#dented one (1) metal light hood

[other-peoples-coats]

ok so we all agree that jedi sports are just like, ludicrously insane, right?

like jedi baseball is really only technically sort of like baseball, if you squint very hard and are also very drunk. the ball is a stunner shot, the bat is your lightsaber, and it's less 'catching to throw out' and more 'deflecting it directly at the runner'.

Jedi soccer has a special pitch with re-inforced walls and ceiling because the last time a ball escaped the pitch it went through three buildings.

the less said about jedi track and field events, the better.

[stareaterau]

Chapter 1 episode 4

←Previous episode

Next episode→ soon

Index

---

Time for some new characters perhaps?

CW: description of pain

Read below↓

Or AO3

Etho is relieved to finally have a moment of peace from that incessant beeping. It’s been driving him insane from the moment he woke up, surrounded by heaps of twisted and mangled space debris. Impact crates sat all around him, filled in and covered with the – barely recognisable – remains of old battleships. With some smug satisfaction, he’d spotted what was left of countless Vindicator insignias. They were marked on their dented hulls and scattered supply crates, their paint scraped away over time. The beeping had been increasing steadily, as Etho traipsed across the sand-swept wreckage, reverberating around his head in a way that made him worried that he’d suddenly developed a strange form of tinnitus… not that he hadn’t already been developing it for years thanks to his constant exposure to loud machinery. But now – as he approaches the rusting wreckage of a massive spaceship that rests, standing like a beacon, nestled atop a mound of its mangled brethren, its form surprisingly intact save for the side of its hull, the once sturdy metal gored open – the silence is deafening. After having grown accustomed to the constant beeps, the absence of noise is almost overwhelming.

Etho hoists himself up and over the mangled opening in the ship, grateful that his gloves prove to be enough protection against the likely scalding metal. He breathes a sigh of relief as his heavy boots thud onto the dusty metal flooring inside the wreckage. The cooler air hitting him immediately. The insulated walls and dim metal halls of the ship create a welcome reprieve after the blazing heat of the desert outside. Etho is not dressed for this sun, since the dark fabric and fluffy interior of his jacket are more suitable for the chill of space. Maybe if he’d known that he’d find himself waking up in a strange desert, he’d have actually dressed for the occasion. He pulls his hood down, shaking the sand from his clothes, finally protected from the wind as it peppers the landscape outside with sand.

Etho stretches, his long limbs cracking. With a sigh, he looks around the room he climbed into. It looks like some kind of barrack. Uncomfortable uniform beds line the walls and old, musty bedding lays strewn about the room. He grimaces. Those blankets look scratchy as hell. Despite his initial disgust, Etho would probably be tempted to pick one of the beds and not get up for days if they weren’t also covered in sand that had blown in through the fissures in the ship's wall caused by its crash landing, years ago. He assumes it was years ago, at least, considering the rust and the sand that has made itself home in every possible corner.

He walks out into the corridor, brightened by long strips of broken lights stretching down the hall in either direction. Tangled and fraying wiring hangs down from the ceiling, the panelling that was meant to hide them likely thrown and forgotten somewhere during the ship's rough descent. A ship like this should have plenty of rooms that could prove far more useful than a dusty dorm room. If he’s lucky it may even have a stocked storage room. The ship's crew certainly wouldn’t have run out of rations before their unexpected demise.

Etho turns right, padding down the hallway, periodically peering through the occasional unlocked door as he passes by, each one leading into increasingly dark and dingy rooms.The corridor leads him deeper into the belly of the ship, further away from the blazing sun’s reach. The interiors sit dusty, undisturbed and utterly useless. Not a single one appears to contain anything of use to Etho unless he wants to try and sleep on some of the sandiest beds he’s ever seen. He just woke up not even an hour ago, sleeping right now might be a bit overkill… and not all that useful. He needs supplies, food, anything. A weapon of some sort would be nice too, he doesn’t trust this dump to be as empty and dead as it looks on the surface. A planet with breathable air like this would surely have some inhabitants, no matter how harsh the living conditions. Hell, a blaze would probably thrive in this heat. Their dense fur and high body temperature would protect them from the worst the desert has to offer.

The thumps of heavy boots against the grated metal echo down the corridor. Etho’s careful steps do little to lessen the noise as the rusted hull groans in response to his presence. His tail drags behind him, through the sand and dust that litters the hall, pale white scales and grey-tinged fur drawing lines on the ground as he roams the winding halls.

He comes up to a split in the path… or well, it’s not much of a split. The corridor that should veer off to the right comes to a quick end, its flooring having collapsed in on itself, broken pipes and tangled wires hanging down from the ceiling. The floor is caved in on itself, twisted metal sloping down into the pitch-black pit that is the lower floors. Etho cringes at the creaking sound of metal that echos out of the hole. He doesn’t want to think about the strain the weight of the crashed vessel is causing on its fractured hull. The last thing he wants is to be trapped in this hunk of junk if its supports give way.

Deciding he’d rather not risk catching himself on the jagged metal… or falling void-knows how far down the dark pit. Etho, instead, turns left and ventures down the more intact corridor. At least there’s far less sand this way. Although Etho suspects the damage has already been done, he’ll be finding those persistent grains for months. Years, even. The lights above flicker sporadically – or at least the few that managed to survive the years in one piece – combating the increasing darkness with their cold, dim fluorescence.

Etho pauses, reaching up to flick one of the long bulbs as it fades out, causing it to sputter back to life for just a moment before dying out once again. Etho realises with a start that the ship must still have a functioning power source somewhere, Etho realises. It might not have much life left in it if these half-dead lights are anything to go off, but it’s better than nothing. This ship might still have some useful parts lying around. Etho could try fashioning… something from the scraps. Something that could help him get off this dead planet, or at least send some kind of distress signal, with the hopes that someone, anyone is close enough to hear it.

He’ll take anything that might prove useful while he figures out where he is. It’s better than his current lack of possessions. He’d had nothing on him when he woke up, which, concerningly, was not how he’d been before. Etho never left home without at least a knife or two, preferably a gun too. He’s not stupid. The last thing he wants is to be cornered by some Vindicator grunt without any means of defending himself. He’d never hear the end of it.

But, for now, it’ll probably just be nice to have shelter with some shoddy lights. While sleeping under the stars doesn’t sound too unpleasant, sleeping on trash in a sandstorm definitely does.

Etho picks up his pace. He can at least assess the damage to the ship's redstone if he can find the engine room. Until he knows what supplies he’s working with he can’t properly plan his next move. The thought makes him shudder. Being stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no clue where he is, no memory of how he got here, and no plan sounds like, quite possibly, the worst combination. Hell, graveyard planets aren’t typically in inhabited solar systems…if he’s really that far from civilisation, he’s fucked. The sooner he can figure out a plan of action the better.

Rounding a corner, the corridor quickly comes to an end. Standing in front of him is exactly what he had been hoping for. Another doorway the door itself, thankfully, resting mostly open. Albeit disconnected from the track that would usually enable its closure. Beyond its frame, flickering lights illuminate a room lined with control panels and overturned chairs. Lights pulse faintly behind dusty buttons and screens and wires stretch across the floor, twisting over and tangling with one another. He’s found the cockpit.

Etho grins behind his mask, the slight crinkle of his eyes the only sliver of emotion displayed for the lonely wreck. He cracks his knuckles before making his way over to the closest control panel.

He pauses for a moment, eyes narrowed in thought and hands hovering over the rusted controls. He never actually checked if he’s truly alone in this place. Glancing around the room again shows no more signs of life than his first inspection. He hadn’t noticed footprints at any point in his journey so far. Void knows there’s enough sand everywhere for them to show up. He’s well and truly alone.

Giving in to curiosity, he cracks open the console, prying off the loose screen, exposing the guts of the ship inside. Looking through the rusty parts, he investigates the state they’re in, hoping that any of the individual parts can prove useful. Who knows, maybe he can get the engine up and running and get out of here… it doesn’t look like it though. Holding up a particularly rusted part, Etho scowls, tossing it onto the metal flooring behind him with a loud clang. He continues to rummage through the mechanisms of the ship, anything unusable – which proves to be most of it – getting tossed, carelessly to the side with a loud clunk.

“...Oh, what the heck?”

Etho jolts at the voice behind him. Dropping the rusted redstone comparator he had been holding, in surprise. Spinning on his heels, Etho’s eyes land on a figure standing in the doorway, their face scrunched up in a frustrated scowl. They look like some sort of glare-blaze hybrid, judging by the green feathers scattering the right side of their face and the brown markings that tint their brow and the tips of their ears. The tips of their fingers are coated in that same brown, the point where the markings merge back into their paler skin tone hidden behind a pair of padded fingerless gloves. Etho notes, however, the figure's distinct lack of a tail, his own flicking to the side subconsciously. They’re dressed in a cuffed t-shirt and baggy, padded trousers. A singular grey knee pad is strapped to their right leg, though how much that would help them if they fell onto their other knee Etho is not sure. Their deep, dark eyes lock onto Etho. Huge, pure-black pupils boaring into him.

“Uhhh-” Etho stares, dumbstruck at his unexpected visitor. He'd been so sure that he was alone here. The metal dunes outside had betrayed no signs of life. All the ships look like they’d crashed into the planet, their hulls cracked and bent from the impact. It’s unlikely that any of their passengers survived.

“Who the hell are you?” The glare furrows his brow further, pointing an accusatory finger towards Etho. “What are you doing to my ship?”

“...Your ship?”

The stranger scoffs, seemingly offended at the insinuation that this mangled spaceship isn’t clearly his. “Yes, my ship! I found it first!”

Etho rolls his eyes at the childish nature of the argument, there’s no way of knowing who had actually seen it first. It's not exactly hard to spot. The massive ship stands like a beacon atop the mounds of twisted metal, it could probably be seen for miles across the ship graveyard.

“I saw it the second I woke up here,” Etho counters, throwing out a bit more information than he’d usually feel comfortable with, testing the glare's response. They don’t react.

Their brows remain just as furrowed, eyes just as piercing. A couple of seconds pass before their mouth contorts into an annoyed snarl. A small scar cuts across their lip, a gap in their teeth replacing the fang that should rest just behind it… Huh.

Etho runs a hand down his mask. He hadn’t realised that the stranger isn’t wearing one, nor a helmet. The air here must be safe to breathe. He decides against removing it for now, though. Maybe they just hadn’t dropped dead yet.

“Yeah, me too! You’re not special!” The other replies, crossing his arms. Etho frowns, the two sides of his split jaw grinding together slightly, behind his mask, in thought. So they had woken up here too, he concludes. They’re probably just as in the dark as he is, lashing out due to the fear of being lost on some graveyard planet with no idea how they got here… Or maybe they’re just like this.

“...I’m the one in the cockpit though.”

“You’re tearing the cockpit apart!” The stranger complains, striding over to a broken comparator, one of the many engine components Etho had scattered across the cockpit floor. They pick it up and twirl it in their hand, glowering at the state of it. Rust rubbing off the metal, staining their fingertips a ruddy orange.

Their dark eyes turn back to Etho, scrutinising him with their gaze. A mischievous glint crosses their face. They give the engine piece one last spin in their hand, before tossing it right at Etho. Hitting him square in the shoulder, the rusted metal cracking as it clatters back onto the ground by Etho's feet. “Ow- Thanks…” he murmurs

“It’s not gonna fly anyway,” he adds, brushing away a spot of rust from where the metal had bounced off his padded jacket.

“I can make it work!”

“Can you?” Etho raises a brow, he’s sceptical anyone would be able to fix a ship in this much disrepair, especially not this guy. They look like they’re more likely to blow up a ship than they are to fix one. The only thing this wreck is good for is shelter and spare parts.

“YES!” the stranger argues, their face contorted into an offended scoff. “GET OUT! FIND YOUR OWN SHIP!”

Etho stands up from where he knelt, hunched over the control panel. He wipes his hands on his trousers, leaving a smear of oil and rust behind on the green fabric. "…Fine, ‘s nothin’ useful here anyway. It’s a rusty mess.”

That only seems to rile the glare up further. Their green feathers bristle, standing on end, and a slight puff of smoke spills from their mouth as they huff angrily.

“IT’S NOT A RUSTY MESS! IT’S MY SHIP!”

Etho, paying their outburst no mind, strides over to where the glare still stands, blocking the doorway with their broad frame. Etho tilts his head, as he looks them up and down, sizing up the shorter, angrier man. They just glare back up at him in response. He snorts.

“Mhm, sure,” Etho finally responds, a sarcastic drawl to his voice. He pushes past them, knocking the stranger out of the way with his shoulder. They stumble to the side, letting out an offended squawk as Etho heads back down the dark corridor of the ship. He smirks at their reaction. Void that guy is full of themself.

If they want this ship so bad they can have it, it's not worth fighting over.

Maybe if he’s quick, Etho can find another, mostly, intact ship to seek shelter in before the sun sets. Preferably one where he won’t have to share with some obnoxious blaze-glare hybrid.

The gash in the ship wall he had climbed through proves easy to find again, thanks to the way it tears through room after room. He picks a door and makes his way through what looks like the remains of a small botany nursery. The plants that had once grown here would’ve helped to generate for the ship's crew back when it was still being maintained, but now it sits in disrepair. Its foliage withered and dry from neglect, the glass of their terrariums shattered and scattered across the ground. The only sign of life this room has to offer now comes in the form of a tiny, sandy rat, no bigger than Etho’s palm, sitting in a dusty plant pot. Though, it seems mostly unbothered by the enderian's sudden appearance, the shrivelled stick of a plant that it's digging its teeth into is clearly more important. Beady eyes follow as he picks his way through the overturned interior, careful to avoid the sharp shards of glass, even if it’s unlikely it would be able to puncture his boot's thick soles.

He doesn’t even need to climb over the jagged metal this time, the whole exterior wall is ripped out from top to bottom. The gnarled, torn edges of the floor and remaining walls the only evidence such a wall ever existed in the first place. Instead, he lowers himself and jumps down, landing with a clatter on the scrap metal ground outside.

The sun still beats down on the metal mounds surrounding him, the old wrecks sizzling from the heat. The topography shifts and ripples behind the torrid air. Etho blinks and holds his hand up to shelter his eyes as the metallic landscape reflects the bright light at him from every direction. He had not missed this, the ship had been stuffy, but it was at least sheltered from the worst of the heat. Etho had better find another shelter soon, he decides. Especially as the sun has now dipped far lower in the sky than it was before. He’d rather not be wandering the wasteland at night, at least not until he can assess how safe this planet really is.

Etho readjusts his mask – breathing in dust cloud after dust cloud probably won’t be great for his lungs – before beginning his descent down the mound. His pace is slow and careful as the scrap below his feet shifts and dislodges from its capricious position. Each step sends small waves of metal debris scattering down the hill ahead of him. It’s not the quietest of descents, but Etho can’t bring it in himself to care. Not when he’s already met and fallen out with, who is likely, the only person for miles.

He takes a deep breath before continuing.

The whistle of wind rushing through the trash peaks almost disguises a building ringing in his ears, the constant note mostly fading out into the background when he pays it no heed. Shaking his head, Etho groans. He almost misses the beeping.

He really should look into what had caused that… as soon as he finds himself somewhere safe to settle for the night. It’s far too risky to stay out in the open with the sun rapidly sinking in the sky. Not while he doesn’t know what kinds of wildlife might call this place home, and going back to the security of that ship is clearly a no-go.

The hairs on the back of his on the back of his neck stand up as a staticky sensation dances across his skin. Etho furrows his brow. That’s just another reason to find shelter. The last thing he wants is to get caught out in a thunderstorm. But, as he glances at the vast, cloudless sky, it holds no sign of a coming storm

Etho reaches the bottom of the metal mound, luckily only almost losing his footing once or twice. The moment his boot meets the sandy ground the ringing solidifies into something real, something vicious and sharp. He stumbles. It feels like hands are reaching into the deepest parts of his soul and wrapping their hands around his heart.

With another step electricity surges through his body. Etho buckles over, every nerve set alight in white-hot pain. A hook is driven through his heart. Etho bites his tongue. The hands pull.

His vision turns white.

Then red.

Etho keels over. His mind struggles for coherency as he clutches his chest.

He rips his mask off, struggling for breath as a haze settles over the world. Thick and suffocating. Shrouding the landscape around him until all he can see is his own shaking hands and the shipwreck, looming above him, mockingly.

A desperate resolve washes over him.

He needs to get back. It hurts to breathe and he needs to get back.

The ship is safe. It’s walls and shelter and shade and it’s safe. And there is absolutely room for two. Despite that glare’s adamant claims.

They don't need all that space.

Etho found it too.

They can share.

It’s massive.

He can easily stay there without even running into them once.

And it hurts.

And it hurts.

And he can't think.

And the world is spinning.

And he's clambering back over the gnarled ship wall. His clothes snagging on the jagged edge. The thud of his knees, connecting hard with the floor, echoing through his bones.

Relief washes over him. The strain on his heart easing slowly as he staggers back into the welcoming shade. With a huff, he slumps down in the ship's corridor as colours aside from the ruddy hue bleed back into the world.

Etho’s not sure how long he sits there, on the hard floor of the ship corridor, gathering his breath. The cool metal of the ship wall presses against his back, grounding him as his head slowly stops spinning.

But he’s not alone as he gathers his thoughts. Movement catches his eye as, across the hall, that small rat scurries into view, its dried-up twig abandoned. Beady eyes meet his own, unblinking as Etho stills, not wanting to scare the critter away. It’s nice to have some company that won’t attack him for daring to breathe the same air… hopefully.

Its pale, sandy fur stands out in stark contrast against the dark, grey colouration of the ship. He’s caught similar vermin hiding in the dark corners of his own ship before, but they had looked different. Their ears had been shorter and stubbier, their fur dull and grey to match their surroundings. Etho’s not exactly an expert on alien fauna, but if this planet is as uninhabited as it looks then the small rodent might actually be undiscovered. He watches as it slowly relaxes and begins to clean its long whiskers with its paws. It’s kind of cute. Maybe if he captures it and makes it off this forsaken planet he’ll be able to name the species. He’ll probably name it something scary. Like taxes.

Not that aiding scientific exploration should be his priority right now. He’s more likely to cook up and eat the rodent if he actually catches it. Food will probably be scarce in this desert junkyard, and Etho is awfully fond of not starving to death… besides, he’s probably eaten worse.

“You coulda leant a hand y’know.” Great, now he’s talking to a weird rat.

He drops his head back against the wall, inhaling sharply as the impact sends a jolt of pain reverberating around his, already aching, skull. Closing his eyes, he digs the palms of his hands into them. Today is going great so far. At least the beeping still hasn’t come back, hopefully, it’s gone for good now. Etho doesn’t want to imagine trying to think with both the beeping and fuzzy disorientation from whatever the hell that was, overwhelming his brain.

The only sound is the wind outside as it whistles through the cracks marring the ship's hull. It blows roughly through the rooms that are unlucky enough to share that exterior wall, creating a dull, rhythmic thrum, slowly getting louder as it echoes through the halls and – oh, that’s footsteps, Etho realises. Great.

The glare rounds the corner, dark eyes immediately landing on Etho. A scowl crosses their face. They’re clearly just as pleased to see Etho as he is to see them. Taxes scampers off, diving through a grate in the wall, at the sight of the other figure. Etho’s never wished he could follow a rodent quite as much as he does now.

“I thought you were leaving.” They plant their hands on their hips, eyes narrowing as they scowl down at Etho.

“Mm, I tried. Didn’t go so well.” Etho frowns, tearing his eyes away from the hole the rodent had vanished into.

He takes in the glare’s appearance. They look scruffier than before. Their hair is unkempt – well, more unkempt – it falls over their face in messy strands, green and brown mixing together in a muddy tangle. The green feathers scattered across their face are puffed up and dishevelled and their breathing is heavy. What had they been doing after Etho left?

“Huh? What do you mean you ‘tried’?” They ask, making quotation marks with their fingers to emphasise their point. An incredulous tone laces their voice. “Just walk away and find your own ship. It’s not hard!”

Just to complete their point, the glare strides forward in a mock impersonation of Etho’s own pace, coming to a stop in front of the enderian. They scowl down at him, not even trying to hide their distaste. If anything they’re exaggerating it. They place their hands on their hips in, what looks to be, an authoritative manner.

Etho rolls his eyes. It’s nice to know he’s stuck in this place with someone mature. “You try if you think it’s so easy.”

