#edge of tomorrow au

[k-starr-ent-ceo]

Live. Die. Repeat. Save the world. Fleur Delacour is caught unawares when someone named Hermione Granger tells her she's repeating the day over and over and everyone but her dies. Gay heroics happen.

When Earth falls under attack from invincible aliens, no military unit in the world is able to beat them. Maj. Hermione Granger, an officer who has never seen combat, is assigned to a suicide mission. Killed within moments, Granger finds herself thrown into a time loop, in which she relives the same brutal fight -- and her death -- over and over again. However, with the help of a fellow soldier, Fleur Delacour, Granger's fighting skills improve with each encore, bringing them ever closer to defeating the aliens.

[captastra]

🌹🌹

A little switch up!! Some Rick Flag in my Edge of Tomorrow AU!

Everything they had been through all for this moment. As all images passed through his mind until finally settling on that first smile she had ever given him, Rick leaned forward and let himself fall. 

[mollymauk-teafleak]

as if it might turn out this time

So I'm on my gf mandated Tom Cruise Cruise and guess which film jumped out and grabbed me by the throat! So enjoy this Edge of Tomorrow icemav au, made possible with enormous thanks to my lovely @hangsters!

Please reblog and comment over on Ao3!

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Sergeant Tom Kazansky is a battle hardened solider known as the Iceman, he's killed hundreds of mimics across multiple time loops, he's the freaking Angel of Verdun.

But he's never come across someone like Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell.

Because this time, Maverick's the one in control. He's the one in the loop, he knows whats coming.

At least until something takes them both by surprise.

--------

Apparently they had two hours. That’s what Maverick said anyway. Even though IIce had never seen a still moment in this war since it began, that’s what Maverick said. 

And he’d followed him this far. 

‘This far’ was the decaying corpse of the Lyon countryside, it was a hastily abandoned farmhouse in the middle of the overgrown fields and cracked, scarred roads. And if Maverick was telling the truth, Ice had followed him even further than this, thousands of miles across the same day played out fuck knew how many times. More versions of himself than it was comfortable to think about, getting reset over and over whenever the guy pulling them through it all couldn’t go any further. Time itself apparently stopping and restarting with Maverick’s heart.

It would be impossible to believe if Ice hadn’t done it himself. 

 “You don’t need to stand guard. I told you, we’re good for two hours.”

Ice looked over his shoulder, into the converted farmhouse where Maverick was getting embers going in the fireplace. The frenetic energy they’d rolled here on, the sidestepping obstacles like they were doing some kind of complicated dance, the one-two-three-one-two-three-one that got them off that beach and it’s slice of hell, it had stilled for now. They had two hours, like Maverick said, and he was filling a kettle, for crying out loud, so he was either correct or insane. Depending on how many resets he’d been through, it could well be both. 

“Walk me through it one more time,” Ice said with a poor attempt at patience, “If we have two hours why aren’t we just taking that helicopter and heading for the dam right now? Why aren’t we using every second to get to the omega, kill it and save the whole of humanity?”

Maverick didn’t respond to the snap in Ice’s tone, just setting the kettle on the hook above the low fire and then heading back to the kitchenette, to the cabinet where he already knew the mugs would be. Movements practiced and precise, exactly like a soldier. Odd, when Ice had clocked Major Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell as a showpony, as a recruitment tool, the moment he saw him on television screens flashing those white teeth and giving polished, repainted updates on the invasion. Clearly whatever he’d been through since getting stuck in the loop had taken that poster boy and turned him into something else. At least he still had the nice smile. 

“We can’t do that because the moment you go outside and start up that helicopter, a mimic bursts out of that south field and attacks. Same for if you try and start siphoning the gas into the truck,” Maverick recounted it all as he busied himself, pulling a spoon out of a drawer, “And this happens whether you do it right now or whether you sneak out at any point in the next two hours, thinking I’m not looking.”

Ice had the same uncomfortable sensation he felt when he looked at his own x-rays, a feeling like someone had seen something they weren’t meant to. He set his jaw and loped to one of the chairs, sinking into it like he was trying to prove he could relax. He was rewarded with a cloud of dust and a shooting pain through his hip. 

“The other one’s more comfortable,” Maverick called, perfectly on beat, “It’s better for your leg.”

“For my leg?” Ice shot back, the pain making his voice sharper than he meant, turning the surprise into a challenge. Maybe because he knew he should have shopped being surprised long before this. 

“You told me about that injury you took in Verdun, the one that never healed right,” again, Maverick didn’t react to the snappishness, making Ice wonder how grumpy he’d been in all of the other runs, “How you don’t tell anyone because they’ll ground you. I can rub your leg down for you, that always helps?”

Ice felt his cheeks flame, ducking his face even though Maverick wasn’t even looking at him. There had been comments like that here and there, ones that had mostly passed Ice by as he’d focused on training, on hitting that beach and surviving each step forward. But now it was occurring to Ice, hours later than anyone normal would have noticed, that he was definitely being flirted with. 

But not even the forward, slightly aggressive way military guys usually flirted with him and then promptly gave up when they realized they may as well have been trying to fuck a glacier. Maverick spoke to him, looked at him, offered things selflessly to him the way you would with someone you’d been married to for decades. Like there was a comfort to having Ice there, like Maverick somehow saw reassurance in the hard, fierce Angel of Verdun. Something no one else had seen, not even Ice himself. 

