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auggierynChaos, Constrained
by Auggie Ryn
LokixTembie(OC)
---
|Chapter 1|
My name is September, or Tembie as I am called to my friends, and I was sitting peacefully on my sofa, when my life's trajectory decided to take a hard left turn...
My cat, a fluffy orange boy about 2 years old, called Zues, is perfectly curled in my lap, and I am reading from a paperback in one hand, a mug of tea in the other, when suddenly, there's this... roar of audible energy that could NOT be anything good.
(A... Holy fuck, is that a Sorcerer portal?!)
I spit out my mouthful of tea, just ALL over my book, the cat, myself, as the AVENGERS pour through the open portal, stumbling and falling on top of each other in their confusion and haste.
(I... They... WHAT?!)
I know the Avengers, of course. Everyone does. But these people... aren't quite the same as the Avengers I know.
I stare, unabashedly, as Iron Man, Captain America, Bruce Banner, Hawkeye, Doctor Strange, the Winter Soldier, Quicksilver, the Scarlet Witch, and the Black Widow all react to the clearly unintended intrusion.
"SHIT." Bucky curses, growling at Stephen a bit ferally.
"My mistake," Stephen says, looking a little befuddled as to why his power did not do what he demanded of it – he IS the Sorcerer Supreme, after all.
"Always you and your damned powers," Tony replies, while picking himself up and trying to not scratch my floor with the suit any more than he already has. "Where are we, anyway?"
Thor came tumbling through next, Mjolnir leading the way and lodging itself into the drywall across the room with a foundation-shattering thud.
(OH FUCK THIS NOISE), I'm thinking to myself, freezing in place, (IF HE FOLLOWS...)
A half breath later, Loki followed. My posture tightened.
"Ehhh," Clint says, looking around.
Finally, Steve notices the emotional shift in the room, and his eyes scan until they find me. He freezes as well, which gets Bucky's attention immediately.
"Uhhh, guys?" He gestures to me, where I am just looking from one to the next of them, eyes wide and expression clearly processing.
Bruce turns to look, and just says, "Oh..."
Pietro grumbles, "Perfect, we fell where a mortal lives. And it's seen us."
Wanda immediately baps him upside the back of the head. "All of us are mortals, save the Asgardians. Be respectful."
Loki, meanwhile, is reaching out to touch something he shouldn't, by any reasonable person's assessment of the situation, and, sending the cat flying to hide, I surge out of my seat. "Oh HELL no," I say firmly, with an edge of anger in my voice, "You, OUT. NOW. I don't know how the hell you got past my wards to begin with, but I am NOT inviting your brand of chaos into my space. Absolutely the fuck NOT."
Loki's eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face as he ignores Bruce's attempts to pull him back. He doesn't move towards the door, instead leaning his weight against my bookshelf, tilting his head to study me, from my bright red curls down to my bare feet, planted in a solid position. "Wards?" he purrs, FREAKING PURRS, right? Just this sharp, sudden interest in me. "You have WARDS in this Midgardian hovel? And here I thought I'd simply stumbled into a den of common mortals."
I run my tongue along my teeth, making a slight suction noise as I do, as he reaches out a long finger, hovering it just an inch away from a small ceramic cat on the shelf. I give him the same look I give Zues.
"Loki, don't touch anything," Steve warns, his voice low and firm. He steps forward, putting himself slightly between Loki and me, and then looks down at me – tilting his head a lot, cause you know, I am fun-sized – and offers a small, apologetic grimace, before addressing me directly, "I'm sorry. We didn't mean to intrude on your home. Especially if it's... protected."
Tony, meanwhile, is already scanning the room with a glowing blue interface that appears in his palm, holographically translucent. "Hold on. Wards? Strange, tell me she's joking, or using some weird metaphor for a high-end security system I haven't patented yet."
Stephen Strange adjusts his Cloak of Levitation, which is currently twitching as if it wants to explore my kitchen. I blink at it, then look back over at Tony, as he responds, "Actually, Stark, she's not joking. They're quite sophisticated. Or they were, until our 'unplanned exit' from the Sanctum tore a hole right through the Weave." A beat, then, "See? Not my fault." His expression shifts from one of ennui-based irritation into genuine magical curiosity.
"I don't care whose fault it is," Bucky chimes in, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. He lets out a small huff of a laugh, his eyes tracking my grey-green ones behind my glasses. "The lady said 'out', Horns. And she didn't stutter."
Pietro zooms from one side of the couch to the other in a silver blur, stopping just behind me to stage whisper to Wanda, "She's small, but she is very loud." Wanda nods slightly, the movement catching my attention in my peripheral, just staring at my hair with a look of quiet fascination.
"She has fire in her," Thor booms, sounding ENTIRELY too delighted for someone who just crashed in through the metaphysical ceiling. "I like her! Tell me, Lady..." He pauses, then spots my diploma hanging on the wall across the room, and continues, "SEPTEMBER! What manner of sorceress hides in such a charmingly cramped dwelling?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose, pushing my glasses up slightly to do so, and just sigh, "I have two Norse deities, the Supreme Sorcerer and guardian of the Time Stone, and half the cast of Insurance Nightmares in my apartment," I mutter wryly, not even referring to a real show, just... the concept of what they represent. "Why? I have no FUCKING clue. Murphy just decided to be a DICK today, I guess." I take a deep and measured breath, then lower my hand and straighten my glasses with my other one.
"Wards, yes. Stephen's alley, not yours, Tony. Stephen, you can let the Cloak explore. It won't hurt anything of mine, or itself. Pietro..." A pause, then a curse hissed out in confused, frustrated grief. "FUCK. You aren't even MY earth's Avengers. How did this happen?" I ask, fixing Stephen with a resigned, deadpan look.
Strange's eyebrows knit together as he processes my "not my Earth" comment. He lets the Cloak of Levitation slip from his shoulders; the fabric hums, floating over to my coffee table, where it hovers curiously above my discarded book and mug, looking for all the world like a husky puppy made of fabric, tilting its corners at the collar as it tries to figure me out.
"Insurance Nightmares," Tony repeats, his voice a mix of offense and genuine calculation. "That's a bit harsh. I prefer the term, 'Unscheduled Urban Renewal'. But wait - how exactly do you know who we are? Because my scanners aren't picking up any Avengers ID signatures in this zip code. Or this hemisphere, for that matter."