A childish part of Etho, that he’s not so proud of, hopes that the same thing will happen to the glare if they leave the ship. But then again, if that… sensation was indeed a product of trying to leave the wreck, instead of just a freak incident, that might mean he’s stuck with this guy. A thought that fills Etho with dread… It would be worth it to get back at them for taunting him, though.

“To… walk out the door?” They narrow their eyes, trying to figure out just what Etho’s playing at. Ethos face betrays no ulterior motives, though. Even with his mask discarded on the ground, his expressions exposed.

Etho nods. “Mhm. Bet you can’t do it.”

“Bet I can!”

That was easy… they’re way too eager to be right.

Etho pauses to think. If the beeping stopped when he reached this ship then this is clearly where it had been leading him. Etho wouldn’t be surprised if someone had put a chip of some sort in him before abandoning him in this wasteland… it wouldn’t actually be the first time. That could explain the beeping. It might even be the reason for what he just felt too. If that is the case, the glare is probably here for the same reason. Etho’s willing to bet they’ll feel the exact same thing. He’s also willing to bet that they wouldn’t believe him if he tried to tell them.

“How about this? You get the ship to yourself if you can get, mmm, 10 yards from it- the bottom of the mound. If you can’t,” He looks the glare directly in the eye, the inky voids returning an increasingly confused stare. ”It’s mine to scavenge for parts.”

They narrow their eyes, trying to parse Ethos logic. That’s not exactly a hard ask. “You’ll… leave me and this ship alone if I… walk… down a hill.”

“Mhm,” he nods.

The glare pauses. The last thing they want is their ‘beautiful’ ship torn to pieces for parts. What’s the point in finding shelter if you don’t pick the grandest option there is, damn it. This wager is objectively the stupidest thing they’ve ever heard, there’s no feasible way to actually lose it. They smirk.

“Your loss. Easiest bet I’ve ever made! Watch and learn!”

The glare turns on his heels, marching out of the hall with purpose. The sound of their footsteps echoing, loudly down the halls of the ship.

Etho relaxes slightly as the glare disappears from view. He leans back against the wall, mind still buzzing. The cool metal grounding him in place.

He waits. Anticipation slowly building.

The faint sound of metal sliding and clattering from the glare’s heavy steps meets his ears. Etho chuckles. They’re clearly not the stealthy type.

Etho’s amusement quickly dies down as a familiar tightness settles in his chest. He grimaces and steadies himself as he braces for round two as the ringing takes hold and the world falls to red.

He really hopes this isn’t going to be a recurring condition.

A distant yelp echos through the ship – shrill and startled – as the glare concedes their bet.

Etho breathes in a sharp breath as his heart tugs on its bindings. Vindication bleeding into his mind, through the gaps of his thoughts and pain.

He should leave the ship. Meet the glare on their ascent back up the shrapnel hill.

They might need help.

No.

They’ll come to him.

Etho waits. His mind slowly returning to its usual state.

He hears them before he sees them, their angry grumbles and stomps telling Etho all he needs to know about how they’re feeling.

They storm back into the corridor. Stumbling slightly as they steady themselves with a hand on the wall.

Wild eyes lock onto Etho. A fire burns deep inside, shining brightly through their pupils like a feral animal reflecting light in the night.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?”

Their face contorts in a furious expression, as even more smoke billows out of their mouth than earlier. Etho wonders how much he can get them to do that.

“Told you.” A smug expression crosses Etho’s face.

“TOLD M- WHA- HUH- WHAT THE HECK?” The glare splutters, more smoke spills out of their mouth with each rapid breath.

“Just walk away, it's not hard,” Etho taunts, doing a poor imitation of the other, smirking as their face scrunches up in annoyance.

“...I’m gonna kill you,” they spit, marching up to Etho, their fists balled stiffly at their sides,

“You can tr- ohHH ACK HEY!”

[loganofthenorth]

Over Here!

Anna parked her car in an ocean of concrete, with other cars dotted around her. Taking a deep breath, she turned off her car, the static and chatter of her radio turning off with it. Lights stopped glowing and the engine stopped roaring. For a moment there was silence. She closed her eyes.

Then a loud bang startled her. She was forced to open them. A cart made of steel wires and wheels with a plastic handle had crashed into her car. Blown by the wind she assumed. Great. Now she'd have to pay to fix the dent... Of course she could just leave it there. It just meant society might judge her for it.

Anna got out of her car, closed it, and locked it. She smiled at the little noise it made. Then she sighed as she took the cart and put it where it was supposed to be. Under the tent with large advertisements plastered on the metal and plastic walls. One told Anna about a vacuum she should buy. Another told her about the store she was about to enter. A third told her why it was important to put carts away, she snorted a bit at that one. The fourth told her about a car insurance company. Would her own car insurance complain about the dent? Think she got into accidents often? She wasn't sure... Hopefully not.

After that she walked to the store. It was windy so she zipped up her dark blue wind breaker. She didn't bother pulling the hood over her unruly curls of long brown hair. She knew the wind would just blow it off again.

Anna paused to walk around a very large puddle that had formed outside the store. She assumed it was due to the storm the night before. Anna jumped when she heard a loud horn, and turned to see someone was waiting for her to pass so they could continue driving.

"Sorry." She mouthed with an apologetic smile. She stepped onto the higher level of pavement in front of the store that was meant for walking. The grey car that had waited on her drove past, and the water from the puddle was sprayed towards her. Fortunately Anna managed to hop back and avoid getting her pants wet. Only her pink rain boots got caught in the splash.

With a sigh of relief, Anna walked into the store. Bright lights buzzed over head. Crowds of people weaved around each other. Scanners beeped and conveyer belts rolled. Carts bumped into things as their loud wheels travelled over white tiles and grey carpet.

The shelves screamed at Anna as she grabbed a basket from a stack of them. She didn't need a cart. She was only here for a few things. 'Over here!' The shelves screamed at her regardless, with their bright colours and various fonts. Anna tried to ignore them, and went about her shopping.

'Sale!' Signs screamed at her. 'Buy 2 get 1 Free!' Shouted another. Anna rolled her eyes as she picked up a roll of cabbage she needed. She held it in her fingers and pressed her thumbs against it. "Hmm..." She hummed thoughtfully. It felt hollow. She put it back and grabbed another, which felt more firm, so she put it in a plastic bag, then put that in her basket.

Anna turned to move forward, but stopped and moved aside when a cart passed through. "Sorry." She said to the woman that passed her. The woman wore a tired expression. The crying toddler sitting in her cart clearly harboured most of her attention.

Sighing, Anna kept walking forward. Bright colours and signs continued to yell out to her. 'Come buy me!' They called. No. She thought. I can't afford you, and you aren't what I need. Her thoughts elaborated.

Next she arrived at the deli aisle, and she collected a few sandwich meats. To her left, children pestered their parents about a lunch item they wanted while their parents argued about upcoming bills. To her right, a man was on a call with his husband, arguing about his work hours.

Anna put some turkey and some roast beef into her basket, then went on with her shopping.

In the snack isle, where Anna ignored the chip sales and screaming cookies in favour of a box of granola bars and a container of peanut butter, an acquaintance greeted her.

"Anna?" The familiar voice called. Anna jumped and turned towards a blonde woman with her hair in a bun. She wore a black vest jacket over a white long sleeved shirt, with jeans and brown sandals. Sunglasses with jaguar themed frames sat in her hair. Her jaw was moving so Anna could assume she was chewing gum.

The other woman's grey eyes lit up as Anna's brown eyes looked back at her like a deer in headlights. She didn't recognize the woman that clearly recognized her.

"Oh, hi!" Anna greeted in a cracked voice, trying her best to smile. The buzzing from the lights above and the shouting of the bright colours around them gave her a headache. "How have you been?" She asked.

"I've been great! My sister has been telling me so much about you, are you two going out again any time soon?" The woman cheered.

Oh, that's who this was. Her name was Beverly, though her sister often called her Valerie or Early. Her sister was Donna, a woman Anna had been dating for a couple of years now. It was hard to recognize Beverly outside of Donna's apartment, where the two lived together in order to make paying rent easier.

"Yeah, she's coming over to my place this weekend. We're going to be watching a new movie that came out." Anna answered.

"That's great! Let me know how it goes!" Beverly cheered, likely wanting details her sister wouldn't give her.

"Okay." Anna replied, watching the woman put some chips into her cart.

"It was nice talking to you!" Beverly cheered before walking along.

"You two!" Anna replied, holding back confusion. They didn't really talk per se. Just exchanged information that Beverly probably already knew for the sake of politeness.

Anna shrugged, and gave in to the muted calls of a nice looking coffee cake. She put it into her basket, figuring it'd be a good snack to have when Donna came over.

On her way to the dairy aisle to pick up the last things she needed, Anna had to stop. She sat down on a bench, set down the bright yellow basket beside her, covered her face in her hands, and groaned.

"I just wish everything would stop screaming..." She murmured, feeling her body beginning to shut down.

"Dammit." She cursed herself, fumbling with her purse to get out her phone. "I... need help..." She murmured. She could hear her heart in her head as she tapped in a password. The buzzing and ringing and beeping and shouting and heart thump thumping... her head pounded, her eyes stung.

Anna opened her messenger app. She clicked on the first name she saw. Her friend Ashley, a classmate at her college. She didn't text anything too long or complicated. Just an emoji that Ashley would know the meaning of.

Then she returned her phone to her purse. She pulled noise cancelling headphones out of the large bag and put them on, then took out a stim toy before closing her purse. Holding it tightly and close to her chest, with her arms looped through the strap. She didn't want anyone to steal it.

Anna felt consciousness drift away. Her eyes fell shut and her sense of her surroundings faded. The only thing she was aware of were her hands moving to push buttons and fiddle with a joy stick and switches.

Then she became aware of a hand on her shoulder, causing her to jump.

"Sorry." She heard the muffled whisper of her friend. Sighing in relief, Anna took off her headphones and looked up. A woman with short orange hair and faint green eyes smiled at Anna.

"You doing okay?" Ashley asked softly.

"No..." Anna admitted, looking down in shame.

"Figured. Let's get you home." Ashley chuckled, offering her arm to Anna. With a nod, Anna linker her arm around Ashley's, and accepted help to the counters. They paid for her groceries and left the store.

It was only when they got to her car that Anna swore.

"I forgot the milk!" She shouted.

Ashley laughed at her dismay, earning a glare from Anna. "It's fine, Anna. I'll get you milk next time I go grocery shopping." Ashley assured her.

"Thanks... You're a good friend." Anna murmured as she handed Ashley the keys to her car and got into the passenger seat.

"Hey, you're the only reason I'm not failing my classes. Without your editing skills, I'd be screwed." Ashley reminded her. "The least I can do is help you out when you're passing out in a grocery store." She added after getting into the driver's seat.

"I guess..." Anna sighed. Though she still felt guilty for the trouble she may have caused. "Try not to go fast, okay?" She requested as Ashley turned on the radio.

"Fast? Me?" Ashley asked innocently with a mischievous grin. "Wouldn't dream of it." She mused before pulling out of the parking lot.

Anna rolled her eyes, then closed them. She fell back against the seat and allowed the world around her to go mostly quiet, with her friend's muffled singing along to the radio grounding her.

Desperately, she wished going grocery shopping wasn't such a difficult task.

But, oh well. At least she had a friend to support her when she needed it, and all it took was a butterfly emoji to summon her.

[thelibrarbian]

Alright. Alright, he could do this. He was the Great Papyrus, he knew how to fix bones, he knew how to heal, and Fell wasn't– His HP was stable now. There was no need to panic. It was fine.

Or: Underfell Papyrus is injured on patrol and four skeletons deal with the aftermath.

---

Rating: T

Tags: Platonic Edgepuff, Multiverse Shenanigans, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Description of Injuries, Healing Magic, Papyrus Tries His Best, Everyone Needs A Hug, Eventual Fluff

Chapter word count: 1944

---

I wrote a thing!

I started working on this for Camp NaNo in April. It was supposed to be a one-shot... it did not want to stay a one-shot :’D

Read on Ao3

or below the cut:

Papyrus rarely slept.

For all the unusualness that this night was about to bring, in this regard it was perfectly normal. It was 1:30 in the morning and Papyrus was wide awake, sitting up against the headboard of his race car-shaped bed and scribbling increasingly intricate puzzle designs into a notebook when he was interrupted by an urgent knocking from the front door.

He silently sprinted down the stairs on sock-clad feet - he didn't want to wake his brother, after all - wondering who could be visiting them this early in the day. Most monsters he knew did not share his sleep schedule (or non-sleep schedule, as the case may be) - the most likely explanation was that Undyne had burned down her house again with a midnight snack.

He skidded to a halt at the door, reaching for the handle. The knocking hadn't stopped; if anything, in the few moments it had taken Papyrus to come downstairs and open the door, it had only grown in intensity.

The monster on the other side was not Undyne.

And Papyrus realized that something was very, very wrong.

He only caught one glimpse of the sharp-toothed, fur-hooded version of his brother before he was pushed aside without so much as a 'hello' as Red staggered past him. It was rare for their parallel universe doubles to visit unannounced, but that surprise quickly faded when Papyrus' eyes fell on the second, larger monster that Red was dragging more than carrying inside. 

To say that Fell looked bad would have been an understatement. He was hanging limply in Red's hold, his armor dented and torn open in places, and even though his clothes covered most of where Papyrus suspected the worst injuries to be, what he could see of the damage was bad enough. He thought he could make out several spots of something dark in the snow, leading from the basement to the front door, and he firmly decided to think about it later. Or not at all. 

Thick beads of sweat were clinging to Red's forehead as he panted, visibly struggling to hold onto his brother. With a rather undignified noise of alarm, Papyrus sprung into action, helping Red to bring Fell into the living room and lower the tall monster to the ground. Cleaning, too, was something to worry about later. 

He saw Red open his mouth, looking as if the next sentence was taking him a lot of effort to get out, then took one glance at Fell's plummeting HP and didn't wait to hear whatever Red was going to say. A second later he was crouching next to his unconscious alternate, his hands on his breastplate - stars, that piece of armor was not supposed to bend this way! - and pushing healing magic into him.

Papyrus was proud to proclaim that he had trained and mastered every aspect of magic at his disposal. He was a formidable fighter and a more than competent healer, but even so, whatever had happened to Fell was almost past Papyrus' abilities. Trying to stop his HP from falling felt as if he was attempting to catch running water with his hands. Which! Was not quite as impossible as it initially seemed, but it took all his concentration to bring the damage down to a slow trickle. He thanked the stars for having blessed him with such a large pool of magic reserves - he did not want to imagine running out in the middle of this. 

Just when he thought he was starting to get things under control and could think about asking what in Asgore's name had happened to them, there was a soft huff next to him, then an equally soft thump as, in the corner of his eye, Red slumped to the ground. 

"Oh no, not you too!" Papyrus reached out to catch him, but he wasn't quite fast enough - at least the carpet Red had landed on was soft - and as soon as his concentration on the healing slipped, Fell's HP started plummeting again. 

Papyrus was not panicking! Solely for the reason that he absolutely could not afford to panic right now! He sent one desperate pulse of green magic in Red's direction before placing both hands on Fell again.

"SANS!!" There was a very small part of him that felt bad for waking his brother at one-something in the morning, but the majority of Papyrus was painfully aware that he did not have nearly enough hands to handle this situation alone. It took a few long seconds (during which Papyrus was absolutely not panicking as he tried to stabilize Fell's HP and prayed that Red wasn't about to dust in the meantime) before he heard shuffling steps upstairs.

"bro, what's-" There was a pregnant pause as Sans, thank the stars, seemed to figure out for himself what was going on. A second later, the familiar sound of a shortcut right next to Papyrus announced that his brother had foregone the stairs entirely on his way down.

Papyrus had no time to watch what exactly Sans was doing, but from the corner of his eye, he noticed him crouching down next to Red for a minute before he got up and disappeared somewhere behind Papyrus. A few moments later, the front door fell shut and the key clicked in the lock. Sans didn't say anything, for which Papyrus was grateful - he couldn't get distracted at the moment. He also didn't seem particularly panicked about Red's state, which Papyrus could only take to mean that his brother's alternate was not about to dust right there and then. 

Sans wandered off again to somewhere, and Papyrus returned his full attention to Fell. It took a few more minutes before his HP wasn't dropping any further, and Papyrus finally dared to let his magic fade out.

"don't suppose you know what happened to them?" came Sans' voice from somewhere in front of Papyrus.

"No." He checked Fell again before he dared to look up, first at his brother, then at the unconscious Red next to him. The latter had been arranged into a more comfortable position, a cushion from the couch under his head. "Is Red alright? No, forget that question, what am I saying, obviously he would not be taking an impromptu nap on our living room floor if he was-"

"he should be fine," Sans reassured him before Papyrus could work himself further into his not-panic. "he isn't hurt, just exhausted. one shortcut too many, if i had to guess." He rubbed the back of his head. "'m gonna take him upstairs so he can sleep on a mattress, but… thought you could use a hand here first." He nodded towards the unconscious Fell.

Papyrus relaxed marginally. "Thank you, brother." It was only then that he noticed the first-aid kit on the ground in front of him that Sans must have brought with unusual, but very welcome helpfulness. "And yes, actually - an additional appendage or two would certainly make things easier." He carefully inspected Fell's armor, looking for a way to take it off with the least amount of movement possible.

His caution turned out to be justified. As he and Sans started removing the armor, Papyrus got the disturbing impression that the breastplate was most of what was currently holding Fell's ribcage together. It almost seemed like a miracle when they eventually managed to get the dented pieces of metal off him without causing any further damage.

Sans was looking vaguely nauseous. 

The undershirt came off much more easily than the armor, mostly because Papyrus declared it unsalvageable after one look and had no qualms about simply cutting it apart. After his earlier struggle just to get him stabilized, Papyrus knew that what he was about to see would be… not good. He braced himself before he pulled the fabric aside, barely hearing Sans' muttered curse next to him. 

He… had not been aware of just how many scars his counterpart had. Not that Fell usually made any attempts to hide them, but it was only now that Papyrus realized that almost every bone he could see was marked in some way. But those injuries were old, and he didn't let himself linger on them when there were much more pressing matters.

The right side of Fell's torso was a mess. There was barely a rib that wasn't broken, cracked, or bruised. Where the largest dent in the armor had been, a section of his ribcage was caved in entirely, the bone fragments just barely held together by magic. At least the healing magic had served to stop the bleeding, though, so Papyrus moved on, wanting to get a full picture first. 

Fell's arms were smeared with something that could be either blood or marrow, but the cracks and cuts he found there were relatively minor by comparison. (He decided that it was not the right moment to speculate how much of the blood had belonged to someone else.) The same was true for the rest of the injuries - they were numerous but small, as if Fell had been caught in the middle of a tight bullet pattern, but aside from the ribs nothing looked immediately concerning - until Papyrus reached his legs and found one tibia snapped cleanly in half. 

Sans had gone completely silent. When Papyrus glanced over, his sockets had gone dark and he looked like he was about to throw up.

"Sans?" 

No response.

Papyrus swallowed dryly. "Brother?" he said, reaching out to touch his shoulder. 

Sans jumped slightly, blinking rapidly before his eye lights reappeared - tiny specks of light in his sockets that immediately darted over to Papyrus. "y-yeah? sorry, think i spaced out for a moment." His gaze flicked briefly to the unconscious skeletons on the floor again, then back to Papyrus. "what now?" 

"First of all -" Papyrus gently squeezed Sans' shoulder, meeting his eye. "It's going to be okay, brother. This is nothing we can't handle." He adamantly refused to believe anything else. "Okay?" 

"'kay." 

"Secondly… If you could bring some water and clean towels, that would be much appreciated."

Sans gave a nod and disappeared, returning shortly after with the requested items and a mask of calmness plastered onto his face. If Papyrus hadn't seen him just a minute ago, it might have been convincing.

"Thank you." Papyrus looked his brother over. "I believe Red has been napping on the floor for long enough," he said.

Sans paused for a second before a look of understanding passed over his face. "right." He didn't take the out that Papyrus was trying to give him. Instead of taking Red upstairs and staying there with him, he only lifted him onto the couch and loosely draped a blanket over him before returning to Papyrus' side. 

"I am quite certain that I can handle this myself, if you would rather be elsewhere," Papyrus felt the need to clarify. 

"'course you can, bro." Sans crouched down next to him. "but an extra hand would help, right? 'm fine, really. just got a bit rattled there for a sec."

Papyrus rolled his eyes, more out of habit than anything else, and Sans' permanent smile became a bit more genuine.

"just tell me what to do." He wiggled his fingers. "extra hands at your service."

