#which is probably from ao3 brainwashing- but whatever

[ehh-is-the-name]

The people have spoken...

Cobs would respect your gender neutral pronouns!

[sailorsplatoon]

It's tiiiiiime!!! I'm finally posting a new fic again!!!

This work was proofread by the amazing matuili and the equally amazing Tar4All! They both helped me immensely, so they get extra special thank you's!

Now, without further ado, I give you, the first chapter of An LED Light at the End of the Tunnel!

You can also read it on ao3!

Next chapter

(Fanfic under cut)

Four sat outside the little hut in Octo Canyon, glued to their phone. It had been exactly one year since Marie left for Splatsville, along with Callie, Cuttlefish, Eight, and Captain 3. February 17. They had it marked in their calendar app. Every day since then, Four texted Marie, and every day, they never received a reply. 

By now, almost everyone had left Inkopolis. Four had been alone for nearly two months. Even the Great Zapfish had gone. The emptiness scared them, how they were the only one there. It left a pit in their stomach. They spent most of their time in Octo Canyon, because at least Octavio was someone to talk to. Granted, he didn’t exactly have a choice, but Four was desperate for some company. 

Octavio faked a cough, seemingly to clear his throat. Either that or dispel Four’s gloomy silence. “She’s still not responding to your texts, huh? You know, if you let me out I have technology that could—”

“For the last time, no. I’m not putting on your brainwashing glasses. And she’ll respond. She’s probably just��� caught up in agent work or something,” Four interrupted, trying to mask the shakiness in their voice.

“The first stage of grief is denial.”

“The stages of grief theory has been widely debunked by therapists and psychologists as everyone grieves differently. It is considered outdated and unhelpful by many professionals.” Four rattled off the facts as if they were reading from a textbook.

“Nerd.”

“Shut up.”

Hey, Marie. It’s Four again. Octavio keeps trying to get me to let him out. It’s honestly pretty lonely here.

They sent another text among the several unanswered ones.

“Marie cares about me, she knows how important she is to me. She would never ignore me on purpose,” Four spoke more to themself than to Octavio. “I just hope she’s not still mad at me…”

“You guys got into a pretty big fight before she left, right?” Octavio leaned onto the side of his snow globe that was closest to Four, eyeballing them as he spoke.

“Yeah. But we made up. I thought.” Four didn’t look up from their phone, staring at it for a few seconds in a desperate hope that Marie would reply.

“Have you texted anyone else?” Octavio pried.

Four didn’t answer. They hadn’t. They were too scared to. Maybe, if Marie was actually mad at them, the others were too. They knew that probably wasn’t the case, they knew they were being irrational. But they just couldn’t make their fingers type out a message to anyone else. Their hands were already shaking at the thought.

Octavio saw their silence and sighed. “Look, kid, I’m gonna give it to you straight. I’m worried about you. And trust me, I am the last person to be worried about a squid. But I really think I could help.”

“Whatever. It’s getting late. I’m heading home.” Four grabbed their bag and stood up, heading towards the grate. They stopped in front of it, and stared at their phone again.

 I really need you right now.

They pressed send, then disappeared into the drain.

****

“Keep going, Agent 4, you’ve almost made it to the zapfish!” Marie’s voice came through Four’s headphones, encouraging them to keep pushing through the hordes of octarians. They made it to the zapfish and popped the shield, grabbing the little electric catfish in their arms.

“Nice job, Four! Now you just gotta make it out of the kettle. Since this one is so far underground, you won’t be able to super jump out. Just retrace yo—” There was a glitching noise and then static. Their headphones had cut out. Which meant they had no contact with Marie. And they’d splatted all the octarians in the kettle. They were entirely alone. Four’s chest started to feel tight and their hearts were racing. Their breathing became uneven and shallow, their legs shook.

“Whoa, okay… calm down… breathe…” Four spoke out loud to themself. The little zapfish wiggled around in their arms as if to try and comfort them. 

“Right, I still have you, little guy. Thanks for the reminder.” They patted the zapfish on the head in a gesture of gratitude. “Okay… let’s do this.”

A few minutes later, Four popped out of the kettle.

“Four, you’re back. I think I lost communication with you in there. I was worried something had happen— oh my cod, Four are you okay?” In the middle of Marie’s sentence, she had noticed Agent 4’s current state. They were standing there, shaking. Tears were streaming down their face.

“Yeah… I uh… I just don’t do well with being alone…” Their voice broke and they avoided eye contact.

“Oh, Four. Come here.” Marie pulled them into a hug. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I’ll have Sheldon upgrade both your headset and my equipment before you go on anymore missions. I won’t let this happen again. I promise.”

****

“Back then… She promised…” Four thought, sitting on the floor of their apartment, leaning up against their bed frame. Yet again, they were staring at their phone. This time, it was Callie’s private social media page. She reserved it only for members of the New Squidbeak Splatoon.

Life in the Splatlands has been slow regarding professional work, but that’s just the more reason to take it easy! Me, Marie, Eight, and the Captain have been going out exploring Splatsville almost every day, the city just keeps getting better! Gramps will even occasionally tag along. So far nothing concerning regarding the NSS. We found some fuzzy looking ooze stuff in The Crater, but as long as no one touches it we’ll be fine!

Four placed their phone face down on the floor and held their head in their hands. “She wasn’t busy. She was ignoring me. She really is still mad at me, isn’t she? Oh cod, maybe all my texts came off as too desperate. She must hate me now. Why else would they all leave me alone here with no one but…” Octavio’s offer buzzed in the back of Four’s mind. “No, you can’t do that. You’d be letting everyone down.” They squeezed their legs into their chest and rested their head on their knees, mumbling, “But, it’s not like you haven’t already…”

They’d made up their mind.

[j-nipper-95]

An ask game for writers to procrastinate working on your WIP(s)

Thank you for the tags @artsyunderstudy @iamamythologicalcreature @aristocratic-otter @shrekgogurt @wellbelesbian @theearlgreymage and @ic3-que3n

I am definitely procrastinating on both my WIPs at the moment. Trails is back in limbo, and ASR has taken up permanent residence there recently, and I desperately want to get back to both of them. Here's hoping this will kick start something in my brain! I do love a good Q&A, so let's dive in!

1. 🦈 Tell us the name of your/one of your WIP(s):

I have two WIPs I am actively writing, and one I haven't started on yet, but desperately want to. The Trails We Blaze was my Carry On Through the Ages 2023 fic, and is a The Road to El Dorado!au. Then there's my original novel, A Survivor's Revenge, which I've been writing for far too long and it definitely needs to be published soon!

2. 🍄 Describe your WIP/one of your WIP(s) in the format of "___ + ___ = ___"

Ok, this is much harder than I thought it would be, there's so many elements to each of these WIPs, so bare with me.

Trails: con men in 1920s London find map to Atlantis + WW1 trauma + gang warfare + repressed romantic feelings = friends to lovers action, adventure, and chaos across western Europe that's probably been too intensely researched for the sake of historical accuracy

(Side note: this isn't how I thought I'd use my degrees in history and archaeology, but here we are!)

A Survivor's Revenge: marvel cinematic universe + James Bond = ASR

or - what would happen if Bucky wasn't brainwashed by Hydra and sought revenge on the scientists who experimented on him, was a 14 year old school girl instead of a grown man, and had elemental powers + MI6 super spies and the general aesthetic of a Bond movie = a stab first/ask questions later FMC willing to do whatever it takes to keep her loved ones safe (and I do mean whatever it takes - Lauren hasn't baulked at anything I've thrown at her yet).

3. 🌍 What tags or warnings will one of your WIP(s) need if you intend to share it.

ASR will definitely need some trigger warnings for violence (if only because of Lauren's penchant for it), and if it were being posted to AO3 the series as a whole would probably require a 'main character death' warning. This is your formal warning, no one is safe in my writing.

Trails is rated M, so there's not going to be anything too graphic or explicit, but it does have a PTSD tag, as the fic tackles both Baz and Simon's trauma from living through the First World War, and specifically Baz's claustrophobia. So I would probably warn about the panic attacks and discussion of how Baz became claustrophobic.

4. 🧭 An alternative title to one of your WIP(s)?

Neither of these had alternative titles other than my save names (Spy Novel and SnowBaz fanfic) before I decided on anything. I'm useless at coming up with titles, and I can't really claim full credit for either. A friend from uni came up with A Survivor's Revenge, which is really fitting, as revenge is a major theme in the book. And The Trails We Blaze is a reference to one of the songs from the movie The Road to El Dorado, and was Ashton's suggestion when we were bouncing ideas back and forth last year.

5. ⚠️ Which WIP you're most likely to finish or update next?

Trails will definitely be finished before ASR, purely because ASR is going to be published as a proper book, and I don't have the cash to do this independently, or the publishing deal to do it traditionally. So I know this will take time. But I am currently working on the next chapter of Trails, so hopefully it won't be too long before I can post it.

6. 💾 What is your document of your WIP/a WIP called? (not the stories actual title but what you've saved it as)

I have so many variations of both WIPs it's ridiculous. I swear there's been 100+ iterations of ASR over the years, all with variations on either A Survivor's Revenge/ASR or Spy Novel as their title.

With Trails I have my base document, which is where the rough first draft happens, in Scrivener: the trails we blaze - draft copy. And then I also have my final document in pages, where I fix the formatting ahead of exporting to AO3 (because AO3 hates it when I do it straight from scrivener and gets rid of all my italics!): the trails we blaze upload copy.

7. 🖍 Post any sentence(s) from your WIP.

This is probably one of my favourite exchanges in the first ASR book.

“Just like old times,” Lauren said. “Tell me, did you consciously decide to make my PTSD worse by assigning him to me, or was that a happy accident?” “What’s the diagnosis?” Vanessa asked, ignoring Lauren. “Fractured ribs, minor internal abdominal bleeding, concussion, and three broken fingers. She needs to rest for at least a week,” Todd said. “She has a name,” Lauren muttered. “The internal bleeding is minor for the moment, but won’t be if she doesn’t rest.” “Who’s ‘she’ in this, the cat’s mother? I am here, you know.” “Yes, and whilst I would love to trade witticisms with you, I do actually have a job to do. Part of which involves divulging a diagnosis, and pardon me if I feel certain people in this room are going to be more receptive and actually take my advice when I give it.” Lauren glanced at Vanessa. “Is he always like this?” “Just with patients. And most of the people who work here.” “So, everyone?” Vanessa thought for a moment, then bobbed her head from side to side in a movement that said Pretty much, yeah. “If we’re quite done discussing my conduct, I do actually have other patients who need my attention.” “Poor sods.” “Yes, of course,” Vanessa said, ignoring Lauren’s comments. “Have you got a treatment plan sorted?” “I’m nothing if not professional.” “Did someone switch the definition of ‘sarcastic asshat’ and ‘professional’ in the dictionary when I wasn’t looking?” Todd twisted ever so slightly away from Lauren, instead focusing entirely on Vanessa.

8. ♻️ A scrapped idea for your current WIP.

Initially in ASR Lauren was framed for the murder of a student, alongside releasing the main villain from prison (not a spoiler, it's literally in my synopsis, no worries there!), and afterward she was forced to go on the run. Essentially, it made the heads of MI6 and Lauren's best friends into her enemies for a few chapters of my drafts a couple of years back. I loved this idea, and genuinely want to implement something along these lines again, because it was an interesting position to put the characters in, but I also really love where the plot is taking them currently, so we'll see if it truly ends up remaining scrapped or not.

9. 🤔 What's a story you'd love to write but haven't even started yet?

Another original novel, this time firmly rooted in science fiction (no superhero/light fantasy elements here), where time travel is possible, but the super anxious MC refuses to use his powers to travel back in time because of the side effects of said power. Gay romance, anxiety, angst, all the good stuff!

10. 🤡 How many WIPs are you actively working on?

I'm not too active on either of my WIPs at the moment. Work's been crazy lately, and I flip between feeling super burnt out creatively and being too tired to do much. But Trails and ASR continue to be my most active WIPs.

11. 🛠 Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

In Trails I've hit an intimate scene, and my little ace brain doesn't know how to approach it! Plus, I don't know how far I can stretch the M rating before we enter E territory.

12. ❤️ Not a question, just a second Kudos to send.

All of the kudos to everyone! I wish there was a way to leave it more than once, because seriously, the CO fandom is so unbelievably talented, my God!!

Tagging (sorry if you’ve already done this):

@blackberrysummerblog

@orange-peony

@you-remind-me-of-the-babe

@palimpsessed

[afteriwake]

9. Write about a heated debate -- Jane and Darcy about Darcy's love life (you can pick the ship).

I decided to put this in my "Just Pieces On The Board" series with Jane and Darcy discussing her relationship with Loki (because I don't think Darcy dating Steve or Stephen would upset Jane that much...Bucky would probably be forgiven more easily because of his brainwashing, but Loki would draw more incredulity).

Differing Opinions - Darcy and Jane have differing opinions on Darcy's budding relationship with Loki.

READ @ AO3 | SERIES PAGE

“I can’t believe--” Jane took a deep breath. “You and Loki?”

“He’s changed,” Darcy said. “I mean, you’ve been around him since the trip to Asgard. It’s not like it was a surprise. We spent nearly a week in bed before I moved here to New York!”

“Yes, but a fling I can see. An actual relationship? No way.”

“I don’t need your permission to date him,” Darcy said, bristling slightly. She and Loki had just figured out that a relationship was what they had, and it was something they wanted to keep. Thor had been happy for her and his brother, but here was Jane, on her high horse about it. “And besides, Thor is happy for us, and Loki said his mom is too. They know him better than you or I do.”

“And that’s the point. He’s only been back on Earth for, what. A few weeks now? How long did he leave you alone?”

“I could ask the same of Thor. No one seems to be giving you the third degree.”

“My boyfriend didn’t launch a full scale invasion of New York!” Jane said exasperatedly, throwing her hands up in the air.

“And he’s paid for it. Thor said he’s paying his debt, and the world governments made Thor his babysitter. He’s changed!” Darcy turned away from her friend. “Why can’t you just be happy for me? I’m happy with him.”

“You’d be happier with someone less megalomaniacal,” she said.

“Get out,” Darcy said quietly.

“What?” Jane asked, her eyes wide.

“You don’t get to dictate who I date and I don’t want to continue this conversation, so go before I say something I’ll really regret.” Jane, smartly enough, said no more, grabbing her knapsack and leaving Darcy’s apartment.

I’m not going to cry, Darcy thought to herself before a tear dropped down her face. She dashed it away and stood up, going into her kitchen and pulling down ingredients for...something. She’d figure it out depending on what she had.

An hour later there was a pan of Better than Sex brownies cooling on the counter and another one in the oven. She’d make a bunch and plate them up and leave them in the common room for everyone to enjoy. Except Jane. She doesn’t deserve to enjoy the gooey goodness of my brownies, she thought to herself as she started to make her third batch.

There was a knock on the door and she set her spatula down before going to the door. Jane stood there, looking sheepish. “I’m sorry, Darce. You’re right. I shouldn’t try dictating who you date. You’ve always had good judgement in the men you associate with.”

Darcy leaned against the doorjamb. “You talked to Thor?”

“Actually, I talked to Loki,” she said, and Darcy’s eyes widened. “He’s totally smitten. Maybe already in love with you. But...I don’t think he’d hurt you, at least not on purpose.”

“Come on in,” Darcy said, moving out of the way.

“He didn’t get angry, though he had every right to. I was basically questioning both of your judgment when I should have at least trusted yours. I mean, I’m in the wrong, and I hope you can forgive me.”

“Of course I can. Come ’ere,” Darcy said, opening up her arms. Jane grinned and gave her best friend a tight hug which Darcy eagerly returned. “Come on, you can have some of the first batch of brownies I made. They’re still warm.”

“Better Than Sex brownies, I take it?”

“You know it.”

“I can’t resist,” Jane said, moving to the counter. Darcy grinned and knew that whatever Loki had said it spoke well for them, and for him too, and she was glad. She was absolutely smitten with him, too, and she wanted them to be together for as long as possible.

[ladyofthecastleproject]

The Knight and the Frigid Bird

[AO3 version]

Summary: Lightnimon faces Frostmon for the last time, which could put a risk to his own plans. It’s now or never, after all!! But… Frostmon learns the terrible truth, one that could put her own life in danger!!

[Note: It takes place in 2008; it was one of my attempts to write some action-like drabble]

According to her ally, the Chosen Children were up to north of the region, but when she noticed none of them were there except a ton of marks hinting at a terrible battle. Frostmon wasn’t that smart, not like Ranamon and Lekismon, but she was able to spot a rat in this scheme.

The Chosen Children had already passed by there, And saved those digimon captured by her troops. The villages near to the lake were abandoned, probably the kids and their digimon led them to another place. Without a reason to stay, Frostmon decided to leave.

But…

“I will destroy that armored digimon once I find him again” she clenched her fists. Maybe it was a bad idea to team up with someone she barely met once.

As she headed to the south, she found a certain shadow following her footsteps. It drove her madly, feeling the fear of being her master trying to punish her for all of her mistakes and failed tasks.

Then… She heard voices from a distance. It was the Chosen Children’s voices, they were still around! Maybe she can… Or couldn’t she? It doesn’t matter , Frostmon sped up and approached them, only to be blocked by…

“Lightnimon!”

He put his forefinger in front of his “mouth” and said “Shh, they might hear you!” in a whisper.

