#now i know i can just disengage. it’s not easy or simple of course but i do not have to continue to actively contribute to a situation

[backtodecembertv]

the most boring part of growing up is getting over your pointless, agonizing crushes because you realize they’re not worth it instead of pining indefinitely. like it’s obviously a good thing, but it also feels like a loss of innocence to realize that having feelings for someone doesn’t have to mean anything or go anywhere. i’m not tied to this person and i don’t have to sacrifice everything trying to make it work and trying to be okay with what they can give me. i can just find someone else

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms Viewer's Choice #6: Bazett Fraga McRemitz

It’s that time of the month once again, sports fans! It’s time for the Fate and Phantasms Viewer’s Choice Special! Today’s lucky lady is none other than the Seal Designation Enforcer Bazett Fraga McRemitz! A human that can fight on par with a servant, Bazett is an unusual case. She’s a mage, but I literally cannot find any indication of her casting a spell outside of “spell of kick your ass”, which goes a long way to explaining why she’s a Long Death Monk and a Battle Master Fighter without a single caster level to her name. She’s fast, she’s strong, she’s tough, and of course she’s got Fragarach. Making the ultimate counter move in a game with basically 0 counter moves isn’t easy, but we’ll have to do it again in a year or so anyway, so might as well get some practice in now.

Also, just to be explicit- this is the human Bazett. The pseudoservant will show up in due time. I know we're using her servant picture, but it looks nice and it fits in with the rest of the builds.

Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Race and Background

Despite Variant Human being one of our most popular races in this series, we’ve still only technically built 3 actual humans, which is wild when you think about it. anyways, being one gets you +1 Strength and Wisdom, as well as Arcana proficiency to do your job and the Ritual Caster feat to actually cast some spells. We’re not getting a lot, but it would be weird to build a mage without any spells at all. you’ll start off with Alarm and Detect Magic to make your job easier, and if you find any more ritual spells from the wizard list hanging around you can learn and cast those too.

If you’ve ever played Commander you know everyone stops playing when the Azorius control deck shows up, which is why we’re making Bazett an Azorius Functionary. They’re both magic cops, and they both have so many counters you might as well stop doing anything.

Bazett doesn’t get spellcasting so you can’t use the Azorius spell list, but you do get Insight and Intimidation proficiency. The living weapon is terrifying, who knew?

Ability Scores

Bazett is also a master martial artist, which means your Wisdom is your highest score. That’s where Fragarachs come from! After that is Dexterity. Bazett’s strong, but she also fights in a suit and we only have so many ASIs to go around. Third is Constitution. You normally bock incoming damage, but you also take hits like a champ. Your Strength is only a little above average. Bazett fights in a suit, but she’s also strong. If we could make this higher, I would. This does mean your Intelligence is lower than I’d like- Bazett’s obviously intelligent, but we needed the physical stuff more. Finally, we’re dumping Charisma. Bazett’s terrifying, but that’s pretty much how she gets through life. She lives in mage society though, so it’s understandable she wouldn’t want to make too many friends there.

Class Levels

1. Monk 1: If you want to fight in a suit and get people’s blood on your boots, the only real option is Monk. Your Unarmored Defense takes care of the first part by adding your wisdom to your AC while not wearing armor or a shield, and your Martial Arts deals with the latter by giving you 1d4 damage with unarmed attacks, a attack on your bonus action, and the ability to use dexterity instead of strength when using monk weapons like your fists. Or any simple weapon, which includes improvised weapons like trees.

You also get proficiency in Strength and Dexterity saves, as well as Athletics and Acrobatics. Baz is a freaking god when it comes to physicality.

2. Monk 2: Now you’re strong and tough, but we need to be fast. Unarmored Movement does just that. You get an extra 10’ of movement while not armored, and it’ll speed up even more as you level up. If you want to go even faster, check out your Ki. you get up to your level in ki per short rest, and you can spend it to dash, disengage, dodge, or attack twice as a bonus action. This is also what will eventually become Fraggle Rock, but all good things come with time. We haven’t even gotten our subclass yet!

3. Monk 3: At third level you get your subclass yet and become a Long Death monk. This means you can make a Touch of Death whenever you KO someone within melee range, giving you temporary HP equal to your Wisdom modifier plus your Monk level. Given your ass-kicking ability, that’s going to be a lot of healing by the end of this. and worse case scenario, you can always carry a sack of starving rats around, it’s a D&D classic.

You can also Deflect Missiles, reducing the damage of an incoming ranged attack and sending them back with a ki point if you reduce the damage to 0. It’s a shame this doesn’t work against magic, but that’s a magic item in-universe anyway and it’s cool, so maybe chat up your DM about putting it in your game.

4. Monk 4: Fourth level monks can Slow Fall as a reaction, reducing falling damage so you can make sick anime jumps without dying. You also get your first Ability Score Improvement this level, so bump up your Dexterity for more punching and less getting punched.

5. Monk 5: Fifth level monks get make an Extra Attack each action for two attacks per action, three per turn with your martial arts, or four with a flurry of blows. You can also turn each and every one of those attacks into a Stunning Strike using ki points, forcing a constitution save on a creature and stunning them if they fail. That means melee attacks against them are at advantage, so you can kick their ass even more thoroughly. It also trivializes most boss fights if your DM didn’t give them legendary resistances. I learned that one from experience.

Also also on top of all that, your martial arts die is a d6 now for more damage. If only we didn’t have to wait six levels for the next improvement…

6. Fighter 1: Fighters don’t have to wait six levels for the next martial arts die improvement since they know the Unarmed Fighting Style. If you have both hands free, you can deal a d8 of damage with your bare hands, and a d6 if one is busy. I don’t know how carrying something makes your kicks weaker, but whatever, you fight light anyway.

You can also use a Second Wind as a bonus action for a bit of healing. That’s real healing, not temporary HP like your punches.

7. Fighter 2: But you know what’s better than big punches? More big punches! Second level fighters can use an Action Surge once a short rest to make two actions in one turn. With two attack actions and a flurry of blows, that’s six attacks in one turn.

8. Monk 6: Sixth level monks get Ki-Empowered Strikes, so your unarmed attacks are magic now. Again, kind of a shame this doesn’t help you throw other people’s spells around. Buuuuut long death monks still get cool stuff like the Hour of Reaping, letting you spend an action to force everyone in a 30’ radius to make a wisdom save or become frightened of you for a round. That gives them disadvantage on attacks and checks while they can see you, and they can’t willingly move closer to you either. You’re a fist-flinging avatar of death that moves 1.5x faster than the average human, I wouldn’t want to get close either. You can also do this whenever you want, because Bazett is never not terrifying.

9. Monk 7: Seventh level monks get Evasion, so your failed dex saves make you take half damage, and your successes prevent all of it. I guess this is kind of like punching through a fireball. You know a character is wild when they make evasion look tame in comparison.

You also get a Stillness of Mind that makes it so you can stop an effect charming or frightening you as an action. There are things that scare Bazett, but they’re few and far between.

10. Monk 8: Let’s use this ASI to get even stronger. I don’t mean bumping up our dexterity- that’s later. Instead, let’s grab the Crusher feat to round up our Constitution and knock creatures around when you hit them with bludgeoning damage. (that’s what your hands do, btw.) also, when you get a critical hit everyone has advantage against them for a round, so even if your stunning strikes don’t work you can still beat the crap out of people.

11. Monk 9: Ninth level monks get an Unarmored Movement Improvement, letting you run up walls and over water. Bazett’s got a lotta movement options, and they’re all moving closer to you. Start running.

12. Monk 10: Tenth level monks get even more speed as well as a Purity of Body that makes you immune to disease and poison. In game. You still gotta wear a mask.

13. Monk 11: At level eleven long death monks get a Mastery of Death, so whenever you’d drop to 0 HP you can spend a single ki point to stay at 1 instead. funnily enough, this doesn’t have the usual boilerplate saying you can’t use this on instant-death maneuvers, so it even works on disintegrate and power word kill. Now that’s terrifying.

14. Fighter 3: Now that you’re immortal, let’s fight smarter and not harder as a Battle Master. This makes you a Student of War so you know one kind of artisan’s tools, but we’re hear for some Combat Superiority. You get 4d8s per short rest that you can use on your choice of 3 maneuvers, with a save DC based on your dexterity. Now you can use Evasive Footwork to add that die to your AC while moving, you can make a Riposte for an actual counterattack only 14 levels into this build all about your counterattacks, and you can make a Pushing Attack to launch a creature up to 15’ away for big anime punches. The latter also add the die roll to your damage for that hit. Despite Bazett’s 10 in intelligence, she’s not dumb. She just focuses all her smarts into beating the everliving hell out of whatever’s in her way.

15. Monk 12: Use this ASI to bump up your Dexterity for stronger punches, a tougher suit, and for stronger maneuvers. This is a pretty simple build stat-wise.

16. Monk 13: Thirteenth level monks get the Tongue of the Sun and Moon, letting you speak and understand all languages. I really hope Prisma Illya never gets an official dub, but at this point it might as well.

17. Monk 14: At fourteenth level your Diamond Soul gives you proficiency with all saving throws, plus you can spend a ki point on a failed save and try to re-roll it. Now we’re punching through spells.

18. Monk 15: Fifteenth level monks have a Timeless Body, so you will never suffer the frailty of old age. Anime characters are immortal after all, and even if they weren’t old age was never really your issue in any series you’ve been in.

19. Monk 16: Use your last ASI to bump up your Wisdom for a stronger AC. We haven’t actually used our wisdom all that much in this build, but that will change with our last level.

20. Monk 17: Seventeenth level monks unlock their ultimate technique: Fragarach. Or Touch of the Long Death, if you want to be a stickler. You can spend an action to touch a creature, spending 1-10 ki points and forcing a constitution save. If they fail, they take 2d10 necrotic damage for each ki point spent, or half on a success. Now all you have to do is ready an action that will trigger as soon as they attempt their strongest attack on you, and you’re all set!

Or maybe just hit them first? I know it’s not in character, but spending your action every turn to ready an action is not a fun way to do stuff. Still, 20d10 damage in one hit is pretty nice.

Pros and Cons

Pros:

Did you see how much damage you can do in a single hit here? I’m not entirely sure if 20d10 is the biggest single hit we have, but it gives Sanson a run for his money.

You also have great defense, with just shy of doubled movement speed plus 18 ac plus 24 HP every time you knock someone out plus you just. don’t die. up to 17 times in a row. Now, you can make the argument that surviving an attack and counteracting it are two different things, but shut up. You find a way to reverse time in a physically focused build. What, you wanna go 17 levels into wizard to grab the wish spell? Didn’t think so. You also got proficiency in every save, and evasion’s always good.

Unlike Sanson’s big hit, yours is super easy to use, and you can even use it twice in one turn for a total of 34d10 in one turn with an action surge. and you can pump these bad boys out every short rest, even tempering your ki usage a bit for smaller enemies.

Cons:

Your range is abysmal. You’re fast, but anything hanging out in the sky can completely invalidate you unless you’re using that ready action thing.

You also only have bludgeoning and necrotic damage to work with, so fighting an Aasimar will go poorly for you. This also eats through your ki like a motherfucker, and you need that to live. So only go all out if you think it’ll end the fight, otherwise it might just end you.

Speaking of getting ended, your HP total is pretty low, so you’ll be using that Mastery of Death a lot if you’re trying to be a front-line fighter. Be careful about using Fragarach, or a false friend could stab you in the back once you’re weak. But we all know that’ll never happen, right? That nice priest guy just wants to help.

[mgsapphire]

Ethics and morality... and how they're not the same...

Weird title, and I don't even know if I'll properly approach this one with all the topics I wish to this discuss in today's The Devil Judge essay, because a lot of things peaked my interest, I was debating on doing a separate post for each subject, but I'll do them all in here:

Starting simple

I know we're only 4 episodes in, but I want to break down the things that I often look for in a new show:

Cinematography

Soundtrack

Character building

Plot devices

Social commentary (sometimes)

Of course, these are things most people would consider basics, but I find that a lot of TV shows don't have enough balance in them. Also, cinematography and soundtrack are pretty up there for me because when a plot gets slow, or something like that, I stay for those two (biggest example: King Eternal Monarch).

The soundtrack in The Devil Judge is amazing and the cinematography can be a character of its own. They really get me hooked and are used as tools to properly tell a story. And I'll get into that further down this post.

The onlooker will never understand the actor

Experience is your best friend not only applies to job hunting, but it's true in the real world too. You can't truly weigh in on something unless you've experienced it yourself, you can give it your judgment and everything, but when bad things happen to someone, you'll never truly understand their pain. Am I bringing up because of the difference of mind in Judge Kang and Judge Kim's opinions? On how the public treated the minister's son? No. I'm talking about a very specific scene, where the cinematography told me to think that way and not the dialogue (it's that easy for my mind to be swayed). In episode 3, when the rich are about to dine right after the foundation's commercial for a better future, we see this aerial shot:

What's interesting about this? The seclusion and the enclosed feeling it conveys as a counterpart to the poverty shots we were just shown. Yet, these are the people making ads for a better future, what do they know?

They live comfortably behind concrete walls with no windows to see what goes on apart from the bubble they live in. This idea is further enforced at the party in episode 4, where they're not even a part of the donations, and watch and mock from afar as spectators. Yet, these people call the shots. They even call it commenting, as if they were watching the pain of others on TV.

The intriguing personality and the duality it encites

Now, this was a costume and wardrobe decision, but it was also very well thought of:

Judge Kim wears white and Judge Kang wears black. One is morally perceived by viewers of the show as morally good and the other is perceived as morally dubious at best. However, besides the costume and wardrobe thought put into this, we also have to think about the delivery of this scene and how it may further affect my detailing of this section. Judge Kang brings down the coats, and hangs over the coat to Judge Kim, he's the one who is making that annotation: You're pure, I'm tainted. This can have one of two interpretations:

Either Judge Kang believes Judge Kim to be pure and innocent due to his status as a rookie in the field

Or he believes Judge Kim to be morally white and himself morally black as he's looking at his brother's face and not at Judge Kim's heart.

Because most of the back story we're unveiling is through Judge Kim's perception, there's also an inherit bias we're having as well, because in Judge Kim narrative, he believes he's doing what's right and believes Judge Kang to be evil. In being served information about Judge Kang through Judge Kim's eyes, our bias is inherently skewed.

Another thing is that, when they put on the coat, they're standing in front of the other, as if the producers of this series are telling us they're two sides of the same coin.

The duality is made in more deceitful ways, which include:

A difference of classes that implies one has suffered while the other has not.

A difference of experience that implies one is more tainted while the other is pure.

A difference of age that implies one is a sly fox while the other one is is bunny about to be eaten.

A difference of temper that makes one erratic and the other logical.

Power dynamics

This one, in this one I could make a whole thesis based on just a couple of scenes in the drama. And you know I have to mention it: director Jung being the puppeteer.

It may not be as unexpected at first, nevertheless it brings forward a lot of things I've wished to touch upon for quite some time now. A woman being a puppeteer of an old man in the portrayed dystopia that The Devil Judge is painting makes much more sense than more common demonstrations of these dynamics where it's either a:

A man of power being controlled by a bigger man of power.

A man of power being controlled by a seemingly man of a lower status.

A woman being controlled by a man of power.

Although, there's nothing wrong with those power dynamics, and if they were to be used, a message could also be conveyed, this one in particular works as a megaphone.

A subversion of power in such a way can be interpreted as a true indication of the weak overcoming the powerful. Why? It is not that woman are naturally weaker than men, but that in society, patriarchy has been a big factor in taking voice away from women in order to give it to men.

In order for Director Jung to achieve her purposes, it's smarter for her to do it under the pretense that an old rich man in power is the one calling the shots.

This is better exemplified by her stance when the old man tries to excuse his behavior, and what her moral compass is. I'm not saying I agree with her unethical conduct, but that her morality is directly impacted by the perception of the public of her as a weak woman:

Just because a dog bites a human does the person get dirty?

This is telling on how she perceives the actions of the old man in gropping the waitress. She didn't do anything wrong, even if you touched her, you are the dirty one.

While she's evil, it's a refreshing and deep evil.

The public's opinion and how there's actually logic in the show's portrayal

The public opinion can make or break a person, even if it's not on a public trial like this. While "cancel culture" barely works in today's society, a person's reputation is forever tainted. The show does tell that, but it also exhibits the scary downside of it, by showing how easily it was to make people accept flaggelation as a fitting punishment.

There are many experiments that have tried to test the effect of societal pressure on an individual's decision and the effect of the authority's enforcement of power in the outcome of these decisions. Furthermore, theories based on analysis of human behavior not necessarily relying on experiments can also help break this down. What do I mean? Here's a small attempt at explaining:

Milgram Experiment on Authority: which measured the individual willingness to carry out actions that go against their conscience due to an authority's approval.

Argument from Authority; The idea that people are more likely to use an authority's opinion on something as an argument for their reason. This is often seen in science, where trusted authorities have done the research and offer it to the public. In here, authority bias also plays a role, as we often believe, at first, that an authority must be right.

Moral disengagement: basically speaking, because this is evil or bad, I'm not part of it and I most probably am not actively participating in it. One may disengage by moral justification, which means that before engaging in something that has been previously perceived as immoral, I'm changing my stance on it based on what I tell myself to be logical arguments. This particular form of moral disengagement is very effective in changing the public opinion. I'll be touching on another form further down this post.

Other factors played a part, but these ones in particular came to mind when public flagelation as a form of corporeal punishment was wildly accepted. First, an authority is the one telling them it's correct, to go ahead. Secondly, another authority (the minister) had previously shown approval to such unusual punishment. Thirdly, they are not the ones to be engaging directly in the act, and even if they were, it would be acceptable because an authority has told them so. They may even believe the punishment to be a necessary evil for the greater good.

In fact, the minister's son was actually correct when pleading his case, they were accepting it because it wouldn't affect them directly.

Regarding the cinematographic descent of the public opinion regarding the situation can better be exemplified by the old man we've seen through the episodes.

Does suffering justify misdeeds?

Today I came along the difference between excuse and reason. You may give a reason for your behavior, but it doesn't excuse it.

Not because I've suffered through shit, means I have to make you suffer too.

I may explain myself, but it's on the other side to excuse me.

Why I hate the unreliable narrator and why I love it so much

This story has been told mostly through the eyes of Judge Kim and what he hears and sees regarding Judge Kang, if anything, the narrative is very close to that of the narrative we've seen in The Great Gatsby. An enigmatic man is being narrated to us from the eye of a man who hasn't known him for a long time.

How is that an unreliable narrator? The narrator has their own set of bias and moral standards which function as lenses through which they see the world.

Another way of putting it would be the way teenage romances are often written in a first person narrative where either of the two teenagers is the narrator, so the author can sell to us something as simple as offering a pack of gum as the most romantic act on earth. We're perceiving interactions through rose tainted glasses.

In this case, we're seeing the interactions through Judge Kim's eyes who doesn't trust Judge Kang from the get go due to his own preset bias.

The narrative becomes even more unreliable as we're not exactly sure if what Judge Kang disclosed himself is a fact.

The reason why I love this narrative is because it leaves a lot of space to make simple plot twists to a narrative and make them seem grand, and can elongate a story without making it obvious.

The reason why I hate it is because sometimes, in tv shows mostly, we as viewers can see the other side of the story and grow increasingly frustrated with the main character's prejudice and misunderstandings (I'm looking at you my beloved Beyond Evil).

Also, because I have to wait for a long time before I actually have a clear picture of it.

[rexscyarika]

Ner Jetii

An angsty one shot between Rex and gender neutral Jedi reader. The reader is a Padawan but of age. It’s not stated who the reader’s master is or what battalion they serve with but, they talk of rescue and relief so Plo Koon and the 104th could be implied if you so please.

⚠️Mature audiences recommended⚠️

Warnings: Established romantic relationship between Rex and reader, so much angst, heavy survivor’s guilt and reader blaming themselves, reader losing their company in a seppie trap, descriptions of blood and death, dying words, past torture, ptsd flashbacks, hallucinations, mention of post Umbara trauma, mention of nightmares, reader self-harming in a way (using pain to drive their will and unconsciously punish themselves, self-destructing/over exertion, simile of falling through ice/drowning, implied capture and torture of reader, mention of capture and slavery in the beginning, fluff at the end, reader is so traumatized and paranoid, no y/n just pet names, small kiss at the end, reader needs a hug, reader gets that hug from Rex, comforting! Rex, Rex sings to you in Mando’a cause I’m a slut for that language. I hope that’s all 😭

Mando’a translations:

Cyare/cyar’ika: Darling/beloved/sweetheart

Mesh’la: Beautiful

Mando’ad: Mandalorian (lit “child of Mandalore”)

Vod/vode: brother/sister/comrade

Jetii: Jedi

Ner: My

Ret’urcye mhi: Goodbye (lit “maybe we’ll meet again)

Bal kote, durasuum kote: For glory, eternal glory

The lullaby lines are made up from a phrase of remembrance (translations are included by them)

It was just a relief mission. You were supposed to bring food and medical supplies to a remote outer rim system that had been effected by separatist blockades. An easy and simple mission, one to introduce shinies to life off Kamino. At least that’s what it was supposed to be. That was until you had led your company straight into a Seperatist trap. It turns out there were no citizens to help out, no citizens at all for that matter, those that were there had been captured and sold. It hadn’t been much of a fight, you were severely lacking in firepower and experienced soldiers. Sure as a Jedi you are worth a couple hundred battle droids but you can’t help your men when you’re engaging a highly dangerous Sith Lord. At least they had died fairly quickly with minimal suffering. That’s what you get when you have 10 battle droids for every trooper. They keep firing even after all are down. They don’t take prisoners, well not troopers anyway. Maybe it’s for the best for some of them, though. The shinies won’t have to see firsthand the effects of the war that has plagued the galaxy, or wake up trembling with the sound of blaster fire ringing through their ears at night. They will have died knowing nothing more than training exercises and stories from their vode. The others won’t have to mourn for lost vode anymore, they won’t have to worry about their place in the galaxy after the war. Not gone, merely marching away as the Mando’ad say. Marching away from endless battles and no choices for how they live their lives.

Yeah, it was for the best.

But, if that was the case why do their voices haunt you at night? Cry’s of “You could have saved us.” “We were so young.” “Please General I didn’t want to die this young.” and of course the one that nips at your brain 24/7, like a headache that won’t go away “You led us straight to them.”

You didn’t mean to. You’re loyal to the republic and your men. But you’re a Jedi right? You should’ve sensed it, the fact their was a handful of force signatures on a planet said to have billions of citizens and the presence of a Sith Lord for kriff’s sake. You could’ve sensed it. If only you had been been paying attention instead of laughing at stupid jokes with your men, those men same might still be alive.

The Jedi council had tried to reassure you

“A Padawan you still are and an experienced Sith Lord Dooku is. A fair fight it was not.”

“Dooku can mask his force signature, young one. It wasn’t your fault.”

“We cannot save everyone. We are Jedi not gods.”

But that didn’t stop the nagging at your heart. Nor did it stop the knowledge of why the separatists developed such a complex trap to eliminate such a small number of troopers. It was because of you. You had important separatist codes locked in your head, gathered from previous missions. They knew you would be easiest to get at because you were still a Padawan and worked primarily on rescue and relief missions. Missions with low firepower and minimal expectance for combat. Master Windu knew the same codes, but he is far too experienced for them to go after. If only you had trained more, longer, better. You think back to every night you snuck out to have some fun. If you had stayed and went over your studies maybe you could’ve saved them. You wouldn’t have had to hear the dying words of your Captain. Oh your sweet Captain. So loyal and eager since he was shiny right up until his last choked out battle cry of “Bal kote, darasuum kote. Ret’urcye mhi, vod.”.

Forever glory? Where was the glory in being led to a massacre by your Commanding Officer?

He had called you vod. A title reserved for their brothers and those they respected. You didn’t deserve that respect. You weren’t a comrade that had fought valiantly by their side, you were the person that was supposed to protect them, and you let them down. The Mando’a farewell directly translates to “maybe we’ll meet again.”. If there is an afterlife and if you did, you don’t think you could look them in the eyes.

The trauma supporters the council had directed you to talk to when you got back had told you these thoughts were normal. “Survivors guilt” they had called it. As the only survivor your brain tries to tell you it was your fault. But, you weren’t a trooper that had managed to survive. You were the commanding officer. They told you that didn’t matter, it wasn’t your fault.

You wish everyone would stop telling you that, as far as you’re concerned, it was. So you tried to do everything you could to never let that happen again. You brought experienced men on relief missions, ignoring their complaints of this being a shinies job and a waste of their experience. You spent your time either sleeping, eating, training or researching new strategies. Not that your sleeping actually involved much sleeping. It mostly consisted of tossing and turning, flashes of dead troopers and... him. His sickly grin as you writhed in pain under his tortures, the blood curdling laugh as you tried to escape. You’d heard stories of how sick the former Jedi was, but experiencing it was something else. Not just the torture but his presence. Dark, looming and cold. Like falling through ice into cold water. Trapped and desperate to escape.

Every slightly negative feeling that leaked from your fellow Jedi made you freeze. He’s here, you’d think, or that Jedi has turned. So you walked around on eggshells, constantly wary and vigilant of any potential threats. Even now as you focused on the punching bag in front of you were scanning, reaching out with the force to sense any threats. It was becoming exhausting, so you opted to let pain drive your will. Not even bothering to wrap your hands as you threw punches at the bag. Your fists began to slide off the bag on account of your blood staining it red. But you didn’t stop, truthfully you didn’t even feel the pain at this point. You couldn’t tell if the red on your hands was your own or the memories of fallen troopers’.

“I should’ve fought harder.”

You hit the bag with a powerful right hook.

“They’d still be alive if I had”

You opted for a jab.

“I led them straight into that trap.”