Loki stays exactly where he is, half a challenge in his eyes, "You speak to me as if I am a stray dog in your garden, little sorceress. It's quite... refreshing." He glances at my curls, the way my glasses catch the light. "Though, if you know my 'brand of chaos' so well, you should know that telling me to leave only makes the floorboard here feel much more permanent."
I roll my eyes.
"She's got a point about the wards, Stephen," Wanda says softly, stepping forward to be closer to me, and looking at me with a tilt of her head, her own power flicking like a dim ember at her fingertips. "I can feel them now; they are woven with intent - very specific intent."
"Not just intent. Knowledge," Stephen counters in reply. He takes this slow, deliberate step at me, his boots echoing on the hardwood. "You called us a cast. You recognized those of us who... do not normally hit the international news cycle, in every reality. Tell me, September... Who are we, on 'your' Earth?"
I just sigh.
Thor lets out a booming laugh that makes the glass and ceramic in my kitchen cupboards all rattle at once. My eyes widen at the sensory overwhelm, as he proclaims, "A world where we are known before we arrive! This is a grand tale, indeed! Though, I suspect the small Midgardian woman is less than pleased, with our grand entrance."
Bucky shifts his weight, his metal arm glinting under the glow from my fireplace. He catches my eye, smirking, "Can't say as I blame her. You guys are a LOT, especially the guy in the cape." He jerks a thumb at Stephen, and I blink once, just shaking my head slightly. He continues, "So, Timber, can I call you that? Since we broke your front door down, metaphorically, of course, want to tell us why we're starring in your personal nightmare?"
"It's Tembie," I say automatically. Not sharp, not offended. Just... almost absentmindedly. "September is my government name."
The words land, and he accepts the correction without comment. I take a breath to continue.
And then I don't. I can't.
Because Pietro is looking at me. Alive, curious, breathing...
"My version of Pietro Maximoff is dead."
I don't look at him when I say it - I keep my eyes on the floor, on the grain of the wood, like it was my newest hyperfocus. It is the only way I knew, to keep myself together, you know? By focusing on ANYTHING that isn't the shape of a grief we all learned to carry.
Nobody speaks. Loki stills, even, which honestly is saying something. My hands are flat at my sides, fingers slightly curled, like they are waiting for instructions that don't come. I register, distantly, that I did not see Vision, and my gaze snaps up to Tony.
"Our mind stone went to Vision, after Ultron was defeated, but... I don't see him among you. That would mean that you didn't make him, on your world, right Tony? You're the version of you that realized the ethics could get REALLY messy, really quickly."
Pietro flinches violently at my words, a fleeting almost imperceptible tremor running through him before he forces a wide, unsettling smile onto his face.
Wanda's head snaps towards me, her eyes widening as if she's heard a terrible echo.
"Dead?' Clint's voice, always a dry drawl in media, holds a sharp edge of disbelief as he looks between Mister Silver Speedster, and me. "The kid's right THERE, lady."
Tony's holographic display flickers, then dissolves, his brow furrowing as he absorbs my declarations. He moves like he wants to run his hand over his beard, but as the Iron Man gauntlet comes into his actual visual acuity range, he seems to realize that isn't physically possible, at the moment.
"Hold on."
Tony looks over at Bruce and Stephen, a rare, troubled silence settling over him.
"Hold on, Vision? The Mind Stone? This 'other' world of yours built a synth-man with an Infinity Stone for a brain?! Because on OUR world, we kept that glowy thing locked down. Pretty sure Ultron nearly ended humanity, and Vision wasn't even a blueprint - just a napkin thought.
Loki's smirk broadens, a genuine, unsettling amusement entering his eyes as he takes in the reactions of the Avengers. "A divergence, then? How quaint. Such delicate threads, snapped by differing whims." He pushes off the bookshelf, and SAUNTERS closer to me - who the hell saunters - a hand resting on his hip. "And my 'chaos', little sorceress, seems rather tame compared to the fabric of reality itself rending and reforming around you. Does the weight of such knowledge press in upon that bright halo of hair, of yours?"
"Tony. Are you suggesting there's an alternate our -... That we DO create an AI that can... What exactly does it do, this Vision?" Bruce stammers, rubbing at his temples, the mere suggestion of another such creation clearly agitating him.
"She's talking about multiversal variants," Stephen clarifies, adjusting his stance. His eyes, still fixed on me, sharpen further. I feel seen through at this point, honestly. "A reality where Ultron could be... circumvented or reformed, enough to create a new intelligence. And you know about it because...?" He pauses, inviting me to explain myself.
I don't just yet, sensing that he hasn't completed the process of thinking out loud.
Stephen looks at me, then back at Pietro, a deep sense of unease settling on his face. Mood, honestly.
"So this is... not just another timeline, but rather... another UNIVERSE? And in yours, Pietro sacrificed himself?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications for the young speedster and his sister.
Pietro's cheerful facade cracks fully, and he moves from my side, stopping a few paces away. He isn't speaking, but I can see he wants to. His hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides, you know? They way they do when your emotions are too big for your throat...
Wanda puts her hand over her mouth, her eyes honestly looking a decent bit hazy, filled with an aching sadness everyone can see, a visceral reaction to a past that is not truly hers, as she knows it, and yet feels INTENSELY real.
I nod, "He died a hero's death. Our Wanda's grief and confusion activated her powers, and she developed a relationship with Vision. The whole Snap thing complicated everything; it was honestly a huge mess," I say. "That's why I'm so familiar with you all - half of you disappeared and then came back, after being fully friend and honored by everyone who was left, worldwide."
A beat, then I add, softly, "Everyone knows all about all of you, well beyond what you are probably expecting."
I look over at Wanda.
"The most likely thing that I can guess about your altered origin story, from what I know, is that you had to have had trained with Stephen, to understand your growing power and focus it. Is that correct?"
Pietro's head snaps towards me, his eyes wide and unblinking. A ghost of a tremor goes through him, and his usual boundless energy is just... gone.
Wanda, catching my eye, nods slowly her expression cloudy with profound sadness. She wraps her arms around herself, her fingers digging lightly into the fabric of the sleeves. "There was a blast. A... different kind of explosion in the Sokovian factory. When Hydra experimented. Pietro... he got out right away. I didn't. I was trapped longer."