Alright. Alright, he could do this. He was the Great Papyrus, he knew how to fix bones, he knew how to heal, and Fell wasn't– His HP was stable now. There was no need to panic. It was fine. And Sans was helping, so it was doubly fine.

He took a deep breath, grabbed the first-aid kit, and got to work.

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Am I Too Late?

[I post either once a week or 4 times in one day 🙃]

The prompt from @xentari94​ was this:

Hi! Omg I love your writing! ❤️ ^^ Could I request #1 on the first list with Cayde x Exo Female Gunslinger? One where she goes with Cayde to the prison and everything happens the same except this time she manages to get to him, and saves him from being shot.

Cayde-6 x (Exo) Female!Reader

Warnings: cursing, violence, angst/comfort

1,718 words

“Any second now, my partner is gonna roll in here and kill… every… Last… One of you.”

It wasn’t a prison riot. It was a prison break.

Petra Venj had called Cayde-6 earlier asking for help with an ongoing riot in the Prison of Elders, and he had roped you into it on the promise that it’d be a ton of fun. Like date night, but with more gunfire. 

And you had agreed with a smile because you enjoyed any time you spent with Cayde whether it be a night of drinks and ramyun or a mission on the Shore. You didn’t care. As long as the two of you were together.

It wasn’t a prison riot.

It wasn’t a prison riot.

It was a prison break, and as you watched Cayde plunge into the depths of the prison, riding the top of the control center, all you could think was that this wasn’t a very good date night either. The control center hit the ground floor with an explosion. You went to call out to Cayde, but before you could the metal beneath you gave out and your head slammed into the floor before falling.

.

It took a moment to gather your bearings.

.

You shuttered your eyes and involuntarily sucked in a sharp breath. Your body didn’t need the air but doing so brought comfort to you. A familiar voice brought you back to reality, “Hey, welcome back.” Shakily, you rose to your feet and your Ghost danced around your helmet once before fading away. The sharp pain in your side disappeared. “We fell at least 20 stories down, and I can’t reach Cayde or Petra.”

You opened the comm link yourself and flinched when the only sound that greeted you was loud static, “Keep trying to reach them, ok?”

Your Ghost hummed a confirmation and you jogged forward to try and figure out where you were. It looked like you were in the bowels of the prison now, and if you went down a few more stories you’d end up where Cayde had landed. That was the goal. Find Cayde-6.

As you walked, a chill went down your back and it made every plate on your body stiffen and freeze. Your hand tightened around the grip of your hand cannon as you took a few more steps forward. There was a purplish-blue fog that created a trail through the door into the next room.

“Something is loose.” Your Ghost commented and you agreed wholeheartedly. Something felt very, very wrong. You picked up your pace. “It’s close, [Name].”

Your quick pace turned into a run as you tried to catch the end of the smoke trail, but it led into a room of creatures you hadn’t seen before. You came to a screeching stop and pulled your gun up to begin firing. They looked like Fallen in shape, but they were paler, covered in unusual armor, and they wielded weapons that the Fallen typically didn’t. Their entire beings had a freakish smoky glow that reeked of ether.

“These… things… used to be fallen.” You shot the last one and then just stood there for a moment letting your mind catch up to the scene. “The fallen didn’t just become this. Someone did this to them.”

Despite being an Exo, the feeling of bile rising in your throat overcame you. This was all wrong. Something terrible was happening. You pushed forward, stumbling slightly, before breaking into a full-on sprint, “Keep trying to reach Cayde.”

Room after room, the creatures came. The lower you went the more corrupted ether filled the air around you. The stench of it mingled with the smoke coming from the burning prison walls. With every step you took, the feeling of dread grew, and you couldn’t put your finger on what it was. Your ghost still couldn’t reach anyone on comms. There was only you, your Ghost, and static.

You dug your knife into the face of a screeching monster that got too close, and then spun to throw the blade into the next one coming. With one more shot the room was clear and you pushed onward. You jumped down a broken portion of the walkway to land on the lower floor.

You barely got a few steps forward before a blast of energy hit you in the chest knocking you onto your back. Instinct had you rolling back onto your feet quickly looking for the enemy that had thrown the grenade, but no one was there.

“No.” Your ghost sounded devastated. For the first time since you met him, his voice sounded shaky. “That was Cayde’s… Sundance. That was Sundance. She’s dead.”

You were moving. Before your ghost could even stop speaking, you were moving. With every step, with every pulse of your being, the name of your hunter flashed through your mind. Cayde. Cayde. Cayde. You had to get to Cayde. You needed to find Cayde. You couldn’t even properly mourn the loss of Sundance because you were so focused on finding the Exo Vanguard. Your Ghost was making a noise, like a low-pitched whine, and it was one you had never heard before. Ghosts couldn’t cry, but you wondered if this was the equivalent. With as much time as you spent with Cayde, your Ghost and spent and equal amount of time with his.

“The… The blast came from up ahead. Two more rooms.” Your Ghost focused back on the task. There was a forced steeliness to his voice.

You whipped through the door and up ahead at the other end of the room a large deformed monster stood in your way. It turned to charge at you, but you brought your gun up while simultaneously reaching for the Light. Warmth filled your entire body as you fired round after round at it. It fell to its knees dead and your Light began to fade, but you didn’t let it.

You kept the fire burning in your chest and the warmth turned to burning. It felt like you were burning from inside out, like you had swallowed the sun itself, but you wouldn’t let go. You couldn’t. Your Ghost cried out in worry, pleading for you to release the energy, but you burst through the next door letting the Light singe you from inside out.

An awoken wearing a hood stood in front of Cayde holding the Ace of Spades over him. Behind him, waiting in the door were more of the twisted, large ether soaked Fallen, and though you vaguely recognized them it was getting hard to see through the flames that engulfed you. The awoken’s head snapped to you, eyes glowing gold as they narrowed into a glare, and then they moved back to Cayde who could barely hold himself up.

“Told you so.” Cayde chuckled in a broken voice.

He went to fire, you saw his hand tighten, but you finally released your energy in a cry of pain. Like a rubber band that had been pulled too taunt, it snapped and blew out in a blast of fire. The awoken fired a round but went flying back at the same time toward the crew of monsters waiting for him. One of the creatures grabbed him and they went scurrying off, the door closing and locking in place behind them.

You clawed at your helmet. It was too hot. Too hot and you needed that unnecessary air to fill your body. Your ghost dismissed your helmet and you sucked in the ether tanged air. You could hear Cayde groaning still and stumbled toward him only to fall to your knees halfway there. You crawled the rest of the way until you were hovering over the battered Cayde.

“Partner, you’re smoking.” Cayde coughed out. He lifted a hand to your face but burned his fingers against the metal of your face, “Both figuratively and literally.”

Cayde’s face was busted. One eye flickering and his cheek dented in. He looked bad, and as you traced his figure with your eyes you realized the Awoken had shot him. The bullet had hit him just above the hip.

“Cayde.” You breathed out.

He followed your gaze and set a hand over the spot, “Damn. That could’ve been worse, huh?”

“I thought I lost you.” You cried out. Your voice breaking on the words. “Cayde, we felt… Sundance.”

Cayde’s face fell and you watched as he reached out to grab a red and white shard that laid not too far from him. He hissed in pain at the movement, but still brought the piece to his chest. “I fucked up. I fucked up, and she paid the price. Fuck.”

You couldn’t imagine how that would feel. The thought of losing your Ghost made you sick. Your Ghost, as if knowing your thought, curled up in the crook of your neck. Still mourning his friend. Loss wasn’t something guardians dealt with often. Not since the Red War. The thought of losing your Ghost, losing any of your friends, losing Cayde…

“Please…” The word fell from your mouth in desperation. “Please don’t leave me.” Cayde forced himself to sit up with a grunt and you reached out to hold him, so he didn’t fall over. You shook your head afraid to touch one of his wounds and hurt him worse. Sundance wasn’t here to heal him. What if these wounds were worse than they looked? “Cayde-”

He leaned his head against yours, “I ain’t goin’ nowhere, partner.”

You gripped his armor with your hands. Just having him here in your arms comforted you to some degree. He was moving and talking and whispering comforting words to you. You had made it in time.

“So”, Cayde cleared his throat and you pulled back to look him in the eyes. He gave you a smile, but with the damage done to his face it looked like an strange grimace, “I will admit, this was not the best date we’ve ever had. My bad.”

The last thing you expected to do in this moment was laugh, but you couldn’t stop the sound from coming out as you laid your head against his shoulder. He leaned the side of his head against yours with a tired sigh as the two of you waited for Petra to get down here and take you home.

[mummybear]

Strangers In The Night - Part 3 - He’s My Brother

Part 1    Part 2

Words: 3546

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Threat Of Non-Con, Demon possession, knives, Threats Of Murder. Think that’s it.

Characters: (OMC) Sebastian, (OFC) Veronica, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x (OFC) Veronica

Veronica awoke with a pounding in her head, she didn’t even want to open her eyes with the pain that was currently radiating through her skull. The sound of a metallic scraping quickly caught her attention even through her pain. It sounded so clearly like a door on hard stone floor, something she could have sworn she’d heard before. The banging of the door as it closed echoed through the room, making her head pound just that much harder. But at least that was a noise that she recognised, even under her current state of being. 

She even managed to hear the heavy footsteps that echoed outside of the room she was in, it sounded like just one person. Said person was pacing continuously outside the door, never straying too far. Whoever it was, walked slow and purposeful with every step as clear as day.

The room that she was in was completely disgusting, the smell alone was enough to make her eyes water. To top it all off she was completely freezing, goosebumps covered her entire body. It almost felt like she might have been in a basement, or it was underground at least, she wasn’t one hundred percent sure. Fighting everything inside her that was telling her to keep her eyes closed, she allowed herself to blink them open slowly. Squinting a few times before she could focus on anything at all around her. 

Even when her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, there was only a little bit of light filtering into the room, it looked like it was coming from under the door. 

Veronica winced when she tried to move her arms, groaning quietly when she was met with nothing but resistance and more pain. In fact she could feel the blood that had crusted around the cuffs and the cuts on her\ wrists, or whatever the hell it was holding her to the wall. She just about managed to lift her head from her chest, her eyes were only met by the dark stone wall in front of her. 

The room was much smaller than she’d been expecting to begin with, but she was right, it was definitely a basement of some kind, definitely underground. Something else that was completely obvious, was that she wasn’t the first person to be brought here, not if the blood that stained the walls and floor was proof of anything.

The longer she stared helplessly at the wall in front of her, which she was sure was about to become the place she died, the more she began to panic. There was no way in hell she was getting out of here, the room was tiny, nothing but the chains that bound her and the blood stains were in the room. How in hell would Sam and Dean ever find her now, they weren’t close enough to follow the car that had brought her to this place. In fact, aside from knowing there was at least one demon, they had no plan for this, she was alone scared and trapped. 

Sam And Dean 

Sam turned to look at Dean with wide worried eyes, when his brother started shouting Veronica’s name into his phone, that was never a good sign knowing Dean the way he did it took a lot for his brother to break this way. Dean sped off around the corner, turning hard enough to cause a wheel spin, Sam’s hands slammed onto the dashboard instead of his head with the way Dean handbrake turned around the corner. 

Sam turned to look at Dean again, he could practically see the colour drain from his brother’s face in an instant, Dean winced and his jaw clenched hard, even Sam heard the scream that ripped through the speaker of the phone, the thing that he didn’t hear which Dean did was the sickening thud that followed shortly after, or the laughter of someone else, a man or more probably a demon.

“Dammit! Son of a fucking bitch!” Dean fumed angrily, tossing his phone without thinking, pushing the now free hand through his already messy hair. He narrowly missed Sam’s head. But the younger Winchester didn’t take any offence, he knew this was Dean trying to keep his cool. Dean’s fist slammed against the steering wheel as he practically growled out his anger. 

“Dean? What do you want to do?” Sam asked carefully, resting a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder as he continued to drive. Though he was pretty sure there was no point asking what had happened, since it was fairly evident that whatever it was, it wasn’t good and it involved Veronica.

The cafe that Veronica had mentioned came into view, Dean turned quickly and pulled into the parking lot of Carlie’s cafe, the last place that they knew V had been for sure and she’d been here less than fifteen minutes ago. The elder Winchester spotted her car immediately, he quickly pulled the Impala into the parking space beside it. The brothers climbed out of the car, searching the area for any CCTV, unfortunately, there were no visible cameras. Sam was still in his FBI suit so he headed inside without a word to his brother, heading inside the cafe to ask if they had any just to be sure.

Meanwhile, Dean decided to search Veronica’s car in hopes of finding any clues of where the hell she’d been taken, and by who. Contacting Crowley had even crossed his mind, but that was at best a last ditch option, one he hoped that he wouldn’t need to use.

Resting a hand on the cars hood feeling the dent in the still warm metal, there were a few of the same shape dents littering the cars body work. Almost the shape of a baseball bat. It took a little effort to pry open the door, as it had been forced to close over itself. Dean stumbled back a little when the door finally gave way and swung open. He searched the car for her phone, but came up empty handed that was the first thing that was a positive at least, there were no other clues 

only blood pools in the car. His fist slammed into the roof when he emerged, angry eyes focused solely on the blood splattered across the steering wheel and dash.

If he hadn’t left her, just took her with him, or sent Sam and stayed at home with her, then she’d be okay right now. Cuddled up in his arms in her big bed. This was on him and he had no plans to stop until he found her safe and sound. He should’ve kept her safe was the only thing he kept thinking.

His hands rested on the roof of her car, head hanging low as he tried to think back to the phone call. His brothers hand on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts though, with a deep sigh he turned to face Sam. “Anything?” Dean asked quickly but his face fell as soon as he looked at Sam. “So no then” he grumbled looking at Sam, he frowned when Sam joined him leaning against her car.

“Oh no, they’ve got CCTV. It’s just-” Sam pauses seeing his brother shift beside him.  Sam swallowed hard running a hand through his hair.

“Spit it out Sammy, what is it?!” Dean demanded impatiently, he sounded angry but Sam could hear the real fear behind his words.

Sam nodded as he scratched at the back of his neck, “She was unconscious when they left, they tossed her into the back of a car, I got the licence plate” Sam tells him before his demeanour changes further, he swallows hard and a small shaky sigh slips past his lips before he allows himself to speak again. “So, the camera had sound Dean, the things they were saying about her man. It made me wanna throw up” Sam told him regretfully, completely aware of how his brother was probably about to act.

Dean’s face changed straight away, his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed and eyes darkened dangerously, and his fists clenched at his sides. “Tell me” Dean practically growled, turning his attention to his brother, Sam watched his brother’s jaw tick and knew that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“They said they were keeping her underground, undetected. Under an old military base the next town over. But Dean, please just trust me you don’t w-” Sam tried but Dean’s fist collided with the side of her car, leaving a slight dent behind.

Dean nodded for a moment before he realised the last part of what Sam had said, his head whipped back around to practically glare at him. “Sammy just tell me, for fucks sake! I need to know what the hell we’re gonna be walking into!” Dean fumed but when he saw Sam’s face he took a breath, trying to push the anger down slightly. “Please” he sighed as they climbed back into the Impala. 

Sam groaned not wanting to repeat the things they had said, “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you” Sam caves as he slides into the passenger side,closing the door behind him before he turns to face his brother. But Dean remains silent, still, waiting for Sam to speak. Sam pulls up the location of the old base on his phone, letting the directions spill from the speaker. Of the base which is supposed to be deserted, of course why would demons care about that. Dean pulls out of the parking space and follows the directions.

“Keep talkin’ Sammy” Dean tells him his tone serious, eyes not moving from the road.

Running a hand through his hair the younger Winchester sighed, “Okay, first off at least four of them. From what I could tell from the footage, pretty sure that all four are demons. The guy I think was the leader, he said something about not telling Crowley, that this was his mission and he didn’t need him involved” Sam revealed watching the frown that crossed Dean’s face.

“So, what some of Crowley’s demons gone rogue. You think that the leader could’ve been V’s brother’s meat suit?” Dean asked curiously, making another turn.

“You think we should call him?” Sam asked his brother, hoping that he would forget the rest.

Dean shrugged before he shook his head with his own sigh, running a hand across the back of his neck. “No. We can’t guarantee that he won’t just kill Veronica and her brother. If there’s any chance he’s still alive, she’d do anything to keep him that way. And I can’t let anything happen to her, I can’t lose her Sammy. Not again” Dean explained, the confession at the end surprised Sam a little but he didn’t let it show on his face.

“Yeah, I get it. Okay, so we keep him as a last resort?” Sam questions, picking up his gun from the floor of the Impala and reloading it. Dean reached behind himself a little awkwardly, tossing Sam his gun as well.

Dean nods thoughtfully, “Yeah, probably for the best. You weren’t done though were you? You heard more right?” Dean inquired hands flexing around his grip on the steering wheel.

Sam nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “They said that. They said, they were gonna tie her up, keep her hanging for a few days without food or water, leave her until she was too weak to fight. Anything. That they’d get what they needed, and then she would be useless. Except for bait to get to us, ” Sam finished and that sick feeling was back in his throat and the very pit of his stomach, he couldn’t look at Dean, instead his eyes landed in his lap as he played with his fingers trying not to think too much about what he’d just said.

“Oh yeah. They’re gonna pay!” Dean growled through clenched teeth, his foot pressing down harder on the gas. As he pushed himself up straight in his seat, his eyes hard and his jaw set. 

“We need to be smart about this Dean” Sam sighed heavily finally looking up and over at his brother. 

“I know Sammy. We’ve been through worse. We’ll get her out safely if it’s the last thing I do” Dean replied leaving no room for argument. They turned the next corner and the base became visible, run down and it did look abandoned. Dean drove a little way down the road, parking up on the opposite side of the road from the base. “Let's do this, she’s been gone hours now” Dean said, taking his gun from Sam he tucked it into the back of his jeans, sliding his angel blade into the pocket on the inside of his jacket. 

Sam tucked the demon blade inside his jacket and his gun in the back of his jeans, following Dean as they headed over to the base, Sam lagging slightly behind Dean. They rounded the building tucked up as close to the wall as possible.

Back With Veronica

At this point she wasn’t even sure how long she’d been stuck in here. The room was so quiet now, deathly silent in fact, the footsteps outside the room had been long gone for what she thought was a long while now. Her head was beginning to spin, she was so thirsty, with her arms cuffed together above her head her breathing was starting to become difficult too. 

She fought with the strength that was left in her arms to pull herself up slightly, she gasped as the air entered her lungs, it was an almost painful burn. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take, every now and then a shock would be sent through the cuffs around her wrists. 

The door suddenly clanged open, and the cuffs lowered, allowing for more chain so that her shaky legs could touch the floor. Veronica gratefully breathed in the air, finding that the blurred eyesight began to fade but she was still swaying on her feet. A light flickered on and she winced as the room began to become bright, her eyes were burning as she fought to keep them open. “Well good morning my little Ronnie, nice to see you awake” that voice, she knew that voice, there was only one person who called her that. 

Blinking hard a few times her vision began to clear, finally, she was able to see, not that it made it any better seeing his face. Veronica’s eyes immediately fell to the bullet holes in his chest, “So, you lied typically then. He’s already dead isn’t he?” she asked quietly, trying not to let her defeat or sadness seep into her voice.

She tried to move away from his hand when his fingers brushed over her chin, he tilted her head much gentler than she’d have expected. Veronica tried her best to stop the sob that punched its way from her throat, but that wasn’t possible, as soon as her eyes met his, she thought that her heart had already stopped.

“No. I didn’t lie. He’s very much alive my love, this is an old shirt. Please forgive me” the demon wearing her brother smirked, curling the edges of Sebastian’s lips proving further it wasn’t her brother she was speaking to, it was a look she’d never seen on him before. That paired with the way his eyes moved over her face and body, had her skin crawling more than she’d ever thought possible.

“Bullshit” she spat, scoffing as she pulled her face from his grip.

His hand went over his heart and he gasped in fake hurt, “Baby doll. I would never lie to you, I’m shocked you’d accuse me of such a thing” he winks, as someone leans into the room and passes him a bottle of water.

The demon unscrews the cap and holds it to her mouth, “Fuck you!” she growls, whipping her head away from the bottle and bringing her leg up between his.

He chuckles sickeningly as he shrugs, placing the water carefully on the ground. Before he spins on his heels and is back in her face. “You keep fucking pushing me little girl, then I’ll do just that!” he threatens his lips grazing hers, she pushes herself back into the wall as far as she can.