Your cross didn’t consist of much technique, just rage and power.

The same time you heard the door to the training room being opened you felt an icy breath near your ear. “The pain will end if you just give me the codes.”

“Never!” You snarled, whirling around and summoning your lightsaber from your belt. Immediately igniting it and pointing it to face the Sith Lord. I look of poor malice fell across your face, a mask to hide the fear.

You were met by a startled trooper, his wraps falling from his hands and his body moving into an instinctive defensive stance.

It took you a second to realize there was no danger, your eyes raking behind him to ensure of such. You disengaged your lightsaber and dropped to your knees with shaky breaths.

“I thought your were him, Rex, I thought he’d found me.” You sobbed into your hands, flinching as you felt a hand on your back.

“It’s okay Cyare, you’re safe, I’ve got you.”

You let him pull you into his lap. He gently grabbed your hand with his, careful to avoid the raw patches that were still oozing blood. His other hand stayed on your back to rub soothing circles and pull you tight to him. He held you as sobs wracked your body, his lips by your hairline, whispered assurances coming from them.

He started to hum softly before they turned to words. It was a Mando’a lullaby, one sung to grieving vod after a loss. You didn’t know many of the words, your knowledge of the language not extending much past the nicknames Rex would call you. It was still comforting though, his voice soft as he ran a hand through your hair.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc.”

You realized you recognized what he was singing. You heard it whispered from the lips of troopers as their vode mourned. Rex had told you the meanings of some of the lines. (“I’m still alive, but you are dead.”)

“Ni partayli, gar darasuum” he continued humming. (“I remember you so you are eternal.”)

Your sobs slowly turned to sniffles as you sat there with him. Feeling a small sense of comfort and security for the first time in weeks. Relishing in the feeling of being in his arms.

“Cyar’ika.” He had whispered when you had finally gone silent, your breaths coming even and deep now. He brought the hand from your hair to your cheek, gently encouraging you to look at him. “Are you with me, little one?”

You nodded and blinked up at him with swollen eyes. You whispered a thank you as you searched his face. It was soft yet slightly taught with worry. His eyes were sparkling with held back tears, and his mouth was turned up into a small, comforting smile. He looked so young yet so old at the same time. His soft features having been hardened from war and loss, scars from injuries his helmet couldn’t protect from laying here and there. Yet, even after years as a soldier in a war he had no say in he was still so compassionate. He wasn’t cold and unforgiving like some had become. He sat there with care and worry in his eyes, looking at you like you were his whole world. Even broken and bleeding he stayed with you. If you crumbled then he would pick up the pieces and put you back together, just as you have with him. You had been there for him, calming him down from nightmares of Umbara. You had taken his broken heart and sewed it back together with care.

So, he would do the same for you.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled towards him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Mesh’la.”

“But I do-“

He cut you off by bringing his lips gently to yours and sealing them in a gentle kiss.

He pulled away to rest his forehead in yours.

“No you don’t, ner jetii. Not to me, not to anyone.”

He moved to stand up, still holding onto you to support you as you stood on shaky legs.

“Let’s get you to the medbay.” He gestured to your hands once he deemed you stable enough to be able to walk.

You nodded to him and accepted his arm around your waist, your own moving to seek support on his shoulder. You made your way to the medbay, averting your eyes from curious glances at your state. You knew no one would question or mock you. Not with Rex there, his gaze flaming with warning at anyone that looked your way. You still had a lot to get through. You knew more blood and tears would be shed. That voice would continue nagging in your head and you’d still see your fallen company in your dreams. But, it would get better, you had Rex to talk you down and hold you during those times. You had done that for him and you knew he would do the same for you.

His Jetii.

[howimproper]

Ask Me No Questions (And I'll Tell You No Lies)

Fandom: The Yin-Yang Master: Dream of Eternity

Pairing: Qing Ming x Boya

Tags: Eventual Slash, Qing Ming Is A Little Shit, Naughty Language, Truth Magic, Except It's More Like Compulsion Magic, Compelled To Speak, #GayPanic, In This House Honey Bug We Stan, Admission Of FEELINGS, Unbeta’d We Die Like Boya’s Pride.

Summary: Boya gets hit with a truth spell. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

"I'm so sorry Master, I had no idea what it was when I picked it up!" Honey Bug wails from behind her hands, eyes wide and full of tears as she looks pleadingly at Qing Ming, who has found himself on the floor and somewhat entirely distracted by the dazed man in his arms.

"It's alright, Honey Bug, I don't think whatever it was is malicious." He assures his spirit guardian with a calming smile, who sniffles wetly and delicately dabs at her cheeks with the flowing length of her pink sleeve.

"I didn't sense anything from it, it was just a normal pin!" She explains in a rush, gesturing at the simple silver hair pin abandoned on the floor. Qing Ming sighs fondly and shakes his head.

"There's no real harm done, I think Boya is just fine." He says, while surreptitiously using the trailing length of his white sleeve to sweep the seemingly innocuous hair pin away, the length of metal skittering across the wooden floor before bouncing to a stop by the wall. Honey Bug watches it, lips wobbling.

"Speak for yourself, asshole." Both Spirit and Master jump at the unexpected announcement, and Qing Ming quickly returns his attention to the man stirring in his arms.

"Boya! How do you feel?" He asks concernedly, and is not wholly surprised when he is presented with one of the most delightfully unimpressed looks for his trouble. He quickly squashes the reflexive grin at the familiar expression on his companions face.

"Like I just got kicked in the head." Boya spits in response, before blinking in bewilderment. Qing Ming sighs and shakes his head good naturedly as he carefully shifts Boya in his arms, helping him to sit up from where they are both sprawled on the floor. He might have reacted a touch... strongly when Boya had collapsed suddenly and without warning.

"That's to be expected, I think. I'm not sure what kind of talisman it is but it's not harmful." Qing Ming replies easily, and it's the truth. When the talisman had activated in Honey Bug's hands he had not sensed anything untoward- Boya however, had reacted quick as a snake and struck the pin from his Spirits hands regardless, likely acting instinctively at the brief flare of foreign energy. In doing so however he had been the last one in contact with the pin before the spell went off.

"If I start turning unnatural colours or grow extra limbs I'll be blaming you." Boya huffs as he quickly disengages from Qing Ming's arms, to his utter disappointment.

Boya climbs to feet, waving off Honey Bug's steadying hands when he teeters. Qing Ming pouts as he too, rises.

"Come now, Boya, I hardly see how these theoretic outcomes would be my fault." He complains even as he smiles. Boya fixes him with a mildly deadpan look even as he swipes non-existent dust from his leathers, and Qing Ming barely resists cooing. Such expressions his companion can make, it's truly a delight.

He pointedly ignores Honey Bug hastily raising her sleeve to hide her mouth to the side of them.

"Don't be cute, it confuses me." Boya mutters, before snapping his mouth shut with a brief, mortified look on his face. Qing Ming blinks at him in surprise even as perplexed amusement bubbles up inside him.

"Boya, I wasn't aware you found me so confusing." He just barely manages not to titter, and Boya must see right through him, because he levels him with a dirty look before scoffing.

"As if you aren't completely aware of what you do to me." The words have barely left Boya's lips before he jerks as if struck, and swiftly slaps a hand over his own mouth. Honey Bug makes a choked, wheezing sound behind her sleeve, but Qing Ming is too startled to notice.

“And what do you mean by that?” Qing Ming enquires somewhat uncertainly. He has always been certain that Boya took his teasing in stride, knew that his often improper remarks were said in jest (usually, he can’t help himself sometimes, the flirting just happens), but if he had said or done something recently to make his companion truly uncomfortable he cannot think of it. 

“Have I offended you in some way, Boya?” He asks, because if he has he wants to know so he can correct it post haste. He does not want the object of his much lamented affections upset with him for something he could have prevented. He doesn’t think he could handle Boya being honestly upset with him.

Boya’s hand abruptly tightens over his mouth, his brows drawing together in a strained frown that has Qing Ming instantly concerned. He opens his mouth to ask what is wrong only to be interrupted by Boya’s other hand snapping up and pointing a single finger in his face. He pauses, mouth working silently for a moment and goes to ask- only for Boya to scowl at him. He closes his mouth, correctly if confusedly interpreting a request for his silence. They stand there awkwardly for a moment as Boya visibly struggles with something, Qing Ming maintaining his perplexed silence as he looks between his straining companion and Honey Bug, who is still hiding behind her sleeve. He narrows his eyes at her. Honey Bug’s eyes curve up at the edges over the curtain of her sleeve. Oh dear. 

Finally, Boya lowers his still rudely pointing finger before tentatively removing his hand from his face, the action so cautious he might as well have been going finger by finger. He pauses like that for a moment, hand still hovering near his mouth, before seemingly deciding the danger has passed. 

“This is a gods be damned truth spell.” He says, sounding so greatly put upon that Qing Ming can’t help but laugh in such fond delight as his concerns evaporate.

“Oh Boya, you had me so worried for a moment.” He chuckles, and Boya rolls his eyes before turning on his heel, gaze downcast and scanning the floor. He spots the pin by the wall and strides over to it before stooping to snatch it up, uncaring of potentially activating it a second time as he is already under its effects. He turns the innocent looking accessory between his fingers, examining it with a keen eye for any markings or script that might shed some light on its purpose or perhaps how to reverse the spell. 

Honey Bug shifts in place for a moment before finally emerging from behind her sleeve and, as if nothing had occurred, gracefully glides for the doors. 

“I’ll fetch some tea.” She declares, and Boya grunts as he continues to scour every inch of the hair pin, fingers carefully feeling over the dips and swirls in the silver. 

“I’d rather something stronger.” He says absently, and Qing Ming bites his lips to suppress the snicker that tries to escape him.

“Boya, it’s hardly noon.” He teases, trying for scandalized but only managing blatant amusement. Boya looks up from the pin-come-talisman in his hands and glares at him. 

“I don’t give a fuck.” He says, with feeling, before his eyes drift to the ceiling and slide closed in mortification. Qing Ming’s lips wobble, and he knows he probably shouldn’t but he can’t pass up the opportunity-

“How improper.” Boya’s eyes pop open and drop to level him with a look, and Qing Ming thinks smittenly that if looks could kill he might be laughing himself sick in the afterlife right now. 

“You’d be surprised.” Is the entirely unexpected retort. Qing Ming gapes, and Boya thumps himself solidly in the chest once as if beating out a cough. “Ignore that.” He snaps, clearing his throat. But no, he will not, because now Qing Ming is intrigued. 

“Oh?” He prompts before he can think better of it, and Boya brandishes the hair pin threateningly. Qing Ming steps back with a smile, raising his hands in surrender as he retreats to his desk, lowering himself to the cushion behind it with a soft laugh. Oh, but Boya makes it too easy sometimes, Qing Ming thinks as absently rests an elbow on his knee, honestly he can’t help but poke at him when he presents Qing Ming with so many opportunities like this, truth spell or no. Though it’s another thing altogether with its effects, Qing Ming notes as he leans his head on his knuckles to watch as Boya quietly runs qi coated fingers over the pin. 

Boya is usually so reserved with his responses that suddenly being privy to his true thoughts is… he hesitates to say nice because it’s not something his companion can actually help right now but it… is definitely eye opening. He knows of course that there is much more to Boya than he allows others to see, that there do in fact exist normal, mundane thoughts in his head just as any other man despite how sometimes Boya himself seems to forget that he is in fact just that. But Qing Ming has witnessed with his own eyes how others fall into the easy mindset of believing him some aloof, untouchable figure that exists solely for duty. 

It saddens him greatly that Boya feels that kind of need to distance himself from others in such a way, but he can’t say that he doesn’t understand. Qing Ming has his own ways of distancing himself, after all. He doesn’t here though, and never with Boya. He isn’t normally so free with his words around others, Boya might even be horrified to realize that Qing Ming is actually unfailingly polite in most other company, but he has never felt the need with Boya even from the first day they had met and fought over a pippa. There had just always been something about him that dropped Qing Ming’s guard which, he thinks somewhat sardonically, should have been the first red flag of his budding infatuation, now long since watered and grown into something he sometimes struggles with keeping contained. 

“What’s with the face?” Boya enquires out of the blue, and Qing Ming blinks out of his thoughts with a questioning sound. Boya has apparently come to the conclusion that he won’t find any answers from the pin itself and has since pocketed it and returned his attention to him. Having been so thoroughly absorbed in his thoughts Qing Ming hadn’t noticed any of it, or that he has since spent the last several moments staring. He hopes his face hadn’t given his thoughts away too much, but since when has he ever been that lucky. 

“What face?” He deflects easily and watches, entertained beyond belief as Boya’s face goes through a myriad of fascinating micro expressions as he evidently tries his absolute best not to just blurt out his true thoughts without first filtering them. 

“Here’s the tea, Master.” Honey Bug announces with positively diabolical timing as she abruptly breezes back into the room with a tray in her hands. Qing Ming is not waylaid enough by her arrival to miss the look of profound relief that briefly crosses Boya’s face at the distraction, and dimly wonders what possible thought he might have been trying to keep behind his teeth to warrant such a reaction. Curious, very curious. 

Honey Bug sets the tray down on his desk and sets about pouring the faintly floral smelling brew into the cups before carefully distributing them, one set delicately in front of Qing Ming and one opposite him for Boya. He thanks her with a smile and cheerfully ignores the glint in her eye as she returns it and rises to leave them alone once more. 

Grasping his cup, Qing Ming allows the heat to seep into his fingers for a moment before taking a careful sip, humming constantly at the flavour as Boya lowers himself to sit opposite him. 

“We need to figure out how to break this spell.” Boya grumbles as he reaches for his own cup, eying it in faint displeasure for a moment before drinking. Clearly, he had truly wanted something stronger. Qing Ming contemplates retrieving the wine he may or may not have stashed in the cupboard behind him. 

“It might very well be a simple matter of time, Boya.” He replies honestly. It might very well be so, the spell itself is a harmless one, if inconvenient, and tethered to such an innocuous item that he truly does not believe it was one made with any ill intent behind it. Likely a talisman made in jest, or to perhaps prove a point. Either way he doesn’t think they need to be hitting the scrolls for counterspells or worrying too much about it just yet. Boya, clearly, disagrees. 

“I don’t want to wait it out, Qing Ming.” He almost whines, and Qing Ming raises his eyebrows.

“Something to hide, my friend?” He asks cheekily, and is instantly intrigued by the sudden blush that tinges Boya’s ears. 

“Yes.” Boya chokes out, before delving into his tea, as if burning his mouth out will ward off any further ill restrained words. Qing Ming’s eyebrows have yet to descend from his hairline, and he watches his companion drain his cup with curiosity. He thinks he should perhaps tone it down a bit for Boya’s sake, but the man hasn’t actually expressed any real ire at his prodding yet, and Qing Ming trusts that if he oversteps Boya will say so or simply remove himself from the situation. He thinks that, if he were truly making his friend uncomfortable, the spell would ensure he is made aware by prompting Boya to tell him off, as he would clearly wish to.

And to be frank, it would take a better man than Qing Ming to resist. 

Deciding to take some mercy on his companion, Qing Ming drops his hand from his temple and straightens to refill their cups, and idly comments-

“You’re taking all this with more grace than I might have expected, Boya.” Only because if it had been Qing Ming struck with the spell, he might have sent Boya fleeing for the hills to escape whatever inane prattle he might fail to suppress- or, heavens forbid, announce his affections. Ah. Probably for the best it wasn’t him. He takes a hasty sip of his refilled cup to hide the sudden heat in his face.  

“Barely,” Boya mumbles into his cup, “Just when I think I’ve got a handle on it, words happen.” He hisses as he lowers his tea to glare off to the side. Qing Ming hums. 

“Ah, the woes of the mortal man.” He replies with amusement, and is charmed by the scowl and quiet fuck off he gets in reply. “It’s not too terrible, is it?” He asks lightly, and gestures to his companion. “We’ve known each other long enough to not be offended by some trivial truths between us.” It’s actually quite refreshing. Boya is not one to lie, this he knows very well, but he is guilty of habitually omitting certain things or simply keeping his own counsel on matters. To hear his honest thoughts for a change is quite the treat.  

“You don’t offend me.” Boya says, and by the lack of any reaction to his own words Qing Ming takes it as a willing admission that warms him. He smiles. 

“I’m glad. I do worry sometimes that I may take my teasing too far,” He admits in return, “I don’t want to bother you or make you uncomfortable.” And he really doesn’t, despite literally everything he says to the man sometimes. He values Boya far too much to ever risk driving him away, and Qing Ming doesn’t think he would be able to bear it if he ever did. 

“I don’t mind.” Boya mutters as he fiddles with his cup, before taking a sip. But not before adding, “I love you too much for you to ever bother me.” Qing Ming freezes, startled at the almost absent words, and Boya apparently registers what he had just said, because he promptly chokes on his tea. Stunned, Qing Ming can only stare as Boya coughs loudly into his arm, reflexive tears wetting his lashes as he tries to clear the tea from his lungs. 

Boya hastily slams his cup down on the desk, and the sharp sound startles Qing Ming out of his daze. 

“Boya-” He tries, but for once, words fail him. He replays the last few seconds over in his head, and then does it again and again until the words are chasing themselves in circles within his mind. 

“I love you too much for you to ever bother me.” 

Qing Ming thinks he might have played the remark off as a jest or perhaps an exaggeration if Boya had uttered these words any day before today, but his still spluttering companion is currently under the influence of a truth spell. However unwittingly he had said it, Boya had meant it. 

Boya loves him. 

The realization is almost enough for him to drop his cup, but Qing Ming quickly fumbles it to the safety of his desk before he can do so. Opposite him, Boya is climbing to his feet, coughing fit subsiding as he hastily turns away from him and makes for the door, and Qing Ming jolts, because Boya is fleeing. 

After admitting that he loves him. 

Qing Ming’s knee catches the edge of his desk as he scrambles to his feet, but he hardly notices the brief flare of pain as he all but jumps over it in his haste to catch his fleeing companion. 

“Boya, wait-” He calls, and reaches out to quickly snag Boya’s arm before he can clear the doors, tugging him to a stop and urging him to turn around. Boya stops, but he doesn’t turn, and Qing Ming decides he’ll take it. 

“I didn’t mean to say that.” Boya grits out, panicked, and Qing Ming could snort because that much is obvious. 

“Boya-” He starts, only to be interrupted. 

“I did mean it that way.” Boya blurts, before attempting to snatch his arm from Qing Ming’s grip to no avail, and growling. “Didn’t. Fuck.” He curses, and Qing Ming laughs softly, shaking his head fondly and decidedly not letting go of his arm. “Don’t laugh, this isn’t funny!” Boya snaps, still refusing to turn and face him, but Qing Ming isn’t laughing at him, he’s laughing at himself. How blind he has been.  

“Boya-” Qing Ming tries again, gently-

“I told you I didn’t want to wait out this stupid spell.” Boya spits. Qing Ming sighs and tries to tug him around, but his panicking companion stubbornly holds his ground. And he is, panicking, that is, either abjectly mortified at his own honesty or spooked by whatever reaction he thinks will be forthcoming, or a mixture of both. Either way Qing Ming will need to calm him down before there can be any further discussion that doesn’t end with him bolting. 

“Yes, because you were afraid you’d do exactly as you just did.” Qing Ming replies reasonably, and Boya makes a vaguely embarrassed noise and tries to pull his arm free again. Qing Ming does not allow it. 

“Forget I said anything, it’s the spell.” He tries, and Qing Ming snorts because it’s a poor deflection and they both know it. Fed up, Qing Ming yanks Boya around, the man apparently unprepared for the force he puts behind the pull because he turns with it in surprise, and Qing Ming releases his arm and grabs him by the lapels of his leathers to hold him still. 

“You love me.” He states, catching Boya’s eyes with his tone carefully blank despite the tide of emotion currently trying to drown him. Boya swallows, and almost looks away before apparently deciding against it, clenching his teeth so tight Qing Ming can see the flex of muscle in his jaw. He remains stubbornly silent. Qing Ming tries a different approach. He tightens his grip and leans in, close enough to feel the warmth of Boya’s breath as he exhales in surprise. 

“You love me?” He asks. 

“Yes.” Boya breathes, eyes fixed unerringly on his face, and Qing Ming makes some sort of noise in his chest (he honestly can’t say what, but it’s embarrassing) and kisses him. Boya jerks, startled, before he just...melts into him, and kisses back. 

The kiss is languid, and Qing Ming quickly decides that kissing Boya is his new favorite pastime. He clings to the lapels of Boya’s leathers, almost afraid to let go, and Boya responds by sliding his hands over Qing Ming’s hips, wrapping his arms around his waist and tugging him against him. Qing Ming hums contentedly against his lips. 

Suddenly, Boya winces, and Qing Ming pulls back to frown at him in concern. 

“What is it?” He asks, and Boya blinks rapidly for a moment before shaking his head slowly. 

“Nothing.” Boya replies, somehow very pointedly, and then sighs in relief. “Oh thank the gods.” He mutters, and Qing Ming blinks. 

“Ah,” He says, “The spell?” He guesses. Boya nods, looking entirely too relieved, and Qing Ming’s lips twitch up. “A bit late for that.” He teases, and Boya rolls his eyes, before tugging him back in for another kiss. Yes. Yes he thinks he’s definitely found a new pastime. 

Out in the hall, Honey Bug dusts her hands of imaginary dirt, and smiles.

 Fin

[libermachinae]

Fault Lines Under the Living Room

Part IV: Touch - Chapter 12: Stumble and Lost His Grip

Also available on AO3! Summary: Knocking on the front door didn’t work, so time to try the back. Word Count: 3,437

---

Scorch might have been as pleasant as the rust ruined dregs at the bottom of an oil can, but damn if Spur wouldn’t mind feeling that arrogant crackle of a laugh at the other end of his spark. A few jabs about how he’d teamed up with Autobots just like Grrder always warned he would with too-easy remark about how he got distracted by a smooth tread. Anything but the emptiness of stasis lock chilling him from the inside out. Add in the fact that they were racing narrowly by a straight plummet to a grisly death and this could easily rank among the top five worst days of his life.

He clung tighter to Drift’s roof, optics offline. If this was the end, he didn’t want to see it coming.

“Watch it,” Drift warned. Spur ignored him.

He’d had an alt-mode once, so long ago it was hard to remember now. He and Scorch had worked in construction setting up new plumbing infrastructure and had hated it. Even though he couldn’t remember what form he’d taken to do the job, he could still smell the insides of those tunnels and feel that wet heat weighing down on him. When the representative for Triple M had shown up on site, it hadn’t mattered that the foreman dragged him off before he could introduce himself. Spur and Scorch had been among the handful to roll up to the ramshackle unformatting clinic.

He justified the decision with a simple fact: everyone did stupid slag when they were young. His dumb idea also meant they weren’t in Ultrix when the sinkhole opened under the Ioreian neighborhood, and that they were among the first to know when Triple M leadership decided the Decepticons had the right idea. Or at least were on a better track than the Senate. Spur hadn’t paid much attention to the politics, that was more Scorch’s thing. Spur was more interested in survival, a simple goal that had become more complex the moment Drift had realized he didn’t have any wings or wheels of his own. That was how he found himself now with his fingers tight around the edges of Drift’s roof, squished flat with the wind tearing at his back plating, wishing for the untold time that he was about to wake up in his closet-sized hab back on the lunar base.

“Acknowledged,” Drift said. 

“What’s happening?” They hadn’t offered to patch Spur into their comm channel, and he hadn’t asked.

“Rodimus says we’ve got incoming.”

“Pitslag,” Spur muttered. He was so tired of getting shot at and beaten up and chased—

“Just keep your optics open.”

Which sounded like an awful idea, except Drift was very much in control of the momentum of Spur’s poorly armored body. He brought his optics online slowly, peering through a staticky haze, but nothing could disguise the depth of the canyon’s shadow, nor the sheer drop, which Drift’s tire edged along like a battlefield medic’s torch across a wound.

Against the ludicrously powerful engine underneath him, Spur failed to catch the moment the echoes started up from behind them, only realizing he was hearing something when Drift briefly slowed for a tight turn. The sounds overlapped, feeding into each other, but when he listened close he picked up a pattern: the ripple of a spring releasing, followed by the harsh thunk of a metal body hitting stone. He twisted, trying to catch a glimpse, but the darkness of the canyon hid its secrets well.

“On their way,” he said.

“I know.” Drift pulled a tight corner faster than he should have and started to tilt toward the edge; Spur felt his spark seize and threw his weight in the opposite direction.

“Gonna fraggin’ kill us!” he snarled.

“If not me, then it’ll be them. You want to choose which one?” Drift asked.

Another day, Spur might have considered the Decepticons. With the ground under his pedes and a blaster in his grip, he could handle himself. He might not have been able to fight so well, but he could make a stand, which was often all his superiors had asked of him. Something had happened to Scorch, though, and since Spur wasn’t about to reveal his biggest weakness to a bunch of pseudo-Autobots (even  one had saved his life), he was stuck with them until he could find somewhere to slip away.

The first blaster bolt that pinged off the wall behind him had him wondering if there were any right choices in this mess.

“Slag!” Drift swore as the second shot clipped his side mirror. “They’re on us!”

Spur twisted again. He mistook them for Insecticons at first, with their twisted bodies and spring-loaded legs, but as one dug its thick claws into a wall with a heavy thunk, it revealed a small pilot crouched within.

Bang!

A pilot with a decent aim.

“Scrap, scrap!” he swore, his voice tilting up as he felt Drift slow further. “No, what are you doing? Speed up! They’re shooting at us!”

“Get off.” Drift didn’t wait and transformed as he pulled to a stop, dumping Spur onto the ground. Both took evasive actions as the plasma bolts rained down, Spur wedging himself behind a boulder while Drift took up the annoying hoppy thing he’d done to evade them back on Vitrious.

