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hangmansgbaby · 5 months

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Royally Pucked P R O L O G U E

Masterlist

Warnings: Smut, oral (f recieving), protected p in v, little bit of restraining, clear consent, multiple orgasms, one night stand with no names, douchey guy

Denver, Colorado. Every year my parents host everyone at a resort in Northwest Denver. This year, as the only single one because of my divorce, I'm currently sitting in the hotel bar by myself while my family enjoys kid free date night.

So far the night had been pretty peaceful. Until this one idiot.

"Ya know, they say ski resorts are the best place to meet the love of your life during the holidays." I glance over to see someone I can only describe as a Chad.

"No one says that." I scoff, taking a sip from my drink. "Plus you're not my type."

"Oh yeah?" He leans in closer, and suddenly I feel trapped. "And what is your type then?"

The bartender walks up with two drinks and sets them in front of us. "Here ya go!" Before I could protest he's already gone.

"I ordered this for you." 'Chad' smiles, sliding the drink closer to me.

"No thank you." I push it away and down the last of my drink. "Can I get my tab please?" I ask the bartender as he moves back around pulling my wallet out.

"I got it."

"Nope, I can pay for myself." I insist but 'Chad' is already dropping his credit card on the counter as the bartender returns. "Whatever, have a good night." I scoff and turn towards the entryway to the lobby.

"Oh come on. Why don't you hang out a little longer?" I look back at him in disbelief. "What? We could get a room together, hangout with some privacy." He smirks. I roll my eyes and continue walking. "Hey! I'm talking to you!"

Suddenly, I feel a hand wrap around my arm and turn me to face someone. "This guy bothering you, darlin?" Instead of being met with 'Chad's' obnoxious face, I'm met with the most gorgeous green eyes.

"Uhm--" I stutter, what do I even say?

"Hey man, we were just heading to get a room."

"With my fiancé?" Oh, thank god for this man.

"I don't see a ring?" 'Chad' says smugly.

"I'm not used to wearing yet." I smile. "He only proposed at Christmas."

"I'll glue it to your finger so that way I never have to see you without it." The green eye cutie smiles and presses a kiss to my left hand. "Thanks for keeping my future wife company but I'll take over from here."

'Chad' just scoffs and makes his way back to the bar where his friends sit laughing at him.

"Thanks for saving me back there." I say gratefully once 'Chad' disappears. "You didn't need to do that."

"It's no problem. Should I escort you upstairs? Make sure the creep doesn't follow you?" He smiles and offers me his arm. I smile sweetly and loop mine through his.

"That would be great." We head up to the elevator landing.

"So what are you doing out here by yourself?" He asks me as the elevator closes and I push my floor number.

"Nieces and Nephews are at kid's club so my whole family is out for date night." I sigh, leaning against the wall.

"Boyfriend couldn't make the trip?" He questions from the other wall.

"Oh no, no. I just got divorced so nothing is happening on that front." I chuckle nervously.

"Well he was an idiot." The man states. I look him in the eyes for the first time since entering the elevator and I can see the genuine sincerity in his eyes.

"How about you? No one to keep you otherwise occupied here?"

"No, I'm traveling for work right now."

"Oh?"

"Yea it's nothing major. Day was a dud until I kinda lucked out on the last hotel available tonight." He smirks.

"Yeah? How come?" I blush. He's moved closer to me. I can only tell because I've pushed myself further against the wall of the elevator. How long have we been in here? A minute? Ten minutes? I honestly have no idea. It feels like hours.

"We lost our game and up until I saw this gorgeous girl, I for sure thought today was doomed to end badly." I can feel my heart skip a beat at those words. His emerald eyes bore into mine as he reaches up and gently strokes a few strands of hair behind my ear. I close my eyes, allowing his touch to linger. My body tingles with anticipation. He leans down, closer and closer, till-- "But, she's pretty adamant about nothing happening on the romance front." He says as he steps away. Oh this man.

"Mmhmm. So how would you convince her otherwise?" My voice is breathy.

"I told her it was okay that we kept things casual." He smirks, "I leave tomorrow morning."

"No names?" I suggest.

"If you'll let me show you that not all men are as terrible as your ex-husband must have been, I'll do anything." He promises and takes hold of my waist. I'm instantly on cloud nine, practically giddy.

"Anything?"

"Anything you want." He whispers, pressing his lips against mine. I melt into the kiss. Suddenly the doors open and he pulls away. "Lead the way?"

I nod, exiting the elevator and walking towards my room. He has is arms wrapped around me from behind, trailing kisses along my jaw and neck as I try to get my key card to swipe. "Ya know, Denver, the key card works if it's facing the right way." He reaches a hand up, flips the card around and opens my door.

"Denver?" I question, turning around and stumbling through the doorway backwards, kicking my shoes off.

"Well I gotta call you something but since we're doing no names, I'm nicknaming you Denver, for the city we met." He states, tugging off my shirt.

"Okay. What should I call you?" I ask, closing the door.

"You choose." He says with a smirk, pulling me back against his chest. I've only now noticed how enticing and sinful his smirk is and it makes my knees weak.

I blush as I try to think of nickname as he start kissing my neck again. "Alright. How about Rocky?" He pulls back to look at my face and raises a brow at me as he starts unbuttoning my jeans. "Well you said you lost a game. Game usually means sport and the only team from Denver I can think of is the Rockies."

"You think the Rockies are playing a baseball game during this season?" Rocky asks, pushing my jeans and underwear down my thighs and tossing them across the room.

"I could care less about when baseball season is, Rocky. You got five seconds to get me on that bed or--"

I don't even finish my sentence and Rocky is already picking me up. I wrap my legs around his waist as we start to kiss. He slowly lowers me onto the bed. His hands slide across my hips he squeezes, sending chills up my spine. I gasp as he begins to trail soft kisses from my lips to my jawline, down the valley between my boobs. When he comes to the sensitive spot between my legs I whimper.

"Rocky..."

His name slips out of my mouth on a quiet moan. His mouth is on my clit in seconds, sucking gently. I move my hands down to his hair, running my fingers through the blonde locks.

"Fuck!"

His hands move to my knees, moving them apart slightly before he places his lips against my folds. My head falls back into the pillow as I begin to rock my hips upwards. I grip his hair tighter, causing him to pull slightly harder.

"Oh fuck, Rocky! Please." I beg as he licks me through my slickness. My hands tighten around his hair as I reach my climax, throwing my head back as a loud cry leaves my lips. I fall back onto the mattress as he pulls away. When I open my eyes, he's sitting at the side of the bed staring intently at me. "Wow." I breath.

He shakes his head slightly then leans over to kiss me lightly. I softly moan at the taste of my release that still coats his lips.

"You sure did enjoy yourself there, Denver." He smirks.

"Shut up." I laugh, flipping us to where he is flat on the bed and I'm on top. He runs his hands up and down my thighs, eliciting another moan from me. I subtly grind my hips against his.

"God, you're beautiful." He groans, his hands moving to my hips to help me move. I continue grinding against him and I can feel him harden even more underneath me. "Jesus, Denver." I smile down at him. "I need to be in you now." Rocky flips us over and reaches for his jeans.

"Expecting to get laid tonight?" I giggle as he pulls a condom out of his back pocket.

"Nah. My buddy slipped it into my back pocket after I chased off that guy." Rocky's cheeks are flushed as he holds the foil packet. "We don't have to... I mean..."

"Put it on hotshot." I smile, shifting up the bed to lay on the pillows. "Or I could take care of myself." I smirk as my hand drifts to my soaked center. He gives me a cocky smirk before ripping open the condom and sliding it on. He crawls up the bed and pulls my hand away, placing it above my head. His other hand positions my other hand and pins them both together against the pillows.

"Is this okay?" He asks, positioning his cock right against my folds.

"Yeah." I moan as he presses himself against me.

"Good." He smirks then leans forward and kisses me, his tongue dancing in my mouth as he slips inside me.

It feels so good. It almost felt too good. It felt better than good. It felt so fucking right. As we kiss, I can feel my walls clenching around him as he fully sinks in. I'm completely engulfed in him, taking every ounce of pleasure he provides. Every thrust brings a new wave of euphoria and pleasure, leaving me moaning his name.

"Denver, oh god!" He groans as he releases my hands to hold my hips and starts thrusting faster and deeper. My orgasm builds higher and higher as he continues, filling me over and over again. I feel myself getting closer and closer to my climax. I feel him push a second time. Before I know it, I'm coming undone.

"Ahhhhh! Rocky!" I scream as my orgasm crashes into me. We stay connected as the waves of pleasure run through us and I feel him spill into me. After a few moments, he pulls out of me and tosses the condom into the trash can before collapsing beside me, breathing heavily. I can hardly breathe myself, but I manage to roll over and snuggle into his chest.

"That was amazing." He mutters into the top of my head as we drift back to sleep.

When I wake up the next morning, everything aches. I roll over, trying to stretch my sore muscles. As soon as I do I realize I am alone in bed. I quickly jump up, grabbing my phone to check the time. It's 9:45 in the morning. "Rocky?" I call walking over to the bathroom but it's empty. turning back towards the bed is when I notice his clothes missing and a notepad on the bedside table.

Denver,

Thank you for a great night. I'm glad that I got to spend some time with you, even if it was for the night. Good luck in whatever adventure you find yourself in.

Rocky

PS you look cute when you sleep ;)

Three knocks ring through my room as my sister's voice rings through.

"Layne? You alive in there?"

Oh I am so royally pucked.

Taglist (join here): @mamachasesmayhem @sarahsmi13s @thedroneranger @kmc1989 @dempy @buckysteveloki-me @hangmanshoney @hookslove1592

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backtothefanfiction · 4 months

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Circus!Peter Parker x Reader Imagine

Okay, so I just saw a video on tiktok of these two circus kids practicing a new routine together and it got my brain thinking. But I don’t have the time or capacity to fully write it as a whole story. However if I don’t at least get the idea roughly out of my head, it’s just gonna keep growing and distracting me from the writing I should be doing. So here’s a quick little bullet point headcanon type story. Enjoy

It wasn’t unusual for those in the circus to fall in love. After all, when you spent most of your time travelling from one town and city to the next, it’s difficult to meet new people.

His Mother was an acrobat. His Father was a strong man. From an early age he showed a strength like his Father, but had a nimbleness and skill similar to his Mother, making him perfect for the trapeze. A real adrenaline junky he was swinging around and hanging off of the many ropes and strings attached to the roof of the big top from the age of 4.

You however, were not born of the circus. An orphan, left abandoned as a babe in a basket around the back of one of the tents, swaddled in bright fabrics from the clowns act, to be found by the costume designer and raised as her own. She had been a middle aged woman who had not found love but always longed for a child.

You loved to pop into the towns and cities with her, scouting through fabric shop after fabric shop for pretty, colourful fabrics for the performers costumes.

You loved to watch from the curtains every night as they donned your Mother’s creations and put on a show for the crowds to oooh and ahhh.

You can still remember the first time they let him perform. There were small gasps from the audience as they saw him emerge from the curtains to stand in the middle of the ring. He was only a year or so older than you. You watched carefully, stomach in your mouth, as he swung from one trapeze to the next, without a net, until he was on a tiny platform, way up high in the big top. You could only stare, as he fastened his wrist to a looped bit of fabric before he took a small hop and leap off of the platform. It was like he was flying as he swung around the room, twisting and turning his body until he was slowly lowered back to the ground. The crowd erupted in a way you had never heard before and you knew it had changed you.

From that day on, you would sneak off to watch his rehearsals as he practiced under his Mothers experience gaze. Neither of them seemed to realise you were there at first, watching from the edge of the tent. But as the days went on and the weather changed you found yourself growing bolder and bolder as you stepped further and further into the tent.

It didn’t take long until they noticed you then. His Mother growing frustrated as he became distracted by you. She watched you closely too. Kept an eye on how your eyes watched him swing back and forth in the big top.

“Would you like to have a go?” His Mother came over and asked you. You weren’t quite sure. Making an excuse to leave, telling her you’d have to check with your Mother.

You avoided that tent for a few days after that. But things quickly changed when his Mother came and found you instead. She knocked on your Mother’s trailer door late one night when you should have been sleeping. Your ear listing at the curtain that divided the small bedroom you had, only big enough for a single bed, and the main living area of the trailer. It didn’t take much convincing for Peter’s Mother to talk your Mother around into letting you have a go. After all, your Mother wasn’t stupid; she’d seen the drawings you’d been doing lately, knew exactly where you had been going.

The following afternoon, your Mother asked you to walk with her into town for some new fabric. She instead walked you to that big top where Peter was already doing stretches.

From then on, his Mother taught you both all that she could do. She began choreographing routines for you. He to be dressed as Peter Pan, you to be dressed as Wendy. When the two of you performed, you had the audience eating out of the palm of your hands.

That all changed though one stormy night as the whole troop packed up the tents and began to make their way to the next town. However, Peter and his family never arrived. The storm had made leaf covered autumn roads slippy and they crashed their car into a tree. His parents died on impact and Peter, the lone survivor of the crash, protected by the head on collision in the backseat, was sent by the police to live with his next of kin; an Aunt and Uncle who belonged to a different touring circus, the other side of the country.

16 YEARS LATER…

Both of you had continued to perform, cherishing the memories of your youth and the start you had in the business. Childhood friends torn apart, forever wishing the best for the other, despite knowing they’d never likely see each other again.