“So I don’t tell anyone but I told you?” he stared into the low fire, just to give his eyes somewhere to settle. He wasn’t sure why he was pushing back, why he was throwing more roadblocks against this strange kindness, “What other secrets have I told you while we’ve been fighting for our lives, out of interest?”

Maverick actually laughed, bringing two mugs over to where the kettle was now singing out a plume of warm steam, “Let’s see…I know you have a cat, your sister’s looking after her while you’re deployed. I know you played football in college. Linebacker, obviously, look at your shoulders. I know you suck at driving a stick shift. I know you have nightmares. I know you have freckles on your shoulders…I know you’re probably blushing like crazy right now…”

Ice started a little at that one, sinking a little lower in the chair he was still insisting on sitting on. 

“And,” Maverick turned, holding two mugs that he seemed to have magicked out of thin air, “I know you miss coffee like crazy. So here. Black, two sugars, right?”

He held one out to Ice, grinning at the expression on his face as he took it. Ice didn’t need to say anything, Maverick  was right, of course. Maverick had been right about everything and would be, until whatever misstep got him killed and reset the clock. Or until they saved the world. 

“Seems like all the previous versions of me were pretty chatty,” Ice hummed into his mug though his eyes didn’t leave the strange partner the universe had given him.

Maverick perched on the small side table right next to Ice’s chair rather than taking the other one for himself. Probably just to be closer to the fire, the thin under armor they were wearing was designed to have eighty five pounds of metal exoskeleton around it so it didn't keep much heat in. Especially when they were torn, bloodstained and somehow still drying from their brief dip in the Normandy sea.

“Chatty? Fuck no,” he chuckled, folding one leg under himself, proving again that this wasn’t a man used to standing to attention, “I’ve just gotten good at listening to you.”

Ice glanced away from Maverick at that, like he’d suddenly become a source of light too bright to look at without pain. He looked into his mug instead, trying to focus on the swirls of steam leaving his mug. Trying to enjoy a moment of quiet when life had been so chaotic and frantic for the last year. 

Maverick didn’t seem to mind the lack of an answer or maybe he found his answer elsewhere, in some silent way. He’d drained half his mug already, probably scalded his tongue in the process and set it aside to lean closer. 

“Let me see,” he prompted gently. 

Ice felt like he’d blushed more in the last twenty minutes than he had his whole life, “Excuse me?”

Maverick’s smile turned up at the edge and he pointed towards Ice’s shoulder, “Let me see.”

Ice opened his mouth to protest before snapping it shut again, sighing. What good was a lifetime’s worth of carefully cultivated stubbornness against a man that had all the time in the world. He shifted gingerly, setting his mug down next to Maverick’s to pull off his shirt, wincing as sweat and semi dried blood clung on stubbornly. After a moment, he felt a second set of hands helping, the pain easing as Maverick’s warmer skin brushed his own. 

“It’s not that bad,” he mumbled a little sourly, like a small child trying to defend himself after doing something he shouldn’t have, “Looks worse than it is.”

Mav’s eyebrow raised, “Oh yeah, sure…”

Ice wasn't strictly lying, he’d had far worse injuries than the puncture wound just a little ways in from where his left arm met his shoulder. A piece of flying debris had caught him just before they’d cleared the drop site, in one of the few places where the mech suits had to sacrifice coverage for movement. It had been a brief burning sensation, a dull pain and then quickly forgotten in the adrenaline, following Maverick like a beacon through the slice of hell that had opened up back on that beach. 

“You never get moving as quickly as I tell you to after we land,” Maverick tsked fondly, gently studying the wound with its layers of cracked, drying blood and fingers of fast rising bruise snaking out from it all the way along Ice’s clavicle. 

“Can’t break the habit I guess,” Ice grunted at the press of his fingers, as careful as he was trying to be, “I’m the squad leader. I’m supposed to wait until everyone else has dropped.”

Saying that made a sudden, sharp grief rise in his chest, a fresh layer to the pain. The thought of the men he’d left behind back on that beach, the ones he was supposed to lead and protect. If this run was the one, if they saved the world, those men, the closest thing he’d had to friends would stay dead. 

Thinking of Slider was the hardest. Slider, with his booming voice and bad jokes and comforting presence at Ice’s right shoulder. Slider with his wife serving as a volunteer field nurse, his twin baby daughters at home. They’d been together since basic training, he’d been the one Ice had tried to explain Verdun to, run after run, until Ice realized it was safer if he didn’t know. If Ice just focused on winning that battle and protecting his friend. He’d managed it back then but there had always been that cold, uncomfortable knowledge that there would be one time where Ice wouldn’t be able to save Slider. 

Knowing about it in advance didn’t make living it any easier. 

Maverick must have seen the shift in Ice’s face, he took his other shoulder in a comforting grip, “Hey. I’m sorry.”

Ice looked up at him, at the sincerity in his face, the understanding. Knowing what someone was going through and wishing you could have saved them from it. 

“I know,” Ice swallowed hard, “Who’d you lose?”

Maverick tilted his head slightly, his smile growing softly pained, “You.” 

He left Ice with that, getting the rest of the water from the kettle, taking it back to the kitchen. He came back with a chipped bowl, white cloth, bandages that must have been tucked under the sink. 

“Sorry if this hurts,” Maverick hummed, aiming for his usual light tone, “We didn’t have time to cover field medicine in training, mostly just how to not get my head chopped off by a mimic and how to turn the safety off my suit.”

“Fuck,” Ice laughed shortly, leaning back so Maverick could start gently cleaning off the wound, “You were really that bad?”