Her voice is soft, barely a whisper, thick with unshared grief for a brother still standing, yet irrevocably altered by my statements.
"The powers, both of us... they came from the Stone. From the experiments. And yes," she continues, her eyes meeting Stephen's, "Doctor Strange, he came. He helped. After Ultron. After Pietro... didn't die."
A dry, hollow laugh escapes her.
Loki watches this exchange with keen interest, a cynical smoke tugging at the corner of his lips.
Goddess I just want to punch him.
He moves closer to the Iron Man suit, observing the human drama.
"So, their chaos merely took a different form, Stark. One with less immediate gratification in destroying mankind, perhaps, but certainly more anguish for the survivors."
Tony was already connecting to my neighbor's wifi, scrolling through his palm-projected tech again, a flicker of genuine concern behind his usual bravado. "Wait, Thanos? 'The Snap'? Seven years, you had people gone? Grieved and honored... Okay. 'Unscheduled Urban Renewal' was one thing, but that sounds like more than just... a universal bad hair day." He looks up, his expression a mix of disbelief and morbid fascination. "No, we did NOT build Vision with a Mind Stone back home. And we didn't just shrug and make another one when Ultron cratered our original AI dreams." He shakes his head slowly. "Okay, so my alternate self is either a genius or completely unhinged, no in-between."
"I was not consulted regarding the Mind Stone being placed into a sentient being," Thor rumbled, his hammer, Mjolnir, humming gently in his hand. He looks down at his brother, then over at me. "Though I admit, our 'Snap' involved a being named Thanos, a mad titan, yet no disappearances from what I recall. There was battle. And much devastation. There was a gauntlet... but nothing like this." He looks genuinely confused. Honestly kinda cute, in that himbo kind of way.
Bucky pushes off the wall. "Everyone knows EVERYTHING about us? Like... the dirty laundry? The... not-for-public-consumption stuff?" He rakes a hand through his hair, his eyes darting quickly to Steve before settling back on me, a hint of unease in his casual demeanor. "Because that's less comforting and more terrifying."
Steve's expression turns SERIOUS, serious. He raises a hand and makes this loaded, complicated gesture, as if trying to grasp invisible spider threads.
Stephen's expression had also become serious, "If my counterpart did not train you, here... Wanda, your control here... It is formidable, but her description suggests a power vastly greater in scope than what I perceive emanating from you now. It points to a deep, integrated understanding." His voice holds professional assessment, free from judgement, but HEAVY with curiosity. He is fascinating to watch, when he has a puzzle in front of him.
"The discrepancies are growing too vast to simply be 'different historical events'. This suggests a different quantum reality altogether, Tembie. One perhaps, more... evolved, in magical understanding."
I look from Stephen to Bucky, nodding slightly. "You guys... You're part of the curriculum, so that kids with emergent powers, or adults after accidents, aren't as likely to turn to a path of, well, not to put too fine a point on it, super villainy. It sounds dramatic, but it is genuinely a real issue and ongoing risk. Society did not shift culture in pace with people suddenly being handed more power than they ever dreamed of, in their entire lives. Any perceived slight, and that becomes a volatile risk."
I sigh softly rubbing the palms of my hands against the thighs of my jeans, the denim a comforting roughness in the discomfort of the awkwardness of this conversation, then give Natasha an empathetic look, and say softly, my tone reassuring, "Not all of your files were declassified. It was all over the news commentator lineup, about how that would have put so many things at risk, for them to do. But it was enough to know what shaped you."
A beat.
"No one should have had to go through that. Any of you."
Pietro shifts finally, his blue eyes mirroring a deep-seated ache as I talk. His jaw works, a sudden intensity replacing his usual flippancy. Wanda extends a hand towards him instinctively, a low hum of scarlet energy tingling just beneath her fingertips, as if she can pull back the words that just inflicted such an unfamiliar wound on him. I wince slightly, when he doesn't notice it.
"Villainy, huh?" Bucky let out a harsh, dry chuckle that held no humor. The smirk from earlier vanished, replaced by a grim set to his mouth. His gaze is just DRILLING into me, not angry, but raw.
Shit.
"Yeah, I guess that's one way to put it. Part of the 'curriculum'. How many lectures do I get, this semester, on 'Winter Soldier' training regimens?" He runs his cybernetic hand along the edge of his organic bicep, a gesture that was at once protective and self-loathing, and I curl into myself for a moment, then force myself to deshrimp with a heavy sigh. Steve clenches his jaw, his eyes darkening as my words land.
Double shit. Nothing ever good came from making American's Sweetheart angry.
He knows no rage, save righteous indignation.
Natasha's composure, usually unshakable, flickers. I fight myself to not flinch. Her emerald eyes, typically veiled, show a brief piercing vulnerability as I offer that quiet empathy, but now a deep, nearly perfectly imperceptible tremor runs through her posture before she locks it down again. Her lips thin.
"Files," she repeats, the word a soft hiss, lacking any particular question, HEAVY with unshed implication. I cannot hide the flinch, this time. She glances quickly at Clint, whose usual smirk has tightened into a worried frown.
Tony, however, seems to seize on the intellectual side, thank the goddess.
"So. In your universe, you actually... integrate this whole 'superhuman' thing into civics class? To prevent a bad grade or a layoff from turning into a super villain's origin story? That's... innovative. Though I still prefer our 'reactively blast them into submission' SOP, honestly." He pauses, looking around at his colleagues.
"Then again, maybe our track record could use some... reevaluating."
"My variant in your reality," Loki muses, stepping closer to observe the shifting moods. His voice was a silken whisper, weaving through the sudden heaviness. I freeze, just for a microsecond.
That word. Variant.
Son of a BITCH.
"A pivotal anti-hero, one assumes? Featured prominently, no doubt, in tales of redemption," he continues, lost in his fantasy for a moment. His head tilts, a familiar, predatory curiosity alighting in his green eyes. "Your educational system sounds far more entertaining than those dreary texts they feed the Midgardians, back home." He flicks an imaginary crumb from his sleeve, dismissing the general anguish with an offhand elegance.
What an ASS.