“Rodimus!” Drift barked. “I know, but we’re getting shot right now!”

Spur wanted to know why that was only an unimportant detail when he was the one pointing it out, but his attention was quickly grabbed by another sound pushing into their canyon, drowning out even the blasterfire: an interstellar speeder descending directly on top of their pursuers.

The Decepticons, startled by this new development, broke formation. One released his hold on the wall and dropped out of sight, apparently uninterested in dealing with Drift’s reinforcements. The others regrouped, one continuing his assault on Drift and Spur while the second twisted in his perch on the wall, apparently with the intention to latch onto the ship itself.

“Down!” Drift shouted.

Instead, the speeder tilter up and to the side, slamming into the assailant before he’d engaged his claws. He went tumbling end over end after his teammate, which would have felt more like a win if Spur wasn’t still ducking from blasterfire that rained shrapnel down on his helm.

“Will you do something?!” he demanded.

“I’m—trying!” Drift’s words were labored, popping between bursts of gunfire. Spur questioned, not for the first time, what he had done to earn luck so bad his captor was a swordsmech. “Rodimus, watch—”

Spur was still ducking, so he didn’t see exactly what happened, but there was a bang accompanied by the shriek of tearing metal. The engine swung closer before it dipped away again.

“No!”

And then the sounds of the battle fading, falling. Spur stayed frozen, hands clutching his helm, waiting for an explosion or another burst of gunfire that never came. After several minutes, he brought his optics online and peeked over his shoulder.

Gone. The lot of them all disappeared.

On legs that were still trembling from the force of the gunshots, Spur stood and stepped out from his cover. His tiptoed to the edge of the canyon but stopped before he was close enough to look down. He hadn’t heard a crash yet, which implied they were still falling; that was a long, long way down.

He hesitated, listened close. He took two steps back and turned aside, walking, at a much more reasonable pace, in the direction he’d already been headed. It was very quiet, down inside this lonely canyon on this almost empty hunk of rock. He tugged again on the thread tied to his spark, hoping that this would be the one that revealed he wasn’t alone anymore.

~*~

Drift had been accused in the past of not thinking before he leapt. It would have looked that way, had anyone been watching as he sailed through the air folded into the jet stream of the plummeting shuttle. The assumption overlooked the fact that he had considered all of this well in advance, and he had decided, regardless of their easily broken promises, he would do everything in his power to get his friends out unharmed.

Despite the damage, the shuttle’s engines were still functioning, and it was fighting to stay airborne, bucking against its unwanted passenger. Drift almost shot past but managed to grab a service handle, wincing as the shuttle’s violent movements wrenched his delicate repairs.

“Rodimus!” he shouted, not sure comms would cover up the roar of the air and the shuttle’s engines. “Calm down! I’m taking care of this!”

“Slag, Drift, hurry!”

Drift startled. He wasn’t used to hearing Rodimus like that. As if sensing his confusion, Ratchet chimed in.

“That thing’s nearly punctured through the shuttle’s inner walls,” he said. “Rodimus is scared the rider’s going to find his way inside.”

Which was, of course, the one thing they could not allow to happen and the entire reason Drift had told them not to come. It was only concern for Rodimus’ safety that got him to withhold his anger for later, focusing on what he could do instead of what he wished he’d done. The shuttle stopped its thrashing, which gave Drift an opportunity to pull himself against its side and start climbing the short ladder. He was almost to the top when he ducked, just avoiding a blaster shot between the optics.

“Frag off!” he yelled.

No response from the canyon crawler pilot. Drift didn’t understand why he hadn’t disengaged yet and wondered if it was a mechanical failure. The rigs weren’t designed to bore into spacecraft, and it was possible he had accidentally fused it to the shuttle.

“Rodimus, what’s he doing?” Drift asked.

“I don’t know; I can’t see! Half your cameras are busted!”

Drift switched to his other channel.

“Calm him down,” he demanded.

“I’m trying,” Ratchet said. “The kid’s stressed.”

Drift bristled.

“He’s not a kid,” he snapped, then cut the comm and launched himself over the shuttle.

The tick wasn’t expecting another attempt so soon or so suddenly. His shot landed somewhere behind Drift, the gun ripped from his hand before he’d finished releasing the trigger. He cowered within his metal exoskeleton, the entire contraption shivering as it tried to pry itself from the inner workings of the shuttle.

Drift didn’t stop to think about it. He wrapped his hands under the upper jaw of the crawler and wrenched it open, griding its fangs back through the punctures it had made. Freed of his captive, the small Decepticon immediately tried to reengage, snapping the crawler’s trap shut and almost crushing Drift’s fingers in the process. Drift tried to hold on, but in his effort to save his hand, he accidentally aimed the crawler’s spring legs at himself. They kicked into his abdomen, causing him to stumble and lose his grip entirely.

“No!”

The metal cage went flying, sucked into the air current before tumbling down into the abyss, Drift watching it go from his place atop the shuttle.

He hesitated a nanoklik. Then it was too late to do anything. Drift stared at the place the bot had vanished and turned on his comms, but he didn’t know what to say.

“Drift?” Rodimus said. “I kinda saw what happened. You alright?”

It was a long drop, and the shuttle wasn’t moving slowly. If the crawler came with an eject function, the bot might get lucky and land on something pliable, but more likely he was riding it all the way down. Drift tried to muster up an answer to Rodimus’ question, but nothing came to mind. The exhaustion that dogged his frame came back in full force, but that was so normal he doubted it was worth mentioning.

“Are you injured?” Rodimus pressed.

“No,” Drift said honestly. He sunk down, reattaching himself to the side of the speeder. “I—I don’t know what I’m doing.” He had spent months practicing the most rigid self-control of his life, keeping slavers and imperialists and megalomaniacs alive long enough to deliver them to justice. He’d made every thrust with precision, every grapple a little less than his full strength, and now that it appeared his efforts were at an end, he felt nothing. He’d thought that his first kill—because it had always been inevitable that he would go back to his old ways eventually—would provoke guilt or grief. But he didn’t feel anything.

“You’re going to get Grit,” Rodimus said. “You’re protecting Vitrious.”

Allegedly. If he didn’t care about this, had he ever cared about Vitrious? Was all that scrap about slavers and the betrayal of the Cause just an excuse for him to indulge the anger he had kept hidden under a red badge?

“Why are you here, Rodimus?” he asked. “Forget Ratchet and the Enigma. Why did you agree to come?” He wasn’t sure that answer would matter any more than the rest, but he was tired of being in his own head. He needed something else.

“To bring you back to the Lost Light,” Rodimus said.

“But why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Rodimus.” If there was a growl in his voice, it was because he couldn’t be bothered to hold it back anymore.

“W—what do you want from me?” Rodimus asked. Despite the stress in his voice, the shuttle kept on a smooth course. “Do you want me to say that it’s for some selfish reason, that I was doing it for myself and my personal glory again? I’ve gotten a lot of practice with—I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“I want you to be honest with me,” Drift said. “If we’re going to risk our lives for each other, I need to know why.” Everything had a price. He’d learned that years ago, and that the only way to get anywhere in the world was to set your own as high as you could. This was probably the most he could ask of Rodimus, and he still didn’t know if it would be enough. And yet for a moment, it didn’t seem like Rodimus would be able to pay. The silence stretched out, waiting, until Drift very nearly told Rodimus to carry them back up to the ledge so he could drive himself the rest of the way.

“I thought about being a hero,” Rodimus said. His voice was quiet. “I had dreams about bringing you back to the Lost Light and telling you everyone had forgiven you and giving you everything you deserved afterward. I would give you your life back, with interest. Anything you wanted. But it wouldn’t be like that, and I knew it. So then, I was afraid.”

Afraid simply of disappointment, or something more specific? Drift didn’t have a chance to ask, because Rodimus barreled on.

“That’s why I didn’t come to get you sooner,” he said. “I was scared. Getting you back would mean facing up to all of my mistakes, when before you were always the one who let me feel like I was doing everything right. When Ratchet told me he was coming to find you, it made me realize that I needed to get over that. Much as I appreciate what you did for me before, I wanted you back more than the things you did for me.”

“I already told you I didn’t leave for you,” Drift said, because Rodimus sounded sincere, but it wouldn’t mean anything if he was still sequestered in the fantasies Drift had built around him.

“I know,” Rodimus said, “but I’m talking about all of it: the Lost Light, the speeches, just telling me that I was doing a good job. You did so much for me.”

“I didn’t,” Drift insisted. “It was—it wasn’t about you, Rodimus. It was about everyone else. They needed you to be someone and I did everything in my power to make sure you were that person. I…” Fear and shame and something like self-loathing curled inside Drift, but he shoved past them because fuck it. He couldn’t go back to the Lost Light under more false pretenses, and if that meant he couldn’t go back at all…

He already knew better than to rely on himself first.

“I needed you to be that person,” he said. “I did it for me.”

A longer silence descended over the comms. The canyon was narrowing around them; Rodimus would need to ascend soon.

“Ratchet’s right,” Rodimus finally said, apparently unaware that Drift hadn’t been privy to whatever conversation the two had just shared. “I don’t have any room to complain when I was doing pretty much the same thing. You were doing what you had to, right?”

“I’m not sure how you want me to answer that,” Drift said honestly.

“Right, never mind.” Rodimus still sounded nervous. “What I really want to say is that, um, I get it. I think. We all set off on this quest for our own reasons, and most of them don’t really align at all. And—Prowl aside—it’s because our goals were so different that we—us two, but I guess Ratchet also a little bit—that we ended up out here. If we want to find the Knights, or save Vitrious, or just watch out for each other, I think we could stand to be more honest with each other about why we’re doing those things.”

Rodimus sounded reasonably confident about that, but Drift wasn’t so sure. He had no way to know whether Rodimus could handle the version of him that was more honest. Rodimus cared about his crew; Drift had seen that and knew it to be true. But he also cared about himself, and his tendency toward inflating his own ego wasn’t something that would be fixed by promise alone.

“You could start by answering my question,” he said.

“Question?”

“Why you came out here.”

“Oh. I mean, I think it’s straightforward: it’s because I missed you.”

“You don’t really know me,” Drift warned. Rodimus had asked for honesty.

“I’ve learned a lot recently,” Rodimus said. “And I want to get to know you more. Even if it’s not what I was expecting, you’re still my friend and my crewmate. No matter what. You could tell me you step on organics for fun and you’d still have a place on my—on our ship.”

Drift pulled a face.

“Ew.”

“Yeah, bad joke, bad timing,” Rodimus agreed, so casual Drift knew it had to be an act. “But that’s the other thing: Ratchet’s going to be on my aft this time. He’s looking out for you, too, and he’s not going to let me make the same mistakes twice.”

Drift and Ratchet might have only come back on speaking terms in the last few years, but Drift had trusted Ratchet for just over five million. Maybe it tipped the scales unfairly in Rodimus’ favor, but when Drift imagined the scenario Rodimus was building, it sounded good. Good enough that it was risky to trust. Good enough that he might never stop watching out for signs of the end. But maybe, if they were working together, he could trust the three of them to try.

“Okay,” he decided. “I can try. That’s all I can promise, though. I’ve got all the same hangups you do in making a commitment. That’s going to mean a lot of different things, and some of them aren’t so easy to manage.” It was possible that just stepping back onto the Lost Light would cause him to try to fold back into the third in command role he’d built for himself, though he didn’t know for sure; it was rare for him to be able to return to a life he’d left behind.

“Have you met me? Or Ratchet?” Rodimus asked. “None of us are ‘easy to manage.’ Doesn’t mean we’re not worth the effort.”

“You’re starting to sound like him,” Ratchet cut in. “Drift, you staying back?”

“I’m fine, Ratchet,” Drift assured him. The shuttle had begun to rise, bringing them back up to the level they’d been on when the patrol found them. They were nearly within sensor range of the base. Soon enough, he’d be on his own again.

“Stay that way,” Ratchet warned. “Don’t need you getting wrapped up in this mess.”

In a way, he already was, Drift mused, and that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Not yet. As the ship crested near a reasonably drivable cliff, he stood, preparing to dismount.

[catrasredemption-moved]

Catra walked in on Glimmer jumping from the top of her bed, falling, teleporting back up and falling and teleporting again. 

“Is all this because the planning for the party is going just so well?”

Glimmer yelped when she noticed Catra, tumbled in mid air, and nearly hit the ground in her confusion. Catra jumped out to try and catch her at the last minute when she got her bearings and teleported onto her bed, accidentally taking Catra with her.

Catra looked up at Glimmer sitting on her stomach, then scrambled to her feet, hiding her embarrassment at her sudden movement.

“I just pacing. With a few extra steps. And the planning for the party couldn’t be going better.”

It felt weird to Catra realizing how long she’d known this girl, longer than she thought. The way she was talking now, the way she was holding herself, it was different from when they’d first met. She looked queenly. It reminded her of the pictures she’d seen of Glimmer’s mother, Angela. Well, the murals and oil paintings and intricate mozaics. And that made Catra feel…

She tensed up her muscles and looked to the side to see the ground, but stopped. She couldn’t get down without Glimmer’s help. And she wouldn’t anyway. She was going to stop running away so much. She would. She wouldn’t do those same things.

But she didn’t like the pain in Glimmer’s eyes and the exhaustion in her voice, and she had to do something about it or she’d start to feel…

“Hey, Sparkles, be honest. I’ll be honest right now if you’ll be honest too.”

Glimmer looked at her, intrigued. “Well that would certainly be interesting. Honest about what?”

Catra shrugged. “I don’t know. Just doing it is going to be hard enough, I’m not picking too.”

Glimmer nodded, and then everything changed. She went from being Queen of Brightmoon to a hyperactive burst of color and energy.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do about this party! It’s driving me crazy, and I just want to get it over with but also every second that passes it feels like I’m falling further behind, and this was supposed to be the fun part!” She had, just so many facial expressions while she was talking, way more than seemed necessary to Catra. Stop. More and more Catra was feeling like she was trapped in a room with the terrible thoughts she had about people, glaring at them and wishing she could lash out even though everyone told her that was exactly opposite of what she needed to do.

“If it’s not fun anymore then why even do it? Let Bow through the party, or let Swiftwind plan it. You won-” Catra pulled back, clenched her jaw at the bitterness that seeped into her voice and did her best to change her expression. “You won. Enjoy it. Do what you want now.”

Glimmer looked away, sad. “It’s not that simple. This party needs to succeed, and I’m the one who needs to make it happen and the more I plan and the closer it get’s it starts feeling so….hopeless.”

Catra laughed. “Queen of Brightmoon and drama. You’re acting like this is a battle, Glimmer. Succeed. Just relax. We’re not at war anymore.”

Glimmer sighed and lay back, putting her hands at her side. “Yeah, but it doesn’t seem that way sometimes.”

Catra lay back too. It was a bit unnerving to her - everything in Glimmer’s room was so fluffy that it made her feel like she was falling for a second - but she had to admit that made it a little fun.

“Yeah. Everything still feels like a fight to me, and it’s hard to stop seeing anyone but Adora as an enemy sometimes.” Honesty. “And even her too.” Catra’s words were flowing more easily than usually, and on some basic level she felt comfortable. Glimmer….there was something terrible between them, something Catra still feared would rear up at her any moment, but she had a feeling with the girl….like understanding. The kind of feeling she had with Adora and with….Hordak. It wasn’t the same thing as being close, and certainly not with Hordak, but it did make quiet moments easier for Catra. 

She grabbed the girl’s hand. Glimmer was shocked, but apparently it was a pleasant surprised. That’s right bitch, I can be casually affectionate now. Something in Glimmer seemed to ease, and Catra felt a small, precious rush of elation; she’d just made someone feel better. And scared. Glimmer very clearly felt a bit of unease with Catra’s claws wrapped around her hand, and Catra couldn’t help it but that made her feel good too. Old habit, probably a bad one. Her claws had always been an easy way to create distance or feel in control; everyone but Adora was at least a little bit scared of them. Well, her and Scorpia. And Entrapta. I can’t believe I let them go.

“Winning the war was what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

Glimmer laughed, her eyes twitching. “Well of course! I wanted to, stop the horde, save the world. We all did.”

“If that’s what you’d all wanted it wouldn’t have taken She-Ra - and you - to unite the princesses. They wanted to rule their kingdoms in peace, to live their lives. Did you ever dream about what your kingdom would be like once you’d done the actual saving?”

Glimmer’s eyes widened, and she gripped Catra’s hand, which was annoying because Catra had to readjust her claws to keep from scratching her.

“I - no, I never did. It was always just, be strong, stop the Horde, and you know, have fun. I mean, that’s what I was supposed to do. That’s how I could help my mo-”

There it was. Catra didn’t do anything, didn’t move. She knew on some level her attitude was bad but she didn’t care. She’d done what she’d done, now was the time to lie back and see what happened to her.

But Glimmer just kept talking.

“I mean, my mom, she was wonderful and all but...she was always stressed out from all the war and impending doom and my dead dad who’s alive now and that’s great - it took a toll on her. A big one. And I loved her and I’d do anything to have her back but there were times - before I met Adora and she started having a bit more hope - that weight that she carried affected things between her and me, a bit. And as soon as I could notice that she was hurting, I wanted to cheer her up. And I was you know, Glimmer, with the pink hair and the sparkles powered by magic and everything, cheering up adults was really easy for me. And I kept trying and as the years dragged on it worked less and less each time, and I started to realize the only way I could really make her stop hurting, for good, was to crush the Horde. And then we started fighting together because I was forcing my way into the conflict and we would get so angry at each other but I was doing it so that she could finally be - “ Glimmer choked up, and was sobbing. Catra felt like curling up and hiding away forever somewhere but knew how she felt wasn’t important at the moment, and so she squeezed the girl’s hand.

“I never got to see the way she’d smile when she knew it was all over. I never got to show what I’d done for her - I never got to prove - she never got to -” and then it was just tears, with a few syllables between but no recognizable words except “gone”.

Catra didn’t move. She didn’t do anything except try to make her own tears quiet. This grief wasn’t hers. It felt disgusting for her to act like this after what she did, but she’d feel even worse if she had felt nothing at all.

After a while Glimmer let out a deep breath. “I feel better. Nothing is better, but….thanks, Catra.”

Catra tensed up. She could feel her careful neutrality slipping away. She had no right to be here, no right to hold her hand or hear those words -

“Ow!” Catra had slipped up, and let her claws slice into Glimmer’s hand just a bit, just enough to draw blood. Glimmer moved to pull her hand away but Catra grabbed her arm with her other hand and with the first hand held on tight.

“You might have gotten cut up more if you just pull away from my claws like that. Let me disengage, and then we can see about getting you medical attention.”

Catra uncurled her hands until her palms were flat and Glimmer pulled away, examining the blood droplets with pinpoint eyes.

“Medical attention? Who’s the drama queen now? It’s a tiny little scratch.”

Catra opened her mouth to say something, then didn’t. Didn’t say or do anything.

Glimmer rolled her eyes. “Catra, why did you freak out like that? We had just started to….get somewhere. I was starting to feel like we were….you know.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t feel that way!” Catra breathed in sharply, tried to will her heart to beat slower, kept an even voice. “Don’t listen to that. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.”

Glimmer put her hand on Catra’s shoulder. It was the hand with the blood on it, and the blood got onto Catra’s fur, and Glimmer did realize that was a bit of a mistake but things were to intense to stop and notice that. “Catra, honestly. I was just really, really honest, you owe me now.”

Catra didn’t say anything.

Then she realized, in a bolt of terror, that nothing was stopping her anymore.

“I’m the reason your mom’s not here anymore.”

T_T T_T T_T

[exauhstedsunflower]

So, I’m writing Marvel now…

The thing is, Marvel is a special interest for me. Has been for a long time. The MCU while it has its downsides (I will never forgive them for what they did to Steve Rogers.) is one of my favorite movie franchises of all time. It’s a crime that I haven’t written any fics for it yet, honestly.

This isn’t nearly finished, and I have no idea when it will be or how long it’ll be. It doesn’t even have a name or full plan yet. But it’s a fun project for me. I want to explore the fact that Captain America is from the 40’s, however when he wakes up he is still in his twenties. He’s technically the youngest on the team while simultaneously being way older and being treated as way older than everyone around him. It picks up during the first Avengers film and is written from Tony’s POV. (Again, so far. It’s not done and I could still switch POV’s every once in a while.)

All that being said, enjoy!

Steve hates him. He hates Tony. Tony Stark. Son of his old friend, Howard Stark.

The old bastard was right, isn’t that just ironic.

Endless fights over Tony being a disappointment. Being nothing like the Greatest Man Howard Ever Knew. Howard never shut up about the great Captain America, so of course Tony knew this was coming.

Tony had tried when he was younger, he did. He’d tried to be better, braver, stronger, faster, witty in a way Howard would appreciate. But after a while he’d realized that no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he’d never live up to what Howard wanted from him. Howard said daily that Captain America, Steve Rogers, would be disgusted by Tony. And Tony had just about recently decided that he was moving on from all of his daddy issues and metaphorically telling Howard to shove his criticisms very far up his ass. And, isn’t this just the kicker, Steve Rogers is right in front of him confirming it all.

“Big man in a suit of armor. Take that off, what are you?”

Exactly what everyone thinks I am, obviously.

“Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.”

What? He’s not about to make it easy on Captain America of all people. If anyone can handle his sass, it’s the so called bravest man who ever lived.

“I know guys with none of that worth ten of you. Yeah, I've seen the footage. The only thing you really fight for is yourself. You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you.”

Wow, okay. He’s really laying it on, isn't he? He must be really pissed. In all honesty, Tony hadn’t thought it would be so easy to get to him. Or, rather, to get him to a point where he’s actually making personal, cutting blows.

Still, Tony doesn’t want to cause an actual fight. If he wanted that he’d have started off a little more strong, like how Rogers is. What with all the steam coming from his ears. Howard hadn’t mentioned the potentially problematic short fuse in all his ramblings. Whatever, just keep deflecting and find a way to defuse, then. He’s been around long enough to know when the right time to fight is. Currently they have a volatile, murderous psychopath who obviously wants them all fighting on board, so now is not a good time.

“I think I would just cut the wire.”

There, nice and simple. There’s no way Mr. Short Fuse can turn that into-

“Always a way out... You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero.”

Now he’s done it. He’s honestly tempted to say ‘Or what?’. Just curiosity speaking, what would Rogers do? And, another thing, Tony has never claimed to be a hero. Sure, he’s saved a few people, and yeah, he’s trying to save the world currently, but the hero label was all but thrown at him the moment he came out to the world as Iron Man. He doesn’t want to be a hero, all he wants right now is for Rogers to get off his damn high horse.

“A hero? Like you? You're a lab rat, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle!”

He hadn’t meant to say that. Truly, he hadn’t. He’s supposed to be actively diffusing the situation. But honestly it was an achievement he’d gone that long without actually retaliating. You can only push a man so far-

“Put on the suit, let's go a few rounds.”

He’s not succeeding in his endeavor to not fight Captain America. His dad is likely screeching from his penthouse in hell.

He moves away from Rogers just in time for the locator to go off, signifying that they’ve found what they were looking for. This is followed by an argument about who is going to get it, a rather horrifying revelation that his new best friend besides Rhodey, Pepper and Happy, (Yes, he has claimed this already, he just has to convince Bruce.) has tried to kill himself, and then suddenly Captain America is trying to fight him, again.

“Put on the suit, let’s find out!”

“I’m not afraid to hit an old man.” He replies calmly, though a little heated.

It’s just oh so ironic, (This whole conversation has been filled to the brim with irony.) that as Tony says that he laments how immature they’re acting. Seriously, the guy’s in his nineties, why is he pulling Tony into this? The irony strikes him then and there, as he’s watching Rogers get all riled up. Captain America is practically a kid.

It’s kind of funny to think about. Captain America, the man out of time, he’s only in his twenties. Tony is twenty years older than him, mentally. Now it’s not about fighting his fathers old friend. It’s not even about the fact that this is Captain America, and how anti-patriotic it would be to deck him.

No, Tony wont fight a twenty-something year old. It’s not dignified. It wouldn’t even be fair. Rogers hasn’t had the time to fully develop patience like Tony has. His brain hasn’t aged just as his body hasn’t. No wonder he has such a short fuse, Tony was the same way when he was young.

Something explodes while his brain is having this revelation, and he realizes that this is an attack. Good thing they weren’t fighting each other, then.

Steve helps him up after they’re both thrown across the room from the blast.

“Put on the suit.”

Tony nods, finally agreeing with the man on something.

“Yep.”

-

Of course they would end up working together to fix the turbine. That’s the way the world works. Rogers hates Tony, and Tony won’t fight him, which seems to be making Rogers more angry. But now all of that has to be put aside for the greater good. Hopefully they’ll be able to do this before another turbine goes down and the whole boat falls from the sky.

“What’s it look like in there?”

Tony really needs this to go well. Surely Rogers can’t be too inept with technology. He’s young, young people are the future of technology! He even understood the Wizard of Oz reference earlier, so he’s sort of up to date, right?

“It seems to run on some form of electricity!”

So much for his optimism. Despite the feeling that this is going to end horribly, his mouth quirks a bit. That’s why it had taken him so long to put together how young Rogers actually is.

Still, this has to be tough for the guy, he’s clearly out of his depth here and is trying to help.

“Well, you’re not wrong.”

He teaches Rogers how to fix the relays, which takes some time given that he can’t personally guide the project. He’s a bit busy clearing the debris from the turbine and trying to keep up with the flying boat’s speed enough to stay beside it. You would think they’d stop moving so he can just hover and do repairs, but no! Although he does suppose that there is quite a bit of commotion happening inside too. Enough to warrant not slowing down, maybe.

“Even if I clear the rotors, this thing won't re-engage without a jump. I'm gonna have to get in there and push.”

