered what he was thinking. You wished you could see his face so at least you could get some clues.

“I just…” he started, still sounding unsure. “I just wanted to make sure that I haven’t… done… anything.”

“Done anything?” you asked. “No, of course not!”

“So… you’re not… frightened of me?”

“Frightened?” you repeated. “No, not at all!”

“Then why have you been avoiding me?” he asked and even without seeing his face you could tell he was feeling vulnerable at even asking.

“I haven’t-” you started, but he cut you off before you could continue.

“Don’t lie,” he said. “You’ve been… fidgety. And you don’t look at me much anymore, like you’re avoiding me. You’ve been jumpy when I speak. And don’t say it’s because we’re stuck here. It’s was happening before we landed.”

Your mouth opened and closed a few times, and you felt a little like a fish just gaping at him. “I’m not… jumpy. I’m just… I mean, it’s been stressful and… uh.” Now it was your turn to be tongue-tied, it seemed. “I didn’t want to intrude on your space,” you finally said, sighing. “It’s just me being weird, is all. It’s nothing you need to worry about. I promise.”

He stared at you for a long moment before he did something that surprised you. In a slow and, perhaps, unpracticed motion, he pulled you closer and wrapped his arms around you. Mando was… hugging you? It was a strange hug, considering the stiffness of his arms and hardness of his metal armor, but a hug nonetheless. You wrapped your arms around him in return, pressing your face against the cool Beskar against his chest.

“Thank you,” he finally said. “And… know that you are never intruding. I’ve… uh… missed your conversations. It’s hard to have one with a kid who doesn’t talk, after all.”

You giggled and pulled away from him. “That’s fair. I just know that it’s probably difficult and I didn’t want to feel compelled to always wear the helmet, just for my sake.”

“It’s a small price to pay for your company,” he replied and you felt your cheeks light up. Oh, what you wouldn’t give for your own helmet now.

[libermachinae]

Drops in a Bucket, Splashes on the Ground

Also available on AO3! Tags: Mature, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Gen, Whirl (Transformers), Implied/Referenced Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Whirl is Primus AU, Angst, would you believe me if i said i didnt set out to write another angst fic, whirl's just like that Wordcount: 4202 Notes: I would highly recommend you read "Bullets" or at least be familiar with Whirl's abuse of Rotorstorm before reading this fic. The scene containing graphic violence begins with "Tacticians always struggle..." and the scene referencing abuse begins "He shoves his way..." Please feel free to reach out if you need any further information.

~*~

“And I guess old Primus makes five.”

“Hah! No, no, no. That’s not Primus… you’re Primus.”

~*~

 Whirl has never been intimidated before. Not so intentionally, not by bots whose forged bodies have been piled on with armor and weaponry, no expenses spared by the ganglords. The Heavies rolled up on treads that left gouges in the streets, painful marks that tomorrow’s taxes will go to fixing, and their transformations took a full five seconds as excess plating moved out of the way while their protoforms tried to bend per their original configurations. They wear identical red visors and dark gray masks: faces, certainly, but only in the barest sense of the word, enough to separate them from lowlifes without affording them identity. It is impossible to tell one from the other and Whirl knows, intrinsically, that it will not matter.

 ~*~

 Rung is the only one who doesn’t flinch. Whirl stands over Adaptus’ body, freshly relieved of what they can all agree was a spectacularly ugly head, and puts away his gun.

“Right,” he says, with a meaningful glance out the window. “Want to agree none of us heard that?”

“Whirl!” Rodimus shouts. “You can’t just kill a god!”

The body explodes into a pile of dust.

“Sure I can,” Whirl says, shaking it off his foot even as he leans down to inspect the scrapple. “Hey Ratch, can you rig me to explode next time I get shot?”

“Is it true?” Nautica asks, doing her intellect a massive disservice by stepping in front of the unhinged bot with a blaster.

“Obviously not,” Ratchet says. “He was lying.”

Whirl nods.

“Yeah. You think I would keep it a secret from any of you if I was a god? You think Cyclonus would ever hear the end of it? Nah.” He stands, kicking pile and sending a spray of metallic dust into the air. “Awesome way to go, though, can’t say I’m not jealous.”

“That doesn’t mean you had to kill him for it.”

“So, you’re not Primus?” Nautica asks. She hasn’t moved, her arms crossed in front of her. If Whirl had been her creator (and he isn’t, he already has his claws full with a nest of scraplets), he would have been pretty proud of her right now.

“Nope!” he says. “I’ve never vouched for the universe before, but that kind of joke would take on an extra level of cruel, don’t you think?”

“Got to agree with Whirl, here,” Rodimus says, a hand on Nautica’s shoulder drawing her back. “I could buy pretty much anyone else. Maybe not Rung, but, say, Velocity? She could be Primus. Or Roller. I guess not Megatron, since we saw him come online, but—”

“The point, Rodimus,” Ratchet deadpans.

“The point is, not Whirl,” Rodimus said, sweeping his hands up to gesture at him. “I get Primus is disappointed in us. We are a textbook example of why a race of sentient war machines should never be left to their own devices, combined with a case study on how to avoid learning from every mistake you’ve ever made. But I really don’t think that disappointment would translate to actively hunting us for sport. Isn’t Primus supposed to be all about forgiveness and loving your cellmate?”

“Right,” Whirl says, clacking his pincers together in his approximation of a snap. “An angry god is so cliché.”

“I don’t think anyone knows what Primus believed,” Rung says. Oh no. He’s taken off his glasses. “I don’t see any reason he couldn’t be Whirl.”

“How about we start where the part where gods don’t exist, and Whirl does?” Ratchet suggests.

“I… I am Solomus, though.”

The whole group turns to the offending voice. Whirl goes for his gun and Rodimus knocks it out of his hand, a stern finger silently telling him not to kill any more gods. As if being an ex-Matrix bearer gives him some sort of say.

Tyrest has not stopped touching his gaudy mantelpiece, poking at the holes. It wouldn’t be so disturbing, except he’s staring at Whirl while he does it.

“Primus, don’t you remember?” he asks.

“Hey, let’s watch the fragging language.”

“Adaptus wanted to send our creations to pointless war,” Tyrest goes on. “Violence for the sake of violence, conquests built on the backs of others. We fought him.” He steps forward and reaches for Whirl. “Together, we—”

Whirl jerks back with his claws extended out.

“I will cut your hand off, I swear to—I swear.”

He is saved from any more interrogation by the ground violently rumbling underneath them.

“Okay, so regardless of whatever’s Whirl’s deal is, we do still have at least one Primus to worry about,” Rodimus says, looking out the window at the approximation of what Whirl, personally, had always assumed god would look like. “Solomus, you still got your teleporting rigged up?”

 ~*~

 No one ever considered giving The Institute a waiting room, so Whirl stands to one side of the hallway while the butchers discuss his case. He knows his proposal intrigues them: they have never had an opportunity to shadowplay a willing subject before. What is there to learn from a brain that does not fight them every step of the way? What backdoors exist that every other victim kept hidden? Whirl does not care about the potential scientific advancements his offer provides. He just wants to stop dreaming of gears, lose the phantom aches of his fingers. He wants to look in a mirror and see nothing: not himself, not a monster. Just an object, fulfilling its purpose.

The scientists who walk by him in the halls stare. Everyone stares, but the look they give him is different. They do not find him exceptional, nor do they feel for him pity or contempt. He is no marvel. He is a creation, perfectly engineered to suit its purpose, every detail minded with care to ensure it all works together as an ideal mechanism. He wishes he could see himself through their eyes.

The door beside him slides open and a bot he has never seen before steps out. His helm comes up no higher than Whirl’s waist and his large yellow optics do not look up from his datapad.

“Whirl of Polyhex, the panel has elected to reject your petition,” he says. “I am to remind—”

“What?” Whirl startles; his new head shoots upward, forcing him into an angle that is both unnatural and instinctual. “Why? Ice Pick said he could—”

“I am to remind you that you have signed a nondisclosure agreement; failure to comply will result in penalty of death.” The little bot flares his plating, the click of a motor lock setting it in place. “You will now submit to full stasis and be escorted back to your home.”

The jack comes from behind.

 ~*~

 “This is my hab suite.”

Whirl knows the tonal difference between a bullet hitting living metal and a wall. He scowls and gives up, waving Cyclonus inside.

“My room’s a mess,” he says. “Think I’m gonna crash here for a while.”

Cyclonus comes in and sits beside Whirl on the berth. When the door slides shut, they are visible only by their biolights: Whirl closed the shutters when he came in, the stars too much like blinking numbers. Cyclonus is a surprisingly quiet machine. His presence comes with none of the usual hisses and clicks one would normally get with their kind, like each component was designed specifically to work with those around it. Compared to Whirl, whose body is a wreck of pieces that almost fit together, clinking and scraping through their standard functions, he practically doesn’t exist.

“This is slagged, huh?” Whirl asks.

Cyclonus thinks on it a moment, then there is a shift of plating as he nods. Is it an admission, a confession? Pri—frag, Whirl doesn’t want to have to start thinking about that.

“Sorry,” he says.

“You don’t need to—”

“Scrap, you’re right. What am I doing?” Whirl laughs. “I’m infallible now, right? It’s all been part of my grand plan for Cybertron. I should be saying you’re welcome; you should be thanking me.”

Cyclonus sighs, a rush of air out his vents.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks.

Whirl pokes and pinches at his own plating, trying to make sense of it.

“Yeah,” he says. “Start praying, and keep Megatron far away from me.”

 ~*~

 He’s spent two days in the holding cell before he realizes no one else is coming for him.

That Orion Pax… he’s good, and Whirl’s not sure whether it’s the kind that gets people hired or gets people killed. Not that it matters, not that he cares. The Senate’s going to crush all of them one by one, like little cans of oil under a rolling tank. He thought being a tread would come with some measure of relief; instead, it just landed him in a hole.

He digs a claw tip into the wall, another score among a small collection. He has been trying to reconstruct the miner’s face, what it looked like in the split second between recognizing he had been struck and realizing there was more to come. He can’t relish a memory if he can’t keep it, and he’s already struggling well enough to accomplish the former. This assignment was supposed to be a release. Look down at the big thinker and imagine in his place Senator Proteus, Sentinel Prime, the faceless Functionist Council. Tell himself that this is what it would feel like to rip their plating open until their priceless energon spilled onto a dirty floor.

The face, though, it’s escaping him. How can he fell anything about a person with no face? What relief is there to be found in beating the slag out of a nobody? He is trying so hard to adapt, but it’s like his processor is working against him, reminding him how far he got before he was reeled back in. The silhouette of his sketch is familiar.

His claws hurt where he has worn the tip blunt, and the portrait is still incomplete.

 ~*~

 “I don’t make Matrixes,” he insists. The group was polite enough to knock once they found him, but they’re failing to pick up the hint that he wants all of them to go away, right now, and leave him alone forever.

“Well, Epistemus says you can,” Rodimus says, dentae blocked together. “Why do all the other gods have their memories back, but not you?”

“I dunno, maybe Needles can stick me and figure it out.”

It’s almost cute, the way Rewind steps protectively in front of Chromedome.

“Rodimus,” Rung says, trying to get between them, “this isn’t helping.”

“Thank you,” Whirl says. “Now can we get to the part where we storm the planet, guns a-blazin’?”

“That won’t help either.” Rung turns to look at him. “Your memories haven’t been deleted, Whirl. Somehow, there should still be some part of you that remembers creating the Matrix.”

“The Functionists probably took it out,” Whirl says.

“That’s not how mnemosurgery works.”

“Says the dropout.”

“You told me once about your earliest memory,” Rung says. Whirl should be furious that he’s doing this here, in front of people who have no business knowing what’s in his head, but he’s more interested in the way Rung has taken off his glasses and is squinting up at him. “What happened just before it?”

They did not bring Ratchet, a testament to the fact that they will not leave before he gives them answers. He could start lying again, or find another way to forgo the question, but something about Cyclonus’ presence at his back helps him settle down the compulsion. Everybody lies about their forging. Everybody wants to say it was overseen by the Prime, or that they settled into their form like resin poured into a mold, instant and perfect. Whirl has a set of seven stories he deploys on rotation, ranging from heroic to beautifully tragic, and he spends a moment picking through them, trying to remember which was the real one.

“I showed up at the Functionsts’ place to get my docs in order,” he says. “I was… I was trying to get Polyhexian citizenship.” Awful city, but he had always sworn the energon tasted better there than anywhere else.

“But you said you were forged in Polyhex,” Rung says.

“Yeah. It was easier that way.” Whirl puts a claw to his head. “I… augh, nope. No, this is stupid.”

“Whirl—”

“No, I’m done,” he says, pushing Rung away. “Fully done, Rung. That’s right. You were god’s therapist, and he fired you. I’m gonna go take out a planet.”

 ~*~

 Tacticians always struggle with where to put Whirl on a battlefield. On the one hand, he’s an attack helicopter, equipped with long-range cannons and advanced aiming modules. Keeping him in the sky is the perfect way to set up a terrible surprise for Cons on the ground. On the other, he’s Whirl, and facing him head-on can be just as chilling and or fatal.

In the end it rarely matters which call they make because, as stated before, he’s Whirl. He will do whatever he damn well feels like. Right now, that means skimming over the top of the battlefield, sights trained on the odd dot who tries to disgorge themselves from the fighting mass. He is supposed to be providing support to the ground troops, peppering the Decepticon line so they can break through, but no one is going to complain about a few more dead soldiers.

A truck breaks free and he pitches down, giving chase, machine guns firing before he’s got a lock on. The ground explodes in shrapnel as they try to serpentine out of the way, but he keeps firing and soon enough their paths cross.