Stephen finally recalls his Cloak back towards his body, where it settles obediently. He adjusts his stance, his expression still etched with serious thought. "So it isn't just a collection of historical facts," he muses, almost to himself. "It is a pedagogical tool. A mechanism for social control, almost."
(I won't lie - I had to look that one up later; it is a fancy way of saying it is a teaching tool. Pretentious ass word choice. But whatever.) He frowns, fixing me with an intense stare. "This 'villainy', is it tied to individual psychology or some deeper societal malaise?"
Thor, still holding Mjolnir, looked from Bucky's tight expression to Natasha's guarded face. A deep, sorrowful sigh rumbles from him. "To have one's entire existence reduced to a lesson... this is not something the valorous warrior celebrates." He shifts his weight, his blue eyes reflecting a heavy weariness, not with battle, but with exposure.
I narrow my eyes at Loki, finally having had just about ENOUGH of his bullshit. "Don't you even start. You still haven't told them about your adventures with the TVA, have you?"
A shadow falls across Loki's face, deep as sin and quick as a viper's strike.
Oh I hit a NERVE.
Bet.
The playful amusement that has been dancing in his eyes vanishes entirely, replaced by the cold, calculating fury I have always known him to be capable of. Hence my wards, if I am being honest. Anyway, this RAGE of his, it is pulling the air thin and sharp, like actually harder to breathe and a bit like static smell, around him.
His smirk, so recently arrogant, is replaced by the tight press of the line of his lips.
He takes a subtle step back from Tony, the effort honestly useless because EVERY eye is on him at this point. There's a barely perceptible stiffening of his shoulders, and he regards me with an openly hostile expression that I can only describe now, as murderous recognition. I stand finally from sitting on the edge of the coffee table, setting my stance wide, and crossing my arms over my chest.
A low, guttural growl rumbles deep in his chest, a sound barely audible, yet vibrating with latent power, a dangerous hum beneath the skin of his regal composure. He does not speak right away. Never knew I could strike a deity speechless, but here we are.
The other Avengers, you know, they have no idea what the hell we're talking about, at this point. Completely oblivious to the implications, but... They can sense the sudden, drastic shift, and they are all exchanging wary glances. Tony stares at Loki, then at me, then back again, a rapid flicker of calculation running across his face as he registers the intensity of the Trickster god's sudden silence.
He'd seen that look before, I found out later, but never directed at someone who looks like me, all fun-sized and delicate.
"TVA?" Steve repeats the unfamiliar acronym, his brow furrowing with confusion as he looks from me to Loki. His stance instinctively widens to match my defensiveness, and I don't miss how he puts himself between Loki and me, just a bit. Just enough to be helpful. "What's a TVA?"
Bucky's hand subconsciously drifts towards his waist, where a gun sits. He moves almost imperceptively closer to Steve, his eyes fixed on Loki's suddenly rigid form.
"I don't like that look, Horns. Anything involving THAT kind of face usually means someone is about to get punched, and you haven't decided who - you, or someone else."
Bruce, ever the cautious observer, pushes his glasses further up his nose, his gaze flickering between Loki's intense expression, and my firm one. His mouth opens, as if to speak, but the words catch in his throat.
"Another universal agency?" Stephen muses aloud, his voice dropping an octave as he peers intently at Loki. The faint golden-orange glow from his sling ring, which had been dormant, pulses once, as if reacting to the ripple my statement has caused. And fuck ME, it was more a wave, than a ripple. I'm just saying. Anyway, he then looks over to me, the question forming in the depths of his eyes, this unspoken demand for context, even as his face betrays a complex mix of recognition and concern.
Real time, 4k.
I take a deep and measured breath, my eyes narrowing at Loki.
"What is the TVA, Tembie?" Thor booms, Mjolnir's weight a solid thrum against the hardwood as he takes a step forward, ready to intervene if needed.
When I tell you, the atmosphere in the apartment had CURDLED. Toddler cup lost for 3 months under my friend's back seat, curdled.
It was BAD.
Pietro has, for a rare moment, forgotten his own pain, at least. He stands, utterly still, watching his adoptive brother as the sudden, unexpected fear from Loki pulses through the room.
Wanda, however, is subtly lifting her hands, scarlet tendrils of raw, undefined magic beginning to swirl almost invisibly around her fingertips, instinctively preparing for whatever dark shift she thought I was going to cause next.
Natasha takes in EVERY nuanced shift. I mean, EVERY one, from Loki's stiff, murderous stillness, to my defiant gaze, to the varied reactions of the team. A quiet, constant assessment, sharp and clear.
Loki finally manages to wrench his eyes from my face, turning a withering, furious glare on the assembled Avengers, though he seems ENTIRELY unable to frame a cohesive denial. Like, at ALL.
"It... is of NO consequence!" He snarls, his voice tight, lacking its usual melodic fluidity, that charm he glides through. Eel in water, I swear. He moves away towards the wall, his pacing starting on autopilot, a caged predator caught off guard. "A trifling... bureaucratic oversight! Nothing for THESE pathetic mortals to be concerned with!"
I look directly at Loki, tracking him with my whole body, weight on one heel, as he paces. No wards flare. My voice stays even, and firm.
"You don't get subtext, here."
I gesture, one hand coming from my chest to make a finger to the floor, palm down, deliberate.
"You entered MY space, uninvited. You IGNORED a direct request to leave. You are now attempting to interrogate me under the guise of 'curiosity'. That violates Hospitality. Not once, not twice, but thrice."
I pause just half a breath.
"We're done playing clever. If you want to ask whether this world reduces suffering to teaching methods, say that." I tilt my head, then continue, "Don't dress it up as concern. Don't perform fascination. And don't test my boundaries as though I'm not WHOLE ASS standing right in front of you. That might work on mortals who mistake charm for consent."
I shift my weight.
"It doesn't work on me."
He stands, frozen, listening in shock.
"You are a guest. Act like one. Because, here's the thing. The ONLY reason my wards haven't responded to you, is because you haven't TECHNICALLY broken the rules to the point where they would auto-revoke my Invitation."
I look up at the ceiling, my smile thin.
"I wouldn't keep testing where that line is, if I were you."