“Well if that thing gets up to speed, you'll get shredded!”

Aw, he’s worried. Asshole.

Does this count as laying on the wire? Is this technically superhero-ing right now? Is this enough to prove to Rogers he has the right intentions? He hopes so.

“Then stay in the control unit and reverse polarity long enough to disengage mag-“

“Speak! English!”

Tony nearly laughs. He hadn’t realized how charming Rogers actually is, underneath all of the high and mighty hero stuff.

“Unless, Selvig has figured out how to stabilize the quantum tunneling effect”.

“Well, if he could do that he could achieve Heavy Ion Fusion at any reactor on the planet.” Bruce responds, understanding every word. Oh, Tony might just be in love.

“Finally, someone who speaks English.”

“Is that what just happened?”

It was a sly little comment, but it was there. He should have picked up on it at the time. Captain Rogers is funny.

“See that red lever? It'll slow the rotors down long enough for me to get out. Stand by it, wait for my word.”

He watches the man jump over to the lever, landing a little too close to the edge for comfort. Then instead of dwelling on the fact that he was concerned for Captain America’s safety, he goes into the turbine and starts to push.

While he’s pushing, there’s some gunfire. Also some rushing coming from Director Fury in his earpiece. He wonders if anyone has come out to help Rogers, and then realizes that obviously Rogers can handle himself, so why would anyone? Eventually the turbine feels like it's moving faster than him, so it’s time to get out.

“Cap, I need the lever!”

“I need a minute here!”

Uh oh. That won’t do at all.

“Lever! Now!”

This is so not how he wanted this to go. He falls into a rotor, and slides down into the bottom part of the turbine. He is so screwed. He’s going to break his spine, or his neck. He’s going to die fixing a boat engine. Engine’s are his bitch, he can’t die fixing an engine!

Suddenly the rotors let up, and it only takes Tony a split second to fly out and assess his damage. His suit’s going to give out on him. Any second now surely. He should get out of the air-

Loki’s men are on Rogers with guns, how is that a fair fight?

At least, that’s what he thinks before he tackles one and takes them right through the side of the boat with him, finally hitting the ground and letting the suit turn off.

He can’t quite see anymore, and he can’t quite tell if it's the suit or his eyes that are damaged. He was knocked around quite a bit. Maybe it’s a concussion? He hopes it’s temporary, he can’t work if he’s blind.

Actually, scratch that. That sounds ableist. It also sounds like he’s doubting himself, which he’d never do. He very much can work if he’s blind. Plenty of people do it every day.

He feels tired, a bit hazy. He’d been knocked around maybe too much. Is Steve okay? He looks up, and the captain is jumping back into the ship. Good.

Definitely a concussion, he thinks, letting his head fall back and passing out.

-

Coulson died. Loki killed him.

Tony hasn’t been on this boat for too long now, but he’s starting to think this is a suicide mission. Agent Coulson was Pepper’s friend; how’s he going to tell her? How will the news reach the cellist he was involved with?

“There was an idea, Stark knows this, called The Avengers Initiative-”

He hasn’t been listening, and was honestly okay with the numb indifference of his thoughts. Anything not to hear Fury’s words. Lies, honestly. There’s no excuse for the arsenal that was being built, regardless of if Fury hadn’t bet on it in the first place. And now- what? He wants to use Tony and the others as the replacement arsenal? They can’t even save one agent, let alone the world.

“…to fight the battles that we never could. Phil Coulson died still believing in that idea, in heroes.”

Tony stands, unable to hear anymore of this. Tony’s no hero. If Coulson was smarter, he never would have believed in heroes in the first place.

-

“Was he married?”

He looks at Rogers, at his attempt at starting a tough conversation. He sees why everyone likes the guy, really. Even after their almost-fight he comes to attempt to comfort Tony. Tony, for his part, isn’t even sure why he’s taking Coulson’s death so hard. It’s not like they were friends.

He just- well, it feels like this death is on him.

“No. There was a uh...cellist, I think.”

There’s no one to inform about his death. No one to send condolence flowers to. Pepper might mourn, his coworkers may also. The cellist… well, she won't be able to pick up their fling again.

.

“I'm sorry. He seemed like a good man.”

Steve Rogers has a good heart. He may be quick tempered, but he has a good heart.

“He was an idiot.”

“Why? For believing?”

For believing in them. Believing in this stupid, sorry excuse for a team.

“For taking on Loki alone.”

“He was doing his job.”

Oh, yes, defend the dead guy. Make this argument harder. It was easier to hate Rogers earlier, when he was being irrational.

It circles back to there not always being a way out, and Tony thinks that’s bullshit. He doesn’t take well to being told things are impossible or unavoidable. If something isn’t going to work, he makes it work. Coulson should have thought ahead. He should have waited. He should have-

Better not go down that avenue.

He starts to walk away, and Rogers compares them to soldiers. Right, that makes sense. That’s why Rogers took the death so calmly. He was a soldier in a war. He’s used to losing people and having to move forward immediately. He probably has already figured out how not to blame himself for every death he’s ever witnessed.

“Right now we've got to put that aside and get this done. Now Loki needs a power source, if we can put together a list…”

Tony briefly wonders if it's healthy to compartmentalize like that. It can’t be. But then he spots the blood on the wall and his brain moves on to another thought. Rogers is right, anyway. They need to focus.

“He made it personal.”

“That’s not the point.” Rogers replies, not catching the point just yet.

“That is the point. That's Loki's point. He hit us all right where we live. Why?” He needs to explain. The man will get it if he explains. Sometimes he forgets that not everyone’s brain does the jumps his own does.

“To tear us apart.”

“Yes! Divide and conquer is great, but he knows he has to take us

out to -

win, right? That's what he wants. He wants to beat us and he wants to be seen doing it. He wants an audience.”

“Right,” He’s catching on, thankfully. “I caught his act at Stuttengart.”

“Yeah. That's just previews, this is opening night. Loki's a full-tail diva. He wants flowers, he wants parades, he wants a monument built in the skies with his name plastered…” Tony stops, revelation forming. Steve looks fully interested in wherever this is going.

“Son of a bitch!”

“What?”

“Big ugly building in New York!”

Rogers’ eyes go wide, “Let's go.” He orders, Tony already moving.

-

The battle was terrifying. There were aliens, gigantic half mechanical half flesh monsters flying around, and a murderous Norse god intent on taking control of the chaos and coming out on top. Tony wonders why NASA or SHEILD has never claimed to have seen the species this army is made up of before. These guys don’t seem very low key, what with all the planetary destruction. He doesn’t believe for a second that no one knew these things were out there.

He makes a mental note to hack the department of defense after he’s eaten his shawarma.

Tony never prepared for this. The only people who were even remotely prepared tried to nuke New York. And then Tony the not-hero, thank you very much, had to fix that problem on top of the other very pressing one. The other problem being aliens. Aliens invading the earth.

Aliens, Jesus Christ.

Afterwards, Loki gets taken to Asgard with Thor via Beam Of Light™️. Fury says the Avengers are all free to go. But Tony does extend the offer for the others to stay at the tower. They can if they need to, not forever or anything. But, if they want to stick around and help clean up the mess. Someone’s gotta, you know?

Romanoff took the offer. Then Bruce because he wants access to a lab like Tony can offer and totally not because he’s excited about their new friendship. Then Clint, who would like to stay close to SHEILD; then begrudgingly, Steve Rogers, who admits that he can’t quite afford life in New York City but would like to stay here. And suddenly the Avengers are piling into Tony’s penthouse, exhausted but still helping get rid of all the broken glass.

He goes to his lab as soon as sleeping situations are settled. (Natasha takes a guest room, Bruce gets another one, Clint and Rogers take the living room.) There’s no need to stick around. The superhero’s crashing in his guest rooms and living room are cleaned and fed, New York is saved (and subsequently the world.). Besides, he needs to start working on better living arrangements if these guys are going to stay. He gets half way through Natasha’s layout for her floor, when Jarvis lowers his music.

“What gives? I was just getting into a groove here!”

“It seems you have a visitor, sir.”

His head whips around, expecting Pepper, but instead he finds Steve Rogers standing on the outside of the glass door looking like a lost puppy in designer hand-me-down sweatpants. Tony sighs, Pepper won't be in until tomorrow. He’d had to do a lot of bribing to get the New York Airport to let his jet land. They have to clear some debris from the runway, fix some of the landing gear, that stuff.

“Shall I let him in, sir?”

“What? Yeah, yeah. Yes. Let the captain in, open the door.”

The door unlocks, allowing Rogers to step into the lab. He looks around in wonder, the exhaustion from the day being covered by the inquisitive nature of humans.

“What’s up, Cap?”

Rogers startles, having gotten distracted by the tech in the room. Then hesitantly, he speaks up.

“This place is really swell, Tony.”

He sounds like he means it so genuinely that Tony doesn’t make a remark about the outdated word choice.

“Well, it’s no flying boat, but it’s home. Speaking of, you’ll love this. Dum-e! C’mere boy!”

If Rogers looked amazed before, he looks absolutely awestruck now.

“Did you make him?” He questions as he reaches out to pet the robot. Dum-E nuzzles his hand and Tony smiles a bit at the sight.

“Yeah. Made Jarvis too, right J?”

“Yes, sir.” Rogers jumps at the sound of Jarvis’ disembodied voice.

“See? They get along too well though. They’ll surpass their old man one day. Too much plotting happening while I’m gone.”

Rogers laughs, “See, now, I would have thought you'd be all for the minds of the future.” He comments sarcastically.

“And usually I’d agree, but I don’t think I’d be happy if the new robot overlord was Dum-E. And hearing you, a twenty-something year old, tell me that the flying boat engine ‘runs on some kind of electricity’, settled it for me. I have no faith in the future of technology.”

The other man snorts, “I’m not exactly a prime example of the youth, man.”

Tony puts up a finger, “Ah, see, I’d believe you if you didn’t just call me ‘man’. I’m gonna start calling you kid.”

Rogers rolls his eyes, ignoring how that prompted a mock scolding on rolling his eyes at his elders. He then sees the current work in progress on Tony’s work space.

“Is this what you’ve been doing down here?”

Tony’s eyes follow Rogers as he walks over to the plans and starts reading them over.

“This is so nice. There’s a floor for each of the Avengers in here! Even Thor and I!”

“Yes, God’s need sleep too. At least I think they do. I’ll have to ask, actually. -And, also, why wouldn’t you have one?”

Tony watches the man's eyes widen as if being caught saying something he hadn’t meant to say out loud. Although as soon as the look of panic shows it’s gone, Rogers turns to hide himself in the plans again.

“Look, I know we didn’t start off on the right foot.” He starts, quieter than before.

Is… is Rogers attempting a reconciliation right now? Tony thinks back to all the thoughts he had earlier, where Howard may have had a fit. And how fitting he thought it was that Captain America hated him, although he wasn’t entirely happy about it. But this might be worse, actually.

“I believe you were being beaten up when we met, actually. And then I swooped in and saved you.”

Rogers immediately regains his volume, “Swooped in and saved me doesn’t sound entirely right.”

“This. Coming from the guy who still calls things swell? I think I’ll keep my phrasing.”

“I had him! You can't save someone who is in control of the situation!”

“You call being beaten up being in control? Please elaborate.”

“I was not getting beat up. I was holding my own.”

“Sure, kid. Is that a bruise?”

Rogers immediately starts feeling around his face. This is hilarious for a number of reasons. One, he has super healing and any bruise would have been gone by now. Two, Captain America looks far more worried about a bruise on his perfect face than when he was saving the world.

“Where?”

“Right- yeah, right there. Where Loki absolutely had the upper hand!”

That comment startles the older/younger man into stunned laughter.

And thats all I’ve got!! Thank you if you made it this far.

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #128: Tamamo no Mae (Lancer)

If you live in the northern hemisphere: With daylight saving’s finally behind us and the world once more starting to warm up, we turn our thoughts to summer, with plenty of beach-themed servants to tide us over until summer 4 starts proper. 

If you live in the southern hemisphere: As Summer winds its way to a close and fall shuffles in once more, let’s take a moment to remember all the good times we had this... er, last summer. With the help of some classic summer servants, this’ll be easy!

Today we’re building Tamamo Shark, a.k.a. Tamamo no Mae (Lancer)! This foxy gal has traded in all her magical prowess for a bikini and an elegant parasol, but she’s still a force to be reckoned with!

Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: Summer Lovin’, had me a blast!

Race and Background

We’ve done this one already, so I’ll speed through it. As a Tabaxi Courtier, you get +2 Dexterity; +1 Charisma; Darkvision; the ability to double your movement for a turn with Feline Agility; Cat’s Claws for some slashing damage with unarmed attacks; and proficiency with Perception, Stealth, Insight, and Persuasion. 

Ability Scores

Here’s where things get interesting. Your highest scores are Wisdom followed by Dexterity. When you hit the beach, you’re all about grace That means socially and physically. After that is Charisma- you have a lot of people who’d like to touch fluffy tail. After that is Constitution, followed by Strength. You’re still kind of a caster, but this origin’s all about letting loose a bit. Finally, dump Intelligence. You’re not dumb, you’re just not here to think. Save it for Fall.

Class Levels

1. Monk 1: Don’t expect all the summer servants to have Unarmored Defense, giving you an AC of 10 plus your dexterity and wisdom modifiers while you’re wearing a bikini. There’s only so many ways you can fit that into a build, some of them are gonna have to put on some clothes eventually. That being said, monk works for you, for reasons that’ll be apparent in a bit.

You also get Martial Arts, allowing you to make an unarmed attack as a bonus action after attacking with a monk weapon as your action. You can also use dexterity instead of strength when making attacks, and your monk attacks deal a minimum of 1d4 damage, scaling based on your monk level.

You also get proficiency in Strength and Dexterity saves, as well as two monk skills; Acrobatics for parasol skills, and Religion for Being a God.

2. Fighter 1: We’ll go back to monk in a bit for your signature move, but first we should head over to fighter to mod up your umbrella. For the sake of attacks, I’m calling your parasol a spear, but you can also use the Interception fighting style to pop that bad boy open and block some damage, using your reaction to block 1d10+ your proficiency bonus on an attack against you or someone else within 5′. You also get a Second Wind to heal as a bonus action. A bit underpowered compared to your usual kit, but we’re not aiming for heals here.

3. Monk 2: Second level monks get a number of Ki points per short rest equal to their monk level, which they can currently spend to Dash, Disengage, Dodge, or make two unarmed attacks as a bonus action. You also get Unarmored Movement, giving you an extra 10 feet of movement to work with each turn, which also increases as you level up. Turns out a bikini’s easier to move in than those kimonos you like to wear.

4. Monk 3: By channeling your mana from spells into your body, you unlock the Way of the Open Hand, allowing you to align your strikes with your foes’... ki... to produce one of several effects. Your Open Hand Technique allows you to add these effects to your flurry of blows attacks. Either: force a dexterity save or be knocked prone, force a strength save or push them 15′ away, or make them unable to make reactions for a round. It’s okay I wouldn’t be able to react for six seconds either.

You can also Deflect Missiles, allowing you to block incoming ranged damage, and with a perfect block you can even bounce it back to sender!

5. Monk 4: We’re keeping it simple with your Ability Score improvements this time. Bump up your Wisdom for a stronger AC, more mystique, and stronger fancy fighting techniques. You can also use Slow Fall, which doesn’t feel like it’d be very useful on a beach, but you never know. There’s trenches in them thar seas. Finally, you get Quickened Healing to heal as an action by spending some ki points. Again, less healing than normal, but you’re on vacation! You’re not going to work that hard.

6. Monk 5: Fifth level monks get an Extra Attack each attack action, and they can turn those attacks into Stunning Strikes by using ki points. The target then has to pass a Constitution save, or be stunned for a round. Stunned creatures automatically fail strength and dexterity saves, opening them up for your open hand technique, and all attacks made against them are at advantage. Also, they probably won’t be having children afterwards. That’s not in the player’s handbook, but it’s true.

7. Fighter 2: We’ve got your noble phantasm down, so now we can go back to multiclassing for style points. Second level fighters get an Action Surge once per short rest, giving them an extra action in a single turn. You’d be surprised how much you can squeeze into a summer day.

8. Fighter 3: You’re all about grace, and there’s no martial archetype that’s more graceful than the Samurai! You can activate your Fighting Spirit as a bonus action, giving you advantage on all of your attacks for that turn three times per long rest. You also get some temporary HP to help out with the not dying thing. On top of that, you also get History proficiency. You literally lived through plenty of historical events, I’m sure you remember them.

9. Fighter 4: For some more blessings of the fox god, use this ASI to grab the Lucky feat. This gives you three luck points per long rest that can be cashed in for an additional d20 roll for an attack roll, saving throw, or ability check involving you. You can choose either the normal result of the roll, or your lucky roll.

10. Fighter 5: To make up for how powerful that last level was, this one gives you literally nothing. Extra attacks don’t stack.

11. Fighter 6: Another ASI already? Bump up your Wisdom for a better AC and stronger stunning strikes.

12. Fighter 7: At seventh level, you’re an Elegant Courtier, letting you add your wisdom modifier to persuasion rolls, and you become proficient in wisdom saves. We aren’t spending any ASIs to improve your fluffy tails, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t the center of attention.

13. Fighter 8: Your last fighter level gives you yet another ASI. Max out your Wisdom and start on your Dexterity. Turns out monks are pretty predictable.

14. Monk 6: Oh yeah that’s right, you’re a monk! This level gives you Ki-Empowered Strikes, making your unarmed attacks magical against resistances. You also gain a Wholeness of Body, spending an action to heal yourself for three times your monk level once per long rest.

15. Monk 7: Seventh level monks know Evasion, meaning you take half damage from failed dexterity saves and no damage from successes. You also gain a Stillness of Mind that lets you end a charming or frightening effect as an action. Freaking out ain’t gucci.

16. Monk 8: Eighth level monks get another ASI, bringing your Dexterity one step closer to perfection.

17. Monk 9: At ninth level, you get an Unarmored Movement Improvement, allowing you to run up walls and over water. You still go into the water if you end your turn there though, so swimming’s still an option.

18. Monk 10: Your Purity of (beach) Body makes you immune to disease and poison. It’s a shame you couldn’t extend this to master, it might’ve helped.

19. Monk 11: Your Tranquility makes you much harder to hit, giving you the effect of a Sanctuary spell after each long rest that lasts until your next long rest, or until you attack or cast a spell on an enemy. Creatures attacking you must make a wisdom save against your monk DC (8 + wisdom modifier + proficiency) or redirect the attack.

20. Monk 12: You get one last ASI for you capstone, so grab the Piercer feat. This rounds out your Dexterity, and once per turn you can re-roll a die of piercing damage. Also, when you score a critical hit, you can add an extra die to the damage. It’s not particularly useful, but it’s better than leaving one completely useless skill point lying around.

Pros:

If your enemies want to hit you, they’ll have to get past 20 AC, your parasol, probably a dodge, your evasion, your luck, and your tranquility. That is to say, you’re pretty hard to hit.

With maxed out wisdom and the ability to shove advantage on your attacks, your stunning strikes can be a serious issue for your enemies. Who needs a boss fight when you can just slap an immobile target for a bit?

You come pre-packaged with plenty of self-healing. Hitting you in the first place is annoying, but hitting you enough to make up for your heals is demoralizing.

Cons:

You don’t have a lot of HP, meaning someone who can reliably break through your defenses might make short work of you.

Playing to character means you only have your fists, your feet, and your umbrella. You might have noticed none of those are ranged attacks. Javelins and bows are always an option, of course, but playing strictly to character will be a problem.

Most of you levels are monk, which means you don’t get many attacks to use with your Fighting Spirit. It’s almost like we took the subclass purely to make you super elegant, and everything else was a side effect or something.

[magioftheseas]

The Farce of Hope

Written for @komahinaisle

Day 5: Fantasy AU, Healing, Hope

Summary: A certain hero of hope has been causing problems for those who reap despair. Hinata is assigned with breaking that hero's will through the targeting of the insipid, vapidly cheerful healer that is always by his side.

Rating: T

Warnings: Attempted murder and later kidnapping.

Notes: This is not a day late. I just can’t read. Anyway I’ve been wanting to write this idea for a long time...however I wanted to write it much spicier. I’m pretty sad that I didn’t. But hopefully it’s still serviceable if nothing else. Also demon!Hinata is v good. V, v, v good.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

Lately, that hero had been causing more and more problems. Junko was getting increasingly annoying about it, which wasn’t helping.

“You gotta dooooo something, Hajime!!” she whined, clinging to him with big, watery eyes. “They’re ruining all my plans! All my despair! It’s sooooo frustrating! Not despairing, but frustrating! At this rate, the disgusting populace won’t fear me as much as they used to! And what will I do, then?!”

He grumbled. He griped. And she shoved him out the door.

“If you fail me, I’ll feel such despair that I won’t be able to resist killing you on the spot!” she chirped, cheerful now. “So! Take care of that wretched, stupid hero of hope, Hajime! In fact! I’ll make it easy for you! Target that dumbass healer always tagging along and fawning over them!” With a grin, she waved him off. “He looks like easy prey but is pretty annoyingly immune to my charm! You’re definitely more up his alley! Don’t let me down! Or else!”

And that was that.

“Urgh.”

Chief demon-in-command, Hinata Hajime, was given simultaneously a most important mission—and a most irritating chore.

--

It’s not all that important to mention, but Hinata Hajime hadn’t always been a demon. He was one of many former humans swayed to the side of despair due to discontentment with the current state of affairs and Junko’s promises of glory. She had presented them a paradise of free will and euphoria, and he had been desperate enough to hang on every word.

As time wore on, it was obvious she didn’t care about them at all. But, it wasn’t like Hinata Hajime cared for the other world, either. Hope, happiness, righteousness were all nothing more than farces. This hero, too, with their wide-eyed innocence and determination, was just another joke.

But the one Hinata undoubtedly detested the most was the healer. The healer who worshipped every step of the hero, and sang praise upon praise of their spread of hope, their sweeping influence as a symbol of hope. As if such a thing hadn’t already proven to be a broken promise. He was either willfully dense or just that stupid.

And yet, the hero kept him around. Likely for those asinine assurances.

Foolishness all around. But, if there was an ideal target, it was the healer.

“What sort of materials do we need for this next mission, Naegi-kun?!”

“You don’t need to worry about it so soon, Komaeda-san...”

“But! I! Insist!” With his overwhelming enthusiasm and fiery intensity, the healer having his way was inevitable, even when placed against a so-called hero. Even the most innocuous of observers could tell, and as someone spying on them, Hinata already found himself bored as the healer huffed. “A hero of hope can never be too prepared!”

As predicted, the hero sighs.

“Alright, alright. But, we’re going to relax here for a while, okay? I’m still pretty exhausted, and I’m sure you are, too.”

“If this feeble body of mine is destined to crumble, it’s no concern as long as it can still bear the weight of supporting you, Naegi-kun!”

Unsurprisingly, the hero’s face pinches up. He shook his head quickly.

“Please. Take care of yourself.”

“Oh.” The healer blinks back. “Did I upset you, Naegi-kun?”

“I’m not upset.” The hero shook his head again. “I just worry.”

“You don’t need to worry,” was insisted.

“But I do anyway. Komaeda-kun—we are running low on herbs for potions. Um. Maybe I could use a new cloak? What do you think?” A pitiful smile was given as the healer lit up, eyes bright. “I trust you on this more than anything.”

“We definitely do need more herbs,” he rattled off. “And we need to buy polish for the armor and yes, a new cloak. Preferably one resistant to poisons! We’re coming up on quite a dangerous area! So antidotes are also a must! Don’t worry, Naegi-kun! I’ll grab everything we need and then some!”

“Alright, Komaeda-kun. Thank you.”

It was painfully simple, Hinata Hajime thought as the healer went on his way. He wove through the crowd, following that bouncing healer, who was so easy to spot with his white hair and light robes. A blight, one with an infuriatingly cheerful hum as he walked.

It would have been painfully easy to burn that annoying little light into a crisp.

Just kill him—that’s all Junko asked for. She didn’t even care about extracting any level of satisfaction. I could just twist a knife into his gut and leave.

The healer tripped, and enough people parted so that he fell to the ground. The hero was too far away to witness this. Hinata Hajime drew near.

“Ahaha,” the healer murmured, pushing himself up shakily, still smiling. “How clumsy of me.”

“Do you need help?” Hinata asked, feigning concern as he played with the small dagger hidden in his cloak. He offers his hand. “Here. Let me.”

“Oh!” The healer perked up, eyes wide before he once again beams. He reaches for Hinata’s hand just as Hinata’s grip closes around the handle of his dagger. “Thank you so—”

“Out of the way! I’ve lost control!”

High-pitched whinnying. The crowd was screaming and scattering to make way for the horse charging through. Hinata was forced to yank the healer close if he wanted to avoid them both getting trampled on the spot. The healer’s mouth opens to let out a sharp yelp, which is then muffled by Hinata’s cloak. The horse races by. Its distraught owner chases after it.

The healer is still pressed close, and Hinata could feel his heart hammering. Rather belatedly, he realizes that the healer is gripping his other hand. The one that still holds the knife.

Hinata says nothing, but the healer lets out a shaky exhale.

“Oh.” He lets go of Hinata’s other hand, pulling back almost sheepishly. “That was rather exhilarating, wasn’t it?” He laughs, and his face is flushed. “I would’ve died if not for you! What truly good luck!”

Good luck?

At Hinata’s quizzical stare, the healer just gave his usual insipid smile.

“Thank you for saving me. Um.” He digs through his pouch and pulling out several gold coins. “How much—do you want?”

Does he think I’m just a thief?

“I’m sorry,” the healer went on. “I’m afraid I don’t have much gold to spare. But, I can compensate you in other ways, if you like. Is there anything you need?”