He riddles them. Their roof is already a puckered, punctured mass of warped metal before their back tires blow and they go skidding and flip onto their side. Their plating shuffles, uncoordinated, as they try to transform, and Whirl goes for the underbelly, shattering the exposed protoform in a burst of pink energon. They slump with their legs disengaged. There is a buzzing, crunching noise as the dying t-cog tries to settle into either mode, then a jet of smoke erupts from the body. The engine has seized, locking it in a permanent limbo.

Whirl spins around to track down his next prey. He loves his job. The Autobots have a need, and he fills it with a gusto that only occasionally gets him in trouble. He’s no hitmech: he lacks the finesse, the style. But he can rain irreverent murder down from the sky, send Cons fleeing just long enough to make them think they had a chance, and he can do it without questioning an order. The war needs people like him.

Two soldiers are trying to escape together, one with their arm over the other’s shoulder, a sparkling stump of a leg between them. Whirl gets low, following them until the roar of his rotors is unmistakable, until they cannot help but turn and he sees their optics. Then he fires.

The wounded one falls first, knocked onto their front and grasping uselessly until their hand is blown off and they go still. The other gets their legs knocked off and goes spinning, landing on their head with a crunch. Whirl keeps advancing, keeps firing, tearing open their plating and reducing their inner working to molten slag, spattering the ground with used energon. They flop, over and over, until Whirl gets bored of the show and hauls off, leaving them almost indistinguishable from the carnage of the land itself.

Whirl hovers over the fighting and looks down while he scans for a target. This high up, visuals are useless for determining Bots from Cons. Little Cybertronians run around, whacking and shooting at each other, falling down, down, down. The metal under their pedes is slippery pink with energon. It splashes against their plating, over their insignias, until they are all just little wandering targets.

Whirl has his job, and he loves it, and he does it well.

 ~*~

 He should feel something, but his spark is a void as he tosses the rest of the guns into the shuttle, all the stuff he held off using because he wasn’t ready to get kicked off the ship. He is not coming back from this. He knows it, so better to take it all.

He’s just fastened the locker when he hears the footsteps on the hatch and looks up. It’s Tailgate, of course. Tailgate, who has a pack hanging from one shoulder and a gun holstered at his side. It’s a shrimpy thing, something Cyclonus taught him to shoot in case they ever got separated, more useful for making noise than taking down an aggressor. It has room for one round of ammo and Whirl doubts he brought a bullet more.

He comes aboard without saying anything and stops beside world, continuing to say nothing. The hand on his pack is clenching: he’s being brave. He’s also waiting for some grand speech, some sacred insight to the nature of their quest and their places in the universe. Well, tough. He should know Whirl better than Primus.

He lifts a claw to shove Tailgate backward and down the hatch, but it stops an inch before Tailgate’s plating. What does it matter? Cyclonus can’t kill him where he’s going and Tailgate himself is just a drop in the bucket. Standing there with his chest puffed out, optic band steely and focused, he looks like any other Cybertronian, never mind a few years left behind.

Whirl retracts his claw. Tailgate nods at him.

Another drop in the bucket.

 ~*~

 He shoves his way to the front row, slamming himself into his chosen seat just ahead of a little spy plane who had been angling for the same spot.

“Buzz off,” he says. Never mind the spy plane outranks him. This is his big day! He got here early so he could get this seat, right in front, though he can barely hold it as the audience fills in around him, so many Bots he does not know and who do not matter. The only one he cares about it up on the stage, smiling with an air of detached cooperation, off in his own head again like he always was. Whirl thought they had made progress on that, but some habits were just too hard to break.

The opening speech is long and predictably boring, lots of talk about this base he has never been on before. Whirl’s engine clicks in agitation. When bots give him dirty looks, he sneers.

“Chronic fanbelt lockup, ever heard of it?” he hisses at them, adding in a few extra ticks for good measure. They go back to minding their own business, but Whirl still catches the optics glancing at him, and his engine goes from annoyed click to angry hum. He knows what they see.

Luckily, the speaker eventually gets over himself and moves on.

“Rotorstorm, will you please step forward?”

Whirl is on his feet before the other copter has a chance to rise, his cheering rising well above the swell of the crowd. He shouts, he stomps his feet, and he bangs his claws together until the bots on either side of him wince, and he gets even louder when he knows Rotorstorm has noticed him.

“Go on, get up there!” he shouts. “You earned this, didn’t you?” The rest of the crowd has calmed down, but he stays standing, arms dropped to his sides. He stares at Rotorstorm as he crosses the stage, shoulders pressed back, each step placed so precisely in front of the last that it must be calculated. He waits until Rotorstorm has reached the edge to sit back down, and then still his optic is pointed, refusing to let Rotorstorm look anywhere else. Rotorstorm’s own optics are wide, though the rest of his expression is slack. His biolights are steady, his ventilations manual and even. He’s perfect.

“Rotorstorm,” the presenter says, “I hope you will forgive us; this is an honor that is long overdue. During the Simanzi Massacre, you singlehandedly scouted a pass through Mount Helix that allowed for the rapid evacuation of the 9th Battalion. Your commanding officers estimate that your decisive actions saved upwards of one thousand Autobot lives.” Whirl’s engine is silent. He’s drinking in every word. “Today, we present you with the Novic Medal for Outstanding Honor. ‘Til all are one.” Rotorstorm ducks his helm as the award is magnetized to the right of his cockpit, finally breaking his optic contact with Whirl.

“’Til all are one,” he repeats, though most of the crowd does not hear him over Whirl’s cheers.

Rotorstorm turns without looking up and returns to his seat. The next recipient is called forward and Whirl walks out.

 ~*~

 He can’t do it. He’ll blame it on the way Tailgate’s plating quietly rattles or Cyclonus’ entire personality as he starts to board, but he shuts off the shuttle’s engine and disembarks with them trailing behind. He retreats to his hab suite, and though he does not invite them he’s glad when they make it inside before the door closes.

“Nobody in the mutiny is allowed to have any of my stuff. I don’t care if Thunderclash is dying again and my innermost energon is the only compatible fuel in the galactic sector, he can’t have it.”

Tailgate nods along, his fingers in a death grip around Whirl’s pincer.

“And when you guys are talking about me later, no one call me anything but Whirl. I’m serious. I don’t know about anything I did before that, so what could it matter?” He looks up at the ceiling. “In fact, don’t tell anyone about the Primus thing. No point.”

Cyclonus is a solid, immobile presence on his other side.

“Am I forgetting anything? Oh, tell Roadbuster I’ll be waiting for him in the pit.”

“Do gods go to the Afterspark?” It’s not clear who Tailgate is asking.

“I definitely don’t plan to stick around and watch over you or whatever. Think I’ve had enough of this universe.” He chuckles, a strained sound. “Yeah. So, that’s it. Better get this show on the road, huh?”

“We’ll be with you the entire time,” Tailgate promises.

“For as long as you want us,” Cyclonus amends.

“Yeah, I know.” He shrugs, laughs again. “I’m not even really scared of the whole dying thing. I’d made peace with that. Whenever there was something I needed to do, I took care of it, so I wouldn’t have to worry about it if the right bullet finally found its mark.” He glances between them. “Now, though… you two better behave, I swear. I’m making it your Primus-sworn duty to take care of and listen to each other, okay?”

Cyclonus nods, and the way he takes it so seriously makes Whirl almost glad he’s on his way out. He couldn’t handle being looked at like that all the time, and especially it’s the way they reach across his lap and entwine their hands that really does him in. He hates them dearly.

“Okay,” he says, winding up his t-cog for the big spin. “Okay, twelve Matrixes. No problem.”

 ~*~

 Whirl times the blinking numbers to the rotations of his spark. 1,600 exactly. He’s done it.

He leans back in his chair but cannot stop staring at the little device in his hands. It is perfect. After years of researching, studying, trying, and failing, the pieces have come together to allow him to create this one perfect thing. He loves it, and a dangerous feeling of pride fills his spark, the kind that has so long been missing from his work in the Aerial Corps. If there is a Primus (and he’s still not sure, whatever the Functionists insist), this is what he built Whirl to do.

He gets up from his desk and walks across his small living space to a shelf. Nearing capacity, it has just enough room for him to push a few previous attempts aside to make room for the latest version. Surrounded by its brethren, it becomes lost almost immediately amid the sea of blinking lights, indistinguishable even from those he considers lesser. Some defects are more obvious than others: one has sat at the same time since the moment he brought it online, while another counts one klik backward for every two forward. But most are just slightly imperfect, necessary steps to get to this point, and he loves them all dearly.

He stands back. It feels like the work of a lifetime, these clocks, though he knows he took up the pursuit relatively recently. It’s just hard to remember how he filled his time before he had this project to work on, and he is again grateful he discovered it at all.

It is a gift to be able to create, he thinks, to cast a broad eye over his creations. The numbers blink at him, all out of tune, and he lets himself imagine being content doing just this for the rest of his life.

[dragonnan]

16, 17 and 19 for the most recent ask thingy, should you feel the mood sway you. 😁

The mood will ALWAYS sway me lol!

16. Describe your WIP that currently has the highest word count.

Simon and Simon and Psych (Psych/Simon & Simon) Word count: 24,323

So this one, in spite of not being updated in YEARS, is a story I’m still absolutely on fire to resume because I’m just thrilled af about the concept. It’s a crossover between 2 series I love - Psych and Simon & Simon (an 80s Private Detective series).  What excites me most about it was the reimagining of Simon & Simon for the modern era while still retaining all of the things that made the characters what they were.  

A little back story on Simon & Simon as I feel more people will be less familiar with that series of the two.  The series is about 2 brothers who decided to open a detective agency together after the younger brother, AJ (Andrew Jackson), left the larger detective agency where he had been working for several years.  

AJ is blond, surfed a great deal as a younger man, attended law school, and was considered the “golden child” growing up somewhat sheltered and cherished and maybe a tad innocent of the world.  When his brother went to Viet Nam, AJ took part in the peace protests - primarily because he was terrified for his brother and wanted to do anything he could to make the fighting stop.  AJ tends to be the more mature of the brothers - nearly always wearing a suit and usually takes lead in dealing with clients (assuming Rick doesn’t interrupt him).  

Rick, the older brother, left home after they father died and bounced around from various interests, including being a biker for a time, before going to Viet Nam.  He would come back from the war with a boatload of PTSD and a very fierce drive to protect his younger brother (probably far more so than he’d even felt prior to Viet Nam but to be clear - Rick is VERY protective of AJ).  All of that, however, might take the casual observer by surprise as Rick is incredibly irresponsible (on the surface) and nearly always in a good mood or quick with a joke.  Just don’t threaten baby bro other their mother.  Really, just do not.   

So that’s a bit of backstory so I can mention my changes for the modern era.  Instead of Viet Nam, Rick is now a veteran of Desert Storm.  They now both carry cell phones instead of relying on pay phones or other land lines.  They have a website.  I’ve updated their cars.  Before, AJ drove a red Camaro T Top so I changed that to a 2008 Chevy Corvette.  Rick, in the series, drove a 1979 Dodge Power Wagon so that one... did not change lol!  I seriously cannot picture Rick in any other vehicle. 

So after ALL OF THAT there’s actually a story in progress...

The plot thus far is that the Simon brothers are in Santa Barbara because AJ is running in the annual Half Marathon (an actual one cause I do like to blend some real events with my fiction lol).  While in town, Rick goes to run an errand - picking up an item his buddy Carlos had shipped but wasn’t able to pick up himself because Carlos is... sketchy (an actual character from the series that we hear about anecdotally from Rick).  Meanwhile, Juliet and Lassiter are at the shipyards as well, having set up a sting on suspicion of drug activity.  So, of course, when Rick goes to collect this item for Carlos, he ends up being stopped by the cops who confiscate the item after finding it filled with drugs and they arrest Rick.  THIS, then, is how the crossover comes into play as Shawn, of course, horns in on the investigation and immediately suspects that Rick is being setup so he volunteers to help out the Simons.  Various things happen which ultimately leads Shawn, Gus, and AJ back to the shipyards and a suspicious warehouse (aren’t ALL warehouses suspicious?) where suspicious men are rapidly emptying it of product.  The 3 men get caught and are bundled off in the back of a suspicious vehicle to a suspicious location.  At about this time Rick is let out on bail (thanks moooom....) and in a panic as he hasn’t heard from his brother.  When he realizes AJ must be in trouble, he ends up tentatively joining up with Juliet and Lassiter who are trying to find Shawn. Nobody is entirely thrilled with being teamed up in either group...

And this is roughly where things stand after the last update!     

So after I’ve subjected you to all of the above, how about a snippet from chapter 1?

___

Shawn Spencer spun slowly in his father's chair – maintaining just enough speed to make a full revolution before kicking himself into another circuit.  Typically he enjoyed his time at the station, provided he wasn't behind bars or being subjected to an interrogation.  Okay, scratch that.  He did enjoy an interrogation provided his hot pants girlfriend with a personal pair of handcuffs was the one dressing him down.  He leered. He didn't even have to try to make that sound dirty.  

Right.  Back on the subject at hand. Naughty cop Jules would, sadly, have to wait until they could have some private time.

If they could have some private time.  Of course, the way things were going lately...

And that brought him back full circle to his original beef.

Dad was being cagey. Like, Nick Cagey complete with diminished mane and sneaky covertness. Sure, he pretended he wasn't being covert but his dad sucked almost as bad as Lassie when he tried to fake acting casual. He was way too sour in the shorts to pull off that level of none chalice.

Like now, the old man was going for coffee. Like anybody with half a badge couldn't see right through that act. Shawn pulled together a mild sneer as his dad returned to his desk.