Everyone with magical sensitivity, in the townhouse, feels my wards' humming rev up, like a purring engine being primed to take off.
by Auggie Ryn
LokixTembie(OC)
---
|Chapter 1|
My name is September, or Tembie as I am called to my friends, and I was sitting peacefully on my sofa, when my life's trajectory decided to take a hard left turn...
My cat, a fluffy orange boy about 2 years old, called Zues, is perfectly curled in my lap, and I am reading from a paperback in one hand, a mug of tea in the other, when suddenly, there's this... roar of audible energy that could NOT be anything good.
(A... Holy fuck, is that a Sorcerer portal?!)
I spit out my mouthful of tea, just ALL over my book, the cat, myself, as the AVENGERS pour through the open portal, stumbling and falling on top of each other in their confusion and haste.
(I... They... WHAT?!)
I know the Avengers, of course. Everyone does. But these people... aren't quite the same as the Avengers I know.
I stare, unabashedly, as Iron Man, Captain America, Bruce Banner, Hawkeye, Doctor Strange, the Winter Soldier, Quicksilver, the Scarlet Witch, and the Black Widow all react to the clearly unintended intrusion.
"SHIT." Bucky curses, growling at Stephen a bit ferally.
"My mistake," Stephen says, looking a little befuddled as to why his power did not do what he demanded of it – he IS the Sorcerer Supreme, after all.
"Always you and your damned powers," Tony replies, while picking himself up and trying to not scratch my floor with the suit any more than he already has. "Where are we, anyway?"
Thor came tumbling through next, Mjolnir leading the way and lodging itself into the drywall across the room with a foundation-shattering thud.
(OH FUCK THIS NOISE), I'm thinking to myself, freezing in place, (IF HE FOLLOWS...)
A half breath later, Loki followed. My posture tightened.
"Ehhh," Clint says, looking around.
Finally, Steve notices the emotional shift in the room, and his eyes scan until they find me. He freezes as well, which gets Bucky's attention immediately.
"Uhhh, guys?" He gestures to me, where I am just looking from one to the next of them, eyes wide and expression clearly processing.
Bruce turns to look, and just says, "Oh..."
Pietro grumbles, "Perfect, we fell where a mortal lives. And it's seen us."
Wanda immediately baps him upside the back of the head. "All of us are mortals, save the Asgardians. Be respectful."
Loki, meanwhile, is reaching out to touch something he shouldn't, by any reasonable person's assessment of the situation, and, sending the cat flying to hide, I surge out of my seat. "Oh HELL no," I say firmly, with an edge of anger in my voice, "You, OUT. NOW. I don't know how the hell you got past my wards to begin with, but I am NOT inviting your brand of chaos into my space. Absolutely the fuck NOT."
Loki's eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face as he ignores Bruce's attempts to pull him back. He doesn't move towards the door, instead leaning his weight against my bookshelf, tilting his head to study me, from my bright red curls down to my bare feet, planted in a solid position. "Wards?" he purrs, FREAKING PURRS, right? Just this sharp, sudden interest in me. "You have WARDS in this Midgardian hovel? And here I thought I'd simply stumbled into a den of common mortals."
I run my tongue along my teeth, making a slight suction noise as I do, as he reaches out a long finger, hovering it just an inch away from a small ceramic cat on the shelf. I give him the same look I give Zues.
"Loki, don't touch anything," Steve warns, his voice low and firm. He steps forward, putting himself slightly between Loki and me, and then looks down at me – tilting his head a lot, cause you know, I am fun-sized – and offers a small, apologetic grimace, before addressing me directly, "I'm sorry. We didn't mean to intrude on your home. Especially if it's... protected."
Tony, meanwhile, is already scanning the room with a glowing blue interface that appears in his palm, holographically translucent. "Hold on. Wards? Strange, tell me she's joking, or using some weird metaphor for a high-end security system I haven't patented yet."
Stephen Strange adjusts his Cloak of Levitation, which is currently twitching as if it wants to explore my kitchen. I blink at it, then look back over at Tony, as he responds, "Actually, Stark, she's not joking. They're quite sophisticated. Or they were, until our 'unplanned exit' from the Sanctum tore a hole right through the Weave." A beat, then, "See? Not my fault." His expression shifts from one of ennui-based irritation into genuine magical curiosity.
"I don't care whose fault it is," Bucky chimes in, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. He lets out a small huff of a laugh, his eyes tracking my grey-green ones behind my glasses. "The lady said 'out', Horns. And she didn't stutter."
Pietro zooms from one side of the couch to the other in a silver blur, stopping just behind me to stage whisper to Wanda, "She's small, but she is very loud." Wanda nods slightly, the movement catching my attention in my peripheral, just staring at my hair with a look of quiet fascination.
"She has fire in her," Thor booms, sounding ENTIRELY too delighted for someone who just crashed in through the metaphysical ceiling. "I like her! Tell me, Lady..." He pauses, then spots my diploma hanging on the wall across the room, and continues, "SEPTEMBER! What manner of sorceress hides in such a charmingly cramped dwelling?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose, pushing my glasses up slightly to do so, and just sigh, "I have two Norse deities, the Supreme Sorcerer and guardian of the Time Stone, and half the cast of Insurance Nightmares in my apartment," I mutter wryly, not even referring to a real show, just... the concept of what they represent. "Why? I have no FUCKING clue. Murphy just decided to be a DICK today, I guess." I take a deep and measured breath, then lower my hand and straighten my glasses with my other one.
"Wards, yes. Stephen's alley, not yours, Tony. Stephen, you can let the Cloak explore. It won't hurt anything of mine, or itself. Pietro..." A pause, then a curse hissed out in confused, frustrated grief. "FUCK. You aren't even MY earth's Avengers. How did this happen?" I ask, fixing Stephen with a resigned, deadpan look.
Strange's eyebrows knit together as he processes my "not my Earth" comment. He lets the Cloak of Levitation slip from his shoulders; the fabric hums, floating over to my coffee table, where it hovers curiously above my discarded book and mug, looking for all the world like a husky puppy made of fabric, tilting its corners at the collar as it tries to figure me out.
"Insurance Nightmares," Tony repeats, his voice a mix of offense and genuine calculation. "That's a bit harsh. I prefer the term, 'Unscheduled Urban Renewal'. But wait - how exactly do you know who we are? Because my scanners aren't picking up any Avengers ID signatures in this zip code. Or this hemisphere, for that matter."
