#it was supposed to be a bunch of loose drawings and their tech is just anachronistic and weird

[vinkandpaint]

idk my bff rose

[floofyhobbit]

Alright I was asked to talk about my OCS :3

Anyways this is the little bastard I’ve been writing for 2 years? He started as a WW1 era character actually but I decided I wanted to make a fantasy character again so here he is. The fantasy world he lives in is most similar to 50’s America with tech, but the fashion is more modern. Though I dress him like a traditional fantasy character. He’s supposed to be a sort of wood elf but I don’t have a name for the fantasy races yet (I need to worldbuild). He looks serious af here but do not let that fool you he is a silly little man most the time. Whenever he’s doing mage duties he tries to be serious. He’s a mage for hire, so if someone has a problem (usually magical) he gets paid to take care of it. The ribbon he wears is kinda like a uniform. Other mages for hire don’t really wear them anymore but he does when he’s on quests so he can look professional.

Also was raised by fae for most of his childhood, and I’m probably gonna write about that in a wholesome little prequel comic. He first starts using magic at 9 or so but it’s super weak, once he’s a teenager to cast better spells.

He left at 17 or 18 so he could become a certified mage and see the world. Before the main story starts he looses his eye but I haven’t decided where or when. It always happens in every draft, the idea stuck with me I guess. I guess the “magical character that doesn’t rely on their vision” trope spoke to me. Uhh what else

he has a bunch of familiars, but the main one that follows him around most the time is his crow named Basil, who’s the son of the crow he befriended as a child. His main magic is nature/Druid? Magic, basically he’s like Bulbasaur. Also talks to animals, and can summon his familiars. He can also shapeshift into animals but only a select few (right now he can only shapeshift into a kestrel, rat, wolf).

I made him into a glass cannon pretty much. Worlds most eepy magic guy. I didn’t want to make him super powerful because I found magic characters like that kinda boring. But it’s also fun to give characters cool powers 👀.

Though he is trying to learn a spell from each type of mage magic. Jack of all trades stuff.

Also his staff is kinda inspired by Sakura’s staff in Cardcaptor Sakura, idk something about wing motiffs…

He’s trans also! I kinda based that aspect on me haha… he was a pretty tomboyish child so when he realized he was trans he was like “oh I see now” and his family was like alright :D. Perks of being raised in the woods by fae, gender roles are kinda non existent ig. He named himself after a character from his favorite childhood book. Also gay aspec (me when I project).

Other stuff! He’s a pretty good dancer and likes fashion which are traits I took from when he was a historical OC.

Basically uhh I just wanted to write a little goober who went through a lot of shit but still looks at life positively and wants to help people. A friend. A little goober even.

I’ll try to get a good drawing of his boyfriend Oswald who is a bard and also a silly goober. Also hopefully Isaac’s familiars and his family members.

uh idk what else to say

[tea-with-eleni]

I think literally everything about my museum is run on a "well it works, but it probably shouldn't, and we really ought to do something about it before it blows up in our faces" mentality.

The Electricity: The wiring was done by "a bunch of good old boys back before they had to worry about code" and the tech department has been swearing at it for years. Apparently when they first inherited the museum, they had a 1.5 million volt Tesla coil plugged into an off-the-shelf surge protector. It's a miracle nobody died. They've spent the last few months puzzling out the wiring in the offices. They still don't know what all the switches do, and I know there's about six switches in the office kitchen that just say "NO" and "DO NOT SWITCH".

The Dome: Our planetarium is literally kept running by witchcraft, and everything in it has been created by three chucklefucks who have had to teach ourselves how to code. The closest we have to an expert is probably me. I attended a hackathon on the precursor software in February 2020, mostly for the free food. We've found a bug so weird that apparently the actual experts in the software were flummoxed. The official take is "that sounds weird and bad".

The Closet: The education department has two closets. One is full of crafting supplies and was meticulously organized by our non-adhd department head back in May. The other... well... she tried. And we tried. But the rest of the department is VERY adhd, and then summer camp happened, and now it looks like the Kratt Brothers were turned loose with a much larger space. It's giving our poor department head nightmares.

The Dinosaurs: There are rather nice (if about 15 years out of date, which is to say featherless) dinosaur statues outside on the walking trails. Speakers play dinosaur noises during the day. For some reason, the speaker system is cross wired into the copy machine. If the dinosaurs aren't roaring then the copy machine doesn't work. Apparently some of the roars are courtesy of our poor tech who's been unraveling the wiring debacle.

The File System: You know how if you leave an ADHD person with access to too much information of any particular type, they'll go and become a fucking expert? Yeah, so that happened to our museum director and the museum's logs. She's told me a couple of times about some of the weird things she's found buried in the museum archives-that-we-aren't-even-supposed-to-have-because-we-aren't-that-type-of-museum with the tone of a person who is still trying to process the visceral strangeness of what they've found.

The Entrance Bridge: Yeah so apparently it's only avoided collapsing by virtue of... well, maybe witchcraft again, but also a decent amount of luck. They're actually closing for two weeks so we can fix it soon. I don't think it'll be an "all hands on deck, wear comfy clothes because somebody has to build it and it's going to be literally all departments" situation - although, you never know. Literally everyone was involved in repainting part of the office wing.

The Water Feature: We have this cannon thing that spans two floors and is great fun, because it involves launching playpen balls into a fountain. It just gets jammed a lot. You unjam it by retrieving The Broken Broom Handle from a corner, making a joke about using high tech tools, and poking around with it at an awkward angle until it's unjammed again. Probably a lesser evil, but still kinda funny.

The Ghosts: Possibly due to the amount of energy we pour into the atmosphere every day via the giant 1.5 million volt tesla coil, the museum is haunted as shit. I had someone pounding on the door of the dome earlier today. Nobody was there, except for one woman about fifteen feet away who seemed genuinely startled when I asked if anyone had knocked on the door. Weirdly, it sounded like one of those push-bar doors, even though it's a door with a turn-handle. Other ghosts have also been heard - there's one with a ring of jingly keys who draws attention to unlocked doors, for example.

The Staff: Of the staff, maybe one person? is neurotypical. Although I can't tell for sure. I think she might just be better at masking than the rest of us. The staff members on the spectrum try to point the adhd staff members in productive directions. Our department is currently looking for someone physically capable of organization and scheduling to handle the paperwork, outreach coordination, planning, and volunteer coordination. Because out of our department and the nearest adjacent department... well... the nearest adjacent department head got bored yesterday and spent a good thirty minutes melting crayons in the sun. Which distracted the other person in my department, who helped. The cardboard box of melted crayon art is now sitting in the middle of the floor. It may stay there for quite some time.

[pi-cat000]

FMA:B/BNHA Crossover (2)

Summary: Ed gets stuck in the BNHA world after the end of brotherhood. He starts trying to find a way home and ends up inadvertently working for the league of villains.

Part 1 here

..

..

At one point, the ground level of Ed’s building had probably been a nice-looking shopfront, maybe a flower shop or grocers or something more befitting this weird world…like a tech repair store.  Now, the ground level doubles as apartment space, large windows caked with dust and grime, curtains permanently drawn to hide its occupancy. Heck, if Ed hadn’t been around to fix the glass with alchemy the ground floor would have been pretty much unliveable. Like many buildings in the area, it was a victim of a villain/hero confrontation which always seemed to generate an obscene amount of property damage. Great for leveraging his repair skills in exchange for free accommodation and about nothing else. Not that the people here saw it as much of a problem.

Ed scowls, flipping his OPEN sign to CLOSED, yanking the door shut, locking up as he goes.

Ed doesn’t quite understand the whole thing, and he had had one of the worst track records for property damage when it came to state alchemists. The difference being that he had always returned to reverse as much of the alchemical damage as he could and if he couldn’t Mustang had some other military alchemist/personal waiting in the wings to see to the problem. Rebuilding here was the responsibility of some external agency or other. Ed is a little hazy on how the system was supposed to work, seeing as the military had little to no involvement with anything hero related. Though, considering how the Amestrian military had been in the process of feeding the souls of its citizens to a loosely defined truth God, maybe that was a good thing. Honestly, researching how this place ran its bureaucracy was low on his priority list.

“Hey! Ed! You’re out early? Off somewhere interesting?”  

“Did you see the guy who just came through here,” he asks, eyeing his fellow apartment-liver who seemed to have nothing better to do than loiter outside and yell at people on the street. The greasy-haired man is puffing smoke near the corner of the building with his two equally scruffy friends. They all have a physical abnormally, a lizard tail, claws, bulging eyes, that remind him uncomfortably of chimeras despite knowing it was a result of more quirk bullshit.

The guy blows smoke in his direction, “Big, tall dude? Pretty suspicious looking with the hood and all. I saw him go in. Didn’t see him leave …funny that.”

“Yeah…funny…” Ed mutters, “Did you recognise him?”

“I might have.”

Ed huffs, rolling his eyes and continues down the road. He would leave bribing his neighbours for possible information as a last resort.

He passes the vacant lot holding a near identical half-collapsed block, followed by another nicer looking building, then another, before they gave way to shops and smaller structures. That was something he was still getting used to…the sheer scale of the city. Even Central had barely been a quarter of this city’s size. Luckily, his destination isn’t too far so he doesn’t have to worry about getting lost.  

The building he arrives at is taller than the rest and full of office space. The main lift is out of order so Ed trudges up three flights of stairs to the top floor, stomping into the empty reception/waiting area only hesitating for a second before slamming his hand onto the bell sitting atop the front desk.

There is a muffled voice, “I’m coming. I’m coming. No need for that racket!”

The door behind the desk swings open.

“Edward?”

“Hey, old man,” he gives a small wave, “It’s been a few weeks.”

The man, tall, well-built, cropped brown hair, stares at Ed.

“Yeah it’s been a few weeks! You need to check your phone and answer your messages every now and then. You’re giving me grey hairs. More grey hairs!”

“Right…my phone….” He forgot he had it when not using it to help with navigation. Also, messaging was a pain. He had picked up the local spoken language fast enough out of necessity, but his reading and writing were still a work in progress. Lucky for him, this reality had a few languages similar enough to Amestrian that if he really wanted to read something he could get a translation. It still made written communication tricky.

“I'll try and check it more often," he placates, "I’m here for some information about a job I was offered and seeing you know a bunch of the local businesses I thought I would drop by.”

“Information?” Masao Uraraka lets out a long breath, “And there I went thinking that you were going to take me up on my apprenticeship offer.”

Ed shoves his hands into his pockets, shrugging. The older man grunts, “Well come on through. You’re lucky you caught me in the office. I’m usually on-site supervising about this time. But, can’t do much of that until those idiots at HC Construction.co get the go-ahead from their insurance company.”

Ed slips past and into a dimly lit office space which is surprisingly well organised. Across the wall is a collage of family photos, depicting a woman and young girl at various stages of growth.

“…that’s not your problem though. How have you been kid? Hope you haven’t been in too many fights.”

“Hey,” he objects, “Some idiots need a good punch,” and then adds a little less aggressively, “But no. No fights. I’ve been researching quirks....”

“Quirks. That’s different? Weren't you studying chemistry or something?”

Ed shrugs again, unwilling to divulge much else. Uraraka tended to be nosey out of some misguided notion that he could help Ed ‘get back on his feet’ after whatever tragic backstory he had cooked up for him.

“You’re still living at Old Man Watanabe’s right? He not pulling anything is he? Old coot always tries to weasel more out of his deals.”  

Ed can’t help but agree,  “He’s been trying to get me to re-wire the whole building. Nothing I can’t deal with.”

Of course, this just sets Uraraka off on a round of angry muttering, “Is that right? I can have a talk with him. I’ve told him that he needs an electrician and a proper plumber. He owes me a few favours so I can… ”

“It’s fine,” Ed quickly interrupts. Uraraka had his own problems and family to look after. The guy reminded him of Hughes in that he cared way too much. “One grumpy landlord isn’t worth worrying about.”

Uraraka visibly deflates, “Yes, well, most kids your age shouldn’t be worried about that sort of stuff at all. You should be finishing up your schooling, getting your Japanese up to scratch and studying for college entrance exams. You remind me of my daughter. Stubborn.” He pulls a framed photo from his desk, pointing it at Ed, shaking it for emphasis, “She wants to be a Hero you know. A HERO! Can you believe it! My cute little girl, getting into fights with villains.”

Ed clears his throat awkwardly. Yeah, this guy was definitely this world’s weird version of Hughes. If Hughes had worked in construction and had, you know, not died. This isn’t the first time he has had a picture of Ochako, Uraraka’s daughter, shoved in his face.

“About that information?” He cautiously interrupts and gets another sigh.

“Yes, yes. You kids are always so impatient. What’s this job then? What idiot is going around hiring 16-year-olds.”

“Actually, the guy that came in just mentioned some construction work,” Ed rubs his neck, now slightly subconscious, realising he doesn’t have a whole lot to go on, “he didn’t give me a lot of details, just left this.” Ed pulls out the envelope placing it on the desk next to the assortment of framed photographs and scribbly kid drawings.

With a raised brow, Uraraka pulls it towards him, peering in. The man’s eyes widen and he closes the envelope, frowning, “This supposed to be a down payment in advance of a job, or is it for material costs? Because it’s a bit much for a down payment and nowhere near enough for materials. Not if it’s for anything serious. What sort of work is it? You know I can’t lend you equipment without a licence…but I’ll help you source anything that you…”

“No,” Ed rushes to interrupt, “the guy said it was a sign of goodwill. I take it that’s not a normal thing people do in the, ah, construction business?”

“No. It definitely is not,” Uraraka now looks concerned, “there would usually be a contract for services before any sort of payment. Especially, if you’re going to be working as an independent contractor.”

So that just confirmed what he already knew. Ed continues, “So you haven’t heard about people asking around for under the table construction work then?”

“No. I can ask a few of my freelancers if they’ve had similar offers but I deal above the board with licenced workers only, so it’s unlikely they’ll have heard anything.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He glares at the envelope.

“What did he look like? This man that came in?”

“Oh, he was tall, made of dark purple smoke and had a teleportation quirk…I think. He also asked about my quirk and its limits.”

“I’ll keep an ear out.”  Uraraka promises and frowns at Ed, “I hope you’re not considering this offer.”

Ed grunts noncommittally and gets a look of disapproval that reminds him so much of Hughes its almost painful. He tries not to feel disappointed at the lack of answers because coming to Uraraka had always been a long shot. ‘You’re sad, lonely and the only conversations you’ve had this last week were yelling matches with your landlord and neighbours. Uraraka is a nice man. Of course, you would come to him for advice.’ A voice that sounds suspiciously like Al chimes in. ‘I don’t want him to worry. I’m not staying here long. What’s he going to think when I suddenly disappear,’ he snaps back and immediately feels foolish.