“Worse than you’re imagining,” he gave him that smile Ice had seen on so many TV screens, selling the United Defence Force, like he’d just pulled it out of a hat, “I can look real pretty on an enlistment ad though.” 

Ice laughed, “I’ll give you that one…would have worked on me…”

“Oh?” Maverick’s face softened into a more natural, more pure smile, like those words had been enough to delight him. 

“Well…yeah,” Ice shrugged with the one shoulder Mav wasn’t cleaning out, “Shut up.”

“Didn’t say anything,” Mav grinned, the bowl of water now the color of rust, switching to the roll of bandages, “Drink your coffee, Sergeant.”

Ice did. Maverick was right, he had missed it like crazy. He could almost forget about the low thrum of pain in his shoulder, the empty stomach sickness left behind by fleeing adrenaline, the raw, frayed edges of his nerves, some of which were still calling for this stillness they’d found to erupt in screams and bangs and chaos, just to get it over with. Ice pushed that instinct away, got it to fade into static along with the hurt. If Maverick said they had two hours, they had two hours. He was the one person on this planet even Tom “Iceman” Kazansky couldn’t find reason to doubt. 

“Y’know, I’m kind of jealous,” he observed lightly, mouth seeming to have detached itself from his brain and running off by itself, “Of you still having the power, I mean.” 

“Yeah, you've said that before,” Mav chuckled, finally happy with how he’d tied the bandages and sitting back. His gaze flickered to Ice, like he knew what he was going to say but was letting him say it anyway. 

“I know it’s because I’m a control freak,” Ice hummed, tapping his fingers against the chipped tin of the mug, “Saving the entire world was just on my shoulders, I had all the time in the world and I didnt have to worry about anyone else fucking it up. It was all up to me.”

“Yeah,” Maverick tilted his head, “Up to you to die over and over. Sacrifice yourself until an ancient hive mind alien had to change its plans because you were so damn stubborn.”

Ice looked at Maverick steadily, for once not letting himself be afraid to really study the other man’s face. There was a lot there that was familiar, the general air of resignation, the bags under the eyes, the ease of invincibility. Back when Ice had picked up the reset back in the very first battle of Verdun- the only battle anyone else ever saw- he’d felt completely alone. He’d felt like an alien himself, like in amongst it all he’d forgotten how to be human, even after a blood transfusion had unknowingly tethered him back to time. He’d told himself it didn’t matter, he was a soldier, a damn near perfect one, and that’s all he had to be.

But he’d never imagined that one day he’d look into someone else’s face and see that same feeling. That maybe they’re was more he could do for Mav than teach him to be faster, stronger, how to use the weapons in his hands and send him into the breach. That maybe he might actually be able to help someone, to be the steady, calming voice he’d never had to say it’s going to be okay, you’re still you. 

“We’ve got two hours, right?” Ice murmured, aware that he’d been lost in thought for a long moment. 

“One hour and twenty,” Maverick corrected gently, though there was a soft hope in his dark eyes, “Close enough.”

It would do. If there was anything this war had taught Ice, it was how to make the most of every second. 

Maverick’s lips were already waiting for Ice’s but there was something comforting about this particular inevitability, the idea that the soft, sweet things were as predetermined as the bad, even if they didn’t stick around as long. The kiss opened up into something deeper, Ice’s more mobile hand coming up to grasp the back of Maverick’s shirt, Maverick himself cradling Ice’s face like he was trying to hold him in place, hold him in this moment. It was messy, rushed, like two teenagers in the back of a car, like both of them were sure they’d be yanked apart at any moment and had to fill every second with each other. 

All thoughts of the invasion, the rest of the human race, what was possible and what was impossible, it all faded into a meaningless dial tone in the back of Ice’s mind as Maverick came in to straddle his lap. Even breathing became a secondary concern against Maverick’s tongue brushing against his own, his thumbs brushing across his cheekbones, that heartbeat thumping against his own. Ice was left gasping, snatching lungfuls of air in the spare seconds before he willingly sank back into this quiet bliss.

Maverick drew back to yank off his shirt, dog tags rattling. To his surprise, Ice found himself shaking for the first time in nearly a year, like fucking another man was terrifying when a beach full of horror wasn’t. But Maverick caught his hands, pressing kisses to the scarred knuckles, soothing those tremors. Like there was nothing shameful about it.

“Have we done this before?” Ice breathed, voice shaking slightly, like it was struggling to contain all this hunger. 

He wasn’t sure why he asked, why he was wasting time when he could be testing the limits of his repaired shoulder. Maybe he wanted to reassure himself, confirm that this was all part of the plan. That there had been other versions of himself who’d been allowed this brief selfishness. 

And that there would be others after. 

Maverick flashed him a grin, breathless excitement alight on his face, “Kind of…”

“Kind of?” Ice half laughed, voice strained by a poorly held back moan as Maverick rose up enough that he could draw his trousers down. 

Underneath he wasn’t strong but lithe, tightly wired muscle, skin softer than Ice thought possible when he took hold of his hips. He had freckles scattered across his stomach, scars that Ice immediately wanted to know the story behind, a light dusting of dark hair leading down from his navel. He drank every detail in with uncharacteristic greed as his hands slid down to press daringly against the hardness in his boxers. 