No one is paying them any mind. The menial bustling has returned now that the apparent danger is gone. It would not be that hard to finish the job anyway, the distraction be damned. The healer is smiling up at him so pitifully, and Hinata Hajime wonders if he’s still afraid.

“I don’t mind,” the healer said. “Really. Even if you were trying to hurt me, you ultimately helped me. So, you must not be that bad of a person.”

I could have let the horse trample him.

Hinata wanted to curse his impulses. No wonder this fool was trying to pay him.

“I don’t want any payment,” he snapped. “It was instinct. Your hand was already in mine. I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Are you sure?” There’s finally a frown on that face. “I really, really don’t mind.”

How infuriating!

“At least let me buy you a meal,” the other insisted, to Hinata’s disdain. “Instinct or not, you saved me. Please, let me show proper gratitude! I... I’m Komaeda Nagito, by the way. I’m quite the worthless healer, but I’m not completely hopeless, haha.”

What you are is hapless.

Hinata bit his tongue, but he didn’t really have an excuse to flee. Even if he wanted to disengage as quickly as he could.

“Hinata... Hajime. Nice to meet you.” His name wasn’t given very often. The sound and shape of it were as bland and banal on his tongue as ever. “If you really want to—I guess I can’t stop you.”

“Hinata-kun!” Komaeda grins with the radiance that he preferred to see crushed. “It’s nice to meet you! I hear the food at the inn is delicious, so let’s go there!”

Hinata can only nod, fingers twitching as he does. “Let’s.”

--

“Order whatever you want, Hinata-kun! I don’t mind paying for it!”

“What was that about not having much gold to spare?”

“I get a discount, ehe.” Komaeda’s grin grows, looking unbearably smug. “It’s because of Naegi-kun. Surely you’ve heard of him. He’s an incredible hero of hope, you see.”

“I’ve heard,” Hinata said, if only because he didn’t want to hear more about it. “How fortunate for you to associate with someone like that.”

“Mmhm.” Komaeda nods along dreamily, eyes half-lidded. After a while, he blinked a few times and his head tilted. “You knew about him but you still wanted to...?”

He’s sharper than he looks.

“It’s because you don’t look strong yourself.” That was true, at least. Everything about Komaeda Nagito, the healer, screamed fragile. And healers weren’t known for being all that durable in the first place. It’s astounding to think that Naegi Makoto could manage with a healer this especially frail in appearance, but either Komaeda Nagito was more than he seemed—or he was quite lucky.

I’m leaning towards luck.

Komaeda laughing more or else emboldened the thought.

“You’re right! You’re absolutely right! I’m definitely a weak link! If Naegi-kun hadn’t known me for so long, he would have rightfully discarded me long ago.” Brushing away stray tears, Komaeda added. “Naegi-kun’s such a kind person. I’ve known that from the start, even before I was aware of his potential. I do want to support him with all that I have.”

“Would you even give your life for him?” Hinata asked.

Komaeda didn’t even hesitate.

“Yes! Of course!”

He’s even stupider than I thought. Does he even know that his death will be a cause of despair? Stupid. So stupid.

It was infuriating. Beyond infuriating. Even if he does kill Komaeda Nagito, the healer will part with sweet words of encouragement and a smile. He’s sure of it.

He’s just like how I was back then.

--

“Are you not going to order anything?”

“Mm... Toast, maybe?”

“That’s not a meal.”

“Ahaha! I don’t need to eat that badly!”

So stupid.

But, he holds his tongue. He orders a modest meal, all things considered. Junko spoils them quite a bit with high-class meals when she doesn’t randomly decide to poison them. To eat something normal without that concern would be a nice change of pace. He’s not much for a lavish lifestyle anyway, it turns out.

The food was fine. The service was fine. The innkeeper was polite, well-practiced. This kind of mundane scenario had become a rarity ever since he joined Junko. There are times where he wondered if he had understood what, exactly, he sacrificed back then. But, it didn’t matter.

None of it really mattered.

“If you insist on staring so intently,” he found himself snapping at the other. “Then perhaps order an actual meal for yourself?”

“O-Oh!” Komaeda hurriedly waved his hands. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Hinata-kun! I was just...” Wetting his lips, he seems contemplative. “You’re so methodical with how you eat. It’s rather fascinating to watch. Especially when you’re a lowly thief.”

He doesn’t even lower his voice on the off-chance that he’s overheard. Hinata wouldn’t be surprised if it had been intentional. Even with the show of charity, there was a suspicious glimmer in Komaeda Nagito’s eye. As if he wasn’t sure if what he was appraising was dirt or gold.

Hinata merely snorted, unwilling to humor him. Komaeda’s smile quirked, but he didn’t add anything else.

“What were you before you joined Naegi Makoto?” Hinata asked next, head tilting with the inquiry. “Did you have any path laid out before you prior to clinging to the hero’s coattails?”

“Not really,” Komaeda said easily. “I was always clumsy, so I never had any promise. It would have been impertinent to have ambitions. But supporting Naegi-kun is everything I ever could have wanted.”

“I see.” Hinata nodded. “How fortunate for you to find happiness in someone else’s shadow.”

“It’s more than I deserve,” Komaeda speaks brightly. Easily. “So yes, I’m very happy.”

Happy—huh?

“Is that so? You’ve no resentment at all? No regrets? You really only appreciate what you have?” Hinata stood, leaving the meal only partially finished. “How noble of you. You’re just the perfect martyr, aren’t you?”

Someone like this isn’t even worth a glance. It’s just because he’s close to Naegi Makoto that Junko wants him dealt with. He’s fortunate and unfortunate in that sense.

“It may be hard to understand, but it’s how I feel,” Komaeda said, fearless even as Hinata approaches him. He doesn’t even tense as Hinata looms over him. “Are you angry, Hinata-kun? That’s quite a scary face. I guess you must be quite unsatisfied with your current lot in life.”

“I am, but I don’t envy you.” Hinata stares, gaze sharp. “I’m not sure if I hate you or if I feel sorry for you. She certainly wouldn’t care either way as long as you’re taken care of.”

Komaeda’s expression changed immediately, smile dropping.

“She?”

“She,” Hinata confirmed, reaching into his cloak for his dagger. Komaeda blinks, but Hinata merely carves words into the table. “This is for your hero. I assume he’ll understand what comes next.”

Komaeda looks over the message, and his eyes go wide when he realizes.

“You—”

Hinata covers his mouth. He takes Komaeda’s outburst of magic without blinking, and then he yanks the squirming, struggling healer close.

“I’m doing you a favor,” Hinata hissed, and he brought his hand down swiftly.

Someone screamed, but the two of them are gone before long.

--

In the end, he decided against killing Komaeda Nagito. Why? Sentimentality, perhaps?

I don’t know. I just got so angry and now here we are.

Hinata sighed, resting against the wall. They’re in a hideout, now. A location that he detailed on the table and Komaeda is secured, still unconscious and curled up on a pile of leaves. His wrists are bound, his magic restricted. Like this, he truly does look utterly helpless.

Hinata almost feels bad but stomps down the rising bile and guilt.

It’s because he’s a liar. Saying he’s happy with his lot in life—what a joke. I’ll prove him wrong.

“You’re not any better than me,” he murmurs, fierce as he approaches, scowling down at Komaeda’s innocent face. “You’re just as wretched, just as wanting, just as corrupt. You’re just in denial that hope is a farce, and once you realize, that Naegi Makoto will see it, too.”

He reaches out, and as Komaeda murmurs, Hinata finds himself softening and brushing the other’s hair back.

“Mm... Where...? Hinata-kun...?”

“Komaeda Nagito,” Hinata says, suddenly tired but resolute. “It’s time for me to teach you about the Ultimate Despair.”

[occasionalfics]

the arrangement (1/1)

main masterlist | thor masterlist | ko-fi 

Summary: The past, present, and future collide when communication stops and your mind spins. But what happened? And what can you do to fix it?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Thor x Writer!Reader

A/N: I’ve basically only made posts on this blog to complain about how I can’t write anymore. This isn’t something I thought was gonna fix that, and I still don’t think it’ll make everything better (there are still at least 4 series I’ve started and never finished over the last year that might never see the light of day), but at least I got it out from start to finish. It’s only lightly edited because I genuinely just want to share it, so please enjoy it for what it is.

It’s also 100% wish fulfillment fantasy because I probably very much need to be cared for and dicked down.

Warnings: Mentions of sex (a lot of them), one scene that starts at the end of sex but isn’t super detailed or anything. Language. 18+ content ahead, read at your own risk.

Words: 7,536

You pretend to be asleep when he leaves in the morning. At first, when you started doing it weeks ago, you were just doing it to see what he was like when you weren’t looking. Just to confirm a few things that you didn’t want to have to go through his security camera feed to see because that would make you feel disgusting.

Every morning, he gets up at the same time (even weekends), showers and dresses, puts his pack together for the day, then sits on your side of the bed and bends to kiss you. It’s sweet. He asked if he could do it months ago, when this whole arrangement started, and you’d said yes thinking he wouldn’t stick with it.

But as far as you can tell, he has. Every. Morning. He makes sure to say goodbye to you, through kisses or words or both, every morning, even when you look and breathe like you’re asleep.

But two weeks ago, things at night have changed that don’t let you rest easy. It’s nothing drastic - nothing that makes you fear for your safety or anything - but...it’s enough.

He’s been coming home later each day. Minutes apart, like you won’t notice. He says less each night. Disengages from you earlier. You haven’t even had sex in a week.

A whole week!

That bothers you because sex is part of the arrangement. Now it s, anyway. You like it that way.

You were a struggling artist trying to pay bills and he was a wealthy Real Estate exec who’d happened upon a piece of yours in a literary journal that’d been mistakenly placed in his office one morning. Two pieces, actually; you’d written a poem and a short story for that edition, just to be able to go the extra mile and show what you were made of.

Thor’s always said he knew he needed to meet you the second he’d put the short story down. He’d contacted the literary magazine and its parent company and, finally, got through to someone with your phone number.

Yeah, it was really weird getting that phone call. Of course you were cautious to meet a man that’d tracked you down over a story, but he seemed genuinely interested in more of your work. It’d attracted you to him from the start, enough that you felt comfortable accepting his offer to meet in a very public cafe during one of their rush hours.

The rest was fate.

--

Dark henley, light jeans, pushed back dirty blond hair and the brightest blue eyes you’d ever seen. Holy shit you thought. That’s the single most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. And he was there for you.

The instant his eyes met yours, he recognized you. There was no chance to turn around, no time to even give thought to leaving. The beautiful man waved, smile gleaming as he stood to greet you. You felt pulled in by the atmosphere of him, like if this were to go on for too long, you might actually start rotating around him.

If only you’d known.

The energy between the two of you was electric from the start. He was kind, funny even, and his questions were never too much. He wanted to know what you were working on, was sad when you told him you had a novel in the works but it was too slow going to expect anything soon because work and home were too much for you to juggle them all regularly.

“My day job is kind of a nightmare,” you told him, hoping to wipe some of the disappointment from his beautiful face. “Like, I’m sure it’s actually not that bad, but it leaves me feeling...empty. It’s bad enough that, sometimes, I can't write. But I can’t afford to just leave it, so...writing takes a back seat.”

You knew it was too much to say, and yet, it felt like the weight of a whole planet was lifted off you once it was all out. Until another weight settled - the weight of losing your passion to the everyday grind of life.

“I know this isn’t how writing works,” he said, “but I was wondering if I might be able to commission something. Anything. I don’t have anything in particular I want - just...more of what you do.”

That caused you to pause. You’d never taken a commission before. You’d never even known it was possible for a writer, outside of journalism, really. 

“You want me...to write something...for you?” you asked him.

He nodded. “No stipulations. No word count minimums. Just...take twenty minutes every night and write me something. Here.” He pulled out his wallet and ignored your protests as you tried to dissuade him. He held out bills you didn’t even dare look at, and when you didn’t take them, he reached further and forced them into your hand, curling his fingers around yours.

You both stopped as electricity coursed through you.  His eyes met yours, his face set in the same expression of shock as yours, but then his hand closed tighter around yours, and he managed to get you to keep the bills as he sat back.

“Twenty minutes a night. Just get something out. It doesn’t even have to be good yet, because I know it will be, eventually.”  He winked. “In a week, we’ll meet back here and see what you’ve got. Deal?”

How could you deny him that? All he wanted was...your writing.

--

This morning, after he shuts and locks the front door of his penthouse apartment, you slowly rise. With Thor gone, the place is too quiet. Creepy, almost. And with how distant he’s been every night for the past two weeks, you doubly don’t like being alone.

You think about calling Wanda and having her come over, but you remember that she still has a day job. Natasha and Bucky and Steve and Sam all still have day jobs, too. You’re the only one lucky enough to have met Thor Odinson, to have him care for you like he does.

And god damn it, up until two weeks ago, you were so sure he cared so damn much for you, even beyond your arrangement. He’d moved you into his penthouse after you’d signed the contract your lawyers had drawn up together - just for an ultimate layer of safety for you both. He’d insisted you use his home office as your own because he never used it and preferred to keep his work and home lives separate anyway. He gave you a generous allowance, essentially still paying you for your writing, and got out of it only a handful of simple things you could give him.

First glances at everything you put to paper. Thor’s an excellent editor, even though it’s not his chosen profession. He’s honest and intellectual, funny and dedicated. He loves listening to you read what you’ve written that day - or did, up until two weeks ago - and you both cherish the time you spend going over additions and line edits, suggestions and the like. You think - or thought - it thrills Thor that he gets to be the first person - the only person in the world at the moment - to see your book.

Until two weeks ago, regular sex. Your lawyers were both anxious about adding that into a legally binding contract, so the two of you had agreed on a verbal basis that, yes, sex would be good. On the table, as it were. You’d both laid out your boundaries and talked about what you liked, and you’d thought you were compatible but...something’s changed. And you don’t like it.

Exclusivity. He promised he’d never keep you from your friends and family - and you’d promised the same - but romantically and sexually, the two of you were exclusive. It’s crossed your mind - and then been erased immediately by force - that...maybe he’s been distant because he hasn’t kept up this part of the bargain.

You wonder if this was enough. Or maybe too much? He’s...different now, and you’ve gone over what happened leading up to two weeks ago a million times in your head, but nothing stands out. Not anything that might make him lose interest without, you know, consulting you about it. You’d thought there’d been something in the contracts you’d signed about full disclosure when it came to discontent within the relationship, just so that issues could be dealt with or an amicable breakup could ensue without too much pain and misery in its wake.

Then...what? What’s changed his mind so recently that he barely even talks to you, let alone asks for your writing anymore?

--

The first day you’d lived with him - not including move-in day - was full of rest, disbelief at your situation, and a whole shitton of productive writing. You had an office! An office with a view of Central Fucking Park! Thor’s chair was unquestionably comfortable, and the surround-sound speakers he’d installed provided the perfect immersive sound to get you into your writing headspace.

Around lunchtime, it’d finally hit you that, entirely by circumstance, you were a full time writer. You were one of the lucky ones - like Harper Lee or Stephen King or someone else that didn’t have to work a soul-crushing job that sucked the life out of their eyeballs. You felt unstoppable. And you decided to order food in for lunch as a treat.

When Thor got home, you ran out of the office with a manila folder full of the chapterSSSS you’d written that day. More than one. To completion. Well, unedited, but still - thousands of words on paper in one day? You were too excited to keep it to yourself, even without him asking for you to share.

His smile reached his electric blue eyes. Thor put his bag on the kitchen counter, then swept you up and carted you off to the couch along the entry wall in the office. He kept you snugly in his lap while you read out your work to him - at first a little shy, even blushing at times - but growing in confidence as you went. He interjected with a few notes every few minutes, but mostly, he just listened.

When you reached the end of the final page, his lips gently touched the skin just below your ear. Tentative, you could tell, but cute. It lit your body up with goosebumps, had you putting your folder down to look at him. You breathed the same air for a beat before you asked, in a tinier voice than you’d expected, “What’d you think?”

His smile returned. “I love it,” he said. “I have some thoughts, but I see so much potential. I really believe in it, you know?”

“You do?” you asked.

He nodded. “Of course. You know I think you’re extremely talented. Gifted. I can’t wait for more.”

You let the folder slide off his lap and onto the seat next to him before kissing him. It hadn’t been part of the plan, but wouldn’t you know, it was amazing.

There was just something about someone so openly supporting your work, loving every step of the process with you that set your insides ablaze in the best way possible.

Thor broke the kiss just to say, “Apparently, I can.”

--

He hadn’t asked to read your new chapter the night before, but when you step into the office, you find the folder on the couch instead of the desk, where you’d left it yesterday. There’s a piece of paper, torn from inside a notebook, with a list of thoughts in Thor’s hand. Everything is fair and nonjudgmental, and of course it’s helpful for the next part you know you’re going to write.

Of course it is you think. The irony isn’t lost on you.

Still in your robe and panties - you’d hoped that would’ve been enough to seduce Thor last night and set things back to how they were before...well, yes, two weeks ago - you sit at the desk, open your computer (the one you’ve had since before this whole arrangement) and stare at the blinking cursor.

You want to write. You know what’s coming next for your main character. You have Thor’s list of suggestions - lists, really, as you have a file organizer full of sheets just like the one you found a moment ago on the corner of the desk - and your brain is ready to work, but something stops you.

Your stomach feels knotty. Your chest is heavy, and your eyes won’t focus. Writing is impossible  like this, but you can’t fathom doing anything else.

You get out one word. Another. One more. A sentence.

You freeze again. That sentence sucks. It’s wrong, and it should never exist. Thor would hate it.

Would he? Even if he did, he’d never say it like that...right?

The uncertainty inside you rises, and with it, insecurity. If he can’t even listen to you read anymore, if he can’t tell you to your face what he thinks of what you’ve written...are you even good anymore? Is he avoiding you because, suddenly, he no longer believes in you?

That seems drastic, but you can’t think of anything to counter it.

You sigh because, before  Thor, you never needed validation like this. You know it’s not that you must know if you’re still a good writer, but that you want his approval. You want, specifically, to make him happy with your work again.

Groaning, you know this book will never get finished if Thor doesn’t tell you what he’s thinking. Maybe you didn’t start this project because of him, but you’d written more and more because he’d asked (and paid) you to. You’d gotten through chapter after chapter because he’d encouraged and helped you. 

Because he’d said he believed in you.

--

It was a slow, slow day. You turned off all the clocks and taped over the one on your computer with masking tape so you could focus on the page, but not knowing what the time was didn’t make the words come, and it didn’t make the day go any faster. If anything, it slowed everything down even more.

When Thor came home, he called out for you, but all you did was groan defeatedly in response. You heard him chuckle to himself, and then he was in the office with you, standing just behind the chair you were curled up in, both of you facing the mostly blank page.

“I barely wrote anything today,” you said, covering your  eyes with the palm of your right hand. “I don’t know what’s wrong so don’t ask.”

“But there are words there. Read them,” he said, his command soft but true.

“I don’t wanna,” you mumbled indignantly. “They’re awful, Thor. I hate every single one of those words.”

“It’s only a few paragraphs you have to get through-”

“Ugh! Don’t remind me!” You lower your face to your knees, replacing your hand with the even less comfortable surface of your bent legs. And then you groaned like a baby,  whining because nothing you did all day would ever amount to anything.

Thor shook his head and simultaneously turned your chair to face him while he kneeled so he had to look up at you.

“Hey,” he said softly, poking at your shin. “Y/N, look at me please.”

You couldn’t deny him, but you didn’t have to lift your head completely. Just enough for you to peek down at him suspiciously.

“You wrote something today. That’s more than most people on this planet can say they’ve achieved.”

You scoffed. “Yeah right.”

“I’m being serious. Do you have any idea how in awe of your ability I am? Honestly?” When you didn’t respond at all to that, he reached out and gently rubbed your leg. “Babe, you’re an author. You create worlds and people every single day. Every day for the last few weeks you’ve written thousands of words, and that’s… Fuck, that’s more than impressive. So you had one day where you got out-” He looked at the computer screen, seemed to count, then shrugged. “Four paragraphs? So what?”

“I’m a fraud,” you muttered.

“No, you’re not. You’ve done so much work in so little time, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened before today. You’re a wildly effective and competent writer, and you’re going to finish this book. But you’re also going to have slow days. Even the slow days are days you still get work done, though.”

He let you sigh, but nothing else.

“Read them to me. And take tomorrow off. I will, too.”

That got your attention. You sat up a bit, still staring at him incredulously, only for a different reason now.

“Really?”

He nodded, then pushed himself up far enough to kiss you. “Really,” he promised under his breath.

--

No matter how you replay the last three weeks, the last month, the last two months, you can’t figure out what happened. What you did. What caused the change in Thor? Was it your writing, or just...you?

If it were you, thought, you can’t fathom why he still comes in to kiss you goodbye every morning. That hasn’t changed. It’s the only thing that’s stayed the same, in fact.

And it isn’t enough to calm you. It’s nice, routine, but it’s not…

You sigh.

It’s not late night conversations - pre- and post- sex - about art, both yours and otherwise. It’s not reassurances and validation and understanding. It’s just shallow but nice little act he can put on to try and make things seem normal. It’s the least amount of effort he can put into this whole arrangement, and it’s so fucking frustrating to know that.

You decide the computer is useless. Trying to write today is useless. You shut your laptop and push away from the desk, then get up off the chair and head back into the bedroom. You’re on autopilot when you go to  the closet and pull down a suitcase, not even thinking twice before filling it up with haphazard piles of your clothes from the closet and dresser. The thing won’t even close, but you don’t care.

With what’s left of your stuff, you get dressed. You decide Central Park is too pretty to just look at today, so you dress warm and head out, automatically double checking that your keyring is in your purse before getting in the elevator.

The sky is clear, and the air is crisp. You head into the park, taking in the familiar sounds and sights. Couples stroll past you - some more intimate than others - and you feel your heart lurch into your throat.

It’s fine you tell yourself. It’s not like you and Thor ever gave each other labels. You were official on paper, sure, but you were never, like, his girlfriend.

Maybe you should’ve been keeping distance this whole time. Just a little. Just enough so that, when something like this happened, you wouldn’t be so torn up about it.

You head by Wollman Rink and stop. Memories flood your head, and you shut your eyes to keep from tearing up. You can’t help it, since you feel so much on the outside of everything right now.

When you compose yourself, you get closer to the rink. You watch as people - mostly children today - twirl and skate around the rink, and you yearn for something you fear you might not ever  have again.

--

Apparently, Thor had been talking about you with his friends. Tony Stark in particular was excited to meet you, and who ever, in this entire world, got to put that on their resumè?

Stark put together this whole double-date. Well, Tony was the one taking credit, anyway. His finacè, a lovely, gorgeous redhead named Pepper, was the mastermind behind it all. Everyone knew it.

It was especially evident when your group made it to Wollman Rink and Stark put his skates on. Pepper twirled in tight circles around him, but the Billionaire Genius stood with his hands out, knees apart, and a slightly terrified look on his face as he tried to maneuver - not very well - around the ice.

You were a little wobbly at first, but Thor never took his hand from yours. Of course he was rather good at skating - besides writing, what wasn’t Thor good at? - so he mostly just guided you around the rink, keeping you close while also sometimes taking the lead and letting you drag behind him, just for fun.

After a while, he suddenly pulled you in close to him and took you by surprise, kissing you in the middle of the rink. You melted into him as much as you could in the brisk December night, and he caught every bit you gave. Your pink noses barely registered as touching, given how cold they both were, but you knew. It was always like that with Thor.

“Hey!” you both heard Tony yell. “Stop showing off, asshole!”

Pepper immediately chastised him, stating that the children now chortling around him were too young for such language.

A little while later, the group collectively agreed to call it a night on the skating and try to find some hot chocolate somewhere. The penthouse wasn’t far, so worst case scenario, everyone clambered up to your building and you’d make hot cocoas there.

Thor and Pepper offered to return the rented skates, and while you were slipping your boots back on, Tony took a second to get kind of real with you. If you hadn’t spent the whole night watching him and Thor bickering back and forth, you wouldn’t think twice about the serious look he was giving you.

“You really like him, right?” he asked.

You nodded without hesitation. “He’s… He’s so special.” You hadn’t meant to sound dreamy, but that didn’t stop your voice from taking on an airy quality. “I’ve never met anyone like him before.”

“Good, good,” Tony said, though clearly he had more on his mind. “It’s just- I know he likes you. A lot. Like, a lot a lot. He’s been talking about your writing for almost a year nonstop and, I mean-”

“Wait,” you cut in. “A year?”

You’d only met Thor three months ago.

“We didn’t know he was talking about you, at first. He’s just raving about some poems or something. We thought he’d, you know.” He pointed to the side of his head, then let his fingers flutter away as he rolled his eyes. “He just had to find you. But you don’t have a website or anything, not even to display your social media- I’ve got a few friends I could talk to about managing all of that for you, by the way, and-”

You cleared your throat as Thor and Pepper made their way back. They were far enough away still that, when Tony gauged their distance, he had enough time to turn back and quickly tell you, “He’s in it. For you. Be careful with him, okay?”

You didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but you nodded anyway. Of course you’d be careful with Thor. You had a contract and everything. You’d been careful all along.

Something told you that wasn’t what Tony meant, though.

When you made it back to the penthouse for the night, you got into your warmest pajamas and slid into bed. Thor’d forgone a shirt, but he so did most nights. He wrapped you in his arms, warming your still cold skin on contact, and asked, “So what’d you and Tony have to talk about earlier?”

Be careful with him, okay? 

As the question rang in your head, you shook it. “He’s just looking out for you,” you mumbled, yawning through the last word. “He’s a good friend.”

“Sometimes,” Thor joked.

You managed to laugh, then snuggled in tighter. “I’m glad you have him. And me.” Your eyes shut and you stilled against Thor’s warm torso, breathing in his familiar, musky scent.