“What are you doing here?! I thought you had ambushed them all for me!”

“I got… A better idea” he chuckled, “Follow me.”

“What, they’re going in the opposite direction!”

“Yöu will never get’em if you are closed minded. Don’t you trust me, Frost-chan?”

“I do but…”

He laughed, “What? It’s just a shortcut. Also, I’ve sent your soldiers against them. It’s everything working, don’t worry~”

“Hohoho, then show me that shortcut so I can finally end their lives quickly and be praised for doing something right!!”

“So you crave for validation…”

“Yeah I do… Ranamon and Lekismon are more successful than me-- This isn’t your business, now show me the shortcut!”

“F-Fine… This way.”

The 02 Team plus Mimi had to fight those evil BlackGarurumon packs sent by Lightnimon. With them busy, they wouldn’t witness whatever he had in mind… However, Ken was afraid of those actions. Now knowing Lightnimon was indeed Daisuke, he couldn’t stop his concerns right now.

What would he be working with the enemy…? Again, Ken was afraid of the idea that…That Daisuke had lost his mind completely. Perhaps brainwashed? They have yet to find Wallace (someone he never met before) because of being another target of the unknown menace.

But he didn’t know what Daisuke was about to do right now. Neither Frostmon could predict it.

She was afraid, walking far away from their enemy. It doesn’t feel like a shortcut anymore…

“We’re still walking?”

“Yeah, just a little more and we will find it.”

“Find… Find what?”

“You will see, don’t worry. Everything is going well, I say… Too perfect.”

“Huh? What do you me--”

He stopped next to the edges of the forest. That place was in the depths of the forest, in which it was a place away from the lakes which could give her advantage. Oh no, was this a trap!?

“W-what are you doing, this isn’t a shortcut this is…”

“Oh don’t get me wrong… This is a shortcut… for your end.”

Frostmon eyes widened. The anxiety and fear was consuming her mind. She couldn’t do anything… She was at a disadvantage.

“W-what!?” she babbled, “I thought you were my…”

“Ally? Friend? I never said we were partners in crime or something...”

“Kh…! H-how dare you--”

He removed from his pocket a very strange device she recognized. Then, she felt chivers down her spine.

“W-where did you get this--”

He muttered something, and then from the trees, BurningFladramon emerged.

“Y-you!! How do...!?”

“I have no time to waste with you. So, BurningFladramon please do the honors.”

“Who are you!?”

“Yes, Lightnimon...” the crimson armored Fladramon nodded and dashed into Frostmon’s direction.

Frostmon blocked his claw, and looked at the smaller ‘digimon’ coming wielding a Lighdramon-motif glaive. She shoved BurningFladramon away and dodged from Lightnimon’s weapon. This left her at disadvantage again, since BurningFladramon attacked her from behind.

“Ugh! What… What do you plan to do!? Wh--”

Lightnimon managed to slash her with an electrical cut, still not powerful, but stunt her leg.

“I won’t die here…!!”

Even with one leg stunt, Frostmon was able to block BurningFladramon’s attacks, and hopelessly tried to freeze Lightnimon before he could attack her all again.

“Enough! Ice Darts!!” And she used her own sweat to freeze with her elemental, then threw it against Lightnimon, who managed to repel them with the Lighdra-Glaive.

“You can’t beat two against one” Lightnimon said seriously, “Now surrender and let us send you back to the Village of the Beginnings!”

“NEVER!”

“You’re kinda stubborn, ain’t you?!” he hissed, “Then we will do it forcefully!”

He threw himself at her, with the Lighdra-Glaive ready for a new attack, but she managed to escape from the new attack. BurningFladramon came right after her, but she repelled him.

“Gh, don’t use your power yet” Lightnimon warned him, “It will give her some water to use against us.”

“I’m not using it!!!” the dragon-like digimon replied, “I know that”

She blocked their attack again. Frostmon then noticed her stunted leg was starting to move again, and used her other leg to hit BurningFladramon’s stomach, making him hit the trees.

“B-BurningFladramon…!!”

In his act of despair, Lightnimon did not expected Frostmon to slash her claws on him, damaging his armor and making him roll away from her by the impact.

“L-Lightnimon!” BurningFladramon screamed. Then, he got up, wings of flame came from his back and he flew to his partner, stopping behind him and stood in guard, “Are you okay, talk to me, please…!!”

“Ugh…” He got up very slowly, “I’m fine… The armor protected me…”

But the slash on his face made the helmet break, revealing part of his face. With this, Frostmon gasped, and her fears came true.

“Y-you… You’re alive?!!”

“Hehe… I can’t die here” Daisuke removed the helmet, totally revealing his face.

“I-Impossible!!”

“Now, BurningFladramon!”

“KNUCKLE… HEAT!”

A constant blaze of fire hit Frostmon, who was screaming of pain. Lightnimon -- Daisuke -- took the digivice from his pocket again and pointed it at his opponent. He pressed a button, and a light hit Frostmon.

“Cease fire” he ordered, and then the D-3 light reverted her back to a lesser form, Sapphmon. He pocketed the digivice again and approached her.

“Why… Why didn’t you eliminate me?”

“Because, uh….” he began “You don’t deserve it, and I think you can be free now.”

“You know I saw your face, this means I’m not--”

“I don’t feel like you would tell someone” he shrugged, “Now don’t make me regret leaving you alive, save yourself and fly away from those jerks. You don’t need their validation to live. Find your own purpose, fight for it.”

“W-what are you so compassionate!?”

“Because… I’m a person who doesn't like to see others throwing their lives away.”

She got up from the ground, and nodded, “Alright, you gave me this new life to care about. I will protect you, I will give you two protection for their dark ice element.”

She clapped her wings, and started conjuring some magic spell on them. It was… strange, but both V-mon (who had devolved to this form) and Daisuke felt something like a frigid aura around them.

“It’s done,” Sapphmon said and smiled “I wish you two good luck, Chosen Child and Digimon.”

“T-thank you for… protecting us” Daisuke nodded, “And sorry for all the trouble I gave to you, I think deep down we became… Friends?”

“Friends…” Her eyes shined like stars, then she grabbed his hand and shook it “Thank you, for being my friend and giving me another reason to live!”

“Now go, find a safer place to stay. The rest will be handled by us.”

She then flew away, waving at them and vanished through the skies.

V-mon looked at the broken helmet on the ground, “So… Is it the end of Lightnimon now?”

“Eh, I don’t think so…” Daisuke grabbed his D-3 again, and pointed at the broken helmet. The digivice’s light restored the broken part. He did the same with the broken parts of his armor. Then, he put the helmet on again.

“I thought… We would...” V-mon frowned.

“Just a little more, I promise you we will go back to the group. But we still need to track down Ranamon and stop her army too.”

“Can’t we do this as a group?”

“... If the bad guys learn I’m alive they… Might attack everyone again.”

“If we’re together, we can prevent this from happening!”

“Yeah but… Are you sure we can do this? After all, I attacked them…”

“Let’s explain everything to them! Mimi, Palmon and Gummymon can help!”

“F-fine… But I will keep using this to investigate things. Y’know, If Lightnimon suddenly vanishes and Daisuke appears…”

“Ah I see… Then, let’s find a way to solve this together!”

“Yeah, thank you for being with me here V-mon” he smiled but it wasn’t visible due to the helmet covering his face.

“Hehe” V-mon smiled back, and scratched the back of his head.

“Now… Let’s go.”

“Right!”

[annabtg]

The Great James Potter

James Potter is every wizarding mother’s dream for her daughter. Tall, handsome, intelligent, athletic, charming, and from a good, rich, Pureblood family. Most of these mothers have made a point of drilling into their daughters’ minds from an early age that they should capture a boy like him, to which most of these daughters reply with a dreamy sigh.

Lily Evans’s mother has no relationship at all with the wizarding world. This means that Lily Evans has been free to form her own opinion of James Potter, and, as it happens, this opinion is heaps different than the aforementioned mothers’ one. Namely, Lily Evans believes that James Potter can only be charming when using his wand accordingly. She would much rather describe him as a filthy hypocrite, the kind that opens the door for you, casts you a Trip Jinx when your back is turned, and then rushes to help you up while he blames the unfortunate second-year who happens to be standing nearby.

She has made her opinion of him clear, to his face, several times throughout the almost six years they’ve spent together at Hogwarts. He has mostly ignored her comments.

He much prefers to bask in the admiration their other classmates generously offer him. The boys are his faithful followers, and the girls his adoring public. He doesn’t even have to try. Merely by existing, he garners everyone’s interest and attention; they are given freely to him, and he owes nothing to no one. Lily, however, is certain that were all the attention to his person to be removed, it would upset him to no end and would probably lead him to do whatever it cost to gain it back.

As it is, the fact that she is probably the only Gryffindor who deviates from the norm has never seemed to faze him. In fact, as he told her once, “this should be your problem, not mine.” Logically speaking, he’s right; except that she doesn’t have a problem with not liking him. She hasn’t been brainwashed into liking him and he definitely has never done anything to deserve being liked by her. The situation is clear as crystal. Read more on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37583689 Completed, 8K words.

[fullconstellationalt]

You Weren’t My Mission: Ch. 2

Chapter Two – Making Amends

TW: alcohol, mentions of violence and death

Note: Hello! All chapters will have warnings at the beginning of their content and possible triggers. If you find that I miss any triggers, please let me know and I will add them to the chapter warnings as soon as possible. Thank you! <3

Series masterpost

Also available on Wattpad and AO3

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You stared blankly at the hand in front of you, still attempting to process his mere presence. After a few moments of silence, Bucky nodded and gave a slight grin, resting his extended arm on the edge of the bar.

“Tend to get that reaction,” he chuckled. ･:*:･ﾟ☆

You stared blankly at the hand in front of you, still attempting to process his mere presence. After a few moments of silence, Bucky nodded and gave a slight grin, resting his extended arm on the edge of the bar.

“Tend to get that reaction,” he chuckled. You glanced up, meeting his eyes for the first time since he sat down. A look of worry and sympathy met your own hesitant gaze.

As you held eye contact, your mind reeled through what he’d said, trying to sort out what exactly he meant. Amends? What does he mean ‘make amends’? You didn’t realize that you’d asked your questions aloud in a frantic whisper until the bass of his voice rushed to your ears, making you jump.

“Sorry to startle you. Uh, it’s a part of this whole process I’m going through,” he explained. He paused, waiting for some sort of reaction, but you sat frozen still. “I’ve been meeting with different people that I hurt — no, the Winter Soldier hurt — over the years on Hydra missions. You’re one of the last few names on my list.”

You gave a small nod, eyes darting back to the hand resting against the bar. His list? you wondered. It was then that you noticed how long you’d been holding your breath. You let out a small sigh and briefly closed your eyes, attempting to ground yourself.

“Why?” you asked, shifting your gaze back to his. Your voice was small, barely above a whisper, but he managed to hear you.

Although quiet, your question seemed to grant him some relief from the silence that had been hanging. Taking in a deep breath, he explained, “You were one of the few people who survived Hydra’s attack on The Tribune. I’m sure you know that, though.”

You nodded, mind taking you back to the scene at the hospital in the aftermath of the attack.

Of the forty or so staff members in the office at the time, only six of you had survived. As you laid in your bed at the urgent care clinic, nurses and doctors rushing around you, you kept your eyes pinned on the entrance, praying that more of your coworkers would be wheeled in. After hours of watching from your bed, you came to accept that it was just you six that had made it. You’d lost your best friend and boss. The only person you knew well of the survivors was your boyfriend at the time, who you watched be rushed into the ER as a piece of shrapnel stuck in his side was dangerously close to shrinking that survivor count down to five.

You were snapped back to the present by the clinking of glasses behind the counter, Vincent cleaning up after a party had left.

“Are you going to hurt me?” you asked, meeting Bucky’s gaze once again. He winced at the question, his eyes showing a shimmer of empathy.

“No, I’m not,” he assured you. “I’m actually here to say that-.” He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “That it wasn’t me who did those things.”

Confused, you arched your eyebrow, to which he continued.

“I was controlled by Hydra for almost about seventy years. They kidnapped me after an accident in Europe while I was on active duty and brainwashed me, making me into a living weapon. I was the Winter Soldier, they made me an assassin. But I wasn’t me, I had no control over myself.”

You nodded, vaguely familiar with the story. You’d known and read about him as the Winter Soldier, a Hydra assassin. While his pardon signified that there was a difference between Bucky and the Soldier, your memories subconsciously considered them as one.

Bucky’s eyes returned a soft and regretful look, glancing down at his metal arm before holding out his palm between you. You stared at it, eyes running over its ridges and flecks of gold.

“They gave me this, the arm,” he explained. “Well, they gave me the old one. This one’s new, from a friend in Wakanda.” Images of his old silver arm raced, memories of the way his metal fingers firmly gripped his gun, a red star painted on his shoulder.

Your eyes flickered between his dark metal fingertips and his gaze, trying to piece together what any of this meant and why he was here in front of you.

“What do you mean by making amends?” you asked again. He’d given the gist, but you couldn’t understand why he was here or what he wanted from you.

Bucky shifted in his seat, relaxing a bit as he sensed your fear turning into confusion. He delved into explaining the process of his making amends, telling you about the types of people on his list and how he wanted to give people closure. He talked about the memory wipes, the separation between him and the Winter Soldier. You nodded along, mind finally wrapping around the concept when he abruptly stopped his explanation.

“I’ll let you go,” he offered, aware of his intrusion on your evening. “I just wanted to explain, you know,” he paused. “That I’m not that person anymore. Or, I guess, that I never was.”

He glanced at the bar top before pressing his hand against the surface, pushing himself out of his seat and onto his feet.

“Thanks for listening to me. I’m sorry for-“ he glanced at the ground before meeting your gaze again. “For everything.” He turned to leave, straightening his arms and stepping out from between your seats.

Your sudden grasp on his arm startled him, Bucky whipping his head around to face you again. He'd never been able to shake the fight or flight instincts that Hydra had intensified in him.

“You don’t have to go,” you suggested. “I mean, you can, but we can talk about it more.”

Bucky nodded slowly, not used to your reaction. Most people were glad to see him leave. But you wanted to know more.

“I think talking about it could help. You know, with the memories and stuff. Plus, I don’t really want to hate you if it wasn’t you that hurt me,” you explained.

Glancing between your grip on his jacket sleeve and your gaze, he hesitantly sat back down. “What do you want to know?” he asked.

“Do you remember it?” you pressed. You relived the memory each night in your sleep and every day at work for years afterwards. It was only recently that you’d been able to suppress it, sometimes making it a couple of days without acknowledging what had happened. How did he even remember you?

“I remember all of them,” he admitted, a hint of sorrow in his voice.

Wanting to break the tension, you waved Vincent over to your end of the bar and motioned towards Bucky’s empty hand. He ordered a glass of whiskey before turning back to you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. Maybe a drink would loosen him up, you thought, unaware of the serum’s restrictions.

While the alcohol had no effect on him, having the drink in his hands seemed to help him relax. He asked about how you’d been faring in the years since the attack, to which you shared briefly of the recurring nightmares and post-traumatic stress you’d faced. You feared that you’d shared too much, but he nodded along, a sympathetic look in his eyes. You weren’t opening up much but talking about it with him helped.

It wasn’t taking you long to recognize that the man in front of you wasn’t the same man who had eyed you down the barrel of his gun. Although difficult, the eye contact and talking with him helped you make this distinction, as did his understanding and willingness to listen. Even when you were sharing about the effects of the trauma had because of the Winter Soldier, things you knew probably weighed heavily on him, he nodded along and gave you his full attention. You felt comfortable telling Bucky these things, and he seemed comfortable around you; neither of you were fully relaxed, but at least were trying to talk.

“What have you been up to all these years?” you asked. “Since Tony, you know …” Ever since everyone came back from the snap, you’d heard about him from time to time, still referenced to by most news outlets as ‘the Winter Soldier.’ You knew he’d been pardoned and seen pictures of occasional sightings, the metal arm a dead giveaway of his identity, but knew little else. He told you he’d been living in Brooklyn the past few years, to which you were shocked that you’d managed to avoid seeing him for so long.

“I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other until now,” you quipped.

Bucky smiled, but you could see the subtle grimace beneath the expression. “Yeah, I’ve been steering clear of anywhere you’d be,” he admitted. Your eyes widened — how had he known where you were? Where you worked now? “I’ve got people who’ve helped me avoid running into you or anyone else around here,” he explained as though he could read your mind, but offering no further explanation. Truthfully, you didn’t want to know the details.

“Why now? What made you come here tonight?” you asked. It had been nagging you the entire evening — what made him come to see you now?

“I’d heard you come here in the evenings,” he offered, exposing yet another detail you didn’t really wish to know. “Figured I’d give you some time before just showing up, didn’t want to scare you more than I have.”

You nodded, grateful that he hadn’t come sooner. Things had gotten better with the nightmares and flashbacks in the past few months thanks to work getting busier, and if he had come to see you any earlier you would have undoubtably had an instant panic attack. You were admittedly creeped out that he knew you would be here, but given his connections, you guessed that he had intel on nearly whatever information he wanted about anyone. Plus, talking with him had proven fruitful for you, helping you disconnect Bucky Barnes from the Winter Soldier. He didn’t say it, but it helped him too, helping him humanize himself.