“Here’s the thing…” Maverick rolled against that pressure, eyes dark as his pupils swelled, “I’ve been doing the same day over and over for fuck knows how long now. And also much of it is identical, I know exactly what's coming down to every minute…”

The boxers were gone too now, just burning skin against his hand. Things were coming loose, unraveling at the edges but every word of Maverick’s ran right to his heart. 

“But you, Tom Kazansky, no matter how many times I do this…” Maverick moved back so close until they were nose to nose, forehead to forehead, “You never stop surprising me.”

Ice was aware of Maverick’s heartbeat before he was aware of his own.

The other man was burrowed against Ice’s chest like he wanted to live inside his rib cage, his thumping heartbeat a thread that he followed back up into the waking world. It came slow and sluggish, Ice’s body reluctant to stumble out of the first decent sleep he’d had in a long time. Consciousness came in other pieces of Maverick, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. His dark hair ticking Ice’s jaw, his fingers gently resting on his hip, his steady breath across Ice’s collarbone, the skin of his back warmed by the fire, now down to less than embers. 

Ice frowned. If the fire was dead, where was that orange light coming from?

The answer brought a shock like cold water. Outside the window, the sun was setting. 

“Fuck,” Ice bolted upright, giving Maverick a much less gentle awakening as he was nearly tipped onto the floor. 

“What?” he mumbled groggily, trying to still cling to Ice on instinct. 

“We’ve slept too long,” Ice shook his head, scrambling up, reaching for his clothes, “It’s been way more than two hours. Fuck…”

Maverick somehow looked smaller, left in the chair on his own, like some piece of him had left with Ice. The guilt boiling hot in his chest jerked and twisted into sudden anger, why wasn’t he moving, why was he just sitting there, didn’t he know they had a mission to complete?

“Where are the keys to that helicopter?” he demanded, words quick and bitten off like he didn’t even have time for them. 

Mav sat up, wincing a little, “Tom, listen-”

“No,” Ice shook his head firmly, “No, we had our fun but we’re wasting time now, we need to get back to the mission. It’s still going to take us hours to fly to Switzerland and get to the dam. I know you know where the keys are, Maverick, we’ve done this before so tell me and let's go.”

Maverick flinched a little, biting down on his lower lip. He moved for his clothes too, but slower, more gingerly, making Ice want to scream. 

“Look, I’ll tell you where the keys are but you’re going to hear me out first,” Maverick set his jaw desperately, yanking his shirt over his head, “I’ll go. I’ll go to the dam, I’ll wrap this up but you stay here, okay?”

Ice froze in the middle of tying his boots, staring at him in confusion, “Excuse me?”

Maverick had a look on his face like a man standing before a losing battle. Surely something he was familiar with by now. 

“Please, Tom,” he kept using that name, that name Ice didn’t know how to connect to himself anymore, “I…I don’t know how to explain it so you’ll see, can you just trust me? You need to stay here, you can’t go to Switzerland.” 

“What the hell are you talking about, soldier?” Ice narrowed his eyes, aware that there was something he wasn’t quite seeing, something on the edge of his vision that was rushing towards him. 

For the first time since he’d known him, or at least since this version of him had known him, Maverick looked uncertain. More than that, he looked terrified. So much of Ice wanted to take him back in his arms, comfort him and promise him that everything was going to be okay even though he had no idea. But that was exactly the problem. 

So Ice dragged that part of him back into the guilt and the shame and the anger, and focused instead on the fact that Maverick’s eyes kept flickering back to the kitchen. 

He’d said Ice kept surprising him and he proved it now, getting ahead of him, too quick for the hands that tried to reach for his shoulders. Sure enough, there was a set of keys hanging there on the wall, alongside empty hooks that were probably meant to hold the car keys the family that owned the farmhouse escaped with. Ice grabbed them, felt them bite into his tightly closed fists as he marched out of the back door, trying to deafen himself to Maverick’s pleading even as he felt it break his heart. 

“Tom! Tom, for God’s sake, can you stop being the world’s most stubborn bastard for five seconds and look at me!”

Ice turned sharply, trying to imagine his mech suit around him, trying to imagine that he was strong, that nothing could reach him, “Fine. I’m looking at you. Now explain to me why I can’t get in that helicopter and do my goddamn duty.”

Maverick gripped his shoulder, like that alone would be enough to pin Ice down, “Because if you do, you die.” 

His voice actually broke as he said it, like out of all the death he must have seen, others and his own, this was the one he couldn’t take. 

“I’ve tried every single way I can think of, I’ve done everything I can but it never works,” the exhaustion was now obvious on Maverick’s face as he spoke, like Ice could finally see the mark that each run had left on him, “If you get in that helicopter, if you take one more step past this point, you die and I can’t stop it. I’ve reset over and over but every time-”

“Wait,” Ice’s voice was strained and slight, brittle with shock but it stopped Maverick all the same, “You…have you been resetting just because I died?”

Maverick bit his lower lip again, his chest rising, like words were building but he was scared to let them go. It was all the answer Ice needed. 

“Mav…” he swallowed hard, feeling a weight pressing down on his chest, “It’s the whole world at stake here. It’s the whole goddamn world.”

“I know…” Maverick met his eyes, helpless, “But it’s you.”

For the first time, Ice realized that while he’d been broken, burned, crushed repeatedly every time he’d thrown himself at the battle of Verdun, there was a deeper hurt to these endless repeating loops. One he hadn’t ever had to feel because he’d never let himself but Maverick was braver than that. Ice couldn’t even imagine the pain of it, of coming to love him, to know him so deeply, run after run. And to look into each fresh set of Ice’s eyes and know he didn’t feel the same because he just didn’t know Maverick.