You swore you heard him mutter something else, but were too close to sleep to know exactly what it was.

--

A child runs past you, and the caretaker excuses herself as she hurries after the kid. You step back from the rink and head further into the park, keeping your arms in tight to fight off the chill. You find a hot chocolate vendor, glad to have something warm to wrap your fingers around for a while.

You stroll through the park hoping something might inspire a spark, but mostly just wanting to distract yourself. There’s an annoying poking thought in your head that, once you go back to the penthouse with your clothes all stuffed into a - completely open - suitcase, everything will unravel. Nothing will ever be the same. It scares you, makes you seek refuge elsewhere, pushes you deeper into the recesses of public spaces. You don’t register your phone pinging once in a while, or if you do, you choose to ignore it.

Eventually, the sun starts to go down, and you know you have to return home soon. Thor will be home soon, too. And even if it’s just to say goodbye…

You can’t finish that thought. It takes you a minute to process, but you realize that it’s not just because of the writing. Like, yes, his support and encouragement has meant everything to you, but it’s...so much more than that.

He believes in you. In everything you do. He’s kind and gentle and he genuinely seems to like you. He’s been generous and fun and wonderful for six months, and you’re not ready to go on without all of that.

Your feet stop moving because your mind is reeling as you think that you don’t want to go on without him...because you love him.

Your mind tries to fight off the emotion that bubbles in you, but your heart won’t let it. You have to feel this as you come to accept it. As you recognize that you don’t want to say goodbye, you can’t let him go because he’s the best part of your life. You love Thor Odinson, and maybe you’ve known it for a while. Or felt it or whatever. The feeling doesn’t read as “new” in your body, in any case. It registers as comfortable, like a huge, warm blanket wrapping you up and keeping you safe and cozy.

I love Thor.

Your mind, ever persistent, reminds you of the last two weeks. The distance. The silent notes, in place of the intimate reading sessions. The morning kisses that seem to have taken the place of steamy makeout sessions and hot, strenuous lovemaking. The gestures that now feel empty, filling you up with hot air instead of weighty reassurance.

God, how could you be so stupid? To think that someone like Thor would love you? Tony had said it all those months ago - Thor loved your writing. He probably just tolerated all the rest. Once he figured that out for himself, he withdrew, which is why he’s been leaving you high and dry and alone for two straight weeks.

Heartbroken and determined, you head back to the penthouse. The sun has set by the time you reach the building, but you ignore your shivering and numb fingers as you board the elevator.

Now you’re angry. Not angry enough to scream or make a scene, but angry enough to force  that suitcase closed and leave. Angry enough not to leave a letter, and apparently petty enough to make Thor beg for an explanation. Maybe you just want to see if he will.

But the moment you reach the door and realize it’s already unlocked, everything fades away. Everything. You’re hollow.

You enter the apartment and pull off your coat, but don’t bother hanging it on the rack beside the door. Your plan is just to put it on again in a few minutes anyway.

Thor comes out of the bedroom looking confused and sad. His brow is knit so tightly you know he has to be in pain. He stares at you, and you see his shoulders shake, but you keep your distance.

“Y/N,” he calls, despair and loneliness creeping into his voice. The mixture does something inside of you, but you try not to notice.

And you fail. You fail because there’s only one other time he’s ever called your name like that.

--

He was off the whole night. You’d gone through your regular motions, excited as ever to read the next chapter to him to hear his thoughts, but as you came to the end of the printed section, he sighed and hummed, but didn’t say anything.

“Thor,” you said gently. “What’s up?”

“Hmm?” He caught your eye for just a moment before gazing across the living room and shaking his head. “Nothing. Just had a long day, I guess.”

He’s had long days before, though. You know from experience that, on long days, he comes home and asks if you want to go out for dinner, then immediately asks to go to bed upon returning home. He promises you can read as much or as little as you want the next day, and you both normally just...go to sleep.

This was different.

You shut your folder, put it on the coffee table in front of you, and turned so you straddled his thighs. You were wearing a dress that day, one with a wide, flowy skirt, so you had plenty of room to get comfortable. You cupped his jaw in both your hands and forced him to look at you, and without words, you communicated that you knew something more than just work was on his mind.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t lie to you.”

“Just tell me what’s wrong, babe.”

He searched your eyes for something. You figured he had to have found it, because he sighed and nodded. “I found out my brother was arrested today. It’s not his first time, either. Our father is insisting I let him learn his lesson in prison, but I can’t just let my brother rot.”

“Oh,” you said, then realized how bland and disinterested it sounded. “Oh, Thor,” you tried again, arms going all the way around his neck. You hugged him close, and he pulled you in even tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

He tried to tell you that it was alright, but clearly it wasn’t. His shaking shoulders told you that much, and his hitched breaths told you more.

You pushed on the back of his head until his forehead touched your shoulder. “Shh, it’s okay,” you whispered to him. “Get it all out, babe. I’m here. I’m with you.”

He didn’t cry. Didn’t sob. Apparently would not dare to get your dress all wet. You would’ve let him if he had, though.

When he calmed down, he kissed your shoulder once. Twice. Trailed his lips up to your neck and around your jaw, leaving a single kiss on your lips as he settled his forehead against yours. “Y/N,” he said, shaky and so unlike Thor you had to convince yourself you hadn’t imagined it. On another shaky breath, he let out a simple but meaningful, “Thank you.”

--

He looks at the bedroom doorway, sucks in a tight breath, and starts, “Were you…” He can’t finish until he’s looking at you again, though. “Were you going to leave?”

Your jaw tightens. And not even out of anger. You hate it when Thor’s like this because it’s not even like he’s being possessive or anything. He’s not trying to control you. He’s asking in this broken voice that snaps your resolve string by string until you’re nothing but frayed edges inside. And you hate it all because it means he’s just as broken as you are.

“I-” you start, but you can’t find the right words to follow it up. Yes feels wrong, and you’re not even sure it’s the truth anymore. Maybe...for just a moment… But how could you leave? How could you ever even think of walking away from all of this? All of him?

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks of silence and separation, two weeks of being in your own little world within the walls he provided and you don’t even know why.

Oh yeah. That’s how you could leave.

“Y/N,” he says again, this time more sure of the emotion in his chest and tone. “Were you packing a bag to leave me?”

You stand your ground, but try not to come off as angry even still. You’re not angry. You’re just...lonely. And alone. On your own team for the first time in six months. “Yes,” you answer.

His breathing gets heavier. You refuse to look away. He seems to calm himself a little bit, but doesn’t sound much better when he asks, “May I ask why?”

How dare he attempt to be polite right now? But, you remind yourself, it’s his nature. He’s always like this, no matter what. He can’t even be angry properly, and that makes everything even worse.

Torn between owing him an explanation and demanding one yourself, you say the only thing you can think to say that might give both of you answers.

“You stopped touching me. Stopped talking to me. You’ve barely looked at me the last two weeks, and I’m tired of being alone. I may as well go back to my shit job and crowded apartment.”

You’re just about to let the emotion, the rage and tears settle in when he pauses. Steps back a little. Just stares at you, like what you just said is preposterous. But then something in his expression clicks, a light flickering behind his eyes, and he seems to know he’s done everything you’ve accused him of.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’ve decided you’re not done, though.

“I thought I did something, Thor. I thought you were just too nice to tell me what it was, so you got quiet and distant in the hopes that I would just...leave.” As you say it, you know how ridiculous it sounds. It’s a thought process better suited to the inside of your brain. But you’re still going. “What else was I supposed to do? You weren’t asking for my new chapters, you were barely even looking at me. And I was just supposed to take the hint? Well, hint taken.”

His eyes fell to the floor in shame. You stepped lightly toward him, stopping with just enough room that your shoulder just barely grazed his arm.

“If I knew what I did, I would’ve fixed it, Thor. I would’ve tried. But I had no clues-”

“You didn’t do anything,” he whispers.

You can’t move then, except watch him sigh and shake his head.

“You’re not the cause of my misbehavior, Y/N. Not directly.”

Not for the first time, you wonder if he really does have another woman. But you know him, and you know him well enough to know he’d never break that promise of exclusivity. You’re not confident in much about your arrangement right now, but that is one thing you know for sure, without any doubts.

Which only leaves you to believe that maybe he wants to break the promise and just won’t out of a sense of duty or something. Like he’s just sticking with it because you won’t let him out of the deal.

None of it makes any sense, and you know it’ll make you sound like a crazy jealous demon if you say it out loud. So you don’t.

And that’s enough encouragement for Thor to look at you again, all of the world’s weight alive and heavy in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. The sound is so familiar, you nearly lean into him for comfort.

--

He stilled inside of you, the both of you suddenly quiet and tense. This...wasn’t supposed to happen. You only met the man a week ago, and today was only the second time you’d seen him in person.

But after he’d read your work from the week before, you’d talked. About everything. You told him way too many embarrassing stories about your childhood and he told you all about the private schools he got expelled from because he’d been a hellion of a young boy. You could still see the spark of mischief in his eyes if you looked hard enough, and you found that, yeah, you really kind of liked it.

You’d asked him to come up to your apartment. It was empty at the moment, since all of your roommates had lives and jobs, too. You’d just wanted to keep talking, but maybe in a place where it didn’t matter how loudly you laughed at his stories or how boisterous he became in response to yours.

He was charming. Gorgeous. So nice. Too nice, really. He paid for refills of coffee, then followed your lead to your apartment.

Things had started in the kitchen, but then you’d gotten hungry, so he ordered in Thai. You’d brought him into the bedroom so you could watch a movie and eat without the forced space a couch might offer. He was warm and easy to feel comfortable around.

When the movie ended, you talked some more. About the movie, about what you were going to write next. Everything.

And then you leaned up on your knees and kissed him. One thing led to another, and then he was fucking you better than you’d been fucked in a long, long time. Maybe ever. He was generous in all things, it seemed.

It was only when you both came down from your highs that you, collectively, seemed to remember that he’d paid you to write for him. Sex seemed complicated and taboo in conjunction, and that thought made you feel hollow, despite only minutes ago feeling like you could lift the world on your back and carry it easily.

Minutes passed and you said nothing. He didn’t say anything, either.

But then he did. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, slow and genuine.

You felt your chest tighten at the thought that he regretted what you’d done together. It made no sense, given how you kind of regretted it, too, but you knew it wasn’t the feeling of it all that you regretted. The act, sure, under the circumstances.

But the success of the trial? Absolutely not.

You shook your head. “No, no, don’t be. It’s okay.”

“Your silence indicates otherwise.”

“Well yours did, too.” You sighed and tried to explain what was going on in your head, and when he finally met your eyes, you knew the truth of the whole matter: You didn’t regret a thing. Not really.

“Like I said, don’t be sorry,” you told him, finally managing a small smile.

It was enough to encourage him to kiss you again, and your stomach erupted in a kaleidoscope of butterflies. If kissing him like this felt so right every time, you never wanted to do anything else.

--

This time, you have no reason to tell him not to be sorry. This isn’t a mistake, and your silence isn’t your own fault.

His electric blues are deep and dark, and they scream at you not to let go. “I’m sorry,” he says again, the last word breaking on the end of a breath. “Please...please don’t leave.”

Your brow furrows, more confused than anything else. “Why not?” you ask, trying your best not to sound mad because, truly, his plea intrigues you more than sparks anger. You were so sure, until that moment, that he’d simply been meaning to find a good way to ask you to leave.

But now… That’s not even a possibility.

He surprises you by bringing a hand out, begging for your touch. On instinct, mostly, you respond, your fingers sliding right into his palm like they were made to fit together perfectly.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

You nod. There are no other answers. You trust Thor, and you know, somewhere inside, that he never really meant to play with your feelings. Whatever he’s trying to show you now will fix everything. You have to believe it, or else you’ll really, truly break.

“Say it.”

“I trust you.”

He relaxes enough that you notice, then pulls you along into the bedroom. He asks you to sit on the edge of the bed, then picks up a long envelope from his nightstand.

“I should’ve been more attentive here, but I was doing my best not to ruin a surprise,” Thor says, handing you the envelope. When all you do is stare up at him, he nods at the package in his hands, and waits patiently.

You take it. Open it. Inside is your contract. Every page. You stare up at him, brows furrowed deeper in confusion. “What?” you ask.

“I’ve been discussing this with both of our lawyers this week. And the week before that, I was trying to figure out what I wanted to say to the lawyers. But...this is big and I was nervous, and I knew I should’ve said something to you, but I-” He stops, clears his throat, and looks away from you. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

You slide the contract back into the envelope, then put it on the bed. “What surprise?” you ask.

“I was going to have the contract terminated.”

The same dread from earlier fills you, until you remember that he wouldn’t have pulled you in  here to explain everything if all he was going to do was kick you out. He wouldn’t ask you to stay, in that case. You try to control your reaction, which ends up meaning that you don’t really react at all, except to ask him, “Why?”

“I want us to be real,” he says plainly, forcing himself to meet your gaze. It’s not too long before he’s lowering himself into a kneeling position in front of you, grasping for your hand again. “I don’t want there to be any obligations. If any legally binding contract is going to exist between us, I want it to be nothing short of a marriage license. The last two weeks have been excruciating, and I know that’s all my own doing, and I’m sorry I put you through that, but please believe me when I say that I love you, Y/N. I love you, and I was trying to do anything I could to end the artifice and make this real.”

“Make...us…” You trail off, mind running at a million light years. Too fast for you to process. Things don’t compute correctly, like when your fingers type faster than your brain can think of words, and all you end up saying is, “You...you love me?”

Thor nods. “I do. I love you so much, and all I wanted was a chance for us to make things work on our own terms, without expectations. Without mutual gains with monetary value.”

You start asking him silly questions, because they’re all you can think to bring up. “So you don’t hate my book? You’re not disgusted by me? You want more of me?”

He confirms with double negatives and a positive. “Of course I want more, Y/N. I’d have to be living under a rock not to.”

“Did you say you wanted to marry me?” you ask him, only just now starting to catch up.

He laughs, nods, and pushes himself up so you’re level. “Without a shadow of a doubt. We already live together. We’ve been together for half a year, and I love you. We don’t have to rush- whenever you’re comfortable, just say the word and-”

But there are no words. Only actions.

You can’t find it inside yourself to hold the last two weeks against him anymore. All that insecurity has washed away with a few simple affirmations - but God Damn are they effective.

You crash your lips against his, arms winding around him as tightly as you can make them go. He pulls you to him, fitting snugly between your knees as he deepens the kiss, rolling his tongue over your lips, asking for an invitation.

A little levity of the night settles back into your brain then, and you gently pull back instead of letting him ravish you. For now. You give him a serious look, but you can’t stop smiling through it.

“Don’t ever go quiet like that again, Thor. I was so scared and alone, I never want to feel that way again.”

He nods. Light from the hallway shines on his face, and you see tear streaks have stained his cheeks. Your thumbs come around and wipe them away, and he smiles so prettily at you that you almost cry, too.

“I promise. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I promise, I’ll always tell you what I’m up to.”

He kisses all over your face, repeating himself between points of contact, swearing to any God who’ll listen that this will work. That he loves you, that he’s sorry, and then-

“I love you too, you know,” you get out. 

And the whole thing starts all over again.

[profitinaecho]

Dark Max pt 6 (explicit under cut)

“I shot out a lightbulb again today.” Rosa dropped onto the stool next to Liz.

“Oh yeah?” Liz tried not to look guilty. Max had definitely been the one to blow that particular bulb out.

“I know Max isn’t himself right now but do you think he could teach me how to use my powers so that doesn’t keep happening? I’m scared I’m going to end up doing that in front of people. I didn’t even feel the electricity when I did that today.” Rosa fretted, twirling her hair nervously. “Also, did you notice someone left their underwear in the bathroom earlier?”

Liz cringed. “Actually, today was me and Max.”

“What?” And then Rosa realized what her sister was saying. “Oh! Good for you but gross!”

“I can still ask him to help you with your powers if you’d like.”

——————————

A few days later, Liz was dragging a razor up her legs sitting on the bathroom counter in just shorts and a tank after dinner when Max appeared in her connected bedroom. Startled, she knicked herself and started to bleed.

“What are you doing to my legs?” Max asked, concerned.

All of Liz’s parts got excited at his possessiveness over her. “They’re MY legs and I accidentally cut myself because you scared me.”

Max pulled his shirt up over his head and stepped in between her legs, and gently took the razor from her hand.

“What are you doing?” Liz watched him move the razor toward her legs.

“Helping.” Max thought it was obvious.

“Should I be trusting you with a sharp object?” Liz sassed him.

Max smirked at her in response. His eyes stood on her as he rested his palms on her thighs, above the shaving cream below her knees. Liz wouldn’t mind if they have sex right there, but it would make a mess. Although it was right next to the shower and they could probably barely both fit in there. Max’s eyes dropped and he gave her thighs a squeeze. He’s focused on her vag peeking through the large leg holes of her sleep boxers.

Luckily, she got that waxed after their time in the Crashdown bathroom so he shouldn’t have any snarky comments. His eyes lifted, heavy with need. Briefly, Liz swore he’s just going to drop to his knees and shove his face in between her thighs. The lights flicker a couple times in warning before he released his grip on her thighs and lifted her shaving cream leg. Max rested the sole of her foot against the center of his chest. Liz is very confused until he lifted the razor and headed toward her leg. She tried to pull her leg back but he held her ankle tightly.

“Don’t you trust me? I’d never hurt you, Liz” The look he gave her made her toes curl. He was so sexy. She was in so much trouble. “I’m good at shaving. I bet I do less damage than you did. And if I don’t, I’ll just heal it.”

“Ha. Ha. You think you’re so funny.” Liz teased him then gasped as he pressed a kiss to her bare ankle below the shaving cream. Then he touched the blade to her leg and skimmed away the cream. Liz willed herself to stay still.

He went over her shin first, then lifted her leg to get the back of it. “You’re flexible, huh?”

Liz laughed, embarrassed. “Just one of my hidden talents.”

“Seriously, it’s sexy.” Max made another pass with the razor. Once finished, he tossed it in the sink and held a washcloth under the warm water in the sink. He then ran it over her legs to wash away anything left over. The spot where she cut herself was suspiciously gone. “I think I did a good job.” Max pressed a kiss to her ankle.

“You did great. Thank you for not cutting me.” Liz meant it to be teasing but it came out all breathy. He lowered her leg and stepped between her legs. He was still wearing sweatpants so Liz could feel him there but they were separated by layers of clothing.

Max ran his hands through Liz’s long wavy hair and gently tilted her head back. She expected him to go straight to tongue fucking her but he surprised her by gently kissing the edge of her jaw, then her chin. It was sweet and unexpected.

Liz closed her eyes and waited for his lips to touch hers. She felt his breath gust across her face- it smelled like cinnamon. And then, she felt nothing. Liz’s eyes popped open to find he had dropped to his knees in between her legs. He pulled her forward until she was teetering on the edge of the cabinet. It creaked ominously and Liz hoped it was securely bolted to the wall.

Max bit the inside of her thigh and sucked hard. When she gasped, he released her skin. He inched his fingers forward to her hips to pull her shorts and panties off. He dropped them to the floor then he nuzzled into her inner thigh, his scruff tickling her sensitive skin. He stayed like that, breathing heavily between her legs like he’s trying to compose himself, Liz had no idea why he was just kneeling there but he looked hot and it was building anticipation.

Max dropped wet kisses up her thighs until he reached the spot that brought her the most pleasure. The first clit lick was tentative but the second involved him curling his tongue and sent shocks of pleasure through her body. Liz moaned loud- the acoustics in the bathroom were killer. Max’s eyes lifted to hers and then he started to suck on her clit. Liz can’t even imagine how much practice he has had to be able to do that.

“Not as much as you would think.” Max teased her, disengaging just long enough to reply.

“I said that outloud?” Liz makes a baffled face.

“No. I can read minds.” Liz squeezed her legs together in warning and Max laughed. “I’m surprised you haven’t come yet.”

“Well, if you would stop talking smack and start licking… oh!” Liz lost her train of thought when he started flat tonguing her. She pulled his hair and started moving him to the rhythm and places she needed him. He nipped her clit and that was it- she was falling into a multiple orgasm. Her muscles continue contracting like they’re looking for his dick which isn’t there.

“Feel better?” Max asked but he had to have already known.

“Uh huh. Now what about you?”

“Liz! You know it is only 8 and I can hear you right? It’s all echoy in there.” Isobel knocked on the door. She was thrilled they were back together but she didn’t need to hear that. “I’m not coming in, because gross, but I don’t need to hear my brother doing that. It is my brother right?”

Liz flushed red and Max laughed. “Of course it is. Hello Isobel.” Max was covered in Liz’s fluids so he wiped his face off on Isobel’s decorative bathroom towel then hung it up where it belonged.

“I can’t believe that just happened. Maybe we should be doing this at your place?” Liz was so embarrassed.

“Yes. Definitely do your fucking at Max’s house.” Isobel snarked.

“Isobel!” Max hissed and Isobel laughed before they heard her walking away. “Come here. I need a little something right here.” Max tapped his cheek. He had a tiny dimple there and Liz wanted to press it- with her tongue.

Liz came back over to him and kissed his cheek then his lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You like it.” Max was cocky.

——————————

The next day, towards the end of her shift, Liz’s phone buzzed with a message from Max.

Max: You want to come over and have a naked pillow fight after work?

Liz smiled. It sounded fun but she needed to toy with him a bit.

Liz: Is that a euphemism?

Max: Do you want it to be? I don’t know, we could order take out and hang out.

Liz was confused. Max was very clear that he wanted to be casual but that sounded like a date.

Liz: Since when do we hang out? I thought you said this was casual.

Max: Since now. Wear something easy to take off and come hungry. See you soon.

Liz bit her lip considering it and decided to go for it.

Liz: Ok. I get off in 20

Max: Yeah you will

——————————

“Oof!” Liz was hit with a throw pillow as she walked into Max’s house. “Hey! No fair. I don’t have a pillow.”

“You’re not naked either. We’ve all got to make sacrifices, Liz.” Max teased her, whacking her one more time with the pillow for good measure. “What are you craving for dinner? You choose.”

“What about Italian? Eggplant parmigiana sounds so good right now.” Liz’s mouth was watering just thinking about it.

“Great choice. I’ll order in from Bella’s.” Max pulled out a drawer full of take out menus and started looking for the one he wanted.

Max called the restaurant and ordered Liz’s eggplant and spaghetti and meatballs for himself. The second Max hung up with the restaurant after ordering, Max has Liz pressed against his living room bookshelves with her face in his hands. His mouth crashed down on hers and his tongue slipped into her mouth. He groaned, deep and needy. Tiny pleasure currents zip through Liz’s body. They made out while they waited for the food to arrive. It was simple,  but they finally had their first date.

[etherian-affairs]

Reunion - Part 1

It’s finally time. Part 1 of the Herak season 2 premier. The moment all twelve of you who follow this have been waiting for.

For all of those who are new. @crimson-r and I are OC shipping trash. I write they draw. If you want to get in on this...

Here is the masterpost of the stories. We also both use the same tags which you’ll find on this post.

Madame Hera finds herself quite angry. A younger woman she had taken on first as a plaything and then as a ward had seen fit to undermine Hera's decision making during a key part of negotiations with a small single system civilization that the Horde wished to integrate. Now it had fallen apart because this foolish girl could not think more than two moves ahead in the game. 

Now Hera is forced to commit military forces to a campaign that could have been won in a far more elegant and resource efficient manner. Madame Hera hates nothing more than having to waste her resources. Getting bogged down in military campaigns is detrimental to her own security.

"Madame Hera I apologize I thought-" the younger woman is cut off as she pleads. Trying to follow Hera through the Samos and make her case. She was such a cute thing too. Long purple hair and strong red coloration to the skin. It really is in many ways a shame she decided to be such a fool.

"Your first mistake! I took you under my wing to teach you what to think! Not how to think!"

The boys, Madame Hera's pet Terror Hounds, match their masters anger and growl on either side of the soon to be ex-ward. The Madame almost lets out her own growl of anger as she marches into the bridge of the Samos.

"Madame please." She's still talking. The idiot woman is still talking! "It was a mistake I know that! but our forces can more than handle the locals! It is still an easy conquest!"

"Our Forces?!" Hera spins around on her heel to actually face the girl. "No. They are not our forces they are MY forces. A task force I built through my own skill and determination! A task force that you have forced me to commit to a military campaign that there was no nee-"

"Madame." The captain of the Samos' voice cuts through Hera's rant. For the first time in a lifetime of service her faithful captain interrupted her, cut her off mid sentence. In a discussion he was not even a participant in.

Her already hot blood boils and she turns to him. Her hounds let loose the growls and angry barks she will not. "What possibly justifies interrupting me?"

"Apologies Madame." He bows his head. Glancing at the Hounds momentarily. "A transmission has just been relayed to the Samos. It is tagged with the personal signature of ESS-1172."

Hera's boiling blood freezes. The world freezes. The shock registers on her face for all to see. Some on the bridge understand the significance of what their captain just said. The majority do not. Yet they understand the significance of the Madame showing such apparent uncontrolled surprise.

"Details. Now!" She barks. "And get her off of the bridge!" The Madame adds, gesturing to her ward.

The guards immediately comply, as does the captain. The would be ward looks confused as she is removed from the bridge. She seems to want to protest but the guards stop her. They'll have to be commended. The Captain elaborates on the message. "it is coordinates and a retrieval request. The identification does seem valid, and the entire message was in your family's cypher."

Hera almost begins to tremble in place. Almost. The storm of emotions swirling in her chest is enough to make one sick. Valid identification… her cypher… it has to be.

"Disengage the Samos from this campaign. Plot our course immediately."

The Captain bows. "Yes Madame."

Hera turns to march off of the bridge. She needs privacy. "Contact me the moment we've arrived." She adds as she slips out.