Over an hour had passed since he sat down, and your stomach twisted in hunger. You’d had two drinks without eating dinner; it was beyond time for you to go home and eat. As the conversation came to a lull, you shifted to face him fully, looking him in the eye.

“Could we meet again?” you ask hesitantly. “I think it may help me, you know, with processing what happened. Only if you want to, though.”

He paused to consider your proposition and you watched as the wheels in his mind turned, weighing the possible outcomes. A moment passed and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a subtle smile. He nodded in approval.

“I’ll come back by soon,” he assured. You nodded and stood up, grabbing your phone and bag before adjusting your shirt, smoothing your hands over your jeans.

“I’ll see you soon, then.” You gave a small nod and did a quick wave to say goodbye, not comfortable with shaking his hand quite yet. While talking to him helped, you weren’t exactly relaxed around him. It was going to take some time for your mind to fully separate him from the man who had threatened your life and ended so many others’.

Fifteen minutes later you were at your front door, fumbling in your bag for your apartment keys. Once inside, you set your bag in its usual spot on the bench in the doorway and walked to the kitchen, opening the fridge to grab the takeout you’d saved from the night before. You dished out your food onto a plate and stuck it in the microwave. As you waited for the timer to go off, you leaned back against the counter.

Besides the sound of the microwave whirring and the occasional honk from the street below, your apartment was completely silent. The silence always gave you time to think, whether for better or worse. Tonight, your mind wandered to the conversations you’d had, running through the details he’d shared and wondering if you’d said too much. Was meeting him again a good idea? Was this really going to help, or were you doing yourself more harm than good?

Just as you began to question yourself, the oven timer rang through the kitchen, making you jump. You grabbed a fork and took your plate from the microwave, walking to your living space to curl up on the couch. Normally you’d put on the news, your mind always focused on work and the need to stay up to date on current events. But tonight, you ate in silence, instead looking out the window at the city street below as your mind wandered back to your interaction with Bucky.

You desperately hoped that this wasn’t a horrible idea.

Next Chapter (Chapter 3 – Adrenaline Rush)

A/N: Thanks for reading chapter 2! I posted both chapters 1 and 2 back-to-back, and am gonna take a little bit to get chapter 3 up but already know where I want for it to go. This is gonna be a bitttt of a slow burn, if you haven't picked up on that yet. Thanks for sticking around!

[areiton]

look at me with storm-cloud sky eyes (Winteriron)

I shared a tumblr post and @verdantmoth​ nudged (so did @somanyofthekids​) so here we are. 

Read on AO3 

~*~ 

In the end, it’s not the Widow or even the lonely best friend, not the US government or Ross’ dogs, who bring the Winter Soldier out from the cold. 

In the end, it’s a man with too much money and too much rage, and he crashes into Barnes’ squat with a whine of repulsars and his mother’s choked cries echoing in his ears. 

They stare at each other, and Winter says, “Are you here to kill me?” 

His voice is thin and broken and resigned. Tony hates it. Hates him. Still--he thinks of Steve’s sad eyes and Natasha’s quiet desperation and Rhodey--

Rhodey would be so disappointed. 

He lowers his hand, and some of the tension in Winter’s shoulders leaks out. 

“Not today,” he says. 

~*~ 

Tony brings him back to the tower, dumps him in Steve’s startled lap, and retreats because that whole brainwashed amnesiac shattered psyche is someone else’s problem to fix. 

He gets very, very drunk. 

~*~ 

It works, mostly. 

They avoid each other. Barnes avoids everyone so it’s not like he’s special or like Barnes hates him. 

The team thinks he hates Barnes, which--he doesn’t do anything to change that impression. He knows Natasha and Steve know HYDRA used the Winter Soldier to kill his parents, knows that if they do, everyone does, but it’s not like he’s going to talk about it to them--he’s barely able to get through telling Rhodey, and it’s Rhodey. So they have their reasons to think Tony hates Barnes, and he’s got no reason to disabuse them of that and--it works. 

They avoid each other. 

It works. 

~*~ 

Sometimes, as the months pass and Winter gives way to Bucky, he catches himself looking. 

Bucky is haunted and beautiful, with wide eyes and a crooked smile and an arm that he shyly lets Tony fix. 

Sometimes, as the months pass and Winter gives way to Bucky, he catches Bucky looking back, gaze wistful and sad, like he wants something he won’t let himself ask for, because Tony knows Bucky doesn’t ask for anything, takes whatever Steve and Nat and the others will give but he never asks, HYDRA still too ingrained to let him. 

Sometimes, as the months pass and Winter gives way to Bucky, he catches something feral and dark and deadly looking at him, and he shivers, because he wants. 

~*~ 

There’s a fight. Barnes is fine now, the triggers dug out of his head and the bombs--a few quite literal--in his arm have been cleared away, and he’s safe or as safe as the world’s deadliest assassin can be. 

He adopts a cat, and Tony thinks anyone who is actually afraid of the Winter Solider should come camp out in the common room at three am, because there’s not a damn thing terrifying about Bucky in an oversized sweater with Alpine curled around his neck, knitting an exceptionally soft looking scarf. 

Still. There’s a fight. He’s cleared to join the team, now and Tony shoves back against it, when Steve brings it up, snarls and spits and gets a little bit rude with it, but there’s this too: 

Barnes is watching with wide, scared eyes. 

Winter is watching with cold, feral eyes. 

Neither of them belong in the field, and he thinks maybe neither of them want it either. 

“Ask him,” Tony shouts, when Steve starts digging his heels in, when they’re getting close to too far, when the insults dig deep and sting and Rhodey’s hand on his elbow is tight and the only thing keeping him from spinning into pieces--Rhodey’s hand and Winter’s ice cold eyes. 

“Ask him what he wants,” he snaps and shoves out of the room, and the silence is broken by Steve’s broken, “Buck?” 

~*~ 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bucky or Winter or both say, late that night. Alpine is sitting primly next to him while Bucky slowly strokes her back, and there’s going to be cat hair in the arm, Tony should do something about that. 

“You wouldn’t,” he says, and Bucky goes still, Winter watching him, until his coffee finishes and he can flee. 

~*~ 

Things change, and nothing changes. 

Barnes still avoids him and Winter still watches him, storm cloud skies eyes fixed on him unerringly. 

Steve apologizes and Tony makes him a new suit and that’s that, done and dusted, and everyone is happy. 

~*~ 

Sometimes, when he’s sitting in the common room at three am and Bucky is rumbling in Russian to Alpine while he mutters notes to JARVIS, he thinks that maybe--maybe they aren’t friends--but they aren’t not friends, either. 

It’s a startling and sobering realization. 

~*~ 

Winter hides, is the thing. Bucky smiles, lets Winter slide back, hide behind a charming grin and a mother hen routine, behind Brooklyn boys banter and a teasing drawl for Natasha and competitive rivalry for Clint. He hides, and he never truly engages with Tony directly--which is maybe why Tony can see the Soldier lurking behind Bucky. 

He’s safe, now--but he’s not, not truly.

Tony thinks maybe he never will be, maybe can’t be. 

It doesn’t bother him, as much as it probably should. 

~*~ 

They don’t get along, and they don’t talk much, but Barnes watches him, and he watches back and Rhodey sighs, and Natasha smiles, thin-lipped and pleased, and life turns around them. 

~*~ 

He comes home and his lip is throbbing and his whole body hurts, and it’s late, late enough it shouldn’t be an issue, a bag of ice--

Alpine makes a noise, and his head jerks up, but Winter is moving, and there’s no hiding here, no safe declawed Barnes smiling at him. 

Winter prowls across the kitchen, all sleek and deadly and it reminds him, disorientingly, of a snow covered road and familiar voices, and then he blinks and it’s the kitchen again, just the two of them and Alpine eating chicken unconcerned on the counter. 

He’s standing too close, radiating danger and barely leashed violence, but his hand--cool metal--is infinitely gentle as it comes up, tilts Tony’s head up. 

There’s blood still there, Tony can taste it. 

“Who did this?” Winter whispers, and Tony shivers. 

“It doesn’t--”

“Who, Antoshka?” he asks, and it’s hard, demanding, furious. His hands are gentle, spun glass delicate on his skin, leaving trails of fire where he brushes a thumb over his busted lip. 

“You don’t do that anymore,” Tony breathes, and something feral and deadly flares behind WInter’s eyes, and it’s WInter and Barnes both, staring at him now. 

“I would,” he says, “For you, I would.” 

Tony makes a noise, something breathless and wordless and wanting and Winter brushes a kiss, impossibly soft, against his forehead, burning briefly, and slips away. 

~*~ 

“Sergeant Barnes has asked to escort you to your future charity dinners and galas, sir,” JARVIS tells him, later, when the sun is up and his lip throbs but the kitchen and what happened there feels like a fever dream and the realest thing that’s ever happened to him. 

Tony doesn’t respond, only smiles, small and secret, but Steve and Rhodey both watch him in startled shock. 

~*~ 

Two nights later, a scarf, impossibly soft and the color of storm cloud skies, is left in his workshop, with a note. It says, simply, He won’t touch you again.

Tony smiles, and loops the scarf around his throat. 

His lip will be healed soon, he thinks, and can feel, still, the burning press of lips against his forehead. 

[an-optimist-prime]

When the sun came up you were looking at me

A Sambucky/WinterFalcon ficlet

Summary:  Right now it’s two in the morning, and Bucky is laying on Sam’s couch, and he’s pretty sure that he’s in love with him. - Or, Bucky realises that his one-sided feelings for Sam aren’t so one-sided. Set after TFATWS Season 1.

Word Count: 1350

Rating/Warnings: T, N/A

AO3 Link

*

See, the thing is, Bucky had truly believed that Steve had been it for him.

Not that Steve had ever felt that way back. It had always been one sided, and honestly, Bucky was just fine with that. Honestly. Because even if Steve didn’t love him back, he still loved him, as a friend, and really, what more could he ask for?

Who else would care for him, anyway? Bucky knows he’s not worthy of it, not after everything he’s done. But even then, he’d always thought that he and Steve were best friends. It was something he had taken for a given.

But then Steve went back to the past, and Bucky once again lost everything. Without a word of warning, Steve had left, leaving him behind in a foreign future he’s only now just beginning to understand. No help, no guidance, just a few words uttered between them as he passed the shield onto Sam and that was it.

And if Bucky’s being honest? It hurt. There’s no other word for it. Hydra’s many forms of torture had nothing on the pain Steve’s abrupt departure left him with.

But he’s fine, really. Well, certainly not at the time, or for a long time after. But Steve deserved to be happy, more than anyone else, and Bucky was never going to deny him that. It’s just that he wishes, sometimes, that he had been enough to make Steve stay. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so lost all the time. Like he doesn’t fit.

No, that’s not correct. Not anymore. He had wished, past tense.

Because today was different. After today, he actually feels like he might be okay.

The cookout had been nothing short of fantastic. To be there, in public, surrounded by people who were neither fearful nor furious at his presence. People who weren’t trying to control or manipulate him. He’d even been comfortable enough to have his left arm on display, and received nothing but curious looks from some of the adults and adoration from all of the kids. It was all so easy, and all so good, that it makes Bucky think that there might be a home for him at the end of the road, after all.

Maybe.

The only strange thing about the whole night was the fact that Sam spent a fair amount of his time just staring at him, when he thought Bucky wasn’t looking.

And therein lies the problem. Because for so long, Bucky has been lost and alone. He’s been haunted and hunted. Never safe and never free.

And then Sam Wilson came into his life, and that really threw a spanner in the works. Because right now it’s two in the morning, and Bucky is laying on Sam’s couch, and he’s pretty sure that he’s in love with him.

And, he’ll be honest, Bucky didn’t even like him at first. Hell, the first time he met, he’d tried to kill Sam. And yes, he was brainwashed at the time, and yes, that wasn’t his fault, but still. The guilt lingers, and the point remains. They didn’t get along.

Well, until they did. At some point on their mission, something had shifted, and now, they were at the very least friends.

In hindsight though, Bucky supposed it probably shouldn’t have been a shock. There’s been something building between them for a while now. Something that had started rough and tense in the beginning, but had transformed into something far more gentle and familiar.

No, Bucky’s not pretty sure he’s in love with Sam Wilson. He’s one hundred percent goddamned certain he’s in love with him.

And really, how could he not love Sam? He’s a blessing - kind and loyal and brave and so many other things. He’s the only person worthy of holding that shield other than Steve.

And at that thought, Bucky can’t help but laugh a little under his breath. Even he can see the humour in the fact that he’s fallen for Captain America twice. Because honestly? That’s what’s happened here. There’s no point denying it. Bucky even knows the moment it happened.

He distinctly remembers looking up when Sam had just saved the armoured truck with the hostages, looking downright angelic with the wings, and just knowing, oh, this again.

He’ll keep a better lid on it this time, he swears. Sam is his friend, possibly his only true friend at the moment. It’s just that, much like Steve, Sam’s shown no inclination that he feels anything more than that. Which is fine. Truly. Bucky refuses to ruin the one good thing he has going for him at the moment.

So, he lays on Sam’s couch at two in the morning, staring at the ceiling, and wondering how long he’ll get to have this before it’s taken away from him too. He knows he shouldn’t think like that, but old habits die hard.

Bucky’s only stirred from his thoughts when the object of them speaks.

“Can’t sleep?” Sam asks quietly, catching Bucky by surprise. How long has he been there, just standing in the doorway?

Bucky immediately sits up so there’s room on the couch for Sam as well. Sam takes the spot next to him, and Bucky instinctively moves closer to him. He’s always pulled into his orbit.

In the moonlight of the room, Sam looks absolutely gorgeous, and it steals his breath a bit.

“Yeah,” Bucky eventually manages to say. “Just thinking about some stuff. You?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Sam admits. “You got something on your mind?”

It’s asked with gentle concern. Sam knows when to push and when to ease up on something, and Bucky is always grateful for it. Just another reason he loves him.

“Nothing bad,” Bucky replies, trying to distract himself from the fact that he wants to lean across and kiss him. “The opposite, actually.”

“Well, that must be a nice change. Do you want to talk about it?”

There’s something about Sam that makes Bucky want to confess everything, to tell him just how he feels. But not yet. “Maybe someday.”

Sam stares at him for a moment, as if searching for something. “I find that honesty is always a good policy.”

It takes Bucky a moment to find the words. “I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“Bucky, you’re all always welcome here. I need you to know that,” After a moment, Sam continues. “Do you really need to go back to New York?”

“No.” Bucky replies, honestly. Because really, his only mission at the moment is to stay as close to Sam as he wants him to be.

Sam’s next words are barely more than a whisper. “Then stay.”

And that’s when it hits Bucky - that maybe, just maybe, it’s not all one-sided this time. And huh, that’s a revelation.

It all clicks into place - the not so casual touches, the intense stares, the lingering moments. It steals his breath away, because he never thought he’d have this.

“Oh.” Bucky says, completely floored.

“Yeah, oh,” Sam sasses back, but he’s smiling. “I was wondering when you’d get it.”

Everything that had been simmering under his skin suddenly surges to the surface. He’s not sure which one of them moves first, crossing the distance between them.

It’s a tender, tentative thing, their first kiss. More like a brush of lips. And yet it’s everything, like home and the promise of more, not far down the line.

After a moment they break apart, breathless. Bucky leans against Sam, their foreheads touching. It’s almost a miracle, how, after everything they’ve both been through, they’ve managed to find each other, been able to find this, here and now.

It’s so much, it might be too much. To have something like this, something perfect, after so long, it’s overwhelming. But Sam is there, gently tracing soothing patterns into the skin of his arm, grounding him. God, he really is perfect, and he’s his.

“Stay.” Sam repeats, his voice barely more than a whisper, and Bucky nods.

He’d do whatever Sam asked of him, honestly. Because finally, in this moment, with Sam Wilson, Bucky feels like he’s home.

*

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a like/kudos or comment, either here or on the Archive (Fic Link). Positive feedback is what keeps me going! I’m always up to talk Sambucky, the MCU, and fandom in general, so please feel free to come chat with me, here on tumblr or on my twitter. Thanks again  ❤️

[lavidalunaa]

B&B: Issue 1 - Metamorphosis

Cross posed on AO3

AN:Hello!! This chapter is just an introduction to my OC and worldbuilding. This isn't a slow burn (edit: I lied this is def a slow burn) but it will take a couple chapters before our love interests start having a meaningful relationship. I want this to feel organic and not rush into romance too quickly (even though that's what I'm most excited for). Please enjoy the first real chapter of B&B! 

MONICA MOET

PRESENT-DAY 

BLUDHAVEN - MAY 28 - 4:38 PM

We had been having low turnouts for weeks. We weren’t entirely sure what was keeping kids away. It’s not as if all the troubled youth of Bludhaven suddenly disappeared. Maybe the kids were just enjoying the nice weather we’ve been having? We were also running low on volunteers. Today there were only two of us, supervised by a single nun. 

On weekdays St. Bernadine’s Church ran a youth program out of its basement. It was no secret that Bludhaven had a homelessness crisis, one that had a deep impact on children. St. Bernadine’s was determined to help. We had a variety of activities and resources for the kids — puzzles, art supplies, education tools, internet access and tablets. Most importantly we had food and shelter. While our program was open to all youth in the area, the vast majority that showed up were kids on the run or living on the streets needing a place to rest and eat. 