You barely thought about him these days as you decided to head to a circus convention in Las Vegas where you met a fire eater named Harry. He had been instantly mesmerised by you as you performed in a beautiful bedazzled costume made of scraps of red, orange and gold. He thought you looked like literal fire as you twisted around the set up performance space and he knew he had to have you.

The two of you talked for hours that week. He was passionate and handsome and although you wouldn’t say it was love at first sight, you’d definitely say it was lust.

When the week came to an end he managed to convince you to go back to his troop with him. They had space for a female acrobatics performer, their last one having to step down due to being pregnant. It was one of the reasons Harry had been sent to the convention in the first place. To find a replacement.

You figured you could do with a change of crowd, a different kind of scenery and so you packed up your camper van and the two of you drove back east to meet up with his troop.

You almost didn’t recognise him at first. He was older, taller, his body leaner. His hair that had been a mousey brown as a kid had grown darker, but as you entered that tent that first day to introduce yourself and practice, you quickly realised who he was.

Peter hadn’t needed a moment to recognise you. He’d realised who you were the second you’d driven into camp and gotten out of your van. He hadn’t dared approach you though, especially when he saw how you draped yourself over Harry- and why wouldn’t you. Tall, dark and handsome in his leather jacket. Daring and enticing with his skills. Peter had seen Harry’s act multiple times, seen the way he played with fire like it was nothing. It was like honey to the bees. All of the girls screaming and crying over him like he was the member of some boyband.

“Hey, I’m-“ you froze, one hand still held out as he walked towards you.

“Hello Y/N.” He smiled back at you.

“Peter?!” You practically squealed as you wrapped your arms around his neck. His breath chuffed against your neck in delight as he folded his arms around you, accepting the hug.

It was like no time at all had passed between you. Even as you both recounted your own separate stories to one another about the events of the last 16 years. Both of you now in your early 20s and still doing the thing you loved most- swinging around the big top.

You had an intense week in the tent, creating a new routine that would shock audiences. Becoming reacquainted with each others bodies in a far different way than the way you were still acquainting your body with Harry’s at the end of a long day.

You created the story of a superhero and his damsel in distress. One of the clowns stepping in to play a comedic over the top villain for Peter to rescue you from.

It was an instant hit. The two of you garnering much attention across the different states you visited. Your childhood bond growing stronger every day that you worked together.

But as time went on, feelings grew. Peter had always been besotted with you, even when you were kids. And now you were fully grown, those feelings only became worse. But you were Harry’s girl. No matter how awfully Harry treated you.

At first, Harry was amazed by the act you and Peter performed. Found the positions you twisted your body into mesmerising and sexy. But as the weeks grew. As the applause for the act grew louder. Harry grew jealous.

There was a reason Harry played with fire. He was a hot head, with a wicked temper to boot. Everyone could hear your arguing across the camp at night. But you seemed to hold your own, kicking him out of the trailer when he was too drunk, growing too violent, encouraging him to take a walk and calm down. Harry would take a walk alright. Straight into town in search of more drink and a pretty girl to fuck his frustration out with.

It didn’t take you long to find out he’d been cheating. The argument that had ensued was nasty. All anyone could do was stop and watch on as you threw out his clothes into the mud, telling him things were over and that he should find somewhere else to sleep. In his rage he accused you with having been sleeping with Peter this whole time anyway. Peter listening to that had decided it had been enough.

Peter had raced to step between the two of you. He punched Harry in the face before taking the last of Harry’s stuff you held in your arms and chucking it at him. “Go find somewhere else to work.” Peter had spat at him, “You’re not wanted here anymore.”

Harry had packed up his things into his old beat up car and driven off that afternoon.

The whole ordeal had you feeling like you were stuck in a spin, rapidly spiralling out of control. But he was there. Peter was there. He watched as you threw yourself further into your work to get over it. Held your hand through it all, until one day the tears stopped and you could see clearly again. See him stood there in front of you, heart laid bare.

“I’ve always loved you.” He said when you showed up for dinner at his cabin post show ready for a debrief. You had been met with candles and music. At first you wanted to run, but then you saw him, stood there, that hand still outstretched to you. As it always had been, even as children. That promise that he’d hold on tight. That he’d never drop you. That he’d always be there. So you took it and you never let go.

You grew old. Performed many more shows. Had a family and created performances all four of you could perform. From children to adults, your love story laid out in the big top for all the world to see. Forevermore.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #andrew!peter parker #peter parker imagine #spider-man #andrew!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #circus au #the amazing spiderman #andrew peter x reader #andrew!peter imagine #andrew peter imagine #circus!peter Parker #acrobat!peter Parker

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sandinthemachine · 1 year

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Please 🥺 rodolfo parra is very much underrepresented on this platform "Be good for me and I’ll untie you" would be 10/10

This has been sitting here patiently and with the brief Rudy explosion I figured it was time to finish it :)

I am very curious now if it has been the same Rudy anon the whole time or if you are all different Rudy fans patiently waiting for your moment, I just wanna know

Warnings/tags: Shibari (reader being tied), oral f!receiving, piv sex, afab reader w/ no gendered pronouns

I think it's pretty light but with where I've been going lightly I might not be so good at measuring that anymore lmao

I was also listening to Tessa Thompson's "Grip" on loop if ya want some ambience

"Oh...my." You draw in a sharp breath as Rudy's fingers finish untying the last knot. The ropes dig in along your thighs, spreading them open before twirling and twisting along your torso and down your arms, ending in a looping knot firmly securing your wrists to the headboard.

His hands run along the edge of the ropes, traveling up and down your side. “How is that, Cariño?”

You smile nervously. “A bit weird.” You chuckle softly, shifting your shoulders and looking down at yourself. “Not too bad, though.”

His hand finds your hair, running long, soothing strokes through it. Instantly you’re relaxing into his touch, his soft voice reaching your ears as your eyes drift closed. “You still want to do this?”

“Yes,” you breathe, feeling his grip on your hair tighten, pulling your head back against the bed as his lips find yours. You sigh, feeling his body settle over you in a warm wave, his smooth skin brushing against you and pushing the roughened ropes into your own skin. You moan at the contrast, and his tongue slips into your mouth in long, languid strokes that pull you into him. Already you can feel yourself drowning, surrounded by his warmth.

And then he’s pulling back. Cold air rushes into the gap left by his body, raising gooseprickles along your own. You whine, straining against the ropes to reach his lips again.

“Easy,” his palm settles on your cheek. “Relax into it…yeah, just like that.” He kisses your jaw and you twist to catch his lips but he pulls back, clicking his tongue at you. “Are you going to listen?”

“Rudy,” you pout.

He smiles. “You have any idea how cute you look begging like that?” He leans in again, and you stretch your neck up to meet him. He stops just out of your reach, his breath fanning across your cheek as his face breaks into a grin. “Be good for me and I’ll untie you. Can you do that for me?”

You nod, swallowing. His hand wraps around your jaw, and you let him push your head back into the mattress, tilting it upwards so warm, wet lips can find your neck. You bite your lip, struggling to stay still as he leaves a slow trail of marks from your jaw down to your collarbone.

He stops there, his breath tickling the bottom of your neck and drawing a shivering whimper from you. He places a featherlight kiss on your sternum before pulling back again. This time you manage to stay still, resisting every urge to squirm as he looks down at you, his wandering eyes taking in every freckle and scar and stretch mark while the ropes hold you open for him.

Before it all becomes too much he’s leaning down again, leaving more constellations of kisses along the patches of skin uncovered by the ropes.

And then his mouth is hovering over your core, fingers pushing your slit open for him. The ropes hold you too tightly to look down and see, so you let your eyes close, gasping at a cold rush of air as he purses his lips and blows on your clit.

You just know he’s grinning down there.

He runs his fingers along the inside of your thighs, watching your muscles tense as they are held tightly in place.

You whine again, and he answers by placing a delicate kiss on your clit, too small and too little, but before you can protest his fingers are on you, running up your slit and back down just before they touch your soft spot. He lets them catch at your entrance and shoves one in fast, to the knuckle, smiling at the sound that escaped your throat.

And then his mouth is on your clit for real, rolling his tongue over it roughly. You can’t squirm or twist away, and all the overwhelm rushes through your mouth in an incoherent babble growing steadily louder as he sucks, shoving another finger into you, and now his tongue is swirling fast circles around it as his fingers curl into you and you want more.

“Rudy, please.” You sob as he sucks harder, feeling the words skitter away from your tongue. “Not yet, please not yet.”

His lips pull back, placing a kiss on your inner thigh as his fingers continue to work inside you. “What do you need, mi amor?”

“You.”

“You have me already.”

You bite your tongue in frustration at the smirk in his tone. “You know what I…” you whimper again as he slips a third finger inside you. “I want all of you. Fuck me, Rudy, please, let me come on your cock.”

Immediately he pulls his fingers out, your walls fluttering around emptiness. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You huff at the laughter in his voice, preparing a retort before he slips the head of his cock up through your folds and drives forward, fast and precise, drawing a scream from you. He stops to check on you but you’re already blabbering again, urging him on, and he’s bracing himself over you, his mouth finding a soft spot under your jaw as his hips punch into you, hard and fast.

You barely last three thrusts before his name is tumbling out of your mouth again, every muscle spasming and straining as he keeps going, working you through it until every muscle goes limp and you can’t anchor yourself in place anymore but the ropes are still there, doing the job for you.

You arch your back, feeling the way the knots dig in along your stomach, scraping your skin as they hold tight against your ministrations. It makes you feel strangely secure, knowing you can let them take your weight for you.

You didn’t think it would feel freeing to relinquish your control like this, to let the ropes hold you while you give yourself away, but you find yourself moaning as you finally relax into them, letting them hold you still as he pounds into you, his arms braced along your sides and his mouth on your neck, blocking you off from the world so all you have to do is focus on the feeling of his cock slamming into your walls, sending sparks of burning pleasure up your spine. Suddenly everything in you tightens again and you sob as it snaps.

A choked groan leaves his lips as he breaks along with you, continuing to thrust and give you everything he has before finally slowing down and collapsing on top of you, forcing the air out of your lungs. A weak puff of laughter escapes you at the pleasant feeling of his weight on top of you, his softening cock still inside you.

He doesn’t stay there long before pushing himself onto his forearms again, watching you inhale a dramatic breath. “You still want to be untied?”

“Very funny.”

He smiles, nuzzling into your cheek. “Of course I am.”

“You’re lucky I’m still tied up or I’d get you so hard for that.”

“I’m terrified.”

“You’d better be.”

You both chuckle together again, and despite your big threats you find yourself settling happily into his arms as soon as you’re free. His fingers brush along the rope marks as his face nuzzles into your hair. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you breathe, letting yourself drift off into sleep as he tucks your face securely into his neck.

#sacrifice to the rudy anons #or is just one?#unclear #rodolfo parra #rudy #rodolfo parra x reader

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mirakurutaimu · 9 months

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could you expound more on that time travel plot that you wanted to run as a ttrpg game? that or share ideas or concepts youve had for tabletop

the idea wasn't really more fleshed out than that, just the concept of a majora's mask-style campaign where there's limited time ingame, the time and position reset back to the start of the campaign while player characters keep their levels (and maybe limited time-travel proof carrying capacity). if an item from a previous timeline met its counterpart in the current timeline, they'd attract slightly, so PCs could theoretically figure out some kind of Vivre Card One Piece style system that they use to keep track of characters' locations (i.e. steal a personal item that an important NPC carries on their person - by floating the other one, you can use it as a sort of compass to detect them). mundane items that meet their timeline counterparts would simply disintegrate, whereas magic items that meet their timeline counterparts would cause a violent discharge equivalent to how strong the magic is. (kill a strong baddie and loot their magic amulet after a fight, then run into them in a subsequent timeline? that magic item is now basically a powerful grenade if you wanna spend it that way lmao). ideally there'd be some consistent presence chasing them throughout timeline jumps (i think the conceit i came up with was that the time loop was happening because cultists were trying to troll physics infinite energy through time travel or something, so maybe the pursuer would be a particularly powerful cultist or something. who knowz) i think i was in the process of fleshing out a cozy medium-sized map and a timeline of events (a festival, an assassination, kobold cultists in the mountains plotting stuff, etc.) whenever i lost steam on the project lmao. it'd be a fun idea for a short to medium length adventure. main inspirations were of course majora's mask and TaZ's eleventh hour arc which i remember being hella fun. my main TTRPG setting is hard to describe in a nutshell beyond, like. magitech sci-fi one piece lmao. my main issue is i'm the kind of DM who likes to over-prepare and my attention problems make sitting down to think of details and write a very difficult and annoying process, so I just end up jotting down ideas whenever they come to me

#askmi #one day I'll have meds for my attention problems and i'll run so much tabletop

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sharkneto · 1 year

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5 Rob 1234... These exist?!? How MUCH do they exist??? What are the odds that we will eventually see them someday?

(for WIP ask game)

I've shared a few snips of them before (found HERE), and god... hopefully? I've got so many goddamn WIPs and so much less time to write than I used to during covid times, I can't promise anything and especially can't promise anything being soon.

It's a concept I love a lot - I love Five and Rob's relationship, I love Rob constantly tricking Five into cooperating with therapy until he starts doing it willingly on his own. I like the idea of Five trying to keep everything tight to his chest and aggressively keeping it there until Rob can get him to understand that he doesn't have to do that, that he doesn't have to live like that.

