#bounced off a plane and made a SPLAT sound

[robocops-a-christ-allegory]

I say that the vigilantes are always dying but tragically only 3 of them actually died were kind of light on actual horrible vigilante deaths. Dorian did also get a horrible vigilante fate in the form of being arrested. Have not read all of Pat yet Ill let everyone know if she gets a horrible vigilante fate.

[nicsnort]

Trial by Fire (part 2)

A Nightcrawler/Fem!OC romance, drama, and mystery fanfic, with lots of Quicksilver thrown in for fun and even more drama.

Intro (with link to full Ao3 story) First

CWs: violence, battle, murder

Up ahead of Bedelia and Trance, there was gunfire and the sound of a plane. Bedelia’s eyes widened at the sight that greeted her. Few humans had seen what she was seeing and survived. The full Brotherhood of Mutants swept out from a stolen US Army transport plane, taking out the human guards around them with military precision.

She watched as Magneto reached out a hand, and the collars around the small group’s necks snapped off - except hers and Trance’s. “I see they cannot see us.”

“An unfortunate side effect,” the mutant called out to “Sarah” as she raised her own weapon, aiming for a trio of guards who had just turned the corner from the pile of lumber. Just as they raised their weapons, she smirked and pulled the trigger rapidly. The three men cried out and fell over, bullets in various parts of their legs and guts -- Trance wasn’t the best shot. It got the job done, though.

Magneto attempted to remove still-active collars from a few other mutants. They grabbed at their collars in pain as electricity coursed through them. On the tablet, Bedelia saw those mutants appear on the app’s list. Quickly she turned off the collars for all the mutants around her. “Your collars are off,” she shouted to the mutants picking themselves off the ground. 

“You’re quick with technology,” Trance said with relief and amusement. “They were going to waste your talents in the field.” And there was excitement in her voice, laughter even, as she turned back to take in the scene before them. 

Toad bounced around gleefully, dodging bullets and blinding soldiers with his green slime. There was the faint noise of something ripping, screams, and splats. Not too far from “Sarah” and Trance, a set of soldiers had turned on their fellows, no doubt the work of Frost. Perhaps distractingly, there was Mystique, a woman of vivid blue, easily working her way around the men while she directed mutants to the large plane. To the mutants who could fly or the like, she was shouting instructions at them to aid others. And then there was the faintest hint of a silver blur around the area.

“I think,” Trance shouted to Sarah, trying to maintain the mental image of them blending into the background, “we need to get closer to one of the Brotherhood before they can see us.” She spotted a man, one of the leaders, trying to manipulate the remaining collars on his tablet. “Fucker,” she cursed as she shot at him, hitting somewhere in his chest and making him crumble. 

Bedelia quickly realized that she might be going from the frying pan into the fire as she watched the Brotherhood and her current semi-protector kill humans with glee. She had extraction plans for Genosha, but the Brotherhood was likely to instantly kill her if they thought her a threat. Her only recourse was to prove as useful as possible and not draw negative attention. “Yes, that sounds good,” she replied to Trance. “These are just peons. Until the collars are off, they can likely override the tablet commands. They will be inside, in the most secure spot. We need the collars off as soon as possible.”

They were crossing the courtyard carefully when out of nowhere, something slammed into her, knocking her a good ten feet away from Trance from the sheer force of it. Bedelia tumbled and avoided major injury, but she knew she would have a few bruises...and maybe a cracked rib. The phone flew out of her hand, but she managed to keep hold of the tablet.

The very distinct lack of her sudden partner made Trance spin around. “Sarah!” She called out, horrified. Had something taken her out? But how, when her powers were still in use? Who could have seen or sensed them? A glance to the right, where there was a significant dent in the ground where there wasn’t before, told her the answer: Quicksilver. Quicksilver had...run into Sarah. 

“You have to fucking kidding me.” Trance ran back to the woman on the ground, her focus on hiding her once again. 

The man crumbled at the ground, the same one whose face had made intimate contact and left quite the impression with the gravel, groaned as he lay there, stunned momentarily. He blinked, and after a second, the sky stopped spinning. He sat up and shook his head, wincing as his face protested. “What the…” He looked around, reaching up to lightly touch his jaw. Blood was on his fingertips. 

He stood, luckily otherwise fine, and looked around for the thing he tripped on. When he spotted a woman with vivid green hair on the ground, he was about to call out and run over -- she must have just appeared before him before he saw her somehow -- but then she...disappeared. He blinked hard twice. Did he just see that? ‘ Frost, I need you to check on something for me.’

Trance reached Bedelia after a moment and knelt before her, shaking her lightly. “Hey, you up? Can you stand? Can you hear me?” 

Unbeknownst to her, Quicksilver wasn’t the only person who had spotted the green-haired Sarah. The tablet she held had an embedded tracker, just in case, some mutant had ever decided to be ballsy and steal one. The soldiers were tracking them all; one had seen Sarah before the illusion hit her. Still, he raised his weapon and took a guess in firing. The bullet went through Trance’s shoulder, sending her falling to the side with a shout.

She turned, her powers briefly forgotten, as she tried to raise the suddenly heavy weapon. The two exchanged bullets for just a second, hers by pure luck hitting the man’s ribs and his hitting her arm. She dropped the gun and cursed, hiding them again as she tried to think of what to do next, aware of the heavy scent and remnant of blood on the ground. 

Groaning in pain, Bedelia slowly started picking herself off the ground. She threw herself back down as gunfire went over her head. Hearing Trance cry out in pain, Bedelia army-crawled over to her, and once the woman was done firing, she looked her over. Ripping off part of her shirt Bedelia wrapped it around as a tourniquet for the woman’s arm. “The bullet is stuck in your shoulder,” she told her. “It is stopping the blood flow. Try not to move it too much...can you move?”

Grabbing the tablet, Bedelia saw that it was locked. With frustration, she tossed it aside. “They locked me out; unless I get another, I am useless right now.”

Looking up, she saw Scarlet Witch gesturing mutants towards the plane. “I’m gonna get you to the plane.” Helping her up, Bedelia limped - her leg injured from the collision - with Trance towards the plane. Looking around, she was vaguely aware that one of her colored contacts popped out from the force of the impact.

For a moment, Trance couldn’t focus on what Sarah was saying. She was looking right at the woman, and though she saw her face and eyes, she couldn’t register what she saw. Everything sounded faint and rushing like a waterfall. She was close to passing out -- the worst thing to happen in the escape, for if she lost consciousness, who was to say she’d wake up free? 

There was a distinct, unique sound that brought her attention back. It was like reality ripped apart, one she’d recognize later as teleporting nearby. She focused on that and brought herself back to what Sarah was saying. Something about being useless and locked out? She stood and pressed her shirt against her wounded shoulder. “Let’s go.” She grunted as they walked.

They remained hidden, mostly out of safety and caution, but Trance let it slip just a moment as she made the soldiers a bit away to think they saw a large reptile monster standing before them sixty feet in the air. It drew their gunfire away for the moment. When they got closer to the plane, Trance dared to feel a bit of hope. 

It didn’t last long, though. 

Someone must have gotten ahold of a tablet and turned on the shock for whoever had the unfortunate luck to still wear a collar. Trance dropped to the ground with a scream, her powers gone again, the pair visible.

At the sudden scream nearby, Scarlet Witch turned sharply to see two mutants appear out of nowhere, their collars intact and hurting. At the shock of her collar, Bedelia had dropped Trance to clutch at her neck in pain. Fuck she needed another tablet. She needed to shut off the collars.

Across the battlefield, Mystique was doing her job. She took out a man at a control board and saw that it was the override for most of the prison. “Mutants,” she shouted into the speakers. “Now is your chance. The Brotherhood is here to set you free!”

With that, she shut off all the collars across the prison. This was not all mutants, and she knew the Brotherhood would not be able to take them all in their plane. But it was more about causing confusion, to allow those powerful enough to escape and cause the most destruction possible.

Trance and Bedelia's pain ended at the ramp to the military plane the Brotherhood had stolen. Panting with pain, Bedelia lifted Trance as much as possible and began dragging her up the ramp. “Come on, Trance, you’re almost there.”

Every inch of Trance protested the movement. She went along with the pull she felt, wincing and cursing the humans as she did. More mutants joined them on the plane. She looked around, wondering how many they could fit without harm -- the soldiers wouldn’t leave them alone once they were in the air. 

Bedelia assisted Trance into one of the seats against the side of the plane, where soldiers would sit during transport. “Stay there,” she told her. 

God help her. Bedelia was in a lot of pain. But she had a job to do. She needed some photos, or else her story would lend far less weight in the press. The publishers wanted photos. The people needed photos.

This plane must have been stolen as it was ready to take off. Several kits were under the seats. She grabbed one and searched through it hurriedly. “Camera, camera,” she muttered under her breath. And then there, a standard-issue reel film for fieldwork. With a pained laugh, Bedelia limped back to the open back of the jet. They wouldn’t be good photos, but they would be enough.

Meanwhile, the Brotherhood was returning to the plane. Frost had signaled that it was time, and capacity was nearly full. Scarlet Witch, who had been on the lookout to get any mutants close enough and looked strong enough, noticed the green-haired woman leaving and returning with a camera. Her attention focused on her, the behavior not making any sense. 