A part of me knew that this was probably a very complicated ploy to convert young impressionable kids to catholicism. I tried to believe that the good of this place outweighed any potential religious brainwashing. After all, ten years ago this place was my safe haven.

Now, I stop at nothing to make sure kids don’t have to suffer the way I did. After I got into Gotham U I spent every free second I wasn’t studying, in class or sleeping at St. Bernadine’s. I was proof that it was possible to make a better life for yourself off the streets. Now, I simply come when I can fit it into my schedule. At the very least I try to be here every Friday for animal therapy day.

The main area of the basement is a large rectangle. On the side of the room furthest from me, is a small elevated corridor that goes around to the kitchen, bathrooms, and the stairs to the back exit. The side closest to me has large double doors that closed the room off from the main stairs and entrance. There were desks with mismatched plastic chairs scattered around the room. A corner of the room had three beat-up couches arranged in a U shape. Fake plants decorated every table and empty space— Sister Agnes’ idea to brighten up the place. 

I currently sat alone at our registration desk fiddling with the stylus for my iPad. Behind my desk were several utility carts, some with books and others with arts and craft supplies. There was also a large bookshelf with board games, cards and puzzles. Under the table by my feet was a safe where we kept the tablets. Everything in my area had to be signed out in order to be used to limit theft. Most of the supplies we had were donated or thrifted; we couldn't afford to lose them. 

We only had three kids come through today. It was a Monday, which was usually one of our busier days. I scanned the room and felt a deep sense of sadness seeing how deserted it was today. All the tables sat empty. One of the couches was occupied by a sleeping teen in dirty clothes. The other two sat on the floor in the corner farthest from me playing Jenga. 

Opposite my desk was the only other volunteer, Roy Harper, keeping watch over the sandwiches that likely wouldn’t be claimed today. In addition to refreshments, Roy’s side of the room had extra chairs, blankets and pillows the kids could freely take and move about the basement. 

Roy was fidgeting a lot. I could hear the sound of his foot tapping from where I was sitting. Usually, he spent his time at St. B’s talking with the kids, playing games, or helping them with whatever little projects they were working on. It was clear he was itching for something to do. He never was able to sit still long or keep his mouth shut for that matter. 

Roy and I grew up together on the streets of Bludhaven. Turns out, I wasn’t the only angry orphan trying to survive on their own. We did everything together when we were kids. We shared everything — food, money, clothes, shelter. He was my first and only love. For a time Roy was my entire world and my only family. I wouldn’t have made it this far without him. He took care of me despite my flaws and loved me even though I was broken. 

As we got older though, I craved stability and he still wanted to be wild and free. I got my GED and then went to Gotham U. He worked odd jobs and moved around a lot. We made our choices and went our separate ways, I didn’t see him for years. Until last year when he showed up here to volunteer — the same place we met all those years ago.

“Harper,” I called towards the ginger.  

He raised his big bushy eyebrows at me. We were still trying to navigate what exactly we were now. Childhood friends? Ex-lovers? Two people that just volunteer together? All of the above?  I wanted nothing more than to have Roy back in my life, but even after all these months, things were awkward. 

There was a moment I considered getting back together with him. Maybe it was out of nostalgia? Seeing him again sparked something deep within me. A longing for love and companionship. Though it was a completely selfish desire. Whatever it was we had when we were kids, it was gone. That was probably in Roy’s best interest. 

He was so much different from the kid he was before. For starters, he claims to have been sober for over a year. His hair was much longer, he could likely tie it in a bun, much different from the buzz cut he used to sport. He grew a full beard and he was more broad and muscular too. He was calm. He laughed. This Roy was much more adult . I couldn’t get a grip on who exactly he was now so I chose to remain as casual as possible. 

“I have to go pick Carina up from daycare, I’m going to head out early” I informed him. He and Sister Jolene could handle the handful of kids that came in today and I was itching to get home before dark. 

“Later Mo,” he called as I packed away my iPad and slung my tote bag over my shoulder. 

I locked the tablet safe and gave the keys back to Sister Jolene. I headed for the back exit. I hated going through the main doors, pillars of white marble lined the large stained glass doors. It was such a blatant display of wealth. Heading through the back alleys was much more my style. 

If I ran, maybe I could catch the next train and pick Carina up early. I tied my dark curly hair into a bun. I don’t know why I bothered with my hair on days like today; the humidity was just going to ruin it in ten minutes. The sun was still too high for my liking. I traded my large round wire glasses for my sunglasses and prayed the melanin of my skin would be enough to protect me from this sweltering heat. Why did I leave the nice air-conditioned church basement again? 

Carina. Right. The goodest girl of them all was waiting for me. 

My commute to doggy daycare was a 3 block jog to the train station and a 20-minute train ride. I put on my headphones and started my journey as my Spotify shuffled. Adele bled into Kendrick Lamar, and Solange turned to Post Malone as my horrendously varied taste in music accompanied me on my route. 

I spent my train ride thinking about all the projects I had due next week. I had a website to complete building and a digital art commission to finish. But those could wait until tomorrow. I really fell into the “university will get you a good paying job” BS narrative. A whole software engineering degree later and I was essentially running two businesses to stay afloat. 

I was never suited for the nine-to-five life. It was too restrictive. I wanted to pick the projects I worked on. Taking on those that inspired me, and rejecting ones that didn’t mesh with me. Of course, most of the projects I ended up working on were mundane and didn’t challenge me in the slightest. I wanted to program tech that would change the world, yet here I was building websites and creating productivity tracking software. 

Eventually, a combination of lacking a creative outlet and an inability to pay my bills on time lead me to also take art commissions. While I didn’t consider myself the best artist, random strangers on the internet seemed to like it. Somehow, trying to avoid being tied to a rigid 40-hour workweek lead to me working 16-hour days and having very little free time. 

“Monica, you’re early!” Zee exclaimed when I entered Paws & Rec dog daycare. She’s the owner whom I had gotten to know over the years. She smiled at me as soon as I entered. I had never actually seen the daycare area where the dogs played all day. All I had ever seen was the front lobby. The walls were a bright yellow that gave off a playful vibe. The front desk was a bright teal and had a gate next to it to keep the pups from running off. 

“I finished volunteering early,” I returned her smile. “How was she today?” 

“An absolute treasure as always. Carina’s one of our favourites.” Zee punched some numbers into her computer and gave me the total for Rina’s visit today. I paid and she retreated through the door behind the front counter. Less than a minute later, all dressed in her harness and ready to head home was my golden retriever. 

“Wee-na!” I cooed as my sunshine pup excitedly ran through the opened gate and straight to my legs. “Did you have a good day with Zee and the others?” Carina gave me some happy woo-woos as I gave her pets and pats for being such a good girl at daycare. 

I gave Zee a wave and a thank you as I grabbed Carina’s leash, attached it to her harness and started our trek home. It was only a 15-minute walk. I guess the good thing about living in a city is that nothing is ever too far from home. 

By the time we arrived back at my apartment and climbed four flights of stairs, Carina's burst of energy from being picked up from daycare had worn off and she lazily trotted to her bed in the living room once I removed her harness. After taking off my shoes and switching back to my indoor glasses I surveyed my apartment for any kitty mischief that occurred while I was gone the last few hours. 

My apartment was quite cozy. An open concept one-bedroom equipped with more than enough living space for myself and two kitties. I felt bad making a large dog like Carina live in a box in the sky so I tried my best to compensate by taking her on lots of walks, adventures, and daycare at least once a week. Now that I think about it…maybe the reason I’m broke is that I pamper my pets so much. Nah. 

As I entered the kitchen I was greeted by ice-blue eyes staring at me. It was almost as if Blanche was waiting for me to come home so she could start a fight. My foe wore a fluffy coat of pure white wielded blades which have scarred me many times. Her battleground of choice was my island counter. Her posture was regal as ever as her paw slowly inched toward the bowl of fruit that sat in front of her. Her fluffy tail swished back and forth informing me of her intent. This bitch is really going to do it.

“Don't you fucking dare,” I warned with narrowing eyes. This seemed to set her off. She pushed at the bowl with her paws before I had the chance to stop her. My bananas and pears toppled to the floor. 

“You really are a bitch,” I muttered under my breath as I went to collect the fruit before Carina could get to it. 

Blanche jumped off the counter, her tail high as she sauntered over to the cat tree so she could curl up at the very top like the princess she was. Blanche was the kind of cat you had to just observe. She wasn’t a fan of being picked up or God forbid cuddling. I respected her boundaries, even if it came with an attitude. I fed her, brushed her, cleaned her shit and she hated that I existed. 

I threw my bag onto my lightly-preowned couch and started to strip off my dirty clothes, tossing them to the floor as I headed for the bathroom. There I found Rocket, my other cat, an orange ball of fluff and chaos busying himself in the corner with a tissue he fished out of my garbage. It honestly astonished me sometimes how opposite my kitties seemed to be considering I got them at the same shelter.

“What are you doing my garbage baby?” I cooed as picked up my precious prince of trash and cradled him in my arms. Although likely annoyed I separated him from his tissue, Rocket purred in my arms as I rubbed his belly. He looked at me with his one good eye — the other he lost before I adopted him a scar running over its place. His lil’ toe beans pressed against my face gently as if he was petting me back. I could die happy right now. 

Unfortunately for Rocket, he wasn’t allowed in the bathroom while I was taking a shower. He was banned after jumping into the bathtub with me and proceeding to puke in my bathwater. So I escorted him out of the bathroom to join his fluffy siblings in the living area.

My disappointment with the underwhelming turnout at St. B’s was almost instantly washed away the moment the hot water hit my skin. I was finally done with the day’s responsibilities, and all the residents of the apartments were alive and well. My muscles felt like melting butter as I relaxed and started to sing nonsense to myself.

Once I felt sufficiently boiled I turned off the water and wrapped myself in my towel. For a moment I considered doing my entire skincare routine before deciding I was much too lazy for that and simply slapped some moisturizer on my face and called it a day. 

I dried myself off in my bedroom and nonchalantly threw on the first t-shirt and pair of underwear I pulled out of my drawers. This old Batman shirt I thrifted years ago was still the comfiest piece of clothing I owned even if it had holes big enough to fit my fingers through. I was a men's shirt that was three sizes too big for me. Perhaps if I weren’t so tall I could wear it like a dress like those petite girls I saw on Instagram.  

I paused for a moment staring at my double door closet. Not tonight, I thought. My eyes shifted towards the desk opposite my bed. They zeroed in on the side drawers I tried not to think about were stored within them. But I could, couldn’t I? I shook my head and left my bedroom. I was going to stay home tonight. I was staying home, petting my fluffy babies and relaxing at least that’s what I’m going to tell myself. 

-10:37 PM-

I was sprawled out on my couch waiting for enough time to pass so I could go to sleep. For an hour or so, I really believed the lies I told myself. That I could just leave it alone. I didn’t need to go out on the streets of Bludhaven. It was dangerous. The police are doing a fine job. 

I scrolled through my phone trying my best to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of my mind. I desperately seek distraction, but exactly what I’ve been trying to ignore finds me. 

BPD reports the 4th overdose death in the city this month. Steroid drug known as ‘venom’ suspected to be involved. 

I stopped scrolling when I read the headline on my timeline. It is linked to a news report. I had to physically stop myself from clicking it. I threw my phone on my coffee table and I sighed heavily. I have to do something.

The suit wasn't ready. This was all just a crazy idea that I took too far. I wasn’t a hero. I didn’t have powers like Superman or Wonder Woman. All I had were my fists. And flash grenades. And a taser. And brass knuckles. 

I’m not fighting anyone. I decided. I was simply going to patrol, call the police if I saw anything suspicious and get out. Recon only. No fights. No fighting. Not again. 

I sprang off the couch and took off towards my bedroom, Blanche followed behind me. I pulled my hair up and into a fluffy ponytail in preparation. I opened my closet doors and shuffled through the clothes and hangers until I got to the very end. There hung a near skin-tight black bodysuit and on the next hanger a cape. 

I pulled on the stretchy suit that hugged my body in ways that weren’t the most comfortable. How did the heroes wear stuff like this all the time?  The suit covered even my fingers and feet, essentially encasing everything from the neck down. I will admit, it showed off my thick, toned thighs that I was very proud of and made my boobs look amazing. 

I turned to my desk and found Blanche sitting on the tabletop. She was curled up so that all her paws were covered. Her eyes watched me as I moved about my room her tail swishing letting me know that she considered me her prey. Maybe Blanche could be my sidekick, I’m sure she would enjoy clawing up bad guys. She would be the only weapon I needed. 

 I dug through my desk drawers and pulled out the accessories and ‘armour’ pieces. I strapped on my red utility belt across my waist. It is joined on the left side of my hip with a butterfly-shaped clasp. Next, I slid on my red leather arm guards. I pulled out another drawer and started filling the pockets of my utility belt. Flash grenades. Grappling gun. And a taser just in case. I left my prototype gadgets deciding they were too early in development and not tested. Not that I had tested any of the things I had put in my pockets, but that's beside the point. 

I returned to my closet and pulled out my cape in the shape of insect wings. The top half was black with a red stripe down either wing and red eyespots. The bottom wings were red, the outer edges lined in black. The front of the cape came together with another red butterfly clasp. 

I pulled on my red boots that came to a point at the top matching my arm guards. I was scrambling. Going back and forth between closet and desk drawers as I put on the finishing touches to my hero costume. Black headphones with antennae that were capable of picking up a variety of signals and a black and red domino mask. I made sure to make the lenses of my mask correct my vision like my glasses.

I stared at myself in my full-length mirror. My original inspiration was butterflies. They were nostalgic. I eventually decided butterflies were not intimidating and chose instead to be a moth. Moths were like the butterflies of the night. The moth is more mysterious and elusive yet held the same beauty. I based my costume on the cinnabar moth, deciding red and black better suited a vigilante more than bright pink and yellow. I still somehow managed to look like a butterfly. I sighed. This is ridiculous.

Five times this month I pulled on this ridiculous getup and stared at myself. Initially, I felt powerful. Like all the heroes I admired so much. Like my idol, Batman. But the more I looked at myself the more foolish I felt. Blanche stared at me with those disdainful eyes of hers. It was like she was expressing her disappointment. Of course, I wasn’t actually going to do it, again . 

“Fuck you, I can do this,” I said more to myself than to Blanche. 

Somehow, that was the final push I needed. I turned off the lights in my apartment and snuck out my fire escape heading towards the roof. My building was only 5 stories high. Tall enough to be a good enough jumping-off point, short enough that I probably wouldn’t die if this all failed and I fell. 

I eyed the building next to mine, only three stories taller. This could be a good testing spot. Probably. This is insane . I paced in small circles. I could die. Why did I think I could do this? For a moment I considered going back inside. Then I thought of the look my bitch of a cat would give me as I snuck back into my apartment. 

Was I really being motivated by what I thought my cat thought of me? I really need to make friends. I took a deep breath to center myself. I’m doing this. The night brought with it cooler, crisper air than the evening. The feeling of the air filling my lungs cleared my mind. I can do this. 

I took a few steps back and took a running stance. This was it. Without a second thought, I took off running at full speed towards the neighbouring building. And once I reached the end of my roof I leaped. During the moments I spent airborne I felt like I was flying. It was exhilarating. I hadn’t felt this feeling in years. 

Everything went quiet. The world around me disappeared and all that existed was my target in front of me. It was the rush I had spent years chasing. Adrenaline coursing through my veins. I needed more. 

I threw my arms and legs out in front of me as I was about to hit the building. I closed my eyes and braced for impact, for everything to fail and for my fall. But the fall didn’t come. I opened my eyes to find my face inches away from the bricks. I worked. I stuck. I wasn’t falling. 

One of the integral design elements of my suit was the ability to stick to walls. It took months of research, and trial and error. Two months ago I finally figured it out. My suit was covered in tiny fibres that allowed me to stick to most surfaces, just like an insect. I had tested this ability out in my apartment. Sticking to drywall and my ceiling perfectly, I had no idea if it would work on brick or stone or glass for that matter. But it worked. It worked! 

I crawled up the side of the building until I reached the roof and pulled myself over the edge. I panted, my lungs burning from the exertion. I gave myself a moment to catch my breath before taking off toward the next building. And the building after that. The giant smile that plastered my face felt so foreign. When was the last time I enjoyed myself? 

After jumping to my fifth building I came to face my next challenge — an intersection. The building across the street was much taller than the one I currently stood on, and the gap created by the street below was much too far to jump. I reached into my utility belt and pulled out my grappling gun. I aimed slightly above the roofline of the next building and shot it upwards. 

The line connected. I gave it a hard yank to test its stability before running and taking another leap of faith swinging on my line. The risk of falling onto the street full of vehicles below only seemed to boost my thrill. I wasn’t scared of dying. I was scared of falling. Being able to defy that fear and literally rise above it gave me a rush like nothing else. As the line retracted I ascended towards the roof of the tall building. I may not be able to use my wings but I could fly. 

The view from the top was breathtaking. I was maybe 20 stories high looking down. There wasn’t much traffic but the city was alight nonetheless. People were going about their evenings as if they didn’t have a care in the world. I felt like I was in one of those romcoms set in New York City where the city sparkled at night. 

I didn’t know Bludhaven could look like this.  Living on the 4th floor, and only leaving my house to visit a church basement and dog daycare didn’t exactly leave room for sights like this. I could fall in love with this city if I saw this every night. 