The walk to her Chambers is all to familiar. The feelings barely contained. The strength required to remain stoic. The boys sense her emotional state. They too remain on guard but the little quirks in their heads make it clear they are curious or even worried. 

The moment she is in her chambers and the door slides shut she gasps. Her emotions well up and she leans against the wall wide eyed. Deep worry. Deep hope. Both fill her. Somehow tears well even as a smile graces her face.

The boys nuzzle up to their Madame, concerned. Wanting to make sure she's okay. She reaches out to pet them. Letting out something of a choked laugh. "Don't worry. Madame's okay. Madame is okay."

…

Mirak is in pain. Excruciating pain. Her head. Her body. All of it. They bandaged her up, taped her back together, got a message out and hopefully to a relay. Mirak never actually expected Sam to be as useful as he's been but that boy can survive when he's absolutely forced to. It really did take pushing him to the very edge to get his innate hidden competence to kick in though.

There's no way to know what happens now. Will Madame get the message? Will she care? Will she believe it? Mirak can only wait for retrieval or death, and the second won't be long now. At least if she dies she’ll never know if the Madame didn’t care or was just slow. That’s sort of a relief, she’ll never have to face that possibility. She told Sam to find his own way once she's gone. Loot her corpse and carry on.

The portals connection point was this seemingly random planet. They were probably lucky it was a planet they could survive on at all. Mirak wasn't actually sure about that though. It's possible Hordak had somehow picked the location? Maybe? Maybe the universe just decided to throw Mirak a bone. Isn't that a nice thought?

They’re in a small shack at the edge of one of this planets few remaining towns. A brutal conquest took place here. Most of the planet is bombed out and barren by the looks of things. Sam is trying to get her to eat something now. She's really not feeling it. She's not feeling much of anything but pain. Then suddenly her ears twitch. Incoming noise. Engine noise. Small craft, a shuttle of some kind. Mirak manages to lift herself up and with Sam's support look outside.

Horde vessel. Someone got the message at least.

…

As the shuttle lands within the Samos' primary transport bay Hera finds herself waiting there as she once used to do so many years before. Waiting to see her Specialists safe return after too long apart. The moment the retrieval team had landed and located their target they had confirmed all of Hera's hopes. One of her species, heavily injured, and with a description that matches ESS-1172’s. As well as a human. Both in Horde armor.

When the figure steps out of the shuttle Hera nearly gasps, and has to restrain herself from running across the deck. It’s ESS-1172. She’s squinting and is being aided in walking. Oh no. She looks terrible. Blood cakes her. Her armor looks cobbled together. She has prosthetic lower legs.

Madame Hera decides to step forward, approaching and turning to walk alongside them. 

Lavender eyes looks up at her, still squinting as if in immense pain. Then they open a little. The smallest smile graces the specialists mouth. “Madame.” she rasps. Yet it sounds so very happy.

Hera’s mind is frozen for a moment. She has dreamed of hearing that voice again. Yet she must retain her composure. She must ensure she keeps hearing that voice. “Do not talk, ESS-1172.” The Madame looks to the soldiers helping ESS-1172 walk. “Get her to the primary medical wing immediately.” 

“What about the Human?” One of the soldiers asks. Hera glances at the young person. He looks scared, awkward, he’s glancing around. He was with ESS-1172, helping her from what Hera heard from the in field reporting. 

“Him as well. He will need to be treated for any injuries.”

“At once Madame.”

The two are taken off. Hera has to take a moment to collect herself in the bay before she moves again, following. She needs to make sure that this is all handled properly. The Madame can barely comprehend all that is happening, but she does not need to comprehend. She needs only to act, to ensure her future happiness. She will let nothing take this from her.

The group makes their way to the medical bay, and with each step it becomes more and more clear that ESS-1172 is in extreme pain and discomfort. She is stumbling. Keeps wincing. Her body looks weak. It breaks Hera’s heart nearly as much as seeing her again puts it back together. The Madame has never seen the specialist look so close to death. The moment they enter the doctors are upon them and ESS-1172 begins to make her way toward one of the surgery rooms without any prompting. 

“Examine her.” Hera commands, nodding to the stumbling specialist. As the medical team moves to follow 1172 she looks back at the human. He cowers a little. “We will have someone look at you as well.” she says calmly. 

Even keeping her voice calm though the human jumps a little. “Okay… um… Mirak said she needed to use a maintenance array or something… I don’t know if that’s important for you to know…”

Madame Hera blinks, and quirks a brow. “Mirak?”

He stares back. “Oh… yeah she said that wasn’t her real name once… that’s what we call her. Mirak.”

The Madame almost laughs. Mirak. What a ridiculous name ESS-1172 chose to go by wherever she had been. Instead she takes a breath and calls another member of the medical staff over. “Look over this human. Then return him to me. I want to personally hear everything he can tell us.” 

As she gets her simple “Yes Madame” Hera turns and follows to the surgical chamber. ESS-1172 is already unconscious on the table. The system is doing its scans. Some of the staff are removing her clothes. Hera has to look away when she begins to notice the many lacerations being revealed. Her chief medical officer is looking over the data feed.  

“How long until she is repaired?” Madame Hera asks simply.

The officer glances up. “Repaired? Ma’am that will take time and be costly. Her lungs have been ravaged, her eyes are heavily damaged, she has numerous fractures, her lower legs need to be replaced to say the least.” he shakes his head. “Without even knowing who this is I cannot say it will be worth the time and resources of the medical staff to repair her.”

Hera straightens herself and lets a frown grace her face. “Did I ask for your opinion? Or did I ask how long it will be until you have repaired her?”

The officer realizes he has made a mistake in that moment, that is clear on his face. “I… I cannot be sure madame…” The other medical staff in the room are watching this with clear worry and fear. The boys growl from the doorway. 

“Who is second in the chain here?” she asks the room. 

A younger man of Hera’s own kind steps forward, bowing a little. “I am ma’am.” she replies. It is always good to see the proper people in positions of authority. 

“Congratulations on your promotion. Repair this ESS and inform me the moment your work is done. Spare no resource, no expense. Get it done.” Madame looks back to the former chief medical officer. “You. Out. Now.”

He hesitates for a moment before one of the boys stalks into the room, growling and snarling. 

At least Hera has something to distract her during the wait now, which turns out good because it takes hours. In that time she deals with the former medical officer, she speaks more with this Sam character, she sits and taps her foot while her hounds watch her anxiously. In time though the new Chief Medical officer emerges. He bows as he approaches. “She is repaired and moved to a recovery room. Number 13. We can wake her up if you would like, though I would suggest she be allowed to wake up on her own. Her body has had a lot of work done, and her mind was severely degraded. I am not an expert on Executive Solutions Specialists but her maintenance routine took quite a long time compared to others I have seen.” he explains. 

Madame Hera nods as she stands. “We will let her rest than. Thank you. You are dismissed.” 

“Thank you Madame.” 

Once the officer is gone Hera heads to recovery room 13. Laying there is ESS-1172. Unconscious on the recovery bed. Sensors watch her body, monitors display its state. Madame Hera is briefly interested in what all was done but that is secondary. She moves over to her specialists side, looking her over. She hesitates to reach out, the back of her mind aware that if she wakes the specialist via touch there is a chance 1172 will lash out. 

She does it anyway. Her hand strokes the unconscious face of ESS-1172. Hera chokes back a small sob. Her emotions fill her again. So many years. So many years since the Madame has gotten to see and touch this face.

So many years of never forgetting how it made her feel to do so.

She leans down to kiss her old lover’s forehead. Then her resting lips. A small whisper escapes the Madame. A simple. “My Nihila…”

[mrs-dragneel-stark-solo]

Unforseen Chasm

Part 5 of Unforseen Chasm

Prompt: Two sisters fall for men that are absolute enemies. The love they have could tear all of them apart, or it could bring them together. Word Count: 2313 Note: This is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written (including my other fic series). first major Collab with my best friend @thorne93​ what was first a simple “what if” moment turned into a two year writing session and I’ve never been more prouder of myself than when i started my first series. goes through most of the MCU plots there are some changes to accommodate for what we wanted and there is a bit of a crossover between the MCU and other characters. I hope you guys enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Disclaimer: Parts 1-5 were background information and helped to set up the story so that you as the audience can understand how the reader ends up where she does. 

Part 6 of this series is when the story shifts. Part 12 will kickstart a series of events that set a mood the rest of the entire fic series. So please bear with the story. It may start out slow, but we did this to build relationships, dynamics, understandings... Thor 1 is one of the FEW MCU films that we detailed. Many of the MCU films will not be this detailed and take up so many chapters. A lot of our content will take place outside of the MCU films, the gaps between the films. We didn't really want to just "rewrite" the MCU movies. Nothing in this series is filler. Every word has a purpose, every scene a reason.

You awoke early, surprisingly. Perhaps you were too excited to head back with Shannon, or maybe you were still reeling from meeting Thor. Whatever it was, you were up and making breakfast for the whole crew. Thor sat at the table talking to Darcy, Erik, and Shannon while you hummed a favorite song of yours. You weren’t sure where you’d heard it, or how long ago. All you knew was that it was a song from your childhood and it always seemed to comfort you. 

Suddenly, Thor was standing next to you. 

“Oh, hey Thor. How do you like your eggs? Do you eat eggs?” you asked. 

“That song, where do you know it from?” he demanded.

“What?” you asked, frowning. “Oh, uh, I don’t know. I’ve just always sort of, known it, why?”

“I know it, from my youth. My mother used to sing me that when I felt ill.”

You laughed. “Thor that’s absurd. We couldn’t possibly have the same music on Earth as on Asgard,” you stated, shaking your head.

With a loaded tone, he said, “I know.”

Before he could dwell on it further though, a sudden knock came at the door, making you two turn. You saw four burly warriors that seemed entirely too happy.

“Found you!” the largest one said with a giddy wave. 

Your jaw dropped before Thor raced over and embraced the people. “My friends!” he proclaimed. “This is good!”

“I don’t believe it! Oh, excuse me. Lady Sif, and the warriors three,” the largest one said with a slight bow, introducing themselves to you all. 

“My friends, I have never been happier to see anyone. But you should not have come.”

“We’re here to take you home.”

“You know I can’t go home. My father is… dead because of me. I must remain in exile.”

The lady known as Sif frowned and said, “Thor, your father still lives.” 

Thor’s face morphed into that of confusion and you approached.

“I thought you said that your father died,” you questioned.

“That’s what Loki told me,” he informed, looking at you, his own confusion washing over his face. 

“So what does this all mean?” you asked, concerned for your friend.

“I’m not sure but--”

A loud noise interrupted Thor’s thoughts. Glass and metal shattering hit the air, as did a large thud.

“The hell was that?” you asked, but when you looked straight down mainstreet from inside the lab, you could clearly see it -- a large mechanical destroying machine. He had a beam of fire? Energy? Some form was leaving him and slicing through everything, flipping cars, cutting through buildings. 

“That’s my father’s Destroyer,” Thor remarked with a frown. All of you headed outside to get a better look. Thor quickly turned to all of you. “Jane, you have to leave.” 

“What are you gonna do?” she asked as she watched him walk towards his friends. 

“I’m staying here.”

“Thor is gonna fight with us!” the large warrior announced, clearly glad to have his friend fighting with him. 

“My friends, I’m just a man. I’ll only be in the way, or worse get one of you killed. But I can help get these people to safety.”

“If you’re staying, so are we,” you adamantly stated, looking to Jane who gave a firm nod. Another glance to the other side of you, where Shannon stood and she affirmed as well. 

With that, everyone began trying to get citizens to safety while Thor’s friends worked to try and end the Destroyer. Eventually, you and Shannon stood back away from the firefight. The warriors were getting defeated, horribly, and there wasn’t anything you could do. Shannon’s powers in this case were of no help, so all you could do was stand and watch as it hurt these warriors, and tore through the little town. 

That was, until, Thor told the others to stand down. He told the warriors to return to Asgard, to stop his brother. The wounded warriors and the research team started to leave before you saw that Thor dropped his shield. You broke free from the group and stared.

“Wait… What’s he doing?” you asked, turning back to Jane and Shannon, and even the warriors. You needed some kind of answer, but no one had one to offer. 

As he walked toward the formidable machine, he seemed to be talking, but what he was saying you weren’t sure. The Destroyer disengaged its system, seemed to stand down, as it turned around. But then suddenly, it backhanded Thor hard and sent him flying, an ugly crack coming from his body.

“No!” you gasped, running toward the flying form of your new friend. Thor landed hard on his back and you were quick to his side, as was Jane. 

“It’s over,” he promised, looking to you two.

“No, it’s not over,” Jane said and all you could do was look at him, your heart breaking for a man you’d only known a couple of days. 

“I mean… you’re safe now.”

With that, he breathed his last breath and a strangled noise came from you as you stood there, looking down on a man you called friend. Jane started to cry as well, begging against the powers that be. Shannon was about to make her way over to you, to console you, but suddenly, a noise hit the air. 

All of you looked towards it. It was the hammer. The hammer was soaring through the air at incredible speeds. Selvig ran over to grab Jane, but you were left standing beside Thor, as if awaiting impact of the hammer. 

But nothing happened -- well, not to you. 

The hammer came within four feet of your head, but it was held in Thor’s tight grasp as he seemed to regain life. Lightning struck all around him, and all around you. Before your very eyes, he got a new outfit. Armor encompassed his body, a cape flowed off his back, and his wounds were healed. 

Before you could say a word, however, Thor sent Mjolnir at the Destroyer twice, then summoned a mighty storm, before bringing the machine into it, where he used the Destroyer’s power against it, causing it to implode on itself.

Thor landed, walking over to Jane where they talked briefly before SHIELD arrived, stating they were returning all of her work and equipment. Thor asked if you, Jane, and Shannon would see the Bifrost portal. You nodded fervently and Jane said she’d love to see it. With that, he grabbed Jane while the rest of you piled into either Jane’s camper or Shannon’s car and went to the site where you first met Thor. 

Once all of you converged, he spoke to Jane for a quick moment then turned to you.

“Lady Y/N, may I have a moment?” he requested kindly.

“Uh, sure,” you answered, frowning a bit. 

“Jane, Lady Shannon. Would you mind if I spoke to Lady Y/N alone?” he asked. 

“Not at all,” Jane said before stepping away. 

“Sure,” Shannon permitted.

When you and Thor took a few more steps away from them, Thor turned to you and began. “Lady Y/N, there is no easy way to say this, so I will say it. I think you’re Asgardian. I believe you have Asgardian blood in you and… to be frank, I’d like you to return with me.”

“What about Jane?” you asked, gesturing to your colleague. He seemed to favor her more than you. 

“I will return for Jane, but right now, I feel it’s important you come back with me. I need to see what my brother is doing. You’re of Asgardian descent, I know this in my bones. When I look at you, I see the aura that surrounds all Asgardians. I would like your assistance in this matter. You seem to already know a great deal about my family from your studies, and you somehow know the lullaby my mother used to sing me. I feel there are answers we must find, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, but… I’m… I live on Earth. I have friends, a life here… I can’t just go back to Asgard with you,” you tried. “When will I come back, anyway?”

“With hope, in a few days time, once we have all our questions answered. I will return for Jane, and I will bring you back. Forgive me if I am wrong, but you’ve felt it too, since I’ve arrived. There is some connection between you and I, and I feel you long to know why as well.”

You chewed your lip. He had you there. And the curiosity side of you, the scientific side of you didn’t want to say no.

“What do you say, Y/N? Will you join me in Asgard to find the answers we seek?”

You glanced back to your research team, to Shannon, and then back to Thor. “I will join you.”

“Splendid.”

“Let me just tell my friend goodbye? She is like a sister to me,” you explained.

“Of course.”

Thor stepped over to Jane, to tell her goodbye while you stepped over to Shannon. It only took a blink of an eye to feel the lump growing in your throat, suddenly realizing once you got to Asgard, you wouldn't see Shannon. There would be no Skype calls, no texts, no emails. And who knew for how long? Thor said a few days, but it sounded like Loki was determined to kill him, so that may not be an option.

But… you had to know. There was a past to you. There was something awakened inside you since Thor had shown up, and you had to know what it was. 

“So... uh, Thor wants me to go back to Asgard with him. Uh, here's my recorder that I promised you. Take whatever you need from it. Or whatever Stark needs. I hope you find it helpful,” you said, your voice trembling as you handed over your device. 

She took it with a concerned face, holding the recorder close to her chest as her eyes bored into yours. “Are you sure about this?” 

You waited a moment, glancing back to Thor. When you looked back at Shannon, you took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m sure. I can’t explain it but--”

Shannon nodded, cutting you off. “It’s okay, I get it… Just be careful, Y/N. We’re practically sisters, I can’t lose you and not know…” 

It was your turn to nod. “I know, I know,” you insisted, choking a sob down. 

“Well, here.” She took her phone out and gave it to you. “Here’s my phone to take pictures of whatever you can. I’d love to be able to see what you find.”

“I will,” you vowed before yanking her into a tight hug, gripping her hard against you. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“Oh, Y/N, it hurts me to see you leave but I know that this is something you’ve always dreamed of.” She took a deep breath and gazed up, to try and stop the flow of tears.

Guilt clenched your heart, but you knew she supported you. Besides, she had Tony and Bruce and a myriad of others to keep her company in your absence.

“I wish I could go with you but Tony needs me to run through some things for him and with the recorder you gave me, I have everything I need for why I came out here in the first place.”

You nodded, giving her a soft smile. “I wish you could go too. But I'll be back soon. As soon as I can be... I hope to find all the answers to my questions…”

“And hopefully when you get them we can process through them together, like always.”

You embraced once more before Shannon glanced back to Thor, letting go of you before thrusting her head back, signaling for Thor to come over to her. 

“Yes, Lady Shannon?” Thor asked, as he approached. 

“Please, call me Shannon. I wanted to know if there is any way that I could be in contact with Y/N if anything were to happen or if I can just check on her?”

“It may be the only thing I have to offer, but a small portal that a raven could fly through,” Thor stated. 

“Thank you, Thor, it’ll give me some peace of mind. Will you plan to come back to earth any time soon? If you do I would be glad to show you around New York.”

"I shall return as quickly as I can," he promised with a smile. "I'm sure this York of New is lovely. For now I must return home and see what my brother has done to the kingdom. I thank you for all your help and allowing me to return with Y/N.”

“You’re welcome. Treat her right, and have a safe journey,” Shannon said before Thor stepped onto the portal spot, joining the warriors before he called out for Heimdall. In a flash, Shannon was behind you, her arms wrapped around you, “I’m going to miss you, Y/N/N.” 

You touched her arm and whispered, “And I you.” 

She let you go, and stepped away. 

You braced for something, for what, you weren’t sure. You tensed all of your muscles and soon, a bright, rainbow light engulfed your senses. You thought you could wave goodbye but by the time you realized what was happening, you were being launched up. 

Before you knew it, the portal was open and you were being sucked up. The feeling was terrifying, being weightless, not knowing where you were going or what would happen to you once you got there. But in another odd sense, it felt as if you were heading home. The closer you got to this mystery destination, the more powerful and energized you felt.

Tag List:

Unforseen Chasm:

@reigningqueenofwords​

@oldfreakything​

Tags:

@cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you

@winchester-writes

@winchesterenthusiast​

@georgialouisea​

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@sassy-spn-knight-of-hell​

[tigerkirby215]

5e Nocturne, the Eternal Nightmare build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Alex Flores. Made for Riot Games)

In my continuation of terrifying builds for terrifying characters here’s a build for the scariest champion in League of Legends. The prime horror icon on the rift who everyone points to and says “now that is a scary champion!” Nocturne!

Fiddlesticks? How could that bag of twigs and metal be scary?

GOALS

Do I scare you, summoner? - Nocturne is a champion of fear... I mean at least until someone else came along. Still pretty good at making other champs terrified though.

The light is fading - Fighting Nocturne with spells is pointless: cast one and he gets more powerful.

Darkness... - An assassin is scary. An assassin who can turn off the lights, pop up behind you and scream “OOOGA BOOGA!” is even scarier!

RACE

There’s several things Nocturne could be and none of them really fit the description of “shadow spirit demon.” So fuck it may as well be a Changeling, to take the form of whatever your prey fears the most! As a Changeling you get +2 to Charisma and +1 to another ability of your choice... which can be Charisma! So fuck it +3 to Charisma! You also get two skill proficiencies of your choice thanks to Changeling Instincts (take Intimidation and Insight to see through your prey and strike them with fear) and you can learn two languages to compliment your Common language. (Pick whatever it doesn’t matter.)

But of course the main feature of a Changeling is their Shapechanger trait. It’s basically Disguise Self but your clothes don’t change: you still have to have a basic arrangement of limbs, can’t change your size so much that you change size categories, can’t disguise as something you’ve never seen, etc. etc. etc. But even so there’s more than enough shapechanging you can do to strike fear into your foes!

ABILITY SCORES

15; CHARISMA - You are a being of ultimate horror who knows exactly how to get under someone’s skin.

14; DEXTERITY - Nocturne is an assassin who can travel across massive swaths of the map in an instant, and your arm blades don’t seem like they’d be too heavy.

13; WISDOM - To truly terrify someone you’ve gotta know what makes them tick.

12; INTELLIGENCE - You need smarts to be scary. You need to know why they’re scared.

10; CONSTITUTION - Nocturne is a squishy assassin. (Though that being said feel free to swap INT and CON if you want better health but worse RP.)

8; STRENGTH - Nocturne is a ghost so weak that he can only attack you in your dreams... at least until your dreams become real.

BACKGROUND

There’s no background for “Ancient Nightmare Demon” so how about you join an assassin’s club instead? The Volstrucker Agent background from Wildemount gives you proficiency in Deception and Stealth along with a Poisoner’s Kit and a language of your choice. (Again pick whatever.)

Your feature Shadow Network lets you talk to other demons... the worst of the worst... assassin mains. If you write a letter in special ink, address it to a member of the Volstrucker, and throw it into a fire, the letter will materialize on the person of the agent you addressed it to. The ink used to send a letter is the same as the ink to write in a spellbook, and writing a letter in this ink costs 10 gp per page. Tell Talon you’re ganking, or tell Evelynn that she’s a hoe.

This background is fairly easy to adapt outside of Wildemount but be ready to alter it in case your DM doesn’t allow Wildemount content.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - MONK 1

What? Were you expecting the magical nightmare demon to have magic? Well we need Monk levels for a number of things (notably Saving Throws) but firstly let’s talk skills: take proficiency in Acrobatics and History to jump into people’s dreams and know exactly how to frighten them! You also get a tool proficiency so take Brewer’s Supplies. A spirit making spirits? How droll!

As a Monk you have Unarmored Defense equal to your Dexterity plus your Wisdom. Yeah Nocturne does kinda wear armor, but you’ll have to go without it if you want to use Martial Arts. While unarmored and unarmed with nothing but Monk weapons (which are simple weapons and shortswords - I’d argue that your arm blades are sickles?) you gain the following benefits:

Your fists and Monk weapons can be used with DEX instead of STR.

Your unarmed strike becomes a d4 (and will increase as you level up in Monk.)

When you make an attack with an unarmed strike or a monk weapon on your turn, you can make one unarmed strike as a bonus action.

LEVEL 2 - MONK 2

Second level Monks can chase down their prey with Unarmored Movement, increasing their movement by 10 feet while unarmored (as the name suggests.) But if you need to chase them down faster with Duskbringer then Ki will help with that. You have a number of Ki points equal to your level in Monk which you can use in a number of ways:

Flurry of Blows will let you spend 1 ki point to make two unarmed strikes as a bonus action after attacking, instead of just one.

Patient Defense will activate Shroud of Darkness for 1 ki point so you can take the Dodge action as a bonus action on your turn.

Step of the Wind will let you take the Disengage or Dash action as a bonus action on your turn at the cost of 1 Ki, and your jump distance is doubled for the turn.

This should be more than enough to chase down your foes, but realize that your Ki points are limited. They come back on a short rest though, so you needn’t worry much.

LEVEL 3 - WARLOCK 1

Oh hey look it’s Warlock again. Warlocks can choose their subclass at level 1 so it’s time to go Unearthed Arcana with the Undead patron, not to be confused with the Undying patron which doesn’t have the abilities we want.

Abilities such as Form of Dread: As a Bonus Action you can transform for 1 minute to gain temporary hitpoints and immunity to the Frightened condition, but most importantly all your attacks will force a Wisdom save on the target or else frighten them for a round. You can transform a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus, and you regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.

And of course Warlocks get Pact Magic: you learn two cantrips from the Warlock list. To attack around you with your Umbra Blades take Sword Burst, and to let your foes know for whom the bell toles take Toll the Dead, because not taking Eldritch Blast would be a true nightmare.

You can also learn two first level spells: Hex will let you single an enemy out to do more damage to them, and Cause Fear lets you cause fear! Funny how that works. Hit your foes with Unspeakable Horror before cutting them down.

LEVEL 4 - WARLOCK 2

Second level Warlocks get Eldritch Invocations to boost their abilities in the realm of dreams. Devil’s Sight will let you see through magical darkness which is good considering that your ultimate (which we don’t have yet) makes the whole world dark. For your second invocation Misty Visions will let you create an illusion of your target’s greatest fears. And then don’t even have to be asleep!

You also get another spell but we’ll hold onto it until...

LEVEL 5 - WARLOCK 3

Third level Warlocks can learn second level spells like Blindness / Deafness from the Undead list for some more darkness, and Cloud of Daggers, because a spinning knife box is pretty spooky.

Yes I am aware that you can get the Darkness spell proper at this level but wait for a minute!

Of course more importantly you get your Pact Boon at level 3 and for a sword-arm ghost take Pact of the Blade, to make your swords on your arms or somewhere else on your body.