Bedelia was taking photos of the fight around her by the plane ramp. A guard dead on the ground. Photo. Mutants running from a door. Photo. A dead mutant, their flesh gaunt with hunger, their head blown open. Photo. The guards’ towers. The helicopters coming in. The camera ran out of film, but there was still far more she wanted to preserve. Information, she needed information. Bedelia saw a tablet on the ground, unbroken and unlocked. Running towards it, she was halfway there when a pair of arms grabbed her around the waist, and she was suddenly back on the plane.

“Thought we were grabbing the strong ones,” Quicksilver’s voice rang out sharply when he spotted the injured Trance, who Azazel was buckling in. In his arms was the green-haired woman, the one who had disappeared when he laid eyes on her and who had somehow managed to trip him. His face was still stinging, and he knew he’d have a significant mark or two on him for that. Just at a glance at his outfit, he had grass stains. His sister would get a laugh from this.

Which made it all the better to taunt Azazel. He turned to look at the woman he had brought in just as the plane closed. She was seated now at his insistence -- he’d be damned if he let someone who just disappeared like that go -- and he caught the camera she held in her arms. “What, memories of the place too fond to let go?” He hadn’t fully processed something off about her behavior just yet. Not when they were still leaving, preparing.

While many women, particularly mutants, may have blushed at the thought of the handsome Quicksilver escorting them onto the plane and standing right in front of them, Bedelia did not. Instead, she paled just a bit, realizing how much attention her stunt to get photos had cost her. “Evidence,” she said quietly and truthfully, holding on to the camera tightly.

But her answer seemed to matter very little at the moment. The ramp to the plane was lifting as Azazel teleported back and forth. Grabbing Mystique from inside, ensuring that all Brotherhood members were safe and sound. A few mutants were still running towards the plane, but it was full. Barely space for some to move.

“I told y’all we should have grabbed larger transport,” Blob said.

“Please, you only wanted that to fit your huge ass,” Toad responded with a cruel laugh.

“Taking off,” Mystique’s voice said overhead. “Hold on.”

From outside, Magneto aided the plane in lifting off so a runway would not be needed. The plane rose in the air, rocking slightly as a hail of bullets plinked against the shielded sides. The engines roared to life as Magneto slipped inside the side door. He kept them steady as they shot forward. The planes the Genoshan government sent after them were quickly dispatched by Azazel and Magneto. The battle had been won. The mutants were safe. Bedelia was distinctly not.

Given their limited space on the plane, Frost had to rely on her mental check-ins to inquire about the mutants and list of injuries. Nothing seemed excessively bad, at least nothing that required immediate attention. Quicksilver had a bloody scrap from his temple to his chin on one side and grass stains as well; Toad had gotten a bit beaten up though it wasn’t any more than normal, and the worse injuries amongst the Genosha mutants involved a few bullet wounds, one of which still held the bullet. However, that mutant, the illusionist, wasn’t conscious. All the better. If she hadn’t been busy helping Mystique fly the plane while Azazel and Magneto played a solid defensive, she may have peeked inside their minds for what power each mutant had. But that, like everything else, would happen once they were clear.

Which came sooner than anticipated. Then again, it wasn’t like the Genosha government could afford to send planes out for them consistently or too far, not if they wanted to avoid too much attention. The noise of all the mutants, both in mind and out loud, was too much for her. Frost shifted to her diamond form, sighing in relief for some peace at least. The mutants chattered, free at last, though a few still wore the collars.

When they landed, at last, Quicksilver was the first one out. He watched as everyone filed out, some eagerly and some hesitantly. He hadn’t seen his sister just yet, though Toad had caught sight of him while jumping out and was laying on the ground laughing at him. If it had just been the cut, it was one thing. The grass stains, however, left little to the imagination.

Altogether, there were about twenty-seven mutants they picked up. Most would stay in the camp that the Brotherhood set up for them, and some would leave to enjoy their newfound freedom. It was likely the ‘some’ would be ‘very few’. The Brotherhood had never pulled off a rescue like this before, but they had prepared in advance. Blankets, basic food, medical supplies. They had it all. It was only a shame that no one would know about their good deeds.

____

Next

Fanfic Masterlist

[trueshellz]

Meet Cute Event for @ghost-party

Warnings: clumsy reader, fluffy, minor angst, injury, swearing

Author's Note: Somehow managed to delete this and here I am posting it again. FFS

Summary: When a cute but clumsy neighbour moves in next door, the last thing Getou wants it so be involved with her.

Follow up: Chaos (NSFW)

Getou was woken by the sound of a loud bang and crash, the sound way too loud in the dead of the night rousing him from his sleep. Glaring at the clock through his dark locks, he groaned when it read 1.24am back at him. Rolling out of bed to the window, he looked around to see a car parking up next door. The streetlamps lighting the area, bouncing off the planes of your face as you pulled your suitcases to the front door. He watched in amazement as one rolled down the road, stifling a laughter as he saw you run after it only to fall on your face, dragging it back up the street before half throwing it on the ground.

Suguru would not get involved, no way. He was happy keeping to himself, he didn't need any distractions in his life. Not unless they were easy and willing to spread their legs with no expectation of him calling back. Sex was just sex, no strings attached.

Shaking his head, he flopped back into bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

Loud music blared through the walls, so loud he could feel the bass in his bones. The walls vibrating so much that his wall art was moving with the beat. Putting down his saw and tugging off his goggles, he wiped the sweat and sawdust off his chest with a wet rag before swearing loudly. The noise was bearable at first, but steadily getting louder each passing hour until he couldn't take it anymore.

The walk to the house only increasing the volume as he walked up your stairs he screamed as his foot went through the third one. Tugging it free, again swearing loudly, he knocked on the front door once. Twice. Three times. Peering through the windows was useless since they were covered and when he knocked on those it made no difference. Praying to the heavens, Getou knocked once more loudly before he tried the door, relieved yet annoyed that you had left the door open.

"Hel-"

You were having a great time, wearing your favourite t-shirt, listening to your favourite tunes and painting the walls this gorgeous blue colour. Your hair out of your face with a car headband and paintbrush in your hand while spread the paint over the wall. The ladder wobbling next to you made you jump, yelping a little when it started moving sideways. The paint tin landing with a splat on a person's head.

"-lo?"

Oh no.

Dark hair (now covered in blue paint), low rise jeans barely holding up with a loose belt and heavy boots on his feet. The arms bulging, you could see the veins sticking out and the vague definition of his abs through the makeshift ocean dripping down his chest and stomach.

"Oh shit."

Getou was very much not impressed, not only was the little menace prancing around in short shorts but she had left the door unlocked. Wiping the paint from his face, he looked at you in disdain. Your arms and legs were covered in paint smears, face flushed from the laughter you were holding in.

Wait, what?

"You really think this is funny, little girl?"

You couldn't help it really. Hand covering your mouth as your body shook, eyes filling with tears from doing so. The situation getting so much worse when he started to walk over to you, a yelp from your mouth as you tried to run away but your plan thwarted when he grabbed you and tugged. Except both your legs got tangled in the sheets you had laid down and his arms were slippery from the paint. The combining factors had you both falling onto the ground, his chest pressed to yours as you landed with an oof back first.

Staring up at him, you laughed out loud at the paint dripping onto your body as his hands braced over your head. You were vaguely aware of the pain in your back from landing awkwardly, his eyes now filled with a mixture of anger and mirth as he looked down at you. You could feel the paint squishing between your bodies, your legs tangled in his and-

Oh.

"You keep moving sweetheart, you may not like where this ends up."

Heat bloomed, a full on shudder running through your body at the low pitch of his words. Your hands reaching out to touch his chest before moving back, repeating the motion a few times until he leaned forward enough for your hand to reach. He was so warm, even with the cold paint smearing his skin. The blue looked amazing against the tanned skin of his chest, the way it dripped down his body made him look like a work of art.

"Mind telling me why your door was unlocked and you were prancing around like that where anyone could have grabbed you?

"I-"

"And how are you not deaf with that loud racket? You didn't even hear me come in."

"But-"

"And what the hell is this colour anyway? I looks like a bubblegum machine threw up on me."

You'd had enough.

Shirking down under his arm, you scrambled to stand before kicking him in the butt except you missed and kicked the paint can instead. A loud yelp leaving your mouth as your foot collided with the metal with a thump, hopping up and down as you held it.

"Ow. Ow. Ow owowowowowow!"

"Lemme take a-"

"No! You stay away you big... big... meanie!"

"Wait, lemme-"

"No! You've said enough. I know how you feel. So you can just leave. The doors that way."

Hobbling over even though your toes were killing you, you pulled the door open and pointed at the exit. You could feel your nose tingling, eyes starting to water from the pain but you were determined not to cry in front of him. No way.

Getou knew he had fucked up, he watched as the light in your eyes faded. The giggles die out with each sentence he said, from the way you were holding yourself he could tell you were in pain. Standing up, he walked over to reach for your injured foot, stopping himself when you moved it away.

Dropping his head, he walked to the porch and jumped when the door slammed behind him. Walking down the stairs, swearing again when his foot caught in the stairs.

Karma was a bitch.