But it's a rarely worked on WIP (partly hence why there's multiple files of different Rob and Five conversations rather than One Set WIP), around JT and the apocalypse fic and Number vs Apocalypse Week fic and random odds and ends I play around with.

So, would I like to share it? Absolutely. Will it be any time soon? Absolutely not.

Long snip for your time, though. This is 5 Rob 3

(cw: some discussion of the implications of Five's physical vs actual age in terms of his brain and cognition, mostly from the angle of Rob being excited about brains and Five unimpressed by it)

“What are you thinking about?” Five asks after Rob doesn’t start off their session in the first minute of their meeting starting.

Rob keeps considering Five through the screen. “Your brain.”

Five blinks. “You do that to everyone?”

“More or less. When they’re my patients, definitely. And if there might be something interesting going on. Yours definitely has a lot going on.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

The sit and stare at each other through the screen some more. Five leans back in his seat, eyes narrowed slightly. “If I ask for specifics for what you’re thinking about in regards to my brain, will it be a long winded way of talking about something I don’t want to talk about or is this genuinely a tangent about my brain?”

Rob hums. “If I’m clever enough maybe I can loop it back to your problems but currently I’m just thinking about your brain.”

“This a hobby of yours?”

“A little bit, I guess,” he says with a laugh. “Also my job, but it is why I went psychiatrist route instead of psychologist route. If you go to medical school they let you look at more brain scans.”

“I’m sure that’s super normal,” Five deadpans.

“How would you know, with your fifty-eight-year-old consciousness in a thirteen-year-old brain?”

Five crosses his arms. “It’s almost fourteen,” he defends.

Rob thinks about that for a second. They’ve sort of talked around this before, and maybe with the birthdate coming up they should talk about it some more. He’ll poke. “Aren’t we technically still six months or so away from your physical birthday?”

That gets an exasperated huff from Five. “October 1, 1989 is my actual birthdate and I’m keeping that, it’s a constant that’s never going to change short of me fucking up so badly I’m not born, in which case I’ve got bigger problems – although not ones I’ll care about because I won’t exist.” Rob keeps a straight face. He actually loves it when Five gets on these little time-travel-insane-consequence rambles. Feels like a sci-fi movie and Sarah can’t poke holes in it like she does when they watch time-travel movies. Five also really likes to get on these tangents, so they’re really good for getting him talking on days he doesn’t want to talk – not that seems to be a problem today.

Five pauses but Rob waits. He’s not done. The pause stretches for a couple seconds before Five huffs again. “I’m not moving my birthday because I arbitrarily and accidentally changed my linear position in time. October first isn’t my actual birthday anymore, either, but the amount of effort to figure out the new date is completely not worth the effort. I could do the much easier-to-calculate physical birthday in February—” he cuts himself off with a suddenly blank expression.

Rob frowns. “Five?”

“The day’s not February tenth anymore,” he says, brow lightly furrowed.

“Why not?”

He blinks again, obviously doing math. Rob doesn’t know what it is about Five’s expression that tells him that he’s doing math, but there’s a specific sort of blankness he gets when he’s running numbers. “February tenth was my physical birthday in the apocalypse,” Five says slowly, still a bit distant. Rob subtly slides his notebook over and grabs a pen, even though Five can’t see it with how Rob has his camera angled. “It was February tenth. Now, though, assuming this body is the body I originally jumped from 2002 in…. oh, it’s still just February second. That was dumb.”

“Did you want it to be more different?”

Five shakes his head, a small frown on his lips. “No. I don’t know why I thought that was going to be a significantly different date. April 2, 2019 versus March 24, 2019 are only a week apart. I could have done that math much smarter. Christ, I’m getting stupid in my old age.”

Rob smiles. They’ve looped back to what he’d originally been thinking about. “Or your brain is thirteen. And a half,” he adds when Five gives him a flat look.

“What does my brain’s age have to do with anything?”

“A lot, actually. Maybe. What do you know about brain development?”

Five stares at him for a long moment. “Nothing.”

“Ah, lucky for us I know a lot about it. The cliff notes version of it is that there are set developmental phases for brains from ages zero to around twenty-five. Twenty-five is when science and medicine generally agree that everything is up and functioning, it hangs out there for a few years before it starts going in the other direction. Before that point, it’s building up pieces and pruning connections that allow for better logic and more complex thinking.”

“You’re saying I’m half developed. And you’re declining,” Five says dryly.

Rob shakes his head, ignoring the easy insult. “No. Maybe. See, you’re a really interesting case of the physical versus consciousness. A really fascinating case study that could be a missing key in understanding where what makes us us sits. You, yourself, are fifty-eight, assuming you haven’t been messing with me and your whole family this entire time—”

“What would the point be of doing that?”

“—which I don’t think you are, which is why I accepted you as a patient. I don’t know how you’d even go about trying to parse it out, because it’s such a messy knot. It’s why we’ve been wondering about consciousness and the self for centuries, millennia. But you have such an extreme difference between the two that we might just be able to get a hint.”

It’s quiet as Rob finishes. Five sits considering that, expression slightly pinched. Rob waits.

As Five continues to not say anything, Rob’s gut sinks a little. Maybe he got a little too excited about this, misjudged how interested Five would be about it. He did just pretty blatantly say that this man, who is already stuck looking like a thirteen-year-old, might actually be stuck in a much more real way as a thirteen-year-old.

“Five—”

“You know,” Five interrupts, “you and Sarah make a bit more sense now.”

It isn’t clear if that’s supposed to be a compliment or an insult. Maybe it’s neither. Five usually likes to rub in insults. “How do you mean?”

“You both like puzzles. You just hide your intensity better than she does.”

Rob might have gotten a little too enthusiastic about how interesting a case Five is. “I’m sorry, Five, I—”

Five waves a hand, tone still low. “Don’t apologize. You know I appreciate candor. Was this the point?”

They haven’t been here in a little bit – Five directing with questions. Rob did miscalculate this. He can let Five keep the control. “Was what my point?”

“To talk about how shit it is to be a fully grown man who looks like a child?”

“No. It’s just something I’ve been thinking about and thought you might find it interesting, too. I had planned on today being a bit lighter on Big Things after last week.”

Five nods slowly. He’s not looking at Rob. “Wow,” he says after another moment. “Bad job of doing that.”

“I’m seeing that now, yeah.”

Five forces them to sit in that. Rob glances at the clock. He has forty minutes to salvage unless Five ends the session early.

“I get the appeal,” Five says after another long minute. “I’m an enigma on a lot of levels. Most of my life doesn’t exist anymore and what it was is so statistically improbable it should be impossible and unbelievable. This isn’t what all this has been about, right?”

He slips that question in as if it’s just an unimportant end to his statement. That’s how Rob knows it’s important. Five likes to bluster, likes to misdirect to avoid feelings and hard topics. The exception is when he needs real, important information. He’s not good at direct lies and it’s obvious the tactic he figured out for learning information he needed while trying to stay under the radar is to be as casual and nonplussed as possible. If Five doesn’t seem to care about the answer, maybe the person giving it won’t care about giving it either.

“No, Five,” Rob says without hesitation. Waiting until Five looks back up at the screen, he continues, “I agreed to be your psychiatrist because I think you need the help to sort through the everything of your life and also think I’m a good fit for helping you do that. You seem to agree, since we’ve been doing this for three months now. My own, side interest of what might be going on in your head isn’t a part of it, outside of my thoughts on non-psychotherapy approaches that might help you should you ever decide you want to try some drugs or physical treatments. Today’s tangent is just that, a tangent that I think is interesting but is non-defining of you or the work we do here.”

Five nods at that with a small frown. “To help you along on that tangent, then, so we don’t have to do it again – it’s wrong.”

“Okay?”

“Your little theory has me half-developed and stupid, of which I am neither.” He waves off Rob as he opens his mouth to apologize and explain. “It’s fine, as you just explained to me your brain function is also declining due to your advancing age. It is interesting, though, that your go-to direction for me doing a simple math calculation in an indirect way was to blame it on a possibly under-developed brain rather than the fact that I’m thirteen years older than you are and am farther along on my brain slipping into mush.”

Rob swallows and waits.

“But how I know you’re wrong about my brain is because, while I don’t remember much from being thirteen, I do remember some decisions I made when I was that age. One very big, very dumb decision. With absolutely no concern for the consequences and no back-up plan. That’s the sort of thinking thirteen-year-old brains do. It was a childish and very poorly calculated mistake. And I’m not that stupid now.”

“Understood,” Rob says. That sits between them, a bit heavy which was not Rob’s goal for the day so he adds, “You’re dumb because you’re old, not because you’re young.”

A smile ghosts at the edge of Five’s mouth. “Exactly.”

“Glad we cleared this up. I’m sorry I pushed us here, I misjudged. We’re good?”

Five nods. “We’re good.”

#i rotate these two in my head a lot #i'm really soft for their relationship #but it takes a lot of thought to write therapy (ha who would have thought) and i've got so many other projects #with JT as the current priority when i've got brain and time to Write Specific Project #that it really doesn't get much work #so #snips and chatting about it is what we've got #five finds therapy wip #i should have a rob tag #snips #ask game

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decepti-thots · 1 year

Note

how do u think springer is doing in his time travel adventures? also writing that made me remember that verity & springer split and it made me unbearably sad again..

this is always a question that is so... like there are two answers i have for this.

one is that the end of wrequiem is the whole 'when a story ends, the characters are doing what you last saw them doing forever' thing. like. the only reason the end of wrequiem doesn't collapse in under a bunch 'wait, but then-' bits of fridge horror is that. well. the story ends there! it's an ending that makes thematic sense. it works as a kind of emotional end statement to the whole thing, petty logic aside.

but also... i mean... idw is a continuity that has multiple extended stories about time travel. and it establishes really clearly how time travel works. time travel works by default as a closed loop/solving the paradox type deal. and it's really hard to resist the temptation to pull on the thread a little! because the whole thing is so obviously futile from an in-universe perspective when considered more pragmatically; and you run into some messaging too about the entire idea of feeling like you can change the past rather than live with what you've done and experienced. and it would feel very disingenuous, i think, to read the actual story that way. but if i think about the idea of it continuing past that...

anyway. i don't think it necessarily goes well if you take that route, is what i'm saying. i wonder to what extent springer is being honest about his stated motivation being to stop the war, though. like i think he does want to do that, but there's also this whole element you could poke at i think where... springer has never lived in peacetime! springer was built during and as a product of the war, he was handed off to kup as a mentor figure who was explicitly there to teach him how to be a soldier and took him out to fight. he has never interacted with someone outside the framework of war until he meets verity. so do i think springer is going to be able to do what he says he wants and somehow avoid the war? no. but i think he will probably be able to admit to himself, eventually, that he kind of wanted to just see what it would be like to live pre-war at least as much.

but i think that would be hard. imagine going back to before one of the most destructive events in your and many other species' history and trying to live knowing that if you can't change it then everyone's fucked. not that much of an escape really, psychologically speaking. you'd second guess everything. i feel like eventually you would just lose it.

there's a couple routes you could take, i guess.

springer going back in time is a closed time loop that is in some way linked to the start of the war. this is very mean and i don't want to do this to him, even though springer's ultimate goal turning out to be 'oh wow, the fifth dad was ME' is objectively very funny as a capstone. i cannot lie.

springer going back in time is just... it's irrelevant. and he has to try and come to terms with the fact that he cannot Main Character Syndrome his way into making the myth of a single hero saving everyone true. this option feels better to me because it gives Springer an arc that engages with the real problem of a time travel story about fixing things: the degree to which it assumes the course of history is a story, not something we turn into a story later. i think you could do a lot with a Springer who was born into a war going back to a pre-war era and coming to terms with that.

i do like to imagine that maybe one day he would find himself back where he started. i think a Springer who went through all that would have a lot to talk about with Verity, who was the first chance he had to make a friend outside wartime in the here-and-now, no trying to erase old mistakes needed.

(sidenote: i went this WHOLE THING and didn't even mention the obvious. imagine his reaction to young Impactor. man.)

#i know this makes me sound like i like the latter option better #but i actually spend a lot of time thinking about the former #however this is because i am Mean and like Sad Things as is known

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imthejudge · 11 months

Text

make sense of me

Warren Graham x Nathan Prescott

Chapter Seven Word Count: 8,257

Chapter Six

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

Read on Archive

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41111322/chapters/120710245

Chapter Seven: improve

The following morning comes all too soon, the night having gone by in a blur. Such as it goes. Warren wakes up feeling… strange. Knowing it’s his last day stuck in the 80s before attempting to travel back home. This uneasiness knotted in his stomach doesn’t come from the anticipation or worry over the feat. Not entirely. It comes from the fact that he can’t convince Nathan to come back with him. And having run out of time to do so.

If only he’d known earlier. Or if there was some way of discovering this before they’d travelled. Before the storm, before the fight in the parking lot, before everything. What he would give to go back, all the way back. Before Jefferson ever got anywhere close to Nathan and the others.

Warren certainly considered it. The temptation to turn the dial to a date before anything happened. But he knows it’s too big of a risk, not being able to voice the idea to Nathan, who he’s sure probably thought of it himself. Both refusing to bring it up, like an unspoken agreement that it wasn’t a possibility, as much as it hurt to admit.

Messing with time, well. It's dangerous. Warren doesn’t even want to dive too deeply into their current circumstance. His mind likely to explode from trying to wrap his head around what being in 1983 might’ve contributed to the future already. To try to ‘fix’ what transpired before the events of he and Nathan’s present in 2013? Warren doesn’t need to go through loop after loop trying to change the future. It’s chaos theory, you know, the butterfly effect and all. Living through the attempt would likely cause them more pain than actual help. And as selfish as it sounds, Warren doesn’t want to put him or Nathan through that. The choices they might have to make… the consequences with them.