“Really? You put sugar in that too?”

His dad didn't look at him as he set his coffee on the desk. “Stop glaring at me. And get the hell out of my chair!”

Shawn didn't budge. “I am on to you.” He enunciated with immaculate exaggeration.

“The only thing you're on is my chair. And too many Pop Rocks; I thought Gus had cut you back to one pack a day.”

“I'm allowed two packs on the weekend.”

“It's Wednesday, kiddo. Maybe it's time you invested in a calendar.”

“Well maybe it's time you invested in hair plugs!” Shawn paused as his father crossed his arms. The pointing hand dropping back to his lap. “Too Terence Stamp? Sorry, I was caught up in the moment.”

“What do you want, Shawn?”  Giving up on patience, Henry opted for shoving his son until he toppled out of the chair.  Ignoring the yelp when Shawn flopped to the tile, he scooted closer to the desk so he could pull up the report he'd been working on.  Fingers just coming to rest on his keyboard, he scowled at the active game of Pitfall taking up his screen.  He tapped a button but rather than taking him back to the SBPD mainframe, it caused the character to jump into the green shapes he assumed were meant to be alligators.  Behind him, Shawn gasped.

“You just killed my last guy!”

“Be grateful that's all I've killed.” Slapping a few more keys he finally found the right combination to get back to his report.  

Still sitting on the floor, Shawn drew up his knees up and propped his chin on both fists.  Not even managing to type a single word, Henry sighed and swiveled towards his moping son.

“What, Shawn?”

Now that he had the desired attention, Shawn pushed his lower lip out the tiniest bit.  “Jules is busy and she said I can't help with the stakeout cause it's “super stupid important, Shawn” and Gus won't let me borrow the blueberry so I can follow her cause deep down inside I know she wants me to help cause, please, like I don't always make a stakeout better – I mean, who else is going to remember to bring an extra container of cheese dip for the nachos because one cup is just never enough and believe you me you do not want to short cheese a guy packing tear gas...”

Henry held up a hand to cut off the ramble that could easily go on another five minutes.  With his other hand he rubbed at his aching eyes.  Of course Shawn would find out about the sting.  However, Chief Vick had been adamant about keeping him out of it.  Henry had actually lobbied for including his son on the details – the memory of the last big operation that had temporarily cost him his job was not an easily healing wound.  Rather than even attempt reconstructing the word barrage of bitching, Henry latched on to the least pointless detail.

“Where is Gus anyhow?  I thought you two left an hour ago for dinner.”

Shawn shrugged.  “I don't know for certain...  I mean, by now he could be anywhere.  He's always expressed an interest in touring with Alicia Keys...”

“Shawn.”

“We went to Taco Louie's and he insisted on the deep fried beef and bean mini burrito...”

Henry raised his hand again.  Enough said.

“Well whatever you were thinking, I'm still not talking the Chief out of her decision.  You're bored?  How about you work on the burglary case I gave you.”

“Daaaad... the Redbox robberies?” Groaning, Shawn flopped on his back and sprawled dramatically. Officers passing back and forth shot glances at the display and Henry rubbed his face in embarrassment.

“Dammit, Shawn, get off the floor! You look like an idiot!”

Shawn sat up but didn't stand.  Nor was he ready to let go of his latest complaint.

“Come on!  Dad, Redbox?  That is so... not sexy!”

17. Describe a fic that is still in the ‘ideas’ stage.

This one is an Iron Man character exploration regarding Tony’s relationship with Obie and that, with hindsight, he realizes Obie had been grooming him.  It will never cross that crucial line but the potential leaves Tony reeling.  This will be in the same universe as another short fic titled “Simple Math”.  Here’s the bit of writing I’d put together so far:

_____

He'd thought it was bonding; at the time.  His dad had never been one for just hanging out; shooting the shit; telling tales out of school.  No, Pops, when he bothered to interact, led with questions.  “You keeping your grades up?” “You still seeing that floozy?” “When are you going to pull your head out of your ass and grow the hell up?” “You do realize it's my name you're disgracing every time you go on a bender?”

With Obie it was just, easy.  Obie might ask about school but it was always with approval and pride.  He would discuss Tony's conquests as though Tony had climbed Kilimanjaro wearing nothing but underwear and a cape.    

Obie was there when his father wasn't. Which meant that Obie was always there.  The first time he got astoundingly drunk on his father's scotch, Obie was the one to help him hunch over the toilet and vomit expensive, aged booze into the toilet.  Obie was also the one to replace the depleted bottle to keep Howard in the dark.  For a fourteen year old kid still trying to gain his dad's favor, that had meant everything.

He saw his first porn with Obie; sex education ala Traci Lords, three months shy of his fifteenth birthday.  That was the same time he was introduced to weed.  Obie had cautioned him to use it sparingly; didn't want to fry that genius brain, he'd say, and ruffle his hair.  The porn had made him uncomfortable.  Obie had turned it off and told him they could watch whatever Tony wanted.  They'd ended up changing the station to Knight Rider; smoking and munching Cheetos and laughing over their orange fingers.

It was Obie who was there, arm around his shoulders, after his parents died.  He desperately didn't want to sob in front of the man.  Things were so complicated with his dad that all he felt was blinding guilt... as though some part of him had caused this.  But Obie had filled him with bourbon until the emotions got soft around the edges and he'd sat beside the older man, head tipping gradually to the right until he was held up by Obie's bicep. Obie had just slung and arm around him and let Tony pass out while he rubbed a broad hand up and down his arm.

It was strange, now, looking back with adult perspective.  A perspective that included Afghanistan and his intended execution and Obie's arm around his shoulders while he talked about legacy and responsibility while Tony's lungs slowly seized.  He'd taken the time to sit there – arm around Tony's shoulders while one broad hand traveled up and down Tony's bicep – just like when he was a kid and Obie was the whole world.

He'd tried to remember if it had felt so tainted... at the time.  Or if he'd always believed it was love.

Obie had never quite crossed that line. Though hindsight offered a peek into that possibility with enough clarity Tony had fought with his cramping gut for nearly thirty minutes.  He'd staved off vomiting though he was fairly certain his dignity had still been in tatters what with Bruce wandering in on his misery.

19. What’s your favorite character headcanon?

Gosh... It’s funny that when asked the question the first thing that I ponder is “what head canons?? what are characters??? Do I even watch tv???” So I needed to ponder a bit.

As far as it goes my favorite head canons are not typically ones that I myself have come up with.  And going with that maybe the best one I know is for the series, and character, Sherlock.

I’m am 100% all in on Sherlock being on the autism spectrum.  Yes, I know this is attributed to MANY characters but consider the fact that those reasons have a ton of validity.  Sherlock has very strong indications of being on the spectrum and having read quite a number of essays on the subject, many of which were written by people who are also on the spectrum, I’m completely convinced.  It’s to the point I don’t even like calling it a “head canon” as that implies it’s only a fan concept and therefore has less likelihood.  It just feels so deliberate with that character.  

So going off from that I would say, in a more general sense, my favorite head canons are they type where we can discover neurologically atypical traits in characters - especially heroes.  Too long anyone neurologically divergent is portrayed either as a victim or, FAR FAR worse, as the “crazed villain” and frankly that is disgusting.  So it is beyond refreshing to suddenly have this amazing, brilliant, layered person who also displays autistic traits.  In going back over characters that I’ve loved most there are many who have traits of this sort that, only in hindsight, do I recognize.  Just a few off the top of my head; Malcolm Bright, Shawn Spencer (100% ADHD), Rapunzel, Rick Simon (remember him? lol), Adrien Monk (his OCD was very deliberate), as well as characters who’ve developed trauma after horrific events such as, well, most MCU characters but particularly Tony Stark and Stephen Strange.  Malcolm Bright also very much was built from trauma but I also am convinced there are neurologically atypical traits at play.  

Thank you so much for the great ask!!        

[jabbajambler]

9

Human

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x f!OC

Word Count: 2,045

*GIF by @caroldcnvrs*

       The sun was starting to set and it had already been several hours since Myrah and the Mandalorian had left to fetch the Jawas prized possession. They were growing more impatient by the second and they finally had enough, assuming the two of them were long gone and would not be returning any time soon.  

         "Fine. Go without me." The Ugnaught shouted. He would wait for them alone if he had to. He just knew they would return. They had to.

         The Jawas mumbled and began reloading into their fort, prepping for the hatch to close behind them. As it started to close, they could see the group emerge from behind the hills. They were clearly exhausted, but they had the egg.

         "Mando! Myrah!" The alien exclaimed. His face lifted and his eyes became brighter just at the sight of them.

         The Mandalorian sighed. "We have it. We've got the egg." His voice was a clear sign of his weariness. Every word sounded forced and desperate.

         The Jawas burst into cheers from within the fort. They lowered the ramp to the ground once again as they all filed out, hurrying towards the Mandalorian. Each one reached for the egg desperately as they crowded the bounty hunters. They all wanted to get their hands on it.

         He handed the weird furry egg over to them, glad to get rid of the thing that almost got them killed.

         The Mandalorian tensed up when a hand was placed gently on his arm. He glanced down to see Myrah's delicate fingers wrapped around his bicep, lightly grasping it. Her eyebrows furrowed together as she pointed at the huddled group of Jawas.

         "What are they going to do-"

         She was quickly cut off by the Jawa shouting , holding the egg up in the air like a prize. It lowered it to the ground as another grabbed a knife, slicing off its top. They all swarmed the egg, frantically reaching their hands in and consuming its contents.

         Myrah's face morphed into one of disgust while they fed off of the egg, feeling a wave of nausea wash over her. She pulled her hands to her sides and swiftly walked towards the Ugnaught with the Mandalorian not far behind, shaking his head.  

         The Ugnaught smiled proudly as they walked over. Of course he believed in them and hoped that they would return, but there was a small part of him that doubted that they survived.

         "I'm surprised you waited." The Mandalorian looked down at the friendly alien who stared at them both appreciatively with a bit of disgust. Both hunters were coated in a thick layer of mud that could practically be scraped off of them.

         "I'm surprised you two took so long." He nodded and ventured back into the fort.

         Myrah snorted. "He got you there."

         "Well, if you would've just gotten up."

         "What can I say? I liked seeing you all worried about me." She teased with a little grin that caused his stomach to flip.

        "I was only concerned about what Greef would do."

         She rolled her eyes and shoved his arm playfully before following after the Ugnaught. He sighed, watching her walk away for a moment. He couldn't believe that this was the same girl that tried to kill him a few days prior.

         He turned and looked back at the child who slept peacefully in its pod. It warmed his heart every time he looked at it. It was hard to believe that something so innocent could be the cause of so much violence.

         That's when it clicked.

         These two would be the death of him.

┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉

         Pieces of the ship were piled high up on the trailer, taking over the platform. It wasn't nearly as easy as the trip there was. The only space left was at the front of the ship where there was a small tool box that both bounty hunters were forced to sit on.

         Myrah struggled to sit on the box as the Mandalorian refused to move. Every bump they hit caused her to fall off of it. At some points, she had to cling onto him just to stay on the trailer at all.

         "Why don't you just sit on the floor?" The Mandalorian huffed and leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

         "I would want to stretch out my legs and I don't have enough space to stretch out my legs. Why don't you sit on the floor?" She poked his chest plate with her eyebrows raised, refusing to move her finger.

        He turned and stared at her through the window of his helmet, finding himself lost in her gaze. "I don't want to."

         "Then I guess we're stuck here."

         She peered through the glass, instantly making eye contact with him despite not being able to see anything past the visor.

         They stared at one another, silently daring the other to move or speak another word. It was a fairly intense moment, especially for the Mandalorian. She looked like a predator, hunting for their next victim.

         He just so happened to be the unlucky prey.

         There was no sound except for the soft whistle of the wind blowing. It flowed through her hair, swimming with the breeze. Her brown eyes glimmered, specks of gold floating through them due to the setting sun.

         He was completely captivated by her.

         It was strange how someone so ruthless and violent could look so innocent and sweet. If some unknowing passerby happened to see her in this state, he was sure they would be completely swept off of their feet.

         He couldn't even remember what they were talking about.

         All he could think about was how soft her hair must be even with the sand and mud that had collected in it the past few days. Or how delicate her skin was and how bolts of electricity shot through when it brushed against his. It had been so long since he had received any sort of affection and now he was drowning in it.

         But he didn't want it to stop.

         "Is it still sleeping?"

         The two were interrupted from their stare-off, both quickly tearing their eyes from one another. The Mandalorian immediately turned his attention to the child next to him, happy to have his thoughts interrupted.

         "Yes." He responded shortly.

         "Was it injured?"

         "Not physically." Myrah spoke up and looked down at her hands, her eyes glossed over with a sense of knowingness that neither one of the others could decipher.

┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉

         By the time they arrived back at the Razor Crest, the sun had already set. The darkness surrounded them, but the moon's reflection off of the metal made it seem tranquil and relaxing. However, it was far from a relaxing evening.

         The Ugnaught began setting up a light pole for enhanced visibility while they worked. Myrah and the Mandalorian were already getting started on unloading the floating boat. Despite their exhaustion, they knew the only way they would finish within a week was if they started now.

         "There's no way we're gonna get this to work without a full maintenance facility. This is gonna take days to fix."

         The Mandalorian stared up at the ship disappointingly. He still wasn't over its original destruction, the ship was all he had.

         Myrah walked past him, bumping her shoulder roughly against his as she went by. His head snapped to see her standing in front of him, spinning a screwdriver in her hand.

         "You know, if you help, it might go a little bit faster." She teased with a smile and tilt of her head.

         The Ugnaught laughed while Myrah walked towards the ship, leaving the Mandalorian speechless.