“Pete…” Ice tried to steady himself, not even sure what he was about to say. 

But it didn’t matter. Their time was up. 

That sound, that painful inorganic chattering that they knew too well, ripping the still air in two. Ice snapped to attention, turned, put himself between Maverick and the gaining mimics but he was reaching for guns that weren’t there. They’d had their two hours, they’d overstayed their welcome and now they were cornered, their punishment bursting from the ground and rushing towards them. 

“Helicopter!” Mav yelled by Ice’s ear and he obeyed, rushing forward but the mimics were faster, their writhing black forms like glitches in nature itself rising over the roof, skittering over the fence, swarming. 

Ice knew the taste of a doomed run. He knew how this ended. 

But still, in spite of it all, he turned, went backwards rather than forwards, shoved hard. Maverick went stumbling back into the facsimile of safety inside the farmhouse, Ice on his heels, the door slamming shut with death on the other side. It wouldn’t hold for long but Ice didn’t need long. 

As the mimics screamed outside and beat on the walls, he took Maverick’s face in his hands and kissed him, trying to find that peace again. He tasted tears on the other man’s lips, felt his arms shake as they wrapped around him but it was close enough. 

“Listen,” Ice panted, pulling away enough to speak, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Pete but if it comes down to me or the world, you need to choose them. I’m not worth it.”

Maverick’s breath caught as he shook his head, “I wish I didn’t know you.”

“I know,” Ice swallowed hard. Glass broke in the kitchen, they’d found their way inside. They had moments, seconds. 

“I wish I didn’t know you,” Maverick gasped again, “But I do. I know you, Tom.”

Ice didn’t have time to try and figure out what that meant, if the stubborn man in his arms was going to listen or not. It didn’t matter, not to this version of him anyway.

Ice just tried to be glad that this time, he wasn’t alone when he died. 

Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.

Ice counted his pushups steadily in his head as he rose up and down. If he counted, he wasn’t thinking about the throb of pain in his arms. If he counted, he was apart from the air of tension about the military base, the taste of fear in the air as the next morning’s attack crept closer. It was all uneasy jokes, too loud laughter, brittle smiles. It would all turn to screams by tomorrow as soon as they hit that beach.

Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. 

He’d been training by himself in the hangar all afternoon, excusing himself from the drills the fresh meat were doing. No one said anything, they never did. No one was about to try and pull rank on the Angel of Verdun, they just studied him the way they always did, a little apprehensively, like they were trying to learn the secret to survival in the few seconds as he strode past them. The thought had just enough grim humor to it to curl the edges of his mouth into a smile. 

Eighteen. Nineteen…twenty…twenty one…

Footsteps. Ringing out loudly across the metal floor of the hangar where he trained, interrupting his rhythm. Ice turned, teeth already bared in frustration. 

“Yes?” he rose to his feet, ready to unleash his irritation. 

It took him a moment to place Captain ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, he’d never seen him in the flesh, only projected up on a screen, leaning back in a TV studio with that inherently punchable grin and wearing his uniform like a costume. Well, it didn’t seem as though the United Defence Force’s poster boy was doing so well, walking up to him a little too fast with a shell shocked expression and a rumbled uniform that looked very obviously naked, stripped of its insignias. Maybe not Captain, then. Private. Which meant Ice didn’t have to put up with any bullshit. 

“Who let you in here?” he bristled, hoping the guy would just turn and go running. 

But this Maverick didn’t even slow, just walking right up to Ice, far closer than he was comfortable with. Until he stopped, just as suddenly as he’d appeared, the strangest expression on his face, like he’d been following the steps of a dance and the music had just cut out. 

“Well?” Ice stepped back, unnerved. What the hell was wrong with this guy?

“Sargeant Kazansky…” Maverick began but trailed off, brow furrowing a little. 

“You’ve found him,” Ice tilted his head, something oddly familiar about the look on his face. 

But Maverick just shook his head, a decision clear on his face, “Sorry. Never mind. Didn’t mean to bother you, Sergeant.”

And he left Ice with that, turning on his heel and walking out. Ice was seized by the sudden desire to call out, get him to stop, grab his shoulder and make him explain, the oddest sensation like the train he needed was pulling away from the station without him on it. But Maverick was gone before he could decide whether or not to follow that mad impulse, disappearing into the square of daylight at the mouth of the hangar. 

Ice exhaled softly, the irritation burned away but nothing to fill the space it had occupied in his chest. He told himself to let go of it, making himself shrug and sink back down to the floor. Whatever was wrong with Maverick, he didn’t have the time to deal with it. Tomorrow was on its way, whether they liked it or not and every second was going to count. 

No one knew that better than Ice. 

[storeecbrcod]

Me, someone who’s mildly obsessed with writing gruesome injuries based in semi-realism:

TW: gore, explicit descriptions of deadly injuries below cut

“Yes, yes, being impaled through the back by a Mimic and watching mangled parts of the mechsuit stab through a hole in his chest, blood trying and failing to mix with hydraulic fluid as he stares down in horror, only to wake up and be unable to shake the feeling of burning and the pressure of metal in his chest despite being very alive and very untouched now, thanks to the Groundhog Day bullshit. Delectable, perfect.”