Then something happens, he seems to trip over his own feet. She can’t explain it but she’s sure it’s him, her real brother hidden beneath the hard surface of this demon. “I’m guessing my brother isn’t a fan of that idea” she asks with a small smirk of her own, but it quickly falls away when he pulls out a knife.

“You’d be right about that. But he knows he can’t fight too hard or he dies. Perhaps my approach to that should change though” he smirks pressing the knife against her throat, he drags it down slowly making its way to the buttons of her shirt, leaving an angry red line in its wake. The tip presses into her skin and she winced, but refuses to show him just how scared she is. “Now, tell me. Has Dean had his way with your tight little body yet?” he asks with what seems like a slight interest. “Perhaps, Sam?” he questions, as the knife begins to move lower popping off every button it comes into contact with.

“They’re gonna fucking rip you apart” she grunts when the knife cuts deeper. 

“So is that a no then? From what I see in your brothers memories it’s more likely to be Dean?” he asks again, she does her best not to react but he can sense the slight raise of her heart rate and pulse every time the elder Winchester is mentioned.

“I’m not telling you shit!” she replies venomously, flinching a little when her shirt falls open, leaving her in a thin t-shirt.

“But princess, you don’t need to. The way your body responds to his name, is unmistakable” he smirks cocky and yet he seems angry still.

“Why? You jealous?” she chuckles darkly, her eyes meeting his again as she reminds herself that this isn’t her brother.

His grin is dangerous this time, seconds later the knife slides through her shirt she shivers as the cold air tugs at her bare skin. “Don’t flatter yourself, i’m fully covered there thanks. As I’m sure Dean is without you” he grits out and she smirks.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. But that is all my brother, it has nothing to do with you, you sick twisted fuck. My brother, Sam and Dean. They’re twice the men that you’ll ever be” Veronica laughs in his face, she can practically feel the rage flowing off of him, but she can’t stop herself.

“Well we’ll see just how pretty all three of them are when I have my way with them. First I’ll deal with your precious Dean, real slow bleed him dry make you watch while I cut up that pretty face of his. I’ll keep him alive just long enough to watch as I kill his brother, little Sammy will go nice and painful. Then when Dean is eventually dead, I’ll kill you with your brothers hands around your throat. Finally, I’ll leave your brother. Nice and fucked up about what he’s seen what he’s done, until it’s all too much and he has to end it all himself” the demon spits the last words, laughing happily seeing the tears rolling down Veronica’s face. “You my love, don’t stand a fucking chance in hell” he chuckles, slapping her cheek lightly.

Veronica looks down, her heart sinking in her chest as the light blinks off. She’s even colder now than she was before. She can even feel the blood rolling down her stomach, as the cuffs are pulled tight again when the door slams shut behind him. She sucks in a deep breath as the burn in her arms returns again, he’s alive she can’t believe it she’s happy about that, of course she is. 

But she knows her brother, knows that he will find it almost impossible to live with the things she’s sure that he would have been made to do. He was never meant for the hunter life, let alone this shit show he was currently stuck with. 

Everything was beginning to go fuzzy again, all she could think about was when her and Seb had been younger, how he’d always protected her, right up until he wasn’t able to. When that sick fuck of a demon had caught him, he’d tried so hard to keep her safe. She was determined to get him out of here and that thing out of him, but right now she was screwed, he breathing was slowly getting deeper, each breath further apart. There was a loud bang at least that was what she thought she’d heard, who knows maybe she was dreaming.

She was stuck, completely useless to him. She thought she heard her name as she blacked out, but it would only be him again so she didn’t bother to fight the overwhelming darkness as it enveloped her.

Tags: @lusyschwa​​ @chewie-redbird​​ @julzdec​​ @lettersofwrittencollective​​ @stiles-o-dylan24​​ @mogaruke​​ @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone​​ @dylanholyhellobrien​​ @desiree-0816​​ @emichelle​​ @lilulo-12​​ @22sarah08​​ @flamencodiva​​ @hobby27​​ @akshi8278​​

[saintedfury]

Leave My Mark [IC Drabble]

Summary: If you have pain, then you have a place to start. You have something somewhere inside that can get you pissed for yourself. After Eli’s courtesy call, Furia finds just one of those things. It leads her to return to her hood rat roots and offer him a courtesy call of her own.

a/n: This came to me as I was falling asleep the other night. I asked for Close’s permission and she allowed me to let Furia hop back to something she did a lot of in her 20s. We can also kind of thank Faith’s Johnny for this a bit—his little statement about pain leading to being able to be pissed off for herself. And yes, she’s well aware of how juvenile this is, and she really does not care. You can also say that it’s loosely based on the Jazmine Sullivan song “Bust Your Windows” as well, which has always been a staple in Furia’s playlist.

Leave My Mark

-1-

Shaundi parked on the street in front of the pale pastel house; the whole neighborhood kind of came out you out of nowhere in the middle of Stilwater. It was strange, but comforting in its own oddly familiar way. As she climbed out of the driver’s seat, her attention went to the abandoned gardening tools in the neutral ground of the median. It struck her as odd, Furia usually didn’t leave things scattered out in that kind of manner. When she turned to find the front door standing open, a thread of tension crept up and around Shaundi’s spine. Her movement up the walk was definitely not her usual relaxed stride. The spike of concern wasn’t eased after her quick glance around the cavernous and still empty space. The puddle in the kitchen speckled with broken glass nearly choked the breath out of her.

“Boss?” she called, worry lacing her tone. She moved toward the kitchen, her feet crunching some of the scattered glass.

Catching a flash of purple suede, the breath burning in her lungs finally released. “Mujer,” she all but sobbed as she set her bags on the counter.

There was nothing normal about any of this, but finding Furia home was a relief in itself. After not receiving an answer, Shaundi leaned on the counter, trying to seem nonchalant about it as she peeked over the edge at her friend sitting in the floor.

A long, manicured finger tapped at the screen of her phone, which drew Shaundi’s sharp gaze. The lieutenant reached down and rested her hand on Furia’s shoulder, which earned a snap of the boss’ head. She pulled the headphones out of her ears.

“Que tal?” Shaundi asked.

Furia’s nose wrinkled. “Just looking for something.”

“I see that.” She let a smile tug at the corner of her mouth and she reached for a bag to empty it. “Though I have to admit, I’m curious about why you’re searching the jaws of life.”

Furia shrugged one shoulder. “Was looking for something that can cut through the metal body panel of a late American-made vehicle.”

That was oddly specific, Shaundi thought. “For?”

The boss didn’t answer immediately. She pulled herself off the floor and turned to watch Shaundi unpack some of the groceries she’d grabbed while she was out. “Eli called.”

For as simply as she said those words, Shaundi knew there was nothing simple about it. She stopped unpacking and leaned on the counter studying her friend.

“Wanted to let me know he wasn’t dead. As a courtesy.”

Shaundi’s jaw tightened and she set her hand over Furia’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. Furia returned it before, sneaking her hand free.

“Figured I’d return the favor,” the darker haired woman said with a tone in her voice that Shaundi hadn’t heard in years. The smirk that played over Furia’s lips sparked Shaundi’s own grin.

“Oh, really?” she cooed with a raise of her eyebrows. She leaned forward slightly, interested to hear this plan.

The boss stared at her, barely nodding her head.

“And that’s why you were searching the jaws of life?”

Another tiny shift of her head and a raised eyebrow confirmed Furia’s line of thought.

“You know those things are slow as shit, and they don’t cut so much as pull apart.”

That earned a nose wrinkle of disapproval. “We have to have something.”

“What are you aiming for?”

Furia leaned on the counter and plucked some grapes off the vine. She rubbed them with a paper towel before popping one into her mouth. “Keying seemed a little … tame,” she judged with a subtle shrug of her shoulder. The thoughtful look took on a mischievious deviance.

-2-

“I kind of want it to look like a werewolf went after the fucking thing,” Furia explained. She knew Eli didn’t give a shit about his car, not with the way he drove. But this wasn’t about that. It was about sending a message; specifically, she wanted to give him a demonstration of precisely what his courtesy call felt like for her.

“Seriously?”

“Sí, some wretched deep Wolverine-style claw marks down the entire side.” Her hands came up like a makeshift demonstration.

“Well, that’s an image. And it certainly wouldn’t go unnoticed.”

“What can I say?” Furia asked with a tip of her head. “I have a dream,” she added with a laugh as she popped another one of the juicy black grapes into her mouth.

“Did you ask Matt? He’s the keeper of all things tech,” Shaundi suggested. “I’m sure he has something appropriately destructive. Maybe something he cooked up for Johnny?”

“Not yet. Thought I’d try to leave him out of it.”

Shaundi stole a grape and gave her a look.

“Fine,” Furia replied petulantly. She tugged her phone out to flip through her contacts.

The prep work didn’t take all that long. Turned out CID could handle that first bit of vandalism. With that bit settled, Furia let her friend know she intended to do more than just gouging the side out of Eli’s Reaper. It was the kind of message Furia always helped Shaundi and other friends communicate to their exes. And in Furia’s mind, this was far clearer than just stealing it and having it scrapped.

“C’mon chica. We’re burning moonlight,” Shaundi called from downstairs.

Furia crouched over the box. She hadn’t opened it before that night, just left it in the corner of the closet. She picked through the trinkets and mementos of a slightly better time—she tried to bite back the bile that rose when she remembered that nonchalant revelation that darkened things. It had all been make-believe; his forgiveness had been hollow and their reconciliation nothing more than a front. The pain burned hot under her skin.

Her jaw tightened and she let it twist into something else, like Faith’s Johnny told her in that elevator—pain meant there was still something there to get pissed off for yourself about. She’d spent all that time thinking about how she’d failed him. How she’d not done right by him. But he’d failed her, too. Abandoned her and watched her collapse in on herself for years without the least bit of sympathy or support.

She shook the thoughts out of her head, and focused on the contents of the box. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to even figure out what Shaundi had put in there when she cleaned out Furia’s room at Tinta, let along get rid of any of it yet. It all just sat there, looming in the back of her closet, and, from time to time, her mind.

“Boss?” Shaundi’s voice came from the doorway this time. “We doing this?”

“Yeah,” Furia replied. Her search taking on more focus until she found what she was looking for. Fisting the tender dark colored silk, she stuffed it into her pocket and kicked the box back into the closet roughly, slamming the door on it.

She crossed the room in a hurry. Slapping the light off with one hand, Furia threaded her other around Shaundi’s elbow. “What were you looking for?”

“A statement.”

Shaundi shook her head at Furia, but left if at that.

They ambled out to the car, where CID leaned in one of his mechanical bodies. He seemed fascinated by the tools he was currently toying with. The shift of metal against metal made an appropriately sinister sound, at least as the boss judged. And with each flex of his fingers their geometry shifted into devastating Edward Scissorhands’ level honing.

Furia reached for passenger side door and opened it. CID opened the rear door for Shaundi who scrambled into the middle of the backseat. “Jefa,” Shaundi said, offering Furia one of the bottles she’d carried out, along with a cotton rag.

“Gracias,” she replied sliding into the seat.

Asha looked over at her from the driver’s seat. “Where to?”

“Start at the shop. It’s as good a place as any?”

“You know I could commandeer some of Matt’s drones …” Kinzie offered from the backseat.

Furia laid her head on the headrest and grinned back at the red head. “Part of the fun of this is finding the damn thing. Though, really, I don’t think that giant black dented monstrosity is going to be that hard to locate.”

“You have a point,” the smaller woman agreed.

As Asha pulled away from the curb, Furia looked down at the bottle. Bombay Sapphire. It was Eli’s brand; the one she noticed him drinking most. Even if she and her crew were the only ones that knew the molotovs were made with his preferred brand of gin, it still mattered to Furia. This little excursion was at least as much about Eli as it was about Furia, about her pain, her anger, her finally giving a voice to some of the newest in a series of devastating losses—the twisting and warping of even the pleasant memories that sometimes could ease the hurt when it bloomed.

Learning that everything they shared had been damn despite the reconcilliation stung. To hear him talk about those times that were like a light in the darkness to her as being not bad just felt like he was twisting a knife in her heart. Sure, him falling out of love with her hurt, but to know that it had all been a false front. That he’d stopped loving her long before she saw it. It ripped at those tender gashes that were still trying to heal.

She knew she wasn’t through it—the grief, the hurt, the betrayal. It might take years for that. But it would happen. It had to eventually, she tried to remind herself as her back teeth ground together. Fucking courtesy call, she thought as she leaned the bottle back a little to study the patterns in the like blue glass.

Furia pressed the button on the switchblade that opened with a snap and scored the top of the bottle. With a twist, the top fell to the floor; Furia swore the smell of gin filled the car. It reminded her of him. She pressed her tongue over her lips trying to ease away the memory of his lips on hers the taste of gin on his tongue. She bit her bottom lip hard, trying to detour her thoughts.

She rolled the cotton rag and stuffed it into the bottle. Furia found her voice when the need for distraction became dire. “How long has it been since we did something like this?”

“Umm.” Shaundi halted her own molotov construction as she thought about it.

“Josh’s Boxter,” Kinzie answered after a few swipes on her phone.

“Holy shit!” Shaundi’s laughter was bright. “Do you have like a log of that shit?”

“Of course,” the computer whiz replied with a simple shrug. “It’s all in the database. I had to know what was us and what wasn’t. For the sake of plausible deniability.”

Furia’s laughter bubbled wildly as she glanced back at Kinzie. “Of course. That makes complete sense,” she agreed. “Fucking love you, Kinz.”

“Indeed,” Shaundi agreed, cupping Kinzie’s face and leaning to press a kiss on her cheek with a loud mwah! A perfect purple pucker shadowed the smaller woman’s pale skin, but she did not brush it away or push Shaundi off.

A little twinge of guilt twisted in Furia’s chest as she grinned at them, then over at Asha who was also wearing an appreciative smile. When Eli let her back in, she’d hitched her whole being to him; it left nothing for anyone else in her life. It felt like a miracle, and had been one she was so afraid of losing that she nearly lost everything else in the process.

The narrowing of Asha’s gaze suggested she might just be reading Furia’s thoughts, so the boss winked at her and returned her attention to the bottle.

“He fucking well deserved it,” Shaundi continued as the two of them flipped through the pictures of Josh’s classic car and the trauma it received in retaliation for a misguided press release.

“Been too long,” Furia mused. She didn’t mean delivering a message by destroying a person’s vehicle; no, it was time with them, like this that had been too long in coming. “Miha,” she said, reaching back to hand over the bottle. “Show me.”

The three of them wandered through the images of Josh’s and a few other vehicles that they’d gone after in retaliation for any number of reasons ranging from broken hearts and cheating to grabbing the wrong ass at the bar. This was a far more common occurrence in Stilwater than it ever had been in Steelport.

“I’ll be damned,” Asha mumbled when they neared Rougher Sounds.

“Kind of surprised honestly,” Furia mused.

“Maybe he knew you were coming,” CID replied.

Every set of eyes in the car turned on him with a glare. “Doubt it,” the boss said.

-3-

The black car cruised down the road toward their target. The blacked out windows wouldn’t announce their identities before they were ready. The brakes slammed on and in almost the same moment two figures stepped out of the sedan, followed quickly by a third from the back. There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in any of them.

The android dressed in dark slacks and a purple pullover moved to the front quarter panel of the driver’s side and threw what could only be described as an open-handed punch at the metal. Gaining purchase, the quiet street echoed with the sound of twisting metal as CID dragged his fingers through the ebony side panels of the Reaper. He’d rounded the vehicle and did the same to the passenger side.

As he moved in an easy stride, Furia produced her switchblade which she twirled in her hand to grip like she might be about to stab CID. But her smooth gait carried her to the wide hood. She leaned over and gouged it. The sharp hard blade carved through the paint layers with every hard pull adding a new higher pitch to the metallic cacophony.

Shaundi walked behind CID and stopped at the driver’s side door, holding the three bottles of gin in one hand. Her free hand, wrapped around a collapsible baton, reeled back, then let it fly toward the glass. It shattered it easily adding a high pitch tinkle to the their symphony of destruction. “Tell me when,” she called over the sound of curling metal.

“Do it,” Furia insisted without even looking up from the message she was carving into his hood.

The auburn-haired woman took a few steps back and set the bottles on the pavement. She lit the first and tossed it through the window. The front seat of the reaper quickly burst into flame with a rushing whoosh. It flashed in yellow and orange flames. She lit and threw the second and then the third, getting the right angle for it to land in the backseat.

The fire lit the concentration that furrowed Furia’s brow as she punctuated her message with an exclamation mark. The final touch, turning the period of that punctuation into a heart. Then her hand rose again, casting a sinister shadow on the street around them. It came down; she’d buried the blade several inches deep in the hood, marking the center of that heart.

“Time to go,” CID announced noticing movement toward his left. It surely had to be Eli’s security detail, or maybe the boss himself. Neither mattered to Furia.

“Almost,” the boss replied.

The other two headed back to the vehicle, while Furia pulled the finishing touch out of her pocket. She draped the dark green silk stocking around the purple opalescent handle of the switchblade buried in the hood of Eli’s Reaper, and tied it in a flouncy bow. She was sure he’d remember them—after all that color made his eyes pop, she recalled with far less fondness than she might have before his phone call.

With that Furia took a few backward steps from his vehicle, surveying their work. Before she turned, she raised her phone and snapped a shot for Kinzie’s database, then she strolled toward the non-descript black sedan that brought her there. She had no intention of hiding any of it. They hadn’t worn masks, or obscured themselves at all. And the knife was clearly hers. A purple fleur de lis decorated one side, and on the other was the intertwined T and S that looked exactly like the tattoo on her hand which had become her signature back after the coma. For most of Stilwater it came to mean Third Street. But Eli knew there was more to it; he’d asked about it the night they met, down in the tasting room.

This night, however, he knife, the symbol, and the stocking all came together for one simple purpose; they were merely a signature, her signature on the message left in the hood of his car. “Courtesy Call!” He’d felt it necessary to let her know he was still alive. She just simply returned the favor.

[prolestariwrites]

Time To Go [5]: Things Have Gone So Horribly Wrong At This Point

Fandom: Devil May Cry Rating: M Characters: Nero, Dante, Vergil, Kyrie, Nico, Trish, Morrison Tags: Mystery, Humor, Missing Person, First Time, Family Drama, Family Bonding, Post-Canon Chapter: 5/9 Chapter [1] [2] [3] [4]

Summary: When Kyrie goes missing, Nero goes on a desperate search to find her. Unfortunately, Dante and Vergil go too. Sparda boys shenanigans, fighting demons, a smattering of family drama, and male bonding (otherwise known as Nero’s worst nightmare). Please check it out below, or you can read on FFNet or AO3. Beta read by @copper-wasp.

Now posted! Chapter 5: Things Have Gone So Horribly Wrong At This Point, in which Nero meets a former President, Dante and Vergil race, and Nico’s van gets a makeover.

━━━━━━━✧━━━━━━━

The van screeches to a stop in an empty parking lot. One street lamp flickers in the corner; otherwise, it's quiet—there are no lights, no cars, no people. It is the perfect spot for them to regroup and figure out their next move.

Dante opens the side of the van and climbs out as Vergil and Nero do the same. Reaching inside, Dante grabs the demon by the front of his coat, ignoring Trish's protest, and sets him down, the demon's legs dangling over the side of the van. Planting his foot up on the edge, Dante says, "Start talkin'."

The demon looks up, shaking slightly. "I don't—"

"Listen, shit head," Dante sighs. "It's one in the morning, I got this kid up my ass, I've had to look at my brother's ugly mug all night, and a cat stole my pizza. I'm pissed, tired, hungry, and I want to go home. So fucking talk."

"I don't know anything!" the demon cries.

Trish leans her forearm on the side of the door. "I thought you said you were good at this."

"I thought you said he'd know something."

Next to Dante, Vergil huffs. "You might try asking an actual question."

"Okay, everyone back off!" Dante snaps, holding up his hands.

"Move." Nero pushes him out of the way, stepping up in front of the demon. "What's your name?" he asks.

"Abe Lincoln," the demon replies.

Nero nods. "Okay, Abe. There's a girl missing. Her name is Kyrie. One of you demon assholes took her, and I want to know who. If I like what you have to say, you get to live another day. If I don't, you get a bullet in your head, just like your namesake. Understand?"

It is hard to tell what exactly the demon's expression is with his human suit so mangled, but Dante assumes it hits somewhere between annoyance and disgust. "Fucking humans," he says. "What makes you think I know anything? You all look the same to me."