Maybe the isolation is getting to him a bit.

“If it's money you need that I’m more than happy to help you get licenced and certified…” Uraraka continues to talk oblivious to the fact that Ed is barely paying attention.

He doesn’t want to settle down and get a popper job or finish off his schooling or talk to youth services or whatever other things Uraraka had brought up in the few months they had known each other. That would be admitting defeat. Also, he had no ID or history and he was pretty sure you needed both to work any legitimate jobs.

“I can handle myself,” he says out loud.

“Yes, you’re worryingly self-sufficient but there is a difference between unlicensed quirk use and aiding and abetting criminals. No self-respecting, above board, organisation hires a kid to do construction work and throws a bunch of money at them.”

“I know.”

Yeah, he knows Tall-Dark-and-Mysterious was probably a criminal of this reality. He knows he is probably getting himself into something dicey and illegal but he needs to follow whatever lead he can to get back home. Finding a quirk with either the ability to transport him between realities or one with the power equivalent to a few thousand souls was his last hope of ever hearing Al's, the real Al’s, voice again.

The older man rubs his forehead, visibly exasperated, “But you’re going to ignore me. Stubborn brat.”

[zepuffer]

gem au?? 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

GEM AU!!!!! oog i already went off about this in the nm server but. 

miles is a zircon, phoenix is some type of quartz, not sure what yet but the important part is: he can shapeshift, like amethyst

(a bunch of words and some drawings under the cut)

this au is only very loosely based on su. literally the only thing it takes from su are the gem shit, so. some context.  - fusing, no matter what gems, is technically fine, and legal. - however. while it is starting to be more accepted, many gems are NOT ok with it. - like. a fusion could, if they wanted, walk around and just. live their life? but it's dangerous bc they could be attacked, or poofed, bc, again, many gems are VERY against it. - mvk is one of those gems - as in, he would shatter miles without hesitation if he learned he was fusing with a non-zircon gem - another thing - half-gem, half-humans are more common - there's definitely a few of them, but they're uncommon enough that basically no homeworld gems have seen a hybrid before

miles and phoenix were birthed at the same nursery. greg needed a quartz bodyguard, so he went down there, and he chose phoenix. but then he saw that baby phoenix and baby miles had gotten very attached to each other. well. i guess he has a zircon now

eventually, greg gets shattered

manfred von karma needs a zircon, so he takes miles. he has no need for phoenix, so he stays on earth, not really with a specific gem, just assigned to the earth colony in general

phoenix is very friendly and curious. he talks to everyone, whether they're human or gem. one day, he meets mia. it goes something like: [they've been talking] mia: oh, and i'm a defense attorney, so- phoenix: defense attorney?? mia: yeah, like a lawyer? i defend people in court phoenix: oH???? in cOUrT yoU saY??????

phoenix basically got all of miles' stuff after he left. it wasn't much, but lil baby miles had some gem law books in there. phoenix had tried to learn them, but they were random law books, and he didn't know the basics, so they were basically useless to him. but, now, he's met mia. and she's offered to teach him some law basics...

he's doing well, and now that he's had some teaching from mia, he can start to understand the gem books. he even goes to some of mia's earth trials. then. mia dies,,,,, 

the killer isn't redd white here, and he gets brought to justice. but. mia is still dead  ENTER MAYA

maya is half human, half pearl. but, she was raised on earth, without any gems, and doesn't have much knowledge of her gem abilities. phoenix is basically her new dad rn.

now. phoenix has his plan. his plan to see miles again. i mean, that's the whole reason he was learning law from mia.

he fills maya in on his plan, telling her that he's so sorry, but she's going to have to live with her aunt 

maya is not having this. she's part gem too, she is coming, end of story. phoenix isn't so sure about this, but maya has 100% made up her mind. besides, she wants to learn about homeworld and her gem powers

so, phoenix has maya poof him, and he regenerates with an outfit resembling a zircon. he shifts his body shape to match, and slicks his hair. he's going to be passing as a zircon, and maya is going to have to be a stowaway.

now. they make it to homeworld. it's a difficult adjustment, but they observe, and learn how to act and speak. and, well, phoenix is off! he's going to court, acting as a zircon. his first case against miles is defending will powers, a jasper who was accused of shattering his soldier partner.

and, well. he wins!! but. miles has no idea it's him. and, well, phoenix is kinda relieved, he supposes, because who knows what miles would do if he found out. but, at the same time, it's hard, seeing miles this broken and miles not even knowing who he is. they've stolen some tech at this point, and they've made maya pass as a full gem. it's going decently well, but thEn. . .MILES IS ACCUSED OF A SHATTERING!!! >:000

of course, phoenix defends him, and, of course, he didn't actually commit the crime, and golly, manfred von karma is accusing miles of shattering gregory edgeworth, all those years ago. . .and, of course, phoenix finds von karma guilty.

miles is. slightly suspicious that phoenix knew so much about him and greg, and the events that led up to the shattering, but he always had a source for his information, so he ignores it

now. keep in mind that miles STILL is not aware of phoenix's true identity. phoenix is planning out how to tell him, but miles is still in the dark rn 

now. well. zircon miles edgeworth chooses death

and, now. phoenix is devastated. he blames himself, feels absolutely miserable. wants to just disappear. but now, after defeating manfred von karma in court? he's famous. he can't just disappear, can't drop the zircon act and go back to being a simple quartz. so he keeps going.

then. miles edgeworth comes back... 

he returns, and phoenix looks horrible. it's very tiring, being shapeshifted for so much of the day, any time he goes out, any time he's not inside his apartment, phoenix needs to be shifted. it's miserable, and miles is very concerned. he, of course, doesn't know the reason phoenix looks so bad, but he's still worried

phoenix yells, gets angry at him. they still work together, and maya is safe. they're sitting, after that exhausting day. maya is asleep in the other room. phoenix: edgeworth. i. . .i need to tell you something. miles: . . .what is it? phoenix takes a deep breath, and stops shifting. some of the tension in his shoulders disappears, his face looks less pained. he's still wearing a zircon outfit, but he is unmistakeably a quartz soldier

miles: p-phoenix!?!? you. . .what? you're a quartz!?! but. . .why? why go through all that disguise and trickery? phoenix: i had to see you again, miles. you. . .you just dissapeared, and i had to know. i had to know if you were okay. miles: you. . .wait. . .p-phOENIX? i. . .you're that same phoenix!? gregory's bodyguard in training?? i. . . phoenix: geez, edgeworth, "gregory's bodyguard in training"? that's how you remember me? we were best friends. . . miles: are. phoenix: what? miles: i corrected you. you misspoke, it's "we are best friends". phoenix gives a tentative smile. phoenix: oh, right. my bad.

eventually, phoenix stops taking big cases, and he's not as well-known then, finally, he can go back to being a quartz phoenix wright "went to earth" and won't be coming back to homeworld court phoenix becomes miles' quartz bodyguard, and they are very good friends on homeworld ::)))) (jk they're pining lmaooo)

phoenix totally knows what's going on, right away. he looks at miles in court, yelling out an objection, the light hitting his dull grey-red hair in a way that seems magical, and he knows. he's in love. 

miles, on the other hand, is both an idiot and in denial. unlike phoenix, who grew up on earth (a very loving and accepting colony, where many gems were in relationships), miles was raised by manfred von karma. he is 100% fine with any fusing, but he has no idea what romantic love really is??? he is familar with the idea, of course, and knows what it is in theory but. he's clueless when it comes to himself. and, once he does realize and accept that fact that he is in love, he's not gonna DO anything???? lmao as if PHOENIX could even reciprocate his feelings. clownery

THEIR WEAPONS:

phoenix is kinda a misfit: quartzes normally summon some type of weapon, but he summons a shield. a rather sunflower-shaped shield, to be exact. because of this, he has to carry around a normal spear so he can fight

and miLES. zircons don't need to really summon weapons so he never really thought about it, but even after he's free from von karma, he can't do it. he should be able to, but he just can't. he feels miserable about it, and it really bothers him. but. i don't know how they get in this situation yet but. phoenix is in trouble. he's hurt, and tired, and some bad, evil gem (not sure who, maybe just a random gem) is about to poof him, and once he gets poofed, he's getting shattered. he's in danger. the gem raises their weapon, and- miles is in front of phoenix, raising two katanas. he summoned them, without even thinking, and saved phoenix's life

and. not too important but. miles doesn't actually see phoenix's weapon for a while. when they were little, neither of them could summon it yet, and after they meet again and phoenix is his guard, phoenix is using his gem-made spear. so the first time he sees the shield he's all >:000

phoenix’s shield and an idea for their fusion’s weapon:

half-pearl maya, and a phoenix + maya fusion based on opal (and a lil wrightworth fusion):

phoenix + edgeworth fusion........

oh! and. phoenix’s gem is right above where his heart (or where his attorney badge) would be, and miles’ is on his neck

[bates--boy]

In the moments when everything is still and silent, Peter’s skin still itches from the sensation of that man. It still crawls with the memory of that John's lips sucking at his neck, the graze of cheap fabric as the bastard ground his wanting bulge against Peter's bare thighs, and the moist palms as John groped and pawed with the grace of a fool who really thought he was doing something.

And the absolute fuckery of it all? Peter wants to go back.

Not because the moist groping and aimless dry humping elicited an arousal from Peter. Far from it (unless instinctual repulsion is another new, trending kink that he is unaware of). Success of any kind does something to a man, and a narrow success from a self-appointed dare that could have had many terrible outcomes? Shit, that's a drug. It's a mind-altering drug that makes Peter fantasize about sauntering to that same hotel bar, in something a little tighter with a higher hem, or maybe shoulder-less and back-less, with bolder makeup. In these fantasies, Peter lets these executives and socialites and wealthy pseudo-philanthropists pull him into their rooms, and they tend to have brand new shoes and high-end blazers that are just his size, or the new make-up palettes and jewelry that he'd otherwise have to wait for months to go on sale. They have bulking wads of cash in their wallets (as tourists do) or the new generation of tech that'll go for a high price. In these fantasies, these people have asses.

But there's always the come down, and for Peter, it's acknowledging that this new game isn't sustainable. There cannot possibly be that many married or committed cheaters to justify relieving them of their possessions, and the number would be even less after taking out ones who aren't aroused by an occasional cross-dresser. There is also recognizing that he may never be able to return to that hotel bar ever again, or at least until John dies.

Peter has yet to see his name, face, or description in the news, and he knows that there are cameras in that hall Peter and his first target stumbled around in; a couple of them must have recorded him taking selfies with his loot. He doesn't know why John hasn't reported him, but he can guess that admitting to his spouse and Sweden's authorities that he propositioned a supposed hooker during Sweden's sex-purchasing crackdown would not go over favorably. But how many of those clients in Peter's fantasy would be as scared of a broken relationship, an arrest, and a ruined reputation as John presumably was? What if things go south and they use their influence to make him suffer, or force his hand and drive him to use his strength--

No, he can't go back.

Which isn't a total loss, considering how watery and expensive the drinks were, and how his last killing wasn't something to write home to. A wedding band, sitting somewhere in a pawn shop, a couple thousand krona notes, half of it spent on better wine and half going to his saving accounts, and the watch.

Peter picks it up from the bedside table and dangles it. The cubic zirconia twinkles in the lamplight, crowning the black velvet face and drawing the eye to the golden hands. He turns it around and scowls at the designer brand etched in rose gold cursive.

Gacci.

"Stupid unpawnable piece of garbage," Peter grumbles, before he latches his trophy around his wrist.

Though he knows that he's made the right decision, Peter still thrums with loose cannon energy that he must exhaust through some channel, something that beats sitting in a semi-dark room at two in the morning. He turns his wrist back and forth to catch the light in the glass pieces and silver band. Then, his eyes wander to the orange light in the window, to the shadows that filled the frame, a silhouette backdrop of the district he lived in. The immediate neighborhood is artsy and quirky, a mix of contemporary and vintage; white and ultramodern apartments and townhomes, sitting alongside their older but renovated counterparts and shops. But an energy carries from beyond this square, from across the bridge.

Night life. Neon lights. High hemlines and low necklines. Fruity cocktails and smiley face tabs, all bathed in a type of music that stirs the blood and dirties the soul.

Downtown.

How long has it been since Peter got White Boy Wasted?

Peter turns back to his laptop sitting in front of him to finish his online Christmas shopping for the night, then hops off the bed to skip to his closet. He yanks the door open and paws through the clothing on the hangers.

--

Indian red off-shoulder blouse, high-waisted black cut-offs, black ankle-high leather boots. Otherwise known as Peter’s most regrettable decision that night, as snowy winds cut through his winter petticoat during his motorbike ride across the bridge. But Peter doesn’t feel the need to complain about the cold; this weather doesn’t remind him of a home he wants to forget, plus there is something delicious about it, the way the pelting flakes bite into his bare legs and neck that grounds him yet makes him feel like he’s flying. It helps that he can’t feel John’s fingers and lips, anymore.

Upon reaching the other end of the bridge, Peter weaves through the streets, eyeing the picturesque nightlife for action through the whipping curtain of his loose hair. Most of these clubs and bars and cabarets Peter has tried out, and even deemed a couple of them favorite places to frequent. Tonight, however, he wants some new excitement, so he takes a street that leads into the uncharted territory. The gradual contrast between the downtown epicenter and this but of fringe land is stark, almost jarring; here, the blocks are darker, and in that darkness, the more brazen move through the unlit areas like shadowy monsters, these stumbling drunks and partiers high out of their goddamn minds.

He's getting close, he can feel it.

He turns a corner, nodding a greeting at a bunch of leggy people standing around the street sign pole, and almost loses himself in trying to guess if they are hookers or not when something catches his eye.

Up ahead, another nightlife creature stumbled out into the open, but before the darkness swallows her as well, Peter catches the way her silver sequin dress flashes red from the lights blinking in the doorway -- his beacon.

He sweeps his bike into the alley a couple buildings down and hops off, hanging the helmet on a handlebar and briskly walking to the club. He can feel the thrum of the music through the soles of his boots with every step he takes. He stops for a moment in front of the woman, who now slides down against the wall. For someone who isn't wearing any form of winter gear and is sitting in an inch of snow, she is smiling a lot, dreamy and sweet as her gaze is fixed on the dark sky.

"Er..." Peter says, bending down slightly to meet her eye. "Hey, ma'am, are you okay?"

The woman blinks, snapping her attention to him, and her dreamy smile melts even more as she reaches to cup and smoosh his cheeks. "Awww, there's my wittle white wabbit!"

Peter's face scrunches as he tries to understand the slow and slurring Swedish accent, made nearly untranslatable by the cutesy baby talk. "Ha ha, right..." Peter takes her hands off his face and nods toward the door. "Do you want to head back inside where it's warm?"

The woman shakes her head. "'Sokay, rabbit, I'm waiting for my friend!"