Edge of Tomorrow was a great movie, btw. The only movie I’ve seen where they didn’t put Tom Cruise’s spiteful lil ass on a literal soapbox because he’s too short LMAO

[helloliriels]

EDGE OF OBLIVION

by helloliriels | a final '12 Days of Johnlock' concept manip

Sherlock is an arrogant theorist, unused to battle. John is a wounded hero, unused to losing his ... Together, they form an unlikely alliance.

And while Sherlock knows sentiment to be a chemical defect, only found on the losing side ... he also knows now ... what it means to lose everything.

The final problem? How to end this war ... with the Angel of Verdune still at his side, and his humanity intact!

☄️Edge of Tomorrow AU concept | I guess it's Christmas in July?😎 (ideas living rent-free in my head) (and i'm making it everyone else's problem)

@chinike @johnlocky @rhasima @whatnext2020 @chriscalledmesweetie @keirgreeneyes @safedistancefrombeingsmart @colourfulwatson @scrub456 @calaisreno @fluffbyday-smutbynight @totallysilvergirl @sarahthecoat @inevitably-johnlocked @i-call-me-clarence @jobooksncoffee @amyreadsandstresses @topsyturvy-turtely @john-smiths-jawline @mutedsilence @meetinginsamarra @peanitbear @missdeliadili @peageetibbs @7-percent @discordantwords @hasenkind687 @sgam76 @janetm74 @gregorovitchworld @a-victorian-girl @cortinita @sarahthecoat @catlock-holmes @loki-lock @ninasnakie @iwlyanmw @blogstandbygo @kabubsmagga @sabrinash221b @jawnscoffee @mrb488 @kettykika78 @khorazir @raina-at @dontfuckmylifewtf @mutedsilence @solarmama @momma2boys @peepingcreek

[rainysofsunshineao3]

"You don't talk much," Robin notes, eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of those...Things. The sun illuminates most of the dilapidated highway and barren, wilted fields on either side. It would be easy for either of the two to spot one, but then again, that was a double-edged sword, and with how fast those things could move... It was a good chance that if the creatures spotted the trailer-towing van they would tear it to shreds faster than they could escape. Nancy humms in false thought, momentarily bringing Robin's eyes away from the scenery around them.

"Not a fan."

"What, of talking?" Nancy glances away from the road, a look mixed half of genuine questioning and annoyance.

"Not a fan of talking, no." She responds finally, adjusting her grip on the steering wheel, and Robin couldn't help the flutter of relief and something else entirely in her chest when the frizzy-haired brunette finally drew away her gaze.

"You know," Robin wasn't sure where she was going with this. Nancy seems more annoyed than usual, and it wasn't like they hadn't had this conversation before. "You do talk to me. Eventually." She was rewarded with the small chuckle it drew from the woman driving, albeit dry.

"Do I?"

"Oh yeah," Robin smirks. "It's usually around Lyons." She looks down in thought, fiddles with the immense amount of rings on her fingers. "You tell me about the time you went there with your family."

Nancy looks back at her, drawing the taller woman's gaze back up to her crystal eyes.

"Your brother got lost," She continues and Nancy looks away again, biting her lower lip lightly.

"I've never been to Lyons." Oh, the multiple times you've said so would suggest otherwise.

"You tell me your middle name; Danielle." She says it almost like a question, knowing full well that that piece of information had never been disclosed to her. Nancy's answer is harsher than before, quicker, almost like she knows the game Robin's playing.

"That's not my middle name." It's so quiet, almost a whisper, but the murmur carries through the entire van with ease. Robin almost leaves it at that, but something about Nancy's expression makes it impossible to keep her damn mouth shut.

"You find your brother in the arcade, by the way. 'Mike', you said. "

"Maybe I said it all just to keep you quiet."

"But," Robin sighs, "You do talk to me."

"Buckley, I do not need to get to know you." She huffs. "Saving the world doesn't necessarily require deep, personal connection, and," Her eyes darken, brows furrowing in a way that has Robin leaning closer, studying the guise as if it was the last thing she would see on Earth. "And if you knew what was good for you, you wouldn't want to get to know me. It's the only way you get through this...whatever this is."

And because Robin just can't seem to let something go, she whispers again, not meeting Nancy's gaze.

"What about Holland? You get to know him?"

The van screeches to a halt and Nancy whirles around on the soldier.

"How..." Even through the anger, Robin can see the tears filling Nancy's eyes. "How do you know that name?"

She swallows, genuinely wondering if this conversation would lead to another reset.

"You mentioned him."

"That's not possible."

"Then how do I know his name?"

"When..." Nancy pinches the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes. "When did I mention her? Under what circumstance-"

"Her?"

"When, Buckley?" But Robin's brain was still on a continuous loop.

Her. Her. Her.

"Is she the reason you won't talk to me?" She whispers finally, and maybe it was the sincerity in her voice that had Nancy sighing, turning her pricing blue eyes away and back to the road.

"Don't ever mention her name again." Her tone was harsh, but Robin didn't miss the single tear that fell after the shorter woman blinked.

"Why," Her voice cracked. "Are you..." She trails off, because she had originally been going to ask "Are you in love with him?" But...

Her. Her. Her.

"She's dead." Is what she settles on. It's not a soft answer, not a kind one, but she says it without a hint of bitterness.

Nancy only nods.

"I watched her die 300 times over and I remember every single detail." The "I couldn't save her" remains unspoken, but Robin understands.

"I'm sorry," She offers, and Nancy meets her delicate gaze. "You don't, you don't have to talk about it."

"It's fine." The answer is short, clipped. It's said in a way that means finality, but it's Nancy who continues after.