Nero takes out his revolver and pushes it against the demon's head. "You have five seconds."

"He's not kidding," Vergil says. "He shot me earlier."

Dante snorts, but notes how Nero's fingers flex and coil around the grip of the gun. If they aren't careful, he'll blow the informant away before they get any information. "All right, kid," he says. "Let's give him a chance to answer."

"You're crazy!" the demon snaps. "All of you are crazy!" It looks up at Trish hissing, "Why did you bring me here?"

"Just answer their questions," she says tiredly.

"Time's up," Nero says.

The demon puts his hands up. Half the suit falls off and hits the ground, and Dante wrinkles his nose in disgust as it splatters on his boots. "Okay! Okay! What's her name? I don't know, maybe I heard something—"

"Kyrie," Nero replies coolly.

The demon nods. "Okay. I mean, maybe? Lots of demons take humans for food or power or just for fun. I don't know their specific names though."

"She's from Fortuna," Dante offers.

"Fortuna? I don't fuck with Fortuna." The demon gives a weird hissing sound that could be laughter. "Anyone that has any sense stays the hell away from there."

"That's funny, I kill plenty of demons there," Nero says.

The demon looks at him scornfully. "Newbies," it replies.

Dante heaves a sigh. "Listen, Abe, you got something for us or what?"

The demon looks around nervously. "No! I don't know. I ain't heard nothing about taking people from Fortuna, and I ain't heard the name Kyrie. Don't kill me!"

The three men exchange a glance. "He's telling the truth," Trish says. "He wouldn't lie, would you, sweet?"

"No, ma'am," the demon answers.

Dante narrows his eyes at Trish but she offers only a cool smile. "I'd really, really appreciate you not killing this one. It took me a long time to find a worthwhile informant."

Nero makes an angry noise in his throat, but he lowers the gun. "If I find out you lied to me, I'm going to come back here and rip your heart out myself." Then he steps away and walks around the van, climbing into the driver's side and slamming the door shut.

Dante swallows uncomfortably. He looks at Vergil and says, "Got any other ideas?"

Vergil shoots him a look but doesn't answer. Dante nods and says to Trish, "Thanks for trying anyway. I guess we'll head back and figure out our next step."

"No problem." Trish hops out of the van and tugs the demon with her. "Give me a call if you need anything else." She walks away, dragging it behind her, until they disappear into the night.

Dante heaves a huge sigh. "What a damn mess."

"We should go back to Fortuna," Vergil says. "Start looking there. I'm still not convinced she didn't leave on her own."

"Don't push that with the kid," Dante growls. "He's feeling bad enough."

"Let's go." Vergil steps into the back of the van, leaving Dante to kick the tire in frustration.

━━━━━━━✧━━━━━━━

They are halfway back to Fortuna and in the middle of nowhere when something inside the van makes a loud popping sound. Smoke starts pouring out from under the hood, and with a series of curses Nero pulls over to the side of the road. The van sputters as it rolls to a stop, and all three men climb out and step around to the front hood.

The only light on the road comes from the van's headlights. There is not a sound, not even animals in the distance, and they had not passed another vehicle for at least an hour. Nero rubs the back of his head as Dante checks his phone, which has no signal bars above the time that reads 2:28 am.

"Now what?" Vergil asks.

"Guess we walk." Dante heads to the van and opens the side door. He climbs in and grabs an empty bag, rummaging around for anything they might need. He finds a flashlight, a smattering of knives, and a candy bar, the rest of it just being Nico's junk that he can't make heads or tails of anyway. He munches as he returns to the others, who are still staring at the smoking van. "You guys coming or what?"

Nero slams his fist on the hood of the van, leaving a small dent. "This is bullshit!" he shouts. "We came all this way, and for nothing! We're no closer to finding Kyrie and now the van—" He lets go a yell and punches it again, and again. His demon arm activates, the blue light looking eerie in the dark, and with a final growl Nero rips off the entire hood and tosses it towards the wooded area off the side of the highway.

It skids across the ground with a metallic, grinding sound until it comes to a stop. Dante swallows the rest of the candy bar as Vergil glances at him. He gives a shrug, and Vergil nods. They stand shoulder to shoulder and watch as Nero continues his tirade for another minute or so, the van left with holes and dents in the metal, and the windshield now sporting a nasty crack that runs diagonally through the glass.

Nero plants his hands on the side of the van, leaning his head down as he takes heaving breaths. His shoulders shake as he tries to get a hold of himself, and Dante clears his throat. "You good now, kid?"

"No, I'm not good," Nero hisses. "What are we gonna do now? She's still gone and…" Metal screeches as his demon hand bends the frame under his grip. "This is just like Fortuna. I was too weak to protect her then, and now she's been taken all over again. I'm supposed to keep her safe but this shit just keeps happening, because of me."

Dante wads up his trash and shoves it in his pocket. "Ah come on, you don't know that—"

Nero whirls on him, the edges of his eyes glowing, the devil inside him kept at bay with the barest threads of sanity. "It's because of me, and you, and him—" Nero points at Vergil, who tenses in response, "—and Sparda—I wish I wasn't a part of this fucking family!"

Dante can feel his own demon powers rallying inside in response, but he tempers it easily even as he sets his jaw. "Fighting me ain't gonna get you anywhere," he warns.

"It'll make me feel a hell of a lot better."

"Nero," Vergil says in a warning tone.

Dante can't help but stiffen a bit. He has no idea what to say at this point, if there is anything that can be said to calm the kid down. But he knows for sure whatever lecture Vergil has planned is going to end with them all bloody, so he sighs and shakes his head, bracing himself for it.

To his surprise, Vergil simply says, "Come on. It's getting late."

Nero blinks in surprise when Vergil turns and starts walking up the road, his strides purposeful. He glances at Dante who gives the kid a smile and a shrug, slinging the bag over his shoulder and following. He smiles at the stunned silence behind him, only broken when Nero shouts, "Where are you going?"

Dante turns and walks backward, squinting at bit at Nero's silhouette illuminated by the headlights. "Gotta be something up the road," he calls back. "Best to keep moving."

He stares at the back of Vergil's head as they continue on, and a half minute later the headlights go out. Dante can hear Nero's footsteps hurrying up behind them, and again he smiles to himself. He picks up the pace a bit, a renewed energy letting him pass Vergil, who makes a noise behind him. "Don't walk in front of me," Vergil mutters. He moves a bit faster to catch up with Dante, making sure to walk just fast enough to stay a half step ahead.

Dante picks up his pace in answer. "Too slow, old man."

Vergil starts walking so quickly he is nearly jogging, and Dante begins trotting along to pull ahead. "What are you doing?" Nero calls behind them, but neither brother answers. Their speed increases incrementally until they are both moving at a quick jog, when Dante gives Vergil a shove.

"Watch it!" he snaps.

"Watch you eat my dust," Dante laughs.

He sprints forward, running as fast as he can. "That doesn't even make sense!" Vergil yells behind him, and a moment later he appears by his side, the two racing down the highway in the dark.

━━━━━━━✧━━━━━━━

The little office of the rundown motel is crowded with all three Spardas inside. There is just the front counter in front of a wall with dangling keys, the attendant looking up at them in a surprised half-daze, as they squeeze into the waiting room. Nero looks around at the stained green carpet and the calendar on the wall that is three years late, his skin itching just being in here. "Van broke down about thirty miles back," Dante says. "You got a phone we can use for a tow?"

The attendant leans over to turn the volume down on the little television set on the counter. "Only tow around here is Richie, but he won't answer this late. You'll need to wait until morning."

Nero huffs and pushes his way through the other two. "We're in a hurry."

The guy squints his eyes up at him. "You fellas in the circus or something?"

Dante gives a loud laugh. "Something. Since we gotta wait, you got a room? Three of them."

"Yeah." He pulls out a book and starts to write. "It'll be ninety dollars, plus tax."

Vergil and Dante exchange a look. "All you, brother," Vergil says.

"I ain't got it." He nods to Nero. "You can cover, right?"

"Not after I had to pay that woman and then buy you pizza," Nero mutters. "I only have another thirty on me."

Dante leans on the counter. "What can we get for thirty?"

The attendance swallows. "One room for the three of you. Checkout is at ten."

Nero grumbles under his breath, pushing past Vergil to go outside. After chasing down the two idiots they had spotted the neon Vacancy sign, heading over from the highway. It is nearly three in the morning now, and Nero can feel tiredness in his muscles and joints between the driving, the fight, and then the run. A shower and a couple of hours of sleep actually had sounded good, even in a fleabag place like this, but he still itches to get back to Fortuna and look for more clues.

The room is as bad as he had feared. Two double beds are inside, the mattresses lumpy and the blankets looking unwashed. Dante immediately flops on one, his frame taking up the entire space as he crosses his legs and props his hands behind his head. "Not so bad," he says as Nero and Vergil exchange a glance.

"It's awful," Vergil says.

Nero reluctantly agrees, watching as Vergil steps through the room tentatively. He turns and looks at Nero and says, "I'm not sharing the bed."

"Don't bother," Nero snaps. "I'm not gonna sleep anyway."

He strides through the room to the bathroom. The tile is cracked and dirty and the shower looks like it hasn't ever been cleaned, and he doesn't even want to look as he closes the toilet and sits down on the lid. In the next room he can hear Dante flip the television on as Vergil gripes about the inch of dust on the bedside table. Guilt fills his stomach as he thinks about the way he destroyed the van and railed against them both. Nero heaves a sigh, dropping his head down. Despite his tantrum, they had stayed with him and hadn't given him any grief about the van. That has to mean something.

"Hey kid!" Dante pounds on the door, startling him. "There's a vending machine, you want something?"

Nero chuckles. "Sure," he replies.

[wildsonggg]

Chapter 1

Hey guys! I am so bad at explaining things, but I wanna give a brief overview of this series before I launch in. It’ll be a mashup between the Avatar the Last Airbender worlds (in a way) and the avengers. This pic will feature Steve x reader and Bucky x reader. this will feature love, sex, drama, pregnancy, heartbreak, choices, and much more. the time period will start a little before winter soldier time period but will move around. I hope you all enjoy!!

                              ------------------------------------                                                  I giggled as the cold air hit my face. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes. I felt goosebumps pop up all over my skin. I grinned, hugging my arms closer to myself. I opened my eyes and watched as the world spun around me, lights coming in and out of focus. I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped my lips, forcing me to clamp my hand over my mouth, not wanting to cause a scene. 

“Its so nice out tonight! We could go for a run! We should go for a run.” I narrowed my eyes at the sidewalk before me, trying to get it to stop spinning. Maybe if I just ran with my eyes closed…

“Careful, doll, I think you may have had a little too much to drink.” A voice mused gently behind me. 

“Lighten up, Steve!” Another voice slurred, several octaves higher than I was used to hearing. I turned to see Nat stumble out of the club, pointing her finger at Steve. Her short red curls fell into her face and she gave a frustrated sigh, blowing them out of her face. “What good is a boyfriend who can’t get drunk if he can’t get drunk if he won’t support his woman.”

he frowned, trying to make sense of her sentence. “I stay sober and keep her from making dumb choices.”

She rolled her eyes. “She never gets to have any fun! Just because you have a stick up your ass doesn’t mean you gotta put one up hers, too.” She wrinkled her nose, swaying back and forth. “You don’t put stuff up her butt, do you?”

I watched as staves face turned a bright red. “Natasha!”

I smirked, glancing between the two. “Only two of my holes are in use, and I can promise you my butt is not one of them.”

Nat and I burst out laughing, cackling like hyenas. Steve clamped a hand over my mouth before I could spill anymore secrets on our sex life. Nat began to stumble forward and Sam appeared, grabbing the back of her dress before she could bite it. 

He sent a long, slightly annoyed look Steves way as he fished keys out of his pocket. “Lets get them home.”

Steve picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. I giggled and waved to Nat as Steve strode off. “Oh, not fair!” She whined, tugging on Sams shirt as he followed us down the street. “Why can’t you pick me up, too?”

 “You see what you started?” Sam yelled for Steve to hear. I could her the light chuckle in his chest.

“Don’t be a little bitch!”I yelled at sam. “She’s not even that heavy, noodle arms!”

This earned another fit of laughing from Natasha, causing her to finally fall to the ground. This caused me to point and laugh.

Sam said a long string of less than friendly words before grabbing Natasha and throwing her over his shoulder, too. “You two are in deep shit for this. All three of you, actually.”

We made it to the car and sam dumped Natasha to climb in shot gun while Steve and I settled into the back. Sam started up the car and peeled out of the parking garage. Steve wrapped an arm around me and I settled into his chest. “You know, Tony is gonna be pissed if you show up to the meeting drunk or hung over tomorrow.”

I glanced up to him, batting my eyelashes. “I guess I’m gonna need some coffee in the morning.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that your way of asking me to make you coffee in the morning?”

“No, this is.” I grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer. 

I’ll never get over the feeling of kissing Steve. Like his lips, however cliche this may sound, were made for me. They seemed to fit just right. A fire was lit somewhere deep within me and a hunger filled every inch of my body. I pulled away while I could still manage. “Can I please have some coffee tomorrow morning?”

“You’re gonna get us in trouble.”he muttered.

Nat scoffed “Please! You have a master assassin and a princess from another world who can BEND all the elements. Let a rich playboy in a tin suit try and tell us ANYTHING.” 

Sam snorted. “If he can’t beat your ass I promise you he’ll lecture you to death. Azula, you KNOW he thinks you and Korra are his kids.”

I grimaced but felt thankful on the inside. Tony had really been a rock for us since we showed up on his doorstep. We didn’t have the best luck when it came to fathers, so Tony was a nice stand in. No matter how overbearing and annoying he may be.

“I’ll never forget the look on his face when he found out about you and Cap.” Nat said.

“I’ll never forget the broken nose.” Steve mumbled, absent mindedly rubbing his nose. 

I gave his nose a peck. “And it healed beautifully.”

“Please, his body was sculpted by the Gods. Nothing about him is less than exquisite.” Nat said.

“The Gods my ass!” Sam yelled. “Science created that body.”

“Oh don’t be jealous, noodle arms.” Nat crowed, punching his arm. 

Sam shook his head. “That shit don’t even make sense. I hit the gym everyday. Noodle arms my ass.”

Nat and Sam began to squabble in the front seat and I grinned. Steve grabbed my hand, pulling me back to the conversation we were having. He began to pick at the hem of my tight black dress, fraying the lace. “You know, we could just skip the meeting. Go somewhere else instead…. Somewhere nice” 

I raised an eyebrow. “Like a vacation?”

He shrugged. “Well, something special.” I watched as his hands nervously fidgeted with something in his pocket. “You know, I was thinking….”

I sat up straight, suddenly more alert than I had been all night as Sam turned onto the highway. My vision was still off, and my insides felt warm, but the feeling was undeniable. Dread was seeping into my body.

“Do NOT throw up in this car! Do you hear me, Azula?” Sam asked. He glanced at me in the rearview mirror before turning his gaze back to the road.

I shook my head. “No, no… something is wrong. Something bad is going to happen.”

Steve grabbed my arm, gently rubbing it with his thumb. Nat watched me, eyes locked on mine in the rear view mirror. Im pretty sure I was the only one watch her reach for her gun under the seat. “Hey, everythings Fine. Korra is safe at the tower. She’s with tony, JARVIS, the worlds best security system. She’s gonna be fine. You gotta stop worrying.”

I shook my head. “No. No not to her. To us.”

As if on cue, something slammed into the roof of our car causing a large dent to form. Bullets shot through the metal and I screamed as one of them grazed my thigh. “BRAKES!” I screamed. 

Sam slammed on the brakes and a large black mass as thrown across the highway. Cars swerved around us to avoid hitting us. The large blob raised up. The moon reflected off something where his arm should be. 

“Is that a man?” I asked. 

“We need to get out of here.” There was something Nat voice I had never heard in her voice before. Nervous, on edge, maybe even…. Fear? “NOW, SAM, DRIVE!” She screamed.

The awful sound of metal hitting metal sounded and my was lurched forward, slamming my head into the car rest. I felt blood fill my mouth. I turned to see a car had hit us, propelling us forward. “Gas, Sam!” I yelled.

Sam floored it, attempting to hit the man infront of us. He easily jumped, landing on the hood the car. He smashed the glass, ripping off the steering wheel. Nat began to shoot and he jumped off. 

“They’ll steer us off the road!” I yelled, pointing to the thin railing that kept us and the 50 foot drop to the highway below us. The car behind us sped up, ready to run into again. 

Steve grabbed onto me and sam nodded to steve, signaling he had Nat. “Hold on tight.” Steve yelled. He kicked the car door off and we went with it. He held me close as the car door shot down the highway. I watched as the car we were in seconds ago was pushed off road and over the railing. 

I felt staves arms let go of me and I fell off of the car door, hitting the hard asphalt. My body exploded in pain as I felt my skin rip open. I opened my mouth, blasting a large enough burst of air to keep me from hitting the ground again. My plan had been to blow myself upwards, so I could land gracefully, but I had miscalculated. I blew too late and manage to shoot sideways, straight into the cement barrier. I heard a loud crack and the air was knocked out of my lungs. I clawed at the ground, gasping for breath. It took a few moments for me to regain my eyesight and breath. 

I glanced around trying to find Steve. I fear filled my body at the thoughts of what could’ve made him let me go and I tried to swallow my fear. I finally spotted him, about 30 feet back hunched over something in the street. I felt vomit rise up in my throat.

That stupid fucking compass. That stupid picture of Peggy. He had let go of me to save a hunk of metal. 

I began to shake as rage filled me. I felt smoke roll off of my body. I had lost once again to Peggy Carter. And it wasn’t even the real woman! Just a picture. 

I watched as he gently rubbed the photo, looking with concern. ‘

I bit back bile and turned to see Nat and Sam watching us, horror on their faces. Nat had a nasty cut on her eyebrow, but other than that, the two seemed to make it out unharmed.

The sound of screeching tires pulled us from our thoughts. The car that had run us off the road came to a halt and 6 fully armed men jumped out, guns at the ready. The metal armed man joined them. 

“The civilians!” Nat yelled, jumping into action. Sam joined her, running to the armed men. Steve finally snapped out of it, his eyes meeting mine. 

Regret filled his face as his mouth opened and closed. “Azula….”

I turned to see civilian cars getting closer. I plated my feet firmly in the ground and did a few moves, creating a wall of rocks, blocking the cars from getting to us. I turned back to the action and my hands set ablaze with my signature blue fire. Lightning crackled around me as hatred filled my body. “Tin man is mine” I said, cooly. 

I launched into action, Steve close behind. Metal man found me first, watching me from a distance, eyeing me up and down. 

I couldn't see much. He was clad in all black. A mask covered most of his face along with thick black goggles. long brown hair framed his face, giving me no real feel for what the man looked like. 

I scowled. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” I yelled at him, from down the street.

With blinding speed he had managed to pulled a rocket launcher from his back. “Oh shit.” I ran forward, using the rocks to propel me up and over the shot. The blast threw me off, and I fell onto of him, knocking him down. 

“What the hell.” He gruffly said. 

he went to punch me and I quickly rolled off. I shot a rock at him and he punched it out of the air, breaking it in half. A car door hit the man, knocking him over the railing. I glanced over to see him on the ground, under the car door. I turned, scowling. Steve stood close by. “I don’t need help!” 

“Doll-“

II blasted him with air, knocking him into the armed men. 

“Azula!” Sam yelled, taking down one of the men. 

“He deserved it!” Nat yelled, running over to me. “You boys got this?”

I grabbed her and we jumped down off of the raining. I used the air currents to ease our descent and let go once we had hit the ground below. I did a few more earth bending moves, blocking the road off. A large crash sounded and I saw a bus flipped over, smoking. Nat was fighting hand to hand with the metal man. I ran over to the bus to see what had happened. 

Steve lay among the mess, groaning. “How the hell did you get down here so fast?! You should’ve stayed up there.” I hissed, angry. “We got this.”

“Azula, please…”

“Go help Nat. I’ll get the civilians out of here. Go, NOW!” I yelled when he hesitated. 

He gave me one last look before going to join Nat. I ripped the bus doors open and helped the civilians out, directing them to safety. A gun shot sounded and I heard Nat cry out in pain. I whipped around to see her on the ground. Stave ran to her, but I could tell he wouldn’t make it. 

“Hey!” I screamed. I shot a ball of fire at the man, trying to distract him. I needed Nat to be okay. She has to be. “Over here, jackass!”