Peter gives her a half-frown and shrugs. He unbuttons his coat and takes it off, helping the woman into it. She looks like she'd scream if Peter tries to push the chivalrous act and pressure her to get inside the building.

He makes his way to the door, resisting the need to hug himself and rub at his arms. Once there, he stops himself from yelping as a goddamn giant creeps from around the threshold, crossing his arms over his barreled chest. Peter presses his hand onto his own chest and exhales. "Shit, man, I almost pissed myself!"

"Sorry," says the giant whose deadpanned voice and unchanged expression denote his lack of remorse.

"Hmph." Peter juts his chin at the space behind the bouncer. "So, are you going to let me in, or...?"

"450 krona."

Peter pulls his wallet out from within his shorts. "Drinks covered?"

"Nah, you pay at the bar."

Well, shit, Peter snarks in his head, counting out the money. This place is more high-end than it looks!

"It's 800 even if you want to go to Wonderland."

Peter pauses counting out the bank notes, raising his brow at the giant basking in the red glow. "...What?"

The giant quirks an unkempt eyebrow right back at him, his lips twitching in just the slightest grin. The bouncer offers no explanation, and Peter is instantly sold.

Peter holds out the wad of money to the bouncer. The bouncer reaches for it, but when their hands meet, the bouncer grabs Peter's and turns it over, his thick wrist flashing a tuft of dark hair through his sleeve. Peter only has a split second to let out a shocked and protesting yelp as the bouncer pulls something out of his sports jacket's pocket and stabs it onto Peter's skin.

"What the hell, man?!" Peter screeches, snatching his arm away. He examines the back of his hand for signs of damage, afraid of what he may find. He's only somewhat relieved to find that, besides the pinkish ring marking his skin, there is no bruising, just a slightly smudged and shimmering holographic stamp: a top hat.

Peter's eyes wander back up to the bouncer, whose smile is in full stretch across his face, alight with baffled amusement, tight as he tries to stifle a giggle. Peter wonders if he can get away with knocking a couple of this chucklefuck's front teeth out.

Said chucklefuck then instructs him, "Go to the set of doors at the other end of the club, right behind the platform. Middle door. Down the hall, make a right, and ask for the Mad Hatta at the curtain."

Peter nods and rubs his stamped hand, careful so he doesn’t smudge it further. The bouncer steps to the side and beckons him in.

The entryway feels like a tunnel to an underground bunker, the lights flashing a warning of an attack above ground. If it weren’t for the electropop beating against his skin, or the air of sweat and ecstasy and carelessness so thick that Peter can taste it, he might have succumbed to the images of swooping Luftwaffe aircraft that still haunts the back of his mind.

But, no, tonight, he is not the split and damaged identity of Fort Roughs and the Principality of Sealand; hell, he is not even half-year soldier Peter Kirkland. Tonight, he’s a dumb kid looking for Wonderland.

He descends the gentle slope into the wide, square opening, and he is swallowed whole.

No matter which they dance, everyone seems to move as one, arms waving and jerking high above their heads, bodies drawing to each other even if some of them may be dancing alone, bouncing and swaying and swishing. The sickeningly alluring stench that fills the entrance is now strong with so many different types of alcohol that Peter already feels drunk. The red lights bathes the bumping stereos and the people in a nightmare, and the rare streaks of black and white lights makes everything a euphoric horror movie still frame.

Peter grins as a pleasant tingle of adrenaline zips up his back.

He slips through the crowd, twisting and dodging and ducking. He wants to jump into the fun immediately, especially with a few dancers passing him dreamy smiles and curling their fingers at him when he meets their far-away gazes. But the stamp itches on his hand, and he’s going to take that as a sign from the universe that destiny awaits with this “Mad Hatta” (which is far better than the panic that his body is having an adverse reaction to the ink). He makes his way around the platform centered in the dance floor and notices movement high above him. He glances up and tilts his head curiously at the pairs of heavy duty chains hanging between spotlights on the girder frame.

“Huh...” he mumbles as he continues on. He takes the middle door as instructed, and finds a bit of relief that the hallway has normal, if a bit dimmed, lighting. He wishes something can be done about the sounds cutting through the walls and echoing around the hall, that the party music was loud in here and can cover the sounds of puking, crying, laughing, and moaning that Peter convinces himself was from pain (and blushes something fierce when he hears how breathy it is, and picks up the pace when the woman whimpers deeper. Fuck, deeper.) 

For all this nonsense, Peter’s a tad disappointed that the curtain isn’t some grand thing of red velvet, or a sheer, sexy black thing with gems woven in like the night sky, but a plain white shower curtain. He glances at the stamp. You better be worth it, he scolds internally as he tugs the curtain to the side enough to poke his head in.

“Hello?”

“Your hair wants cutting!”

Peter jumps, his eyes darting around what is nothing more than a walk-in closet filled with mirrors and plants. “Mad Hatta?”

A hand slowly comes from behind one of the antique standing mirrors, holding out a black suede top hat with a long pearl feather. The Mad Hatta twirls into view after, plopping the hat on his head of auburn curls and throwing his arms out in one motion. The silver glitter of his tuxedo sparkle in all the mirrors and on all the plants; Peter gasps at the visual effect.

“The one and only! Oh, come in, come in! Don’t be shy!”

Peter enters and approaches the sparkly man. The Mad Hatta claps and reaches a hand out. “Do you come looking for Wonderland?” Peter places his hand in the other’s outstretched one. The Mad Hatta takes one look at the shimmering stamp on Peter’s skin and claps again, even bouncing on his toes. “Yes! Yes! Oh, my dear, you are in for quite a trip! A magical world awaits you!”

The Mad Hatta reaches into his inner breast pocket and flicks out a white piece of cardstock. He holds it out to Peter with a wink. “Have fun, my wonderful little Alice.”

Peter takes the card and is immediately ushered back out into the hallway. As he walks, he flips the tiny cardstock over. On its other side is a pale pink snowflake, about half the size of the blank business card its adhered to. There’s a black, fancy script printed on the top, in a font that’s made to look like whimsical vines and leaves:

TAKE ONE ONLY!

Peter rubs a thumb over the snowflake, nibbling his bottom lip in so deep a thought that he, blessedly, misses the woman’s climatic cry. He thinks about going back to the Mad Hatta and demand to know what type of drug this is and what it’s made of; he thinks about the two steps forward and five steps back he’s taken recently; he thinks about the recent danger he’d put himself and that man in in that hotel room. He thinks about Penelope’s recent confession to being an addict and wonders if, like Peter once upon a time, she’s picked up a bad habit of self-medicating her trauma from the only adult figures she’s ever known. (Shit, does Peter share in that guilt, and not just as an unwitting supplier and victim of theft?)

He pushes out into the dance floor and eyes the platform that stands like the altar in England, and Peter thinks back to the confession. He remembers the gut-grinding terror of his tantrum blowing up in his face, and how he couldn’t even face Ollie without ten walls of intoxication barricading him. 

Peter is suddenly tired. He wants to go home.

He also remembers that this shit had cost three hundred fifty krona.

He peels the pink snowflake off and lays it on his tongue.

It all hits his palette at once from so many directions. The snowflake turns into fluff, and it tastes like powdered sugar. The strong, cool minty taste makes him shiver, and for a minute, Peter’s mouth goes numb and tingly. It travels up to his nostrils, so that when he inhales, he’s taking in a whiff of winter air.

He waits until the powder dissolves and licks his lips. Spearmint cotton candy.

With a quick shake of his arms and shoulders, Peter hops right into the fray and invites the music to draw him in. The meld of industrial techno metal makes the harsh red lights even more jarring, but at least this combo makes more sense than with the bubbly electropop. Plus, somehow, this mix is easier to take in. The guttural scream bites into his bones; the synths make his blood boil; the bass pounds against his chest and makes it hard to breath or slow the stammer of his heart. He’s suffocating, drowning in the heavy sensual air all over again. He’s not Fort Roughs, he’s not Sealand.

Hell, he’s not even Peter Kirkland. 

He’s not human (though, was he ever human?). He’s an unidentifiable mass within this large pool of energy, an entity feeling like he’s going to melt every time someone brushes against his bare legs and shoulders. He leans into that melting sensation, swishing and swaying up and down, throwing up his arms and flicking his wrist, tossing his already-damp hair. He doesn’t fight whoever rubs their hand along his hips and guides him close. He grinds and bumps against them, even if their body heat against his back and ass makes him want to collapse. He’s taking in so much heat from all around him, but when he breathes, he breathes pleasantly cold air. He breaks apart from his dance partner to throw his head back and breathe. He opens his eyes.

“...Holy shit,” he gasps, because everything is fucking beautiful. 

Nothing changes -- Peter is aware of that, yet everything feels... pastel. Odd, but in a fairytale way. The flashing lights lose some of their harshness, and look like they were cast down from heaven itself. Everything has a softness to their edges; Peter squints, and he sees a gentle, golden aura around everyone. White spots flicker in his vision like falling snow, kissing the cheeks of the dancers around him; is that why everyone’s cheeks are so rosy? He reaches to catch one of the dots, but it sinks into his palm. He lets his hand fall to his side, lets the music hug him like a wool blanket. No one pays attention to the new Alice with his neck craned back and the familiar dazed look in his eyes, or the chuckle that’s drowned out by the music. But they welcome him back into their bubble when he resumes slithering like a cat in heat.

Someone grabs his wrist and whips him around, yanking Peter against them. Happily skipping through Wonderland, Peter has lost some of his quick reflexes, and fights back too late when the person grabs the back of his head and smashes their mouths together. He jolts when the person stabs their tongue into his mouth, and hell no! Wonderland may be loosening everything in him, but Peter is not going to do the tongue-battling-for-dominance thing with some crazed freak.

He gets his hands between their torsos to push this person away, but then the minty cotton candy coats his tongue, and he presses further into this person. His hands roam up and down their chest, and he’s surprised to feel soft bumps through the tank top. He’s further surprised that this person letting him squeeze. They pull apart for Peter to find a dark rivulet running from their nostril. He should feel revulsion, but he takes out his handkerchief to wipe it off, spins this person -- this person with around twenty pounds of muscle and five inches of height on him -- and pulls them in, snaking his hand from their hip to underneath their shirt, feeling their abs tighten under his touch the higher up he went.

Peter pauses, thinking of going down, of undoing their belt and sliding his fingers, inexperienced and eager as they are, in their waistband, and forget his stupid rule to protect the last bit of self-worth he has and coax this person to the back room. Then the lights blink faster, the music goes slower. The crowd turns and cheers, converge to the center. The person turns and pushes Peter along, forcing him into the tide that crash around the platform. The rainbow spotlights -- actual rainbow spotlights, not supposedly white ones seen through the eyes of an Alice -- sweep around. Four people stand like sentries by the chains, arms crossed, smiling as people clamor around them.

The crowd hoists a petite woman in sharp stilettoes onto the platform. She’s rocking and nearly tilts over, but the stagehand steadies her, lifts her arms, and fixes her wrists into the chains’ loops. Next, the epitome of gay bears  climbs right on, serving everyone his double scoops of ass in soft leather pants and nothing else that Peter can see. His thick wrists goes into the chain loops, too. The crowd is screaming and pumping their fists. Peter cups his hands around his mouth and howls as the third tribute, another Amazonian in a skintight leopard jumpsuit, gets chained. 

He’s bouncing on his toes, watching with wide eyes as he awaits the fourth person. He doesn’t care that burning hands are grabbing his legs and his ass. In fact, he’s bouncing so much that he’s somehow flying up to the stage, carried on the vibrating cheer of the crowd. He trips on his feet, but the man catches him and turns him so he’s facing the same way as the others. The man takes Peter’s wrists and yanks them up above Peter’s head. The chains have an odd coolness to them, and their chill runs through Peter’s body. The man slides his palms down Peter’s arms, stopping at Peter’s waist. The man brings his mouth to Peter’s ear. The music is just about to pick back up.

“Dance, queen.”

The stagehands hop off the platform, the music eats into Peter’s flesh, and he dances. He twists the chains around for a better grip, and the links bite into him. He feels the chains clink as he throws himself around, as he jerks and thrusts and twists and drops and jumps. Even with his eyes closed and his head hanging, Peter can see the red and black lights. The couple times he cracks his eyes opens, he spots phones lifted high in the air, horizontal and aimed at them. A spike of panic shoots up in him, but then things start to blur and brighten. He tastes the minty spun sugar in the back of his throat, feels it take on a second wave. 

His skin is on fire. His skin is a layer of burning ice that he wants to claw off, but he wants more of it. He wants more until he can’t feel John’s fingers anymore. He wants to be blazing until the shame and belittlement of the other representations don’t even matter, anymore. He wants to be set on fire until he can forget that he's been promised forever, that that promise was broken, and his fort will fall apart and he’s going to become a slowly dying human. He wants to become a pile of ash before this cheering crowd, before circumstance claims him first. He wants to forget about dead stars eating his soul once his time is up. Shit, let him be a dying star!

Peter stiffens his arms and swings up his legs until he’s upside down. The moves he pulls are just as familiar on the chains as they are on the aerial silks, though they are harder to achieve because the damn things don't swivel on ball bearings. But he angles his body and locks his feet and legs and arms when they need to, contorting his body into art. He doesn't even see the crowd, anymore. Not the spotlights nor the chains. It's all lost in the burning cold fuzz of golden white.

It's over too soon, and the stagehand works to undo the locked mess of Peter's chains. He frees Peter and wraps an arm around the dancer to catch him from collapsing. "You did great, sweetheart," he cooed, getting ready to help Peter off the stage. But there's a hesitance in his voice that Peter catches; he feels a hand through the blizzard around him cup his face and tilts it up. The man's eyes appears through the blizzard, hardens, and disappears as he swears.

"Fuck. Hey! Hey! This one's blitzed out!"

He's swept into the snowstorm. His vision winks in and out: the stagehand carrying him bridal-style -- Mad Hatta clicking his tongue and shaking his head -- another of the stagehands shooing half-dressed club-goers out the restroom. In the white, Peter hears snapping rubber. He feels the rubber curling into his mouth and tastes latex in the back of his throat.

"Why do I always have to do this?" Groans a faceless voice.

The latex shoves in deeper, and it burns -- oh shit, it burns! -- coming back up. Peter's body jerks and his lungs heave, his throat contracting around the fingers and his stomach getting sicker from the bitter taste.

"Okay, buddy," the voice says. "There we go. Let it all out."

How much does Peter have to let out? He's sure that it isn't much considering he had skipped dinner, but it takes forever for it to end. But it does ends, with the blinding snowstorm disappearing. Peter's greeted by a disgusting toilet coated with his Pepto Bismo pink puke, and cool tiles under his knees. He's twitching and shivering, his teeth chattering despite still feeling like there's a fire in his core.