         "The girl is funny, I see why you keep her around. Now, come on. There is much work to do." The small alien handed him a small bag of tools, with a nod.

         They spent several days and nights focused on fixing the ship. Of course, Myrah took breaks to make jokes and to poke fun at the Mandalorian, but he truly didn't mind. In fact, he found himself smiling whenever she was near. A little smile, but a smile nonetheless.

         Sometimes he swore he caught her smiling too when he acted like he wasn't looking.

         Alas, the ship was finally reconstructed to its original glory.

         The Mandalorian took a deep breath and sat down in the pilots seat, staring down at the control panel. He took a moment before he began powering on the engine, his eyes lighting up beneath the helmet.

         The Razor Crest was one of the only things that has constantly been in his life and he wasn't ready to lose her.

         Myrah stood behind him with a wide smile, wrapping her arms tight around his shoulders out of pure excitement. He tensed, but soon relaxed in her embrace. Unfortunately, it left about as quick as it came. He was shocked to find himself disappointed at the loss.

         After turning off the ship, he walked with the Ugnaught and Myrah down to the hatch of the ship. It was time for them to leave, which they were excited for, but a part of them would miss the deserted planet.

         "We can't thank you enough. Please allow us to give you a portion of the reward." The Mandalorian pleaded. He never thought he would have to beg someone to take money.

         "I cannot accept. You are my guests and I am therefore in your service." He smiled as he refused their kind offer.

         "You could be a great asset to our crew. I'm sure ol' Mando over here wouldn't mind paying for your service." She sent a wink to the Mandalorian.

         "I am honored, but I have worked a lifetime to finally be free of servitude."

         "We understand." He rested a hand on Myrah's shoulder, pulling her behind him before she could say anything else. "Then all we can offer is our thanks."

         "And I offer mine... Thank you for bringing peace to my valley." The Ugnaught began walking down the ramp and pulled himself onto his blurrg. "And good luck with The Child. May it survive and bring you both a handsome reward... I have spoken."

         The bounty hunters walked back to the cockpit in silence. Both of them struggled to come up with the words to say as they departed the planet. It felt like a part of them would remain here forever.

         The Mandalorian sat down in the pilots seat with the child's pod settling in the spot to his right. Myrah followed them with her arms folded across her chest. She tapped her foot aggressively while she stood behind the chair.

         "You're in my seat."

         "What are you going to do about it?" He spoke softly, turning his seat around so he could look at her. Her mouth parted slightly as she struggled to come up with a witty comeback. He could feel his lips twitch into a smile at the sight.

         "Kill me?" He proposed with a tilt of his head.

         She took another step closer, placing her finger below the chin of his helmet. She leaned down and forced his head to follow her gaze.

         "You know I could." She whispered before she pulled away and sat down in the seat to his left, kicking her feet up on the panel.

         Any other witty remarks he had were caught in his throat. And here he thought he finally had the advantage on her.

        He started the engine and looked out the window to see the Ugnaught waving up to them. He gave him a short nod before pulling the Crest up into space. Myrah would miss Arvala-7, but there was nothing as beautiful as the infinite starry skies.

         The Mandalorian turned and shook the child's pod, hoping that it might open its big brown eyes, but there was nothing. Of course, as soon as he turned back to face the panel, the little alien awoke and slowly sat up in its spot.

         Myrah smiled at it, petting its soft ear while she glanced back at the Mandalorian.

         "Back home?"

         "Back home."

[brokenjardaantech]

rk1700 december day 15: snow

written for @rk1700december​. day 15: snow

rhea is female connor. cronos is rk900.

also on ao3

----

Cronos comes back from training one day to Rhea shaking a… thing. With a mansion inside of the clear impenetrable sphere and the suspended white particles, a scan tells him that it is something called a ‘snow globe’ except that it is shaped like a lamp. He sits on the floor behind Rhea and pulls her into the space between his legs, adding a kiss onto her cheek when she is close enough, and he knows the snow globe really has her attention when she doesn’t turn around to return the kiss as usual. He presses their cheeks together, and their skin at the points of contact retracts automatically for an interface. Where did you get this? he asks. Aren’t you cold watching it?

Rhea frowns. I don’t… it cuts off from there. Can you turn off the lights?

Their quarters plunge into darkness with a thought from Cronos, and he watches Rhea slide her pinky underneath the bottom of the lamp and turn it on with a click of a switch. Light spills out of the mansion’s windows, reflecting off the flakes which start spinning automatically propelled by the invisible swirl of the liquid in the globe and shrouding the room in a warm, mesmerising shade of yellow. When the raw brightness of the lamp becomes too much, they both look up at the same time just to see the swirling spots of brightness on the ceiling, on the wall, on each other’s face. It should not be this warm, this magical - mansions of that style are empty, remnants of a time long passed; snow means cold, cold means heat loss, heat loss means… means death to Rhea. Does Rhea know this, or are facts and logic ignored in the face of a beautiful sight? Why does he, advanced as he himself is, also feel the same despite having the ability to pre-construct - in great detail, nonetheless - how they would slowly waste away if left out in the open, how he would have to give up on maintaining Rhea’s system so that she could die before him and live her whole life knowing that she was loved? 

Anchor won’t let that happen, Rhea’s voice pulls him out of his downward spiral. She’s brave enough to protect us from our creator. She won’t… she won’t… her uncertainty grows. I think… 

Cronos shushes her. There is no use speculating, he feels hypocritical when he says it. We have other things to worry about.

Such as?

My training. The conflict that Anchor still refuses to tell us about. Your condition.

Very true.

Rhea wriggles in his arms. They both stand, he lets her drag him towards their bed, and she places the snow globe lamp on the bedside table before flopping down onto the bed, bringing Cronos with her. They cuddle close together without compromising their view on the light show, and although Rhea falls asleep not long after, thoughts do not stop swirling in Cronos’ head like the flakes in the snow globe.

    A few days later, he still hasn’t figured out where the snow globe came from. Neither the item itself nor the box it came from bear enough evidence for him to reconstruct the events of its arrival into the room as if it materialised out of nowhere. Again the grey backdrop of his reconstruction software, he watches the yellow outline of Rhea’s figure wake up from her nap, see the box on the floor and, instead of pinging him to check if it is anything explosive or harmful, open the cover and slide the block of shock-absorbing material out of the container. The material comes off soon afterwards, and he sees Rhea’s reconstruction stare at the particles suspended in the globe for a few minutes until - presumably - most of the snow has fallen, after which she picks it up and switches it on just to drop it onto the shock-absorbing material; even without a face, Cronos can sense Rhea’s shock and panic as she carefully takes the lamp in hand once more before assuming the posture he found her in. He blinks, colour returning to his vision, and he immediately sends a report to Anchor. A few hours pass during which she forwards updates from site security regularly to him, Cronos preparing his mind for an upcoming wing-wide sweep which will remove him - and Rhea, by extension - from their quarters for at least half a day as all the reports return inconclusive, but it isn’t until a full day afterwards that the human brings two armed escorts with her and orders them to not only bring the androids to another room but also stay with them at all times. When he asks her about it, he can feel her eyes scanning the room and landing on the origin of their troubles, and her gaze does not soften even as it sweeps over Rhea who flinches and hides behind Cronos.

‘Someone managed to sneak an unauthorised item deep into this facility without being detected,’ a biotic field so weak that it is barely detectable fizzles and expands from her body until it fills the entire room. ‘This is a security breach and I’m not risking your safety.’

‘Then why didn’t you come earlier?’ he puts an arm around Rhea and guides her towards the door even as he says so. ‘Why now?’

‘Use your processors, Cronos.’

The door slides shut behind them, and the click that follows and the change in the colour of the hologram signify the lock engaging. They are locked out of their own quarters. Next to him, Rhea shivers, making Cronos realise that they don’t even have the time to grab her jacket.

‘C’mon,’ one of their escorts says and gestures towards the direction they should go with their gun. The uniform and helmet are designed to hide as many identifiers as possible, and now Cronos can’t even scan them to know if they’re human or android. ‘This way. We’ve got your new place stocked up.’

Their new, hopefully-temporary quarters is no different from their old one apart from the standard-issue bed which now feels a bit narrow, but since it also means more cuddling and snuggling with Rhea underneath layers of covers, he isn’t complaining about his current situation despite the lack of answers on Anchor’s part. 

Who did answer his questions, on the other hand, is Elijah.

Cronos, the email reads, it’s nice to hear from you. For the sake of keeping things pleasant, I have decided to ignore the fact that the snow globe you mentioned seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, and to answer your first question: yes, I do have experience with snow. A lot of it, in fact, as my childhood home is quite famous for being cold and harsh in winter, and our winters remain long despite the influence of climate change. Since the environment I grew up in was not exactly… child-friendly, it had always been better for me to focus on the unique patterns of snowflakes than the death and lifelessness it symbolises - easier on my poor young brain, and one needed all the hope and discovery they could find in the cold land far up north.

As for your second question about the warmth you feel when you look at the snow globe: I have always found it ironic that winter coincides with traditions and customs that, under more pleasant circumstances, should provide warmth and support to a person, be it familial love or that between friends and/or lovers, and I must apologise for not being able to provide a more substantial answer as my personal experience with said traditions and customs are sparse and in between. Those I did experience, however, I remember clearly to this day. I will not discuss the details here as it will pose a security risk and be a breach of Alliance protocol, but should you wish to pursue the matter further, feel free to ask Anchor about it. Councillor’s approval. Signed, Reed

Cronos wonders if Elijah knows that Anchor would probably kill him if he tried to talk to her right now but sends him a reply anyway to thank him for his input and direction. Their skins receding at their points of contact, he interfaces with Rhea and plays the recording of the snow globe’s projection in their original quarters on a loop until it puts both of them to sleep so that he doesn’t have to think.

    Their return to their quarters comes as suddenly as their departure. Anchor, as usual, provides little to no explanation apart from a simple ‘the situation has been handled,’ and therefore as Cronos watches Rhea crawl all over her original home to examine whether everything is in place - even the snow globe is, in fact, and Cronos has to ask about it - he decides that a visit to the human is needed, one way or another. Rhea has already turned on the lamp and is ready to switch off the lights as well when he asks her if she wants to follow him to find Anchor, but she willingly goes with him under the condition that she is allowed to bring the lamp with her (and of course he lets her; he rationalises that if Anchor allowed the lamp to remain, it means the lamp is safe). Finding the human in a large facility is, however, another can of worms in its entirety; it is after fifteen long minutes of wandering around and probably annoying the brains out of site personnel by asking them about Anchor’s whereabouts that they stand in front of a locked door leading to the observation deck. Taking a breath he doesn’t necessarily need physically, he holds Rhea’s hand tight in his grasp and knocks with his other one. A few seconds of silence. He feels Anchor’s biotics sneaking up from the minuscule gap underneath the door and gives him a poke. The lock disengages with a click.

‘Come in.’

Cronos interfaces with the touchpad to open the door. Rhea lets go of him and barrels in, stopping next to the human only when she realises that Anchor, who is sitting on the floor parallel to the floor-length windows, doesn’t seem to be interested in her and is staring at the floodlight-illuminated barren landscape outside. She kneels to place the lamp in front of the human, and that is when the latter turns and nudges the lamp towards the android. ‘Keep it,’ she says, her eyes not leaving the view once. She sounds… tired. ‘You seem to like it.’

As usual, Rhea turns towards Cronos to indicate that she wants him to answer for her. ‘She does,’ he replies. ‘Is that why you left it in our quarters?’

Anchor lays her gaze on him. ‘Ripping an object a person is attached to without said person’s consent has been proved to be traumatic. My orders are to take care of the two of you, and that means no unnecessary harm from me.’ She leans forward to place the lamp in Rhea’s arms properly. ‘I might agree with the Administrator in a lot of things, but this is not one of them.’ A cock of her head as the rings of her eyes seem to glow brighter, but it can be a trick of the floodlights outside. ‘Why are you here anyway?’

‘Do you know where or whom did the lamp come from?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do we want to know?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

Anchor shrugs, her face carefully blank. ‘There’s a fight out there. No use dragging you into all that.’

‘What fight?’

‘None of your business. Hopefully, at least. Any more questions?’

‘Yes, actually,’ he sees Rhea shaking the globe again. ‘When we turned on the lamp, it… snows in the globe. Logically, snow is associated with winter, and Rhea and I should have felt cold when looking at the artificial snowfall. However, both the scene and its projection brought us a warmth that should not be associated with snowfall. Is it a normal reaction? Elijah suggested asking you about this strange phenomenon.’

The human looks at Rhea and watches her entertain herself with the snow globe, and for a few seconds there is silence. Then, gesturing to the space in front of herself, ‘Sit down.’

Cronos mirrors her posture and sits down leaning against the glass with his legs outstretched. Seeing that her - what exactly is his relationship with Rhea anyway? - successor is on the floor, Rhea crawls underneath his arm without being prompted and snuggles close with the lamp balanced in her lap, a small smile on her face as she lays her head on his shoulder and continues looking at the particles in the snow globe softly like it both contains all the answers and is the most lovely thing in the universe.

‘One way to explain it without breaching my vows is that a… holiday where people celebrate together coincides with winter in the northern hemisphere of earth,’ Anchor’s line of sight turns towards the landscape outside once more. ‘Some places snow, some places don’t, but if we’re talking about stereotypes, yes, it snows while everyone stays indoors to enjoy their time with their loved ones. Snow-blanketed outdoors, fire-warmed and brightly-lit indoors; good, warm food, companionship, a chance to meet with one another - these are just a few images and expectations of the holiday.’

‘And to you?’