I began to run at him, shooting more fire. He did his best to dodge the blasts, yelling in annoyance. I shifted the rocks under his feet, taking him down. I grabbed the gun before he could fire, bending the metal in my hand. I tossed it aside, straddling him. I had managed to knock off his glasses in the process, revealing his big blue eyes. 

I paused for a moment, caught of guard. My flaming fist paused right over this head and time seemed to stand still. Something seemed oddly familiar about those eyes. He used that moment to inject something into my side. I yelled out in shock, my whole body going numb. I fell off of him and he leaned over me. 

With my last ounce of strength I thrust my hand up, ripping off the mast he had on.

Oh my god. I had never met the man, but his image was burned into my brain. “Bucky….”

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

A shot came from behind him. He gave me one last long look before he took off, vanishing from my sight. Sam appeared, helping me up. “Oh fuck, you’re bleeding… like, everywhere.”

“Nat was shot. Where is Nat”

“Azula, can you walk? What did he do to you?”

“He injected me with something.”

“Did you get a good look at what it was?” He asked, supporting my full weight with a grunt. “Azula, hey, I need you to focus, okay? Can you hear me?”

“I didn’t, but I got a good look at something else. We have bigger issues.”

[infinitelyavenger]

Don’t Break Anything That Doesn’t Heal Quickly

Summary: Tony doesn’t want you getting hurt, especially with the history you have with Hydra. After getting a few broken ribs and cuts, he doesn’t know what to do with you, so he resorts to ignoring you completely.

Warnings: Smut 18+, Slight Angst, protective Tony! Oral, Age Gap, and minor mentions of Steve.

Word Count: 2,495

Author’s Note: Hi! This is my first Avengers story ever, in honor of endgame coming out this week, I decided it would be appropriate to write about the one and only Iron Man. I really hope you enjoy! I’m looking forward to writing about other characters!

   Coming home bruised and busted after a mission was rare but that day, you were a wreck. Hydra agent after Hydra agent, coming one after the other, you’re not gonna lie, one even managed to knock the wind out of you or maybe crack a few ribs.

“Shit.” You gasped for air, and tried to regain your balance again before the Hydra men surrounded you, hand over your ribs you pushed yourself off the ground and managed to kick a few in the face,  you send them flying, the metal wall clinking and denting behind them, you watched each one sink to the floor as Cap’s shield nearly tore their heads off.

“Right on, kid.” You see Tony in his suit, blasting the already dead men on the floor. Maybe for good measure.

 “Just try not to get yourself killed.” He flies right past you before you can reply.

Just as you watch him disappear, you bend over and clutch your side cursing breathlessly.

“You alright?” Your head flies up and immediately you paint a calm face. Completely forgetting who was fighting alongside you. 

“Yeah. Just got the wind knocked out of me s’all.”

Steve only hums and nods in reply, he turns his back toward you and tilts his head toward his shoulder, his index finger and middle pressed against his ear.

You could only sigh as you know what he was doing, you could hear him after all.

 “Is the Quinjet ready for launch? Need to get Y/N to the infirmary.” His voice was shaking, you could tell he was trying to be as calm as possible. “Quickly.”

__

  “What the hell happened? I told you to try and stay alive, I turn my back on you for a few seconds and you manage to break nearly every rib?” Tony was angry, he was absolutely fuming. The vein on his neck was prominent, bulging and glaring right at you.

Bruce was on his knee, wrapping your bruised side with the cotton as you sat up, slouched and sore on the leathery bed. With a sigh, you kept your eyes averted and away from him, Steve stepped in and pushed him back. “Calm down, Stark.”

“Where were you, Captain America? I told you to keep an eye on her. So much for being America greatest hero, my ass. Can’t even keep your own coworker safe.” He spits one last time, Steve’s face was calm, as always he held a composed look and with that, Tony stormed out.

“I don’t need a babysitter.” Bruce and Steve could only give you a sympathetic look.

“Dollface, we just don’t want you to get hurt.” Steve’s voice was soft and reassuring, almost as if he was trying to get you to understand Tony’s anger, but you didn’t, Nat’s broken a few and so has Wanda, but never did they get an earful from the boss himself.

“I only broke 3.” You murmur and lay back, your breasts threatening to spill out of your sports bra. 

“Yeah, on each side.” Bruce quipped and placed the ice pack on your covered injuries.

The clanging of Steve’s boots ringing in your ears as they got further and further away.

—   Seven weeks. Seven fucking weeks.

You spent recovering and doing the stupid breathing exercises Bruce constantly reminded you to do whenever he walked past your room, which was every day after every mission.

“So you don’t get Pneu-“

“Pneumonia. I know, Bruce.” You were sure he was taunting you, rubbing it in your face.

Bucky would slip in on occasion, telling you what went on in the mission, how many they managed to kill, make a joke or two about you missing out and then say how much they all miss you on the team.

Tony was yet to check on you, you’d get one worded replies and death glares. He would stubbornly avoid you at every cost.

So, let’s just say you’ve been hiding out in your room, you’d get few visits here and there. Secretly hoping one of them would be Stark, but you knew he wouldn’t. He was dead set on making you suffer for something, you again had no control over.

__

  It was your night from your first mission back, you dragged your feet across the oak floor, your socks making soft swift motions as you slouched toward the kitchen and down past the long dark hall; each room was filled with 1 unique person with some type of freaky ability.

Superhuman. God. Bionic Arm. A wizard that lets out red power. Super good expert at archery. Hot Redhead 

You saw a light shine at the open space between the door and the floor. Cap, per usual, tends to do some insane work out routine late at night when everyone is asleep, his energy runs higher than anyone else's.

With a yawn, you turn the corner and into the kitchen, you felt a breeze hit your bare thighs, your lower body covered in goosebumps, you instinctively zip up your open hoodie and tugged the straps of the hood tightly. Why was it so cold in here?

You entered the dark lit area, you were so lethargic from just waking up, you would keep your eyes closed for a few seconds at a time, it’s not like anyone would notice, it’s not like anyone would be up right now.

Swinging your hands around trying to find the cabinet with the glass cups you finally come in contact with one, the glasses clinking as you scrambled for one. You make your way to the other side of the kitchen; scanning for the water dispenser.

“Can’t sleep?” The voice was deep and tired, peaking raspiness. You jump causing the glass to fall out of your grasp, you juggle it around trying not to drop it. 

“Jesus Christ!” A whisper loud enough the person sitting across the island could hear, you finally managed to still the cup with your grasp, you make a pained face and clutch your chest. Oh, you’d be on the floor, all types of weapons pointed at you if that glass fell.

They would probably think you’re someone trying to sneak in, but then again if it’s made by Stark, they’d never make it past the entrance.

You can hear a soft chuckle across the island, you tilt your head forward, Tony’s features painted softly by the moonlight as if it were caressing his skin. You took a step toward him, making out his body as the moon brushed over him.

“I thought you weren’t talking to me.” You break and sigh, he only chuckles again, only pathetically this time as he leans forward, his eyes gleaming under the light clearly searching for yours.

“I can’t sleep.” He whispers under his breath and it echoes in your ears. He sounds pained almost, asking you for help, could he be— no. His faint breathing is all that’s left between you two aside from the unmentioned awkwardness floating around.  

You look at him, blinking quickly as you realize what you’d been doing. Had you been in your head too long?

“It’s late, Stark.” You mutter as you shake off the weird tension and turn your back again.

“You know, for an elite superhero, and part of the worlds greatest kick-ass squad, you aren’t quite good at awareness.”

“Tony, it’s 3 am. You really think I’m gonna be prepared to take on anyone right now.” You begin to fill the glass up, you can hear him shuffle out of the stool and toward you, trying not to pay attention to the growing nervousness in your belly, you press your thumb harder into the button, you swear you can feel him breathing down your neck.

God, this water dispenser is taking an eternity.

Right as you turn to face the man to complain about the water dispenser you crash right against his chest, not expecting him so close behind you, you nearly fall back but he grips your forearms and pulls you to his chest, his muscles tensing around you.

“I wasn’t talking about that.” His tongue glides over his teeth and his strong grip on you loosens, your heavy breathing and heaving chest gave away your already nervous state.

How long were you holding your breath for?

You’re still looking at him cluelessly, he looks frustrated, angry? Maybe.

“Really? Nothing? You’re so god damned oblivious sometimes it’s ridiculous.” He lets you go and sighs, his breath shaking as he faces the island, hands gripping the edge as his head sinks down.

“I was worried.” He says through gritted teeth, his knuckles turning pale as his grip becomes harder. “You stride in here, clueless and careless, about how important you are to us, you have a whole team back there, quivering in fear of your safety.”

“T-Tony is this about..” You nearly croak, why is he angry at you, It’s not your fault you took a few blows from the biggest Hydra agent in the warehouse. You were just at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

“From the moment I saw you-“ he pauses and faces you, his big callused hands cupping your face, he runs his thumb past the corner of your mouth and down your chin, his eyes glossy and flashed with guilt. “I can’t. I just- I can’t, Y/N.”

You reach up and hook your hands over his, pressing them against your cheeks, giving his hands a reassuring squeeze.

“Please, just say it.” You were searching for him, his gaze avoiding you as he looked everywhere else but at you. “Tony.” You whisper and squeeze tighter, his eyes finally meet yours. It hurts him, you can see it.

“Ever since I saw you, ever since we saved you from-“ Gulp. “I couldn’t fathom anything else happening to you.” Whimper. “That’s why it took me so long to recruit you on the team. It breaks my heart seeing you hurt.” Sigh. “Please tell me you understand. Throw me a bone here, Y/N.”

A small smile pinched the corner of your mouth as you leaned in and crashed your lips against his, Tony’s hands almost immediately gliding down your body to rest on your hips.

You back meets the cold counter and you jolt forward, hands buried in his hair, you tug it and he takes it, his fingers digging into your thighs as he lifts you onto the countertop.

His tongue slides past yours, massaging and roaming every part of you, he drags it down past your neck, sucking and biting desperately, his palms scraping your soft skin as they fly up to cup your breast, his thumbs working at your semi-hard nipples. “I just want you to be safe.” His voice hot and desperate, he’s kneading your breast and working his other hand further down your body.

He’s quick, in a swift motion he pulls away with heavy breaths and yanks your hoodie up; exposing your breast to the cold air and the moonlight.

Tony’s eyes nearly rolling back into his head as he stares at your chest, half in awe half in lust.

 “So sexy.” Muttering under his breath, he brings his mouth around your small bud, flicking his tongue around, slicking it up with his saliva. He pulls away to get one last look, his thumb running over the healing bruise on your torso, pecking it over and over, as if his lips were going to make the ugly purple and yellow disappear from your skin. The ugly reminder that he wasn’t there to protect you.

“Tony.” You whimper as you feel the fabric of your panties soaked against you, you buck your hips up and fist his hair, hoping for any kind of friction.

“Shh, princess. We have to be real quiet, ok?” You can only nod in response, your teeth sinking further into your bottom lip, his hands looking at the band of your shorts.

Tony’s lips placing soft wet kisses on your inner thigh as he slides your shorts off, groaning softly as he comes face to face with your dripping pussy, practically engulfing your smell; he leans forward to plant his lips on your wet panties licking a fat stripe before he pulls them aside. 

“So wet for me already.” The sound of the slickness peeling away makes him feel intoxicated, he’s hasty, his lips instantly attached to your clit, gripping your thighs for dear life and buried between them, so ready to taste you and savor every last drop of your juices as if you were his last supper.

Your head lolls back, the irony taste of your blood coming from your lip moans getting caught in your throat, his rough palms placed on each inner sides of your thighs, spreading you open just for him and whenever he reaches just the spot, your toes curl and your legs threatening to give out.

“Keep them open for me, baby.” His breath scorching against your clit, sending shivers down your spine with your bare ass pressed against the cold marble, legs shaking and bent in the air, Tony wanted this image of you painted and hung on his wall.  

His fingers lightly grazing over your sensitive numb and slipping into you, he pumps his digit in and out of you, his tongue never letting you rest. The sound of your own juices wrapping around your ears.

“More, please. I need more.” You cry and press your palms flat against the counter for support as you watch him sinfully play with your pussy.

“Shhh, princess, what did I say?” Your body lurches forward reflexively as Tony shoves in a second digit then a third and mercilessly continues to fuck you with them, your slick dripping down his knuckle. His slim fingers pressing and pushing up against your clenching velvety walls.

His eyes find yours and you grip his hair, so close, you are so close. You throw your head back and he grins wickedly, he loves making you helpless and desperate, just like you make him.

He dives right back in, fingers soaked and tongue dancing. His strokes are getting slower, searching for that bundle of nerves, his fingertips grazing against it with each move and your hands finding his hair again, your hips jerking forward in a staggering manner.

He hums happily, lapping up every last drop you have to offer, he leans up to rest your trembling legs on his shoulders, his tongue searching for more until your hands fly up and yank at his hair, your body nearly convulsing as he brushes against the sensitive numb once again.

“Tony, please.” You half cry, the muscle on your stomach contracting.

He lifts his head up, his mouth holding a giddy smile as he licks his lips, he pulls your weak body closer to him as he stands between your legs, his lips kissing you everywhere until he reaches your lips.

“Please don’t get hurt again.”

[avengers-generation]

Avengers: Generations - Chapter 2

London

Steve walked through Hyde Park, his baseball cap low on his head. It was a rare sunny day in London and people were out and about enjoying the weather. Families walked around, chatter and laughter filled the air. Many had dogs, barking happily and wagging their tails. 

A frisbee landed near Steve’s feet, and soon a dog followed. It’s head came up to his knees, his dark coat shimmering in the light. It barked and pushed the frisbee towards him. Steve reached down for the disk, a woman running up to him as he was getting ready to toss it. 

“Galena! That’s not polite!” She reached down and pet the top of the dog’s head, who immediately sat down next to her, barking a single time. “Sorry about that, the breeze surprised me.”

“Not a problem. May I?” Steve held up the disk. 

“Of course.” The woman pat the dog’s head and it sat up, looking at her. “You’re going to catch it?” The dog barked, excitedly. Steve threw the disk and the dog bolted after it, catching it without a problem. 

“She’s a smart dog.” Steve looked down at the woman, who only came up to the top of his shoulders. 

“And very well behaved. She’s amazing. Do you have a dog?” She looked over at Steve, her smile making him want to smile back. 

“No, I travel a lot for work. It’s not ideal for a pet.” Galena had run back and was now at Steve’s feet again, waiting for him to take the disk. 

“I do it with three.” 

“You have three pets?”

“Yes, two dogs and a cat. They usually stay home but sometimes they come with me.” 

“What kind of work do you do?” Steve could feel his com vibrating, Natasha or Sam were trying to get in touch with him.

“Research, mainly, but a few other things as well.”A beeping came from the woman’s pocket, as her phone began to go off. She looked at her watch before beginning to walk away. “Thank you for tossing her disk, it was nice meeting you.”

“Nice to meet you too.” Steve watched as the woman jogged towards her dog who was sitting next to a backpack with the disk in front of her. That really was a smart dog.

Steve turned around, continuing on his walk as he checked his com. 

‘Hydra on the move. Also she’s hot. Should’ve got her number.’ -Nat 

Steve shook his head, match making never seemed to end. He turned his ear piece on, ready to get to work. “What have you got?” 

“You really need to start taking more chances with dating. Dip your toe in.” Natasha’s voice came through, traffic in the background. 

“Again, this really isn’t a good time.” Steve reached the edge of the park and began to check his surroundings. 

“She was also way out of your league.” Sam pipped in.

“So what are we looking at? Any better idea since this morning?” Steve ignored their prodding, choosing to concentrate on their morning mission.

“They’re on route to try and acquire the weapon. ETA 3 minutes. It looked like the meeting point was the park for a while, but its changed to the block just south of where you are.”

“Alright, converge on the area. Eyes open.” 

“Open for the pretty girl and her dog?” Steve was about to reply when a scream was heard and then people began running

“Looks like they’re ahead of schedule.” Steve rounded the corner of the block, reaching it just in time to see Hydra agents surrounding a group of civilians. 

“Hands up! Down on the ground!” Steve began to run, seeing the Hydra agents pointing their weapons at the small group. “Scan them!” 

Steve reached a Hydra agent guarding the perimeter. He quickly disarmed him before moving on to the next one. “Take care of him!” 

Hydra agents converged on Steve, still barely making a dent. “I could use some help over here!” He spoke into his com. “We’re a little busy.” Natasha replied. 

He was still 10 meters away when one of the civilians attacked, quickly disarming the closest guard and continued to make quick work of the rest of them. The chaos was quickly calming down as more agents were taken down. 

“We’ve got incoming! Weaponized minivan coming up behind you Steve.” Sam said, the sounds of the fight almost overpowering his voice. Steve paused to locate the truck before beginning to run towards it. The van seemed to be reinforced with a large weapon rising on the roof. “This is one intense soccer mom.” He said to himself. To his left he noticed a blur. Turning his head slightly he noticed a masked figure running towards the van. 

“Are we expecting backup?” He had barely finished his sentence when a loud noise caught his attention. The weapon was beginning to charge and lining itself up to shoot the masked figure. Steve picked up his pace but the figure had already overtaken him. 

The figure reached the van first, knocking out the two guards outside before ripping the driver door off with one hand and grabbing the driver with the other, smashing him into the ground. A shot from the van roof hit it’s right shoulder. Steve jumped to the roof, grabbing the agent and tossing him aside. He was about to reach for the weapon’s shooter when the large barrel spun around before ripping off of its stand. The barrel knocked the shooter on the head, sending him flying off the roof. Steve looked back at the weapon, a loud crunch noice could be heard as it crumbled in on itself. He looked down off the roof, noticing the hands of the masked figure being lowered. He looked into their eyes, a bright green shinning back.

Sam and Natasha arrived, weapons pointed at the figure. “Stop! Stay where you are!” Natasha spoke from behind the figure. Steve jumped down from the roof. The figure hadn’t moved and was still looking his way. He walked over to her, careful to watch for any sudden movements. Once he was within arms reach he could tell how short the person was, barely reaching his chest. “Who are you with?” 

One hand slowly reached up, making the three Avengers nervous. It pulled back on the hood covering its head. The other hand reached for the mask removing it as well. Underneath was black hair, tied back in a messy bun and a familiar face. “Nice to see you again Captain.” 

Steve stared back at the girl from the park. Confusion etched on his face as he tried to figure things out. 

“That’s one way to get a date.” Sam said, still hovering slightly above the rest of them with his wings. Suddenly, the sound of metal crunching was heard and Sam came flying down to the ground, landing to the right of Steve. 

“If I had wanted a date, I would have asked.” The girl spoke in a harder tone than earlier in the day. 

“What did you do?” Steve asked, positioning himself for a fight. The girl lifted a hand, aiming it towards Steve. He heard a crash before feeling air brush past him as one of the van doors came flying off. It stopped in front of the girl, hovering in the air before beginning to fold into a paper airplane. 

“I broke something.” She smiled slightly, clearly a little pleased with herself. Sirens could be heard in the distance, emergency responders converging on the scene. 

“We’ll need to finish this on the Quinjet.” Steve reached for the girl, ready to cuff her. 

“I need my pets.” She looked him dead in the eye, “then I’ll come willingly.” 

Steve paused for a moment, unsure if what she had said earlier was true or if this was an escape plan. Before he had time to decide she whistled. Two sharp sounds filling the air. From around the corner dog barks could be heard. A few moments later two dogs came bounding around the corner along with a cat. The familiar black dog sat down at her feet along with a small fluffy blonde one. The cat jumped up her back and onto her shoulder, she opened up her hood while the cat settled inside. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 1  Chapter 3

[interdimensional-ship]

Majorly Repaired

It wasn't too long before each person tasked with collecting a power star– including one extra that wasn't at the meeting– had all arrived in the same place: the Galaxy’s End. Moreso named for what the area is associated with, rather than to denote a literal location, magic here seems to flow more easily. Either that is because of the ritual that occurs here, or perhaps that was why this was the place selected in the first place.

Despite the differences in where they had been kept, and how far apart they had been, each power star pulsed their light in unison. Each was connected to one another somehow, and as more were gathered in one place, the power they emitted only seemed to strengthen. However, it was only when the last was reunited with its brethren that they revealed their true purpose.

Each star rose from where it was kept– out of hands, perhaps from bags or pockets they had been placed in– to meet one another in open space, forming a ring of the colorful stones. Slowly at first, but with growing speed, the ring began to rotate, until individual stars were no longer discernible. Then, almost as soon as the event began, they converged at the center in a glowing light. Rapidly, then, did that light expand, and with its expansion did Nova appear.