So it’s with a dreadful acceptance that Warren starts his day, wanting to push it all far from his mind. But, despite it all, there’s that little, tiny, bit of hope that still lingers. That perhaps it’s not too late yet. That Nathan can be swayed, and that’s what keeps him going. It’s enough motivation to plaster a somewhat acceptable–and at the very least neutral–expression on his face when he and Nathan meet up with Lou at the Two Whales for an early start on their last day.

But even Joyce’s prized smile and his favourite order of Belgium waffles can’t raise his spirits, only managing a couple mouthfuls before he begins aimlessly poking at it with his fork, gaze downcast.

“Uhh, I don’t think so. Warren’ll be the deciding factor.” Warren drifts back to the conversation at the mention of his name, focusing on Lou and Nathan as they eye each other competitively. “You don’t think he’ll agree with me?” Lou feigns a look of despair, shaking her head solemnly. “Sweet, unaware Nathan.” She takes a long sip of the chocolate milkshake she has in front of her.

“What’re we talking about?” Warren looks between the two of them, completely lost.

“Your friend over here thinks strawberry is the superior milkshake flavour,” Lou throws a thumb Nathan’s way with an expression like he’d just tried to convince her that the sun revolves around the earth.

“Yeah, cause it is.” Nathan crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, the expression so strikingly reminiscent of the version of Nathan Warren recalls before everything that it sends a chill along his spine.

The feeling only deepens when he clues into the fact that he’s going to have to agree with Lou, and therefore disagree with Nathan. “Err, chocolate all the way, man… sorry.”

Nathan tears his eyes away from Lou to squint them further, disgust curling his lip. Arms still crossed, he gives Warren a quick once over. “This explains so much.”

Warren has to stop himself from bursting out laughing and he can see Nathan’s expression has lessened somewhat, too, allowing himself the slightest quirk of his lips. Lou looks between them, shaking her head disapprovingly before she turns away from them and absentmindedly stirs her shake with her straw, “I don’t know what you guys think is so funny, this is a serious matter.” But amusement flashes in her eyes when she flickers them back to the boys’ direction. “But onto actual serious matters, we’ve yet to figure out a way to divert the energy from the lightning strike to Warren’s car. Which, if we don’t do, then all our work will practically be for nothing.”

Warren considers this. He had the idea of potentially finding a metal wire that they could lead from the source of impact–right on the bald head from the statue centering main campus–to where they’d situate his car.

When he shares his idea, Lou nods thoughtfully. “It’s risky, but probably the best option we have as the point of impact is so awkward. We’re lucky it’ll be late in the day, but I’m afraid that as much as that means there won't be any students around to witness us doing this, there is going to be campus security lingering about. And I have a feeling that messing around with the statue of Jeremiah Blackwell in the very middle of campus is going to be like lighting a beacon for them.”

“We’ll just have to be extra careful, then.” Warren states, not wanting to dwell on all the things that could potentially go wrong with their plan.

“I agree,” Lou blinks, fixing her gaze somewhere past Warren, no doubt already going over details in her head. A silence grows, the two of them determinedly lost in thought.

“I need to piss.” Nathan announces spontaneously and tonelessly, straightening up from his seat so fast Warren almost jumps.

As he walks off to the direction of the bathroom Lou shakes her head, an air of amusement still about her. “He’s a strange one.”

“Yeah,” Warren agrees lowly, though not being able to help the little bit of endearment that seeps into the response.

“Are you excited to go back?”

Warren looks up at her from his slumped position, having held his head in both his hands as his elbows rested against the booth table. She’s gazing at him expectedly, her smile replaced by genuine inquiry and a hint of something that Warren can’t quite pin. Though, it reminds him of how his mom would sometimes prod him back home when she was worried over him.

To the future, she means. He hesitates. “Yeah.” No. The instant contradiction of the voice in his head comes as a surprise, almost like he’d been avoiding actually asking that question internally so he’d never fully admit it to himself.

She’s unconvinced, Warren can tell by the way her brows knit together. But she doesn’t say anything more since Nathan’s walking back towards their booth and throwing himself across from Warren once more. They get the bill, which Lou pays without discussion, then they’re leaving the comfortable coziness of the diner to brace for the contrast of the brisk fall air outside.

“Shotgun.” Nathan bumps Warren’s shoulder as they head back to Lou’s car. Warren rolls his eyes, letting Nathan beeline it to the passengers seat while he bends down to tie his shoelace that’s come undone. But instead of witnessing Nathan launching himself in the front seat like he expects once he’s finished, Nathan’s still waiting beside the car door. “Hey nerd, you good?” Nathan asks once Warren catches up.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” Warren drops his gaze, hand reaching out for the backseat door handle. Pausing, he lets go of it to set his gaze back on Nathan. “Actually, no. Not really. I can’t stand the idea of going back to the future without you.”

Shock registers on Nathan’s face momentarily as he stares back. A beat passes between them, where that shock morphs into something else, something Warren can’t decipher and just as Nathan opens his mouth to speak Lou pops her head out of the driver's side window to peer over at them inquisitively, “everything okay? You guys coming?”

They don’t say anything. Then Nathan drops his eyes as he turns away, opening the passenger side door to duck inside. “Yeah…” Warren eventually answers once he’s inside the car, too. “Let’s go.”

They end up splitting off from Nathan, who goes back to the dormitories to shower, while Warren and Lou continue back to the school labs for what is likely their last time. Warren finds himself hung up over all these ‘last times’. The last time he’d see the Two Whales in its prime. The last time he’d sleep in Lou’s dorm room. The last time he’ll routinely work on the reactor with the best lab partner he could ever ask for.

The last time he’ll see Nathan.

The hardest one to accept of all.

Nathan. Who has, against all odds, become his friend in the end. There is a twinge of something in his chest. Somehow the term ‘friend’ just didn’t feel adequate enough. It’s a gut-wrenching feeling, really, since it’s accompanied by the realization that if he would try to define it further, it would only hurt more. Because whatever it is that developed between them will be staying right here. Stuck in 1983. Forever.

So Warren doesn’t want to dwell on the thought, no–he outright refuses to think about it further.

But as much as he tries to push it all away Warren has a difficult time concentrating when Lou and him tackle what’s left with fixing the reactor. He finds himself struggling to focus his full attention throughout that morning. Even going as far as zoning out while working on it, sometimes–much to his embarrassment–during crucial conversations with Lou.

The saint that she is, Lou didn’t lose her patience when he’d ask her to repeat something, or when he–not once, but twice–dropped the pair of pliers he brandished when aiding her in lining the interior walls with the last of the new material.

Continuing to fumble into the afternoon, Warren adds it all up to his concern. His mind wholly and inexplicably taken up by a single thing. Nathan . But it isn’t just about his consistent worry over the fact that Nathan said he wouldn’t go back with him, leaving him behind. No, it was just simply…Nathan.

His presence, his attention. That smirk he’d point at Warren when he’d try to provoke him. His eyes, his hands, his hair. The jacket he gave to Warren so that he can breathe him in at all times. Notes of all the different scents that could vaguely be described as who Nathan is, but aren’t close enough to commit to. So Warren doesn’t bother discerning them. He just knows he can’t live without it anymore.

How–as much as Warren has been avoiding thinking about last night–something shifted between them. Something that could be traced right back to the very moment that Warren entrusted letting Nathan carry the reactor in his hands. The trust Warren hadn’t realized he had put in him then, somehow further solidified after last night. Because that was the exact moment Nathan decided to return that trust.

And it’s cruel, really, to have shared such a vulnerable moment together only for the repercussions to become as fragile as paper that he will have to shred to pieces in order to go back home. Repercussions that are, simply put, how Warren has never become so enthralled with another human being before. Completely and utterly invested in Nathan.

And just when Warren starts to wonder when Nathan will show up, the door to the lab opens as the very person saunters in, immediately sweeping his half lidded and dark-circled eyes to meet with Warren’s. And for the third time that day Warren lets the pliers fall from his grasp, the disruptive sound of metal hitting the floor ringing around the space of the lab.

Warren instantly darts to pick them back up, embarrassed, his lab coat crinkling noisily as he does so and further cementing his humiliation.

“Hey,” Nathan nods his head to Warren.

“H-hi,” Warren stutters out in response. What the fuck was that?! A judgy voice that sounds way too similar to Nathan berates internally. Warren can sense himself turning red–from embarrassment, definitely from embarrassment–and swivels on the spot he’s standing to focus his attention back to the reactor Lou’s still busy with.

“Hey, Nate,” she calls to him with a small wave of her hand. And then he’s rounding the lab bench to walk into Warren’s direct line of sight again, precisely the opposite of Warren’s intentions when originally turning away.

But he’s there. And Warren has no choice but to witness in silent horror as he crosses his arms and begins pulling his sweater–Warren’s sweater–up and over his head, exposing the skin of his back as the shirt he wears underneath rides up with the motion. Warren’s drawn to the spot, until his shirt falls back in place, almost hanging off of him, really, and Warren tunes in that it’s the Grease shirt he himself had been using as a pyjama shirt.

Warren’s eyes widen. He doesn’t know why he’s so taken aback by the image. It’s not his shirt. It’s Lou’s. And yet he continues aiming his dumbfound reaction with increasing obviousness at Nathan as if this second layer of clothing that Warren has worn himself is somehow scandalous.

Quickly fixing his face, Warren sends what he hopes isn’t a super noticeable side-eye at Lou who’s stationed across from him on the other side of the bench. She’s still transfixed by her work, to which Warren wastes no time shifting his attention back to Nathan. His hair is still a little wet from his shower, reminding Warren of how it had looked the day they’d first travelled here. The natural texture of his dirty blonde hair starting to come through as it dries. Some droplets that cling to the ends threatening to let go, and when they do they prove to be just as distracting as how they’d been on that first day after stepping out of the storm.

Nathan looks really good.

Warren tears his gaze away, pretending to be busy with a couple of tools that are laid out on the lab bench in front of him.

Nathan’s always looked good, though. He’s always been attractive, objectively so. Warren’s always known that. He supposes that’s what makes a popular guy like Nathan so popular… right? Is Nathan even popular? Warren assumes. Because he’s part of the football team and knows sooo many people. Not to mention his involvement with the Vortex Club, and whatever exclusive club within that club he’s a part of. So it’s easy to conclude how that, along with his obvious looks, makes him desired.

Okay, cool. So why is Warren so hung up on it? Yup. That’s Nathan Prescott. He’s also kind’ve an asshole. But not as much of an asshole as originally presumed. They’ve moved past that, and with all the acquired context, Nathan has turned out to be a completely different person from what Warren initially assumed. Therefore all of this factors as a reasonable enough consequence to Warren being internally occupied over the subject matter that is Nathan Prescott.

But, like, he looks sooooo gooood.

Warren lifts his gaze again, settling on Nathan across from him, now loitering on the lab bench adjacent to the one Warren and Lou work at. He’s always had those pronounced cheekbones, sure, but since when did Warren start paying so much attention to his neck–

“...did you want to take a break?” Lou leans into Warren’s frame of view.

“Huh?” He blinks, focusing on Lou’s tilted head across from him.

She quirks an eyebrow, looking over her shoulder at Nathan, then back at Warren with a slightly amused expression. “We’ve been going nonstop, it’s okay if you want to take a break and hang out with your friend for a bit. I can take over.”

“Oh, n–no, it's fine. Today’s the last day, we should take advantage of every minute.”

“There won’t be any point if your brain is too fried, Warren.” Warren gawks at her, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. Is it that obvious? “You’ve been working too hard, taking breaks is important, too. We’re basically done, anyways. All that’s left is reattaching the door,” Lou clarifies.

“Ah, right,” Warren only reddens further. “I mean–are you sure? Because I can focus, I swear.”

She rolls her eyes, motioning Nathan’s way with her head. “Go on.”

“So where are we going?”

Warren pushes open the door of the main school entrance, holding it for Nathan and craning his neck to look over his shoulder at him. After triple checking it was okay with Lou to take a break–who insisted–and quickly shedding his lab coat, the two of them were on their way out. “I told you, I just wanted to take a break. And I’m hungry. We’ve been at it since this morning.”

“We driving?”

“Yeah,” Warren steers them in the direction of the parking lot, hyper aware of the fact that this is the first time it’s only the two of them since last night, if he’s not counting the very brief morning they shared before meeting up with Lou. Which he isn’t.

Silently, they walk across campus until descending the few steps into the parking lot. “Can I drive?”

Warren comes to a halt in front of his car, his eyebrows raised in surprise when he looks at Nathan, “Uh, sure, yeah.” He lightly tosses the keys he already brandishes in his hands, Nathan catching them effortlessly.

“Where to?” Nathan looks at him expectantly once they’re sat inside.

“Well, I felt bad extorting Lou of any more money sooooo...” Warren twists himself in an awkward position so he can get to the wallet in his jeans pocket, fighting against the seat belt he’s already fastened. “I still have, like, twelve bucks left and was thinking we’d pick up some sandwiches from the gas station?” Nathan’s gaze drops to the few crinked bills in Warren’s hand. “Um, I mean, if that’s okay with you,” he adds.