"It's just war."

-Or-

THE EDGE OF TOMORROW - RONANCE AU

Ya'll, should I continue this? I had this thought at 3am and couldn't stop thinking about it.

[thefourchimes]

Edge of Tomorrow Ronance AU because why not

Robin breathes heavily, falling to her knees as she stares at a pale face, one unblinking and unmoving. Leaving her alone. Again. She swallows, letting go of her weapon and just sagging in place. She doesn't try to move or fight, besides reaching out and holding a cold hand that lays limp on the floor. It doesn't matter if she fights anymore. And besides...it's not like this will be the last time anyway. It never has been since this all started. Robin lets out a deep breath, closing her eyes. She knows the chaos is converging on her, that the monsters of the Upside Down are screeching loudly all around without mercy, lunging towards her with claws raised, and— ... Robin opens her eyes. Again. She's lost track of how many times she's been here. All that she knows at this point is three words. Live. Die. Repeat. That's all her life is now.

[hrwinter]

I've just re-read Mrs and Mrs Danvers and I'd forgotten how much I loved it.

Do you have any active wips right now??

i have just created a draft in ao3 for a new fic, which is akin to signing a contractual long term lease or drafting a marriage proposal. i hereby promise future and continued commitment to a new fic 😭

[coldinpants]

Coldflash: Sonnie's Edge!AU

Central City, 2070.

The city hosts underground battles between monsters that are controlled by humans through special devices that connect to the brain.

Leonard Snart is a fighter who controls a monster nicknamed Captain Cold and has had a string of impressive victories. His team, consisting of Mick, the trainer, and his sister Lisa, the specialist, accompanies him to every battle.

One day one of his fights is visited by Harrison Wells, an organizer and very powerful promoter, and offers Leonard a large sum of money for losing on purpose. Snart refuses and tells the rich guy to go fuck himself.

Harrison Wells is not going to give up and sends his assistant to deal with Leonard. Barry Allen is the obedient and disenfranchised toy of Harrison Wells, who bought him when he lost his parents.

Wells' plan is for Barry to seduce and kill Leonard, but Harrison has no idea how convincing and attractive Snart can be and how easily Allen is willing to betray his master.

[anghraine]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

Aww, thanks! It's hard to pick a favorite when I've written so much, but here are five that I currently have good feelings about.

1- tolerably well acquainted (an elaboration of Elizabeth's feelings during the book canon scenes at Pemberley and after; WIP but all Pemberley scenes are posted)

For, maybe, once in her life, she had yet to reach judgment. He was at all times Mr Darcy of Pemberley, but Mr Darcy at Pemberley seemed so entirely distinct from Mr Darcy everywhere else that she scarcely knew what to think. Instead, the same thoughts coursed through her mind without resolution, returning over and over again with no answers.

She dwelt on them nevertheless, her habits of courtesy carrying her through the Bromleys’ conversation as it shifted to other subjects. All the while, she wondered how a single person could contain so many contradictions, and seem so wholly unaware of it himself. His manners had been so altered, though; the man who spoke to her mother’s brother and the one who had (rarely) spoken to her mother herself might have been different creatures altogether. Perhaps he had realized—perhaps he had listened—

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

2- the voices of the sea (in which f!Faramir dreams of water; part of the Aranorverse, but a completed one-shot)

Míriel dreamed again of Armenelos and the Meneltarma and the shadow of death rising inexorably above all. But there was no waking. The wave slowly began to collapse over them, foam and droplets spattering her face before it reached her. Míriel stood tall and straight, refusing to cower, allowing herself no further weakness than blinking the water out of her face. She opened her eyes to more water, feeling it slosh about her bare ankles.

But it was now deep into night beneath a pale moon, just bright enough for her to see that the water in which she stood flowed smoothly past the familiar shores of the Anduin. The terror of the Downfall had shifted to an overwhelming sense of peace.

As she watched, she saw a small boat come floating up the river.

3- per ardua ad astra (in which Jyn, Cassian, and Bodhi escape Scarif only to be caught in the Death Star's tractor beam; WIP, if mostly resolved)

He tightened his grasp on the crystal; through his gloves, it warmed his cool hands. Maybe the lingering warmth of Jyn’s body—even on this march to possible death, he shepherded his thoughts away from that—or maybe something else. He didn’t know. At that, Cassian didn’t know what he believed about the Force at all, beyond the reality of its existence. He reserved his faith for the cause. The dream of liberation, given shape by the Rebellion. And by Jyn. A Jedi could appear before him, and it would matter less than this chunk of rock.

He believed in Jyn. In a way, that mattered more than loving her.

4- One More Tomorrow (in which Noatak becomes Amon, ft. f!Tarrlok)

He didn’t mean waiting for the council to see reason. They never would, any of them. Even Taraka.

Particularly Taraka. He’d have liked to imagine that she had simply fallen under the malign sway of her peers, as she had lived under his sway in their childhood. But it was Taraka who spoke out most aggressively against the Equalists, Taraka who advocated for harsher penalties for attacks on benders, Taraka whose reputation rose until the council elected her chairwoman, Taraka who seemed the worst of them all. A monster.

And yet, his sister still.

5- [untitled and unposted. ANYWAY] (GW2 OFC/ OFC fic)

Gwen hadn’t cried, and some part of her desperately wished she could. But there was enough of the bandit Gwen left in her to keep her eyes dry. Don’t show weakness. Not here, not ever. Don’t stop until Zhaitan and his kind are gone, and the world is safe for everyone I love. Even—especially people like Tybalt.