The admiration of my home was cut short when I noticed a disturbance. Not too far from where I stood, a figure zipped across the sky, much like I had just done. Running across the tops of buildings. It couldn’t be, could it? My body moved before I could think about what I was doing. I took off after the figure. I didn’t even consider that it might not be who I was looking for. It could have been a villain for all I knew. But I ran, jumped and zipped across the city in pursuit of this mysterious figure. 

I kept my distance. Mostly because I wasn’t able to catch up. For a moment I thought I lost them. Continuing my flight path towards the last place I had seen them. I froze on that final roof, finally figuring out the identity of the person I had been chasing. It’s not him. I released a breath, my disappointment helped my exhaustion catch up to me. 

It wasn’t Batman. It was his former protégé, the original boy wonder, now known as Nightwing . It had made sense now that I had a moment to think about it. Batman operated mostly in Gotham when he wasn’t on Justice League business as far as anyone knew. Nightwing had taken up residence in Bludhaven a few years ago, becoming our city’s saviour. There was also the fact that Batman wore an iconic cape and the figure I was chasing didn’t. I should have known it wasn’t him.

Nightwing hadn’t moved since landing on the ground. He simply stared ahead of him. That’s when I finally processed what we were both looking at. It was a tent city. One full of children. No one there could have been over the age of sixteen. 

Tents littered an abandoned area by the docks. It was lit up by lanterns, fires and fairy lights. Children ran and laughed as they chased each other around playing. Others looked much more jaded. Likely hardened from years of homelessness. Some gathered by their fires seeking refuge from the crisp night air.

A group of children gathered in front of Nightwing looking up at him with fear in their eyes. I didn’t know what they were saying. Maybe they were asking for help? Or perhaps they wanted him to leave? I wish I could hear what they were saying. I needed to know what was going on. 

I couldn’t process everything I was seeing. Is this where all the kids I usually helped had gone? When was this set up? Were there always this many homeless kids in Bludhaven? My heart hurt. So many kids. Just like I was. 

Memories of those days being helpless and alone started flooding in. Suddenly it was as if I couldn’t breathe. My lungs burned with every sharp inhale. My vision started to blur and my body felt numb. The only thing I could feel was the beating of my racing heart. I needed to get out of here. When I tried to move my limbs my body refused my commands. Was this what dying feels like? 

It took every ounce of my power to control my breathing. Shaky breaths eventually evened out. My vision cleared. While my heart still raced, it slowed by enough beats that I could make sense of the world around me. 

I must have frozen too long. I hadn’t noticed Nightwing had moved. The moment I finally came back to the present it was too late. He was gone. I spun around trying to find where he had gone only to find him on the same rooftop staring right at me.

_____ 

Don’t think about any of the superhero stuff too hard. Things work because they do. The superhero business is honestly a small part of a much larger story so if something doesn’t quite make sense just…ignore it. I’m a dumb bitch trying to write characters with genius-level intellect so I’m fudging it a bit lol.

Hope you liked the first issue of B&B. I really want to thank my RL friends for pushing me to write after spending weeks rambling to them about batfamily LOL. And a huge thanks to my betas for making my writing actually make sense. Biggest thank you of all to my bestie who not only gave me amazing feedback but also puts up with me dumping plot points for days on end. Hope to see you all in Issue #2! It will be from Dick’s perspective. Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated ❤️✨

[cryinginthebackseat]

you’ve got more poison than sugar - part ii

part i    part iii  AO3 

Fandom: Call Of Duty

Pairing: Russell Adler x Bell

Words: 2.918

Warnings: some mild sexual content and swearings, like usual

Author’s note: okay, i know this one's a little short but i promise there'll be more coming on the next chapter, i promise.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The first time Bell showed her face at Langley, it was two weeks after the program. She wore beige, a ruffled high-neck blouse that made her hazel eyes, like charred nut shells, hard and just about indestructible, popped.

She stood at the lobby, regarding the place like she’d waltzed into a wrong banquet hall, the band played in the background, chandeliers dripping like arctic icicles, the bar drenched in opulent gold.

She didn’t belong here.

But Adler met her there, anyway, Hudson in tow.

“Have I ever done something to him?” Bell asked after the rather short-lived meeting, squinting at the vacant spot Hudson left them. She’d yielded very few words. When she did, it’d been all business, crisp, so it surprised him now to hear her uttering something with more than 2 syllables.

“What do you mean?”

“Have I deliberately done something to piss him off?” she elaborated, quieter, but the glower remained.

Adler carefully studied her behind his tinted shades. It still troubled him to a degree that he couldn’t read her. Like she locked herself off. They say eyes are the window to the soul, but thus far, he saw nothing. Fuck the poets.

“No. At least, not as far as I can tell,” he grits out, curious to see where she was heading with the conversation. “Why?”

Bell hummed, but seemingly unconvinced. A beat, then: “He doesn’t seem to like me that much.”

You don’t belong here, he thought and his face went cagier, back stiffer, but no doubt intrigued. Very much so by this mysteriously curious creature.

Perceptive and diamond-sharp intelligent, he pondered. They might have secured the bag after all.

“It's not you. That’s just as warm and fuzzy you’ll see Hudson with everyone, trust me,” he uttered, hoping that she bought the fib. She did. At least, he thought so. “Come on, Bell, we’ve got a job to do.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Adler finds her outside the garage the next night, smoking alone, reading in secret. The ground is still wet from the rain, straggling cloud wisps and every artery of this place fucking freezes his bones. Bell ditches her gloves inside, but has her coat on, the collar popped up like antennae.

"You aren't cold?" he asks when she doesn’t notice him. Too engrossed in her own bubble. She does look better, though. Park is right about that one at least.

"I'm good," she answers without looking up. "Am I needed for something inside?"

"No, just thought I could use some fresh air."

He’s studying her, raking her from head to toe. Suddenly, he doesn’t care if she would notice him. Then he steps closer, standing next to her, lifting his cigarette to his mouth.

“What are you reading?”

There’s something about this secret element to her that has him on his toes. Everything about her is curious- frustratingly curious, careful, as Bell rolls her neck to meet him. In the low light, she looks quite new, he learns. And his eyes beg for him to linger.  

“Amerika. Kafka,” she says. “Have you read it?”

A subtle shake of his head and, “No.” While Bell nods, silent, like she doesn't know what else to say to him. “Should I? Give it a read?” Adler adds, just to keep the conversation going.

She shrugs, a cloud of smoke escaping her nostrils. “I can’t say that Kafka is ever a favorite of mine, but he really is sui generis. And Amerika is probably the most approachable of all his works? It’s funny too.”

“I never thought I’d hear Kafka and funny in the same sentence.”

“Yeah, well, it’s very subtle. And if only you can understand his nightmarish sense of humor, that is,” she explains, shrugging again, like she’s embarrassed. “I don’t know, maybe you’ll like it.”

Frankly, he hates Kafka. He hates his vatic, dead-eye vision of the world; that acute sense of hopelessness clinging onto his main protagonists like vines, but Adler finds himself nodding, anyway.

“Sure, lend me your copy once you're done with it." If she’s surprised by his answer, she does not tell her. But Adler thinks she’s smiling though- just the barest quirk of her lips, but it’s enough for him to know that she appreciates the gesture.

A brief, unmapped silence ensues.

"I'm sorry, by the way."

Adler arches an eyebrow at her. "For what?"

Bell slots a bookmark into the book, closes it, frowns at it.

"For yesterday. I, uh… I feel like I was being insolent to you.”

He looks sidelong at Bell and tries to read her. Her expression is raw and open, a painting visible through a small tear in the paper. For some reason, that catches him by surprise.

“You already apologized, you know?” Adler teases lamely.

“I know, but still it was uncalled for and very unprofessional of me. You’re my CO, not some random BND agent I’m forced to work with. I shouldn’t have said that," she mumbles softly and sighs, world-weary, heavy, sounding like a woman twice her age. "It will not happen again. I promise you."

"Hey, consider it water under the bridge, kid. You’re in a rather rough place right now, I wouldn’t hold it against you,” he tells her, fond. “What matters is you’re alright. We can’t catch Perseus if you’re green around the gills.”

Her eyes meet his. He meets her back.

“Thank you.” And Bell rotates her body to face him. Mussed brunette hair and sharp cheekbones, mouth kinked up in sympathy as she says, “Is this what you have to put up with all these years?"

He summons a smirk. "With you? More or less."

And then the woman does the unexpected; Bell laughs. She fucking laughs. Delicate sounding, like a tinkling glass, petals wrapped in satin, moonbeams through frosted windows. It dies, too soon to his liking. Adler privately lets the sound of her laughter replays in his head, as if trying to pocket it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s only after Ukraine when he discovers that she smells different. That wintry floral smell of hers that he’s accustomed to is commingling with something else.

But now-

Now, there's music in the air.

Sims does this sometimes, bringing his Zenith Trans-Oceanic, or as he would call it the Tranny, to the safehouse and they would tune in to international radio stations. Cream's Sunshine Of Your Love is playing- or more specifically, their song is 5 seconds away from being cut off abruptly by the DJ. The song reminds him of Vietnam, regrettably. The root of all madness.

“Next up, is my favorite ever track-to-track transition on an album. This is Pink Floyd’s Brain Damage and-”

Adler stops whatever it is he’s scribbling. He sits up, ramrod straight.

“Mind switching to another station?” he asks suddenly, glances up at Sims quickly who, as Adler suspected, is giving him a rather odd look.

“Why?”

"I've always hated Pink Floyd." Only because he’s out of reason. Only because he can feel Bell’s confused stare, searing into his temple. Only because it’s the only way of escaping this. "Change it, please."

Sims opens his mouth. The unspoken: how about that time in Denver?

The telling jerk of Adler’s lips warns him not to ask.

The other man clamps his mouth shut, seemingly gets the message and switches to a different station. He never brings his radio again.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Frank Woods is exactly how Adler saw him last time- or since Hue City, that is: tigerish and intimidating- a kick in the head voice, a hurricane in the shape of a man and he is making his way to him right now.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?”

"So talk."

Woods shakes his head. "Not here."

Adler looks at him at last now, curiosity creeping over him. He then stubs his cigarette, nods once and leads them both to his office.

Once they’re inside, he locks the door, secures the blinds.

“What is it?” Adler takes a seat behind his desk. Woods remains standing. He paces around the room, a hand on his bearded chin.

“What the fuck is going on with your girl?”

Adler doesn’t know which one is worse, the fact that Woods manages to sniff out something going on with Bell or that he just addresses her as his girl. Either way, it's bad. Either way, Adler should have expected the former issue. Woods is astute as he is dangerous. There's a reason why the CIA gave the green light for Mason and Hudson to save him in Da Nang all those years ago, after all.

"What about her?" Adler asks, even-toned, giving nothing away. Even though he is in the ‘need to know’ column regarding Bell’s brainwashing, this is something Adler initially wishes he could keep under wraps.

“Don’t bullshit me, Adler. She has that look on her face- I see it in her eyes. The exact same look Mason has been wearing since ‘Nam,” Woods tells him, point-blank, never being the one to settle for niceties. After Hudson, Adler thinks he simply can’t tolerate the agency anymore.

“I saw it all, remember? Had a fucking front row seat to his relapse and shit, so don’t tell me she’s alright. Not when it looks like she could snap out of it any moment.” Woods has his hands on the table and looks at him dead-on. “Tell me I’m right. Tell me there is something wrong with her.”

He regards the other man coolly. Woods is no longer asking. Adler is out of move.

“You're right,” he answers simply, eventually, tipping his king over on its side, stopping the clock. "Did you talk to Hudson regarding this?"

"Since when did I report to Agent stick-up-his-ass? Fuck no. That's why I came straight to you.” Woods heaves a heavy sigh, like he’s the one with all these burdens. “Now, what the hell’s wrong with her?”

“She’s suffering from brain damage."

“Shit. All that ‘cause of MK-Ultra?”

“One of the few factors that caused it, yes.”

His mouth goes flat. "How bad is it?”

“Bad. We’re trying to minimize for any collateral as we speak, at least until we finally get our hands on Perseus. But she… she might not make it.” Adler leans back in his chair, like his body feels heavy all of the sudden.

Woods nods. Uncharacteristically silent, looking strangely contemplative, sympathetic even. That should be categorized as an oddity itself, Woods and him, two proud Americans, Vietnam veterans and she’s just another red, another blood they would indubitably sacrifice for their country and they’re sympathizing with her? Yet something deep inside Adler, something resonates like the throat of a storm, sinks its teeth into him, confounds him, every time he thinks of her.

Woods crosses his arms over his chest, glances at the door, as if someone might knock anytime soon, then back to him.

"So, what's the plan?" He quickly adds, "if things go south, what are you gonna do?"

"It won't come to that. She'll come through, I know it," Adler counters, suddenly defensive. Whatever the use of his tone indicates, Woods ignores it.

"You sure about that?”

"Are you doubting me?” Adler spits out a retort. A quiet fury grasps him tight, but he forces himself to keep under a tight lid.

Woods holds his hands up in mock surrender.

"Look, I’m just saying, that woman is a loose cannon- you can’t be too careful."

"We have everything under control, Woods. And this is the least of your worry right now."

"Alright, okay. If you say you and Park have her contained already, then fine. I trust you,” he says and heads for the door.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Woods says again. He’s facing the door, back to him. “Whatever happens, keep Mason in the dark about any of this."

“Of course. He isn’t on a need to know basis from the very start, you know that.”

"Good. ‘cause the less he knows the better." Woods pauses like he's constructing an entire sentence in his head. He peers over his shoulder. "I mean it. He’s been through enough. I don’t know which ground you crawled up from, but up here, some people implement this kind of civility to other people.”

The words sting, yet Adler stares back at him, seemingly unfazed. "What, you’re saying that I’m simply heartless?”

“Nah,” Woods says, satirical and sardonic. “You’re just Adler.” And with that, he’s gone.

1976

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was eight o'clock on a mid-September evening and Adler found himself coming home to an empty house.

His wife had already left a week prior, crossing the country with a self-proclaimed film critic she'd met at the premiere of The Shining last summer, but Adler didn't know that yet.

He went to the kitchen. Dropped his suitcase, pulled off his coat and scarf. He reeked of cigarettes, cheap air freshener and jet fuel- air travel is simply sickening, in terms of its cost and smell- and in a desperate need of a hot bath.

"Honey?" He switched the lights on. She wasn't here. So Adler headed upstairs, to their room where they would rest their bones every night for the past 15 years. The door was slightly ajar. He expected to see her sleeping from under the duvet, hair splaying all over the pillow.

What he found was a folded note on his bedside table. He stared at it, his heart at his throat, fearing the worst, the unimaginable. He picked the letter and unfolded it.

Forgive me.

Russell,

Live or die, but don't poison everything .

His head did pirouette. So, this was it. This was what it felt like, he thought.

Not heartbreak, not sadness. But a collapse of the world- his world and all he could do was watch from the sidelines.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

1981

Adler stares at the words now, sleeves rolled up, anatomical heart. The paper is fading, wrinkled and it smells like smoke and decay and tears, capped with something akin to regret.

It has his name on it, begins with it, and ends with an apology, written in cursive. Like microscopic snakes dancing around his peripheral vision, hissing in his ears.

Live or die, but don't poison everything.

No one likes to be told that they are sick, but Russell Adler has learned to acknowledge it, embrace it, weaponize it. Her words mean zero shit to him now. You can't condemn someone to the depths of hell when it's the only place he's known all his life.

So, he takes the letter for the last time, remembering how the ink used to smudge his calloused fingers, crumples it up, that satisfying crunch dins in his palm, and tosses it into the fireplace.

The paper crackles. Good fucking riddance. It really takes all this time for him to grow the guts, apparently, and he just stares and stares as the fire begins to engulf everything, wiping away his past failure.

He promises he would never fail again, at anything. No matter what the cost, failure is never going to be an option.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Bell arrives at the garage with frantic eyes, a half-burnt cigarette between her lips and uncharacteristically late. Color peppering her cheeks- red, like an apple bitten into.

“I’m sorry, I overslept,” is her excuse, but she’s looking at the room strangely, he thinks, almost like she’s seeking a particular face.

When she makes her way to her desk, when she whizzes past him by the board and her planet is entering his orbit for the first time in the morning, Adler, as if by accident or by design, inhales deeply.

His breath snags.

She smells like someone else.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(Someone fucked her last night)

The telephone rings in the distance.

“Sims. Yeah, sure, let me get him. Hold on.” He puts the call on hold. “Doc, you might wanna take this one.”

(Someone was in her bed; beside her, above her, under her. Inside her. He imagines her fingers digging into the mattress as they rolled her onto her stomach, mouth trailing down the ladder of her spine. Their breaths intermingled in the seraphic glow of her hotel room)

Adler mechanically crosses the room and picks the receiver.

“Adler.”

(If he herds her away from prying eyes and pushes down the collar of her shirt, would he see the evidence there, taunting him? If he kisses her, would he taste them instead of her? )

"Perhaps," he says over the phone, his face hard. "But my decision is final. I'm sending Woods and Mason to Yamantau. They'll leave in a few days."

(Did they make her come?)

"Of course. Why do you think I chose them for this mission?"

(If she made them?)

“Most likely, but we're prepared for this- you know we are," Adler says, customer service polite, an old recording on a playback. "Right. Well, that concludes the matter then. Yeah, you have a wonderful day to yourself.”