‘Sort of similar to this. Food, people I wanted to be with, warm on the inside, cold on the outside. Sometimes we exchanged presents, sometimes we didn’t, some were even worse.’

‘“Worse?”’

‘Try running away from an incompetent father and a bitch of a mother with your sibling even though you know a blizzard is coming. Worst winter ever, but that was also the last one we had to suffer through with our parents, and it got substantially better afterwards.’

‘Do I want to know the details?’

‘No.’

‘Understandable?’ he can’t imagine two humans surviving the cold, but then again humans are not supposed to be able to control dark energy either, and here they are. ‘Then what were the other winters like?’

‘I just described it to you.’

‘Yes but…’ Cronos struggles to convey that he wants to know more without sounding too eager, ‘I want more details.’

‘Details, huh?’ Anchor’s voice now matches the blankness of her face. ‘You sure you want to hear about earth? There isn’t much worth reminiscing.’

‘They will all be new to me.’

‘Fine,’ the human straightens herself. Her eyes turn glassy. ‘There was no snow the first time I truly celebrated the holiday, but it rained starting from the afternoon and continued well into the night. I wanted to study for my exam and had been doing so since the beginning of the holiday, so I thought… I could spare a day with my sibling. He busted arse for the past ten years of his life trying to raise a kid even when he was just a kid himself as well and getting a high school diploma and earning extra cash to feed the two of us because we ate so damned much thanks for unexplained space magic, and that was the first winter he didn’t have to worry about our heat cutting off in the middle of the night and giving us hypothermia.’ A pause. ‘I sneaked downstairs the night before to put the present for him next to that tiny-arse tree since it was so small that there wasn’t enough space underneath to shove that box into. He wants an actual holiday, I wanted to give him one, so I even got the damned book wrapped in recycled paper. It was just a sodding book I had seen him eye when we had walked past bookstores, and he cried - legit cried - because I gave him a damned book he wanted and wrapped it up nice and tidy with no tape. I learnt on that day that people can actually cry and look so happy at the same time. Then we had brunch, he watched me play some video games before going for a nap, he woke up, we had dinner, we watched the movie version of a book associated with the holiday as he sipped on hot chocolate, and we went to bed. All without being scared once that we would need to brave the chill to get some last-minute groceries - supplies - or that we wouldn't have enough money to keep ourselves full the week after.’

She ends it there, and Cronos gives himself a few minutes to let that sink in. ‘Sounds like you love each other a lot and celebrated it through the holiday.’

A dull thud. Cronos draws his eyes away from the lamp falling out of Rhea’s limp hands and follows Anchor’s gaze just to see clunks of ice slightly larger than the nail on his thumb hitting the ground, turning into smoke before they can hit the floodlights, shattering on the reinforced glass of the observation deck and subliming under the heat, and soon the ground is covered in a thin layer of broken pieces of dry ice. Mars’ own version of snow.

‘Is this normal?’ Cronos asks. 

A small smile appears on Anchor’s lips. ‘Every single summer.’

----

the snow globe/lamp in the fic: 

[crystaljins]

When the ice melts | Drabble

Characters: Jimin x Reader

Word count: 3.1K

Synopsis:  At Jimin’s insistence, you have waited until you bring home that gold medal to tell him how you feel.

Can you finally say it?

Sequel drabble to When the Ice melts

Notes: I left this fic as an open ending originally because I wanted my readers to imagine how things worked out for Jimin and reader, but since you guys have been so sweet and showered my fic with so much love, I figured there was no harm in a tiny, mini sequel. It’s very half-assed and written quite carelessly but hopefull it gives you the closure you are all searching for, haha. 

Warnings: Jungkook calling people idiots. Kissing. Silly people lol.

The entire nation is holding its breath.

Every camera in the arena is trained on you. Your face is being broadcast across every major channel your country has to offer. You’re out of breath and some of your hair has dislodged slightly from its careful styling. But nothing can dim the brightness in your eyes as you beam, breath caught in your throat and heart on the verge of taking flight. Surely you will be taking home the Olympic gold medal after a performance like that.

Though technically the results won’t be announced until later, there is no doubt in anyone’s mind who the recipient of the gold medal should be. You didn’t just skate on that ice- you soared. You glided- you danced. One of the judges even raises his handkerchief to dab gently at his eyes, a movement he thinks is subtle enough to go undetected but is actually being caught by a lucky reporter. It will be broadcast as a viral video when the news over the next few days.

But you are oblivious to that, oblivious to way that you glow like something ethereal as you step off the ice. You catch the eye of your choreographer and she winks at you, proud of how you made her choreography come alive. In a few days, her phone will be ringing off the hook as people who are desperate to capture the magic of your performance want to hire the creative mastermind behind it. She will merely smile and accept the offers though she knows the truth- that while her choreography is good, only you can bring the soul and joy to it that will win you the gold medal.

So, if you are oblivious to the way your stunning performance will and has changed so many lives in that exact moment, what is it that you are thinking after having delivered a routine that will go down in the history books of the figure skating sport? You’ve always been a one-track mind kind of girl. It’s how you were able to focus solely on ice skating and nothing else throughout your youth, and no clearer does this personality trait show as in this moment: Your eyes scan the crowd and they go impossibly brighter when they find the target of their desperate search.

Jimin leans awkwardly against the wall in the kiss-and-cry area, obviously waiting for his athlete to wave off the crowd of people congratulating her and make her way towards him. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets and his hip is cocked- often he rests weight on only one leg, to take the pressure off his bad leg. Large amounts of reconstructive surgery means that he can walk normally, but sometimes in cold weather he still feels the ache. Though you are exhausted and sore after such a challenging and passionate performance, your body feels light, like you are floating on a cloud as you draw nearer. He’s always handsome but in this moment he is ethereal- light catches his cheek bones and you can’t help but admire the fine set of his figure. Though he is no longer a figure skater, he carries himself with grace even off the ice, even after so many years of retirement.

His eyes flicker up as he hears your approach. Perhaps he is aware of the many cameras trained on you, of the people still reeling from your performance, but for you, all you can see is him. His face, his smile, his eyes, the way his hair falls against his brow. You love him. You love him so much- he’s been your coach for over a year now and every moment has been precious. Even though he’s grumpy and bad at expressing himself, even though the only thing he can ever think about is figure-skating… You love him. And you can finally say it. You know that he’s been pushing you away for months now, afraid of interfering with your budding career, today is the day he will finally let you say the words.

“Jimin!” You call, and his smile is warm as you rush up to him, still in your skates. He doesn’t even hesitate as you throw your arms around him, pulling you into him and holding you tightly.

“That triple lutz landing was messy.” He mutters into the crook of your shoulder and you laugh. He pulls away and glares at you with a slight frown. “Is that a joke to you? We’ll be training twice as hard from now on! No more messy landings.”

“That’s fine.” You say, with a coy smile. “That just means more time with you, right?”

Jimin tries to look stern but he can’t keep the smile off his face despite his best efforts. What comes out is a strained but fond smile as he shakes his head.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” He says and despite the harshness of his words, there is no denying the adoration in his words. Because Jimin loves you too- not only has he said it before, but he’s shown it. In the way he buys you dinner after practice, or the way that he pulls you in close for a hug when the exhaustion and fatigue of training sets in. In the way that his eyes shine with love as he watches you skate across the ice or the way that he’ll rearrange everything for something as simple as taking you to a movie. And despite his insistence that the two of you have to wait until you win your first gold medal, he does not have the strength to stay away, and now he won’t have to.

“I know.” You say gleefully. He grins.

“Let’s go get that gold medal.” He tells you softly, taking your hand gently in his. He’s always affectionate with you- he likes to hold your hand and sit close enough so that your legs press together, and yet your heart still flutters at the warm sensation of his fingers interlaced with yours.

“Wait. First I want to say it. I lo-“ You begin eagerly. The words are always on the tip of your tongue, ready to burst forth but you’ve held them in at his insistence. You can’t wait any longer.

“Just a little longer.” He cuts you off. “I want to see that gold medal around your neck first. And then tomorrow we can go for dinner and we can talk, ok?”

You frown.

“Tomorrow is so far away.” You complain and he smiles and the look he gives you is tortured.

“Believe me, (Y/N), I know.” He says with a laugh. “Now let’s go get that medal.”

You sigh and follow obediently. They’re announcing the result in a couple of hours and you suppose if you’ve waited an entire year to be able to say those three words to Jimin, you can wait a little longer.

++

The press has a field day. The Olympics are sacred- the thought that there could be corruption amidst the judges is an outrageous claim and yet not a single person can deny that you deserved the gold medal. The only proof, however, is that the person who took home the gold came from the country where the Olympics were being hosted and the videos of your dazzling performance. Despite the petition that goes up to launch an audit into the score, the authorities come away with nothing. Perhaps you were marked harder than strictly necessary- highly specific technicalities that no one has brought up for years were subtracted from your final score, but they were all rules in the book. You even get a phone call from the distraught gold medallist, promising that she would never cheat and the results were as unexpected to her as they were to you. You reassure her with a smile on your face and you respond in all the interviews with that same easy smile. People can see the difference though- they had seen the way your smile normally reaches all the way to your eyes and how in interviews after the announcement they just seem dead.

You go back home with a silver medal.

A silver medal isn’t bad. In the past, you would have been thrilled with such a result. To even have the opportunity to skate in the Olympics is so beyond your wildest dreams and to do it with Jimin, your former idol-turned-coach is even more unbelievable. The experience was thrilling and when you rewatch videos your heart still races. A silver medal is a wonderful thing to receive.

The only problem is Jimin. His eyes had gone dark and foggy at the announcement of the results, like someone had flipped a switch. All the colour had drained from his face and he had actually had to leave the room. He hasn’t contacted you since and all your texts in the week that has passed have gone unread.

You know Jimin loves you, but you also know he loves you because he fell for your skating. And with his radio silence, you can’t help but feel the doubts start to creep him. Has he decided you aren’t good enough from him, because you were unable to take home the gold medal like he expected you too? Perhaps his refusal to allow you to confess your love hadn’t been a desire to wait. Maybe he wanted to see if you could prove yourself worthy of him and you failed the trial? Perhaps he never even loved you in the first place- maybe it was only the opportunity to go back to the Olympics that he loved.

All these thoughts swirl around until your heart is heavy and dark. You can’t even bear to go to the ice rink your father owns. Instead you linger around at home, sulking in your bed, refusing to see friends or go out. If it were just the silver medal, or it were just Jimin ignoring you, you would have been able to cope. But the two combined leaves you devastated until you can’t even bear to leave your room.

It’s Jungkook who finally drags you outside. Your parents let him in and he barges upstairs and storms into your room without knocking. He doesn’t even give you the chance to change out of your pyjamas- he just grabs your wrist and drags you. You aren’t weak- you’re an Olympic athlete, after all, but you find yourself powerful against Jungkook’s muscles and you are dragged pathetically after him like a ragdoll.

“Where are we going?” You complain, still in your cow-themed pyjamas and with unwashed hair.

“Out.” Jungkook snaps. He turns to glare at you. “You haven’t even washed your hair!” He notices with irritation. “The both of you are such a handful.”

You shouldn’t be surprised that it’s your father’s ice rink he pulls up at. He turns to you after parking and frowns.

“Now, this party was supposed to be a surprise to celebrate you winning your silver medal. Jin even baked you an entire cake. But you’ve ignored all my messages all week where I was trying to get you here for the surprise and Jimin has dropped off the frickin’ radar, so here’s what we are gonna do: You’re gonna go in there and have the time of your life. I don’t care that you’re in your pyjamas and that your hair isn’t washed. You are going to have fun. And then you’re gonna go home and speak to Jimin. I won’t be at the party because I’m going to find him and beat his ass and then drag him back to yours. Now go have fun. Jin will drop you home.” And with that, Jungkook is shoving you out of his car, still in your pyjamas, and speeding off, out of the car parking lot.

You blink a few times- the sunlight is bright and no doubt you look shabby in your ratty pyjamas and uncombed hair. But the sentiment is sweet, and you feel bad for dropping off the radar as you did. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself. Jungkook is right- winning a silver medal at the Olympics is something to be celebrated and you can’t keep acting like the world has ended. Plastering a genuine smile on your face, you square your shoulders and step into the building.

What greets you first is the familiar, clear and misty smell of the ice. You only get a whiff of the familiar smell before it’s replaced with the smell of smoke- dozens of party poppers go off and confetti fires into the air as the few close friends you have managed to keep with your busy schedule leap out from hiding spots to scream congratulations. Someone has strung a huge banner across the far wall of the rink and someone else has turn on the disco lights.

“Nice outfit.” Jin snickers, and you gaze around at all the people who love you enough to throw such an event and you tear up.

The party ends up being a hit. There aren’t a huge number of people and the people who are there are the kind who don’t care that you’re in your pyjamas. They’re happy if your happy and it warms your heart.

You’re having such a good time that you don’t even notice when he steps into the building, dragged along by Jungkook. You’re laughing with some old school friends with a smile brighter than the sun and Jimin’s heart aches at the sight of you. It’s been a week and yet he feels like it’s been a year. He’s such an idiot.

Jungkook shares the sentiment.

“You’re such an idiot.” He admits with a shake of his head. “I’ve literally never seen someone so whipped in my life. Go talk to her, dummy.”

It takes a rough shove from Jungkook and a moment to gather his courage, but Jimin stumbles towards you like he’s gone a week in the desert and you’re a glass of ice water.

When you spot him, the cup in your hand slips to the ground and liquid spills everywhere.

“Oh!” You cry, and another friend rushes to try and help you mop up the mess. Jimin follows, crouching down to help you, but he just ends up bumping heads with you. You cry out in pain, stumbling back and rubbing the tender spot on your scalp.