Getou was officially confused and worried. For the last 2 days he hadn't seen or heard you, there was no loud thump of music from your house and no banging around. He knew he fucked up, knew he had hurt you and wanted to make it up to you. Maybe offer to help you out with the DIY you were doing or offer to fix your broken porch.

He jumped up when he heard a car outside your apartment, running to the window to see you hobbling out a taxi with a crutch in your hand. And now he felt worse. He watched as you waved goodbye to the driver before you made your way up the stairs. His heart lurched when he realised you would have to go past the broken step.

What if you hurt yourself?

Or broke your foot this time?

Or fell and hit your head?

He sighed a breath once you bypassed the step from hell, door closing as you entered your home. He saw your lights switch on, noticed that you had taken the sheets off the windows allowing him to see into your home. He watched as you moved slowly to the sofa and plopped down, throwing the crutch at the room before facepalming yourself. Getou couldn't help but smile as he watched you pout and crawl over to it before dragging it back.

Before he knew what was happening, he was walking over to your house (vaulting over the porch ledge) and knocking on your door. Mentally slapping himself when he realised how stupid it was, checking the door and once again, finding it open. He watched the emotions flit over your face: confusion, shock, annoyance and then nothing as he walked in and crouched down in front of you.

"Come to yell at me again?"

"No."

"Then why did you come over? Pity? Wanted to watch the new girl flail and hurt herself again?"

"Look, I know you're pissed. You have every right to be, I handled myself badly. I... I wanna apologise. If you'll let me?"

You watched as he checked your foot, the same warmth spanning up your leg. His rough fingers tracing the bandage that you had on there, lifting to put it on his knee while he looked at you. Dark eyes full of worry, hair tied in a bun with a hoodie and jeans. Peering down you could see he wasn't wearing anything under it, the faint spatter of hair on his chest. Abs and pecs outlined, you could see one of his dusky nipples and-

"Should I strip off for you, little menace?"

Huh?

"Sorry, I-"

A smile graced his lips, a sharp contrast to the aloof and stern face you had seen. Your neighbour-

Wait.

"I don't even know your name."

You watched as his eyes widened at your words, a grin covering his face.

"Getou. Suguru Getou."

[ragwitch]

First of all I love your writing so, so much. I hope that every time you have a doubt about your talent you think of the fact that I've reread the mermaid prompt you just wrote like FIVE TIMES and at least three were at work. Second, a prompt? Since you're still open to them maybe, if it tickles your fancy? Darcy/Bucky or Darcy/Steve (or hey I'd take all three): what these hands can do/Mr. or Ms. Fix-It

Thank you so, so, so much for this. It has been a weird week and I’ve been feeling funky through it and seeing this really brightened my mood

This fic went wildly awry from the prompt and I hope you forgive me/enjoy it all the same! (Most of these dates were rough guesses of mine for when things happened so if they aren’t right just blame time travel.)

Paring: Darcy Lewis/James Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers

Rating: G 

“Darcy, you can’t,” Jane whispered, grabbing at her friend’s arm. She paused and then stared in the same direction Darcy’s eyes were fixed on. “Can you?”

“I dunno if I can fix it,” Darcy whispered, still staring at where Steve was ushering his skittish, solemn friend around the camp of hero outcasts Laura Barton had set up with them earlier in the spring. Bucky Barnes looked halfway between some poor abused animal just waiting to be struck, and an amnesiac. And the fact that neither of those were so far from the truth made Darcy’s heart ache.

“I don’t know if it will be perfect,” Darcy said. “But at least I can do something.”

“Is this even safe?” Jane asked.

“Umm no, Janie, it’s not safe,” Darcy said, huffing and finally turning to meet Jane’s eyes. She shrugged. “It’s time travel. I’m probably gonna mess a bunch of stuff up. But, I mean…ehnnnnn…I’ll fix that too. I just…I’m gonna do it, okay baiiiiii.”

Jane gasped and stumbled forward as Darcy vanished out of her hands. She looked up and there was Captain America and The Winter Soldier, gaping at her.

January 8th 1945, on a train over the Danube River

“Bucky, hang on! Bucky! Bucky NOOO!!”

Steve’s hands were grasping at air and there was a chorus of shouting. His own. Bucky’s. Something had gone still and dead in his chest. Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky.

“I just wanna say, I am so super sorry about this.”

He whipped around and there was a small, beautiful woman behind him. She was wearing glasses and odd, soft looking clothes and her hair was whipping in the air. She shrugged softly at him, sweet face scrunched with worry.

“Who-?” he started and then she kicked him, squarely in the gut and he slid out the open door of the train and into the frigid, empty air. A moment later, and what felt like miles of falling, his shield was spinning above him, following closely after.

March 4th 1945, on a plane over the Arctic

“Ahh!! You’re both still here, it worked!!”

Bucky spun and leveled his gun squarely into the face of the small, beautiful girl who was wearing glasses and the ugliest sweater he had ever seen.

“You!” Steve shouted, twisting in his seat as he tried to pilot the quickly failing plane.

“Who is she? Hydra? One of Peggy’s?” Bucky asked as the girl raised her arms sheepishly over her head.

“Ooohhh, you still have your arm!” she cooed, rising up on her tip toes and staring avidly at his left hand.

He shifted to block her view and tried not to find her so adorable or terrifying.

“She pushed me off the train after you,” Steve said.

“Hydra,” Bucky snarled. Adorable or not, he knocked a bullet into place on his gun.

“No, nononono,” she said, taking quick short steps back until he had her pressed between the nose of his weapon and the wall. She stared up at him with huge blue eyes and a trembling smile. “I’m not Hydra, I swear. I only wanted you guys to save each other. I figured you had a better chance of getting free of Hydra if he was with you. So I time traveled. And then, yeah, I pushed Captain America off a train car. But only with the best of intentions.”

His head was spinning. Steve had pulled him out of the water before Hydra arrived at the river. He had reset his arm. He had saved his life. If Steve hadn’t been there…

But he was and she couldn’t just take credit for it like she’d done them both a favor by kicking a man out of a train. Could she?

“Bucky,” Steve murmured as the girl chewed at her lip. “Shit. Bucky there’s nothing I can do. We can’t fly this plane to New York. Everyone there…”

“Aim for the ocean,” the girl said, throwing the words to Steve over Bucky’s shoulder. “That’s is….really everyone’s best option.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. Jesus, she was crazy. And they were crashing. And Steve was on the other side of this cockpit so what the hell was he bothering with her for?

“You looking forward to a long cold death, doll?” He asked, stepping back. Her shoulders eased as he lowered the gun, as if he couldn’t have killed her with a twist of his arm. It was some strange kind of innocence and it made his chest squeeze.

“Oh,” she frowned and shook her head, soft hair flicking over her shoulders. “No, sorry. I’m gonna skip that part.”

And then she just wavered and…vanished.

“Bucky,” Steve said, as the plane started to nose dive.

He blinked at the space where a girl had been a moment ago. A girl Steve had seen too, he wasn’t crazy. And then he turned and went to kiss the love his life before they crashed a plane into the bitter, unforgiving water.

April 3rd 2012, New York City

“Can’t believe we spent seventy years in ice to wake up to this,” Bucky’s voice growled in his ear and then there was a wet splat and a Chitauri warrior who had been sneaking up on Steve’s flank wilted to the ground, bullet hole square between his eyes.

“Thought you liked it exciting,” Steve said and Bucky huffed.

And then Steve heard, fuzzy and distant, “Ohmigod, yay!! Hi! You’re alive.”

“Jesus, it’s her,” Bucky said.

“Grab her!” Steve snapped, slamming his shield against another alien.

He wanted answers. He wanted to know what she knew. Why she had chosen them. Chosen Bucky.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he heard her over Bucky’s comm. “No, now, don’t get fresh, soldier! I just came to check on you. Make sure you made it through the ice!”

“Doll, you got a lotta explaining to do,” Bucky muttered.

She giggled and Steve nearly fell over his own feet at the bright sound, ringing over the roar of violence around him.

“That’s funny, you’re cute like this,” she said.

Oh Christ, they were flirting. Of course they were. He left Bucky alone for all of ten minutes after SHIELD resurrected them and he found a dame to chat up. All Steve managed to feel was light jealousy, that he wasn’t on the roof with them. Watching Bucky at his best kind of sparring. Seeing that pout of the girl’s again. Those hips. Something whizzed past his head and Steve shook the thoughts off, tried to focus on the city falling apart around them.

“I got her- shit! She just…I had her. She’s gone. She disappeared again.”

“Next time,” Steve said. And somehow he felt certain there would be a next time.

March 6th 2014, Washington D.C.

“Stevie, look at this,” Bucky whispered, pulling up the file on the holo-screen, and nudging it closer to Steve who was trying to nap next to him on their couch.

They were catching their first rest in weeks, back at Avengers Tower.

SHIELD had fallen, Hydra hadn’t died despite everything they’d been through. Their secrets were everywhere. And this secret too.

“It’s her,” Steve said, blinking at the picture and sitting up from the cushions. He read her name on the screen. “Darcy Lewis.”

Darcy Lewis. Political Science Degree. Associate of renowned astrophysicist Jane Foster. Affiliated with Thor. Red lips, blue eyes, gap-toothed grin. Prettier than Steve remembered, although he’d never really gotten a good look at her. Not like Bucky who had no qualms about bragging the fact.