Adler hangs up the telephone. Breathes out a sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose for a few good seconds, before remembering that he has an audience.

"Oof. Sounds rough," comments Sims, dark eyes slanting in concern.

(Maybe she likes that, rough. Teeth biting the back of her shoulder, that sweet juxtaposition of pain and pleasure coursing through their veins, his hand curling around her throat from behind as she pants and mewls like-)

(But this isn’t about him. Never about him)

"That's one way to put it."

Someone else fucked her. It shouldn't leave an acrid taste in his mouth, but it does.

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

Why do you think Tomarry would work? I see a lot of people hating on it and the only response I ever see is that they come from similar backgrounds or people just like enemies to lovers. Also which horcrux do you think Harry would go best with (including Voldemort)

So, this is probably a more complicated question than you intended, but that’s because I live in bizarre head canon lands that few ever dare venture towards.

With that, let’s get started.

But What Do You Really Ship, Muffin?

First, it probably bears saying that I’m not really a Tomarry shipper. I know, I’ve written more than one Tomarry story, so if that’s not Tomarry what is? Well, remember that those Tomarry pairing tags are a filthy lie. October I committed the grievous sin of breaking up the Tomarry and throwing Tom at Harry’s mother. Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus is barely a Harry Potter fic in any capacity, and while the ship is the driving force of the fic, it’s also this nebulous, distant, thing that really shows up only in strange side stories where I try to make people laugh. When Harry Met Tom is probably the closest that I take seriously, but I also intentionally subvert all your typical Tomarry tropes for my own enjoyment. 

The only Tomarry story I’d say I’ve ever actually written is “The Burning Taste of Fire Whisky”. It’s a very popular story, sadly perhaps my most popular on Ao3, but I actually loathe it entirely. 

A lot of the time I feel like I just happen to have a Tomarry shirt on and then I suddenly became a subject matter expert. If you want the Tomarry opinions from real Tomarry people, I’m probably not the best person to ask. In fact, if you want really any standard answer about Harry Potter anything, I’m not the best person to ask.

Now, I’m not just saying this to be a hipster but to sort of give some background for why I’m going to give the answer I’m going to give and why it’s going to be 100% different from everyone else’s and yes, sometimes, I do think I came from Mars.

Will the Real Tomarry Please Stand Up?

So with that, the bottom line is: taking canon as JKR intended, completely at face value, Tomarry doesn’t work at all. This is because JKR fully intends a very flat, one-dimensional, and frankly quite boring Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle’s evil, Tom Riddle was born evil, Tom Riddle was evil in the womb because of rape. He is completely and utterly irredeemable and understands nothing of love.

Well, that sort of sinks the ship right out of the harbor, doesn’t it? A Tom Riddle incapable of love is one incapable of growth, especially in a romantic focused story. If you try to write it you just get weird sociopathic whump porn where Tom probably whips Harry in a closet somewhere.

Added onto this we get that, despite what she put down on paper, Harry is supposed to be a straight man. That aside, he’s also a righteous man whose understanding of things like love and friendship mean he’d never sully himself with gross Tom Riddle. Ew, what are you people thinking?

Well, what if we take canon just mostly as JKR intended? What if we just look at the characters the way she actually wrote them versus what she was trying to do? Still no dice.

Tom might now be capable of love, be a far more engaging character who can go somewhere, and be pulled out of a pit of rage and despair by someone but that someone ain’t Harry.

First, while I firmly believe Harry is gay (gay, not bisexual, compare his descriptions of Cho/Ginny to Tom Riddle/Sirius Balck/Cedric Diggory/Charlie Weasley, that boy pants after Tom Riddle and Cho’s kiss is “wet”) he’s also a much worse person and much dumber character than JKR intended. It’s really the first that damns the pairing.

I have a whole giant post on how Harry’s a little yikes but the long and short of it is that while Harry thinks he understands friendship and love he’s also someone who will cut out his friends at a moment’s notice if he feels remotely slighted, uses and sacrifices them for his own ends, gleefully uses unforgiveable curses when given the opportunity, and is the kind of guy who would cut someone up in the bathroom, leave them to bleed to death, and only really feel bad about it when it seems he might get in trouble for it.

This Harry ending up even with a Tom who could potentially be redeemed would more likely lead to, well, weird psychopathic whump porn where Harry tortures Tom in his basement to make him pay for all the horrible things he’s done while Harry claims he’s the most moral person ever because his mother loved him.

So, yeah, no Tomarry for you.

But Wait, Didn’t You Say You Believed in Tomarry?

What I believe in are archetypes.

Remove what Harry’s supposed to be, remove what I think he actually is (one maladjusted, violent, dude with a whole lot of anger issues), let’s make Harry what perhaps JKR didn’t even know she wanted: one of those rare fundamentally good heroes who warps an entire story with the strength of their inner nobility.

Harry Potter is meant to be a story about love and friendship. Now, it’s not actually, and we sort of end with Harry being Jesus and none of us are sure why. Except that he apparently forgives Dumbledore and Snape for brainwashing him to be a kamikaze agent. They’re the bravest men he knows. But let’s pretend it actually is a story about love and friendship.

To me, the strongest story of love we could possibly have had in this world is the redemption of Tom Riddle. Here is a man who was supposed to have been irredeemable since birth, he has done many horrific and unforgiveable things, grew up in extreme hardship in a society that spits on everything he ever was, and is mired in bitterness, despair, and rage. Beneath all that, Tom Riddle has given up hope in the world and is now content to burn it down himself.

Harry, through the nobility of his spirit and integrity of his character, somehow managing to redeem Tom Riddle is not only a fascinating story but a very good one at its core. The fact that they are tied together by destiny as well as tragedy, that Harry houses a shard of Tom’s soul (and I do so love horcruxes), only makes it more so.

This is the kind of story that carries epics, and that is why I gravitate towards it.

Now, do I change Harry up to do so? Good god, yes. I wouldn’t say any Harry Potter I have written is anything close to the Harry we know from canon. Some are closer than others, but they always in some way deviate. That said, from what I’ve seen almost nobody writes the actual Harry we remember from canon, so this is a very standard practice I can get away with, without too many people calling foul.

Ultimately ending in tragedy or in the full redemption of Tom: either works with these base characterizations and the world is your oyster.

What About All Those Other Arguments?

I’m not going to get into this too much except that I wouldn’t argue Tomarry works for the reasons you list. At all.

On the similar backgrounds, the fact is Harry and Tom don’t have similar backgrounds, JKR just says they do because she likes that trope (and so do many of the readers).

Harry and Tom have dark hair, they both came from abusive homes, but that’s where the similarities start and end. Upon entering the wizarding world Harry is treated very very very differently from Tom Riddle.

Harry, grows up in this weird sort of pseudo poverty where he dresses in rags because the Dursley’s hate him but he never actually has to worry about money. When he gets to the wizarding world he can afford everything he wants. He can buy a new wand, he can buy new supplies, he can buy all the candy off the trolly cart. Money’s not an object to Harry, is barely even a concept.

Tom Riddle is presumably on scholarship and money is everything to him. He buys a new wand but likely all his clothes and books are second hand. He can’t buy whatever candy he wants, probably can’t afford gifts for his peers, Tom is very aware of the haves and have nots.

Harry similarly never has to worry about a career. He never gets that far, fearing for his life so much, but the fact is that Harry has enough money that he doesn’t actually need to work. More, who would turn down the great Harry Potter? He wants to be an auror, is afraid he might not qualify, but it’s not really desperate.

Tom Riddle is to the world an impoverished muggle born. He tries for the Defense position and is turned down mostly because Dumbledore threw shade. Dumbledore tries to make it seem like Tom desperately wanted to work in this weird shop in London’s magical back alley, but probably that was the only position Tom could get (everything Dumbledore ever says, especially in those pensieve lessons, must be taken with a large grain of salt). Everything else goes to friends, family, and purebloods.

Adding to this, Harry has this glowing reputation. Now, Harry might not like it, he might want to be just Harry but the fact is that everyone has heard of him and most people worship the ground he walks on. Doors are open to him everywhere. His first introduction to the wizarding world is from a man who loves him and gushes about Harry as a baby.

Tom Riddle is someone with a muggle last name, who comes from a muggle orphanage, in other words he is nobody from nowhere. (For reasons I won’t get into here I find it very doubtful Tom ever revealed he was the heir of Slytherin until he became Voldemort and let Tom Riddle fade into obscurity). His first introduction to the wizarding world is some asshole lighting all his stuff on fire because the matron talked shit about him.

Harry wants to stay at Hogwarts because the Dursleys are abusive. Yes, this is terrible, but Tom wants to stay because Nazis are bombing London and Dippet says, “So sorry, Tom, no exceptions. Enjoy those luffas!” Harry’s concerns are never treated with the same disdain.

To make a long story short, they do not have similar backgrounds, at all. To say they do is utterly laughable and not much better than saying “they both have dark hair, they have so much in common!”

They both came from abusive homes, yes, but even the nature of those homes were very different and when they went to Hogwarts they were worlds apart.

... So much for not getting into it, eh?

As for Enemies to Lovers, well, it’s a trope and people enjoy it but it’s not my jam. I could go into why, but I think I’ve said enough.

Which Horcrux Do You Think Harry Would Go Best With?

We see so little of the individual horcruxes I’m not sure I can really take a stab at this. I sort of just make up their personalities as it suits me every time I write them.

With that I suppose I’m partial to the one in Harry’s head? Given that he has a front row seat to Harry, has seen Voldemort’s tragic demise, I think he’s in the best position to end up with Harry in a meaningful manner.

Especially as, if you think about it, he could represent the very last of Tom Riddle’s humanity. The single shard of humanity that remained in him until the bitter end.

[authoressofdarkness]

His Perfect Model (Chapter 2)

This… Peter’s reactions, how scared the omega smells… god, it bothers him, so much more than he realized. But it’s too late to take it back, isn’t it? What could he really do? Call the guy who scheduled the shoot back — assuming the number even worked again, which it might not — and demand his money back? Peter had just begged him not to go back. As scared as the omega might be of him, he’s more scared of them.

Notes: I updated this on AO3 yesterday, so I wanted to do it here too before I forgot. You can read it there instead if you prefer.

Some talk of non-con, abuse, and brainwashing in this chapter, but nothing explicit. 

He begins packing while Peter is still out of it, and manages to make short work of it. Camera supplies and toy back into the boxes and out to his car, and the rest is still attached to Peter’s shivering form, looking miserable and scared and small, still tied to the chair and awaiting his fate when he returns.

The omega jumps when he feels Tony’s hands on his shoulders, smoothing over the tense muscles there gently before moving around the front of him. Now that he’s not in the confused haze of pleasure, he just looks scared. “Alpha, I-“

“Hush, honey.” Tony starts undoing his bonds, and the moment he’s free, Peter tries to spring from the chair, but he’s still swollen and sore, and stiff from hours spent in the chair at this point, and barely manages to get to his feet, stumbling forward and easily being caught in Tony’s waiting arms. He whimpers.

“Alpha, please-“

“Let’s not start with the begging until we get home, yeah?” It comes out more insensitive than he means for it to. He tries to make up for it by gently smoothing back the omega’s messy curls, but Peter flinches away from his hand.

“I-I don’t- I don’t want to- wanna go home -“

“I’m going to take you home. With me.”

The small omega looks at him with wet eyes. “No… I just, I don’t want it, Alpha… don’t belong to you, don’t want to, please-“

Tony catches his chin, gently. “I just paid a lot of money for you. I’m fairly certain you do belong to me.” He pauses, looking him over. “Unless, of course, you’d rather go back with the two alphas who brought you here…”

He takes a gamble, saying so, figuring that if he’s right about it being a trafficking ring, the last place Peter will want to go is back to them. And it’s true, apparently.

“No!” Peter grabs his arm, eyes wide and wet. “Please, alpha, I-I’ll be good. I’ll do anything, just- please don’t send me back there.”

Okay, maybe he should have expected that kind of reaction, but he hadn’t. He sighs, cupping the omega’s face gently. Peter flinches, but doesn’t try to pull away this time. It gives him a dull sense of satisfaction. “Shh, it’s okay, Peter. If you are a good boy, you’ll never have to worry about it. Here.” He grabs his discarded slip — a poor excuse for coverage, he knows, but better than making him ride home naked — and pulls it back over the omega’s head, ignoring his flinch. Then he takes his wrist, tying them in front of him with the rope, and, after a long moment of thought, the blindfold follows. He figures that Peter will be less inclined to try something if he doesn’t know exactly where he’s at.

Peter whimpers. “I’ll be good,” he promises, though in response to Tony’s statement, or all the bondage, he’s not sure.

“I know you will, honey, it’s okay.” Tony picks him up carefully, and carries him out the back entrance to his car, laying him in the backseat. “Just relax there while alpha drives us home, okay?”

The only response he gets is a soft sniffle. He sighs again, getting in the front seat.

This… Peter’s reactions, how scared the omega smells… god, it bothers him, so much more than he realized. But it’s too late to take it back, isn’t it? What could he really do? Call the guy who scheduled the shoot back — assuming the number even worked again, which it might not — and demand his money back? Peter had just begged him not to go back. As scared as the omega might be of him, he’s more scared of them.

It makes the thought process of his choice feel a little more validated, even if it doesn’t make it feel right , and it doesn’t take away the sour feeling in his stomach.

The ride back to his place seems to take forever — not least of all because it is kind of a drive from the city. Tony lives in the countryside, in a spacious but out-of-the-way house, thanks to all his money. At least it’s easy for him to get in his gate, pull up to the house, and not have to worry about anyone seeing the little omega when he takes him out.

Peter is shivering harder when he takes him out, though he doesn’t feel much colder to Tony. He thinks some of it has to be shock, or fear. Either way, he can’t do anything about it until they get inside.

He carries him in, leaving his equipment in the back at the moment in favor of taking Peter straight up to his room and trying to get him calmed down, some.

He sets him down on the bed when they arrive, taking off the blindfold, first, and then moving to the rope. Peter flinches when he pulls out his knife, again, but he just uses it to slide between the pieces of rope, undoing the knot easier.

He closes up the knife again and sets it on his bedside table with the pieces of bondage, then carefully joins the boy on the bed. He studied him for a long moment before speaking. “Alright.“ He reaches for Peter, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Let me get you out of this, hm? I bet you’ll feel better after that.”

Peter sniffles, but doesn’t say anything, quiet while Tony peels the slip off of him. He sets it aside. “H-how… I mean…” His eyes flicker to Tony’s face, then dart away quickly. “How do you want me, sir?”

Tony frowns. “What?”

Peter backpedals quickly. “I- never mind, I’ll just-“ he flips onto his back, opening his legs and putting his hands above his head, eyes squeezed shut. Waiting.

Tony’s mouth goes dry at the sight. Both because of how pretty Peter is, but also the implication. How sad and frankly terrifying that is. He’s never considered himself a rapist. Yet here he is, an unwilling omega naked next to him in bed. He just paid for him, he just… hell, he’s a criminal, now, technically. And really, there’s nothing to stop him, is there? This is...

He takes a shuddering breath, putting a hand on Peter’s thigh and gently closing his legs. “No, Peter. I’m sorry I scared you, but that’s not… we’re not doing that, not tonight.” Not tonight . That he could handle. But much else… well, he’s only human, after all.

“We’re not?” Peter looks helplessly confused, eyes wide and wet. “Why? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, of course not. But aren’t you sore?” Tony helps him sit up, gently, and runs his fingers through his curls. “You were vibed for quite a long time, honey. You’ve got to be tender.”

Peter sniffs again. “I mean… I guess so… it’s never mattered before, though.” He looks down.

The alpha’s words float back to him. He hasn’t been. He’s fresh meat. Had that been a lie? It didn’t really matter, now; he isn’t sending Peter back, that’s for sure. He may have to get him tested, though, which would be an interesting time.

It’s an awkward question, but he has to ask. “How many people- … I mean-“ God, it sounds even worse than he imagined the second he opens his mouth.

Peter gets the gist of it, though, even without him finishing. He quirks a shoulder, eyes still red, though not seeming upset by the question itself. “I, uh… dunno, really. They put us through… training to break us once we arrived. That’s probably why I never notice the soreness now, really. But it wasn’t… real people. Just toys. So we couldn’t be considered damaged goods.”

That made sense, in an awful way. Why Peter was so afraid of the alphas but yet so docile. Why he’d immediately gotten wet — and scared — at the feeling of the wand. He’d probably experienced something similar before.

And sick as it was, the alphas had the right idea with their training . The first thing he’d asked was if Peter had been used by someone else, though not in so few words. And the omega hadn’t — even if he’d been through a hell that was comparable, maybe even worse.

“I… see.” Tony watches the omega silently for a moment, mind going miles a minute as he tries to process all of this. “Well, thank you for telling me that. And I’m… really sorry this all happened to you.” Unsure what to say after that, especially when he didn’t receive much response, he stands abruptly. “Let’s go get a bath.”

Despite his fear and the dreariness of the conversation, a hint of brightness shows on the omega’s face at that. “A bath? Really?”

“Yes…? Would you like that? Or do you prefer the shower, or…?”

Peter bites his lip. “I… I haven’t really had a proper bath or shower in… uhhh, a while. Either would be really nice, but… I do like baths.”