Loki stays exactly where he is, half a challenge in his eyes, "You speak to me as if I am a stray dog in your garden, little sorceress. It's quite... refreshing." He glances at my curls, the way my glasses catch the light. "Though, if you know my 'brand of chaos' so well, you should know that telling me to leave only makes the floorboard here feel much more permanent."
I roll my eyes.
"She's got a point about the wards, Stephen," Wanda says softly, stepping forward to be closer to me, and looking at me with a tilt of her head, her own power flicking like a dim ember at her fingertips. "I can feel them now; they are woven with intent - very specific intent."
"Not just intent. Knowledge," Stephen counters in reply. He takes this slow, deliberate step at me, his boots echoing on the hardwood. "You called us a cast. You recognized those of us who... do not normally hit the international news cycle, in every reality. Tell me, September... Who are we, on 'your' Earth?"
I just sigh.
Thor lets out a booming laugh that makes the glass and ceramic in my kitchen cupboards all rattle at once. My eyes widen at the sensory overwhelm, as he proclaims, "A world where we are known before we arrive! This is a grand tale, indeed! Though, I suspect the small Midgardian woman is less than pleased, with our grand entrance."
Bucky shifts his weight, his metal arm glinting under the glow from my fireplace. He catches my eye, smirking, "Can't say as I blame her. You guys are a LOT, especially the guy in the cape." He jerks a thumb at Stephen, and I blink once, just shaking my head slightly. He continues, "So, Timber, can I call you that? Since we broke your front door down, metaphorically, of course, want to tell us why we're starring in your personal nightmare?"
"It's Tembie," I say automatically. Not sharp, not offended. Just... almost absentmindedly. "September is my government name."
The words land, and he accepts the correction without comment. I take a breath to continue.
And then I don't. I can't.
Because Pietro is looking at me. Alive, curious, breathing...
"My version of Pietro Maximoff is dead."
I don't look at him when I say it - I keep my eyes on the floor, on the grain of the wood, like it was my newest hyperfocus. It is the only way I knew, to keep myself together, you know? By focusing on ANYTHING that isn't the shape of a grief we all learned to carry.
Nobody speaks. Loki stills, even, which honestly is saying something. My hands are flat at my sides, fingers slightly curled, like they are waiting for instructions that don't come. I register, distantly, that I did not see Vision, and my gaze snaps up to Tony.
"Our mind stone went to Vision, after Ultron was defeated, but... I don't see him among you. That would mean that you didn't make him, on your world, right Tony? You're the version of you that realized the ethics could get REALLY messy, really quickly."
Pietro flinches violently at my words, a fleeting almost imperceptible tremor running through him before he forces a wide, unsettling smile onto his face.
Wanda's head snaps towards me, her eyes widening as if she's heard a terrible echo.
"Dead?' Clint's voice, always a dry drawl in media, holds a sharp edge of disbelief as he looks between Mister Silver Speedster, and me. "The kid's right THERE, lady."
Tony's holographic display flickers, then dissolves, his brow furrowing as he absorbs my declarations. He moves like he wants to run his hand over his beard, but as the Iron Man gauntlet comes into his actual visual acuity range, he seems to realize that isn't physically possible, at the moment.
"Hold on."
Tony looks over at Bruce and Stephen, a rare, troubled silence settling over him.
"Hold on, Vision? The Mind Stone? This 'other' world of yours built a synth-man with an Infinity Stone for a brain?! Because on OUR world, we kept that glowy thing locked down. Pretty sure Ultron nearly ended humanity, and Vision wasn't even a blueprint - just a napkin thought.
Loki's smirk broadens, a genuine, unsettling amusement entering his eyes as he takes in the reactions of the Avengers. "A divergence, then? How quaint. Such delicate threads, snapped by differing whims." He pushes off the bookshelf, and SAUNTERS closer to me - who the hell saunters - a hand resting on his hip. "And my 'chaos', little sorceress, seems rather tame compared to the fabric of reality itself rending and reforming around you. Does the weight of such knowledge press in upon that bright halo of hair, of yours?"
"Tony. Are you suggesting there's an alternate our -... That we DO create an AI that can... What exactly does it do, this Vision?" Bruce stammers, rubbing at his temples, the mere suggestion of another such creation clearly agitating him.
"She's talking about multiversal variants," Stephen clarifies, adjusting his stance. His eyes, still fixed on me, sharpen further. I feel seen through at this point, honestly. "A reality where Ultron could be... circumvented or reformed, enough to create a new intelligence. And you know about it because...?" He pauses, inviting me to explain myself.
I don't just yet, sensing that he hasn't completed the process of thinking out loud.
Stephen looks at me, then back at Pietro, a deep sense of unease settling on his face. Mood, honestly.
"So this is... not just another timeline, but rather... another UNIVERSE? And in yours, Pietro sacrificed himself?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications for the young speedster and his sister.
Pietro's cheerful facade cracks fully, and he moves from my side, stopping a few paces away. He isn't speaking, but I can see he wants to. His hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides, you know? They way they do when your emotions are too big for your throat...
Wanda puts her hand over her mouth, her eyes honestly looking a decent bit hazy, filled with an aching sadness everyone can see, a visceral reaction to a past that is not truly hers, as she knows it, and yet feels INTENSELY real.
I nod, "He died a hero's death. Our Wanda's grief and confusion activated her powers, and she developed a relationship with Vision. The whole Snap thing complicated everything; it was honestly a huge mess," I say. "That's why I'm so familiar with you all - half of you disappeared and then came back, after being fully friend and honored by everyone who was left, worldwide."
A beat, then I add, softly, "Everyone knows all about all of you, well beyond what you are probably expecting."
I look over at Wanda.
"The most likely thing that I can guess about your altered origin story, from what I know, is that you had to have had trained with Stephen, to understand your growing power and focus it. Is that correct?"
Pietro's head snaps towards me, his eyes wide and unblinking. A ghost of a tremor goes through him, and his usual boundless energy is just... gone.
Wanda, catching my eye, nods slowly her expression cloudy with profound sadness. She wraps her arms around herself, her fingers digging lightly into the fabric of the sleeves. "There was a blast. A... different kind of explosion in the Sokovian factory. When Hydra experimented. Pietro... he got out right away. I didn't. I was trapped longer."