“She’s real,” Bucky said, sounding surprised.

“Doesn’t say anything about the…you know…” Steve almost couldn’t say it. It was too ridiculous.

“Time travel,” Bucky said, with that awed and gleeful smile he got anytime someone showed him an especially innovative piece of technology.

Nerd, Steve thought fondly. “We could find her,” he suggested.

Bucky frowned at that, “I dunno, punk. In books…there are always rules. We might find her and she might not know what we’re talking about. If she hasn’t done it yet, we shouldn’t say anything to her about what she will do. She might not do it…But if she didn’t we wouldn’t be here so-”

“Okay,” Steve said, smirking and raising a hand. “I get it.” He didn’t, really. “We wait till next time.”

(There wasn’t a next time. Steve kept waiting through every disaster. Ultron, the Accords, the Avengers scattering apart to avoid detection, Tony playing the game with Ross to cover everyone’s tracks. Nothing. No sign of Darcy Lewis until…)

Now

“You made it!!”

Steve and Bucky had barely stepped foot onto Canadian soil when a small, beautiful, bouncing brunette ran up to them.

“You!” Bucky and Steve shouted together.

“Hi,” she said, and her grin was so wide it made even Bucky’s cheeks hurt. It flickered and then settled. “Umm…you’re not still mad about the train thing, are you?”

Steve stiffened at Bucky’s side and then gathered himself up to straighten and stare down at the girl. “I’m not mad,” he said, sober and even. “Just disappointed.”

Darcy Lewis broke out into cackling laughter. “Lulzzz, Captain America is a troll. What about you, Smooth Operator. You mad at me for not getting to keep that fancy metal arm of yours?”

Bucky blinked and turned to stare at Steve, who shrugged, equally clueless.

Darcy leaned in and raised her hand to the side of her lips to whisper to them. “It was sexy, but I don’t think you liked it very much.”

“I have a lot of questions,” Bucky said, frowning and trying to find some even footing in the conversation.

“Well I’d tell you to buy me dinner first, but we can’t go out to dinner around here,” she started, waving a hand behind her to where familiar faces were starting to appear out of little houses in the old ghost town.

“We’ll make you dinner,” Bucky said. They’d catch the damn animal and cook it if they had to. If it got this strange, lovely girl to sit down with them for a few minutes.

“Oh yeah?” Darcy asked, and there was pink on her cheeks and she started to shift in step, taking quick glances between the both of them.

“Yeah,” Steve said, grinning at Bucky and then at Darcy, that devastating wholesome smile that Bucky knew for a fact hid all sorts of wonderful sins.

“Well alright then,” she said, and the shyness that was starting to build in place of all her bravado had Bucky itching to chase her, tease her. “Janie!” she said brightening and greeting someone behind them.

There was another, smaller, brunette behind them. Jane Foster, Bucky remembered from the files.

“Look,” Darcy said, gesturing to the two men. “I did it! I fixed-it!”

Jane blinked and took a noisy slurp from her coffee mug. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you have my spectrometer?”

“Oh pffft, time travel,” Darcy muttered, flapping her hands at Jane who was already wandering away. She whispered up to Bucky conspiratorially, “You never get any credit for all the cool stuff you do cause nobody remembers how it was before it changed.”

“Tell us about it,” Bucky suggested, sliding a hand behind her shoulder. “We’ll believe you, right punk?”

Steve flanked Darcy on the other side. “Course we will.”

Darcy flustered between them and blushed again and Steve winked at him over the top of her head. “Well, maybe just parts,” she said, sort of leaning back and forth between them. “It’s a sad story, and anyways it’s all this way now.”

[ganglylimbs]

Golden Waste

Summary: Gavin has been trying to right a wrong for centuries now. He's been alone for that long. But one invitation to a mix match crew may change the view he has of the world.

Notes:  The ever popular Midas! Gavin with various demi-god crew members. There's no pairing per say but I did write it with the mindset of pre-freewood, so take that what you will.

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When you kill your daughter, the first thing you do is change your name. Then you get on a boat and leave. You never look back. With your greed, you’ve taken the fall, the drop, and all you can do is hope. Hope that the ground is soft when you reach it.

                                                          ~

Gavin steps into the vault. It is big and cold and dusty. A hole has been blown in one of the sides. He takes his time, searching for safety deposit box 21AA. He hums as he walks. If he felt like it, he would have sung loud and clear, let his voice bounce around the vault and out the hallway. There was no one there, after all, but him. Instead, he listened to the sound of his footsteps clicking against the concrete floors.

21AA looks like the rest of the safety deposit boxes, the only difference being that while the rest have been thrown open, this one is still tightly closed. Gavin stares at it for a long moment. He hates having to do these kinds of things. Hates moving. But it is time.

Los Santos is big, a place where Gavin had felt, once upon a time, that he could get lost in. Thousands of people crammed into one area, a grimy city succumbing to the high crime rates. There isn’t a day that went by that sirens didn’t constantly wail, a police force spread thin as they zip up and down the roads. The buildings are tall and imposing, gray as the sky on most days, the people are suspicious of every little move from fellow citizens. Almost everyone deals in blood of some sort and the whole city is held together by the rich and powerful crime lords that ran everything in the shadows.

Unfortunately for Gavin, it is more profitable for children to learn their lessons on the streets, which makes for poor school attendance. The Los Santos school district can’t afford to keep him working. No one wants to learn from history anymore. But Gavin figures that this is a sign. He’s lived here too long (a hundred years now, far longer than he had dared anywhere else).

This bank had been leveled the other day, a bank robbery gone right, taken down in a blast of explosion. The lobby is destroyed, and everything inside is taken. But 21AA has been left closed. It is mostly undamaged, except for scratches along the lock, where someone had tried to pry it open. At least he knows that his security measure still works. No one but him can get this door open.  

Gavin takes off one of his gloves, letting the golden thing fall to the floor. With only the slightest hesitance, Gavin places his hand on the lock. At his touch, the lock begins to turn gold. It is slow going, smooth lines of gold creeping their way across the steel surface. Gavin steps back and watches. The gold spreads like flowing water, uncontainable as it engulfs the safety deposit box, and then keeps going. From experience, Gavin knows it won’t stop till the vault is covered. If he really wills it, it can spread to the entire building.

But Gavin isn’t here for that. He opens the box. Inside are papers, golden too though they had been gold long before this. Papers Gavin had gathered throughout his lifetime. Passports and identities, a few coins. Some photographs. A map and a letter. Everything that reminds Gavin about the hell he continues to live.

“Man, you’re a sad looking guy.”

Gavin whips around. In the doorway of the vault stands a man done up in a suit. He has shaggy black hair and sleepy brown eyes stare back at him. He is leaning against the vault, relaxed. Behind him stands another man, this one much taller and broader than the first. This one is dressed in leather, his muscular arms are crossed in front of his chest, his blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail. His eyes are two different colors. One green. One blue. While the man in the suit is smiling, the muscular man is scowling, lips pull back to show off his teeth.

Gavin takes a step back, eyes glancing to the side where the gold is still creeping across. Memories play in his head. People screaming, beatings, burning at the stake. No one reacts well when they realize what he can do.

The suited man chuckles. “Relax. I already know.” He tilts his head. “We’ve been watching you.”

Gavin finds his voice. “Well. That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

That gets him another chuckle. The man pushes off the wall, strolling towards Gavin, hands in his pocket. “My name is Geoff. Geoff Ramsey.”

Gavin freezes. Ramsey. Fuck. No meeting with Ramsey ends well for anyone. He swallows.  “Gavin Free.”

Geoff nods. “See. We can be civil.” Gavin isn’t so sure that the gang leader has a civil bone in his body, but he isn’t about to say that. “So. Gavin.” His name is said mockingly. “I have a proposition for you.”

Gavin has a pretty good idea where this is going. “I’ll turn whatever you want to gold, enough to tide you over, but I have a plane to catch tomorrow. And I would really like to be on it.” He pauses for a moment. “Please?” Never hurts to use manners.

Geoff throws his head back, his howling laughter echoing around them. Gavin can hear the soft huffing laugh of the other man too. Gavin shivers at the sound. When Geoff looks at him again, his eyes are green, shinny in the dimming light. “I don’t want your gold. I’m offering you a job, Free.” He smiles wide, sharp teeth bared. “Or should I call you Midas?”

                                                          ~

No one ever thinks about the fall when they wish to fly. You suppose there might be some freedom to it, but all you are aware of is the fear curling in your gut as the wind goes flying past. You can’t stop. Your arms are flailing, your legs are kicking. But there are is no stopping. Not till you go splat.

                                                          ~

Gavin slinks through the penthouse he had been dragged too. A few weeks here and he still doesn’t feel that comfortable. The rest of the gang is nice, he supposes. You know, for a criminal syndicate that thrives on violence and chaos. Jack, the second in command, is friendly. Michael isn’t but is polite enough for a guy that likes to blow up stuff. Jeremy is curious, and Ray stays out of his way. Ryan, the muscular man that held guard at the bank with Geoff, is as silent as ever. It’s Geoff who pushes the interactions.