Tony nods. He holds out a hand, helping the omega out of the bed, and guides him to his bathroom, careful to be slow, gentle. He’s suddenly realized that the omega could be hurt and he’d have no idea, and of course, with how wary Peter still is, he should make it so he doesn’t feel rushed, or so he doesn’t make any sudden moves and startle him. It’s the least he could do.

“Right. Okay. Um, feel free to start the water, I don’t want to make it too hot or anything. You want some salts? Bubble bath? Any smells you like?” He hurried to the cabinet, eager to busy himself with something .

“Oh, um… whatever is fine.”

Tony manages to retrieve some lavender scented salts and bubble bath from under the counter — things he only kept around for certain shoots, maybe the occasional one night stand — but he’s relieved to find that he has them, now. He turns around, adding some to the water that Peter has just managed to get started.

“There. I’ll leave them here, so you can add more if you want, but I don’t want the smell to be too overpowering.” He set them on the side of the tub.

Peter looks up at him, eyes wide and surprised. “You’re not staying?”

Tony blinks, confused. “I… do you want me to?” He had assumed the omega would prefer to be on his own. As scared as he was, why would he want Tony in the tub with him?

Peter flushes and looks down. “I, uh… I mean, I just assumed…”

“I understand, sweetheart. But I…” I’m not going to hurt you, is what he wants to say, but really, hasn’t he already? Won’t he, probably, again, at some point? “If you don’t want me to stay, then I won’t,” is what he finally says after floundering for several seconds. “You are allowed to bathe by yourself.”

Peter bites his bottom lip. “I just… I don’t like being alone,” he admits, meekly, looking up at the alpha through his lashes. “I don’t wanna… I mean, I know it’s not fair to ask you to stay and not do anything, I just…”

Tony shakes his head. “I told you, Peter, we’re not doing anything tonight. Period,” he says firmly. “That’s all. But if you want me to stay, I’ll stay.” He sits down on the counter, pulling his phone out and starting to fiddle with it.

He isn’t really sure what to do. He doubts the omega would really want him to watch him, but he doesn’t want him to leave, and he certainly doesn’t want him in the tub with him, so he just… messes awkwardly with his phone.

After a while, the omega stands, pulling the plug and wrapping his arms around himself. “Am I allowed to have a towel, alpha?”

Tony looks up at the sound of the plug being pulled, and his eyes travel the length of Peter’s body before he can help it. It makes his mouth water, but- fuck. No, Tony. Have some self control, like really-

He forces himself to focus at the sound of Peter’s voice, and gets up quickly. “Yes. Of course. Here.” He retrieves a towel, then walks over and wraps it around him, carefully helping him out of the tub. He guides him back into the bedroom. “I’ll get you something to wear, just… stay here, yeah?” He disappears into the closet, not even waiting for Peter’s meek affirmation behind him.

He’s got absolutely nothing that isn’t going to be giant on the omega in his closet. Putting him in his clothes feels… wrong, in the situation, even if it scratches his possessive alpha itch. Which is all the more reason why he shouldn’t, but it’s all he has for tonight. They’ll figure something out tomorrow for clothes. And… for the rest of this mess he’d put them in.

He shoves the thoughts away again and goes back out to the bedroom. “I don’t… have much that will come close to fitting you, so I apologize, but you’ll have to sleep in something of mine. And it’ll be big.” He tosses a pair of old boxers and a tee shirt down on the bed in front of him. “I’ll… leave you to it.”

The omega just thanks him quietly, not stopping him from walking out of the room. Which is good, because there’s only so much self control Tony can exert in one day. And they both need food, anyway; Tony hasn’t eaten in hours, since lunch before the shoot, and it’s probably a safe bet it’s been even longer for Peter.

Tony makes his way to the kitchen. He has no idea what to do for food but ordering in would just take too long tonight and he has no idea what Peter likes — or if he would behave around someone else — or really anything he probably should know. Feeling a bit lost, he just makes a plate of sandwiches for them to split, grabs two waters, and takes it back to the bedroom.

Peter is, thankfully, dressed when he gets back to the bedroom, sitting back in the same spot on the bed and picking at the hem of the overly large shirt. A possessive thrill rolls down his spine at the sight, but he bites down on the little pleased growl that bubbles up in his throat instinctively. Peter probably wouldn’t appreciate it, and frankly his lack of control is not the most funny thing to him either.

Tony settles back down on his side of the bed, setting the food like a peace offering between them. “Here.” He pushes a bottle of water over to him as well. “It’s not much, I know, but please eat something.”

Peter looks surprised, and a bit confused. “Oh… but I didn’t do anything to earn it.”

That hit Tony in the chest harder than he expected. He physically winces a little. “You don’t… have to do anything to earn food here, Peter. Or a bath, for that matter. I just want you to eat. Tell me when you’re hungry, or thirsty, or whatever, okay? I just want to take care of you.” And he does, from some place deep inside him. Any amount of lust he felt this morning towards him feels like nothing in comparison to how small the omega seems to be beside him, the sadness and the desire to protect and comfort that Peter makes him feel.

“But why?” The omega looks so helpless, confused, that it makes Tony’s heart ache.

“I… I just do, okay? Can you eat, please?” He picks up a sandwich of his own to accentuate the point. “I’m going to eat, too, and then we’ll sleep, okay? We can talk more in the morning about all this.”

Peter still looks confused, maybe a little worried, but he reaches over to pick up a sandwich, timidly, as if expecting Tony to yell “Sike!” or try to take it away from him. Tony rubs a hand over his own chest, idly. He should probably get used to that dull ache over his heart if he’s going to keep Peter around, it seems.

They eat in silence, partially because they’re both exhausted and partially because Peter still looks like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop and Tony’s too afraid to startle him with any sudden movements or words to even try to make conversation.

In the end, Tony eats two and a half sandwiches, but Peter doesn’t even finish one. Tony eyes him a little skeptically. “You know I wouldn’t have given it to you if you weren’t supposed to eat it all, right?”

Peter flinches a little. “I- I just don’t get to eat much very often so I’m- kind of full but I can try to finish it…” He reaches for the sandwich again.

Tony grabs his wrist gently to stop him, and of course Peter jumps. Tony waits until he settles a little to speak. “You don’t have to force feed yourself, Peter. I just wanted to make sure you were genuinely full.”

Peter gnaws on his bottom lip. “I-I am, sir. But thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He sets the tray aside. It’s mostly empty now except for the remains of their last sandwiches, and he’ll deal with that in the morning. “Okay, well… I’m going to go brush my teeth and get ready for bed. You’re welcome to do the same once I'm done.”

They do just that. Tony goes first, and then Peter, hesitantly, heads in after him, and returns a few minutes later. Tony turns off the lights and settles in the bed, and the omega slowly follows. “I sleep here?” he asks.

Tony nods. “Yes.” For now, at least. He wasn’t really prepared for a guest, and he thought this was probably the safest place for the omega. “Come, get comfortable. I’m just going to sleep, and you should do the same.”

Peter nods, but doesn’t respond. Tony sighs softly and settles down into the bed. After a few minutes, he feels as much as hears Peter follow suit, and much to his surprise, the omega shifts toward him, not quite touching, but closer than he’d expected him to get.

He closes his eyes and doesn’t say anything. It’s actually kinda nice to drift off to the smell and feel of the omega on the other side of him.

If only their meager peace would even last until morning.

Taglist: @snowstark @serrabloodsong

Let me know if you want to be added!

[fieryhonesty]

The life of You

[AO3]

“I’m deeply sorry for not posting for a while. I hate to admit it but it took me over a week to think for a decent name for this and next chapter. But good thing is I thought of this whole fic and came to an end? Like I’m no longer aiming at an invisible finish line. All what’s left now is write it down and serve the main dish.”

Words: 2462

Today was one of your free days which you had decided to spend by exploring eastern area of Mondstadt. It was mostly just a walk for you. Except one time where you had to draw your blade and deal with a dozen of hydro slimes. 

They appeared out of nowhere. There was not even water around to attract them to. Well you wouldn't call yourself an adventurer, a swordswoman or a cryo wielder if you couldn't deal with a few slimes. 

You had spent most of the time hiking. Sometimes stopping and looking behind, enjoying the view at the city of freedom from distance. The huge windmills are probably the signature thing for it. One doesn't need to know much about the area. But if they are told 'go after the big windmills' they won't get lost that easily. 

Well, unless they decide to take it through the forest nearby the city. Getting lost in there is not hard. Fortunately the forest is not that huge and getting out shouldn't be a problem. The forest is relatively safe as only boars and other wild animals appear there. 

The forest is also having a small mine. Which means the city of freedom has to assure miner's safety, thus planting traps around or sending in several soldiers to deal with issues. Or at least that's what you have heard from a local miner with whom you shared a few drinks a while ago. 

As you climbed high enough to look over the entire eastern area something caught your attention. Shielding your face from the sunlight with your left hand, narrowing eyes. Why are there several hilichurls dancing in circles around something? Right in front of a temple?

This area should be clean from them. Did they build a camp nearby? Should you go back to the city and report it? It's just a bunch of hilichurls. It doesn't seem like an issue. You have dealt with much worse. Perhaps you could check it out. But first you'll have to descend again. As you feel sick while using a glider you refrain from using it at all. Which of course brings difficulties here and now. Fortunately you never got into trouble where you would be forced to use it.

Taking your time to carefully get down on the road. Walking in the direction you saw the monsters. Sneaking behind the trees and bushes, getting close as much as you can. 

Indeed, they are dancing around something that looks like a campfire. That would be alright, perhaps a ritual of theirs. But you had noticed the Abyss spell hovering just above the fire. Even if you wanted to ignore it at first, now you are obliged to check what's going on. 

The spell wouldn't appear out of nowhere. However the creature which casted it is nowhere to be seen. It's probably in the temple. There are four hilichurls, one of them is a shaman. Even if it didn't have a different appearance, you would be able to tell the difference from the rest as it was waving around with its staff.

Summoning your sword, giving it a quick glance. You still can't believe Diluc got you such a fancy looking sword. The blade have engraved runes close to the guard. The steel is a slightly blue shade and the hilt is so comfortable to hold. You do not need to be an expert to know this weapon is such a high quality. 

Mentally shaking your head as you remembered your scarlet hair friend's smug expression when you showed him the weapon. He rather seemed satisfied seeing you holding it. You didn't question him any more about the sword. You knew it would be pointless. Instead you flashed him a quick smile and thanked. 

You take a deep breath before dashing out of your cover. Using the momentum of surprise and bashing the closest hilichurl's mask. It didn't break but you could see the huge crack on the mask. Smirking for yourself and avoiding one of the monsters which attacked you from right. 

You thought of taking down the shaman first. As you tried to make a step you noticed how you are being pulled backwards. 

‘Shit!' 

It already casted one of its spells. You know it doesn't last long. But that doesn't mean you are not bothered by the fact how the other three hilichurls were also sucked into the vacuum. Attacking you.

Sending one of the monsters fly as you hit it hard with all your might. Blocking your side with a cryo wall. The hilichurl landed behind the shaman, making an unpleasant noise. 

The vacuum finally stopped and you can move from the spot. Slashing chest one of the attacking monsters. Ignoring its pained cry. As you knew the shaman would try to run away, you used your elemental powers to freeze it on spot. Sending it down with one swing. 

You are aware of that one hilichurl which landed behind the shaman. It's about to hit you with its club, clearly angered. You managed to manifest two of your cryo blades. Parrying its attack.

The blades disappeared as quickly as you made your next move. Feeling like it would be under your level to rely on your cryo powers to deal with a few weak enemies. Quickly finishing the remaining two. Wiping out the blood off your sword before making it disappear again. 

You glance at the campfire. The marking is gloving. Maybe it's a defensive mechanism, letting its caster know somebody neutralized the guards. Well if you can call a bunch of weak hilichurls as guards. 

You are not wasting any time and sliding into the temple. With careful steps you had passed through several corridors, avoiding any contact with hilichurls. You had expected the temple won't be empty. Those annoying Abyss Mages never leave anything unnoticed. If there are no traps then a ridiculous amount of brainwashed monsters delaying any intruder. 

If you are glad for something, it's the fact how agile and flexible you are. With some parkour tricks you managed to move across a huge part of the temple. Rather not looking down. You had learned it's a bad thing unless you want to feel dizzy. It reminds you of gliding, minus the weird feeling being carried to the side you didn't even mean to. You never said you are good with gliding!

However, in the next room you couldn't avoid fighting. Dealing with archers and one big mitachurl swinging its huge axe left and right was not fun. You were forced to use your ice spear in order to quickly deal with them. You felt like the Abyss Mage was behind the corner. The evil presence was strong.

With the sword in your hand you pressed forward, looking around for any possible trap. 

"Aha!" 

You whispered for yourself as a marking on the ground appeared. Being glad those traps can be easily discovered if one is careful enough. Also can be triggered by using magic. However you never can be sure what kind of trap you are dealing with so it's better to avoid it.

Carefully walking around, eyes glued at the markings just in case it would seem to activate. Pushing the door open and you find yourself in a bigger room. There's a petrified tree in the middle and the little furball was waving with its staff in the air. Casting something at the tree, making it glow. 

It knew about your presence. If the campfire outside has not alarmined it, then the loud battle before surely did. With one quick motion it casted a protective barrier around its body. Evil laughter escaping it's lips. Fortunately for you it's just a hydro mage. Annoying to deal with but also you know about how easily the shield can be broken if it's frozen.

"Stupid human, thinking you could outsmart me?!" 

The blue mage yelled at you, waving with its small fist in the air in a threatening manner.

"Ha. Trying to look dangerous are we?"

You taunted it. You can't help it but grin when the mage says something in its own language. No idea what it says but you are sure it's nothing nice.

Summoning your cryo blades. Chuckling a little. Certainly this is an interesting situation. Your day off was supposed to be just enjoying nature. Yet you find yourself facing an annoying problem. Whatever it was doing there, you will end its plans. 

Dashing forward, swinging your sword. Sending out a freezing surge of energy. The mage has quickly teleported away before the cold could reach it. Snapping your fingers and several blades fly its direction. One of them actually hits the shield right before it again teleports away. However it's not enough to completely freeze it. The frozen part quickly disappears as it gets canceled by the mage's own magic. Cryo or not, if they use enough power they can change the energy flow. Which makes it easier to remove the bad, frozen part, and reapply the hydro again.

"Persistent fool. You should have never entered this temple! You can't oppose the Order!" 

"Oh? Are you new or you really never heard of somebody blowing up an entire hideout in Liyue? Well let me just say one thing: having explosives RIGHT next to some highly explosive substance was not the brightest idea."

The mage cursed and hurled its hydro spell at you. You avoid it and dash closer to it. Your sword gets blocked by the shield which was expected. You can't get through it. Not unless you infuse your blade with cryo. As the mage chuckles at your 'stupidity' a sudden burst of cryo energy emerges from your weapon. Freezing the entire shield.

“Hmph.”

You can hear the mage’s panicked voice, it's trapped in its own shield. It will take a while before it can get rid of the frozen part. You swing your sword several times, slowly chopping away the shield and then it breaks. With your free hand you punch the mage, making it fly. Getting a second hit from the wall. Letting out a pained whine. You see how it raised its staff. It's about to teleport away again. 

'Those mages are such a nuisance all they do is running.'

You are about to give it a chase but several bubbles appeared around you. Trapping you on spot. They are about to burst. You quickly freeze them and get out of the trap. At first you didn't even notice but the little thing was celebrating, jumping from one leg to another. Sometimes you wonder how smart those things are. 

Before you could get closer to it, its shield regenerated. Great. Another cat and mouse play. At some point the roles of mouse and the cat were switched as you were forced to retreat and lure away one of its homing spells. 

When you finally break the shield again, having a tight grip on its throat. Finally you can just slam it and erase it from existence. If you have to compare dealing with Abyss Mages with something. It's probably as annoying as killing mosquitos. 

"So. What are you doing here?"

You snarl at it. You know it can't speak as you have quite a firm grip on it. Its hands are trying to free out but if there's something you know the best about them. It's the fact they lack any physical strength. They rely purely on magic. It's like dealing with a kid. But you don't want to choke it so you let it fall on the ground, pointing the tip of your sword at its face.

"Well? How many of you are here? What were you doing with the tree?"

"You think I'll tell you? Ha! Stu-" 

You kicked away it like its a football ball, your left eye is twitching.

It breathes heavily, crawling away from you. You summon a cryo blade, pinning the mage at spot. Scared shriek comes out of its lips, looking back at you.

"F-Fine I'll tell! I-Infusing a huge amount of elemental energy into those petrified trees have a negative effect-"

"Negative effect on what?"

"On the surrounding area of course!"

Narrowing your eyes and giving the mage a long look. For some reason you don't trust its words and it pisses you off even more. It's lying you think. Perhaps it would be better to just get rid of it. Rising your sword up to the air before swinging it down. Freezing the mage into a huge chunk of ice. Glaring at it for a brief moment before you get startled by a sudden clapping. 

Looking in the direction it's coming from. The Captain of Cavalry himself.

"I never get enough. Seeing you fight is exciting~" 

You roll eyes at his remark.

"Let me guess: you were here for a while but decided to just enjoy the show instead of helping me." 

You say in a nonchalant voice as you make your sword disappear.

"Correct."

"I guess I get what Diluc means about you guys are inefficient." 

You chuckle as he makes a hurt expression.

"Don't tell me you are gonna side with that grumpy guy. Anyway I was observing that Abyss Mage for a while. Been curious what it is up to and then you appeared. Technically you interfered with an investigation of the Knights."