"You okay?" Someone asks over his shoulder. Peter tries to nod or say yes, but his jaw is locked tight, his voice is frozen in his chest. Peter can hear the man snapping the glove off and unzipping something. Peter has no energy to protest being pulled into a body for the third time that night, but he's relieved when he's taken into the man's jacket and sheltered in the body heat instead. So they sit like that, Peter tremoring against this man's chest, his body fighting to keep the freezing magic in him.

"Gail should be back soon with your blanket and water," the man says. Peter misses his guy's smoother, more fun and enticing tone on the platform. Dance, queen. This voice is too different and too serious, too clinical, when he asks, "How many snowflakes did you take?"

Peter sighs and slumps against him. "Only two."

"You're supposed to have only one at a time," the man scolds. He gently taps Peter's cheek. "Stay up. You need to get some water first. Do you have any friends who can drive you home?"

Peter, try as he might, only manages a head shake, before his head lolls back on the man's shoulder.

The man lifts Peter's head and lightly slaps his cheeks once more. "Okay, you'll need a cot, too, then."

Thank goodness Gail returns, wrapping the wool blanket around Peter and forcing him to suck down half a bottle of water. The two club workers half-carry Peter out of the middle door and into the rightmost one, into a stretch of whitewashed tunnel lined with cots on both sides. Here, they lay him down on the cot under the watching eye of guards.

Peter curls up on his side and tucks his hands under his head. With a gentle smile on his face, Peter falls asleep in the world blanketed in soft white.

[takadasaiko]

Midnight Oil (a Captain America: First Avenger era one shot)

FFN II AO3

Summary: "Stark took a swing at him right there in front of his men. You'd think a guy as smart as Stark wouldn't hit someone twice his size." - Agent Carter 1.05 

Steve and the Howling Commandos are called in to come collect their pilot after Howard lands himself in some trouble over a stolen invention.

Midnight Oil

No shouldn't be a difficult phrase for a person to understand.

It didn't mean yes. It didn't mean maybe. It certainly wasn't an invitation to break into his lab and take it without permission.

Howard had been woken in the earliest hours of the morning by one of his techs pounding at his door and shouting incoherently about a break-in. It had taken a moment longer than it should have for him to understand that it had been his lab that had been broken into - the one that he'd only been away from for about an hour and a half at that point, leaving him more sleep deprived than usual after three straight days of the same - and that things were missing. It hadn't taken long to find out what. Not that he hadn't had a good idea even before he got there.

He hadn't told them why Midnight Oil wouldn't work, only that the design couldn't perform the way they wanted it to. He needed more time if he were going to concoct something that could safely keep soldiers awake and alert for days on end - had they tried coffee? Coffee worked well for him. Coffee and an addictive personality that he focused in on for his work - and apparently General McGinnis had taken that to mean that it worked, but wasn't perfected and had decided to send his goons in to relieve Howard of his creation.

That's how Howard Stark found himself on a plane from London to Finow, Germany. McGinnis wasn't taking his calls. If the calls weren't reaching him or if he was intentionally ignoring him, it was difficult to say in the middle of war-torn Europe, but the general had no idea what he was getting himself into if he tried to use the Midnight Oil. To be fair, neither did Howard. He'd only seen what the gas had done to the rats in the lab he'd doused with it and that had been more than enough. The idea of what it would do to soldiers was… unconscionable. The idea made his stomach turn, and he had a pretty steady constitution.

He put the plane down not too far from the camp, but he had to be driven out to the site after arguing for far too long and threatening things he wasn't actually sure he could make good on. They didn't tell him it was too late. They were likely too afraid to. They dropped him off and ran as if they didn't want to face him or be outed as the ones that had brought him in.

Howard stood frozen in place for a long moment, dark eyes wide and lips parted in an awkward gape. Bodies littered the field, stretching out in every direction. Men in American uniforms moved between them, and despite all that they had seen in the war, even they looked squeamish as they worked to clear the field. Not that he could blame them. It was a horrific scene.

A terrified yelp sounded across the field and Howard barely had time to look over before a shot followed immediately after it, downing one last soldier. The American - the shooter - stumbled back, eyes wide as he scrambled back and Howard rushed over to him.

"What happened?" he demanded, his voice drawing the haunted blue gaze towards him.

"I thought he was dead, but he… got up. He was… he was coming for me. I had to -"

Howard cleared his throat and waved him off. Empathy had never counted very high amongst his many talents, even in the moments where he wished it would. Bumbling around and failing to comfort the kid wasn't going to do anybody any good, though, so he dropped to his knee next to the newly dead man, observing. That much he could do at this point.

He was Russian, if the tattered and bloodied uniform was anything to go by. There wasn't much left of it. It was like a wild animal had gotten ahold of him, shredding cloth and skin in vicious, angry strokes. He wouldn't have been long for the world even if the young soldier hadn't put a bullet in his chest. From the looks of him, Howard wouldn't have guessed that he could have made it to his feet before being shot. Deep, terrible gashes were visible through torn cloth and what looked like teeth marks - human, he metallurgy filed away with a shudder - on his left forearm. Blood was smeared and dried all along his face.

The young inventor drew in a trembling breath as he shifted his weight to take a look at a fallen body near that one. Also Russian, as was the one next to him and the one next to him. Not a nazi in sight. Just a bunch of Russians that looked like they'd clawed, bitten, and bludgeoned each other to death.

They'd been gassed with Midnight Oil and now McGinnis' people were cleaning up the scene. Once the men here finished there'd be no proof of what happened. Howard's word would be matched up against a general. One star, sure, but as healthy of an opinion of himself as Howard kept, he was still a twenty-seven year-old scientist whose work with the military was often so deeply classified that only a few could get their hands on it. There'd be no repercussions for McGinnis. It'd just be swept under the rug and sold off as a losing battle. There were plenty to go around, afterall.

Truth was that might happen anyway, but if Howard had proof, he could have some sway against the man that caused this. He glanced around before slipping what looked like a pen out of his breast pocket. He hasn't tested it fully yet, but no time like the present. For several long, painful moments he snapped a photo of the damage inflicted, forcing himself to look at the brutality that his invention had caused.

"Stark? Who the hell cleared you to be here?"

Howard startled at the sound of the unexpected voice. He had only spoken to John McGinnis once. Every other request or follow up on the Midnight Oil had come from men that answered to him, the general far too busy to be bothered with the scientists that he had so little regard for.

He knew that voice though, somehow. It bit through the horror and set deep like burning embers ready to fuel a rage like he had never known. And it only grew as he stood, pocketing his pen smoothly, and turned to face the man that had sent his lackies in to steal what had caused this. He stared for a long moment, a half dozen angles on how to best handle the situation running through his mind with statistics calculated for each outcome. In the end, they didn't matter.

"What did you do?" he breathed out and McGinnis snorted.

"Fought a battle, Mr Stark, though I suppose you may not recognize what that looks like from your comfy seat back in London. Lieutenant, escort Mr Stark -"

Howard loosed a trembling breath and swept his hand out towards the carnage. "You killed them."

McGinnis blinked at that, but then waved at the approaching lieutenant as if he didn't want to repeat himself. He turned to leave without bothering with another word and Howard lashed out. He caught a handful of the general's sleeve, pulling him back around and taking a swing with the momentum. The man was a walking mountain, thick and tall with a jawline that might have even put Cap's to shame. Howard had to angle the punch upward to connect at all. Even as he did, he felt the pain of the blow shoot through his knuckles, into the small bones of his hand, and up through his wrist. He stumbled, the opposite hand instinctively going to cradle the one he'd thrown the punch with, and looked back to see that he hadn't even caused McGinnis to stumble. By the looks of him, all he'd managed to do was piss him off.

The larger man lunged forward and Howard steeled himself as best he could, but every ounce of breath driven out of his lungs by the blow to his middle. He folded over, a sputtering cough barely escaping as he did, and a hard blow that felt distinctly like an elbow to his upper back - some sensations you never forget, no matter how many years it'd been - sent him crashing down to the ground.

"You just took a swing at a general in front of his troops, Stark. I thought you were supposed to be smart."

He was pulling air into his lungs in painful, shallow gasps, but somehow managed to look up at him. The larger man didn't say anything, nor did anyone around them move as Howard slowly stumbled to his feet. "You sonuva bitch," he managed. "Just couldn't wait. Couldn't ..."

Howard took another swing, but stumbled, falling into McGinnis who pulled him in close so that he was trapped there. That booming voice rumbled in his ear. "This doesn't have to be on either of us. Let it go."

The inventor shoved backwards, only breaking free because McGinnis allowed him too. He shook his head, the words not quite finding their way off his tongue.

McGinnis snorted. "You lab rats really should learn your place in this war."

And then he was moving. His punch landed hard against Howard's cheekbone and whipped his head around, the rest of him following. He was out before he hit the ground again.

                                                ____________

"Cap, how close are we to Finow?"

Steve glanced over from where he'd been poking at the dying fire, trying to urge it back to life with little success. He tilted his head as he did the mental math of where they were versus the general area Dugan was referring to. "Maybe about eighty klicks, give or take. Why?"

Dum Dum waved the radio in the air. "Just heard from Phillips. Something 'bout Stark getting into some trouble?"

Blond brows drew together and Steve stood slowly, brushing his hands off. The fire could wait. "What kind of trouble?"

"No clue. All they told Phillips was that he was being held and he should send someone to come get him first chance he got. Phillips wasn't exactly in the sharin' mood."

"Right…"

"How much you wanna bet Phillips just didn't want to admit whatever Stark's gotten himself into?" Jim Morita chuckled as he looked up from his card game with Bucky.

"Bet she's blonde," Gabe Jones added.

Bucky snorted. "And leggy. Wish I could get into some of that trouble."

Dugan broke into a wide grin under his mustache. "You and me both, brother."

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he pulled his compass from his pocket, Peggy's photo staring up at him as he flipped it open. "We should be able to get there… maybe a day and a half?"

Falsworth finally sat up from where he'd been attempting to doze. "That'll put us behind."

"Not too bad, and not all of us need to go get Howard. Dugan, Bucky, and I can go get him while the rest of you keep going. That way you can get the scouting done by the time we get back. If Howard's not in too much trouble, we'll have him drop us over the zone."

"Don't worry, boys. We'll bring the blondes with us," Dugan offered, laughter the overwhelming response.

Steve shook his head, his lips quirked are the corners, but no matter how light the others made of the situation, it couldn't be good if Howard needed an escort back. They just wouldn't know how bad until they got there.

                                               ____________

No one seemed to want to acknowledge them when they first arrived, much less meet their eyes. That was the first sign something wasn't quite right. They finally found someone that passed them off to someone else, and they made the rounds from rank to rank until a Lieutenant Piper finally seemed to know where Howard was being kept.

"I still don't get why he needed a lift," Bucky mused in the lieutenant's direction. "He had to get out here somehow."

"The plane he came in was redirected."

Steve turned at that one, catching his friends' equally confused gazes. That didn't make sense. "Stark tends to fly his own plane in. How -?"

Piper shrugged. "Above my paygrade, Captain. Sorry."

"So who can give us some answers?" Dugan asked gruffly, receiving an irritated look from the officer. Ranks didn't mean a lot in the Howling Commandos, but they did in this company. Obviously.

"General McGinnis. But he's…" He looked over and Steve followed his gaze to a tall, broad man who immediately turned in the opposite direction. "The general is otherwise occupied. You're welcome to take Stark and go."

"Any of this sound fishy to you?" Dugan asked quietly and Bucky nodded in agreement.

They followed Lieutenant Piper to the furthest corner of the camp and into a tent marked with a red cross on white background. The uncomfortable feeling that had settled firmly into Steve's chest began to tighten and twist with each step until Piper stopped where a group of nurses had circled around a cot. He cleared his throat loudly and they scattered, revealing a grinning Howard Stark that had been at the center of their attention.

That should have eased at least some of the worry right there, but as the nurses retreated and gave him a clearer view, Steve could see why Howard had been relegated to the - strangely empty, now that he looked around - medical tent. His left cheekbone was showing signs of bruising that was just a little over a day into forming and the accompanying brow was split. His shirt hung open to reveal bandages around his ribs and his right hand was also secured in them. Somehow he'd managed to land in the middle of a fight. How or why, Steve had no idea. The lack of injured soldiers around them should mean that there hadn't been a battle anywhere nearby, even if the inventor had been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Cap," Howard chuckled, standing slowly from his cot. "Would have thought you'd have more important things to do than come pick me up."

"We were relatively close by."

Bucky stepped forward. "What happened?"

"Huh? Oh this?" He motioned with his injured hand to his injured face. "Nothing we need to get into."

"We're gonna need a little more than that, pal," Dugan said lowly. They all knew there was more to this story than they'd been told. If anything, they had thought that Stark would be eager to fill them in. Apparently not.

Howard straightened his shoulders a little, dark gaze flickering over to where Piper still lingered off to the side. "It's nothing. I do think I need a ride though. Sounds like the Army decided to put my plane on their tab."

"We brought the jeep," Bucky offered.

"Good. Not sure I'd be great on foot too far." Howard's tone was light as he awkwardly worked the buttons of his shirt back into place and grabbed his tattered suit jacket off the back of the chair, slipping it in stiffly. He tilted his chin up as he started past Piper.

"Stark-"

"Yeah yeah. You can tell 'im I got the message loud and clear," he growled as he passed the young lieutenant.

Steve exchanged confused looks with both Bucky and Dugan before taking off after the engineer.

                                               ____________

He had gotten the message loud and clear. That's what Howard had said as they left. The loud and clear reared its ugly head not just in the visible bruises that lined his cheekbone and jaw along the left side of his face, but in the stiffness that lingered in his movements and the quiet way he folded into himself in the back of the jeep once they started out of the camp. Howard Stark was a lot of things, but quiet wasn't one of them.

The part that Steve didn't understand was exactly what the message was.

Howard was in Europe with the SSR, but his company was responsible for multiple government contracts. It wasn't unusual for him to work on special projects that took him out into the field, but unless he was slipping off to fly the Howling Commandos on a particularly difficult mission that they couldn't get an Army pilot approved for, he wasn't supposed to be anywhere near the actual fighting at the time it was happening. Even if he'd been caught up in the battle there, though, there was no reason he'd be so locked down about the whole thing. Something else was wrong.

They had stopped for the night on their way up to an airstrip where Howard could catch a ride back up to London. Any other time he would have been teasing and joking and laughing with the others. The Commandos had a fondness for their resident designer that made sure all of their equipment could withstand whatever Hydra would throw at them, even if they gave him hell. This time, though, even Bucky couldn't pull him out of his own head.

"Never thought I'd see the day Stark didn't leap at being the center of attention in any way possible," his oldest friend mumbled as he moved close enough that Steve was the only one that could hear him.