He doesn’t’ seem to get that a closed door means do not enter. He probably doesn’t as locks don’t seem to deter him. He just pops into Gavin’s room and starts talking.

“Hey, which do you do like more; chocolate or vanilla?”

“I hate both. Get out.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Gold. Obviously.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic.” Geoff pouts at him. “Come on. You’ve been moping around long enough. Get a little lively here.”

Gavin brushes him off and goes to get something to drink. Geoff follows.

“You know, you haven’t taken your gloves off the entire time. Afraid of something?”

“Unless you want your whole place to turn gold, they stay on.”

“That would be pretty cool.”

Gavin doesn’t have an answer for that.

The rest of the gang is in the living room. Their chatter stops when Gavin appears. Gavin stands straight, sets his shoulders back and keeps his chin up. He can feel their eyes on him but does not turn. Geoff is close on his heels.

“How about dinner? I haven’t seen you eat anything since you got here.”

“I don’t eat.” It’s been a long time since he last had a meal-he thinks of the rations he snuck, deep in the trenches as the war went on around him. There’s nothing to food anymore that appeals to him. It is all very hollow.

“You’re kidding.” Geoff frowns at him. “Well, no wonder you’re such a grouch.” He bypasses Gavin, going deeper into the kitchen. Gavin watches, sipping on his cup of water, as Geoff starts to bring out pans. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ryan get up and leave. The others are still staring at him.

“What are you doing?” Gavin asks the room.

“I’m going to cook you a feast”

“Why?” Didn’t Gavin just tell him that he didn’t eat?

“I wouldn’t turn down Geoff’s cooking,” Jeremy advises from the couch. “It’s legendary.”

Gavin frowns at him before turning around. He starts to leave. “It’d be a waste of effort. I’m not eating it.”

Geoff snaps his fingers and Gavin falls to the floor. His legs feel weak, like newborn deer, and Gavin struggles to pick himself up. Geoff passes him, running his hand through Gavin’s hair. “See? You need to eat. Rebuild your strength.” Gavin can hear the smirk in Geoff’s voice.

Gavin scowls after him and refuses the help the others try to give him. He forgets, sometimes that no one in the room is exactly human. He crawls his way to the couch, at the farthest point from the others, in time for Ryan to arrive back with a large piece of meat. He sets it on the counter. Geoff and he set to work on it.

Gavin takes the time to observe the others. Jack has taken the form of a woman today, though they kept the beard of the man they were yesterday. They talk to Ray, who stays slouched and unblinking the entire time. Next to them, Michael and Jeremy talk, their language unknown. It’s deep and forbidding, like thunder made into words. Their voices hold a melody to them though that Gavin finds soothing.

When dinner is ready, and the table set, Gavin finds he can walk again. He does not embarrass himself by trying to run away. Instead, he takes a seat, back straight and chin high. The others are talking, about their day, about the news and Gavin reminds himself that this is the most feared gang in the city, pretending to be domestic. For the most part, he pushes his food around the plate.

It’s pork, cooked so tender, and potatoes. Gavin thinks again of his last meal-the rations, the trenches, how his toes had started to turn black, and the next second when a bomb goes off and for one blissful second he hadn’t existed anymore. He stares at the plate. His mouth remembers the taste of mud and death and blood and the dry hard rations. Hesitating for only a second longer, he takes a bite.

It’s overwhelming at first. His taste buds are screaming and his stomach cramps. But he forces it down and looks up. Meets Geoff’s eye.

Neither of them mentions that by the end, Gavin’s plate is completely clean.

                                                         ~

“Get your coat. You are coming with us.”

Gavin knows an order when he hears one. He doesn’t disobey because he’s pretty sure Michael can break him in half.

They drive to meet Ray and Jeremy, miles outside the city, in an empty field. There are logs piled up, the two dowsing them in gasoline. At Gavin’s questioning look, Michael tells him “We’re going to have a bonfire. Maybe tell ghost stories.”

The fire burns brightly into the night. Michael and Jeremy do most of the talking. It’s clear to Gavin that Ray runs on his own time. Once, Michael had asked him a question and it took the other man five minutes to respond. Michael hadn’t seem put out by it.

Michael and Jeremy tell stories of a wild youth. Their voices take on a particular note, their eyes glaze over. They touch at old scars.

Gavin can’t help but tell a few of his own.

It’s Ray that asks. “I never see you use your gift.”

Gavin startles. Then he scowls. “That’s because it’s not a gift. Only a curse.”

Michael takes over questioning as Ray takes that in. He shrugs. “I guess it depends on how you look at it, yeah?”

Gavin turns his scowl towards him. “How can I look at it any other way?”

“You turn things to gold. What’s not to like about that?”

“I can no longer hold anything in my hand. Anything soft turns hard. Anything hot turns cold. I dare not hold another person. I’m forever stuck looking at gold .” Gavin spits out that last part.

Michael and Jeremy look at each other. “And?” Jeremy asks.

“And what?”

“Well, what are you doing about it?”

Gavin blinks at them. “Doing about it?”

“Yeah. You hate it so much, right? What are doing to get rid of it?”

Gavin takes a moment to think about that. “The Gods placed this curse on me for my greed. If I can prove I have changed, then maybe they will take it away.”

“And how’s that been going for you?”

Gavin draws his knees up to his chest. “Obviously, I haven’t tried hard enough.”

“Or maybe you’re trying too hard.” Jeremy shrugs.

Gavin has no answer to that. He stares into the fire as the two go back to talking. He looks over at Ray, who is staring at him, eyes completely black.

“Is there a difference between a curse and a gift?” He asks.

Gavin turns away from him.

                                                             ~

Jack is standing outside his door. They’re a young child and when Gavin looks closer, he can see wrinkles around their eyes and mouth. There are gray hairs mixed in with the black.

He likes Jack. They don’t push him and can tell when he’s had enough, helping him escape the others when he wants to be alone. They smile at Gavin and wave him out of his room. “The others are out at on deal. Ray went back to his realm to deal with some things. Want to play some games?” They tilt their childlike head and give Gavin a wide smile.

Gavin follows them.

There is a game console set up in the living room, a racing game on the screen. Set around them are chips and soda. “It’ll be like a party.” Jack claps their hands.

Jack absolutely kicks Gavin’s butt at the game. And in the next. And in the next. “Wow, you suck at this.” They comment, after winning once again.

Gavin sighs, placing his controller down. “Yeah. It’s been forever since I played…well any sort of game.”

“What have you been doing all this time?” Jack wonders.

“I haven’t really had time to do anything of that sort,” Gavin said.

“Why?”

“Well, the curse-“

“Has done what?” Jack breaks in. “It turns things you touch to gold. How does that affect your ability to have fun?”

Gavin opens his mouth. Then closes it. He looks down at the controller. “I’ve been busy.” He finally answers.

“Too busy to have fun? What a life that must be.” Jack replies. They sip at some soda, watching Gavin.

Gavin just stares back, hopelessly.

                                                            ~

There are three Ryans that Gavin knows of. One has blue eyes. Blue-eyed Ryan likes to stick close to the crew, looming over them. Watching. When Gavin mentioned it once to Michael, Michael told him it was an old habit of Ryan’s.

“He likes to protect things.”

Green-eyed Ryan is chatty. He talks about computers and likes to drink Diet Coke. He stays a safe distance away from Gavin, talking to him over countertops or with furniture between them.

Red-eye Ryan scares him. He saw red-eye put a bullet between someone’s eyes and stick a knife at the base of someone else’s spine.

Gavin can’t help but watch Ryan switch between the three. Red turns to green then bleeds to blue before turning back to red. They all must get their opinion in.

Ryan also likes to sleep outside Gavin’s door. Gavin had assured him, after the first time, that Gavin wasn’t going anywhere. Ryan had just stared at him with blue eyes. Gavin brings it up with Geoff. Geoff just pats him on the shoulder and tells him that means Ryan likes him.

Ryan makes sure that Gavin continues to eat, shoving plates in his face and not leaving till he feels that Gavin had eaten enough. When he is green-eye Ryan, he will read out loud. His voice is smooth. The books he read are long, things Gavin had never read himself. There had never been enough time.

Gavin doesn’t usually go on heists or deals. It feels wrong. To be spending all this time trying to right a wrong and here he is, stepping in line with criminals. He refuses the gun they try to give the first few times. But after almost being shot, he takes it, promising himself he will never use it unless for self-defense.

But sometimes he does go and just watch them work. Jack is great at getting into places-of course they are, they can be everyone. Jeremy carries a club like it’s the only weapon he needs and really, when he swings and the force of it plows through concrete like butter, it probably is. Michael and Ryan are there, raining down bullets or standing menacingly in the back.

Geoff is the one orchestrating it all.

Once at a deal, when they had been negotiating with a wannabe drug dealer, trying to decide if he would be allowed to sell on their turf, Gavin noted the way that Michael and Ryan would look at Geoff before talking. Little side glances. Geoff had been in the back, lent against a wall, half covered in shadows. He would tilt his head from time to time, some secret code that meant something to the others. His eyes never left the increasingly agitated dealer. Gavin watched him watch the dealer, watched as Geoff pulled his gun before the dealer could reach for his and shot at the man’s hand. He watched the way Geoff just grinned and shrugged, leaving the dealer to Ryan and Michael to do with as they please.