“Are you ok?” He cries, diving forward and placing his hand on either side of your face, tilting your head around at different angles to examine the area he bumped. Your hands come up to grab his wrists and gently tug them away.

“I’m fine.” You say softly. And Jimin would honestly give his soul to make sure you never look at him like that again- with equal parts heart break and distance. He’s such a fool. And Jungkook obviously beat that knowledge into him, but he’s spent the past week knowing that to be true. He’s a coward who ran away because he couldn’t handle the fact that he had failed you.

Because for you to take home a silver medal means that he’s failed as your coach. And he knows you deserve the gold and that the judges got away with it by being sneaky, and he’s so frustrated that there’s nothing he can do. And it means he’s wasted the past year not showering you with love and affection because he wanted to wait until you took home the gold medal. So he ran away because he couldn’t handle the crippling guilt and misery, and as always, you pay the price for his own emotional incompetence. And the worst part is, despite the fact that you are probably devastated at being denied a gold medal that is rightfully yours, all he can think about is he can’t bear to weight another four years to properly date you and kiss you and hold you. He doesn’t even know how he’s lasted a year. Why did he decide you taking home a gold medal had to be the starting point of your relationship? He can’t wait that long.

“Can… can we talk?” He asks softly. The friend who is helping you clean up seem to sense the tension in the air and is quick to clear out. You bite your lip before nodding.

“I… Yeah. Yes we can.” You say softly, ducking your head shyly and he can’t help the warm smile that slides onto his face at the sight of you. He missed you so much in just the short space of a week.

It isn’t hard to find a private corner, but the second you do, the words spill out before he can help them.

“I love you.” He cries. You blink a few times in surprise. “I love you so much it hurts and I’m sorry for avoiding you. I was just ashamed and couldn’t bear to talk to you because I’d let you down. And I know that probably made everything worse and Jungkook told me that you probably think I hate you, but I don’t. I hate myself because I couldn’t give you what you deserve. But I can’t hold it back or push you away any longer. I love you.”

You’re silent for a few moment, staring at him incredulously and to his immense surprise you burst out in laughter.

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?” You cry in between peals of laughter. “Jungkook is right. We’re both idiots.” You say. Jimin blinks in half offence and confusion. Why are you laughing at his apology? “I’m sorry for only taking home the silver medal, but I’m not going to wait another four years to say it back.” You snap, and then before he can say anything, you’ve grabbed him by the collar and have pressed your lips firmly against his.

It’s like fireworks go off behind his eyes. Like he’s leapt into ice cold water. It’s everything he’s ever wanted and more- more thrilling than performing at the Olympics and more precious than the weight of the gold medal in his hands. And he’ll never win another gold medal in his life but he thinks he’ll spend the rest of his life happy if he can keep kissing you.

“I love you!” You cry, when you finally pull away. “And I can’t believe you made me wait that long to say it, but I won’t wait any longer.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, dumbstruck, but then a warm smile spreads widely across his face.

“Silver suits you better anyway.” He says, stepping forward to gently run his finger across the silver cat pendant resting against your collar bone. The one that you still wear even now, a year later that symbolises so much between you and him. “It matches this.” You shake your head with a laugh that is quickly cut off from him.

You’ll take home the gold medal next time. For now, the two of you have won something far better.

[justphilia]

There’s a definite chance I might not be writing this BUT

I had a detroit become human idea for a Mob Psycho fic, it’s pretty loose considering I had the idea while sitting in the back of a car and standing under the shower head.

There’s probably a chance I would be writing it but it’s kinda leaning to a “Nah, probably not”.

With that being said, I kinda don’t want to trash the idea as a whole without it meeting the light of day, so I’m gonna spill my ideas here so I can look back and think; “Wow. That’s shit.”

To add, this whole thing will sound more like babbling than an actual summary, so excuse me lmao.

Tsubomi doesn’t have any friends. But coming from a wealthy family, her parents decides to buy her a friend. Cue Shigeo/Mob. 

I had a funny model name for all the child androids ‘ESP(insert number, for Shigeo it’s 100)’ despite this being a no powers AU. Then I realized it probably wouldn’t fit because I am low key planning for all the espers to be androids and realized ‘Wow, ha ha, that’s a lot of androids’ so now SOME of the espers are androids.

Okay so fast forward and Tsubomi’s parents are thinking, “We should replace Shigeo, he’s kinda old fashioned now.”

“Mom we only had him for 4 years.”

“Exactly.”

But Tsubomi’s really attached to Mob because he’s her best friend, and doesn’t tell him he might be replaced until he finds out himself. He goes bat shit crazy and tries to kill himself and Tsubomi. Cue Serizawa, a cop android.

Serizawa calms my boy down and Shigeo’s like, “You’re right, I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m so--” bang. Tsubomi low key gets traumatized, Shigeo is bleeding blue on the floor.

We shift to the next scene where Shigeo wakes up on like a bed except it’s actually a table. Cue Reigen, he works at Cyberlife as a child therapist/repair worker. Actually, my man was suppose to be just a repair worker but he got promoted to child therapist for calming down a raging Teru.

“Kid, you remember anything?”

“I- Sorta? Where am I, am I gonna be killed?”

Reigen’s like sweating because he isn’t sure himself, Shigeo’s the first kid who tried to commit murder. But as they talked, Reigen’s kinda surprised to realize that Shigeo’s actually a really really sweet kid.

Shigeo asks how Tsubomi is doing and if she hates him. Reigen tells him she’s fine and she misses him. Which is the truth, but he doesn’t mention that Tsubomi did end up getting a replacement in fear of ticking Shigeo off. Cue Ritsu, the replacement android best friend.

There’s a sort of cell holding all the ‘defect’ child androids, like a little playroom but also an actual cell, and inside there’s: Gou, Rei, Takeshi, Daichi, Kaito and Teru.

Cue Teru, who is the only one who has a similar case to Shigeo; he punched a kid in the nose and sent him to the hospital, which made his mom very very pissed and sent him for repairs. Because of this, he’s enraged further and the staff can’t send him back unless his attitude changes to the “ideal son”.

Teru thinks being an android is a gift, he can’t die and he’s pretty much flawlessly shaped. When he meets Shigeo, he asks why he looks so plain, and it’s revealed it’s because Tsubomi didn’t want anything flashy.

And mostly because Shigeo’s an older model.

Each kid (except for Teru) had an actual defect to their system. Gou has somehow obtained a built in lighter function, which isn’t suppose to be there. Rei has the reconstruct and construct feature for unknown reasons. Takeshi is basically a walking magnet, except he doesn’t really know when it’s turned on or off (when it’s turned on, it’s strong enough to accidentally pull all the others towards him and it gets pretty annoying). Daichi and Kaito’s memory cloud keeps syncing with one another, which disrupts them from being able to remember the right things correctly (i.e Daichi gets Kaito’s memories and believes they are his own and vice versa).

The only reason they’re still stuck here is because they come from middle class families (except for Teru), so they’re way behind on the waiting list to get repaired.

Shigeo, on the other hand, came from a rich family, so he’d be out in no time. This makes Teru very mad, he states it isn’t fair that Shigeo gets to be let out sooner than them even though he just got here.

He tries to attack, but unfortunately for him, they’ve installed a software that prevents Teru from being able to kick and punch. Like a parental lock sorta? The same has been done to Shigeo.

Shigeo only makes Teru even more mad when he says he wishes he was human. If he wasn’t human, none of this would’ve happened, “Teru, if you were human, you wouldn’t be right here y’know? Your mom wouldn’t need to send a real human boy for repairs.”

And Teru is pissed because he knows Shigeo’s right. 

But being the cunning bitch he is, he smiles and pretends to accept Shigeo’s opinion, and he asks for a hug. Shigeo happily agrees and let’s Teru wrap an arm around him.

Then Teru squeezes.

“Teru, I can’t, you’re crushing- I can’t--”

“Oh, I know. If I break you enough, you’ll have to stay here with us even longer.”

Shigeo tries to retaliate, but due to the software, he’s unable to kick himself free. The rest tries to intervene, but Teru threatens them to stay back or he’ll squeeze harder.

“Can a human do this? Shigeo? Can they?”

Shigeo manages to break through the system and finally breaks free, he’s back in his aggressive mode and actually starts attacking.

He takes it too far when he rips Teru heart out.

Everyone is screaming at this point and Reigen’s rushing towards the cell like mad. Serizawa is there too, because he wanted to visit Shigeo to see how he’s doing.

“Why are you running?”

“Something bad is happening, I need to be there- Woah there buddy!” Serizawa picks Reigen up and surprises him. Then the android fucking bolts.

When Reigen finally reaches the cell and enters, he finds Shigeo on the ground, bleeding out once again, and Teru staring motionlessly at Shigeo.

“He...gave me his heart.”

Shigeo is sent to be repaired again and this time, he’s kept in a separate cell, because no one knows how he managed to break through their system. It’s almost impossible for a child -and not to mention an OLD- model to be able to do that.

While Reigen’s thinking in his office, cue Mitsuura, who says it’d be a shame for all those child models to lose their cool abilities. He jokes about just creating a child model meant to possess those abilities, like a tiny cop or something.

Cue Suzuki, no no, the other Suzuki. Mommy Suzuki. Except she’s a single lady who surrounds herself with Touichirou, the first ever android model made. That’s right, she’s head of Cyberlife.

She comes in, because she can’t sit still, and says, “Not a bad idea, man.”

Mitsuura has a fit and thanks the woman.

“So, about that old model that broke my parental control lock?” She turns to Reigen and he huffs, shrugging.

“I really don’t know, ma’am.”

She hums, definitely interested. Unlike the OG DBH, in this AU, they’re more lenient in the deviancy of androids because Suzuki believes they can have rights too. Except they don’t need to get paid, unless they want to? Honestly my idea for that aspect is low key fuzzy.

So anyways, Suzuki remembers Mitsuura’s idea and basically starts sketching out the draft. Cue Shou, who doesn’t exist yet but he’s in the making.

“Can you take the extra components of those child androids and keep them somewhere for later use? I’ll be needing them.”

“Ma’am, those androids are at the back of the waiting list, we can’t just--”

“Just do it.”

Cue Roshuuto, who seriously believes they should just kill Shigeo. “He’s too dangerous” blah blah blah SHUT THE FUCK UP.

Anyways, Reigen doesn’t want to do that because a) android or not, that’s a kid and b) You can’t make that decision and neither can I. Only Suzuki can.

Roshuuto sorta frowns, because everyone knows Suzuki plays favorites; and that favorite is Reigen. He’s the reason why Touichi now has a bit of sentience, before that android was pretty ruthless.

So if Reigen personally doesn’t want to get rid of Shigeo, then Suzuki would say the same too.

Meanwhile, Teru has been showing signs of positive improvement in attitude, there’s a speculation it might’ve been because Teru now has Shigeo’s heart, but that’s just dumb. That kid believes he just killed another android and he’s not sure how he feels about it, so he decides the least thing he could do was to be a better android.

Since Shigeo doesn’t share the same cell as them and nobody told them Shigeo survived, everyone in the playroom thinks Shigeo is dead.

Teru gets sent back after that, and the rest of the kids got their needed repairs.

Meanwhile, Shigeo and Reigen has daily consultation sessions, where they try to find the source of Shigeo’s issues. It takes about a month and Reigen hands Shigeo his cellphone number, saying if Shigeo ever needed him, Reigen would be there.

Shigeo gets sent back to the Takane’s family, because if he doesn’t, Tsubomi will throw a fit. She doesn’t do it often, but when she does, it’s ugly. It’s not like she’s spoiled, but when she strongly and firmly wants something, she’s determined enough to get it.

Originally, Ritsu was meant to be a direct replacement of Shigeo. He even had the bowl cut and everything, but Tsubomi’s intelligent and manages to figure out Ritsu’s a fake. She doesn’t get mad at him though, he doesn’t deserve it, instead she just befriends him too. Ritsu becomes a whole new person he wants to be, even mussed up his hair to look different.

So Shigeo meets Ritsu for the first time, and he’s sorta confused and upset, but Tsubomi got attached to Ritsu as well and refuses to leave him. Ritsu says he’s glad to finally meet Shigeo, because he has heard so much about him, and Shigeo decides he could like Ritsu.

I kinda stop making ideas from here, but I had a rough idea what happens next. Teru and Shigeo do meet again at some point, and Ritsu does meet Shou at some point too.

There will be background Serirei, and Shigeo does eventually grow a crush on Tsubomi and confession and oh no it went wrong. I think that’s when Shou makes his first appearance?

Because they think a child can calm another child down. It doesn’t work.

Nobody realizes Reigen’s probably the only thing that can help until the very very last minute.

So anyways, that’s the end of it. I don’t know what to do with this idea because now that I’ve spilled them all on the table, I kinda feel like writing it now. Though I already have two other projects planned, one being Nap’s birthday gift fic and another being a secret project that features Ritshou and amnesia, so it might be delayed to maybe June :(

[keenerordeath]

Endgame Timelines

(except I don’t cry at the end)

Disclaimer: I have never read the comics, I am basing everything off of what I've seen in the MCU films and fans online that know more about the stones than I do. Add in my limitless optimism and you get this monstrosity!

What would happen if Tony hadn't been the one to snap away Thanos and his army? Would Peter Parker, the only other avenger with a Stark original nanotech suit, be the one to snap instead?

Let me show you what I think would have happened if Tony survived Endgame and Peter Parker saved the universe.