“E-Z Gas it is,” Nathan confirms as he starts the car and begins shuffling around to rearrange it to his liking. Then he’s pressing random buttons that even Warren isn’t familiar with, the irrational fear that his Chevy might explode causing him to latch onto Nathan’s arm to stop him.

Nathan doesn’t react, but Warren jolts and releases his hold a second later, the motion having been instinctive. “What are you trying to do?”

“This thing have any music?”

Warren flips it over to the CD that he has in. It’s a mixtape he’d made himself featuring a bunch of his favourite artists–ironically from the 80s–that he had the intention of lending to Max. He never ended up mustering up enough courage to do so, with how intimidating her music taste is. Giving her a thumbdrive full of cult classic films seemed an easier bet, especially since she’d expressed an interest after that one time they’d nerded out over just about everything they’d ever watched for 4 hours straight.

Nathan rifles through the mixtape, one hand on the steering wheel as he maneuvers onto the street, the windows already down due to a brightly shining sun that’s had the afternoon to turn the interior of the car into a sauna. Warren welcomes the cool breeze that flows in, enjoying the sensation of the sun against his face that he knows is fleeting with the storm bound to roll in later that day.

The sporadic sound of the first few seconds of a variety of songs abruptly stops when Nathan backtracks to one he likes. The familiar upbeat synth tempo of Take on Me by a-ha blasts through the dinky speakers of Warren’s Chevy and flows out of the windows when Nathan dials up the volume.

Talking away I don’t know what I’m to say I’ll say it anyway Today’s another day to find you Shying away I’ll be coming for your love, okay

Warren almost thinks it’s a joke, trying to read Nathan for any indication that he’s mocking Warren’s choice in music. But he can’t find anything to suggest he is, instead all he sees is how he leans back, one arm draped over the steering wheel. His hair all over the place from the wind in a way that Warren could never replicate himself because it just looks so cool. Almost reminiscent of a frontman to a band of the current century they’re stuck in.

But most surprising of all is his expression. No ounce of fear nor furrow to mark his usual scrutiny. And even with the consistency having faded in the last couple of days, Warren doesn’t think he’s ever seen Nathan this at ease.

So, needless to say I’m odds and ends But I’ll be stumbling away Slowly learning that life is okay Say after me ‘It’s no better to be safe than sorry’

He doesn’t know what to make of it, doesn’t want to think too deeply that this is the manifestation of his acceptance to stay. And Warren doesn’t know if he’s hurt more by the fact that Nathan is likely experiencing this sense of freedom for the first time in a long time or that he’s already so readily accepted a life where he’ll never see Warren again.

Or, perhaps, Nathan is simply enjoying a single moment of uninterrupted bliss. Something that Warren is quick to want to join in on. The comfort of listening to a favourite song while driving with the windows down. The laziness of the sun hitting the skin of his arm as he props it up on the window. The current company they share. As if for a second they can hold onto a life that sounds so much more promising than the one offered. Like there is a better end to the story they’re getting.

“Oh, things that you say Is it a life or just to play my worries away You’re all the things I’ve got to remember You’re shying away I’ll be coming for you anyway”

Warren didn’t realize how he’d started to sing along, lowly, but he’s not alone. He sees Nathan’s lips move along with the words. And before they know it, Nathan’s turned it up even louder and the two of them are shouting alongside each other. Hitting the high notes as a duet, both out of tune but neither of them bothered enough to care because their chests hurt too much from belting it out.

“Takeeeeeee on meeeeeee,

Take. On. Me.

Takeeeeee meeee onnnnn!

TAKE ON ME.

I’LLLLL BEEEEE GONEEEEEE

IN A DAY OR,

TWOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

They’re both breathing heavily when the song finishes, the silence filled by the rapid intake of air for only a second before they exchange a look of understanding and Nathan presses the back button on the radio console to start the song over again.

Warren almost urges Nathan to forget the gas station and tell him to just keep driving. For another couple of replays of the song? For the rest of the evening? Forever? He doesn’t know, but he doesn’t want it to end. The hunger in his stomach protests to the idea, so when the same E-Z Gas station they’d visited to get the frozen peas comes into view, it’s with much reluctance that Warren brings up a hand to turn the volume dial down.

They park and go in to grab their sandwiches and some bottles of Coca-Cola, this time passing on the peas. When they return to the car with their stuff, they unsheath their sandwiches from the red and white checkered paper they’re wrapped in and scarf them down sitting on the hood of the car in silence. Leisurely, they sip on their drinks until there’s nothing left to preoccupy themselves with.

After a minute or so passes without breaking the silence, Nathan slips off the hood of the car. Warren has to suppress the panic that rises from within him when he does this, brought back to the last time he’d done the same maneuver. But Nathan’s not running off, no hint of frustration surrounding him like last time.

Warren watches as he, instead, makes his way to the backseat to pull his sweater back on then come back around to where Warren still sits on the hood. Nathan shoves his hands in his pockets, fixing Warren with his stare, “let's walk to the beach.”

Before Warren can respond, his body answers for him and he’s jumped off. “Okay.”

The steady sound of the waves crashing on the beach can be heard before the trees open up from where they walk to reveal the expanse of sand. There’s an ethereal look of sunlight behind dark clouds that threaten to rain, casting everything in a weird lighting that almost looks artificially improved. Warren’s acutely aware of the beginnings of the storm that is bound to hit Arcadia Bay soon enough and bring them the lightning bolt to take them home. Him home.

They take their time walking toward the water, their steps awkward from the uneven sand. Warren had been hoping for a chance when it would just be the two of them again, trying to gather the courage to say something that’s been on his mind ever since Nathan told him about everything that happened.

He suddenly stops, looking up from his feet and telling himself now is as good a time as any. “Hey, um. I’m gunna try and stop him, you know.”

Nathan stops, too, only a couple of feet from where the tide reaches. He wears a confused expression when he looks back at Warren.

“Jefferson, I mean. I know you’re going to tell me not to because it will be dangerous but I can’t let him get away with everything he’s done to those people–and to you–it’s not… it’s not right. I’m going to expose him, he’ll be caught for what he did.” It was true, it had been a consistent thought throughout Warren’s mind. Jefferson can’t get away with it. And Warren will do everything in his power to stop him. “My friend’s mom is a lawyer, so that will probably help. And I’ll obviously be super careful, I won’t get involved but I’ll talk to the right people who can investigate it. We’ll find that Darkroom you mentioned and–and he won’t be able to hurt anyone ever again.”

Warren’s wringing his hands together nervously. Nathan isn’t facing him anymore, not saying anything as the silence begins to stretch out. Warren’s worried he’s breached the already delicate subject. Almost wonders if Nathan might turn to him in anger or pretend he has no idea what Warren is talking about. To discredit everything from last night due to regret in his state of vulnerability, as if to say it were a mere fever dream Warren conjured up.

Without facing Warren, but instead with his body angled away to face the beach, his gaze distant, he says something in such a low voice that Warren almost misses it, so close to being lost to the waves that crash on the shore. “I never thought there would be anyone who believed me.”

It takes a second for the words to reach Warren, for him to fully understand the weight behind them. Said so quietly, so calmly as if it lessened their severity. But it’s devastating to hear, remembering how distressed Nathan had been when he found him the previous night. Wild eyed and frantic and so scared in his confession to Warren.

Nathan finally turns himself to Warren, his expression taut as though he’s calculating everything Warren just said. “I don’t even need to ask you if you mean it. ‘Cause I think I already know you do.”

“I do. I mean every word of it.” Warren has to try to keep his voice from wavering from the sudden sense of overwhelming emotion that overtakes him. Of course he’d meant every word. Nathan deserves that. And Warren tries not to think how it will sort of feel like avenging him. Because even if Jefferson goes down, he will have succeeded in bringing Nathan down with him, as far as he knows.

“I know.” Nathan repeats, offering a small smile that’s quick to slip away again.

They watch the waves for a little while, Warren finding a strange comfort in the way it steadily lulls and crashes onto the bank. The water darkening the sand as it soaks in, before fading away.

“I’ve… actually been thinking…” Nathan casually holds his hands deep in his sweater pockets, kicking some of the sand they stand on with the tip of his shoe.

His eyes dart to Warren, who can’t help but stare back widely with increasing anticipation and a failed attempt not to make himself sound too hopeful when he lets out a breathy, “yeah?”

Nathan’s eyes skirt away again, and Warren almost thinks he’ll drop whatever it is that he was going to say. Warren wants to curse himself for his inability to act–for lack of a better word–chill.

“I…um… fuck.” Nathan tries. And Warren frowns. It’s not unlike Nathan to act frustrated, but if Warren didn’t know any better he swears Nathan almost seems… apprehensive?

“I–” Nathan tries again, articulating with his hand out in front of him now. Trying, but met with more frustration at his attempt to get the words out. He sighs, dropping his hand and making a strangled, choking type of noise. “And I–”

Warren is having difficulty hiding an expression of increasing amusement, his mouth turning into a smothered frown. It’s definitely a sight to behold Nathan like this. He’s got both his hands in front of him–a development–like he’s invisibly force choking someone. It’s very reminiscent of Anakin Skywalker in Revenge of the Sith, the episode of which he’s at the height of his tormented attractiveness, in Warren’s opinion. The comparison makes Warren internally reel back, always having fixated on Episode III Anakin.

Huh. Warren is fully frowning now, not having anticipated the rabbit hole his thoughts are sent down as some things seem to click into place for him–and at such an inappropriate moment.

He pushes the mental Venn-diagram comparing Nathan Prescott and Anakin Skywalker–and what it might mean to him–far from his mind, very far–however difficult it may be–to focus back on Nathan and his continued struggle, apparently not having noticed Warren’s own mental freakout. Thankfully.

“Look. Okay.” Nathan runs a hand through his hair, seemingly collecting himself somewhat. “I was pretty dead-set on staying here, to not go back, but… but things… everything has changed. And honestly–I couldn’t give a fuck about going back, at all–but now, now… you won’t be here for much longer. And when you’re gone I–And for so long I’ve been alone and I’ve been fine with that cause–cause it’s all I’ve ever known! And I don’t know if that’s what I–I… fuck!”

He’s pushed his fingers in his hair again, this time the action is frantic, forcing his head back to look at the sky. Warren blinks, taking in Nathan’s freakout which seems so oddly familiar because–

Nathan’s eyes grow wide, his expression slightly lax as if something’s suddenly dawned on him, “This is your fault! You’ve rubbed off on me, oh my God. I’m fuckin’ doomed. I’ve turned into you–”

Something escapes Warren–he can’t help it–too late to catch it before he realizes it’s a laugh that he’s let out. And in that instant Nathan reels on him, latching onto the gesture. His eyes are dangerously narrowed as his face screws up again “are you–are you kidding me right now?”

The way Nathan looks at Warren, like he could ignite him just from how his gaze burns into him somehow makes Warren crack up even more, he’s clapping a hand over his own mouth and trying hard not to double over. “Nonono, I’m not I’m–” but any attempt of lying is squandered by Nathan getting right up into his personal space and taking hold of his arm to try and pry it away.

“Are you seriously laughing at me when I’m trying to admit I have feelings for you?”

“I’m sorry! I swear I’m–wait, you what?” Warren’s dumbstruck, eyes wide and mind completely and utterly blank. It’s Nathan’s turn to smirk now and before Warren can blink or react in any way or absorb anything that Nathan said, the space between them–that he didn’t realize had grown so close in proximity–is closing, until–

Nathan’s lips crush against Warren’s in a flurry. Chapped and warm, the sensation so foreign Warren doesn’t know how to react. It’s only for a moment, but Warren instantaneously feels everything. Tasting him, it’s bitter, the desperation, the hope, his breath against Warren’s skin. And just as fast as it happened it’s over, breaking apart from each other with a jolt.

They both stand and stare at the other, breathing heavily, before Warren’s reaching out to grab Nathan’s face and force their mouths back together. He has no idea what he’s doing, or if it even remotely qualifies as anything real, his mind briefly thinking of how Nathan is probably way more experienced in this department, but shoving the thought away just as fast because he doesn’t care in that moment, he just knows he wants more, needs more. He’s greedy for it and Nathan seems to be just as eager. Impatient, yet so engrossed that there is no need to be. No need to rush but not being able to help the desperation that so completely consumes them.

Warren has no idea how much time has passed when they separate from each other again, but it comes with a need for air and a sudden question that jumps from his tongue–

“Does this mean you’ll–?”

“Yeah, nerd, I’m with you. We’ll go back together.” Nathan says, sort of exasperatedly, his hair array and what Warren notices is a growing smile that braces his lips. Real and whole and directed at Warren. It reaches his eyes in a way that makes them squint. So foreign to Warren but so full of life, bringing colour to cheeks that aren’t as gaunt or sallow as they once were.

The already heightened elation interpreted from the warmth in Warren’s own cheeks and chest spreads further as a grin widens across his face to the point where it’s almost painful. He compares it to the dance and how he’d felt when he saw Nathan standing in the middle of the dancefloor after showing up. All dressed up, camera pointed, face full of trepidation, and showing up for Warren.

It makes his heart do a little flip, the realization of what this feeling he’s feeling is. And unspoken, he knows it’s exactly the same way that Nathan feels about him. All hesitation and doubt gone. That if there’s anyone in the entire universe that he’d wanted to see in that moment at the dance it would be him. That if there is anyone in the whole world he’d end up stuck with travelling through time it would be him. That if there is anyone to be trapped in an impossible situation, Warren’s glad it ended up being him.