The third time Gavin goes with them to a heist, he stands in the corner and watches as everything goes wrong. The teller presses the button before they can stop her. They can’t get the money fast enough. Cops are busting down the door, civilians are running around, and they can’t get anyone under control.

He watches an officer gun down Jack. He moves forward, ungloves one of his hands and touches the officer’s shoulder. The man had had his back turned towards him, but he spins around upon Gavin’s touch. He brings his gun up and Gavin can see the fear in his eyes. But the gold works faster. It spreads from his shoulder and up his neck. The man screams, dropping his gun in favor of reaching up to scratch at his neck, fingernails scraping across the gold.

Gavin stumbles backward, watching with wide eyes as the gold overtakes the man. A young girl flashes across his vision, pleading for her father to make it stop. His hands are trembling heart pumping. His breath is coming in short.

“Father, father, stop!”

But he can’t stop it. Never could. And it twists his stomach, sends tears to his eyes.

Everything has gone silent. Gavin isn’t sure what was going on with the others, if they have stopped shooting or if everything is still descending into chaos. He doesn’t really care. Just watches the man before him be forever froze in gold.

He reaches down to grab the gun attached to his hip. He makes sure it is loaded. Then he puts it against his head.

Strong arms wrap around him, pinning his arms against his side. He twists his head to look back and meets the red eyes of Ryan. Gavin makes sure to keep his hands as far away from the other man as he can.

“Well, would you look at that.”

Geoff appears before him, a forest green robe replacing the suit he had moments before. He walks up to the now completely golden officer, lightly rubbing his fingers against the man’s shoulder.

Gavin swallows and looks around. Jeremy is beating his club against a figure that probably once was a human. It looks like a fleshy mess, guts strewn around it. There is wind whipping around Michael. Lights are flashing, in storm clouds that surrounded him, mini lightning that strikes out and catches a piece of paper on fire. Another bolt strikes a hole through another officer. He falls to the floor as Michael laughs.

“It’s so pretty.” Gavin’s attention is drawn back to Geoff, who is now laid across the officer’s back. His smirk is wide. “Good job.”

Gavin’s cheeks are wet. “I-I didn’t mean to, I swear. They killed Jack and I reacted without thinking and-“

“And look what you did.” Geoff cuts in. He brushes his hand across the officer’s cheek. “Amazing work. And you were protecting the crew? You did well.”

“He’s dead.”

Geoff shrugs. “He would have died anyway. But you made him beautiful.”

Gavin stares at the officer. His face is frozen in golden horror, mouth opened for a scream that has been cut off. His hands are curled into claws, one wrapped around his throat. “I didn’t want to.”

“Didn’t you? Seemed you were moving with intent. And what does it matter? He killed Jack. Doesn’t he deserve this?”

“You protected the crew.” Ryan’s gruff voice spoke near his ear.

Geoff walks forward. With every step, his appearance changes. Long green robes, with yellow accents flow around him. They reach the floor. A helmet sits on top of his head, with long, curved horns sticking out of it. His eyes are pure green, glowing neon with power. He ruffles Gavin’s hair as he passes by. “You did well.”

Later, Jack reappears at the penthouse. Bloody but alive and the crew celebrates with cookies.

Gavin locks himself in his room.

                                                             ~

You expect to hit the ground. You expect there to be a splat. You expect your brains to be all over the hillside, an explosion of body parts and blood.

You do not expect there to someone to help you slow down. For arms to wrap around you and hold you close and tell you everything will be fine.

With them, you’ll either survive. Build your life back up. Maybe one day, you won’t see your daughter’s face in your dreams, pleading for it to stop.

Or maybe you’ll still go splat. But at least this time, you have friends.

                                                               ~

Gavin is in the process of turning a mug gold when Geoff appears again. Gavin startles, fumbling with the mug before it crashes against the ground. “Get out of my room.” Gavin snarls.

Geoff just smiles and sits on Gavin’s bed. “You called it your room.” He points out.

“So?” Gavin huffs.

“You’re really starting to fit in here,” Geoff says as he lays against the headboard.

Gavin considers him. Then he looks that golden pieces, scattered across the floor. “Do you usually do this? Force other immortals to join your gang?”

“Actually, Jack found me. As did Ray. I like to think they’re the ones to force me into this life.” Geoff tilts his head. “To be fair to them, I was causing mischief before. Now it’s more organized at least.”

Gavin laughs. “So you all, what? Followed each other around like lost puppies.”

“Hey, we’re very dangerous puppies.”.

They stay silent for a moment. Then Gavin asks. “Why are you here?”

“In this room? Because I wanted to let you know dinner is ready.”

“No. Why are you here, on Earth? Instead of your own realm?”

Geoff lets out a sigh. “I don’t think they’ll take me back if I begged them. Not that I would. But still. To them, I represent death and betrayal. Who would want that around?”

Gavin looks at Geoff. Sees a lot of things in those eyes that he’s sure are reflected in his own. Then he grabs a nearby pen, watching in silence as it turns to gold and hands it to Geoff. “Apparently you have a whole crew that wants you around.”

Geoff takes it. He spins it between his fingers. “Yeah, I guess I do. With maybe one more?”

Gavin smiles. “I can’t guarantee that. But I’ll stick around for a while.”

[huffle-dork]

Unreal’s Visit

A response to @englishbreakfastandquills ‘s awesome submission [x] and a gift for her <3  

I was so excited that i actually had a chance to visit Quill. It was still so surreal to me that there were people just across the country that wanted to meet me, a total nerd who just liked to geek over my obsessions. But, i could never say no to new friends.

After a nausea inducing airplane ride, i hop off the metal death trap and head out to find an uber to my destination. As the car pulls up, i open my phone to message Quill that I’ll be there soon. I settle into the seat with heavy eyes. Travelling always made me so sleepy, but it was hard to sleep in the plane with so much turbulence. Surely a quick nap on the ride over wouldn’t hurt. Before i can even argue with myself, my eyes are shutting and the world fades.

Quill is waiting eagerly in the hallway of her building, bouncing on her heels. Miss Huffle should be there any minute! She hears a door open at the end of the hall and she happily turns around and grins.

“Huffle!”

She freezes, as the girl she had only seen through text and pictures lumbers down the hall towards her. But something is wrong. The light that was just fine a second ago is flickering wildly. And Quill swears she hears a wet splosh of something dripping. A fear grips her heart as a small laugh starts to build from Huffle’s throat.

“I͇̐'̃ͅm̓ͅ ͈͋s̲͝o͔͗r̞̿r̨̃ỵ̿,̹̏ ̢͝l̰̉ì͖t͕̀t͙̉l̳̽e͋ͅ ͚̇a̧̕ű̖t͕̀ȟ̞o͕̍ṟ̾.̫͝ ͕͆Ṡ̫ȇ̬ẻ̼ṁ̘s̭̉ ̧̋H̭̀u̫̐f̘̈f̹͛y̖͂ ̖̎f̬͝ẽ̳l̥̋l̹̐ ̙̍ȁ͍s̗͛ḽ̀ȩ͐ȇ̩p̹̍ ̗̔ỏ̖n̘̒ ̡͐y̼͠o̗͝ụ͋.̠͐ ̳̒” Lauren’s usual upbeat, bubbly voice has dropped to a low, smooth tone, mixed with the sounds of static. Quill finds herself pushing up against the wall, unsure on what to make of this. Huffle steps into the light and Quill can see her eyes are truly that of a demon’s. With black whites and bright glowing blue green eyes. Thick black ink leaked out of Huffle’s eyes and dropped to the floor with a small splash. The exposed part of her skin show patches of pixelated ink splotches that flash and shift in multicolor shades.

“Un.. Unreal?”

‘O̜̽h̰̏ ͍̈́g̝̑o͆ͅö̟́d̗̓.̊ͅ ̗̈́Y̮͌ỏ̧u͇̽ ̪̍r̦̀e̞͠m͈̕e͔͋m̺̒b̊͜e̟͋r̛̭ ͓̍ṁ̪e̻̾.̞͆ ̺̏” Unreal says, a sinister smile spreading across her face, “T̯̆h̗̊a͍͠t̗̓'̨̛s͔͆ ̩̀s͓̓ǒͅ ͉͠g͑͜ȏ͜o̱̓d̟͋ ̡̿ẗ̡́ơ̟ ̯̍ẖ͒ḛ̿ä̫ŕ͈.̙̂ ̙͘C̗͊u̮̒z̝͊ ͖͒i̘͝ ̩͛r̖͠ḙ͝m̼̒e̳̓m͈̉b̝̄e̤̔r͇͋ ͚̂y̙͒ô̠u̞̾,͕͗ ̠̚v̼̈é̢r̮͒y͚̏ ̡͋v̑͜i̤̍v̳͝ì̖d̖̒l͙̑y͓͗.͇͗ ̳̎”.

Much too quickly, Unreal moves across the hall and pushes Quill into the wall, holding tightly onto her neck. Quill chokes and grips at Unreal’s hands, trying to pry herself free. Unreal chuckles deep in her throat as she trains her eyes on Quill’s face. Quill shudders as the thick sticky feeling of ink spreads across the skin on her neck. Then suddenly, the room dims and unfocuses before Quill’s eyes. She blinks tiredly, her eyelids heavy but not quite able to shut.