The clockwork star, initially, felt some anxiety upon seeing he was summoned by a group. More than once had he seen fights and betrayals occur over who would make the first wish, or over who would wish at all. But upon seeing Luna, someone whom he recognized and trusted, his fears were eased. He was not given the opportunity to make his feelings known, however, as the process began.

“READY…> I WILL GRANT YOU ONE WISH…>”

If Magolor wasn't anxious about this whole thing before, he sure is now. The fact that the one making the wish hadn't been discussed beforehand didn't help; he assumed it would be himself, but wasn't sure if that's what the others were thinking. Moving off of the one who had taken him here in the first place, the Halcandran swallows his fears and faces the clockwork star.

That's something he'll have to deal with afterwards. He's come this far, he can't stop now. Calming his nerves the best he can, the mage makes his wish to the machine in front of him.

“I… I wish for my ship… I wish for the Lor Starcutter to be returned to peak condition. She was badly damaged recently…”

His voice trails off as he realizes Nova probably wouldn't care to hear the whole story of what happened. The Halcandran just hopes he phrased his wish right.

“OK…>”

Briefly, it appears that the countdown was going to start. However, the comet pauses before it begins.

“... THE WISH YOU HAVE MADE IS A RATHER LARGE ONE…> IF I GRANT IT, I WILL NOT HAVE THE ENERGY TO GRANT ANY TO THE REST OF YOUR PARTY UNLESS THE POWER STARS ARE BROUGHT TOGETHER ONCE AGAIN…> ARE YOU SURE THAT IS THE WISH YOU WANT?..>”

“Yes… Repairing her was the reason we summoned you in the first place.”

The mage hadn't given himself any time to rethink what he had asked for. Temptation was there to wish for something selfish, but Lor was more important. Much more important. If the others wanted wishes of their own, if they'd been in this for more than just getting his ship back? That was their problem.

“OK…>”

There's a glimmer of light in Nova’s eyes before they close, as he begins to count down.

“3…

2…

1…

GO!!!>”

As soon as he says go, an almost blinding light pours from the machine's eyes, with even the damaged one forced to open itself completely for the release. With the light, Lor appears in her damaged state, but quickly things begin to change as the wish is granted.

Her dome’s window, which had been shattered when the monstrous head had burst through, is returned to perfect condition. The cracks are mended, and where material was missing the glass seemingly materialized out of thin air. It doesn't just stop there, though, as soon even the glass that wasn't damaged was improved, the nebulous space displayed within becoming clearer and more vibrant. The repairs then spread all across her structure; where pieces had been split apart, connections are restored. Every hole sees the metal coming together until it is as if the damage never occurred.

Even the magic flowing through her hull, which had slightly dimmed from the loss of energy, is seemingly brought back to life, brightly shining. Every minor scrape, dent, or scratch on the Starcutter disappears. Where the fabric on the edges of her sail had frayed, the strands are rewound, and even minor discoloration on the design caused by heat and light exposure fades away.

The repairs were not limited to the exterior of the ship, either. Inside, walls that had been damaged from previous impacts are restored to their original state. Small cracks and hairline fractures fill themselves in, while aged wiring is made anew. Buttons that initially had their colors worn down from use look as though they had just been painted.

She hadn't just received major repairs– she's been returned to how she was upon her construction being completed; she's literally good as new! As relieved as Magolor may be to see his home and guardian figure finally back to how she's supposed to be, Lor was infinitely more thankful. So much so that she… really couldn't find a good way to express it fully.

“>I’m… I’m back to normal! And you're all ok! Thank you, thank you so, so much, all of you…”

She would've given individual thanks to everyone who helped, but due to not knowing the name of the wizard guy who took Magolor to Hotbeat and the fact that Mr Hallucination Man™ is in fact a real person, that would've both taken too long and been kind of awkward. Hopefully, everyone would understand not being able to put this much emotion into words.

Magolor seems to be quieter with his thankfulness, his hood mostly concealing his now watery eyes. It's felt like years since his mom house felt like a mom or a house, so there's a lot of emotion that's been built up. With a nod to the rest of the group that helped, especially his Wizard Uber™, the mage returns to his ship.

Chances are he has some catching up and cleaning up to do– he wished for Lor to be fixed, not cleaned.

((AAAAA FINALLY! Thank you SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO PARTICIPATED IN THIS! It's taken a while, but Lor's finally back and ready to interact with people as normal! Or, at least as normally as she can; she is still a sentient ship so that's already taking a few generous steps outside the norm.

This event has taught me a very important lesson: Events Are Fun But Tiring. I don't plan to do another one like this for a very long time, but that doesn't mean I don't have a few smaller things planned out! :3c))

[renaroo]

Some Times (Time and Time Again) (1/8)

Disclaimer: Booster Gold, Blue Beetle, and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics.  Warnings: Canon shaken not stirred, Heavy canon references to Booster Gold (2009-2011) and Blue Beetle (2016-2018) Pairings: Boostle Rating: T Synopsis: Booster Gold and the rest of the Time Masters are still straightening up things in the wake of the most recent universal Rebirth. But Rip Hunter is still missing in the aftermath, leaving Booster in charge with Skeets, Michelle, and Rani. But there’s a distraction for Booster, one he can’t keep himself from ignoring. 

Ted Kord, miraculously, is still alive. And that makes everything more complicated than Michael could have ever imagined. 

A/N: I’ve been toying around with this idea for what feels like forever, at least since the Rebirth books got launched over at DC, and I finally got time to really sit down and work it out. I’m really excited for this fic and hope it’s decent enough for some of you out there!

Blue Beetle

Life without an assistant, as it turns out, is shockingly compressed on time.

Jaime doesn’t need much help on his progress as the Blue Beetle, but so long as he is the Blue Beetle, Ted has no interest in slacking on the kid’s training. Assistant or no assistant.

With his laptop balancing precariously on his knee, and himself balancing precariously on the sloping hood of the Beetle, Ted is attempting to keep track of company stocks, a slack chat with members of his board, an incoming tech report from some computer analyst he hired out of Jaime’s high school last week, and not waste too much of his bagel in the process.

Despite the distractions, however, Ted’s real concentration is still on Jaime’s blaster as it destroys thousands of dollars and hundreds of man hours of equipment in the simulation fight.

It’s what Ted built it for, but still…

“Seriously, Mister Kord, I have to go meet my mom in, like, fifteen minutes,” Jaime shouts out over the sounds of debris dinging against the lab’s metal floors. He’s not even looking in Ted’s direction as he wastes another AI dummy that is gunning for him.

Feeling himself sliding a bit, Ted kicks back against the Beetle some to get back on his perch, his computer bobbing with the jarring, bagel bits flying. He wonders if an assistant would have helped with the bagel parts. And then he plays back the memory of Jaime’s highly pitched complaints.

“Hey, hey! How many times do I have to tell you, it’s not Mister Kord, kid, it’s Ted,” he argues on the important part.

Jaime’s suit unites his hand blasters into a single canon and blasts through more expensive equipment. He then looks over his shoulder and squints his large, buggy yellow eyes at Ted. “Maybe you should stop calling me kid then, Ted! Also, you’re missing the part where I’m warning you about a very angry Missus Reyes.”

Ted answers an email by holding the remains of his bagel between his teeth. Then he tilts his head back and swallows what he can, choking a bit, and accidentally sending a string of keyboard smashes to his company’s board of executives in response to a question about why so much money is being poured into Extraneous Funding. Bits of extraneous funded superhero training material flies toward Ted and the Beetle and if Ted didn’t know any better, he’d think Jaime was aiming in spite.

“Watch it, Jaime! I just buffed out the last dent in the Bug,” Ted warns, using his not-free-but-freer hand to rub the glistening hood to his side.

There’s a keening noise coming from the scarab on Jaime’s back that is only matched in annoyance by the groaning that Jaime’s doing on top of it. “Mister Kord!”

“Ted!”

“Ted! My mom! Ten minutes!”

Stock prices do dip, there’s another email update from this needy El Paso kid-slash-computer-genius, the board is up in arms at the insufficient response, Ted feels his stomach churning either in response to the million nasty things happening or to his bagel. And it all culminates in a tremor through his lower spine.

Despite or because of everything happening, Ted slips more from his spot, his body shifting and sliding right off the nose of the Bug. He, and all of his things, hit the floor in a clatter that manages to get Jaime to turn away from his training simulation entirely.

“Whoa! Ted, are you okay?” he asks just before getting hit by a blaster from behind.

“See! Never let your guard down!” Ted manages to yell before rolling over onto his back and laying in his mess of a lab and mess of a life. “Not even for your great and mighty mentor.”

He continues to lie on the floor, noting mentally that it’s surprisingly comfortable given that everything exploding in the lab eventually ends up there. It’s only when his vision is obscured by Jaime — no longer in his suit — staring down at him that he centers himself at least enough to be responsible for the teenager that he’s totally responsible for.

“Are you okay, Mister Kord?” Jaime asks, brows knitted in a little bit more genuine concern than what he usually offers Ted.

“I thought about it,” Ted answers with a harrowing breath. He releases the breath and melts into the floor a bit more. “And no. But who, at thirty-six, can truthfully say yes to that question.”

Jaime looks at him like he has three heads.

“Talk to me again in twenty years and we’ll laugh about it,” Ted promises him. “Get out of here, I don’t need a scary-angry Missus Reyes and you deserve a break. What’d’ya say?”

“Okay cool,” Jaime says, immediately walking away.

“You cold offer to help me up!” Ted yells after him.

“Do you want up?” Jaime asks from the doorway.

Ted stares at the ceiling and considers it. “Get out of here kid, I need to find a new assistant.”

“See you later, Mister Kord,” Jaime calls, closing the door behind himself and the last laugh.

“Kids,” Ted huffs to himself. “I need an assistant my age. No. Ten years younger. So I can watch the hope and youthful naivety die. That should sustain me. Think like a corporate CEO. Socioipathy. Hating kittens and… breathable oxygen or something.”

There’s a long silence in the lab, just Ted with himself and his thoughts. And when those turn scary he finally manages to get himself up, gather his things, and to start working on the next project.

Finding his new personal assistant.

There has been a stack of portfolios on his desk for a while, now, a few days at least. And he should be going through them for review but he hasn’t.

They all look the same on paper. Even the one written in German.

There isn’t enough time, and he’s only getting shorter on time the longer he goes without a personal assistant who is literally a speedster.

Time’s a funny thing that way.

Ted finds ways to waste more time without fully committing to any project or any responsibility in a way that matters before giving up in defeat and burying his head into the paperwork on his desk. There aren’t as many pings from his computers and he could probably rewire some of the broken lab equipment sooner than later, but he’s not really doing anything by the time his bagel fullness has subsided into the ache of needing a lunch break.

Which, on a normal day, is when Ted can finally get a hold of everything and pick a direction. He doesn’t really get the opportunity, though.

His head is still on the desk when an unfamiliar, radiant light picks up somewhere in the center of the lab, sending out a subtle heat that dies down with the light itself.

It hasn’t been that long since lizard people attacked so it doesn’t automatically raise Ted’s hackles the way it probably should, but it does at least get him to look up from his desk and see that the light was from some sort of transportation used to enter his lab.

And the one who used the transportation was none other than his best-friend-then-gone, and oddly out of touch, for years.

Booster Gold stares at him from the center of the room, his goggles resting up on his hairline rather than on his nose, letting Ted see the way Booster’s eyebrows ruffle together. They then raise in almost shock as he continues staring Ted’s way.

Ted blinks a few times. “Mikey?”

There’s a deep breath from Booster before he even blinks. Then he shakes his head, as if trying to parse reality, before finally looking at Ted again. “Beetle!” he blurts out, like it’s something he hasn’t gotten to shout in years.

Which, who knows, maybe he hasn’t.

“Did you just teleport into my office-slash-laboratory?” Ted tries to figure out.

“Of course I did!” Booster shouts again, laughing forcefully. He almost seems hoarse already.

“That’s… weird. Since when could you teleport?” Ted continues to question. “Also why? And. Uh. Hello. Been a while.”

“It has been. It’s been… way too long,” Booster continues, seeming breathless. “Wow. Okay. Cool.”

He seems so incredibly happy and relieved and just all these other emotions that Booster doesn’t wear comfortably.

And Ted, well, he’s growing impatient the more the confusion lingers.

“Yeah, it’s like the last time I saw you was in a car commercial,” Ted says flatly.

“Ha, yeah,” Booster replies without any weight to it.

“Probably because it was,” Ted leans in.

That, at least, seems to bring down the thousand watt smile to something closer to a nine hundred. “Oh.”

The air becomes stale unbelievably quickly.

“Yeah,” is all Ted can manage to say.

Booster continues to stare at him, some of the disbelief finally fading into mild concern. Which, Ted kind of hates because only Booster could make him feel like the bad guy for pointing out the truth.

Well, maybe other people, like a well paid assistant someday in the near future.

“Did we leave off on bad terms?” Booster asks, obviously fishing.

“I don’t know,” Ted answers honestly. “Did we?”

With that, Booster’s brows furrow again and he tilts his chin down, running his hand through the back of his hair nervously. “Hell, I don’t know. I.. There’s been a lot, y’know. Just. A lot. And… I didn’t know I could… if you…”

There is something to Booster’s words and actions that feels disconnected. He’s holding back a lot, which is weird. Because it’s Booster.

But the sentiment, well, Ted knows it all too well.

“Yeah, I get it. Me, too,” Ted huffs. “I guess… I mean. There’s not a whole lot to hang out about when, well, I’m retired and you’re… not? I guess. I don’t know where you even live anymore.”

“I can’t… really retire from the current gig,” Booster announces, again with that veiled subject. But he’s quick to change topic. “And there’s every reason to hang out with you. In fact, I’m glad you’re retired. Fuck, man, you better be retired and…” He stops himself short, pinches the bridge between his eyes, and then comes back to focus. “I came to ask if you… if you wanna get some drinks?”

“You teleported into my office-slash-laboratory to ask if we could get drinks before noon on a Tuesday?” Ted asks incredulously.

Booster blinks, looks around the mess of a lab, and then looks at Ted again. “Uh. Yeah?”

Ted considers it only for a second before sighing and coming to his feet. “Okay, fine, you’ve convinced me.”

“Wow, that took… no work whatsoever,” Booster says in vacant surprise.

“It’s been a hell of a morning and I want to figure out what’s different with you,” Ted announces. “I mean, again, last time I saw you was a car commercial—“

“Did I look good in it?” Booster asks almost mindlessly, his gaze a thousand yards past Ted at the time.

“No, the whole thing was on your bad side. You know. Where your chin looks bad,” Ted responds sarcastically, looking Booster over. “Seriously, what’s up?”

“Just drinks,” Booster promises, holding up his hands.

Ted squints at him. “Drinks and… mole people? Time eating octopus? A heist for J’onn’s Chocos?”

“Do you really think so little of me?” Booster asks, actually looking at Ted again. He seems… strangely earnest about it all. In a raw, painful kind of way.

Ted leans back, worried. “Uh. Did someone die?”

“No,” Booster laughs. Only, it’s not just a laugh, it’s an uproarious joyful kind of noise from the back of Booster’s throat. “Isn’t that the greatest thing you’ve ever heard? Isn’t that the best news I’ve ever given you? No one’s… Everyone’s… Wow. I sound like I’ve lost my mind.”

Booster walks past Ted and all but collapses into Ted’s desk chair, crumbling like a fallen tower, until his head has fallen between his knees.

Ted is stunned. And worried. Mostly stunned.

“Jesus, Michael,” Ted manages to get out as he approaches his friend. He looks around his desk, grabbing for the menus he knows are somewhere among the rubbish. “We’ll just order and have something delivered here for lunch. How’s that sound?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Booster continues hoarsely. “That sounds… Yeah, that’s an amazing idea, Teddy.”

At the sound of his old nickname, Ted has to pause looking through low sodium options and instead really looks at his friend. He’s pale and has bags under his eyes. There’s a certain unkempt nature to his hair and it’s sticking up behind his ears like it hasn’t been trimmed in a while. He’s clean shaven, but there’s the dusting of five o’clock shadow on his left cheek from an uneven shave.

It’s the worst Michael has looked to his knowledge. At least short of any life-or-death situations.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Ted not so much as asks as he demands.

“A lot,” Booster answers.

That’s not good enough and it explains nothing. And normally Ted wouldn’t think twice about saying as much. But for the moment, in that uniquely personal and miserably resigned way, Ted gives a gentler “Okay” instead.

When the air grows stale again, Ted tries a different approach.

“Is there anything you can tell me?”

Booster smiles just enough that his dimples make themselves known. “You’ll never have any idea how happy I am to see you again, Ted.”

Despite his confusion and concern, Ted can’t help the no-doubt dorky smile that comes to his face. “Right back at you,” he says, and it’s so truthful it hangs heavy in his voice. He offers up, in a mousy way, his fist. “Blue and Gold?”

There’s a brittle honesty to the expression of relief and appreciation in Booster’s face as he takes his own fist and bumps his knuckles against Ted’s. “Blue and Gold,” he says back almost reverently.

For a moment, Ted wonders how this is going to end, if it will be too soon or too long. He’s just strangely concerned and glad all at once that it exists at all.

So, of course, predictably, it ends too soon.

There’s a flash in the center of the laboratory, just like before, only this time both Ted and Michael are looking in its direction before it’s even over.

Booster manages to voice his surprise before Ted even has the chance.

“Skeets?” Booster’s voice strains.

“Michael, you’re needed for…” Skeets’ synthesized voice hesitates, if such a thing is possible for an AI, and the shiny robotic body shifts into Ted’s direction for a moment. “Hello, Blue Beetle.”

“Hey, I have a secret identity,” Ted jokes, waving to his Blue Beetle themed tee and the Bug.

Skeets, ever the comedic one, does not even acknowledge the detectable sarcasm in Ted’s voice before turning back to Booster. “Sir, you have an… appointment. With Rani.”

Ted can’t help his eyebrow raising and he looks toward Booster for clarification. He’s never heard the name Rani before, at least that he can think of. And he definitely hasn’t heard the name in connection to Booster.

But there is immediate recognition in Booster’s eyes. His body tenses up and he seems immediately more put together than he has appeared since teleporting right back into Ted’s life. He doesn’t even seem to realize that Ted is looking directly at him.

“Is she okay? I mean, does it have to be right now or…” Booster trails off, looking to Ted.

“I have been sent after you, Michael,” Skeets deadpans.

“Can’t you reschedule?” Ted asks, a little put off by all of this rather sudden and unexpected developments.

“It’s not that kind of date,” Booster says, getting to his feet and then flinching at his own words. “It’s… not a date at all it’s…” He seems uncomfortable in his own skin for a moment, scratching at his chin. “You…uh… I guess we should catch up. Soon. Like, really soon. You don’t know Rani? Really? Damn. I mean…”

“No,” Ted says flatly, crossing his arms as he sits back on his desk. “I guess we should catch up soon. Like over a lunch or something.”

“Okay, great,” Booster says, walking forward.

“I’d say pop in any time, but that seems to be the assumption—“ Ted begins to snark, but he’s cut off almost immediately by the tight embrace of Booster. It’s so tight it nearly knocks the air out of him.

Booster’s been working out since they last got into shenanigans together, it feels like he’s cutting off Ted’s circulation almost just through the hug. It’s warm, though, and it feels like the sort of emotional explosion that Ted would expect after years. Without the random teleportations and promises of lunch left thus far unfulfilled.

After a moment of the hug, Ted is finally able to gather himself enough to hug back, too, patting Booster’s shoulder as he does so.

“I miss you, too, buddy,” Ted says.

“It won’t be long, I’ll… I can promise that,” Booster says, finally letting go, holding Ted’s shoulders at arms length. “There’s just… some really hard stuff to explain going on right now.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Ted jokes as Booster lets him go. “It’s… uh. Well it’s good to see you again. And will be again. Soon. Ish? Right?”

“Definitely,” Booster promises, getting close to where Skeets is in the center of the lab. “I’m… It’s great to see you again, Ted.”

“Uh, yeah,” Ted responds, waving just as the flash of light from before happens again, disappearing along with his best friend and his best friend’s robot from the future.

He remains where he is, leaned back on his desk, and tilts his head to the side.

“So how do I explain any of this in my log today,” he wonders out loud. After a long moment, he shrugs and runs a hand through his hair. “Blue and Gold Nonsense it is then.”

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, Worthless, 8: These trinket are garbage plain and simple. They would be termed vendor trash or junk loot in video games. They aren’t touched by stray magic or mystery as with regular trinkets, aren’t made from valuable materials and aren’t particularly useful even if they aren’t damaged.