Words can never describe how Warren feels about the circumstances that led them to this exact moment, however fragile and carefully constructed this moment may be. And he knows he wouldn’t change it for the world.

The feeling Warren’s experiencing must transfer physically–perhaps directly beaming off of him and directed straight at Nathan–because next thing, Nathan’s pushing a hand against Warren’s shoulder to knock him backwards, though with no real force. “Alright, ease up.”

But they’re both still smiling like idiots and Warren can’t tear his eyes away from Nathan, the wavy hair that dances across his forehead from a wind that’s picked up around them. How the strong sunlight that threatens to lower beneath the layer of storm clouds casts him in such perfect lighting Warren wonders if his mind might be playing tricks on him by dosing this particular moment through rose-coloured glasses, as if he’s growing nostalgic over it already.

Warren could bask in the happiness that emits from Nathan forever, rooted right to this spot. But he doesn’t have to. He won’t have to mourn this moment because Nathan is coming back with him and they’ll make many more moments like these.

“Come on, I’m ready to leave this fuckass place.” Nathan states eloquently and swivels where he stands, shoes digging into the sand further, before he begins trudging his way back up the beach.

“Yeah, me too.” And this time Warren means it.

Warren’s never been so aware of the way the sun slowly begins to set. Maybe not since he was still a young kid mourning the last few weeks of summer break before having to go back to school. The feeling wasn’t completely different from this, but at the same time it felt like nothing before.

It’s bittersweet, to say the least. The way the water in the bay pulls the sun down until swallowing it whole and dosing the small town into another star-filled night, putting an end to their last day.

“Hey nerd, you gunna help us or are you having a moment?”

Warren’s stood planted on the grass in the middle of the main campus, having zoned out from the view that cascades down to the horizon on the water. He spins around when Nathan calls him out, sending an apologetic and lopsided smile at him and Lou situated a couple feet behind Warren. “Sorry!” Just can’t believe we’re here already…”

Here meaning a mere hour away from when they’re supposed to travel back to the future. No big deal.

It’s started to rain, only sparsely, but enough to confirm the storm that is headed their way. Nathan has his hood on, pulled far over his hair so Warren can only make out the deep scowl he wears on his face. He holds up an umbrella to cover Lou, walking backwards together as she uncoils a thick copper wire from the spool in her hands leading from where they’d secured the end of it to the campus statue’s head.

“Here,” Nathan’s shoving the umbrella he wields into Warren’s hands after he lightly jogs to catch up to them. “Stay with Lou, I’m going to go grab the car and move it to the right spot on the main road.”

Their fingers brush, Warren hesitating with a response. He can’t explain the uneasiness that settles in his stomach at the idea of letting Nathan out of his sight, like something awful will happen in the few minutes they’re apart so close to going back.

“It’s okay,” Nathan says, low so only Warren can hear him. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

Warren can only nod and watch as Nathan turns his back, “Wait!” Warren calls out, prompting Nathan to face him again. “I want to say a proper goodbye. To Lou. With the three of us.”

Nathan and Lou only stare at him for a second. Then Warren’s outstretching his arms, holding them wide, “Come on, bring it in.” Lou complies and so does Nathan, though not as willingly. But their enthusiasm is quick to change once they’re all in each other's embrace, the grip they hold tightening as the realization that this is it dawns on them.

I’m going to miss this. Warren doesn’t have to say it, and neither do Nathan or Lou. He can sense it the same way as if they did. They’d somehow managed to grow so close after such a short amount of time. The same could be said about Nathan and Warren, but it won’t be the same without Lou. And after everything, all of their work to get to this exact moment… a part of him doesn’t want to leave this behind.

They break apart and Warren clears his throat. “Well,” he focuses on Lou before sending a fist toward the sky. “Don’t you, dun dun dundundun, forget about me…” he sings off-key.

Lou, in return, looks between Warren and Nathan with vague concern and total lack of understanding of what she is witnessing. “Uh…”

“You know, Breakfast Club? Wait, is that not out yet?” He points the question at Nathan.

“Oh my God.” Nathan rubs a hand across his face, not even able to look at Warren as he angles himself away.

“Oh. Nevermind.” He cringes internally. And probably externally, his face scrunching up with embarrassment. “It’s a really good movie, though.”

“Okay, I’m going now,” Nathan begins to trek across campus in the direction of where they’d parked Warren’s car in the school lot. He may not have been able to handle the overbearing sentimentality, but Warren could swear he heard a sniffle escape him before he disappeared.

Lou, on the other hand, struggled to get back to unspooling the wire, her eyes glassy. “You can’t just make me cry and then leave…” she mumbled out, busying herself again.

By the time they spooled all the way to the campus’ edge and down to where the sidewalk meets the road, Nathan pulled up alongside them. The rain had picked up significantly, causing Lou to almost slip down some of the grass that’s grown muddy, Warren shooting out a hand to help stabilize her.

“We gotta get going!” Nathan calls over to them above the steady shower as he exits the car and slams the door, “a security guy was eyeing me when I left the parking lot and I think he’s headed this way!”

“Shit,” Lou curses, squinting from how the rain beats against the umbrella. “This isn’t as inconspicuous as I’d hoped and It’s going to be hard to explain exactly what we’re doing. I have a feeling ‘a science project for Mr. Wells’ class ’ isn't going to fly. I have an idea, but I’ll have to make a move right away–”

“–Wait, Wells as in Principal Wells?”

Lou falters, “Mr. Wells becomes principal?”

“Guys–”

“Right, not the point.” Warren rushes the words out. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’m going to cause a distraction in the dormitories, it should buy you two enough time!” She pushes aside the sleeve covering up her watch, “you have less than 15 minutes, it’ll be fine.” As reassuring as her tone is, she can’t hide the worry that flashes across her eyes when she meets them with Warrens.

And Warren recognizes that this is it. “But you won’t make it back again.”

Lou shakes her head solemnly. “No.”

“So this is goodbye, then.”

“For now,” her voice is soft, as is the smile she gives him. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing me very soon.”

Warren mirrors the expression. She’s right of course, it will be as if no time has passed. The same can not be said for her, though. Lou will have to wait 30 years before they’ll meet like this again.

“Thanks for–for everything,” Warren stutters out. “I don’t think we could have done this without you. You’re, uh, the coolest mom in the world. But you’re also a great friend. The best, really.”

Lou’s mouth, which is now pressed into a thin line, is set into a frown like she’s suppressing the urge to cry. She wrings her hands around the umbrella handle, fingers turning white with strain. “I’m… I’m really proud of the kind of person my future son has turned out to be.”

They hug again, this time properly and not as awkward as before. When they’re finished she hugs Nathan, too. “I’m glad you two have each other,” she says to him, causing him to look away. “Now I’m really going to go, before this somehow gets weirder.”

She waves over her shoulder at them as she darts away in the direction of the dormitories, angling the umbrella against the harsh wind and rain. The boys waste no time turning their attention to the car where Warren begins wrapping the wire around the antenna at the back while Nathan holds his varsity jacket above them to help shelter against the aggressively growing downfall of rain.

When Warren’s finished he wipes aside the hair that sticks to his brow, checking the watch that Lou lent him. “Okay we have 9 more minutes until impact, let’s get in the car!”

But as Warren straightens back up, the wire that had been pulled taut suddenly goes lax. The copper material seems to flicker, the reflection of the streetlight above catching the droplets that fall from it. Their attention snaps to one another as an understanding passes between them that the wire has come loose on the other end.

Before Warren can say anything, Nathan beats him to it, “I’ll go, you stay!” He yells as he’s already whipping the jacket around himself to pull his arms through.

“But–”

“There’s no time! Get in the car and start it,” Nathan flings the car keys Warren’s way, who instinctively encloses a fist around them in the air.

“I–I caught them!” Warren stares at the palm of his hand in disbelief.

“Proud of you, bud,” and then Nathan’s gone, swallowed by the sheet of rain as he sprints headfirst into it.

Warren has no choice but to dart around to the front of his Chevy and fling himself into the driver's side, forcing the keys into the ignition and starting the engine.

The precious few minutes they have left that creep by in Nathan’s absence are torturous. Warren waits apprehensively, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel in a vice and his free foot tapping with impatience. Come on, Nathan, come on. His eyes are glued to the passenger’s side window, barely able to make out anything from the rain that distorts the glass.

Warren chances a glance at his watch. 9:58. 6 minutes.

With nothing else to occupy him, he tries to look through the sheets of torrential rain that aggressively roll over the car and make it almost impossible to hear anything else. He squints, his heart giving a jolt when he sees a flash of red before it’s gone again. A quick glance at the car's digital clock tells him 3 more minutes. The anticipation is killing Warren, making him instinctively reach across the passenger seat to yank open the side door. He doesn’t care when the inside of the car is instantly drenched, all he cares about is if Nathan will be back in time.

The downpour is deafening now, and visibility has barely improved after opening the door. “Nathan?” he tentatively calls out. There’s no response, until he hears a muffled sort of grunt somewhere in the distance. Before he can call out again, there’s a flash of lightning far off–not the one they’d been waiting for, but close enough to momentarily light up the setting Warren looks out to. And to Warren’s utter horror, the still image of Nathan grappling with someone on the ground instills itself into his vision. It’s as if he caught a momentary glimpse of a picture taken with flash to paint the scene in front of him.

Someone’s yelling, and though it’s hard to make out, Warren knows it’s not Nathan. “Did you really think I’d let you get away after what you fucking freaks did to me?! You’re dead! And your friend is next!”

The tips of Warren’s fingers go numb as he feels the blood drain from his face and hands, realizing who it is that has stopped Nathan from getting back, tackling him to the ground mere steps away. “Nathan!” Warren cries out, automatically beginning to crawl across the passenger seat.

“No!” He hears Nathan shout, “don’t! Don’t leave the car!”

Warren freezes, looking back out to where he can see the blurred mass that is Nathan and his father rolling across the soppy grass. A quick glance at the car's interface reads 10:03. One minute. “But I–I’m not leaving you–!”

“It’s fixed! It’s fixed, Warren–you can–ugh–” Nathan lets out another grunt and Warren knows he’s been hit again. There’s a scrambling that can be heard mixed with the downpour and for a brief moment Warren can make out Nathan’s form back on his feet again, booking it toward the car. Warren stares wide eyed, holding his breath when Nathan gets closer and–

He’s back on the ground, his father’s arms wrapped around his legs to take him down again, landing face first. But he’s so close that when he whips back his head Warren can see his face. His pupils are blown out and he looks terrified.

“Give me your hand!” Warren calls out, thrusting his own toward Nathan. Nathan doesn’t hesitate when he complies and reaches up. They’re so close, and Warren stretches as far as he can, until it hurts, until his ribs feel like they might expand and break from the pressure, until the strain is almost unbearable. Their fingertips brush and Warren begins to wrap his hand around what he knows is Nathan’s own.

Please please please please…

But all sensation is lost when a blinding flash and boom takes up all of him. Squeezing his eyes shut, Warren clenches his jaw hard as he braces himself, the air on fire around him. And just as fast as it happens, it’s all over.

#another late update lol #grahamscott #warren graham x nathan prescott #nathan x warren #nathan prescott #warren graham #lis #life is strange #life is strange fanfiction #thought i should update on tumblr since there's officially one chap left #woooooooo!

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that-thing-that-feeling · 8 months

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here’s the Google translation of it behind the cut!

The young British actor is the new global ambassador of Phantom Perfume Rabanne, a fragrance with which he acknowledges feeling quite identified. Since he became known globally with Stranger Things, this actor so physical and intuitive has come to represent a kind of generational idea of glamour as incontestable as it is far from orthodox canons. We wanted to talk to him about fashion, creativity and David Bowie.

A room (hotel room?) Ramshackle, a mattress without blankets and many vintage televisions tuned in to unusual channels: these are the ingredients of the new Phantom campaign, Rabanne's robotic perfume, for which the brand has counted on Charlie Heaton (Leeds, 1994) as an image and global ambassador. The young actor, whom we all met thanks to the series-phenomenon Stranger Things, has been gaining an interesting career over the last few years, appearing in such interesting films as No Future or The Souvenir Part II (both in 2021). But what was your previous relationship with a brand that defines you, in a press release, as an electrifying presence and a call to shape the future? It will be better to ask himself.

I was familiar with Rabanne before working on this campaign," Heaton acknowledges, "but only as a perfume brand. When they offered me the possibility of being their ambassador, it was when I began to know more about everything there is to know about them, their history and their values. I became a big, big fan of their clothes, their accessories and, in short, everything they have done over the years. I think I was really impressed with what they came to represent during the sixties, which I think is incredibly cool. That was the moment when I fell exhausted, and it's been great."

Directed by filmmaker and photographer Matt Lambert, the new Phantom ad invites us to a most suggestive nocturnal universe, as its protagonist explains: "The campaign plays with two concepts that seem very powerful to me when they are united: Paris and the night. Together they create something beautiful, because we all know that the city of Paris has a different energy when the sun goes down. The name of the fragrance also seems very evocative to me: Phantom. I'm still trying to guess what it can mean!"

What does seem to be clear is that Let's Dance, David Bowie's song that serves as a leitmotif for the entire campaign, "should be considered one of the best in history. It would have to be on all the lists! During the shooting we didn't stop listening to it in a loop, so part of that energy is present in the images."