“What…?” she whispers, nausea settling in as the room spins slightly.

Unreal releases her grip and grins wolfishly down at Quill.

“S̟̐h̰͌ĥ̜h̢͂ ̩̅ṡ̖l͈͐ĕ̗e̐͜p̧͒ ̟͗n̬̽ǒ̢w̯͠.̰̂ ̠͑” She commands, and Quill’s head drops as she droops against the wall. Unreal doesn’t let her fall though, and grabs a handful of her hair to keep her up. Quill feels the pain but barely registers it, her body heavy.

“L̤̃e̼̽t̨̃'͕̊s͙̓ ̫̄s̮̽e̗̎ë̡́ ͌͜w͚͠h̨̄ă̩ť͇ ̠̈́ǐ̺ń̫ ̠͐t̛̗ḥ̆ä̙́t̗̽ ̤̒h̼͛ȇ̲a̲͛d̬͝ ̳͋o͕̾f̝̕ ̻́y̯̔o̥͐u̹̓r̙̉s̰̀,̬̅ ̭̾s̪͛h̢̆ä͚l̲͊ḻ̀ ̩́w̞͌é̟?̫͗ ͇͐”

The world flickers before Quill’s eyes and she’s not sure how much time passes before everything just stops. She can lift her head again and when she does, she’s somewhere she doesn’t recognize, no longer in the hall.

Her head is killing her as she pushes against the wall, things still shifting and bending before her eyes, as if she was in some kind of trance. Before her stood Unreal, staring down at her with a amused expression as if she hadn’t moved.

“R͕̈́e̯̅a͙̕d̗̅ỳ͉ ͕͆t̀͜o͈͝ ̜̾b̡̔ë̺́g̪̊i̗̕n̢͝ ͓̀n̡̓ǒ̹w̻̎ M̭̒a̺̅d̲́i̺͌?̥͗?̪͌” She chuckles, bending down to where Quill is struggling to stand up fully.

“What… do you mean…?” Quill whispers, her voice so small. She shivers, wondering how the demon knew her name. Unreal laughs more and snaps her fingers.

“Ỳ̯õ̙ù̗'̠́l͙̀l̞͒ ̳́ṡ͔ḙ̚e̗̔~” Unreal practically sings as she stands then dissappears into the blackness around them. Quill finally stands up fully, trying to process what is around her.

But suddenly her ears are bombarded by a chorus of voices.

“What a sad excuse for an author.”

“You don��t belong here”

“Such a disappointment”

“You left me, you could have helped”

“But you didn’t”

“Coward!”

“Failure!”

“Just a faker”

“Give up, you’ll only fail”

Quill covers her ears against the noise, shutting her eyes and stumbling.

“S-shut up! You’re not real!” She finds herself shouting, trying to drown out the noise. She opens her eyes to see two pairs of feet in front of her and she stumbles back.

Reverse and Huffle, back to normal, stare down at her. But something’s wrong. They don’t look quite right.

“Did you really believe we actually liked your input? Your silly story ideas?” Reverse spits, glaring daggers down at Quill.

“You’re nothing. Nothing but a disappointment who tries to pretend she’s more,” Huffle sneers, looking at Quill like she’s gum on her shoe. Quill’s heart sinks into her stomach and her blood turns cold.

“No- I…! Reverse.. Huffle.. I just…” Quill tries to keep the tears out of  her eyes, feeling shame flood her body.

“Quit pretending you’re something you’re not,” They both seem to say in unison, their voices joining the others as it echoes through the darkness. Quill feels the tears falling down her cheek and as she wipes them away, she sees thick black ink on her fingers.

She recoils back, scrambling across the floor. But she’s halted as she runs into what feels like a metal body behind her. She looks up only to have a screaming and disfigured robotic face lunge at her. Quill screams and tries to get away but at every turn a new face pops into hers, screaming and dripping with blood. Faces from things she recognizes, all those horror games that make her skin crawl. And some of them wear the faces of her friends, Reverse, Huffle, her brother-

“Jack!” Quinn cries, her throat tightening at the sight. As she shouts, suddenly the darkness is broken as a spotlight comes on down the hall. Unreal is there again, holding somebody up by a scruff of hair. A tiny boy who looks like Quill, beaten and bloody and crying.

“M-Madi!” Jack whimpers, the sound breaking Quill’s heart into pieces. She tries to scramble and get over to where they are, but her body is still heavy with whatever Unreal did to her. And it seems that no matter how Quill moves, the two always seem out of her reach.

“M̱̋ŷ̤ ̧̈́m͓̽y̲͝ ͉̉m͕͝á̫d̘̈́ỉ̭,̤̽ ̭͝y̫͛o̩̕ṷ̐ ͓͠c̥̑e͓͌r̹̍t̲̐a̜̋i̲͐n͓͝l̙̐y̿ͅ ͈͊a̡͂r̨̅e̝̎ ̰̏f̡̈́o̠̾n̤͝d̹̽ ͖͊o͉̒f̛̗ ͔̅ẗ̰́h̬̿ī̧s̲̐ ̮̿l̦̽i̛̝t͙̆t̻́l͚̂e͇̎ ̻͌g͚̎u̩̚ỵ̀,̮̐ ̗͂ȃ̪r̻͌ḙ͗n͎͐'̹̚t̼͂ ̰̌y͓̅ǫ̐ũ͉?͍̈ ̲͠” Unreal coos, dragging a inky finger across Jack’s chin, leaving the boy shivering.

“Let him go! Please!” Quill begs, her face wet with tears.

Unreal’s face goes from amused to frighteningly serious as she turns to address Quill.

“T̤̂h͍̉i̤̋s͓̎ ̜̋i͇̿s͕͂ ̖̀w̥͗h͕̚a̫͊t̞̋ ͇͆ý̦o̮̒u̮͝ ͔̏g̜͘e̙̓t͚̍ ͑͜f̛̖o̪͝r̝̿ ̬̒t͎̃h͠ͅḯ͙n̗̚k̺͋i͖̎n̜̈́g͍̀ ͇́y̰̾o̠̎u̢̔ ̭͋h͓́a̦̿ḍ̿ ̧̋ḁ̈́n͕̿y̪͂ ̠́p̗̓o̫̅ẅ͉́ë͍ȓ͉ ̬̚o̝͐v̖̓e̯͝r̛̭ ̿ͅm͉̐e͚͌.̗̄ ͕͌

Unreal drops Jack and he falls so fast towards the ground. But before he hits it, Unreal raises her hand and inky black spikes rise from the ground and burst through Jack’s small body.

Quill wasn’t even sure when she started screaming, but her throat burns as the raw pain escapes her mouth.

“NOOOO!!”

She screams as his bloody body splats to the ground, before it turns black and dissolves into ink. But she hardly notices, her mind is cracking, and she can’t breathe. She gasps as the room starts to dim again. But before she faints, she sees a couple pitch black drops fall from her face to the ground and she feels the sickly thickness of ink covering her face. Then she blacks out.

Unreal smirks as she watches Quill fall over as the trance ends. Watching her flail and scream had been such a riot. Her footsteps click on the stone floor of the hallway as she makes her way to the fallen body of the little author. Quill has fallen with her eyes opened wide, ink leaking down her face from her eyes. Unreal chuckles as she leans down by Quill and moves a lock of her hair from her face.

“W̚͜ḧ̰a̧̍ṭ͆ ͕̏a̘̓ņ̈́ ̺́ȧ̰m͚͐ú̢s̭͗i͓̐ṋ̐g̝͝ ̥̈r͇̈́i̫̕d̖̀e̻̽,͓̎ ̯̄l̮̃i̽ͅt̪̆t̗͐l͉̀e̗̊ ͎̌a̯̍u̥͝t̖͂h̳͠ŏ̼ȓ̢.̻̏ ̥̐Ṇ̂o̺̾w͍̌ ͙̾l͖̀e̬͌ţ̒'̤̒s̠̆ ͉̓s̥͐e̘̽ë̘́ ̳̎w̫͊h̠͌a̩͒t͍̉ ̙̈́ğ͚ȋ̩f͉͂t̠̋ ̫̽y͉͝ǒ͎ǘͅ'̥̓v̡̅e̝̕ ̬̌l̝̉e̩̓f͔̚t̳͂ ̙̏f͖̏ó͍r̙͗ ̼̍m̥͊ẻ͜.̨̒” Unreal lays a hand on Quill’s head for a moment before pulling it up slowly. From her fingertips a couple white strings of glowing light spring from Quill’s head. Unreal spun the strings around her fingers, pulling until a tiny ball of light emerged. Unreal grabbed the blinking orb and smiled as she held it close to her face.

“Ḿ̺m̺̚,͉̓ ͎̀h́͜a̤̎r̪̅d͓̓l͍̅y̤͂ ͍͐w̙̅o͇͝r̥͗t̏ͅḫ̒ ͙̓t̪̀h̦͝e̝͌ ̹̍ť̫r̻̚ö̱́u͎̇b̥͠l̪͘e̟̅.͎̉ ̩͑B̢̚ú͙t̩̃ ̧̓i̪͝ṭ̏'̧͘l̡̑l͎̚ ͈͐d̪̎ő̫.͔̓ ̭̿” Unreal grasps the tiny idea and wraps it in thick black ink before letting the ink dissolve into the air. She stands up and eyes Quill’s body once again.