Her voice is soft, barely a whisper, thick with unshared grief for a brother still standing, yet irrevocably altered by my statements.
"The powers, both of us... they came from the Stone. From the experiments. And yes," she continues, her eyes meeting Stephen's, "Doctor Strange, he came. He helped. After Ultron. After Pietro... didn't die."
A dry, hollow laugh escapes her.
Loki watches this exchange with keen interest, a cynical smoke tugging at the corner of his lips.
Goddess I just want to punch him.
He moves closer to the Iron Man suit, observing the human drama.
"So, their chaos merely took a different form, Stark. One with less immediate gratification in destroying mankind, perhaps, but certainly more anguish for the survivors."
Tony was already connecting to my neighbor's wifi, scrolling through his palm-projected tech again, a flicker of genuine concern behind his usual bravado. "Wait, Thanos? 'The Snap'? Seven years, you had people gone? Grieved and honored... Okay. 'Unscheduled Urban Renewal' was one thing, but that sounds like more than just... a universal bad hair day." He looks up, his expression a mix of disbelief and morbid fascination. "No, we did NOT build Vision with a Mind Stone back home. And we didn't just shrug and make another one when Ultron cratered our original AI dreams." He shakes his head slowly. "Okay, so my alternate self is either a genius or completely unhinged, no in-between."
"I was not consulted regarding the Mind Stone being placed into a sentient being," Thor rumbled, his hammer, Mjolnir, humming gently in his hand. He looks down at his brother, then over at me. "Though I admit, our 'Snap' involved a being named Thanos, a mad titan, yet no disappearances from what I recall. There was battle. And much devastation. There was a gauntlet... but nothing like this." He looks genuinely confused. Honestly kinda cute, in that himbo kind of way.
Bucky pushes off the wall. "Everyone knows EVERYTHING about us? Like... the dirty laundry? The... not-for-public-consumption stuff?" He rakes a hand through his hair, his eyes darting quickly to Steve before settling back on me, a hint of unease in his casual demeanor. "Because that's less comforting and more terrifying."
Steve's expression turns SERIOUS, serious. He raises a hand and makes this loaded, complicated gesture, as if trying to grasp invisible spider threads.
Stephen's expression had also become serious, "If my counterpart did not train you, here... Wanda, your control here... It is formidable, but her description suggests a power vastly greater in scope than what I perceive emanating from you now. It points to a deep, integrated understanding." His voice holds professional assessment, free from judgement, but HEAVY with curiosity. He is fascinating to watch, when he has a puzzle in front of him.
"The discrepancies are growing too vast to simply be 'different historical events'. This suggests a different quantum reality altogether, Tembie. One perhaps, more... evolved, in magical understanding."
I look from Stephen to Bucky, nodding slightly. "You guys... You're part of the curriculum, so that kids with emergent powers, or adults after accidents, aren't as likely to turn to a path of, well, not to put too fine a point on it, super villainy. It sounds dramatic, but it is genuinely a real issue and ongoing risk. Society did not shift culture in pace with people suddenly being handed more power than they ever dreamed of, in their entire lives. Any perceived slight, and that becomes a volatile risk."
I sigh softly rubbing the palms of my hands against the thighs of my jeans, the denim a comforting roughness in the discomfort of the awkwardness of this conversation, then give Natasha an empathetic look, and say softly, my tone reassuring, "Not all of your files were declassified. It was all over the news commentator lineup, about how that would have put so many things at risk, for them to do. But it was enough to know what shaped you."
A beat.
"No one should have had to go through that. Any of you."
Pietro shifts finally, his blue eyes mirroring a deep-seated ache as I talk. His jaw works, a sudden intensity replacing his usual flippancy. Wanda extends a hand towards him instinctively, a low hum of scarlet energy tingling just beneath her fingertips, as if she can pull back the words that just inflicted such an unfamiliar wound on him. I wince slightly, when he doesn't notice it.
"Villainy, huh?" Bucky let out a harsh, dry chuckle that held no humor. The smirk from earlier vanished, replaced by a grim set to his mouth. His gaze is just DRILLING into me, not angry, but raw.
Shit.
"Yeah, I guess that's one way to put it. Part of the 'curriculum'. How many lectures do I get, this semester, on 'Winter Soldier' training regimens?" He runs his cybernetic hand along the edge of his organic bicep, a gesture that was at once protective and self-loathing, and I curl into myself for a moment, then force myself to deshrimp with a heavy sigh. Steve clenches his jaw, his eyes darkening as my words land.
Double shit. Nothing ever good came from making American's Sweetheart angry.
He knows no rage, save righteous indignation.
Natasha's composure, usually unshakable, flickers. I fight myself to not flinch. Her emerald eyes, typically veiled, show a brief piercing vulnerability as I offer that quiet empathy, but now a deep, nearly perfectly imperceptible tremor runs through her posture before she locks it down again. Her lips thin.
"Files," she repeats, the word a soft hiss, lacking any particular question, HEAVY with unshed implication. I cannot hide the flinch, this time. She glances quickly at Clint, whose usual smirk has tightened into a worried frown.
Tony, however, seems to seize on the intellectual side, thank the goddess.
"So. In your universe, you actually... integrate this whole 'superhuman' thing into civics class? To prevent a bad grade or a layoff from turning into a super villain's origin story? That's... innovative. Though I still prefer our 'reactively blast them into submission' SOP, honestly." He pauses, looking around at his colleagues.
"Then again, maybe our track record could use some... reevaluating."
"My variant in your reality," Loki muses, stepping closer to observe the shifting moods. His voice was a silken whisper, weaving through the sudden heaviness. I freeze, just for a microsecond.
That word. Variant.
Son of a BITCH.
"A pivotal anti-hero, one assumes? Featured prominently, no doubt, in tales of redemption," he continues, lost in his fantasy for a moment. His head tilts, a familiar, predatory curiosity alighting in his green eyes. "Your educational system sounds far more entertaining than those dreary texts they feed the Midgardians, back home." He flicks an imaginary crumb from his sleeve, dismissing the general anguish with an offhand elegance.
What an ASS.