"Did you get anything from him?"

"Nope. Neither did Dugan. Whatever happened, he's locked down tight."

"But why?"

Steve looked over as Bucky pushed a thoughtful breath out through his nose. "I know a beatdown when I see one. Whoever he went toe-to-toe with was bigger than him. Stronger than him."

"Not hard."

Bucky shot him a long-suffering look. "Says the man that was actually shorterthan him just a couple of years ago." Dark blue eyes fixed on him. "Go talk to him."

"Neither of you could get anything from him. What makes you think I can?"

"'Cause it's you."

Steve shot him a confused look and Bucky rolled his eyes.

"Stark practically idolizes you. If anybody's got a chance in getting him to open up about what happened, it's you."

He didn't give Steve the chance to argue, but brushed past him with the mumbled comment about getting more wood for the fire. With all of the subtlety of a bull in a china closet, Dugan followed, leaving Steve to make his hesitant way over to the brooding scientist.

Sometimes it was hard to remember that Howard was only a little over a year older. Steve had sat in the lab listening him go on and on about the path that had landed him with the SSR while the Manhattan-native had pieced together his upgraded uniform and shield. He had waved off questions about his family, but he'd happily gone on and on about the connections he'd made at MIT which had led him to starting his own business by the time he was twenty-two that eventually led Phillips to recruiting him to the SSR - because he was bored, Howard had told him flippantly, and Steve still wasn't sure if that had been a joke or not - and eventually to Project Rebirth. He'd done so much in his twenty-seven years of life that sometimes it was hard to remember that's all he'd lived.

In that moment, as Howard sat alone with his spine curled and his shoulders crumbled forward under the weight of whatever he refused to talk about, he looked older too.

"How're you feeling?" Steve asked after a long moment, startling the dark haired man from the thoughts he looked like he was drowning in.

A pair of dark brown eyes blinked owlishly up at him, catching the glimmer from the fire just a few feet away. "Huh? Oh. I'm fine. It looks worse than it feels."

Steve motioned to the open space next to him and Howard shrugged gingerly, giving him the go-ahead to take a seat. "I've been there. It usually feels about as bad as it looks."

Howard snorted at that, the sound mostly amused. "Never did run from a fight, did you Cap? Me, I don't jump on the grenade. I just find a way to stick the pin back in."

"So what happened this time?"

"Sometimes there's no way to stick it back in," the other man said softly, his voice shaking just a little.

Steve caught his gaze. "Howard, what happened?"

A beat of silence stretched into another and then another, leaving Steve with the feeling that he was going to get the same silent treatment as the others had. Finally, Howard pulled in a breath, the first words riding out on its release. "What I say doesn't leave us. It's gotta….I can't win this with fists." He looked over, quirking a split eyebrow. "As you can see."

That pulled the softest of chuckles from Steve. "It stays between us," he promised.

"The general there - McGinnis - asked me to come up with something that could keep soldiers awake longer. Days was the goal."

"Can't see how that'd go wrong," Steve grumbled.

"And it did. A lot of men died. A lot of Allied men died. They... " Steve waited, watching Stark curl a little more into himself, his hands moving anxiously as he tried to come up with the words. "It was like an animal got loose and ripped them all to shreds. It was my fault."

Steve swallowed hard. An empty med tent was unheard of after a battle with the nazis. They hadn't fought the nazis though. "Did he know?"

Howard's gaze snapped up at the question. "I hear that tone, Cap. You said this would stay between us."

"And it will. I'll keep my word, but, Howard, if he knew it wasn't ready and used it anyway…. That's not your fault."

For another long moment Howard simply sat, dark eyes reflecting the flames dancing in front of them, and he shook his head. "I knew what it'd do and I didn't protect it. Not gonna make that mistake again."

"What are you doing to do?"

"No putting the pin back in. That grenade's already gone off, but maybe I can keep him from doing any more damage with it. Taking a swing at him was, uh… not one of my brighter moments." Steve couldn't help but snort a laugh at that and Howard's lips tugged just a little at the corners. "There are other ways to take a dangerous man outta play."

Steve watched him for a long moment. "Just be careful, okay?"

Howard finally looked up at him and he burst out laughing, the sound startling the blond man. "Careful's not really my style."

"No it's not," Steve chuckled, shaking his head.

"I just gotta fix this, best I can. Best way I know how." He pulled in a breath and his tone was a little lighter. "Don't worry, Cap. I'm not abandoning you guys." His dark gaze flickered past Steve to where Bucky and Dugan were doing a terrible job at pretending to mind their own business. "Someone's gotta drop you crazy bastards in the middle of the firefight when no one else will."

"Takes one to know one," Dugan laughed and Howard flashed a grin that almost seemed real.

The others joined them and they settled into a more comfortable conversation for the rest of the evening, no one daring to turn the subject back around to what had happened.

They dropped Howard off at the airstrip the next day and he turned down the offer for one of them to go with him to London, saying that he needed to get some things done on his own. From what Steve heard he didn't stay in London long, returning instead to New York. A little over a week later the news spread that General John McGinnis had resigned from his post and just a few days after that Howard cut ties with one of his biggest Army contracts, sending a wave of uncertainty through the ranks. An expensive decision on all sides, from what was being said, but Steve was willing to bet it had more to do with trust than money.

Promises made or not, the Howling Commandos had no idea what to expect when they got back to their London base. Stark's men, for the most part, worked for the SSR rather than him directly, so at least in theory they would still be equipped for their missions. Getting there might be a bit more difficult if he'd decided to pack it up and go home.

"Well look at that," Bucky chuckled as they made their way into the labs to find Howard Stark working away like nothing had happened.

"Had you not heard?" Peggy Carter's voice drifted in, drawing their attention over. "The SSR has Mr Stark's full attention again. Lucky us."

"You know you love having me around more, Peg," Howard chuckled from where he was leaned in, examining something under his microscope.

She rolled her eyes good naturedly at the tease. "There's never a dull moment, certainly. Good to see you back in one piece, Captain. Boys."

"Agent Carter," he greeted as she moved past him towards the door, hoping that his smile didn't look nearly as dopey as it felt. He pulled in a breath and turned back to Howard. "We hadn't heard if you were coming back or not."

"Told you I was." He turned, the bruises faded and all that amusement finally back in those dark eyes. "Where's the trust, Cap?"

"About seven hundred feet in the air over Hydra-occupied territory, if you're up for it."

"Going in?"

"We've got a pretty tight turn around this time and can't seem to find a pilot willing to take us."

"Guess it's a good thing I brought a new plane back with me," he said lightly as he slipped off the stool he'd been perched on and started for the door.

                                               ____________

Notes: I came across the story that Dooley's reporter friend tells him about how Howard's Midnight Oil was used in WWII during the first season of Peggy Carter and couldn't shake the idea of Howard Stark trying to go toe-to-toe with someone twice his size and failing miserably. The Stark men are much better at fighting smarter.

It definitely took a whole lot longer to write than I was expecting... I guess that's just the way when I'm first dipping my toe into writing in a different part of the fandom. I got hooked on writing Howard in my Endgame fix-it fic that brought him forward with Steve and Peggy and now I have all these plot bunnies running amok for WWII era Howard, Peggy, Steve, and the Howling Commandos. Hopefully there will be more. :)

[sirladysketch]

I would love to hear your answers to those 15-fic questions about "How the Light Gets In"!!

Aww, thank you! <3 <3 <3 (based on this post) Fic in question can be found here.

Answers below the cut, though, because it’s LONG!

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?

Honestly, it was supposed to be a oneshot crack fic; I have no idea how the thing ended up over 200k. I’d also just finished listening to all of the Inspector Gamache books (a fantastic murder mystery series set in Quebec), and honestly a LOT of the major plot ideas (and title inspiration) came from the Climactic book.

I also really wanted to explore a world where you could have keyblades alongside of things like cars and advanced tech, so I pulled a lot of inspiration from FFVII, FFXII, and FFXV, which are all good examples of how magic and tech balance each other out.

2: What scene did you first put down?

Chapter nine! It’s the idea that started the entire fic, and everything else was built up around Roxas’s birthday.

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

Probably when Roxas summons his keyblade!

”She pressed a softly glowing pin into his hand, so hard that he could feel the point dig into his palm, drawing blood. He yelped and reflexively opened his fingers to drop it, but then there was a sudden weight in his hand, metal warming to his touch and prickling along his skin in places where it touched veins of MAKO green crystal.

A keyblade.”

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

Hmmm, it’s too long to copy/paste, but I liked writing the texts Roxas sends at the start of chapter 7! (Does that make me a terrible person? lol)

5: What part was hardest to write?

It’s a toss up between the two chapters where they’ve broken up, and the final three chapters the cover the climax. The breakup chapters were tough emotionally, while the climax chapters were tough because I had multiple subplots that I needed to pull together and resolve within three chapters– some of which were subplots written in and left unresolved in the prequel (which is outlined but not yet ready to post).

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

This was a fic of many firsts! First time I

wrote long fic for KH

fully outlined a fic before writing it

wrote a modern AU

wrote action/thriller/mystery stuff

wrote myself into a pool noodle ship

did extensive research and got help from SMEs to ensure content was believable, if not 100% accurate

received fanart for my fic!!!!!

had multiple conversations with my readers and made a bunch of wonderful new friends!! <3

7: Where did the title come from?

Leonard Cohen’s song, Anthem – which I learned about when reading Louise Penny’s book, How the Light Gets In. (Incidentally, I HIGHLY recommend the Inspector Gamache books, just pretend that HTLGI is the last book)

8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?

The fic started as a crack oneshot for a dear friend going through a tough time. (Not going to @ them, but they know who they are <3)

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

I outlined four different ending for the fic!

<Spoilers>

The last chapter before the epilogue ends with someone getting shot and Roxas passing out. While everyone lives in the ‘canon’ happy ending, there was a version where Roxas was killed, one where Ven was killed, one where Ven overdid it and went into a MAKO-induced coma, and one where both Luxs died. In the end I went with the happier ending because it left more options for sequels, if/when I get around to them.

10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?

*shrugs* They’re my OTP in the truest sense of the phrase. If I could only write one pairing for the rest of my life, it’d be them.

11: What do you like best about this fic?

I’m really proud of myself for writing the entire thing– both the main fic and the ancillary stories– in a year. It really surprised me to see how much I could accomplish if I really set my heart and mind to it, considering I worked full time AND commuted about two hours each day.Also, I really like the blended universe I’ve created– there are a lot of fun stories just waiting to be written, although I’m not sure when that will be. I have the Zack’s prequel and Xion’s sequel fully outlined, although I’ve yet to write extensively in either of them for various reasons.

12: What do you like least about this fic?

There are probably scenes that could go back and be reworked, and I might’ve found a way to work in the secondary stories within the context of the main story.

13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

Oh man. 90% of this fic was plotted/figured out while I was stuck in commuting traffic, and my CDs weren’t always reliable so I listened to a lot of crappy pop songs, because for some reason all of the radio stations only play, like, six songs each hour and it’s always the same six songs. -_-I also listened to a couple of 8Tracks playlists and ultimately ended up making a Spotify playlist!

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

Hmm… I’m not sure if there’s anything to LEARN, per se. I have lots of tips for writing multichap fics, though, if anyone needs help with plotting, working in subplots, bringing together loose threads, or just getting an idea from how to get from point A to point B!

15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

I learned a LOT about writing and what schedule works best for me, but I probably should’ve written more to allow for a more structured chapter release schedule.

Since writing this fic, I’ve learned even more– HTLGI will always have a special place in my heart, but it’s been over for almost a year and I already feel like my more recent fics have surpassed it in quality. I’ve since written other fics that I love even more, and I hope that I’ll continue to write more stories that I can go back and enjoy as a reader!

[ninjakitty15]

Chapter 20: The Masks We Wear (Loki x OFC Pairing)

"If this doesn't work, I'm so tattling on him to Tony, house arrest be damned," I muttered as we teleported to a good spot away from the city and its people but not exactly empty of bodies. "Put way too much faith in the kid, I hate kids, what makes him so special?"

"Getting cold feet, love?" teased Loki beside me as he surveyed his surroundings to see if we were in the clear.

"I think we've had cold feet long before now, you being a Frost Giant and me not having blood circulation and all that stuff with the heart and breathing and stuff," I mused.

"You don't give up, do you?"

I snorted. "Tried that, didn't work for me, something about not staying down even when buried."

"You think Parker and I are so alike which means that if you don't have faith in him, you might as well not in me."

"He's just really strong and smart, you've got a bit more going on for you that I'd be ok placing all my bets on."

"Then trust in me to ensure our safety if things go sideways for us," he offered.

"Safety isn't exactly what I'm worried about, neither of us are that easy to kill and they don't exactly want us dead last I checked."

"Then what troubles you?"

I chewed on my bottom lip worriedly. "I don't like running, even if  I had the legs for it. I also don't like being shot at and having my lover constantly be used against me."

"I recall you saying that's not the first time something like that happened."

"It shouldn't have, it's why I always try to surround myself with powerful people, so I don't have to worry about that happening when I'm suddenly a target again. I don't like that they took something I actually kind of enjoyed from you and used it to take me down, that was our thing and they essentially ruined it and weaponized it." My hands curled into white knuckled fists, power sliding down my arms from my chest and gathering into my fingers. "Up till now they were a nuisance, a loose end that just bugged the shit out of me but still manageable. Now they're prey by making it personal and I'm gonna gut them like a fish and hang them by their small intestines while I boil their eyes and rip out their lungs...or maybe I'll just make em blood eagles, in your honor."

"Why that method for me?"

"It's a favored method of the people that first worshipped you, or rather your adoptive people I should say."

"I'd say just leave that to the ones that turned on you, seems a bit much to do that to all of them, and time consuming at that as there are a lot of Hydra agents but only a handful of bad people from your end."

"Valid point, will do."

"They took something from us and made it our weakness, so together we must take it back and make it our strength."

I nodded in agreement. "And then we make them our bitch."

"We make them kneel and then we break them."

"Crush our enemies, see them driven before you, hear the lamentation of their bitches, the three most important things in life."

"Let's show them what happens when you anger the gods, shall we?"

"Don't have to ask twice." I raised my hands to my chest and held them apart facing each other so death magic could gather between them. From between my hands, a ball of black lightning and white smoke began to form until it was about the size of a big plump award winning pumpkin then slammed it into the ground. "Cover your ears, I'm gonna make a call." I waited for Loki to do so before waking the dead in a war cry that to the human ears sounded like a cross between a death rattle, a banshee cry, and the angry shriek of the Nazgul in Lord of the Rings. "If this works, can I just wear this for Halloween, see how many people I can fool with it? None of my own costumes can even compare."

Loki chuckled and shrugged. "Let's just see how it works here for now, Halloween later."