A familiar face

Since Stranger Things was placed in our lives seven years ago, Heaton experienced a transformation overnight. Suddenly, the young interpreter was a celebrity who, due to his unmistakable features, was going to be very difficult to go unnoticed. How have you lived through that whole process? "I think I have a very good relationship with the fans. I especially notice it when I'm traveling, and you have to keep in mind that, due to my work, I travel a lot to different parts of the world. I have been to Spain many times, for example, but the truth is that most of the time I spend it between the United States and my native country, England."

I am aware," he continues, "of having appeared in a series that has been seen so much in so many parts of the world has made me a recognizable face wherever I go, which gives me an opportunity to meet very different people. I'm lucky, because it has been a genuinely positive experience in most cases. It has allowed me to live very sweet moments with the fans, so I can't complain."

Apart from meeting new people and traveling, Heaton declares that "my greatest source of admiration is, I would say, to see the people I admire work. I also love discovering a new movie, or just having conversations with my friends. I love being able to talk to them about acting, confess to them what my desires are within this profession and listen to theirs. So I would say that these are small day-to-day inspirations."

Before dedicating himself full-time to acting, Charlie Heaton was going to be a musician. In fact, he was in a rock group (as a drummer) and then joined another psychedelic, so we talked about something more than a hobby. "Many people know that my two great creative passions are acting and music," he confesses to us, "but lately I have also gotten into ceramics (laughs). Yes, it may have become a passion, although I still don't know how important it's going to end up being... At the moment, I'm very excited about it, so we'll have to wait and see."

Fashion too, of course," Heaton clarifies. "It has always played a great role in my life, I have always loved being able to express myself through the clothes I choose to wear. But I find it strange to talk about this, since I would never go around considering myself a stylish person... I don't think so, but at the same time I do know that I am able to appreciate good taste and good style in general."

As for whether or not he follows some style routine, the actor is more ambivalent: "It depends on what I'm going to do at all times. Or where do you plan to go, then it is likely that you will not follow any routine of style per se. For me, the great thing is when you do these things for yourself and only for yourself, instead of to go to a gala or impress someone. Dress well just for you, because you feel like it. But no, the truth is that I usually wear comfortable clothes in my day to day... A lot of worn jeans. I would tell you that this is my most emblematic garment."

We can almost visualize it with them as he moves to the rhythm of Bowie on some Parisian street.

#obvs since a google translation will have lots of errors

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jjackfrost · 1 year

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What's your process when writing? Do you outline the whole fic before starting, or do you go scene by scene? I adore OTNWAS, and I love how everything flows together so well, so I was just really curious how you approach writing such a long project!

I’m like the worst person to ask this because my memory is so bad and I feel like my process changes for every new project, but I’ll try my best to answer this focusing on otnwas 😅

First of all, otnwas (or what it was before it became otnwas) was supposed to be a one-shot sick-fic in the beginning, because I was in the middle of writing a DBH fic but I randomly got obsessed with RotG again and I just needed to write a tiny little thing to get RotG out of my brain so that I could get back to the DBH fic (it’s still unfinished btw—working on it though!). It had nothing to do with HTTYD in the beginning, but then I came across some hijack fics and I remembered my obsession with RotBTFD in like 2014. So my list of what I wanted to write turned into: 1. Sick-fic 2. Jack and Jamie bond and find out they’re related after Jack turns human 3. Hijack. I feel like you can really tell the beginning of chapter 1 is just the sick-fic, but then it suddenly turns into something completely different lmao.

I didn’t plan the entire thing in one go, but I did marathon everything HTTYD (except the books, they came later—and also the comics, I haven’t read them) before I started writing the otnwas-version of the fic because I wanted to have a well-ish grasp of the HTTYD universe. Then I wrote the first seven chapters before I started posting anything. Actually, while I tried figuring out the plot, I briefly considered writing a RotBTFD thing where they somehow travel around in time and meet all those different characters, but in the end I wasn’t inspired by it so I scrapped it. What was left was Jack goes to the past, becomes human, and also Jamie is there (and Baby Tooth, because I’d been imagining bunch of funny scenarios where Jack talks to ‘thin air’ and I love their Peter Pan-Tinkerbell dynamic). I had a vague idea of the whole ‘gather magic to go back home’-part of the plot, but didn’t know much about the Time Fragment, and the Snow Queen was a later addition because I needed to up the stakes. The process was like, okay, I need to marry these two universes—RotG is about myths and legends—what kind of myths and legends would they have on Berk, close to Northern Europe, in the Viking era or….ish around that time? (Obviously, otnwas is not trying to be historically accurate lmfao I just wanted to be inspired by Norwegian fairytales and Norse mythology.) I got attached to Snow very fast though, and she became a much more signifact part of the narrative than I thought she would initially. I really enjoyed writing her as Jack’s opposite; if Jack is the beauty and joy of winter, then Snow is the horror of it, and forcing him to deal with that after losing his powers was a lot of fun (though, in retrospect, I wish I went a little easier on the Jack whump. It gets a bit much sometimes lol).

So there was some vague planning involved. I was working towards these key points:

1. Jack and Jamie figure out they’re related

2. Hijack happens at some point

3. Jack will become a spirit again and return to the future with Jamie

What happened in between was stuff I figured out almost chapter by chapter. I know a lot of people jump around while writing a story, but that takes me out of it; I need to write chronologically to feel like I’m in tune with the characters’ minds, and I use the scenes I’m most excited to write as fuel to get through the scenes I don’t particularly want to write.

One of the most vital parts of my creative process is to have time to just walk around and daydream. Imagine conversations, scenarios, etc. and I try my best to write down my ideas immediately in a document on my phone. The scene that was looping in my head the most, I think, was the one where Jack kisses Hiccup for the first time, and the conversation leading up to that. I really need time to let the story simmer in my head in between writing sessions or else I feel it lacks something, I won’t have a full understanding of it, and I feel like it would show in the writing. Honestly, the best part of writing is the daydreaming.

But though a lot of stuff was planned from the beginning, a lot of other stuff was just happy accidents—stuff that suddenly clicked together, so unintentionally I feel like it’s unfair to give myself credit for it lmfao. I won’t tell you which scenes because I don’t wanna take away the magic, but writing otnwas felt a bit like running down a steep hill and only barely arriving at the bottom still on my two legs, instead of toppling over and eating dirt. It could’ve so easily been messy (it Is messy at some points, like the whole deal with the warlocks—if only I could explore those fuckers a bit more 🤔) but it somehow turned out alright lol.

Idk how to make a TL;DR. 1. Vague idea of where the story is going 2. Countless hours imagining conversations and scenarios 3. Keep in mind key scenes and use them as motivation to get through the tough scenes 4. Also, be self-indulgent. What else is fanfiction for?

Sorry for rambling, I can’t be concise lol

#otnwas

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cha-melodius · 2 years

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Lokius whump prompt requester here 👋

Seriously how does your brain work because what you wrote is totally unexpected BUT SO FITTING to the prompt and freaking AMAZING 😭 Thanks for taking the prompt and introducing me to time-loop trope because I can already feel the WHUMP!

Hello anon, thank you again for the wonderful prompt, and I'm sorry it's taken me apparently a month to get to chapter 2 (a month! how did that happen?!). But I am happy to finally have it for you, although there's still a chapter 3 to come, hopefully sooner than later! So here it is:

It's Been a Bad Day Lately, Chapter 2

Chapter 2 on AO3 | Chapter 1

Loki doesn’t actually tell anyone about the device or his apparent foreknowledge of the day the first time through. After all, even if it seems that everyone else is completely ignorant of what the hell is going on, that doesn’t mean the TVA isn’t behind it somehow. They’re the Time Variance Authority after all. Repeating days feels like something they’d traffic in. He wants to trust Mobius at least, but he can’t help but be reminded that this Mobius still doesn’t know him, not really, and he can’t rule out that Mobius is purposefully being kept in the dark. It would track with how things were running before.

He can’t even be sure if he’s truly reliving the day—which doesn’t really seem possible, given what he knows about timelines and traveling among them—or if he really did dream it all. The device, of course, suggest a more tangible explanation. It’s not unreasonable to think it’s somehow related to the whole mess, but it also seems to be, well, broken. Whatever happened when Loki got shot also put a large crack in the face of it, and he hasn’t been able to get it to turn on or do anything. The strap had also snapped when he pulled it off of Richards’ wrist (did he really? he must have), but the idea of leaving it behind makes something crawl uncomfortably beneath his skin, so he loops what’s left of it onto a chain like a pendant and tucks it safely under his TVA-issued shirt.

The day goes about as well as it did before, which is to say, pretty terribly. Despite knowing it was going to happen, he still loses track of Mobius, and the knowledge of the outcome of that sends him into a panic that ends with some poor decisions and him staring down the barrel a truly monstrous gun.

It’s easier waking up the second time. Or is it third? His hand goes automatically to the device still hanging around his neck, but this time he also can’t help but wince at the phantom pain of the chest shot that took him out. He’s alive, there’s no hole blown in his ribcage, but the ghost of it lingers like an echo in his memory for a few minutes before it fades. B-15 frowns and tilts her head at him clutching his chest like he’s having a heart attack, but makes no comment beyond the words he’s already come to expect.

He doesn’t wait for her to finish before he takes off to find Mobius.

Normally they don’t meet up before the briefing, but this time Loki storms into the wing of the building reserved for the senior analysts’ apartments and pounds insistently on Mobius’s door until the man himself pulls it open. For a moment, Loki entirely forgets why he’s there, because Mobius is half dressed in slacks and a thin, sleeveless undershirt that clings to every curve of his torso and leaves precisely nothing to the imagination. He’s barefoot and his short hair is still tousled from bed, and the whole thing should not be as attractive as it works out to be. Even the annoyed purse of his lips is alluring. Fuck.

This is, sadly, not the first time Loki has found himself experiencing a tug of not-entirely-unexpected desire for the analyst. Look, he isn’t blind, anyone can see that Mobius is a handsome man, made even more intriguing by the interplay of the hard edges and soft spots of his character. How he won’t let Loki get away with anything while at same time giving in all the time to Loki’s little eccentricities. Loki’s never quite seen him like this, though, all enticingly sleep-rumpled, and it’s kind of a lot to deal with considering everything else going on.

“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to tell me what the devil couldn’t wait for another thirty minutes?” Mobius demands, frowning. It’s a fair question, because Loki is pretty sure he’s been staring for the last two minutes, which is precisely one minute and 59 seconds too long for such things.

Loki manages to blink himself back to reality and clears his throat, shoving whatever that is deep, deep down where he decidedly will not examine it any time in the next millennium. “What do you know about time loops?”

“Like in the time cells?” Mobius asks, his brow furrowing.

“No. Like, reliving the same day over and over again.”

Mobius shakes his head. “Not possible.”

“What do you mean ‘not possible’?” Loki asks.

“Not sure I can be any clearer,” Mobius huffs. “That kind of recursive loop in an active timeline is impossible. You could travel backwards a day I guess, but then there’d be two variants of you in the same timeline.”

This is pretty much what Loki had figured, given what he had learned about the multiverse, but it does nothing to help him figure out his particular problem. “So you’re not aware of any technology that would allow someone to completely reset the day after being killed and try it again in the same body, with all their memories from the previous day?”

“What?” Mobius says, clearly dumbfounded. “Of course not. A variant that dies—not pruned, but killed—is dead, Loki. There’s no coming back from that.”

Loki hesitates, but there’s no one else he can talk to about this. He reaches up to touch the device under his shirt absentmindedly, carefully choosing his next words. “What if there was?”

The problem is, Mobius is a stubborn man. He knows far more about how timelines work than Loki ever will, and he refuses to believe Loki experienced anything more than a very vivid dream. Timelines don’t work that way, he insists, and there’s no way to make them work that way. Even the broken device in Loki’s possession doesn’t sway him, probably because it’s, well, broken. Not terribly convincing, as it turns out.

Unexpectedly, Loki coming to talk to Mobius apparently perturbs the timeline enough that things seem to be going differently. It’s enough that even Loki starts to doubt himself, even though he already lived through this day twice before, even though he can vividly remember the pain of dying twice, even though he knows that he took the device directly from Richards’ wrist himself. Maybe it means that this time will go differently, though, that the future isn’t as written as it seems to be, that today won’t end with both of them dead.

But then, right before they depart through the time doors, Mobius says, “It’s gonna work this time, I can feel it.”

Shit.

“Mobius, listen to me,” Loki says urgently, grabbing him by the arm. “If this goes the way I think it will, it’s going to be a bloodbath.”

Mobius sighs, because they’ve been over this. “You can’t know what’s going to happen out there. We’re outside of time right now. No one can travel to a previous time point in the TVA.”

“But if I do know—”

“Then something very strange is going on, yes,” Mobius finished for him. He hesitates a moment, still frowning. “What do you think is going to happen?”

“Richards is dug in with an army of very well-armed men around him. What it takes to get to him…” Loki trails off and looks down at his hand, even though he knows he won’t find Mobius’s blood on it. He can still picture it, though, still almost feel its warmth. “Promise me you’ll stay near me,” he finally says as he meets Mobius’s gaze again. “That you won’t run off.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Loki,” Mobius scoffs.

Loki’s hand shoots out to grab his wrist, fingers automatically shifting until he finds a pulse. “Please, Mobius,” he begs. “Promise.”

He doesn’t want to know what’s in his eyes that makes Mobius blink, looking slightly taken aback. “Ok,” he answers softly. “I promise.”

Later, Loki thinks back to this moment and can’t understand how it could be such a difficult promise to keep.

~~~~~

“It’s gonna work this time, I can feel it.”

“I wish I could share your optimism.”