Preceptor Doern had summoned her with a new assignment. And worse, with a new partner. But after one glance at the haughty, silk-clad human at his side, Gwen nearly recoiled.

"Lightbringer Althea," she said.

[ehhgg-art]

i would make a chex edge of tomorrow au but it will literally just be the plot of rvb s1-9

[captastra]

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Thanks Mari <3! Here is the last bit of the most recent wip fic I started writing, my Edge of Tomorrow AU for Rick and Renee :D Forewarning, its a little sad.

Everything they had been through all for this moment. As all images finalized on that first smile, she had ever given him, Rick leaned forward and let himself fall. And fall he did, becoming enveloped in the light below. There came a flash of pain. And then nothingness.

[feedesmarais]

Jaime x Brienne fic rec : favorite authors edition

Part 9 : Lady_In_Red's prose is elegant and intense. There are so many good stories! It's hard to choose.

- Spy Games is a modern AU filled with action, sexual tension and humor.

- Battle is the Great Redeemer is a brilliant season 8 fix-it inspired by Edge of Tomorrow.

- Salt Wife is an angsty short story about misunderstanding set at the end of A Dream Of Spring.

- Human Touch is a modern AU where Jaime meets Dr Brienne Tarth about phantom pain after his amputation.

- All the Redemption I Can Offer is another brilliant story. What would The Winds of Winter look like in a modern AU? Jaime and Brienne meet in a motel in Pennytree : angst, smut, action. A little gem of a story.

[listentotheshityousay]

me, finishing my latest fic: okay, I can write more hawks & tokoyami, or I could finally write that pacific rim AU, or maybe that firefighter AU, or maybe even that angels and demons AU--

my brain: psst what about a brand new shinoji fic

me: but...these ideas have been waiting So Long

my brain: I promise this will be short

me, 25 bullet points in my outline later: THIS ISN’T SHORT!!!!

[tenuuchlegch]

❃         Pay her no mind, she was simply attending to her animals’ needs on the island.

[peachesofteal]

Light on - single mom/neighbors au Simon Riley/female reader

The hallway creaks under his feet. 

The floorboards talk to him, tell him stories, narrating the tread worn in the carpet, countless steps tracked up and down, past his door at all hours of the day and night. 

Past yours. 

He notices your light is on when he gets in, warm yellow glow spilling out from your back door, illuminating your hunched figure perched on your little metal chair, glow from an e-reader spilling across your face. A mix of the light from your living room, the shimmer of the moon, and the white, soft incandescence of your book bathes you in a gleam of angelic color, celestial reflection of what he believes may already be half true.

Sweet angel. 

“Up late?” He asks over the balcony divider, and you squint at him, eyes adjusting in the pale darkness. 

“Emma’s been on a weird schedule. Couldn’t go back to sleep after I put her back down an hour ago.” His hands slide into his pockets, a natural reflex, and he nods, the movement expected against the emptiness that greets his fingers. He wants a cigarette. Craves it, but intentionally left them inside. 

He doesn’t think you like it, the smoking. And for some unsettling reason, he cares what you think. 

The monitor crackles alive with the sound of hoarse cry, high pitch and sharp, and you excuse yourself, slipping inside to answer Emmaline’s distraught wails. 

He leans against his side of the railing, mind wandering to his schedule for tomorrow, an on base meeting that’s sure to be irritating, followed by a training evaluation that he’s been putting off for far too long. 

The monitor’s lights flare, picking up noise, and his mind screams to a halt when the speaker starts to vibrate with your voice. 

“Hey, little sweet. Shhh, shhh, I know. You’re such a sleepy girl, aren’t you?” You hum something, a melody of some kind that he can’t place, and Emma makes soft little noises, prompting you to talk to her every time they start to tick upwards into a cry. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Mum’s here. I’m right here.” He stands, transfixed, frozen, listening, eavesdropping, to every little sound, hanging on every word like you're feeding him crumbs of your soft, soothing voice and Emmaline’s sleepy, grumpy coos. 

When you reappear back on the balcony ten minutes later, it’s with the baby against your chest, her chubby little arms and legs tucked into a blanket, wrapped up like burrito, sweet little face peeking over the fleece lining. “Someone,” you rub her back, “is not keen on going back to sleep.” She’s wide eyed, wide awake, and you step closer to his side, his hand automatically going out to rub a thumb against her cheek. 

“What’s wrong, baby girl, not goin’ let mum get any rest tonight?” You smile softly, gaze sweet and gentle when it bounces between his face and hers. 

“Afraid not.” You lean forward, brushing your lips against the crown her head. “She’s pretty unhappy unless she’s being held, lately.” He feels for you, can see how tough it must be, how tired you are, and a fire fueled yearning enflames throughout him, desire and desperation battling against his self-control, his logical mind.

You sigh, swaying slightly with her, trying to rock her into a sleepy state, and he’s content to stay outside with you, watching. Enjoying the way you lean into your instincts, your motherhood, soft edges complemented by sharp ones, your baby safe and slipping into a dream from your arms something that he can’t not marvel at. It doesn’t take long for her to be completely out, and you release a long sigh of relief. 

“Alright, time to try again.” You whisper, and he nods, catching a whiff of your shampoo as you turn to head inside with a whisper, coconut and lavender nearly making him dizzy. “Goodnight, Simon.” 

“Goodnight.”