It didn't take long for them to come to us and I was glad the Avengers didn't show up either as they would've blown the whole plan to bits before we could get started. "Ready for the fight scene," I muttered.

"Fancy meeting you here," George, the first traitor I had seen in their base building, mused.

"This is your idea of fancy? Do you even own a suit?" asked Loki. "You seem more of a fedora and sword replica kind of guy."

I smirked at this but decided it might be better if he did in fact to most of the talking if this was gonna work. "If that's the case then he forgot to address you as m'lady, so rude of him."

"They say manners maketh men, so what does that make you?" he asked George.

George glared at Loki. "It makes me really glad we figured out how to take you down thanks to your little Norse god there."

"Little? Someone's in need of glasses if they think a Frost Giant that's a full foot taller than you is little," Loki shot back. "And who really figured it out, cuz last I checked you're just a scared little boy hiding behind a bunch of agents."

He glared at the god before pulling out a fancy tech gun I could only assume was the same kind that shot me and turned me mortal temporarily. "Tell me who's scared now, eh?"

"I'd say the one holding a modified gun because he couldn't take down his intended target like a man, cowards tend to favor guns. It takes a real man to fight someone close range, armed or not," I replied smoothly.

The other agents surrounding us all had their similar fashioned guns aimed at us but made no move, most likely believing we would come quietly. Joke's on them, Loki especially knows I never come quietly, I'm a real animal then, dead or alive. George of course, being the easily offended, butthurt little boy he really was, did however make a move and fired his Loki magicked gun angrily with what he probably thought was his grrrr face but just made him look like a kid that was told he couldn't have cookies before dinner. Loki was thrown back by the energy blast emitted from the gun and landed on his side a few feet away from me while I stepped forward, a dagger in each hand and put myself between Loki and George.

"Try me, mortal," I sneered.

That was when one of the agents took aim at me and I felt something sharp and metal attach itself to my neck, for a split second my skin felt hot and burning before it went back to cold and calm again. One dagger went back up my sleeve as I reached up and yanked off a tiny metal electro disk thing that had been used on Loki not too long ago. I held it between my index finger and thumb curiously before crushing it in one hand and glaring at the agent that shot me.

"You missed," I told them dryly.

More agents and George as well surrounded Loki while only a few surrounded me. Loki however waited till they were closer to him before slowly getting to his feet and brushing himself off with an eyebrow arched in challenge.

"Was that supposed to scare me? You know I own a screampark, right? Jumpscares won't work on me."

George shot at Loki again and then fired a normal revolver gun at him right after, the bullet or whatever was being used as a bullet bounced off him as did the energy gun. Loki then lunged forward, grabbed George by the throat with one hand and broke the wrist of the hand holding the energy gun, the revolver dropping the first time he was grabbed. While he was doing that, I turned my attention to my own little group of agents that were using all kinds of different means to electrocute me, even one of those wire tazers cops use to detain without killing people, even though it can kill people if the voltage is high enough or you have one of those heart monitor things. I simply tore the wires attached to me off myself before slashing my way through the little crowd I had with the hidden daggers until I was the last one standing. I then looked over to see how Loki was doing again to find most of his agents were down and out and it was just George left standing.

"That's all you came with? Really? I'm very disappointed in you, Georgie, I thought you knew it takes an army to take down the leader of one," Loki told him.

"That should've worked, you are each other's weaknesses."

"I've got a question, I thought if I cut off enough heads, more would take it's place, isn't that their motto? Why are there no more heads?" Loki asked.

George glared at him and pulled out his ceremonial dagger with his one good hand just as I silently was walking up behind him, his attention on Loki just as I needed it to be. Green magic then enveloped Loki for a moment which caused George to freeze as he wasn't looking at who he thought he was then.

"Hiya Georgie," I murmured behind George just as magic danced along my body as well thanks to Loki and Peter's plan. George spun around just as my battle outfit changed and right as he saw what I really was, before he could use his dagger, my hand was in his chest, clutching his soul and this time I wasn't leaving it in. My entire arm shifted into a skeleton's as I pulled it out of him, he barely had time to scream in unimaginable agony before he crumbled just a shell, his soul still in my skeletal hand. Any lingering Hydra agents that somehow survived being broken or slashed between the two of us were then destroyed as I used the power of the soul in my hands to incinerate them from the inside out before scattering what was left of the soul.

Loki stared at me in a mixture of awe and something else I couldn't quite place before walking over to me. "Your arm..."

I held it up and wiggled the finger bones tauntingly. "I couldn't resist." I knelt down and shoved the bony bits into the earth, drawing power from the dead within it to help me heal and when I pulled my arm back out, it had all the needed parts of flesh, blood, muscle and tendon again. "Tis but a scratch."

"What about that whole display of power before they got here though?"

"That was me making sure I had ground coverage so they didn't have backup after we were done with them and then a little something special after that."

"Why do I get the feeling we'll see what you did on the news or be sought after by the Avengers for it?"

"Because when are my methods ever orthodox?" I retorted.

"I knew there was a reason I like you."

"Pretty sure it was the mindblowing sex, be honest, when was the last time you even got laid?"

"I don't have to answer that or to you for that matter."

"When someone openly dismisses a simple question, that usually means the answer is the obvious one you don't want to admit. No further questions, your honor, the defense rests."

"Come here." He grabbed me by my hoodie and pulled me flush against him for a kiss. "Would've done this sooner but I don't love myself that much."

I snickered at this. "If you don't love yourself, you're not fit to love others. So can we switch bodies for halloween? Seems only fair I should have more fun being in you for once when it's always been the other way around in the bedroom."

"We're not switching bodies in the bedroom," Loki stated quickly.

"No no, even I wouldn't do me."

"We'll see when the holiday draws nearer. Should we tell the spider child his plan worked?"

"Do you have a phone? Hydra stole mine."

He held out a hand and produced one with magic, even going as far as putting Peter's number in it for me out of sheer memory as Peter had offered it to us despite me telling him I didn't possess that technology currently. I then entered Peter's number and waited for it to ring and him to pick up which he did with a hesitant hello.

"Bitch, we lived," I stated smugly.

"It worked? I mean, of course it worked or I wouldn't have thought it up...it did work right?" Peter asked.

"It worked like one of Rihanna's hit singles."

"What will you do now....also did you hear there's been hordes of zombies storming random buildings?"

"Trust me, Pete, they ain't random."

"That's you doing it?"

"That's me hunting down Hydra from afar."

"How will the zombies know it's Hydra?"

"I asked the victims of the organization if they wanna get revenge on them, judging by your report their answer was yes. Remember, Avengers might have a Hulk but I have an army."

"Does that mean you won't return to the Avengers compound?"

"I'm not a team player and I don't expect others to fight my battles for me and I still have to sort out the remaining traitors but yeah I'm not going back, I'm just gonna lay low and wait for those bastards to come to me like an ant-lion. You take care, kid, don't get killed, I'm not bringing you back."

"I'll try not to, good luck, Nell."

I ended the call and looked up at Loki.

"Where shall we go now?" he mused.

"Take me down to paradise city, where the magic's strong and the girls are witches, oh won't you please take me home?" I sang.

He grinned, wrapping both arms around me as green magic swirled around us. Hydra-0, Gods-2.

[ladyofstardust]

Thursday night is just okay for fighting

Word Count: 7k

Rating: T

Summary: In which Sarah just wants some freaking chicken piccata okay? Oh and also there are some witches when Jareth and Sarah Scooby Doo their way into hijinks with the local coven as Crocodile Rock plays in the background.

Notes: Apartment-verse fic.  Set some months after the events of This Forever I Keep Hearing About.  

Sarah let herself into her apartment's lobby and pulled out her keys to check the mailbox. As per usual, there wasn't much there save for a few bills and some junk mail. She also grabbed the pile of discarded junk mail her neighbours had left forgotten in the mailroom. If anyone ever wondered where all the junk mail went, they never asked. But the goblins just loved the bright colours and all the little product samples that sometimes came with them. She'd dole them out as rewards for good behaviour. She knew it was weird, like "good job Crumple, here's a Chinese food menu for not eating all my soap this week." But hey, it worked, so who was she to complain.

Jareth on the other hand was getting annoyed about the black market of coupons Sarah had unleashed upon the Underground but ever since he had more or less moved into her bedroom, (and kitchen...and living room) he was much more willing to tolerate goblin shenanigans.

She didn't bother unlocking her front door. Jareth knew what time she got home from work and would leave the door unlocked for her. She could smell the dinner he was cooking wafting through the hallway.

"Babe?" she called out as she walked through the door.

"In the kitchen," he replied. "I'm just doing up the leftovers from last night. Can you just grab the bag of asparagus I left in the living room? I want to toss it into the pan before I pop it back in the oven."

"You went...grocery shopping?" she asked confused. Sarah wasn't sure Jareth even knew where the grocery store was. She was struggling to picture him in full Goblin King regalia wandering through the aisle wondering if they needed more cornstarch. Though she knew that if he had gone to the grocery store he would have dressed in his human disguise. He only ever left the house dressed like an otherworldly fop from 1890 when he didn't have to interact with anyone but her. One of the benefits to living in the city, people just wrote him off as weird. Though they had no idea just how weird.

"No, I got it from the palace gardens. Your little dwarf friend does have a gift for making the plants sing."

She wasn't sure if he was being literal and gave the asparagus a second look to make sure it wasn't secretly sentient. It was near impossible to bring food over from Underground - unless you were a Faerie King that is. The first time Sarah had tried to bring leftovers home from a picnic with Ludo and Hoggle, they'd turned to dried leaves in her hand the minute she stepped through the mirror. Apparently it was part of the old treaties or the Goblin Fruit Law. If Faerie wanted to be left alone, it had to stop tempting people to go find it. This meant no more changeling babies, no more Goblin Fruit, and the free passages had to be sealed. Unless called on specifically. General thought was if humans wanted to be stupid, Faerie would let them. While Sarah didn't agree with their loopholes and semantics arguments, mostly Faerie kept to itself and she didn't want to poke that bear.

Which is why she'd rushed home to talk to Jareth.

"So I think something weird is happening down by the university," she said, bringing the non-sentient asparagus into the kitchen.

"Weird how?" he said with muted interest. He was busy fiddling with her oven again. Luckily she had a gas stove and he couldn't break that too. Or she hoped he couldn't. Jareth had a talent for frying her electronics in new and physically impossible ways.

"Yeah that's the thing. I don't know," she began rinsing and chopping the asparagus to throw in the pot. "It was just this feeling. I was taking a shortcut through the field behind the auditorium and it felt like there was something there that shouldn't be. It was an open field, and I could see there was nothing...but it kind of smelled and felt like magic."

He stopped playing with the oven.

"Well, are you sure?"

She nodded.

"Alright then, what would you like to do?" he carefully removed the "Kiss the Cook" apron he was wearing. She didn't own a Kiss the Cook apron, he'd just shown up one day wearing it.

"I want to go check it out, and stop it if I don't like what it is."

His grin could have split the city it was so wide. "There's my Sarah, nothing like a bit of magical mayhem to spice up a Thursday night."

He waved his hand and was dressed in a black leather jacket, dark jeans, boots, and his hair was pulled back. He had stopped putting the illusion over his eyes after she told him how she hated it.

"What about dinner," she asked gesturing to the bubbling pan.

"It'll keep," he waved a hand and the pan stopped mid-bubble. "Minor holding spell. Should last a couple hours at least."

He extended a gloved hand towards her and she took it. Jareth pulled her into a spin the way one might during a dance, and when he spun her back out they were a couple blocks from the field.

"I didn't want to get too close. We don't know who or what this is and if you can feel their magic, they might be able to sense mine. Best not play our hand before we know what the game is."

"Makes sense," she replied, heading off towards the campus. They'd discovered she got far less vertigo travelling with him if she moved into it. This often meant a dance or a spin. He'd said it wouldn't be necessary if she stopped fighting the magic so much, but at this point she didn't even know how. Jareth was pretty good at not being seen unless he wanted to be, normally he didn't care (and Sarah suspected he enjoyed the looks), but it was handy for popping into and out of places. People suddenly all got very interested in their phones and didn't notice two people spinning their way out of a back alley.

"So how was work? Did that pustule of a man try any of his foolish games with you again today?"

"Yeah, God, he's the worst. Today he dropped a bunch of papers on the ground and asked me to pick them up for him. I'm a hundred percent sure he was only asking me to stare at my ass while I did it."

"Want me to fill his bedroom with goblin feces?" Jareth growled.

"No," she said firmly, before someone could get any ideas. "I think Robert already suspects there's something weird about me. He's started making comments about how I never seem to fall prey to any of the petty misfortunes that the rest of the office suffers from."

"Like what?" Jareth asked, genuinely intrigued.

"Well for starters the copier is never jammed for me. I always find a fresh pot of coffee in the break room, I've never had any technical problems, a small miracle since our tech was outdated in 1986, and I can always find a meeting room when I want one. Stuff that doesn't seem like much but kinda starts to add up if you draw attention to it. Since he's always watching me, on account of being a giant creep, he's noticed."

"That's not...great," Jareth finally said with a bit of concern. "I suspect it's just a bit of magical interference. Though I should mention so that you are aware," he stopped walking and took her hand in his. Sarah's heart sped up. She didn't like where this was going. "When we began our...relationship, I placed an order of protection on you."

She was right, she did not like it.

"What does that mean exactly," she said carefully, trying not to jump to any conclusions.

"It means that you, and the life you lead, which I'll acknowledge my part in, attracts a certain amount of attention for the magical community. Humans aren't supposed to have this much contact with the magical world, it breaks quite a few of our laws and the punishments for that are relatively serious. Now I was able to hide you reasonably well, but if you were discovered there is a very real risk you could be taken Underground permanently, or have all your ties and your memory of the magical world...taken."

"Why didn't you tell me this?" she knew she was playing a bit fast and loose with the Rules sometimes, but figured if there was a problem, Jareth would have done something. Apparently he did, he just didn't tell her.

"Remember when your apartment started to bleed into the Underground? I tried to explain then but perhaps I was not as clear as I could have been. You however made your position very clear, you wanted everything. Just as you always have. And who am I to deny you?" he smiled wanly. "Parts of the Underground are still very antiquated when it comes to humanity, there's a lot of fear still there. When we began our relationship I had to publicly declare you as under my protection. This means that your ongoing existence with the magical world is my responsibility. If you cause any undue hardship for the Underground, it will fall to me to discipline you and the High Court to discipline me. The order of protection acts like a warning sign to other Fae. That you are not to be harmed and not to be ruled."

Sarah took a deep breath. She had known this. Deep down, she knew she writing checks she couldn't cash.