Below the cut:

what could happen to peter parker

how tony fixes everything

how I think the stones should all be returned after endgame

Peter Parker and the Gauntlet

Of course, something to address immediately would be Peter's probability of survival. We've seen Tom Holland's Peter Parker lift a fallen building's debris from himself and swing away afterwards. Since Peter hasn't been shot, or severely impaled, I don't have much of a reference to go by in terms of healing and regeneration, and he's certainly not on par with Deadpool in that department. BUT, I do have reference of Infinity Snaps from the Hulk, Tony, and Thanos himself. Hulk is strong, sure, and isn't all that fazed by radiation, since that was what created him. However, he was easily beaten by Thanos, and was injured just by wearing a gauntlet that held all six stones. The snap completely destroyed his arm. For Thanos, wielding the full gauntlet only caused a surge in energy but his body was intact. The snap itself left his arm injured but not completely immobile. The arm doesn't reach that point until snapping a second time to destroy the stones. To an average human like Tony, the snap cost his life. But we KNOW all this. What we don't know is how it translates to anyone other than these three.

 As a mutant, where does that leave Peter on the spectrum? Does using the stones leave a wound that will never heal, destined to be that way by the rules of the stones? Nothing is for free, right? My theory is that Peter would have a different experience. Do I want to see him in pain? Hell no. While our reality is that Spider-Man must move on in a universe without Tony Stark, I can't help but dream up endings a little more happy. So, what if? What if the one who will recover the easiest from using the stones is our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?

 I would venture that the kid would be in intensive care under Helen Cho's watch. This woman has worked with super soldiers like Steve Rogers, created the cradle from Avengers: Age of Ultron. The avengers trust her with their lives. Tony wouldn't want anyone else to take care of Peter, because she would be the one to keep him alive. Not to mention, Peter heals quickly. The biggest issue may be understanding his metabolism well enough to administer antibiotics, pain killers, and other nutrients that his body would need to support his mutated healing abilities.

 Peter is in the hospital and Tony needs something to keep himself occupied while waiting for his kid to wake up.

Tony Stark and the Plan to Return the Stones

Anthony Edward Stark is not going to sit on his ass if there is a problem that needs solving. With everyone back besides Vision and Natasha, he's got a team that can execute the return of the stones perfectly. Even one thing out of place and alternate timelines are created.

Tony gets Dr. Strange to rewind time on the compound. It would be great if that could go back to not being rubble, you know?

Then he gets to work, getting the rundown from everyone.

What state were all the stones in when they were taken from the past?

What was Steve doing in 2012 after he left Loki and the others in the tower?

Where did he get the Pym particles from at the base?

When did Clint wake up with the soul stone in his hand?

Where was Natasha's body after she became the sacrifice?

Where did Rhodey and Nebula leave Quill?

Would it be so bad to leave the power stone on Morag now that Thanos cannot reach it there?

Will Gamora of 2014 want to go back to her own time or stay here?

Will Gamora want to stay if they manage to get her back alive from Vormir? Two Gamora's?

Where was the hammer before Thor summoned it?

What do they have to do to get the Aether back into Jane?

 He has a lot of questions, a lot of witnesses and resources, and a need for a distraction.

First thing he needs to do? Get as much information about the stones from Dr. Strange as possible.

any theories involving the actual powers and abilities of the stones are suuuuper yada yada-ed in some places because I have a very basic understanding of biology, atomic composition, time travel, neurological functions, artificial intelligence, etc. - they're flimsy in some places and I'm not sure how to fix that

Can the pocket universe in the Soul stone be accessed? Does it hold only Nat and Gamora's souls? Would they need their bodies to return the souls to? Would it just be easier to collect their bodies from Vormir and turn back time on them, too? Would their souls even be in their bodies anymore, or would they just be husks? Would taking their bodies back to the present create an alternate timeline that prevents their new alternate selves to be able to retrieve Nat or Gamora? Is it important enough to them to screw with another timeline like that? Will they have their bodies restored once they're puled from the stone?

Now, my understanding of the stones stems from the movies and an explanation I came across on Quora while researching the stones.

"To combat [their] weaknesses they all feed into each other and make each other more powerful. Also as a general weakness they will destroy most mortals without the use of a vessel (Infinity gauntlet, Ronan's hammer Etc) The Time stone makes each stone's effects permanent as well as permeate time. The Reality stone makes the others affect the world itself as opposed to just an aspect of the universe. The Power stone's raw power acts as a battery for the rest of them and amplifies their power. The Soul stone gives power over the souls of everyone the user comes across. The Space stone makes the effects of the other stones universe wide. The Mind stone allows the user complete control of the minds of everyone in the universe."

Another tidbit about the Soul stone that I found was this:

"Allows the user to steal, control, manipulate, and alter living and dead souls; as well as animate the motionless. The Soul Gem also acts as a gateway to an idyllic pocket universe. At full potential, when backed by the Power Gem, the Soul Gem grants the user control over all life in the universe."

Can't make an omelet without cracking a few eggs. With the combination of the Power, Time, Space, and Reality stones they get Natasha and Gamora out of the Soul stone. It is a stretch, considering Hulk said he had tried to get Natasha back. I think maybe using the Soul stone puts up a bit of a roadblock. How well can the Soul stone resist the effects of the other stones when it isn't being used, then? Say you use the Space stone to move the women out of the pocket universe? (Maybe it is possible to rebuild or reshape them to how they used to be by using the Space stone, same concept as Thanos changing the Aether to the Reality stone using the Space and Time stones). Using the Reality and Time stones to solidify their existence in that time and space in the universe, they could bend reality to make it so. The Power stone will juice up the other three, surely allowing them to push past boundaries they couldn't on their own. And if it takes a little tinkering with a juiced-up Soul stone to get them both fully restored, then so be it. Whatever it takes to get them back.

Now… vision is an incredibly complicated puzzle to solve. What IS left after the stone is removed? If Shuri had been allowed enough time, what would have changed for Vision? My gut tells me that his best chance lies in the hands of Shuri and Dr. Strange. Vision has just been hooked up to Shuri's tech in Wakanda. Five years later she still has the scans she made, still remembers what she had to do. So Dr. Strange takes them back to right before Thanos' General attacks Shuri and her guard, taking Vision with him. Instead of letting that play through, Strange pauses time, leaving himself and Shuri to find what made Vision tick, remove the stone and see what is left, what they need to substitute in as replacement for the Mind stone. They gather all the information housed in Vision's body. Every piece that came from Jarvis, Stark, Banner, Thor, Ultron, the Mind stone. How can that be recreated to be able to house Vision's memories and consciousness, again? Restoring him to minutes before Thanos took the stone from his head is the end goal. Once Shuri has all the data she needs, they turn back time on Vision, leave him back on the table, and resume time before jumping back to their present. They'll need the cradle again, some more vibranium, some help from Helen Cho and Thor's lightning. Would complete reconstruction and an upload of consciousness work without the stone? Obviously, the flying and the strength and all his other powers from the stone would be gone, but is it really so bad to have a chance at being normal?

They have their lost family back now. But they cannot rest yet. What else do they need the stones for before they can send them back to where they came from?

Can they be used to heal Peter? Have they already weakened themselves from using them so much? Is there anyone else that can wield them and help to restore what was lost after half the population vanished and everything became overwhelming to maintain? The plan for returning them was set, they're left with a lot of time to use the stones for some good. Can Captain Marvel offer more help to others in the universe? Surely, Earth isn't the only place that desperately needed help in the aftermath. I assume she will do what she can, holding more hope than in canon, since losing Tony left most of them… less than motivated to get back into hero-ing.

Danvers did what she needed to with the stones. Time to start their return plan.

All the stones need to be returned to how they looked when they were taken.

Thanos used the Space and Power stones to change the Aether from its weird wiggly form into an actual stone. Great, let's undo that. Should we use the Time stone or the Space and Power stones? Either will work? Dope, done and done, moving on.

The scepter and its case are around the compound somewhere, Vision doesn’t need the stone anymore, let's pack it in there. Same with the weird orb thing Rhodey brought the Power stone back in. Let's get those packed and they'll be ready to go.

Mjolnir: check. Aether: check. Scepter: check. Power Orb: check. Space, Soul, and Time stones: check, check, check. (Dr. Strange will be hanging onto that Time stone until the last mission, though)

Now we know from Avengers: Endgame that each capsule of Pym Particles will give you two jumps. They can go from the present to the past, then the past to the present. After that they have to refuel. With that established, my estimate would be that they would need to use AT LEAST 19 capsules, not accounting for spares in case of an emergency.

So, Hank Pym, mind making those? We need them to fix our time travel mess. Thanks, pal.

Back in Time, Right on Time

Tony doesn't need everyone to make this go smoothly. He can work with a smaller pool of people.

Clint is not going back, not to Vormir, not to anywhere. He will stay in the present with Nat and his family.

His blue meanie, Nebula, is staying with him. He will not subject her to the pain of sharing her network with another Nebula from a different time, not again.

Tony himself will not be leaving. He will be right here, coordinating everything. Some of them will be leaving at the same time. Others have multiple trips they're going to make. No one makes a second jump until they have checked back in with him. They'll restock their suits, get some food and rest, gather the things they need to return, and venture back out.

No Avenger is going to be sent back to a time that will trigger bad memories from their pasts.

Many candidates and teams were dismissed pretty early. They're abilities may have been ideal, but if their personalities did not mix well, Tony could not risk the messes that incompatibility could cause.

 For this to work, the best chance of success for the return of every stone and avoiding any offshoot timelines will require these Avengers: Captain Rogers, Thor, Dr. Strange, The Wasp, Mantis, Scarlet Witch, and Ant-Man. Stay tuned because we're going to need one surprise extra along the way, but more on that later.

To know where to go first, Tony first had to figure out who messed up the worst, and needed the most stones to complete the mission.

 Loki's Vanishing Act

Let's start with Loki taking the Tesseract in NYC 2012. It is essentially a surefire way to change pretty much everything we know about the MCU. So how is Tony going to fix that Royal Whoops? Well, it's not going to be easy. To ensure that Loki and the Tesseract are sent back to Asgard with Thor, Tony will send the Wasp and Ant-Man to keep the Tesseract close to a collapsed Tony Stark and Thor, and away from Loki, Endgame Tony and Scott, and the slimy Alexander Pierce. If anyone besides Thor got the Tesseract then, Tony and Steve would never go to the army base even further in the past. Best not to mess with that.

 Really? Hail Hydra?

Now that Loki is once again in custody of the Avengers, we'll follow Captain America taking the Scepter from NYC in 2012.

(Enjoy the layout of this one, because there's so much to it I don't want to make this into more of a story than a presentation. You'll take all my bullet points and you'll like them, damn it.)

Triggers for alternate timelines:

Tricking Hydra into thinking he was their ally

Prematurely informing his 2012 self of Bucky being alive

Removing the Mind stone from the scepter (this one couldn't really be helped, you're okay Steve)

Conclusion: a seamless return without creating any alternate timelines will be enough to give me a migraine. (Tony probably had one, too, after learning everything Steve said to get his way to the scepter and out of the tower)

 So, how does he plan to fix it? By sending the Wasp, Scarlet Witch, and Mantis.

Elevator Mess

Upon arriving at Stark Tower in NYC 2012, Hope shrinks the scepter, along with Wanda and Mantis. Their job is to follow Steve Rogers and clean up after him.

One "Hail Hydra" later, Hope carries Wanda to where she can erase the memories of all those in the elevator. Captain America is not with Hydra, he never entered that elevator, and he never took the scepter.

Last step here is to take the scepter they've brought and leave it exactly where Cap took the original from.

America's Ass

The reason Cap even had to fight himself is because Loki escaping disrupted the timeline, pulling 2012 Cap from search and rescue and back to the tower to hunt down Loki.

With Loki secured, Wanda has to manipulate 2012 Cap into still believing that Loki got away. After disabling his communications, they send him on his way.

His "I have eyes on Loki," never reaches anyone, and once they've fallen and Steve has knocked 2012 Cap unconscious, Wanda goes about erasing his memory of learning about Bucky. (Does Wanda get a video of "that's America's ass," to make fun of him with later? It's a mystery, truly, we'll never know)

Search and Rescue

They leave after returning 2012 Cap to the ground floor and waking him up (Thanks Mantis, I love you), sending him to resume search and rescue as if nothing had happened.

 Ghosts of the Past

When Tony brings up Vormir, Steve volunteers. He won't let Clint, Banner, or Quill go. He was close to Natasha, spent the last five years with her. He wanted the chance to rid them of the stone that tried to take her from them. He knew that the other three didn't need the pain that would hit them should they see the place where the women they love had almost been lost to them.

What no one accounted for was Steve knowing who had been guiding people to the stone all this time. Facing Red Skull was not what Steve had expected. If it weren't so terrifying to see him again it would be almost comical. But there was nothing here to fix. He'd watched as Clint's craft took off, returning back to the others with the stone and without Nat. He handed the Soul stone off, tapped the device on his wrist twice, and went home.

 Frigga Knows All

Steve doesn't talk about the last mission, so they move on to the next one. Tony sends Wanda and Steve to Asgard with Mjolnir and the Aether. They can't change that Thor told his mother the truth, but they can stop the Asgardians chasing Rocket and erase their memories of the raccoon. Disruption handled, Wanda goes to return the Aether to where it resided inside Jane. A very unfortunate place for it to be, but she knew she couldn't make any changes. So she returned it and left to find Cap, who had found where Thor pulled the hammer from and put it back. Rocket and Thor had gone back, and now Cap and Wanda could, too.

 The God of Mischief

All of the Avengers were familiar with the Tesseract. Turns out it was just a cosmic cube used to contain the power of the Space stone. Interesting twist, for sure. But Thanos crushed the cube, and without it, they couldn't get the Tesseract back to Howard Stark's labs. At least the Pym Particles were a simple mission.