Stephen finally recalls his Cloak back towards his body, where it settles obediently. He adjusts his stance, his expression still etched with serious thought. "So it isn't just a collection of historical facts," he muses, almost to himself. "It is a pedagogical tool. A mechanism for social control, almost."
(I won't lie - I had to look that one up later; it is a fancy way of saying it is a teaching tool. Pretentious ass word choice. But whatever.) He frowns, fixing me with an intense stare. "This 'villainy', is it tied to individual psychology or some deeper societal malaise?"
Thor, still holding Mjolnir, looked from Bucky's tight expression to Natasha's guarded face. A deep, sorrowful sigh rumbles from him. "To have one's entire existence reduced to a lesson... this is not something the valorous warrior celebrates." He shifts his weight, his blue eyes reflecting a heavy weariness, not with battle, but with exposure.
I narrow my eyes at Loki, finally having had just about ENOUGH of his bullshit. "Don't you even start. You still haven't told them about your adventures with the TVA, have you?"
A shadow falls across Loki's face, deep as sin and quick as a viper's strike.
Oh I hit a NERVE.
Bet.
The playful amusement that has been dancing in his eyes vanishes entirely, replaced by the cold, calculating fury I have always known him to be capable of. Hence my wards, if I am being honest. Anyway, this RAGE of his, it is pulling the air thin and sharp, like actually harder to breathe and a bit like static smell, around him.
His smirk, so recently arrogant, is replaced by the tight press of the line of his lips.
He takes a subtle step back from Tony, the effort honestly useless because EVERY eye is on him at this point. There's a barely perceptible stiffening of his shoulders, and he regards me with an openly hostile expression that I can only describe now, as murderous recognition. I stand finally from sitting on the edge of the coffee table, setting my stance wide, and crossing my arms over my chest.
A low, guttural growl rumbles deep in his chest, a sound barely audible, yet vibrating with latent power, a dangerous hum beneath the skin of his regal composure. He does not speak right away. Never knew I could strike a deity speechless, but here we are.
The other Avengers, you know, they have no idea what the hell we're talking about, at this point. Completely oblivious to the implications, but... They can sense the sudden, drastic shift, and they are all exchanging wary glances. Tony stares at Loki, then at me, then back again, a rapid flicker of calculation running across his face as he registers the intensity of the Trickster god's sudden silence.
He'd seen that look before, I found out later, but never directed at someone who looks like me, all fun-sized and delicate.
"TVA?" Steve repeats the unfamiliar acronym, his brow furrowing with confusion as he looks from me to Loki. His stance instinctively widens to match my defensiveness, and I don't miss how he puts himself between Loki and me, just a bit. Just enough to be helpful. "What's a TVA?"
Bucky's hand subconsciously drifts towards his waist, where a gun sits. He moves almost imperceptively closer to Steve, his eyes fixed on Loki's suddenly rigid form.
"I don't like that look, Horns. Anything involving THAT kind of face usually means someone is about to get punched, and you haven't decided who - you, or someone else."
Bruce, ever the cautious observer, pushes his glasses further up his nose, his gaze flickering between Loki's intense expression, and my firm one. His mouth opens, as if to speak, but the words catch in his throat.
"Another universal agency?" Stephen muses aloud, his voice dropping an octave as he peers intently at Loki. The faint golden-orange glow from his sling ring, which had been dormant, pulses once, as if reacting to the ripple my statement has caused. And fuck ME, it was more a wave, than a ripple. I'm just saying. Anyway, he then looks over to me, the question forming in the depths of his eyes, this unspoken demand for context, even as his face betrays a complex mix of recognition and concern.
Real time, 4k.
I take a deep and measured breath, my eyes narrowing at Loki.
"What is the TVA, Tembie?" Thor booms, Mjolnir's weight a solid thrum against the hardwood as he takes a step forward, ready to intervene if needed.
When I tell you, the atmosphere in the apartment had CURDLED. Toddler cup lost for 3 months under my friend's back seat, curdled.
It was BAD.
Pietro has, for a rare moment, forgotten his own pain, at least. He stands, utterly still, watching his adoptive brother as the sudden, unexpected fear from Loki pulses through the room.
Wanda, however, is subtly lifting her hands, scarlet tendrils of raw, undefined magic beginning to swirl almost invisibly around her fingertips, instinctively preparing for whatever dark shift she thought I was going to cause next.
Natasha takes in EVERY nuanced shift. I mean, EVERY one, from Loki's stiff, murderous stillness, to my defiant gaze, to the varied reactions of the team. A quiet, constant assessment, sharp and clear.
Loki finally manages to wrench his eyes from my face, turning a withering, furious glare on the assembled Avengers, though he seems ENTIRELY unable to frame a cohesive denial. Like, at ALL.
"It... is of NO consequence!" He snarls, his voice tight, lacking its usual melodic fluidity, that charm he glides through. Eel in water, I swear. He moves away towards the wall, his pacing starting on autopilot, a caged predator caught off guard. "A trifling... bureaucratic oversight! Nothing for THESE pathetic mortals to be concerned with!"
I look directly at Loki, tracking him with my whole body, weight on one heel, as he paces. No wards flare. My voice stays even, and firm.
"You don't get subtext, here."
I gesture, one hand coming from my chest to make a finger to the floor, palm down, deliberate.
"You entered MY space, uninvited. You IGNORED a direct request to leave. You are now attempting to interrogate me under the guise of 'curiosity'. That violates Hospitality. Not once, not twice, but thrice."
I pause just half a breath.
"We're done playing clever. If you want to ask whether this world reduces suffering to teaching methods, say that." I tilt my head, then continue, "Don't dress it up as concern. Don't perform fascination. And don't test my boundaries as though I'm not WHOLE ASS standing right in front of you. That might work on mortals who mistake charm for consent."
I shift my weight.
"It doesn't work on me."
He stands, frozen, listening in shock.
"You are a guest. Act like one. Because, here's the thing. The ONLY reason my wards haven't responded to you, is because you haven't TECHNICALLY broken the rules to the point where they would auto-revoke my Invitation."
I look up at the ceiling, my smile thin.
"I wouldn't keep testing where that line is, if I were you."
Everyone with magical sensitivity, in the townhouse, feels my wards' humming rev up, like a purring engine being primed to take off.
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