"Okay," she said placing a hand on his chest. "I do not like that. I don't like having stuff done to me without my express permission. But I know why you did it. I practically told you to do whatever it took before, so I can't really be mad, and it's my fault for just sticking my head in the sand assuming everything was hunky dory. Also this is basically the legal version of that no power of me clause but for the rest of Faerie yeah? Which, as you well know, is something I'm a fan of. But in the future, you do not put anything on me without my express consent. I can't consent if I don't understand and don't know. So I am consenting now to this order of protection, just like I would have before if you asked me. Do you agree?"

"Yes," he said quickly. "I was afraid how you'd react, hearing your fate was so tied to mine."

She shrugged and walked into his arms, letting him kiss the top of her head. "In a way our fates have always been tied. Plus you practically live in my apartment now so like, I figure this is just the fae equivalent of making ourselves Facebook official."

"Facebook official?" the relief in his face was momentarily eclipsed by his confusion and Sarah laughed.

"Don't worry about it. Also I'm not sure if this is one of those Big Relationship Defining Moments and while I'd love to keep kissing you in the middle of this street-"

She was cut off by Jareth kissing her properly this time. All heat and magic, pulling her in and taking her breath away. Feeling him pressed up against her, and the way his hands always managed to find their way into her hair. There were several other things she wanted very badly to do that were not kissing. That involved her dragging him into that alley. Letting him throw her against the wall and showing her just want it meant to be his. His hand snaking up her legs and, well. A lot of things.

She eased herself out of his embrace. "Yep," she said slightly more out of breath, slightly higher pitched than before. "Yep, like that. That was...good demonstrating. Good job, at the kissing of the me."

"Ah yes the girl with the right words, enough to bring down a kingdom," he laughed pushing a fallen strand of hair behind her ear.

"Shut up," she batted away his hand. "Come on, we've got a magical mishap to deal with. After that we can go home and you can kiss every word from my lips if you want."

"Impossible, but I promise to give it a good faith effort," he said wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Loser," she poked him in the ribs as he slid an arm around her shoulders.

They reached the site of where Sarah had felt the disturbance. It was dark now but the lights from the nearby buildings provided enough coverage that it was plain to see there was … nothing. Just an empty dark field.

Except Sarah could still feel it. It passed over her like a chill and she shuddered, wrapping her arms around her.

"Yes," he said quietly. "You were right, there is definitely something here."

"What is it?" she whispered, just in case someone was invisible. There was a time when she wouldn't worry about invisible people, but that time was done now.

"If my instincts are correct, and they often are," she rolled her eyes but let him continue. "This is man made magic, which makes it infinitely more dangerous."

"Man-made?" she said, skeptically.

"Yes," he pointed to a lit window in a nearby dormitory. "And I think it's coming from there."

"Tell me more," she was intrigued now.

He turned over his gloved hand to reveal a crystal. Sarah could never see anything in them but he looked at the fogged glass intently.

"As I thought," he said finally, vanishing the crystal with a roll of his wrist. "We've got a coven on our hands."

"A coven - wait there are witches in there?!"

Jareth let out a low chuckle at her excitement. "Indeed. They're rare, though I'm not surprised to find them congregating around a university. Most witches I've found have been scholars who happened to stumble upon the rare text that actually has some practical advice."

"Well, what do we do? I'm not burning anyone at any stake," she said with a warning. "Also I didn't even know witchcraft was an option."

"It's not," he said darkly. "Some humans still carry a few latent magical traits in their genes. From their oldest ancestors who may not have been strictly human. Sometimes it pops up stronger in certain generations. Usually just results in a bit of general oddities, similar to those you're experiencing around your office. Though different because that is good magic that I control."

"You control the goblins on a technicality at best," she interjected. "They're controlled by chaos and two for one coupons mostly."

"As I was saying," he huffed. "This is uncontrolled magic that has now found an outlet. It'll burn right through them until there is nothing left. I'm impressed you were able to sense it, witch magic is very hard to find before it's too late."

"So basically we have to stop them then? Right well," she grabbed his hand and started marching off in the direction of the room he'd pointed towards. "Let's go then. I'm not bringing about the new Salem listening to you monologue."

"You asked," he intoned.

"I did, and now I'm gonna have to teach some wannabe Harry Potters that magic has consequences. They can count themselves lucky they're dealing with me. Last time you had to teach that lesson I had to run for 13 hours and get felt up by a tunnel of disembodied hands."

"What is a Harry Potter?"

"I'll lend you my copies," she said waving him off. "You can read them and then tell me all about how Draco is a sympathetic character."

"Do you have a plan Sarah?" Jareth asked, completely sidestepping her comments. Which was his usual.

"Yes, I'm going to talk to them and explain."

"You think that will work?" he asked, skeptically.

"No idea, but we're gonna try. If they don't want to listen, well then on their heads so be it."

"We cannot continue to let them practice Sarah, even if they do not heed your warnings," Jareth said with concern. "This is dangerous for more than just the witches themselves. They do not know what they are doing, and people could get hurt. Not to mention it weakens the already strained portals around this area. Magic does not like being on this side. Too much iron, it fights it and acts like a spoiled teenager destroying everything in its path."

Sarah side-eyed the little smirk he gave her. If he was still trying to bait her then he obviously wasn't too worried about the situation. "No I agree, if they don't listen then we're going to need to do what we need to in order to nip this in the bud. I understand if that means you need to put some sort of charm on them to forget all of this, thems the breaks. But we have to give them a choice."

They were able to get past the security desk with relative ease. Sarah, though she was well into her twenties, could still pass as a college student and Jareth may have let a very loud noise in the hallway distract the guard long enough to let them pass unquestioned.

She didn't need his guidance to find the right floor or room. The magic had its own kind of pull, Sarah just let it lead her to them. It felt different than Jareth's magic, or even the Goblin's magic or her friends' kind. She was beginning to notice how different magics had a different signature. Jareth's magic always felt like him. Wild and bright. Like staring directly into the sun. Goblin magic was more fickle and joyful, like jumping on a trampoline. This magic felt like the first chill of winter and getting tapped on the shoulder by someone who wasn't there. She didn't like it, it felt wrong.

When they reached the room in question Sarah held up a hand to Jareth indicating that he should follow her lead. He inclined his head slightly, and she thought he looked happy to have someone else dealing with this for a change. She knocked on the door three times in quick succession.

She was not expecting the small frizzy hair that popped out from behind it.

The girl could not have been more than five feet tall. She wore round wire rimmed glasses and had a mess of big beautiful black hair. She looked so young and innocent, but Sarah reminded herself that on balance, it probably would have been stranger if an old crone with a wart on her nose had opened the door.

"Hi!" Sarah said brightly sticking out her hand for the girl to shake. "My name is Sarah Williams and this is my boyfriend Jareth, the Goblin King. We're here to talk to you about your witchcraft."

Jareth waved cheerfully to the girl.

"Uhhhhhh," the girl looked confused, and Sarah dropped her hand and moved to walk into the room like they'd been invited in.

"Wait no you can't come in," the girl tried to block their way in but given that Sarah was a good eight inches taller than her, and flanked by a supernatural king, this didn't really work.

"Oh I think you'll find that we can," she said, keeping her tone light and airy. "You see, this is kind of a big deal, and you're going to want to talk to us."

"Sorry who are you again?" the girl snapped, backing into the room.

Sarah could see that she wasn't alone. There were two other people in the room with her. One of them was a tall and skinny young man who wore the same style of glasses as the girl. He was wearing a t-shirt from a popular cartoon and had on a pair of sweatpants which he'd tucked his tube socks into. The other girl had a short crew cut and was wearing an oversized t-shirt and pair of shredded black jeans. She had a burgundy sweater tied around her waist and a small hoop in her nose and eyebrow. Mostly, they just looked like younger versions of the people Sarah went to college with.

"Let me try this again. I'm Sarah Williams. I stop magical bullshit. And this?" she said gesturing around the room. "Stinks to high heaven of magical bullshit. Like it reeks you guys, I could feel it all the way out on the field over there. Jareth is magical bullshit and I have defeated him before," Jareth waved wriggled his fingers waving again. "Now we date. Any questions?"

"Yes a few," the short haired girl snarked. "Let's start with what the fuck you're doing here."

"Oh I'm here to stop this little coven you guys are running out of your dorm room. Pretty impressive you guys, in the decade plus that I've been in and out of the magical world, you're the first humans I've met who are not only aware of its existence, but are actively engaging with it. That's cool and something I'd like you to always have as you move on from this. But unfortunately if you cannot stop what you're doing and think back fondly on this as a distant memory of your misspent youth, my charming friend over here," Jareth waved a third time just to really hammer it home. "Will have to bespell you so that you forget. I'd like to avoid that, so let's see if we can't come to an agreement."

"Okay," the frizzy haired girl who opened the door spoke up. "This has been a fun little distraction from our exams but we have actual work to do. So if you wouldn't mind leaving before I call security? Maybe you'll listen to the cops."

"You can try," Jareth said just as cheerfully. "But I think you'll find that your technology is of no use. I've placed a bit of a blocking spell around this room for now. Nobody enters and nobody leaves without my express permission."

"I've had enough of this," the crew cut girl spoke again, pulling out her phone to dial 911. There was a few seconds pause before she looked at her phone again, with a mix of confusion and anger. "Hey someone want to explain why when I dial 911 I get nothing but Crocodile Rock blasting at me?"

"Elton John?" Sarah said cocking an eyebrow in Jareth's direction.

"Little trick I picked up from a couple of friends of mine...and I have been enjoying his greatest hits album," Jareth huffed. "He is a very talented singer you know."

"Kay well I'll be making fun of you for that later don't you worry," she said barely containing her laughter.

"I'm leaving," the scrawny boy said nervously, trying to make a break for the door. "It's stuck!" he cried pulling on the handle.

"Let me see," the frizzy haired girl tried pulling on the handle with him.

"It's stuck Margo!" the boy snapped. "They've trapped us here!"

"Okay Margo!" Sarah said clapping her hands together, ignoring their obvious distress. "That's a good start. So what are the rest of your names?"

"I'm Tommy, and that's Carmen," he said pointing to the short haired girl.

"Idiot!" Carmen cried, throwing her phone at him. He ducked out of the way, narrowly missing having it beam him in the head. "You don't tell them our real names!"

"They'd have figured it out eventually!" he yelled back. "They're fucking MAGIC!"

"Well actually just him," Sarah corrected gesturing to Jareth.

"Ah my darling, you are always magical to me," Jareth said with a wink.

"Aw thanks babe," she beamed, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

"Are you guys seriously flirting with each other after holding us hostage in Margo's dorm room?" Carmen growled.

"I was not flirting," Jareth huffed. "I was simply correcting my beautiful girlfriend here."

"Yeah see listen," Sarah said, refusing to let herself be distracted by pedantic morons in tight jeans. "You interrupted our dinner and that holding spell won't last all night. I'm hungry and Jareth has been cooking all afternoon so let's cut right to the chase. We know you're doing magic in here, let me repeat that for emphasis, we know you know you're doing magic in here. Let's all skip the song and dance where you deny it and we prove it and then you say what are we gonna do about it. I'm asking you politely now to stop. You don't know what you're messing with -"

"You can't tell us what to do!" Carmen interrupted. "And who the hell are you to-"

This time Jareth cut her off. Carmen's lips were still moving but no sound was escaping. The girl began to panic and grab at her throat while Jareth just rolled his eyes.

"Please do not interrupt Sarah, she is trying to be fair. Never one of my strong suits you see. So you're much better off dealing with her in this matter. You'll get your voice back when she's done."

"As I was saying," Sarah continued. She didn't love Jareth's methods, but they got results so she was disinclined to argue with him, particularly because she was getting impatient. "What you're doing is witchcraft. Now I don't have any problem with some tarot cards or ouija boards here and there, but you've actually stumbled upon a real text with real magic. I know it is tempting to have all that magic and wonder at your fingertips, believe me nobody knows that better than I do. But you have to stop and hand over the text to us. It's dangerous, both to you and others. You don't know what you're doing and people will get hurt. Most of all the three of you. Humans aren't supposed to have magic. It'll burn through you like a flame until you're just ashes in the wind."

"How do you know all this," Margo asked her. "You just said you've never met another human involved with magic."

"I know it because Jareth says it's true," she answered. She glanced over to him and felt her cheeks flush slightly, thinking about how he'd hold her in the early morning just after they woke up. He'd said to her then that she could ask him anything and it would take multiple armies to keep him from answering her. "He would never lie to me."

"That's great for you, but what about the rest of us. How do you know it's not in his best interests as far as control over this magical bullshit to get us to stop?" Tommy argued with her.

"Well I'm sure it's also in his best interests," she said carefully raising an eyebrow in Jareth's direction. He simply inclined his head and indicated for her to continue. "But it's also in yours. As in if you keep this up you will die. Not maybe, and not on some vague unnamable future date. You will die, you will die soon, and then you will be dead."

"How can that be true?" Margo said quietly. "We weren't doing anything bad. Just trying a few things like levitating pens and stuff. Carmen did a bit to give herself a little extra time on an exam, and Tommy and I were using it to convince our roommates to share their snacks. Nothing big."

"So you're doing some time manipulation, compelling other humans, and flaunting the rules of physics and calling it nothing major," Jareth replied sternly, but Sarah heard the hint of humour in his voice. "These may not seem big to you, but I assure you they are. Those are complicated bits of magic, and all magic has a cost."

He walked over and plucked a strand of stray hair from Margo's head.

"Hey!" she reacted, grabbing her hair protectively.

"You see," he said showing her the strand. It was pure white. A stark contrast to her dark curls. "Your hair will go white, your teeth will fall from your head, your eyes will go cloudy and then blind. That is, of course, if your heart does not stop from the strain. Every time you cast a spell, you are taking a piece of your life force, your energy, and using it towards that magic. Soon the supply will run out. Do you understand?"

Margo nodded quietly, still staring at the hair.

"I had to dye my hair last week," she said quietly. "I just thought it was stress."

"It is," he replied putting a kind hand on her shoulder. Sarah noticed Tommy and Carmen glaring at Jareth. "Though not the kind you thought."

"Can you give my friend her voice back please," Tommy said sharply, not taking his eyes of Jareth's hand on his friend.

"That depends," Jareth said withdrawing his hand, making note of Tommy's stare. "Is she going to be polite?"

Sarah didn't need to be able to read lips to know what word Carmen mouthed at them.

"Unlikely," said Tommy wincing. "But this is about her too and she should get a say."

Jareth looked at Sarah and she sighed heavily. "You make a fair point, okay Jareth, give it back to her."

Jareth rolled his eyes before waving his hand in Carmen's general direction.

"Man screw you guys," the girl said in a much higher pitch than she'd spoken in previously. She clapped her hands over her mouth looking horrified. "What did you do to me! I sound like a fucking chipmunk!"