LEVEL 6 - WARLOCK 4

4th level means an Ability Score Improvement, and since you’re going to be doing a lot of slashing take a Dexterity increase.

You also get another spell at this level along with another cantrip: Suggestion will let you mess with a creature’s thoughts a little to make them do things they’d never dream of! For your cantrip Prestidigitation lets you do a bunch of minor major spooky stuff. Because the true fear is not taking a d10 damage cantrip.

(Artwork by Choe HeonHwa. Made for Riot Games)

LEVEL 7 - MONK 3

You’re probably wondering what the point of these Monk levels are. Simple: Way of Shadows Monks are masters of darkness thanks to Shadow Arts. You can now cast spells using your Ki: you can cast Minor Illusion for free and for 2 Ki points you can cast Darkvision, Pass without Trace, Silence, or DARKNESS. You also get Deflect Missiles at level 3, making you an unkillable nightmare. Or at least a resilient nightmare.

LEVEL 8 - MONK 4

4th level in Monk means another Ability Score Improvement: more Dexterity is needed to survive. Speaking of survive: Slow Fall will help in case you get stuck in that dream where you’re constantly falling.

LEVEL 9 - MONK 5

5th level Monks get an Extra Attack, letting them attack an extra time with their arm blades, or their fists as your Martial Arts die also increase to a d6.

But of course to scare your foes to the point that they can barely move Stunning Strike will let you force a Constitution save or stun your target! I mean, it probably won’t work because your Wisdom is so low but...

LEVEL 10 - WARLOCK 5

Quickly hopping to 5th level of Warlock for Shroud of Darkness: grab Counterspell to counter any spells coming your way. You also get another Eldritch Invocation and while Nocturne doesn’t turn invisible in on the rift One with Shadows will let you hide effectively in bushes.

LEVEL 11 - MONK 6

6th level Monks can finally embrace the darkness thanks to Shadow Step. When in dim light or darkness you can teleport up to 60 feet as a bonus action to an unoccupied space you can see, as long as that spot is also in dim light or darkness. You also have advantage on the first melee attack you make after teleporting.

You can make Darkness with your Ki which means that this ability should almost always be available. So let the Paranoia set in before jumping behind your foes to scream “OOOGA BOOGA!” Oh and your Unarmored Movement increases by 5 feet, up to 45 feet now.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

LEVEL 12 - WARLOCK 6

6th level Undead Warlocks are Grave Touched. You no longer need to eat, drink, or breathe, because nightmare logic. Additionally, when you hit a creature with an attack you can replace the damage type with necrotic damage. While you are using your Form of Dread, you can roll one additional damage die when determining the necrotic damage the target takes. So instead of doing bludgeoning damage with your fists you can do necrotic damage instead, and rip at their minds! Wait no that’s psychic damage...

Regardless you can learn a third level spell like Speak with Dead, because what’s spookier than a talking corpse?

LEVEL 13 - WARLOCK 7

7th level Warlocks get another Eldritch Invocation: to never lose track of your prey take Ghostly Gaze for some All Seeing Spirit.

You can also learn 4th level spells like Shadow of Moil to shroud yourself in darkness. Yeah I hope you didn’t think I’d stop linking to that sound clip!

LEVEL 14 - WARLOCK 8

8th level Warlocks get another Ability Score Improvement: maximize your nightmare blades with a capped Dexterity modifier. You can also learn another spell like Death Ward to come back from anything your foes may throw at you. Guardian Angel? What a nightmare!

LEVEL 15 - WARLOCK 9

9th level Warlocks get another Eldritch Invocation. Want to hover? Ascendant Step lets you hover!

You can also learn 5th level spells at this level so it’s time to finally give people proper nightmares with the Dream spell. It’s a fairly complicated spell but in essence you can project yourself into someone’s dreams to talk to them, or to yell “OOOGA BOOGA” at them to make them take Psychic damage while also being unable to get a proper long rest.

LEVEL 16 - WARLOCK 10

10th level Undead Warlocks can leave their Mortal Husk: You gain resistance to necrotic damage, and you are using your Form of Dread, you instead become immune to necrotic damage.

Additionally, when you are reduced to 0 hit points you can explode! Each creature within 30 feet of you takes necrotic damage equal to 2d10 + your warlock level and you get up with 1 HP. Once you revive this way, you receive a point of exhaustion and you can’t do so again until you finish 1d4 long rests. Look: Nocturne doesn’t explode in-game but there’s nothing saying he can’t do so.

You also don’t get another spell at this level, but you do get another cantrip! Mind Sliver is an Unearthed Arcana spell (that’s been confirmed for Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything) which will let you further reach into your prey’s mind, and see their deepest fears of not taking a d10 damage cantrip.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

LEVEL 17 - WARLOCK 11

11th level Warlocks get their 6th level Mystic Arcanum, which is a 6th level slot that comes back on a Long Rest. So it’s basically a normal spell slot but you can’t upcast your Pact Magic or your Mystic Arcanum. There are some good options to choose from (shoutout to Mental Prison) but if you want to freak out your foes with a spooky eye trick take Eyebite. Along with making your eyes (and I quote!) “become an inky void imbued with dread power“ you can force your foes to make Wisdom saves or suffer a variety of effects. I suggest reading the spell over properly to learn everything it can do.

Oh but you know what else is cool? Regular Warlock spells! And you get a third pact slot no less! I’m actually going to suggest hopping back to 4th level for Hallucinatory Terrain to shape the world around you into one of pure nightmares.

LEVEL 18 - WARLOCK 12

12th level Warlocks get an Ability Score Improvement, and seeing as we’ve had an uneven Wisdom score this entire time I’m actually going to suggest grabbing Resilient (Wisdom) this time for some spell defense and some better stats.

But more importantly you can learn another Eldritch Invocation so it’s finally time to get value out of your ability to cause fear! Lifedrinker will let you fill your blade (because technically you only have one) with Unspeakable Horror, allowing you to deal extra Necrotic damage equal to your Charisma modifier when you strike with them!

LEVEL 19 - WARLOCK 13

13th level Warlocks get 7th level Mystic Arcanum such as Power Word Pain to subject a target with less than 100 health to Unspeakable Horror.

You can also learn another Pact Magic spell and have you ever had that feeling of someone watching you? Well Scrying will let you watch people. Cut some claw marks through a girl’s blue dress and use the cloth fragments to watch her when you can’t strike. …That was a Nightmare on Elm Street reference…

LEVEL 20 - WARLOCK 14

14th level Undead Warlocks can truly instill Paranoia with Spirit Projection. As an action you can go beyond your body, leaving it behind in an unconscious state of suspended animation. Your spirit can remain outside your body for up to 1 hour or until your concentration is broken. When your projection ends, your spirit returns to your body or your body magically teleports to your spirit’s space (your choice). While projecting your spirit, you gain the following benefits:

Your spirit and body gain resistance to bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing damage.

When you cast a spell of the conjuration or necromancy school, the spell doesn’t require any components as long as they don’t have a gold cost. 

You have a flying speed equal to your walking speed and can hover. You can move through creatures and objects as if they were difficult terrain, but you take 1d10 force damage if you end your turn inside a creature or an object.

While you are using your Form of Dread, you regain hit points equal to half the amount of necrotic damage dealt with an attack once per turn.

Once you use this feature, you can’t do so again until you finish a long rest, but one hour of pure terror should be enough to slay any foe.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

Drip drop; the sound of blood - While it’s mostly tied to your Form of Dread you do a lot of damage. 3d6 + 23 damage with your blade(s and fist) every turn, increasing to 6d6 + 23 with Form of Dead.

Their twilight approaches - You have quite a lot of mobility. 45 feet of movement speed and if you want you can hover. Or even fly! And of course you have dozens of ways to teleport around the battlefield and be everywhere at once.

Are you getting tired yet? - It wasn’t my intention but you are remarkably hard to kill. Good saving throws (or at least good enough), good AC, incredible mobility, and ways to both heal and grant yourself temporary hitpoints.

CONS

Afraid of the dark? - The sad truth about fear in D&D is that most high-level monsters are immune to it. Necrotic damage is thankfully spared but even then if you face an enemy who’s resistant to Necrotic damage (yet alone immune!) you’ll run into a lot of problems.

People are flames to be blotted out - While both your Ki points and your Pact Magic slots come back on a Short Rest a lot of your best abilities are tied to Long Rests. Perhaps it’s the nature of Unearthed Arcana, but even then your pact spells are mostly meant for utility, which is fine and all but it means that you won’t have much for combat. There’s a lot of great combat spells that Warlocks get which you can grab instead of the spells I listed.

I sense fear - All the resilience and mobility in the world won’t save you from Power Word Kill. With a d8 hit die and no Constitution modifier you won’t have much more than 100 health on average.

But as day turns to night it’s your time to strike. Your role above all is to cause fear. Let your victims know that if you want them dead they won’t survive. Stalk them in every moment regardless of if they’re awake or asleep, and let them know that when the world goes dark their time is up. Just be wary of anyone who remembers to bring a flashlight: you don’t want to be blinded while chasing your prey.

(Artwork by Francis Tneh of West Studios. Made for Riot Games)

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 66

This press conference should have been a relatively easy one. It was just a tech demo, really. To finally put to bed the naysayers about the Tower’s clean energy output so that you could move on to bigger and better things. But, for that reason, for the idea you’d concocted, Tony needed to be at the forefront. The idea scared you. He seemed a little unhinged, especially after the previous night’s incident. He was definitely frantic, thinking about too much. Trying still to convince himself and you that he was okay. When he clearly wasn’t. 

But, when you’d put the idea to him that you’d put on a show for the press at the front of the building, using connectors from the grid to power up his suit, he seemed to be fine with the thought. It was going to take a little maneuvering but nothing your tech and maintenance teams couldn’t handle. However, an hour before air time, he posted a very good question: 

“Couldn’t we do this with your suit?” 

The answer was, of course. Of course you could be the one to demo. But you didn’t want to. You hadn’t put it back on since the events, and at this point… maybe if the world stayed quiet you’d never have to climb in again. You were no hero. Not like Tony or Steve or Thor. You had just gotten thrown into the heat of battle with no other options. “Sure. We could. But Iron Man’s more recognizable. And you’ll do just fine talking through it in your suit.” 

You knew the real reason he was asking. The same exact reason you’[d asked him to stay and talk instead of run that nice. You both had demons you were fighting alone. Weren’t you supposed to be a team? Weren’t you supposed to face your problems together? And yet… it seemed impossible. More than that, he was struggling, you couldn’t bear the idea of burdening him with something you’d eventually work out. And he was probably of the same mind. And so the healing would never get started. 

You knew this. You knew it and you thought about it constantly. And yet you did nothing about it. No idea how to move forward. Or from it or closer to an idea of healing. Instead the two of you just asked each other light questions of knowing implication and skirted around one another. It was a nightmare. 

“Fair enough.” He shrugged, zipping up his hoodie. Because he wasn’t going to prod more. He’d gotten his answer. He’d tried to ask you if you were ready to open up and you’d said no. Like you always did. Like he always did. “You’ve done more than your fair share of pressers anyway.”

At this you couldn’t help a smile. “Yeah, it would be nice if you pulled your own weight once in a while.” Teasing, not meaning it in the slightest. “People are starting to forget I’m not a Stark.” You owned stake in the company only because Tony had made it so. It wasn’t actually yours. 

His brows lifted softly, a little sweetly sassy look directed your way with a curve of his lips upward. “You know, that’s a pretty easy problem to fix.”

Holding a hand up to him, “No. Don’t start. Stay focused.” 

“I can focus on more than one thing.” Even going so far as to give you a little brow wiggle. 

“No, Tony.” 

“No- like- no no? Or no like… not right now, no? I’m just asking- I gotta be sure-” 

Needing to put an end to this, although you desperately would have liked staying in a moment that felt so normal, you leaned into him to press a kiss to his lips. And then, just so he could be sure, “Not right now, no.” 

The tip of his tongue swept out against his lower lip before he bit it lightly. You weren’t sure what he was trying to accomplish- scratch that, you knew exactly, but now was not the time. “Not right now. Got it. So. Next week?” 

“No!” Batting at him, some giggles leaking out, shaking your head. He really needed to stay focused. 

                                                  --------------------

The press was already gathered out on the front steps, watching eagerly behind the barricades security had set up as you helped the tech crew hook the back of Tony’s suit up. A small specially designed modification for the purposes of this exercise. Although if he ever ran out of power somewhere else, hopefully it could be implemented much the same way. Large pipe wires from the building had been drawn out and were now being securely linked to the new access ports at the back of the Iron Man suit. 

You had a tablet with the suit’s readings in one hand, eyeing the charts closely. “Alright… suit’s all hooked up. We ready to disengage?” The demo was simple. Disengage the Arc Reactor’s power source from the suit so that the suit would only be powered by the clean energy the Tower was generating. While visually it would be impressive, although hard to really ascertain what was happening, you’[d send out copies of a finished report later to top it all off. 

Tony had the facemask slid back and gave you a grin with a thumbs up. “You heard the lady, JARVIS. Let’s cut power.” 

None of this should have been nerve wracking. It wasn’t like they were cutting Arc power to the suit in mid flight. So even if, by some chance you were wrong, the suit didn’t take in enough power from the Tower, nothing would even happen. 

You watched as the levels on the suit activity plummeted in a sheer drop, but then steadily started rising as the suit started drawing in its power from the cables in the back. You gave him a return thumbs up and an equally bright smile. “Golden.” 

It worked. Of course it worked. You may not have been a genius but, hey. Credit where it was due. This would be more than enough to finally shut everyone up. Hopefully. 

For visual, you swiped the tablet’s screen onto a bigger one just behind you so the reporters below could follow along. Tony turned to them, but offered his arm to you to give the opening words. Sweet consideration, honestly. He could have easily stolen the show. That was kind of what it was about, but you didn’t mind. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming!” You called their attention and their murmurs died down. “By now I’m sure you all know that the Stark-Avengers Tower is the first completely clean-energy powered skyscraper in Manhattan.” The double name was your idea of bridging the two thoughts together.

It was clear to you and your team that the Tower now belonged to the Avengers, but it had only been Stark Tower in its prime for less than a week. Giving it a new image fully so soon was too much. 

Tony waved a hand, “But we’ve heard some people express doubts. They say we can’t possibly have developed clean energy tech that’s as powerful and efficient as the old methods. And I get that.” Smirking a little. It was at this point you knew you should have prepared something beforehand. “People think- Tony Stark is so handsome, he can’t really be a genius too. It would just be unfair.” 

“Alright.” Giving him a little hip nudge. “Let’s stay on topic here.” The press at least was eating the interaction up, encouraging with their chuckles. “Let us assure you it’s true, though. More than assure you, we’re showing you, right now.” Screens linked, you clicked on one of the graph readings to enlarge it. 

“We’ve shut down the connection between my armor and the Arc Reactor in my chest. You’re watching me charge the Iron Man suit from the Tower’s solar panels alone. And once I’m fully powered up you’ll see-” 

It was too much to ask of the universe to just give you one thing that didn’t go wrong. It must have been, right? Absolutely. You just must have done something terrible in a previous life. This was such a simple tech demo. And yet somehow, much like everything else in your life recently, it was just destined to go wrong. 

A strong blast cut between you and Tony, severing the wires from the Tower and knocking him forward. A gravelly voice cut in after the explosion. Your mind wasn’t registering a lot. “You’ll see Iron Man rendered obsolete!” You’d dropped to your knees to help Tony up, but he raised his arm aside you and the two of you looked up at man in half a mechanical suit- very much reminiscent of all the knock offs on the market. Wearing thick goggles over his eyes and a bulky helmet- black sweater underneath his orange bits of armor and ugly brown pants to match this terrible ensemble of nonsense. No accounting for taste. “By the next generation of offensive weapons. By me! The Melter!” 

With his hand up, Tony fired off a shot to throw… The Melter off kilter. “Is he serious?” 

“Time to suit up.” 

The words threatened to paralyze you to your core. You didn’t want to do that. You shouldn’t have to do that. But as Tony took off, you knew that you did. You couldn’t leave him alone to face this, especially with the press watching. If you just stood there like a frightened child it invited so much more chaos. And you weren’t, right? You weren’t a scared child? 

No. You’d told the world you were Iron Lady. And you would follow Iron Man into whatever came. Taking your Heart Reactor from your jacket pocket, never too far even if you’d stopped wearing it, you stuck it to your chest and double tapped it to activate the suit. The feeling of the metal building and sliding down you made you a little dizzy. 

Stay focused. Stay focused… 

Once you were fully engaged, you rose up without a second thought, following Tony’s lead in firing a double blast. “I’m sorry.” Tony said, voice booming out. “The middle school science fair is just down the street.” 

So. He was unimpressed with what he was seeing, was that it? You’d guessed this guy wasn’t really a threat. Anyone who chose The Melter as their villain name wasn’t really someone you were super threatened by. “Though I think there’s a kid with a baking soda volcano who might be more impressive.” Adding fuel to a fire you probably shouldn’t have. 

The Melter shot off a blast hitting Iron Man square in the chest, and Tony seemed completely unfazed, not even moving. “Nice try, pal. But these suits stand up to atmospheric re-entry.” 

Trying to knock him off balance, even if he wasn’t doing anything, you put a hand up to get another shot off. It effectively blew him sideways, but his attention turned on you. “You’re out of your league here, why don’t you just put the little melting rays down and we’ll take you in.” 

His next shot was on you. And, Tony may have had a point. Not very effective. There seemed to be no warnings blaring, which was usually a good sign, and it hadn’t even knocked you back. It was why you felt confident, even as he continued to concentrate that beam on you, taking a few feet above him and aiming a two handed shot his way- 

One you were two seconds into firing off before, finally, the rest caught up with you. LUNA’s voice caught you very off guard. “Internal systems failing! I have to reboot!” 

“What?!” Both you and Tony seemed to be in a synced state of confusion. 

Yours lasted a little less than his did as your suit went completely dark from the inside out. You weren’t sure you’d ever experienced a terror like that before. Or even enough time to feel it. “LUNA hey- hey!” The free-falling happened immediately after that. But oh so luckily for you, this Melter man caught you from your drop mid air. 

“Here. Let me give your useless suit a little help!” And then promptly flung you right into Tony. 

The two of you went down to the ground in a heap, and the hits didn’t stop coming, as your villain of the week lasered off a balcony portion of a high floor on the Tower, sending it toppling down on the two of you. You weren’t sure how Tony’s systems were faring, but with your internal circuitry going haywire, you really felt those hits from all sides. 

Metal and glass crushed you tight on top of Tony, sending a breath out in a wheeze. And with your suit helmet still on but not registering sound, it was a little hard to hear the man who had caused so much damage with one little burn beam. His voice was muffled, but as you shoved aside rubble, rolling off Tony to allow him to hopefully breathe the two of you simultaneously pulled off your helmets. 

Melter was hovering somewhere midair, going on and on. “-in the next few days I’ll hold another demonstration. After that, the Melter technology goes on sale to the highest bidder! If you have what it takes to be a bidder, you’ll hear from me-” 

Having had just enough of this, and not needing your suit to do all the work here where it had failed, you called out, “JARVIS, lock Tower defense and fire!” 

JARVIS’ voice boomed out from the Tower itself. “Analyzing target now.” 

That was about all the Melter man needed to finally pale and take off without another word. High into the sky. Fast, for such a poor recreation of a much superior suit. ...although, after all that… 

Tony put a hand to his head. “Worst press conference ever.” 

Calling the pack’s attention was probably the worst mistake of the afternoon. As soon as they heard his voice, all the press still waiting (no preservation instincts to be heard of) turned. “Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark!” 

You had bruises in brand new places and a headache that was strong enough to put you under. Now was no time to be dealing with the microphones shoved in your faces. How to even begin to explain what had just happened? Fairly simple. Some rando b-story had broken through your supposedly superior defenses, wrecked both your suits, and brought you down to the ground. Then taken off to who knew where. 

Iron Man and Lady had been downed by what they’d deemed a school science lab experiment. Embarrassed on their own front lawn. 

“No questions.” You groaned out. 

                                                 --------------------

It was a sad sight to see, really. Both armors in heaps on lab tables. You’d taken to pacing endlessly, which surely wasn’t helping Tony’s mood as he was analyzing and reanalyzing and re-re-re analyzing what had gone wrong. Bruce was standing by. Mostly for emotional support. 

With his hands clasped together, he dared to ask, “So. Uh… who’d you piss off now?” 

“Why is it our fault?” Tony asked, hands on more than a few keyboards, reading over dozens and dozens of graphs and tables and formulas and… 

You sighed, wrapping your arms around yourself. “We don’t have the best track record for that sort of thing, is what I think he’s trying to say.” 

Bruce nodded. “I mean… come on, now. Let’s get honest about it. First big bad guy on your file was your partner, and he hired terrorists to kill you. And then there was that Hammer guy and… Vanko… personally speaking, when people come after the both of you it’s…” Rolling his hands around, trying to figure out a delicate way to put this. 

Tony looked up, hands coming down just a little hard on the table. “My fault. Yeah. I get it. So. You’re right. Who did I piss off this time?” 

“I think more importantly first…” Trying to get in the middle of Bruce being too honest and Tony’s penchant for self-loathing, “Melter said he was putting on another presentation. What does that mean?” 

“He wrecked the suits- well. Not the outside. That little heat ray couldn’t touch the exterior. It’s the internals. Something about it breaks down the internal circuitry.” His dug his hands deep into the open chest piece of the Iron Man suit, grabbing a few tools, starting to work his magic. “You think he’s stupid enough to announce he’s coming after us for a double feature?” He slipped on some goggles, leaning in close. Sparks starting to fly. 

You shook your head. “Guy doesn’t seem like he has a lot of brains. Even if he did stumble on to whatever it is that did this to our suits.” And you did mean that quite literally. Not for a second could you believe he outsmarted Tony. The suits the both of you were wearing had been redesigned more than a few times now. A heat beam? It didn’t seem like it could do much damage. So he’d lucked into some technology on accident, and came after you two. Why? 

A mystery, still. But as for the rest of it… 

The lightbulb went off. He went after you two, maybe because he had some unfinished business, sure, but he’d come after both suits. And who else had a suit like this worth damaging for a show of control? 

“JARVIS call Rhodey.” 

Tony clicked his tongue against his teeth. “One step ahead of me.” 

“You’re busy with something else. We’ll call it even.” You moved to sit down next to him at another console as Rhodey’s face came on screen. “Hey, listen. We just got our asses pretty much handed to us-” 

He let out an amused scoff. “Yeah. It’s on every TV at the base. What the hell is going on over there? You’re making me look bad.” 

Tony leaned over. “Thanks for the support. Oh. And asking if we’re okay. We are, by the way, but thanks for asking.” 

You waved him away. “The guy that did it is probably on his way to you. Just be careful, okay? Tony’s working on the suits now.”

Rhodey shook his head and then shrugged. “Why announce to the world his next biggest move?” 

The chest piece of the Iron Man suit swung shut loudly. “Because he’s trying to sell his tech. And after today?” Tony gave you a long look. One you returned. You knew where this was going. “He’s not gonna be the only one we have to worry about our history with.” 

Under the desk, your hands clenched together. “Just. Be on the look out, Rhodey. That’s all I’m asking. We’ll work on this here and come to you after.” 

“He’d have to be a moron to come after me.” 

Tony turned, sticking his hands into your suit next. He grunted. “Didn’t stop him from coming after us, did it?” 

“Seems like he made out okay on that bet.” 

“He won’t the next time.” 

They were about to get into a fight that none of you could afford. Bruce was the one to break it up. Hand to his chin he made a murmuring noise, waving at some of the findings on one of the screens. “Tony.” Calling him over. 

It was enough to end the bickering. And as Tony left his station, pulling his goggles up to go confer with his resident science buddy, you gave Rhodey a wave at the screen. “We’ll figure out what he did to the suits and bring the upgrade to you. I’m just asking you to be on high alert.” 

He nodded. “You got it. I’ll be alright.” 

Another wave and a smile and you ended the call. Going over to the two babbling at each other, it was useless to try and make out the science mumbo jumbo coming out of them at rapid speed. “Figured it out?” Hopeful. Because more than all of this, you’d have to deliver a statement to the press. That man had interrupted a tech demo and beaten you red. It made the Avengers thing look like a joke. Too soon to start spreading doubt about that sort of stuff. 

“That ray…” Tony walked away from the screen, going back to your suit. “At first I thought it was just intense heat, but it actually loosens the bonding forces between the molecules of non-organic matter.” 

While you weren’t sure you understood all of that, you got the gist. This was extremely dangerous. “We can’t let him sell this to anyone.” 

Bruce nodded. “And you gotta take it off him.” 

Another big sigh escaped you. “Gotta find him, first.” The best way to curb doubt about you or Tony or the Avengers was to deliver this guy to the police. And to do that… You walked over to Tony, setting a hand on his arm. “You good here? I’m going to start digging. See what I can find on this guy.” 

He stopped what he was doing for a brief moment, looking up at you. “Yeah. I’m good. I won’t let this happen again.” There was a steady stream of anxiety leaking from him, but you couldn’t work through it all right now. It was understandable. The suit he’d designed to keep you safe had malfunctioned. Guilt was not too far behind. Leaning in, probably in an attempt to silence your probing, he gave you a light kiss. “I love you. Go. I’m serious. Do your thing and I’ll do mine. And… then we’ll-” 

“Clean up. Like we always do.” Giving him a sure nod. And one more little kiss. “I love you, too.” Trying not to fall into a too-deep display of affection. You weren’t the only two in the lab. So, parting, you gave Bruce a wave. “Thanks for your help.” 

“Glad to be of assistance.” Waving back with a tired smile. 

Seemed none of you could escape the feeling. And while it would have been nice to lie in a hot bath to soothe the aches out, or fall asleep curled up…

You had work to do. You always had work to do.