“H̱̐ǭp̺͌e̢̊ ̦̚y͓͆o͍͆ů͈ ͔͐e̹͒n̜̄j̥̿ǫ̿y̗̕ḛ͋d̠̅ ̥͒o̤̾ũ͕r̘̓ ͚̒v̹̿i̛̤s̼͘ị̄t͖̄,̫̓ ̰̏M͔̽a͇͊d̟̎i͇͗~̯̀” Unreal laughs madly as she grabs Lauren’s things from the edge of the hallway and makes her way out.

[eirianerisdar]

Qui-Gon and Tahl Domestic AU

As @qwertyuiop678​ and I discussed over chat, this is a snapshot into the lives of stay-at-home celebrity cook Qui-Gon Jinn and archival professor Tahl Uvain (She didn’t change her name after marriage, because I’m Chinese and Chinese women when married get referred to as Mrs whatever like Wong-tai, for example, but also don’t change their last names officially). Of course, there’s also their adopted son, little two-year-old Obi-Wan. None of them are Force-sensitive, or Force-sensitivity does not exist in this version of the SW universe.

Pies, Books, and Swords

Qui-Gon Jinn has made quite a good name for himself, as far as holonet cooking shows go.

Jinn’s Den of Dessert Djinns (the producer had insisted on the name, much to Qui-Gon’s embarrassment) features a “ruggedly handsome, yet quietly serious” (according to several raving reviews) father-of-one who, once a week, is broadcast live from his family kitchen as he makes various dishes. Contrary to what the show’s name suggests, Qui-Gon’s works actually vary between dessert, confectionery, and savoury courses.

Viewership had been climbing steadily, until one particular incident rockets the entire family very firmly into galaxy-wide stardom.

In retrospect, Qui-Gon does not understand how it didn’t happen sooner.

Filming day in the Jinn-Uvain household is always slightly more hectic than usual; Tahl fairly sprints out of the house after pressing her lips to the crown of Obi-Wan’s head (and getting a peck on the cheek from Qui-Gon, too). When the front door slams shut after her coat-tails, Qui-Gon puts on one of his fancier, stain-resistant shirts, rolls up his sleeves slightly, and moves Obi-Wan into a high chair.

“Yo-yo,” Obi-Wan says, succinctly.

An entire year of raising this little hellion has gifted Qui-Gon with the ability to understand baby babble, and so he barely pauses between tying the strings of his apron and reaching into the conservation unit for yoghurt.

“Thank dada,” Obi-Wan lisps happily as he tucks in.

The doorbell rings. Qui-Gon runs an affectionate hand over Obi-Wan’s red-gold hair before running to answer it.

Set-up is routine, and the holocam crew comfortable friends, after two years of working together; Obi-Wan is kept amused both by his yoghurt and the passing grins of crewmembers.

Lighting is adjusted, Qui-Gon’s outfit is given a once-over, and the producer counts down to live broadcast; Qui-Gon smiles and begins to speak to the holocam. A crewmember is dispatched into a side-room to watch Obi-Wan.

Calamity strikes when Qui-Gon begins to roll out the first batch of dough for his muja pie base.

The more sharp-eyed viewers of the show might notice that a little hand slips up over the edge of the low sideboard, snatching away a ripe muja-slice. Then another. And another.

Qui-Gon, occupied with stretching out the dough, does not see the rapid depletion of the most important ingredient in his muja pie until he finishes laying a baking-tin with dough, and reaches for the first slice of fruit.

His hand grasps air.

Qui-Gon glances down and to his right, finds a sideboard devoid of fruit - and a toddler crouching down behind it, with juice-stained lips and eyes wide with innocence.

Father and son stare at each other across this diagonal plane of silent thought: I-didn’-do-nothing-dada and Kid-I’ve-literally-caught-you-red-handed.

“My apologies if you’re watching this,” Qui-Gon says suddenly, causing the producer to sit forward. “But I’m afraid we’re going to have to make wasaka-berry pie instead of muja today. My stock of muja appears to have been stolen.”

With these words, he bends down out of the shot for a moment and comes up with an armful of toddler.

Obi-Wan squirms a bit as he tries to hide his juice-streaked hands behind his back, but is impeded by his father’s hands under his armpits. He settles with pouting.

The crew, being professionals, hide their awwws behind their sleeves. The producer starts, and then glances slit-eyed to the right, where a panicked crew-member stumbles in from the hallway, obviously having just discovered he has misplaced the child he was supposed to be watching.

“Say hello, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon says, deadpan. “You’re live in front of the galaxy now. You should at least introduce yourself.”

Obi-Wan waves obligingly, staring perceptively at the camera that swivels to focus on him.

“Hello,” he says, grinning hesitantly. It is nevertheless enough to make his dimples visible.

The producer makes a sound somewhat like an asphyxiating loth-cat. It is unclear whether she does so because of the sheer adorableness, or because her prospects of career advancement may now be severely impaired.

Undaunted, Qui-Gon moves on with the show without even a hitch, fishing a carton of wasaka-beries out of the conservator and setting Obi-Wan to mashing them. Raising is voice over the splat-splat of overenthusiastic toddler fists meeting plastiweave bag, Qui-Gon begins to calmly explain the changes to the muja pie recipe now that the main ingredient is different.

“Wasaka-berries are sweeter than muja, so I would recommend using less-”

SPLAT

“-less sweetener, or perhaps none at all. If you have a-”

SPLAT

“-sweet tooth - Not so loudly, Obi-Wan - then perhaps Chandrillan cane-sugar would be a good choice.”

“Dada. Done.”

“Thank you, Obi-Wan. You may take the rest for yourself.”

“Yay!”

Obi-Wan accepts the small serving of fruit that remains, and accepts being lifted off the tabletop and placed back on the floor with good grace.

A little “Bye-bye, dada,” rises into the air from the general vicinity of Qui-Gon’s right leg, and then the pat-pat of small feet passes out of the range of the audio-recording devices.

As Qui-Gon continues, seemingly not noticing the small purple handprints that now dot the front of his apron, someone taps the producer on the shoulder.

“What is it?” the producer groans quietly, taking a sip of Qui-Gon’s Sapir blend from the mug beside her chair.

“Our viewer numbers have doubled in the last ten minutes.”

“What?”

Qui-Gon is a picture of calm when the producer calls him and asks if he would be amiable to Obi-Wan appearing next week.  He simply states that he should need to discuss this with his wife.

Tahl returns from a long day at the archives to find her husband bouncing Obi-Wan up and down on his lap as he reviews the draft of his latest cookbook.

“Mama!” Obi-Wan yells as he slips out of his father’s grasp, tumbles across the floor, and careens over to her.

She snatches him up. “Hello, my darling.”

“I made pie!”

“You did? After papa’s show?”

“No.”

“What?” Tahl turns to Qui-Gon, who is wearing a somewhat sheepish expression. She tilts her head at him. “Qui, please don’t tell me that this is why Plo from down the street told me on my way back from the hover-bus stop that our little boy must be quite a handful.”

Qui-Gon winces. “He stole all the muja live on galactic holonet - I had to include him on the show. It saved what would have been a disaster difficult to explain.”

Tahl stares at him for a moment.

“On the upside, our producer called and said he wants to make this a permanent arrangement. Apparently our viewership numbers exploded.”

Obi-Wan tugs on Tahl’s hair impatiently.

Tahl raises an eyebrow at Qui-Gon as she turns to go. “We’re talking about this later.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it.”

“Yes, dear,” Qui-Gon says, sliding off his chair to kiss her on the forehead.

Tucked into bed with a giant hardcover print book taller than him, Obi-Wan giggles as his mother teaches him to read. Print books are rare - datapads and holo-volumes have largely replaced the ancient paper of old, but Tahl firmly believes in the magic of archived works.

“Why do you like this story so much, Obi?” Tahl asks as Obi-Wan eagerly turns the pages.

“Bright-sword!”

“That is the name of the book,” Tahl smiles, running a hand through Obi-Wan’s hair. “But the hero doesn’t actually fight with it, remember? He talks his way into peace.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan insists, focusing on the pictures. “Like dada.”

Tahl’s hand pauses in his hair.

Obi-Wan giggles as his mother suddenly reaches down and pulls him into a hug.

“Yes,” Tahl whispers into Obi-Wan’s little locks. “Just like your father.”

In the hallway, Qui-Gon tucks his apron under his arm, and smiles.

“Qui-Gon,” Tahl says, later, after Obi-Wan has been tucked in - “If Obi-Wan is on the show, I reserve the right to appear on my days off, too.”

Qui-Gon looks at her fondly. “We’ll need a new name for the show, then.”

“Uvain-Jinn’s comedy of cooking horrors.”

“No. I’m the cook, my name comes first.”

“Hey!”

END

Plotless little AU fic that took waaay too long to finish (sorry qwerty, you know what happened) But here we are! Feel free to reblog as you wish.

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