"You asked for your voice back," Jareth said with a smirk. "You did not specify in what condition. It'll wear off, but maybe this will teach you some manners."

Sarah bit her lip to keep from laughing. There was a certain labyrinth that she thought this girl could do with a run through. But that wasn't her decision to make.

"So what do we do now," Margo asked. "I don't want to die, I just wanted something … special."

"I know," Sarah turned back to the only person who seemed to be understanding what she was saying. "I wish it wasn't like this. Believe me. But I have to ask you to stop. Jareth is going to remove all the magical elements in this room, and my gift to you is letting you remember this all happened. That you do have magic, even if you can't use it. That's still pretty special."

"Why does he get to have magic and we don't?" Carmen interjected, voice still stuck in high pitch.

"Because Jareth isn't human," Sarah replied simply. "He's not from here and magic is as second nature to his kind as breathing."

"You're not human?" Tommy's brows shot up to his hairline. "Then what are you?"

"A story, nothing more." Jareth replied. "One that you will tell your whole lives. Normally at this point I would offer all of you a choice. The chance to live in my world. As humans of course. You couldn't do magic there anymore than you could do magic here. But you could live in a world with magic."

"They don't know enough to make that decision," Sarah hissed.

"I'm twenty years old I'm not a child," Carmen replied. The current state of her voice made the statement sound more ridiculous than Sarah was sure she intended.

"But the thing is you are," Sarah replied carefully. She remembered how much she hated being called a child just because she didn't understand something. "When the thing you're dealing with is older than not just this country, but the entirety of western civilization, you are a child. Jareth's world is not kind, it is not gentle. Humans are not treated well there. You would have no money, no home, no family, and no escape. There is nothing for you there."

"Well maybe there's nothing for me here either," the girl snarked back. "You have no idea what it's like to live in a world that doesn't want you."

"I do, in my own way. I won't pretend to know your struggles. Those are personal and your own. I'm sure it hasn't been easy for you, it won't necessarily get easier either. That's life. But you made it this far which means you don't quit easily. If you go to his world that's what it'll be, quitting. I want you to seriously think about what you have here, what you've accomplished."

"Sarah is right," Jareth said, sliding his hand into hers. "You did not let me finish. I would normally offer you a choice, but I am not doing that. Laws dictate you must be aware of the choice. I am making you aware. Finish your schooling, work to become the people you were always meant to be. If in ten years you still wish to give it all up to live in a world with magic, I will offer it then. Then you may call for me."

Sarah felt this was a good compromise. She wished she could tell them just how much they did not want to go Underground. She was special, she knew it wasn't fair that she got to keep both her human life and her magical life. But that's the way it was. These kids wouldn't get the same advantages.

"I'm...tired," Carmen said finally. "Just tired."

"I'm sure you are, it must have been exhausting keeping up that level of magic," Jareth replied. He waved a hand in her general direction. "I'm giving you back your tone. Please use it appropriately."

"Thanks," Carmen said, her normal voice returned to her. "I think, I just want to go home and forget this ever happened."

"She didn't mean that literally," Sarah whispered grabbing Jareth's arm to prevent him from getting any ideas.

Jareth inclined his head towards the door. "You may leave. But just yourself. Take nothing with you, else I will have to come and get it from you. I'll come alone and I promise, I will not be as generous as I have been tonight."

Carmen could not have shot out of there faster. She slammed the door so hard behind her that the room rattled and a piece of paper slipped onto the floor from underneath the bed's covers.

Sarah poked him sharply in the ribs. "No more threats. They get the idea. Let's get what we came for and go."

Jareth walked towards the bed, throwing the covers off. There was a book, a couple additional pieces of paper, and three vials of a dark liquid substance. Jareth vanished the pile save for the vials, which he slipped neatly into his pocket.

"Is that everything?" he asked them.

Tommy shook his head, and Margo sighed. She and Tommy removed their glasses and handed them to Jareth. Jareth, confused, turned them over in his hand before chucking to himself and handing them back.

"You can keep these. They won't cost you anything further and they're harmless."

Margo smiled and placed the glasses on top of her head. Sarah could see her eyes better now and noticed they had an odd white ring around them. She wondered if that was the magic starting to take them.

"Thanks," Margo said. "That was the last thing."

"Understood," Jareth nodded once. He walked over to Tommy and leaned in to whisper in the boy's ear. Sarah saw Tommy's ears go beet red before he nodded furiously. He suddenly seemed very intent on studying the carpet.

"We good here?" she asked Jareth trying to hurry him along. She could hear her stomach's grumbling threatened to reach seismic levels soon and she was dying to just eat some food already.

"Yes," he said dusting himself off to transform back into his regular appearance. Sarah knew Jareth was enjoying the chance to show off a little. He'd been good about backing her up tonight, so Sarah figured she'd let him have this.

"My dear," he said extending his hand towards her.

"Your room has been unsealed. Tell whoever you like about this, it doesn't matter. If you find another way to practice magic make no mistake, we will be back and I don't think anyone wants that. Be good, stay in school, eat your vegetables and all that," she instructed them. She placed her hand in Jareth's. "And remember should you ever need us-"

She didn't finish her sentence before Jareth spun her into his embrace and suddenly they were standing back in her apartment's kitchen.

"They'll call," he finished for her, kissing the top of her head. "Now this chicken piccata will not eat itself."

"Good because I am going to eat it all," Sarah said, grabbing an oven mitt to pull the pan out of the oven. "Crap, it burned."

Jareth sighed raking a hand through his newly restored hair.

"My domestic spells do need a bit of work I see; shall we order a pizza?"

"Yeah but make it a big one," she replied, pouring herself a glass of wine. Probably not the best idea to drink on an empty stomach but after the night she had, Sarah felt she'd earned a little irresponsibility. "Why'd you keep the vials? What was in them?"

"Blood," he replied, pulling one from his breast pocket. Sarah watched as it danced across his knuckles just like his crystals. "All mortal magic requires blood. I kept it because it is now ritual blood, and must be destroyed of properly to prevent say, its owners dropping dead."

"Yep, let's avoid that if possible," she nodded. She'd suspected it was blood but the idea of those kids bleeding themselves just to get a couple extra Cheetos and some pens in the air disturbed her a bit.

"What was up with their glasses by the way?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

"Ah, just a simple sight spell," he said lightly, vanishing the vial back into his jacket. "The glasses allow them to see through magical guises. It's why I removed my human visage. Seemed rather pointless."

"That's a neat trick," she said grabbing the last remaining pizza menu from the freezer. It was the one place the goblins wouldn't go, she had taken to keeping her valuables in there which definitely included the menu for Mama's Pizza Pie. "Could you make me a pair?"

"You don't need them," he replied, pouring his own glass of wine. "You can see magic just fine on your own."

"Because of you?"

"Because of you," he replied. "Don't you want to know what I told that young man before we left?"

She did, but she hadn't wanted to pry.

"I reminded him that faint heart never won a fair lady. That if he so fancied his friend with the curly hair, he must tell her so that she can decide if she wants him. Otherwise, he'll lose her."

"Is that what that was all about?" she laughed. "I thought he was eyeing you a bit."

Jareth barked out a laugh. "While I certainly am not one to spurn the advances of a handsome young man, I'm afraid my attentions are otherwise occupied."

She paused, before dialling the pizza place. "Yeah actually, about that. Your attentions are singularly occupied right? Like, please don't make me duel for you. I'll do it, but I've never been great with a sword."

Jareth's eyes widened in momentary surprise before settling into an expression of smug satisfaction that Sarah knew all too well.

"There is, nor will there ever be, someone else. Can I ask the same of you? I admit, I've never been fond of sharing."

Sarah snorted at the idea. "Yeah, like I'd have time to go date a regular guy. That'd work a treat, like hey no big deal but I'm also seeing an otherworldly all powerful king who kinda lives in my apartment most of the time, sometimes making me burnt chicken piccata. No babe, you're it I'm afraid."

"Good," he said, and Sarah saw the smile he was trying to hide.

"Oh forget it," she said sighing, tossing the pizza menu back in the freezer. "Lets just go back to yours tonight and you can send some food up from the kitchens. I'm not waiting for pizza, I'm too hungry for that."

"Hungry for food?" he said slyly, sidling over to where she was leaning against the counter, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Don't you dare," she said batting his hand away. "You owe me one dinner Goblin King. After that, then you can dance magic dance your way into my pants."

"Pants magic pants," he said with a wicked glint in his eye.

She walked over to the mirror, such a fixture in her kitchen at this point it almost seemed weird that other people didn't have one in theirs.

"Come on Goblin King. Lead me Underground and feed me your faerie food and then I will yours evermore," she teased.

"You can count on it precious," he joined her at the mirror, kissing her lightly on the lips.

"I'm sure I can, Rocket Man, I'm sure I can," she whispered into his ear. "Now let's go raid the kitchens."

"As you wish," he replied with a chuckle, leading them both backwards through the mirror. Where the dinner was good, but the dessert was even better.

[kyanmaaaa]

aight heres another dream journal

putting under a read more because this is the most vivid dream ive had in yeaars and i like to go in depth

okay so, my family and i are visiting this cool city type area with my grandparents, its a neat place thats hella popping with people, all the tech is a little outdated so its in need of a rehaul but its kinda cool, on the way to a store i have a stranger talk to me abt shoplifting and i watch someone else get chased down and tackled by a group of men in all black

the entire street of people changes path to avoid that, so we my family and i are at this department store now, its also pretty important to mention i can kind of see faces and hear the actual peoples voices in this dream, rare for one person maybe tops but i think even the strangers had faces in this dream, we dont stay in the department store long and leave to get checked in to the place we’re renting

place seems kinda nice! nice good size, little quieter area, but the whole place is overgrown with plants, and i dont mean like vines growing over the building i mean like theres a literal fucking tree sprouted out of end side and growing into the area above the street, now that i think about it there werent any powerlines. bricks of the buidling where just filled in with well developed flora and the like,

top floor of the building is where we stay but we check out the basement area to the place, i think a friend of my moms or maybe my aunt joins us here? the basement is.... not as in as good of shape as the upstairs

which isnt surprising because the only way into the basement was a set of stares and a ladder right next to the building, the stairs were covered in various plant grime like from when u go to a park thats not picked up as much as it should be. the ladder was just, sitting on the other side of the stairs completely loose , i distinctly remember it being a ladder but it was really more of a tube with no top, all sides of it were covered in extremely soft healthy grass, disturbingly bright in comparison to everything else. I took the stairs.

i can really only describe the basement as decrepid, walls have crumbled away to reveal supports that just look like dust and dirt, aunt/mom friend person tries to pull out a shelf and takes an entire section of a wall. she comments on how she couldnt tell that it was suppossed to be a part of the wall in the first place and honestly? i couldnt tell either. it just feels unnatural and dead in there and i decide to leave immediately. I take the ladder on the way back up and feel refreshed

since we’re all set in we head back into town to explore some more, on the way there we see a a couple dance and play groups and stuff like that performing in the streets, most of the members are middle school age with some adults, we stop at a large one featuring a dance troop performing some thing based on disneys pocahontas, with actual native americans playing the different parts but it still reaaaaaaaally doesnt feel right (i comment on this to my brother)

cut forward to the end of one scene and this dude dressed as a raccoon introduces himself as haaving the very important role of allowing people to kick him in the stomach (he has that cartoon bully voice like, that dude from phineas and ferb or campcamp) and then of course im like WHAT THE FUCK and step the fuck in cause i aint abt to watch this stocky ass little kid get his ass beat

This offends raccoon dude and this next part is really fuzzy, probably because too much happened in this part of the dream and ive been up for abt an hour now so memory of the dream is starting to fade, but during this part one of raccoon kids legs gets broken and i get dragged to the top of a giant fucking dam above where the performance is going to continue. Raccoon kid explains that he has obtained special permission to have people kick his neck instead. He demonstrates this with a drawing of a multicolored striped worm? Like, pointing at one stripe and saying kick me here, (this is played for laughs)

So the dam im on towers above every single building ive seen in the entire area, as even the department store was only 2 very short levels tall, and thats when it really clicks that something is absolutely not fucking right with this area, like, with how many people are here how do they fit in such small buildings?? Etc etc cause it just doesnt match

Before i get murdered or something i dunno, dylan steps in from either the troop or somewhere else? And we fucking book it

Dreams going to be out of order now but essentially what happens is us fucking booking it from a bunch of people, and heres just some bullet points before this turns into a fucking essay

Get back to where i stay thinking im safe

Mom stabs out camera in my phone on accident

Not safe there so me and dylan try to find a safe place in various hotels, every single one we check in this building has people fucking or about to fuck so we book right as those group of men in black break in to try and get us, they arent even in suits or anything theyre really obviously supposed to be undercover but theyre all in black so???? Stick out bad

We leave the city and its the next day by now, next segment of dream is us hiding in various patches of grass and bushes while cops on horses run around trying to find us, (several minutes of this is just them continually jumping directly above where we are, the timing feels like it’s supposed to be comedic)im very scared of getting stepped on, legs are starting to hurt from runninng and we’re getting hungry

Next area is also extremely grassy, less yellow toned as the area before, just feels safe here, i take a nap in a concrete thing, its like.. If u took a drawing of a football and raised the outlines of the shape up like walls, it titled down the hill slightly and ended in water, like a really weird version of the things that we have that let our creeks and stuff pass under  roads

Theres two dudes playing football or something nearby, they seem nice and dont bother us except to make sure we’re okay (i dont like jocks so this surprises me)

Im not sure if this next part was real in the dream or not as my dream self was very disoriented at this point, i fed an enderman a marshmellow and almost drown, this is somehow an older womans fault?

So cops catch up again and we waid through a flooded area of something.. Not sure if im underground or in a city its just dark and cold and wet and feels like death, get out of there mercifully quick, need to rest but cant

I lose my shoes at some point during this and comment to dylan that i have to get shoes or im not going to last, legs hurt a lot at this point, running on adrenaline alone

So we go to target!

We get split up

I keep going to the sports section? Somehow manage to blend in the building at different points so i have a bit to rest my legs as four just, normal cashier type guys keep trying to catch me, i kno im going to collapse soon

I put on some shoes and im about to walk out in them calmly as ive realised i blend in at this point, im recognised either by the bright blue shirt im wearing or my face as one of the target workers is a coworker of mine

He comes across as kinda malicious, i dont remember his name atm but hes the guy who thinks its okay to say ret*rded because its uuuuuur fault for getting offended

I get tackled down and give up, legs were going to give out soon anyway, im not sure where dylan is as we got separated ages ago and adreniline kicks back in but im pinned by 4 people so its hopeless

And then i woke up, heart rate was really fast, i thinkk i slept almost exactly 8 hours

so things that stick out the most in this dream, inclusion of real people, the extreme detail and the consistant use of nature as something sinister, like false hope or something