~~~~~

“It’s gonna work this time, I can feel it.”

“I’ll wager you it won’t.”

~~~~~

“It’s gonna work this time, I can—”

“By the Norns, would you stop?” Loki snaps. “Nothing is going to change. I’ve been through this five times before, and nothing ever changes!”

Mobius stares at him, his mouth still hanging slightly open. “What do you mean you’ve been through it five times?”

“I’ve literally lived this day five times, Mobius,” Loki hisses, trying not to draw attention from the hunters nearby. “Every time, we fail. Every time, I die, and every time, I wake up again, here, at the beginning of the same day.”

“That’s—”

“Not possible, I am well aware. But it’s happening all the same.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before right now?”

Loki groans in frustration. “Because you never believe me. You say it’s impossible, that time doesn’t work that way—”

“Because it doesn’t,” Mobius cuts in.

“—and so nothing about the operation changes except for what I do. And it’s not enough,” Loki huffs. It’s never, ever enough. It took him four loops just to figure out why Mobius kept disappearing—an attack on the third sub-basement divides their meager forces in half, and somehow Mobius always ends up in the other group, forced to retreat down a hidden side passage—but he can’t do anything when the hunters and minutemen won’t listen to him.

“Huh,” Mobius says, looking oddly thoughtful. It’s certainly not the response Loki expected.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mobius shrugs. “If this is really happening to you—not saying it is, but if—it sounds like you need to find a way to convince me earlier, so we can come up with a new plan.”

“I— what?” Loki boggles at him. “And how, pray tell, am I supposed to do that?”

“You’re a clever guy. I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” Mobius says with a grin as he claps Loki on the shoulder.

If only it was as reassuring as Mobius no doubt intends it to be.

~~~~~

“Loki, what—?” Mobius sputters when Loki pushes past him into his apartment the next loop.

He hasn’t come here every morning since the first time, mostly because trying to explain everything is already starting to get tiresome. Still, he’s become familiar enough with how things go.

“Watch the table,” he says offhandedly as he disappears into Mobius’s bedroom to retrieve a shirt, jacket and tie.

“Huh?” Mobius says, right as he shuffles into the coffee table and stubs his toe, then hobbles away swearing.

“That’ll be the coffee,” Loki continues when he reemerges, moments before a beep sounds in the kitchen. He shoves the clothes at a bewildered Mobius and heads in to retrieve the mug from under the coffee maker and grab the cream from the fridge. Mobius appears in the doorway—Loki knows without checking—and leans against the frame as he buttons his shirt. “Stop frowning, I know how you take it.”

“You’re not even looking at me.”

“Don’t have to,” Loki replies without turning around. “You’re going to ask how I can be sure you still take your coffee the same as the Mobius I knew before, to which I will respond that, even though you do, it doesn’t matter because I’m well aware of how you take it, and then you’ll insist that I’ve never seen you prepare it, which was true before today, but no longer. I think that about catches us up, don’t you?”

Mobius is, predictably, gaping at him when he finally turns, and Loki can’t resist the pleased smirk that tugs on his lips. Perhaps he should have tried this earlier, but then again, he needed a few repetitions to be completely sure of how the morning would go. He walks over and hands Mobius the coffee mug, which the other man takes automatically, then tugs at the ends of the tie looped under his collar and begins to tie it while Mobius is still seemingly stuck staring at him.

A moment later, Mobius appears to come back to himself, and he swallows. “W-what are you doing?” he asks, his voice oddly tight.

“Plenty to do this morning,” Loki replies lightly, letting his lips tip into a smirk. “I’m afraid we can’t afford to dawdle.”

“And how did you know all that other stuff?”

“Easy,” Loki says as he finishes tying the tie and gives it a little pat before stepping back. “I’ve lived this day before. And before you protest that it’s impossible, know that I’ve had this conversation with you five times before and am very familiar with every possible argument about how the timelines do or do not work.”

“That’s…” Mobius begins, trailing off for a long moment as his eyes search Loki’s face. Loki readies himself for the inevitable impossible, despite his warning, but instead Mobius finishes, “amazing.”

Loki cocks a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“I mean, you’re right, it should be impossible, but… I dunno, Loki. There’s something about you that feels different. Can’t put my finger on it.”

“Huh,” Loki huffs, frowning. He hadn’t considered the possibility that the looping might change him in some way, although now that he thinks about it, he supposes it’s inevitable. He’s living out days and remembering them, moving forward in his life, even if no one else is.

“When you say you’ve been reliving, you mean the day resets when you go to sleep?” Mobius asks.

“When I die,” Loki answers bluntly, and Mobius’s eyes go wide. “So far I haven’t lasted long enough to go to sleep.”

Mobius swallows hard again. “I think I need to sit down.”

Without really thinking about it, Loki takes ahold of Mobius’s elbow and steers him back into the living room. They both sit on the couch, close enough that their knees knock together when Loki turns slightly toward him, and he doesn’t let himself contemplate the fact that he feels better when they’re some kind of in contact. That there’s a strange kind of reassurance in the solidity of Mobius’s body next to him. Each time he wakes up everything feels a little more unreal, but this helps. Even if he has to force himself not to reach out and press his fingers to the pulse point on Mobius’s wrist.

Loki explains how the day goes as quickly as he can—what goes wrong on the operation, and how he thinks they might do better—and Mobius just listens, taking long sips from his coffee at regular intervals. The biggest issues is the weapons, but Mobius still resists him on that point; the minutemen are good in hand-to-hand combat but haven’t been trained with firearms, and with only an hour before the operation is scheduled to depart, there’s little time to change that. Loki already guesses that pushing back the operation is probably a long shot. He might be able to convince Mobius, but the TVA here isn’t run by one person, there’s a team making the decisions, and there’s no way they’ll listen to him. Loki and Mobius talk about different strategies until they can’t put off joining the rest any longer, and he can’t help but feel a little hopeful as they gear up. Things will be different this time.

Too late, he realizes that he sounds just like—

“It’s gonna work this time, I can feel it.”

Loki scrubs a palm down his face and sends a little prayer to the Norns that when dies this time, it might be quick.

~~~~~

Don’t get him wrong, dying sucks. Most of the time whatever wound he gets isn’t enough to kill him instantly. Once he drowns in his own blood, and he thinks nothing could be worse until he’s slowly crushed under rubble after an explosion. But none of it, he thinks, is as bad as watching Mobius die over and over again. Every one of those deaths is indelibly etched in his memory, along with every time Mobius calls him a good man right before the end.

If he was good, he’d be able to get them out of this mess. If he was good, he’d be able to protect his— his— friends. Loki is well aware that he’s started giving up, letting himself be killed, when Mobius dies—maybe he has been from the beginning—but no, he would not like to examine that too closely, thank you.

Once, after a particularly brutal loop, Loki barely waits for Mobius to open the door before surging forward and enveloping him in a crushing hug.

“Loki, what—?” Mobius huffs, but he also hugs him back immediately, and something unknots in Loki’s chest at the feeling of Mobius’s broad hand rubbing reassuring circles between his shoulder blades.

Loki tucks his face against Mobius’s neck, which is probably too intimate a position for what they are to each other, but he can feel his pulse throbbing there, steady and real, and he doesn’t really care. “If I told you not to go on the mission today, would you listen?” he asks, his voice muffled.

“You know I couldn’t,” Mobius murmurs, and Loki knows, he knows he’ll never convince Mobius to stay behind, but he doesn’t know how much more he can take of this. Mobius holds Loki a minute longer before he pulls back slightly. “Now what’s this all about?”

Even with Mobius’s help in planning, they can’t seem to break through Richards’ defenses. Every time they think they’ve cracked the pattern, that they’ve anticipated every attack, another one pops up that they never foresaw just because they’d never gotten that far before. Richards is simply too dug in; they’d need to go back further than a single day to really catch him unawares, and that’s just not possible.

“What if you just took two of the best hunters, say B-15 and D-90—”

“Not D-90,” Loki interrupts, wrinkling his nose.

“—Fine,” Mobius sighs, “G-35, then, like a targeted strike team. You could slip past a lot of these obstacles, and the rest of us could draw their attention away.”

It’s basically what he did the very first time through, when he actually made it to Richards’ inner sanctum, which is why Loki knows it would work. But that doesn’t mean it would be successful. He shakes his head. “No, I can’t do that.”

“What do you mean? It doesn’t work?”

Loki stares at the man across from him, blue eyes unflinchingly holding his gaze. It should be easy to lie to him, Loki is the prince of lies, but when he opens his mouth what comes out is a strained, “I can get to him. I still died.”

“But if you can talk to him—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“How many times have you tried?” Mobius demands, frowning like he knows exactly what Loki is holding out on him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Loki repeats insistently.

“Loki.”

“Once, ok?!” Loki snaps, leaping to his feet. He strides off across the modest living room until he can go no further, then slumps onto one hand against a bookshelf and stares at the ground as he quietly adds, “The very first time.”

Mobius, of course, is not about to let this go. Out of the corner of his eye, Loki sees him stand. “Well, why haven’t you tried again?”

“It’s not—” Loki starts, then breaks off with a sigh. “The costs are too high.”

“You can’t possibly know what will happen to the team that gets left behind,” Mobius argues. “Maybe it’s not so bad.”

Loki groans in frustration as he finally looks up again, folding his arms across his chest. “I know you died the first time, Mobius.”

“But you can’t be sure it’ll happen again.”

“I can’t be sure it won’t.”

“So?” Mobius challenges, a determined fire glinting in his eye. “Maybe it’s worth the risk, if it means getting Richards. If it means getting you out of this loop.”

“It’s not,” Loki insists stubbornly.

“Maybe it is for me. Did you ever think to ask?”

“I don’t care, because it’s not worth it to me.”

“It’s my life, Loki! I can’t see why it matters whether the risk is worth it to you!”

“Because I can’t lose you again, Mobius!” Loki nearly shouts, finally pushed to the breaking point.

The apartment is deathly silent for several long minutes after that, and Loki squeezes his eyes closed. There it is, then. The truth he’d been trying to hide even from himself. Maybe he’d been in love with Mobius even before the reset, or maybe he hadn’t been, but it doesn’t matter now. Spending as many loops as he had with him—working with him, joking with him, being with him—had done the necessary damage. And to make matters worse, Mobius remembers none of it. Loki is barely better than a stranger to him.

“You can’t… you don’t mean me…” Mobius finally says, much closer than he’d been before, and when Loki opens his eyes he finds him standing right in front of him. Staring up at him with an expression full of confusion and trepidation.

“Yes, I mean you,” Loki sighs. “Not some other you who doesn’t even exist, or the person you were before, because there’s no difference. I’ve been doing this for more than a month, Mobius. There’s only you.” He turns away again, then, because he can’t bear to see whatever pity or disbelief might be wrought on Mobius’s face. This isn’t the point, anyway, they’re wasting time they don’t have when they should be focused on the operation. “There has to be another way. Something we’re not seeing—”

A hand on his arm stops him. “Loki, look at me,” Mobius says softly. He tugs gently, pulling Loki around to face him again, and before Loki really understands what’s happening he’s stretching up and pressing their lips together. It’s not much, just a chaste brush, but it sends little zips of electricity sizzling along Loki’s skin.

“What— what was that for?” he manages after Mobius pulls back, unable to make sense of what’s happening. It shouldn’t be possible, that Mobius would be the one kissing him.

“Thought it’d be obvious,” Mobius answers with one-shouldered shrug and a lopsided half-smile. Tentative. Hopeful.

“But— you barely know me.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

Loki blinks at him. “It doesn’t?”

“Nope,” Mobius says easily, like that makes any sense at all.

Could it possibly mean that everything—all the memories, all the loops—are still inside him somewhere? And if they are, could that mean—

Mobius interrupts his snowballing thoughts by reaching up and thumbing across the arc of his cheekbone before pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. “Can I?” he murmurs.

Loki’s not even entirely sure what he’s asking, but he doesn’t care. He nods, and Mobius pulls him down into another kiss, one that lacks all the hesitation of the first. Their lips move together, pushing further and further until Mobius’s tongue licks at the seam of his lips. Loki opens up readily, letting their tongues tangle together in an intoxicating give and take. One of Loki’s hands curls around his waist, drawing him closer, as the other slides up behind his head, digging into the short hair at the nape of his neck. They kiss for minutes, for hours (who knows in this place), unhurried, as if they have all the time in the multiverse. When they do finally pull apart, Mobius stares up at him with such wonder on his face that Loki is quite unhelpfully slammed back to the reality of their circumstances.

“What’s wrong?” Mobius asks at the distress that must be written on his face. Loki lets the tips of his fingers skim lightly along the edge of Mobius’s jaw. “You’re not going to remember any of this.”

“I dunno. Seems like the kind of thing that might stick.”

Loki sighs. “That’s not how it works, Mobius.”

“You don’t know how it works,” Mobius counters. “And who knows, maybe this time we’ll be successful. No more loops.”

“I wish I could believe that’s possible.”

They’re still no closer to a plan that works, one that ends with them getting Richards and surviving at the same time, and while this morning has taken a rather unexpectedly delightful turn, it’s sadly not going to help all that much.

He’ll try, though. Norns know he’ll try like Hel.

#lokius #loki x mobius #loki laufeyson #mobius m. mobius #loki tv #loki series #loki fanfic #lokius fanfic #lokius fic #my fic #whumptober2022

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