(Buckle up, I'm bringing back the bullet points)

Triggers to alternate timelines:

SHIELD suddenly having the Space stone rather than the Tesseract

Hank Pym losing important pieces of his research

 Army base employee reporting Tony and Steve to bunker security

Conclusion: only the best of the best could twist this situation back to where it needs to be.

Tony's plan went something like this:

Saving a god

Thor and Dr. Strange go to retrieve Loki from the wreckage of the Asgardian ship

They work together to gather all those lost onto a nearby planet.

Once all the Asgardians have been found, Dr. Strange turns back time on the ship and on those gathered, bringing them back.

Using the Time, Space, and Power stones, Dr. Strange opens a portal that takes the Asgardians and their ship to the present in Norway, where the rest of their people reside.

Thor returns to the present, knowing Valkyrie was already in Norway, prepared to receive everyone.

Fooling a King

Dr. Strange keeps Loki with him, being the only one they've known to be able to contain Loki and see through his tricks. Loki doesn't give him any reasons to contain him, though.

An extra quantum realm suit and some Pym Particles given to Loki, and they jump to a time well before Loki had even learned he was the stolen prince of Jotunheim.

Together, they take the Tesseract from Odin's vault and hide it away.

Loki disguises himself as a young Thor and "confesses" to breaking the Tesseract, presenting the Space stone to Odin.

The Space stone is soon contained once again in a cosmic cube, an exact replica of the Tesseract Thanos had crushed, and returned to the vault.

Not wanting to risk anything, they replace the hidden Tesseract, retrieve the repaired cube, and jump back in time once more.

Returning Particles

Dr. Strange opens a portal in the basement of the bunker, watching as Howard Stark and "Howard Potts" leave the room.

The Tesseract is returned to the container Tony took it from and they were quickly through the next portal

Steve Rogers was gone and Hank Pym had yet to return

The capsules of Pym Particles were placed in the empty space left by Cap.

Mission complete, Loki and Dr. Strange returned to the Avengers Compound.

  Can't Really Fix This One

There was one alternate timeline that Tony would never be able to fix, not that he would ever want to. The Thanos from 2014 brought his army and his daughters with him to end the Avengers of the present and take the stones for himself.

But once he and his armies were snapped away, there was no one to return back to 2014. They were gone. Nebula had no idea if Gamora had vanished along with all the others on the ships that brought her to a different time. Well, if they ever run into her, they'll offer her the chance to go back to the time she left, should she wish to return.

All that could really be done was send Wanda and Mantis to put the orb back in the temple, give Quill back his lockpick, toss him in front of the temple and wake him up. Maybe he would run into this Korath guy he mentioned, maybe he won't, considering he was a lackey to Ronan, one of those Thanos used to do his bidding. A Thanos that was no longer there. Either way, Quill wasn't just left for dead. He may never meet Gamora, but he still had other adventures to go on, other people to meet.

 It's Finally Over

The Ancient One was taking down Chitauri before Hulk showed up. Steve would follow her attack patterns and range, because once Hulk showed up to get the stone, she would be distracted, and the Chitauri she would have stopped would continue on into NYC.

After Hulk had left with the Time Stone, Steve immediately approached the Ancient One and handed her the stone. They shared a look of understanding, she turned to rejoin the fight, and Steve left the rooftop to return home for the last time.

and they all lived happily ever after, the end, happy hanukkah, goodnight - Rallow <3

[sebthesnipe]

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!

First // Previously // Next

My Dearest Procyon

Masterpost

MDP Discord Server

Chapter 30

Original story based on this wonderful post by @underdog-arts

TW: Mentions of blood

Logan drew on Patton stretching and weaving his magic a bit clumsily. It was nothing like the magical energy he had shared with Virgil, or even the force siphoned from Noname. Patton’s magic was far stronger. 

Logan could feel the force of it burning inside him almost painfully. Sweat beaded his brow at the strange sensation, his finger dragging across Virgil’s palm. A shimmering gold light marked the tight lines he drew as he continued to weave the ropes around them.

“Logan,” Virgil sighed watching him work. “That’s a bit much, don’t you think?” Virgil asked with an arched brow. The smaller witch could feel the waves of power coming from the man’s work. 

“Yes, well,” Logan sighed, gaze narrowing in concentration. “It seems that this new power will take some time to grow accustomed to. I am more acclimated to a trickle rather than the flood I’m currently attempting to control, Virgil.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Virgil snapped. He was a bit testy, all things considered. He didn’t feel well, had very little magic, and Logan was just tossing this immense force around like it was nothing. Then again, judging by how much power they assumed Patton had, Virgil supposed it was something more than he, or even Logan, had anticipated. 

“Right… Sorry,” Logan mumbled, keeping his gaze glued to the work at hand. His guilt washed through the connection with Patton, making the dragon frown slightly. 

“Don’t worry, Logan,” Patton reassured, reaching out to rest a hand on his arm. “You’ll get the hang of it.” He was well aware that the words wouldn’t really help, but offered them regardless. 

Logan shot him another glance, giving a small smile. Patton could feel the warmth coming from the lanky witch at his words. They might not have helped reassure the man, but they certainly caused a pleasant reaction. That was enough for Patton. 

Logan turned back to his work, finishing drawing the sigil carefully into Virgil’s palm as Patton’s hand dropped away. Virgil’s own gaze was glued to the man’s work as Logan double checked each weave before finally glancing up.

“Are you ready?” he asked the smaller witch.

Virgil hesitated, trying not to get his hopes up. The bonding hadn’t worked with Patton. Why should it work with Logan? What if it didn’t have anything to do with them? What if he was the one that was broken? After everything, after Noname, Logan, Roman. What if he was just too used and damaged to be worth bonding with anyone? 

He hoped that wasn’t the case. 

He gave a small nod. Whatever the case may be, he had to try. He had to save Roman. 

Logan’s honey gaze met purple as he and Virgil stared at one another, beginning to recite the words in unison. 

“Élidaumet andam. Pesäemet andam. Uskolfeartiilamet andam. Sívamet kuuluuko kaike että a ted.”

The two witches paused, waiting to feel the pain that came with the bond, as it had before, but nothing came. 

Patton could feel the tension in Logan rise as the witch tried to determine what he had done wrong. 

“Perhaps, we should try again?” Logan offered. 

“Right, yeah. Maybe we did something wrong,” Virgil nodded, knowing that wasn’t the case. He needed it to be the truth though. He needed to have done something wrong, otherwise- 

Otherwise he wasn’t worth trying to save. 

“Élidaumet andam. Pesäemet andam. Uskolfeartiilamet andam. Sívamet kuuluuko kaike että a ted.”

A moment of silence… Another… 

“Nothing,” Logan sighed, casting his eyes downwards as he unraveled his weaves of magic. 

“Well, it was worth a shot,” Virgil huffed, pulling his hand away and holding it close to his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but only managing to cause another coughing fit. 

“Don’t worry Virgil! We’ll figure something out!” Patton offered with a smile, reaching out for the witch. 

Logan could feel Patton’s disbelief in his reassurance. It was a distracting feeling, though it certainly had its benefits. For once in Patton’s life, he didn’t have to feel completely alone. 

“Yes, Patton is right,” Logan reassured. “We’ll find a way to rescue Roman and then perhaps you will be able to bond with him.”

“Ha!” Virgil barked sarcastically. “That’s if we manage to rescue him and if he would be willing to bond with me and if I can even bond with someone again! Let’s face it, Lo, the fact that I couldn’t bond with you makes it a pretty damn good chance I won’t be able to bond with anyone!” The smaller witch glanced at Patton to gauge his reaction at his choice of words, but couldn’t find it in himself to apologize. “Besides, for all we know, bonding with Roman could lead to the same situation you and I were in, only worse! Roman is human with no magical powers! I’d literally be feeding off his soul! I couldn’t do that to him!”

Logan and Patton shared a look, obviously uncomfortable. 

However, Logan’s resolve was too much. Patton could feel he wouldn’t be able to convince the man to hide the truth from Virgil. After everything the two witches had gone through, he wouldn’t be willing to ask it of him either. Patton gave a consensual nod, causing the tension in Logan’s shoulders to ease. 

“Actually, Virgil. That isn’t entirely true,” Logan began, moving to stand…

………………………………………………

Roman let his eyes fall shut. His eyelids felt like sandpaper against them. The stinging pain caused liquid to escape down his cheeks, but he wasn’t sure if it was water or blood. How long had he been hanging there? How long had he been awake in this endless darkness? A day? Two? A week?

He couldn’t tell.

Did time pass differently in the baku’s den? Would he ever be allowed to sleep? To see Virgil again? 

Surely he wouldn’t die here, strung up like some cow being drained for the butcher. Roman was a prince! He deserved a more glamorous death. Though, at the moment he wasn’t too picky…

……………………………………………………..

“Roman?!!!” Virgil yelled at the top of his lungs as he walked through  endless white halls. “Roman?!!!” he called again desperately. 

He wasn’t sure how much time he had before he woke again or before his body gave out.

He was getting closer. He could sense Roman’s dream pattern. Everyone had one, a fingerprint in the dream world, something so uniquely them. The witch was a bit surprised when he had first sensed it. It was an odd time of day to be sleeping, but there was no telling what had happened to the prince in the time that they had been separated. 

Virgil paused in consideration. He supposed he shouldn’t call Roman a prince any longer. From what Logan had told him, Roman wasn’t one. Roman had never been one. It was all so twisted and confusing and none of it really mattered. Roman was Roman and that was good enough for Virgil. 

“Rom-” Virgil called once more, cutting himself off. He felt water on his cheek, causing him to glance up. Another drop fell, landing on his forehead. Another on his chin. The nonexistent sky opened, drenching Virgil in an instant.  

He held a hand out, feeling the harsh warm water patter against his skin. Roman rarely dreamed of rain. Most of his dreams were filled with memories, horrible memories. Virgil often visited him, destroying and reconstructing his dreams to help him rest a bit easier. He would pull in jellyfish, giant eels, whales, flowers… all the things Roman seemed so intrigued by… but not rain. Especially, this dark thundering rain that raged around him now. A familiar kind of rain.

Virgil breathed deeply, the scent of lavender filling his nose. 

“Remy,” he sighed softly, dread filling him. 

“Well, that didn’t take you as long as I expected,” the sassy voice came, causing Virgil to spin. “Long time, no see, Doll,” they grinned, flashing their pointed teeth. 

Remy stood a good foot and a half taller than the oneiromancer, towering over him suddenly. The thin flowing black cloth that wrapped around their body, tied at the waist, covered the majority of their too pale skin. Their flowing black shadow like hair shifted and twitched as they peered down at the smaller man. 

“As happy as I am to see you, Remy,” Virgil sighed. “I was hoping it wouldn’t be like this.” 

“How’d you know it was me?” Remy asked curiously. 

“The rain and lavender were a bit of a give away,” Virgil admitted with a small smile.

“Bitch, you know rain is my jam,” they chuckled, giving a snap of their fingers, causing a set of chairs to materialize.  

Virgil gave a nod, moving to sink down into the chair that was obviously meant for him.  He waved a hand to will away the storm. This dream may have originated from Roman, but it was no longer his. Regardless, the witch hoped the act would bring the man some small comfort.

“You have him, don’t you? This was supposed to be his dream,” Virgil asked, smile fading as he watched Remy move to sit in their own chair. 

“You mean, Mr. Too-toned?” they teased lightly, “He is a snacc, isn’t he?!” they giggled.

“Remy…” Virgil huffed, obviously not in a playful mood. 

“Oh, don’t be such a downer,” the baku grumbled. “Yes, I have him.”

“Is he alright?! Is he hurt?!” Virgil rushed, tensing at the news. 

“Guurl, take it down a few notches before you blow that cute little head of yours,” Remy huffed, giving another wave. A table appeared between them, already set with an elegant kettle and two cups of steaming dark liquid. Remy reached for their cup and sipped it slowly. “He’s alive, though a bit beat up. Nothing too serious from what I could tell. A few cracked ribs, a broken bone here or there. It looks like Lord Noname had some fun before sending me his scraps.”

The news didn’t make Virgil feel any better. 

“But he is alive?” the witch asked.

“For now, yes,” Remy nodded, taking another sip.

“Does Noname want you to kill him?” Virgil asked, his anxiety only rising at the possibility.

“No,” Remy answered simply, watching the tension fall off the man in waves. “Whatever the boss wants, Prince Charming ain’t giving up anytime soon. He wouldn’t have sent him to me otherwise. I’ve got orders to keep him alive, Puppet,” Remy warned, causing Virgil to meet their gaze worryingly. “I don’t get those orders unless it’s something big, something he’s willing to get at all costs.”

Virgil nodded slowly, finally moving to accept the cup in front of him. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Remy,” he sighed. “We’re on our way there, but by the time we get there-”

“He could be dead or insane,” Remy nodded, “It is a very real possibility, Puppet.” 

“If that happens, if I can’t make it-” Virgil paused, taking a long drink before focusing on his breathing. “Remy, he won’t be the only one that dies.”

“Guurl,” Remy chuckled, “I’ll admit what you’ve accomplished is impressive,  severing your ties with the bossman, running away, staying hidden, but I doubt you’re strong enough to kill h-”

“Remy, I’m dying.” Virgil interrupted, causing the baku’s breath to hitch. 

There was a moment of silence as Remy tried to process the new information.

“Don’t be so over dramatic,” Remy chuckled nervously. “Just because you don’t have your prince doesn’t mean-”

“He’s not a prince, Remy, and I’m not being dramatic. Roman is my last chance. If I can’t get to him, we're both dead…”

To be continued...

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@hiddendreamer67 @nightashes @aequinoctiale @sumersnowlilly