You raise your hands up in a defeat. You know he is just joking but decided to play along. 

"Well what now, Captain? Will you arrest me?"

"Ah, no, no. Nothing like that, Sweetheart. I know what you did was purely in a good will. Besides you managed to get something out of it before..." He looks at the frozen mage. "You created an ugly sculpture."

"Pardon me? Ugly?"

"I jest. Although..."

You raise an eyebrow at him. 

"I wanted to ask you a while back but. Would you be willing to, you know spar with an old friend of yours? Like in the old days~"

His tone is smooth as always and his usual smirk is not missing. You ponder over the question. Can't help it but you feel like he is scheming something. Kaeya is always scheming after all. 

"Huh? If you want your ass getting kicked why don't you ask your brother."

His expression stiffens for a while. You actually managed to remove the smirk out of his face. Even if it's for a while, it still makes you feel satisfied. 

"If I lose I pay for a king sized dinner just for you. And perhaps some drinks at the tavern if you'd like."

King sized dinner? You realize how much you are hungry right now. Pressing your lips together. Considering the offer for a few more seconds before you agree.

Previous ✨ Next

[icarusinstatic]

The Mobius & Sylvie Roadtrip Fic is done.

It’ll All Come Out in the Wash

Summary: Sylvie doesn’t know what she did to deserve this (yes she does), but she’s sorry, she promises (no she’s not). The obligatory episode 5 road trip fic featuring, jealous Mobius and completely done Sylvie Laufeydottir.

Notes: Took a little longer than expected, but the road trip fic that no one asked for. For those of you who are very pro Sylvie/Loki this fic is not for you, just a heads up.

Read below or here at AO3

“I really wanted to hate you, you know.”

Sylvie looked up at Mobius meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror while the other man drove them both back towards the giant matter-eating cloud.

“Why? Because I’ve killed your fellow brainwashed TVA friends?” Sylvie didn’t much care for the answer either way, though the thought that this man didn’t hate her was curious. This was the man who went off with her fellow variant, but who hadn’t been there when she came upon Loki at the elevator for their meeting with the so-called TimeKeepers and Sylvie couldn’t stop the feeling of impotent rage from swelling up in her chest every time she thought about the moment after she had beheaded the animatronic monstrosity. But she quelled that rage with a deep sigh and thought about the variant who was as close as a brother to her.

Loki. When she had come up to him at the elevator there had been something deeply wrong with him. At the time he couldn’t say what had transpired between their last meeting and then, but seeing Mobius, as he had asked to be called, in the void Sylvie could guess.

Loki had appeared more devastated than simple questioning by TVA grunts would warrant. He’d radiated an absolute devastation Sylvie hadn’t let herself feel since just after she had escaped the TVA as a child. When she realized that she would never, could never go back to her home and to her people.

Mobius held her stare for a moment before focusing his eyes back on the road. There was an anger there that Sylvie wasn’t sure how to interpret. Yes, she had killed people that this man had known, but this — this was something entirely different. Mobius, he looked like Sylvie had taken something from him personally.

It was quiet for a couple more minutes before, “No. I’m not happy about that, but that’s not why I wanted to hate you.” Mobius eyed her for a second before continuing. “But I can’t, because you're you and I’ve never been able to bring myself to hate a Loki variant in my life.” Mobius looked up at the rearview mirror again making sure to maintain eye contact with Sylvie before continuing, “I just want to know that you won’t hurt him.”

“Hurt who? Listen TVA flunky, I don’t know what the hell you're talking about, but make yourself clear before I throw you out of this car and find my way to whoever is behind the TVA myself.” Sylvie was quickly beginning to lose patience with the conversation. She had more important things to do than listen to whatever bullshit TVA flunky had to say about hurting people.

Sylvie had hurt more people in her life than she cared to think about and the way her day was going she would hurt more people before her mission was over.

Mobius sighed deeply, then looked as if he were steeling himself, a vein jumping in his temple, before answering. “Loki, I want to know that you won’t hurt him.”

“Oh, of all the idiotic things we don’t have time for, this is the worst.” Sylvie couldn’t believe that she was getting the don’t hurt him conversation from a damn TVA agent right now. “He’s probably already dead,” and didn’t that send a stab of pain through her heart, “Why do you even care flunky?”

Sylvie expected Mobius to give her some self-righteous bullshit answer about how of course he cared because he was a good person or some such nonsense about how the TVA cared about the well-being of everyone in the Sacred Timeline and they had all been part of that timeline at some point. Sylvie had heard it all from the minutemen she ran into, though they were more likely to go straight into attempting to prune her. The thing is, she was expecting a non-answer and for them to go on with the plan after a few minutes of one-sided awkward silence — she was never awkward about anything, but her traveling companion seemed to be made up of awkwardness if the previous few minutes of conversation held up.

What Sylvie wasn’t expecting was for Mobius to suddenly slam on the breaks.

Hard.

Before she could voice her objections to this new brand of idiocy Mobius turned around in his seat after bringing the car to a stop and held up his hand for silence, finger pointed right in front of Sylvie’s nose. She considered biting it off if the next words out his mouth proved irritating enough.

Hell she might do it anyways. This was taking too much time and she could probably make up a good enough lie about not seeing the TVA agent if she ran into Loki — not that she would admit to hoping to see the other variant of herself again.

She couldn’t afford to hope he was alive — couldn’t afford the disappointment.

“Three things.” Mobius’s pale face was slightly flushed his frustration with the situation so great. Sylvie wondered how he had dealt with Loki if he was this easily flustered. “One, Loki isn’t dead. I know it.”

“How” Great, Sylvie was riding with a hopeless optimist.

“I just do. After all of this, he can’t be dead. Okay?” Mobius barely gave her a chance to roll her eyes at him before continuing. “Two, of course I care. Loki is my friend and I know that he can be anything he wants to be, even if the things he chooses to do aren’t my favorite. And three, why wouldn’t you care? I thought you two were in love? I mean,” He paused seeming to pull himself together a hint of something flashing behind his eyes too quick for Sylvie to make out, “I just don’t want you to hurt him, okay. Can you promise me that?”

Sylvie didn’t say anything for a minute, her brain had shut down after Mobius had claimed that she was in love with Loki or that he may be in love with her because — “What are you talking about in love? Are you high Mobius? Or did you just hit your head too hard when you landed hear after being pruned?”

Annoyance clouded Mobius’s features, annoyance that turned into real anger the longer Sylvie spoke.

“You and Loki are in love! Don’t try to dodge the issue. It’s what caused the nexus event on Lamentis-1.” Mobius leveled her with a glower, his jaw tightening enough that Sylvie thought she could see a vein jumping in his neck.

Sylvie would be impressed by the other man’s glower if she wasn’t so busy being vaguely nauseous at the thought of being in love with a variant of herself. Loki wasn’t so bad to deal with, but god they were far to similar to ever have a chance at loving each other. Sylvie may be a hedonist, but even she had her limits.

“I have never heard someone be so wrong so fast about something in my life, and I just came from dealing with Judge Renslayer, so you know that’s saying something.”

Mobius looked like he was about to interrupt with something even more asinine than what he’d already said but Sylvie held up her hand to prematurely cut him off.

“No Mobius, you will let me finish. Now, hear me when I tell you this.” Sylvie took an unneeded breath before continuing, “I don’t know where you got the idea that Loki and I were ‘in love,’” and Sylvie couldn’t stop her self from using air quotes if she wanted to, which she didn’t. “But that’s definitely not a thing and I know that Loki wouldn’t think it’s a possibility either. I don’t know what caused the nexus event on Lamentis, but it definitely wasn’t that so your sources were wrong. Who did come up with that idea anyways?”

Instead of answering her, Mobius frowned to himself before seeming to come to a decision a hint of relief causing his features to lose some of the irritated fire behind his eyes. Sylvie wasn’t sure, but it looked like his eyes had lightened up a bit when she had denied being in love with Loki. Oh hello there.

“Well, okay then,” Mobius started, clearly trying to come to terms with what Sylvie had just told him, but before he could finish she cut him off.

“Wait, wait, wait, I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner,” This day just kept getting weirder and weirder. Never before would Sylvie have thought she’d be having this conversation with a mustachioed TVA agent in her life. “You like him don’t you?”

“Who?” Mobius asked, a frown making his eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

This man had some nerve to even pretend to be confused about this right now.

Sylvie was just about done with this whole situation.

“Who? Are you kidding me right now?” She couldn’t help but hiss out in irritation. Why was she surrounded by fools all the time. First Loki and now possibly one of his princes. Though why Loki would even choose to associate with this man was beyond her. The romantic fool had terrible taste in men and in plans.

Mobius just waited for Sylvie to come to terms with the situation, or perhaps he was wondering how best to ruin her day more. Sylvie couldn’t begin to care which option it really was though.

After this, Loki owed her one and Sylvie was going to collect.

“Listen to me TVA Flunky, and listen good. I’m going to ask you a question and you will tell me the truth,” Sylvie ground out between gritted teeth.

She waited until Mobius silently nodded, eyeing her apprehensively as he did.

Good. She was getting far too tired of these juvenile games as it was.

“Loki. Are you in love with him. Yes or no?”

Sylvie thought for a moment that she would have to get creative in getting answers out of the other man, but before she could do anything other than seriously consider maiming him Mobius nodded silently and waited for her reaction.

“Have you told him about how you feel?”

Another silent answer, but this time a shake of the head. Mobius pursed his lips in quiet agitation obviously unwilling to comment further.

Well too bad. Because Sylvie had had more than enough of this nonsense and she was putting a stop to it now.

“And why the hell not? Loki is the most romantic idiot I have ever come across.” Sylvie didn’t bother to raise her eyes at Mobius in irritation when the man had the nerve to start looking jealous again. “Don’t look at me like that. I told you, it’s never going to happen between Loki and I. I just mean that within 2 hours of meeting him I could tell that he was in love with someone already. Did you know that he had the nerve to tell me love was like a dagger? Of of the ridiculous metaphors I’ve heard that one takes the cake.”

“Love is like a what now?” Mobius had an amused almost fond look on his face, as if he were remembering something.

“Oh, finally he speaks. A dagger, you idiot. He said love was like a dagger.” Here she leveled her most fearsome glare at Mobius. “Now, why would Loki ever come up with something so stupid and trite as that I ask you.”

Mobius was full on grinning now, “It’s just, before we headed to Roxxcart I tried to give Loki his daggers back so that he wouldn’t be entirely defenseless if we ran into you.”

Oh he had it bad, didn’t he?

Sylvie couldn’t stop herself from laughing if she wanted to.

“Wait, you mean to tell me that you tried to give a Loki variant a weapon? Oh, I’m sure your superiors loved you for that. Tell me, how long did they let him keep them?”

“I didn’t want him to be unarmed, I know how dangerous you guys can be.” Mobius had the good grace to look abashed, and he really was sort of perfect for Loki wasn’t he? “Anyways, Hunter B-15 took the daggers off Loki just as soon as I handed them to him.”

“You do know that he has magic right? I mean that couldn’t have escaped your notice?” Sylvie wasn’t trying to beat a dead horse here, but the thought of anyone with the TVA wanting a Loki armed was just too much for her.

There was a beat of silence before Mobius nodded a light flush rising to his cheeks. “I may have... forgotten that fact in the moment.”

She couldn’t believe it, they really did deserve each other.

“Okay, okay, one last thing and then we can get on with things.” Sylvie didn’t stop herself from crowing with delight in her head when Mobius reared back at the sudden emergence of her short sword just inches from his neck. Loki wasn’t the only one good with a magic trick after all.

He shot her a not all surprised look, but there was definite disappointment lurking in his eyes.

“I really thought we were having a moment there, Sylvie.”

A moment, sure.

“Calm down, Flunky”

She ignored the muttered, “It’s Mobius actually,” from the other man.

“I want you to promise me that you’ll tell Loki how you feel when we find him again. And damn you for making me think we will, by the way.”

Mobius frowned, “But what if he doesn’t feel the same way? I don’t want to scare him off, and don’t tell me Loki’s don’t get scared. I’ve studied you all, I know that you do.”

Sylvie considered setting the other man straight, for her own piece of mind. Maybe other Loki’s got scared, but she had trained herself out feeling that over a long period of living in the midst of apocalypses.

Well, okay, mostly at least.

“If there’s one think I know about our Loki, it’s that he’s a lovesick idiot. I didn’t know exactly who he was infatuated with when I first met him, but seeing him after you were pruned really opened my eyes. I’ve never seen a Loki more devastated and I never want to again.” Sylvie paused and considered her words for a moment before plunging ahead. “You know how lucky we were that being pruned wasn’t our end? This may be your only chance to tell him, so promise me that when we find Loki you’ll let him know how you feel.”

Sylvie absently brought her short sword back into it’s place at her side waiting for his answer.

“This may be the first and only pep talk I’ve ever gotten from a Loki variant,” He paused at her murderous glare, “From a Sylvie at least. But yes, you didn’t even have to threaten me with that sword. I’ll tell him.

Thank goodness for that, it would make things infinitely easier for her if she didn’t need to worry about a jealous TVA agent after her. That was all this was, after all. Just looking after her own interests.

Liar.

“Good, now that that’s out of the way, can we please go find the giant cloud monster. Knowing Loki he’s already found his way there ahead of us, and the idiot needs all the help he can get.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” Mobius turned back towards the front of the car to start it up again, just before he started driving he flashed a thankful smile at the rear view mirror at her.

[tsuki-chibi]

Marichat May Day 20: Safety

This story is a sequel to my Marinette March and Adrinette April stories; I highly recommend reading those first.

You can also read this story on AO3: Cloudburst

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The first sight of a demon up close wasn’t nearly as horrifying as Marinette expected it to be. When someone said the word ‘demon’, she automatically thought of those pictures that depicted demons as monster with horns and tails and disfigured bodies.

But this demon, even up close, still just looked like an ominous shadow. Except that a shadow should never be able to swing a fist and send Blaze flying halfway across the city. Marinette’s heart almost stopped when she saw that; she was reaching for a yoyo that didn’t exist before she could stop herself, wanting to snatch Blaze right out of mid-air to safety. Her fingers, of course, closed around nothing.

“Damn it,” she hissed under her breath, clenching her hand into a fist.

Something purple moved in her peripheral vision. Marinette’s first instinct was that it was an amok. When she turned her head, she saw that she was right – but also not. Because the enormous black cat, shaded in a beautiful purple light, that was stalking towards the shadow didn’t look like it wanted to do anything but stop the demon.

“This is the true power of the Peacock,” Kaalki whispered in her ear. “This is what it was really meant for, not whatever bullshit that Mayura pulls.”

Marinette could only nod, a little awe-struck, as she watched the Peacock’s creation engage in battle with the demon. It was truly something incredible to watch. Despite how bad things had looked, the battle was over in a matter of minutes: Griffe snuck up behind the demon while it was distracted.

“Cataclysm!” he shouted, slamming a paw down on the demon.

Just like in Marinette’s world, the demon immediately dissolved into nothing.

What was left behind was something that looked a little like black ashes. They were swept away by the wind. Like magic the clouds dissipated, and the sun was left shining as though nothing had ever happened.

“That’s it?” Marinette said quietly to Kaalki, who nodded.

“That is the extent of a simple demon fight,” Kaalki confirmed. “But don’t be persuaded into thinking that demons are easy to deal with, by any extent. The miraculous holders in this world have done extremely well in choosing which miraculous to activate. Also, the Peacock user is very skilled at using her power.”

“I can tell,” Marinette said. Maybe Nathalie just wasn’t very good at it? The amoks that they had faced were nothing like what Marinette had seen here.

“Plus, this was just one demon,” Kaalki added.

“You mean that there can be more than one?” Marinette whispered.

“Oh yes. Hundreds of demons can form at one time.”

Marinette imagined that and shuddered.

It sounded too much like the scenario that Scarlet Hawkmoth had set up.

She and Chat had barely gotten through that.

Though of course, in this world it didn’t seem like the miraculous holders had to worry about being akumatized. Dealing with Scarlet Hawkmoth would’ve been a hell of a lot easier if Rena Rouge, Carapace, and Queen Bee hadn’t fallen prey to that.

Unless the demons could somehow brainwash people?

She took one look at Kaalki’s little face and decided that was something she didn’t want to know.

“Well, it seems like they were able to handle things without my help,” Marinette said finally, feeling a little silly over how frantic she had been to get out of the library.

Of course these four miraculous holders had it under control.

What had seemed like a huge threat to Marinette had just been another typical fight for them. Probably not very different than when Mr. Pigeon reared his akumatized head in Marinette’s world. From the outside, that could be perceived as a serious battle – but she and Chat treated it as no more than an annoyance because they were so used to it.

“Are you going to go over there?” Kaalki asked.

Marinette shook her head. “No. They didn’t need my help, so they didn’t me. I don’t think the right time to approach them is right after a battle when they’re probably tired… even if it was a simple fight.” She glanced over at the miraculous holders again.

Blaze had returned and was speaking to Plume. Neither one of them looked very happy. There was no sign of Griffe or of Fortune.

Definitely not the right time.

She silently jumped off the rooftop she was standing on, carefully making her way back down to the alley between the two buildings. She was trying to decide if she should go back to the library to do a little more research into demons when someone spoke up right behind her.

“Okay, Mademoiselle, just who are you?”