A box of odd beads that bear no resemblance to eyes, yet always seem to watch the nearest creature.

A wanted poster that bears the face of a terrified elf. The reward is not listed.

A bright orange, ceramic throwing star that will always miss its target.

A small pair of scissors that only cut eyebrow hair.

A glass bottle filled with multiple layers of differently-colored sand.

A dried leaf that is entirely unaffected by any sort of natural wind or breeze.

A shirt button that changes shape every day.

A map with vague directions to an abandoned gnome's house.

A small wooden box that contains a single, worn thimble.

A 1’ x 2’ sheet of white canvas upon which the words “SUFFERING IS NOT ART!” are written and underlined in blood.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A box of odd beads that bear no resemblance to eyes, yet always seem to watch the nearest creature.

A wanted poster that bears the face of a terrified elf. The reward is not listed.

A bright orange, ceramic throwing star that will always miss its target.

A small pair of scissors that only cut eyebrow hair.

A glass bottle filled with multiple layers of differently-colored sand.

A dried leaf that is entirely unaffected by any sort of natural wind or breeze.

A shirt button that changes shape every day.

A map with vague directions to an abandoned gnome's house.

A small wooden box that contains a single, worn thimble.

A 1’ x 2’ sheet of white canvas upon which the words “SUFFERING IS NOT ART!” are written and underlined in blood.

A mouthpiece for an unknown musical instrument.

A single newt's eye in a glass jar.

A small jar of nails that can only be driven by a glass hammerhead.

A small jar of glass nails that can only be driven by a cold iron hammerhead.

A sword scabbard that's filled to the brim with tiny wooden swords.

A fine, leather pouch that contains exactly 248 smooth stone pebbles.

A thin sheet of cooking paper that's been folded into a swan.

A decaying wooden knife inscribed by a child that reads "The Ultimate Blade of Destruction".

An old doll wooden doll in rotting knit clothing. The doll's eyes seem to follow the creature closest to it and people who sleep near it regularly suffer from nightmares

A sickly green humanoid bone.

An odd metal cog that spins on its own every so often.

A small wooden carving that depicts a naked goblin scratching his hindquarters.

A small dull dagger that refuses to sharpen.

A rusted coin that slowly absorbs oil it comes into contact with.

A long letter of complaint addressed to a school teacher criticizing his methods and general personality.

A glass jar containing a dozen folded paper frogs.

A small jar of hard candies that taste of sour apples and never seems to go bad.

A small doll with a cloak and toy dagger attached. On the back of the doll, the letters "TDG" are written.

A drinking horn with an odd rune carved on it.

A tiny pink bottle that smells of roses when it is empty.

A wooden carving of an orc doing a handstand.

A small twig that doubles as the perfect toothpick, no matter who uses it.

A gnome's hair brush.

A small painting of a horse's rear end.

A cork for an old wine bottle that won't fit in any other bottle.

A small pot of horse glue that says “NOT FOOD, SERIOUSLY” on the side.

A bamboo scroll tube containing a legal and notarized deed for a house whose address doesn't exist.

A dagger made of folded parchment, that could at best give someone a paper cut.

A wooden box containing twelve matching pieces of broccoli that have somehow remained fresh.

A bar of soap that smells like rotten meat.

A key that breaks the first time it’s used in a lock. To add insult to injury, it doesn't open the lock.

A tin of makeup that's just the most absurd shade of orange.

A magically preserved apple that tastes like an orange.

A letter from an unknown sender that simply reads, “I told you so!”. The return address is plainly labeled “Feywild”.

An undersized wooden backscratcher, for use by gnomes.

A tattered blacksmith cap full of red dwarf hair.

A small roll of leather that's been cured with giant urine.

The hollowed-out shell of a large hermit crab.

A crudely made treasure map that leads to a beggar's dandelion garden.

A small blue stone that feels like silk to the touch.

A pocket multitool with only one tool remaining in it. The remaining tool is a magnifying glass that has the words "Find the rest of me." inscribed on it.

A wooden scroll case filled with fine ash. The top of the lid sports a tiny iron spike that may have triggered some sort of combustable trap.

A fist sized bar of harsh lye soap

A homemade pan flute consisting of a dozen reeds of gradually increasing length held together by vines and dried grasses. Despite its crude origins it plays quite nicely

A dog muzzle made out of leather and steel with adjustable straps that allow it to fit most medium and large canines.

A brown leather hawk's hood that's used to keep the birds docile during periods when they are not hunting or resting.

A ceremonial headdress of similar make to one of the local barbarian tribes, with the exception that it is made entirely out of steel wiring and tin spoons. You’re not sure if this is some sort of artistic interpretation, strange inside joke or weird form of insult.

A preserved, hollowed out corpse of a Flumphling stuffed with sage.

A metal flask containing a thick concoction that smells dark and musty, like a forest after heavy rains.

An unremarkable spoon fashioned from horn.

A thick, heavily padded leather and burlap sleeve made to fit over the bearer's arm and serves as a target for animals being trained to attack.

A sealed one gallon cask of Bufo, a favorite drink of goblins, boggards, and other primitive humanoids. It is made by soaking a poisonous toad or frog (Or its eggs) in weak beer or by “milking” these animals for their poison and mixing it with the beer (Allows the animal to be used repeatedly). Some tribes use wide-mouthed jugs and leave the dead animal inside as a crunchy treat for eating once the drink is gone.

A sealed one gallon cask of luglurch ale. This pale frothy beer is found by most races to be too salty to swallow, with the exception of halfings who find it an acquired taste

A clockwork blue bird that emits a horrendous screeching sound when it is wound up.

A musty smelling, threadbare, grey towel that never completely dries. If someone attempts to dry themselves with it, they will develop a mildewy smell exactly like the towel until the creature takes bathes and dries off with a proper towel. 

A purple ring box that croaks like a frog when opened. It is lined with lime green satin on the inside and smells of a swamp.

An old black cord with three matching light blue buttons, strung on it, all about the size of a gold piece.

A large piece of parchment with a tea stain in the shape of a kitten.

A rolled up parchment with a sketching of the ugliest Dwarven baby the bearer has ever laid eyes on. 

A beat up, wooden compass that always points towards the bearer, never north.

A plain, wooden footstool about six inches high, with a round top about 18 inches across.

A crude, 500 piece puzzle that appears to be a treasure map, but 100 of pieces in the middle that show the specific coordinates and details of the treasure are missing

A thick braided cord made of dark leather, hanging from which is a giant's toenail reeking of cheese.

A voodoo doll of a young man that's missing it's head.

A small jar of chocolate cookies that cannot be opened or broken.

A set of crooked and yellowed dentures with teeth missing.

A dictionary with over half of the words spelled wrong and out of alphabetical order.

A brass chamber pot that was not thoroughly cleaned since its last use.

A wooden scroll tube containing the blueprints of a church that has long since collapsed.

A faux-distressed piece of parchment that is a crude map of the local area, with red circles and arcane gibberish scrawled on it. Intentionally made to look old and worn, it’s actually a simple piece of parchment that’s been singed, crumpled, and rolled in the dirt. It's obviously meant as bait to lure creatures into an ambush it appears that whatever dimwitted humanoid authored this had a very poor knowledge of spelling and grammar. Any literate creature who so much as glances at it can identify the map as a fake.

A plain thimble, with absolutely nothing particularly interesting about it.

A crude earring made from a tiny tooth, wrapped in thin twine.

A formal letter that is badly seared and charred. It’s impossible to decipher because of the damage.

A small blue candle that smells of fruit. It’s fragrance is weak and barely noticeable.

An assortment of pieces from cracked eggshells. Most are a pale creamy color, like the egg of a chicken. Some larger pieces are a deep purple.

A porcelain doll about the length of a human’s index finger. The face is chipped away.

A black flask with a gaping hole in its side. It’s covered in punctures that look like bite marks.

A silky cloth fraying quite badly around its edges. It’s almost reflective in its lustrous sheen.

A smooth, round stone about the size of a human fist. It feels oddly heavy.

A set of three clay dice, painted with black pips.

A chunk of rusted metal covered in dents.

A somewhat oval-shaped… thing. You think it might be really, really, really stale bread.

A pair of glasses whose frames look as good as new, but the lenses are stained, cloudy, and cracked.

A trio of matching bracelets, made from knotted thread. You’re almost certain there’s supposed to be four of them.

A hollow reed that creates a low, soft whistle when blown.

A hand sized figurine of a cat, perpetually coated in a layer of dust.

A waterskin filled with a slick, greasy oil. Patterns of snakes cover its sides.

A single tile that appears like it was from some type of mosaic mural. It’s a dull green in color.

A pouch of bitter tea leaves. Their aftertaste is unsatisfying and almost sour.

A jagged arrowhead, cracked into a shape reminiscent of a fox’s head.

[lenalovesjasper]

In Which He Does Not

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16330010

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13095746/1/In-Which-He-Does-Not-Want

Summary: A door, a slightly less ass-holey Edward, and a whole new set of rules. Twilight, where Alice sees Bella coming, and tells Edward to Get His Shit Together. Where Vampires are ugly as their souls when they walk in the sun. Where Charlie's late nights and long hours lead to a friendship of opposites. Where Bella and Edward fall in love, without that first mess-up.

Chapter One

           If Bella had been in Phoenix, she’d be paced the halls. Pacing like she meant it too—scuffing her toes on the hard tile floors and wishing she could walk back out the school doors undetected. There were lots of locks though, keypads and heavy metal doors that only lead down a series of halls back into the front office. Metal detectors. A security guard or two, thoroughly out of place in the relatively cushy neighbourhood. Not that there weren’t fights in Phoenix Central. But there were no fights here, there was nothing here. It seemed to her that the green simply stretched forever into the world, surrounded by the heavy grey skies and dotted with black raincoats and houses alike. She thought they must look alike, from above. Genderless black raincoats and houses with slate roofs, so wet they didn’t even grow green moss.

           She missed the sun.

           Perhaps moreso than that, she missed the feeling of the sun on her back, dragging highlights out of her dark hair like rays of gold in a sea of deep mahogany

           In her truck, rumbling down the road, she felt as far from the sunny haven of Arizona as she’d ever felt. The tallest house around was three stories, if you generously counted the attic. She only hoped that her feet were carrying her into the correct building, because the school looked like an amalgamation of early 20th century houses in a museum. It looked like that, the only difference being that, despite being early for school, there was already limited space in the parking lot.

           Her truck stuck out like a big, rusty, thumb. All the teachers drove reasonable little cars, Toyotas and Hondas, with all-wheel drive and carefully cleaned windshields and headlights. The students drove mostly mini-vans and trucks. None quite as old as hers. They all had either chains on their tires or dents.

           The lot was mostly empty of students, she observed, people seemed to congregate closer to the buildings. That was what the school was made up of, maybe just under a dozen brick buildings in a loose grouping. The snow had mostly been cleared, snaking little paths of stone and ice melt that ran between buildings and small cleared circles where people chattered in groups. From above, it probably looked like drunken crop circles cut into snow by some lost alien.

           She felt like a lost alien

           Nonetheless, she toddled her way across the ice. It was in that moment Bella realized she wasn’t meant for carrying stylish shoulder bags—all it’d done for her was tip her further off balance and sent her grasping for the hoods of cars to stead herself. But, all in all, she made it to class and that was one hell of an accomplishment for her.

           She’d gathered some papers from the “office building” as they called it, and she clutched them in nervous hands. It felt like a lifeline. Her mittens were on the table in Charlie’s house, and she wished for them, to hide the nervous jittering of her fingers. Actually, when she looked harder at the blue tint to her hands, it might’ve been cold making them shake.

           Bella hated the cold.

           She hated the papers she was holding. She hated lots of things.

           Had she been less consumed by her hatred of things, she might’ve looked up before being pounced upon by the boy behind her.

           “Hi!” Cried a voice, and Bella startled, dropping half of her papers on the floor. She imagined they made a ‘whoosh’ noise as they fell. “You’re Isabella Swan, right?” The boy was Asian, with dark hair that fell over his forehead and excessive acne. He smiled, and she added another adjective: over-eager.

           The papers had scattered all over the linoleum floor. Damnit! She stooped to gather them, but they were already soaked in ice melt and dingy snow-water. They ended up in a nearby bin, which the boy doggedly followed her to.

           “Sooo..” He began, eyes crinkled with a barely contained smirk. “you’re Isabella, right? Chief’s daughter?”

           “Um, just Bella.” She brushed a chunk of hair up behind her ear. It fell immediately.

           “I couldn’t help but notice you looked lost—” was it the map topping her pile of papers, or was it the look of hopelessness in her eyes that gave it away? “—and I’m Eric, your unofficial tour guide.”

           Eric. Great. “Unofficial?” She questioned.

           He flipped the fringe that brushed his forehead, and smiled even wider. “Newspaper duty. You’re front page news!”

           Her heart gave a small palpitation. “Oh, no, no.” She rushed to explain, tripping over her words, “I’m not really, uh, news. Please.”

           Instantly he raised his arms, losing the smirking edge to his grin. It was now soft, and slightly comforting. “Hey, hey, don’t worry about it!” he pulled out a black phone and typed rapidly for a second across the dimmed screen. It was a wonder he could see it at all. “No feature. Done, nada, never even happened!”

           Bella let out a small puff of air. She could see the vapour, warm in the icy air.

           “Well, paper or no paper, I have to show you the school! Welcome to Forks High, the finest collection of school buildings in the Olympic Peninsula. What do you have first?”

           “Building four?” There was a big ‘4’ next to her listing for Precalc.

           “Me too! Wow, that’s convenient. Walk with me?” He talked so fast she didn’t notice that she was walking until she was tripping, chasing after him as words spilled from his mouth like water. “Precalc is super hard, but don’t let it get you down. I think everybody who goes through this school fails it once, you know. Just part of the school life here, like, you gotta fail one class in the math department…” After that, she shut her dazed mind off to his talking. Also, hearing “fail” on her first day here didn’t exactly make her want to listen.

           They walked into the building, and he held the door open; catching it with the edge of his hands so she could walk through behind him. They went up a flight of stairs and down a hall, and when they reached a blue door with a large window he marched through, once again holding the door for her to enter behind. She smiled at him, but he had twisted around to greet someone in the class—and that was the mistake. Eric’s fingers slipped from the edge of the door, the moment she paused to look in.

           Sometimes, time slowed down when she was about to be met with some new horrible bruise. Not very often, because not every bump could be special, but when the collision was bound to be painful, the world slowed so she had time to dread the impact. Like now; she could see the mechanism above the door pulling it closed, she could see Eric’s clammy fingers sliding one-by-one off the door edge. She could feel herself tense, and her eyes clench shut. There was a faint breeze behind her, cold and close to her back.

           Wow, time really had slowed down. Shouldn’t her nose have been mushed by now?

           Maybe this hit would be the one to finally disfigure her. It’d be kinda lame, to have fallen down stairs and out of cars (been hit by cars, but only lightly) and fall to a damn door. Charlie’d be mad. She’d have to call her mother. If she wasn’t frozen, she’d tap her foot impatiently—might as well get it over with. On her first day, and she was already getting involved in collisions with doors.

           But the collision… didn’t come?

           Bella hesitantly opened one eye, then blinked. The door window was not even two inches from her face. A strong looking arm, pale as snow, was pressed to the glass, just to the left of her face.

           Bella froze. That was no cold breeze she’d felt, and she was suddenly very aware of the cold, tall person behind her—so close they were almost touching. A cool breath blew across the top of her head. It was like the first hint of snow in November.

           She sensed the person shift behind her, and there was a moment before the words, spoken almost hesitantly, brushed her ear. “Be careful, Isabella.”

           She whirled around at that, and there he was, leaning above her, hand still firmly planted on the window. He was so tall. The kind of tall that she had to crane her neck to see, until he tilted his head towards to. Hair fell to cover his forehead, and caught the fluorescent light. His hair was… like sunlight flashing on a bronze sculpture. If a hunk of bronze had perfectly mused bedhead, the kind that no amount of fussing could ever fake. It was a little long, a little curly, and a lot attractive. The face matched her statue theory, only made of marble. Every feature seemed chiselled from stone and made directly to cut into the softest parts of her heart; the high cheek bones, the full and rosy lips, the long black lashes that nearly brushed his heavy dark brows, creased in the centre of his forehead. She wanted to smooth that crease, reach up and rub it away with her thumb. But his skin, the impossibly beautiful and white skin, looked like marble. Even the slight suggestion of blue veins seemed merely lines in the silky stone of his being. And his eyes—oh god, those eyes. Gold. Golden, like two shining coins in the brightest eyes she’d ever seen.

           Oh.

           So this was what love at first sight felt like.

           Dimly, her inner voice of reason chimed that she should ask the stranger his name. Instead, she watched a single curl, just a wisp of his tumble of bronze, slide into his forehead. He huffed a breath and tossed his head.

           The moment broke.

           “Watch the door.” He said, voice soft. Not deep, yet low. Clear inflection.

           Bella sighed. “Oh, yeah.” Then, afraid to move too much, she reached up and pushed an errant chunk of brown hair behind her ear. Her eyes closed for the briefest of moments, and she gathered her mind together from the millions of fragments his brilliant eyes had shattered it to. When the pieces did come back together, they seemed all the brighter for having been broken by his beauty. “Thanks, for, um, the door.”

           The corners of his mouth lifted. She remembered to breathe, but only with sincere effort on her part. “No trouble, Isabella.”

           “Bella.”

           “My apologies.”

           The bell sounded, and she heard someone huff angrily. Breaking away from the glory of his face, she spared a moment for the window, where Eric looked at her. Irritably.

           “I’ll let you get to class,” he smirked. “Bella.”

           His arm withdrew from over her head slowly, and she missed its presence before it even moved. She didn’t move when he moved, instead she watched his form retreat down the hall. He was tall and a little lanky—but the way he moved, tall and purposefully, made him seem all the more different from the shuffling, hunched masses. Dressed in a button up, the softest shade of green, like the colour of a slightly scuffed emerald. A centre stone on a wedding ring, worn from decades of loving use. The dark trousers lovingly caressed his slender but defined legs. Warm brown lace up shoes, and a black backpack. He disappeared around the corner, taking her heart with him.

           Bella sighed, and sank back into the door. Only she leaned too far back, and tipped through. The thud hit her before the pain did and—oh, there it was. It shuddered up her back and her palms stung from their harsh slap to the tile.

           The floor and her were destined to meet, it seemed. Even as she sat up and rubbed her abused tailbone, she was glad that she hadn’t fallen when that handsome stranger was here. A bruised butt was worse than a bruised ego, in her opinion. (They often went hand-in-hand.) When she looked up, Eric was helpfully holding the door now, staring at her with raised eyebrows and an open mouth.

           “Thanks for holding the door, Eric.” A blond called from the back of the classroom, snickering.

           Eric’s already ruddy face flamed at the words. He began to stutter out an apology.

           “Don’t worry about it,” Bella said, shrugging her shoulders. “at least I didn’t hit my face.” Face. Thinking about her face made her think of high cheekbones and haunting honey coloured irises. She picked herself off the floor gingerly, noting idly the blue and grey tiles. Eric didn’t offer her a hand up.

           “Yeah, Eric—don’t worry about, Cullen’s got it!” Yelled the same blond from before. He hopped his seat on the desk of a brunette with heavy foundation, and strolled over. “Mike Newton.” He smiled warmly, dimpling his face. He was youthful, like a broad-shouldered cherub. Someone from elementary school that never quite outgrew the face. Eric’s cheery demeanour soured rapidly. He’d smiled when she walked behind him, shocked when she escaped her brush with the door, upset when she fell and Cullen was mentioned, and lastly outright bitter, when Mike introduced himself. Was it her? The girl with the heavy foundation looked upset that she’d lost Mike to her.

           “Bella.” She nodded. He looked at her for a moment, a furrow between his brows but the same grin on his face. She shuffled her feet a little, trudging to the far side of the room, where she spied an empty desk. He watched her the whole way there—she knew, because she darted glances at him as she picked her way between the desks.

           The teacher walked to the front of the room and began to speak, ignoring her and her newness completely. Bella thought she felt gold eyes on her every time she turned around, but it was only her mind. He’d walked off anyway. It didn’t stop her subconscious, that useless reasoning of hers.

           It was a great day, so far.

[youarentreadingthis]

Sam Winchester and Gabriel finally come face to face after the death of the Devil.

Part 10 of my 13x21 series.

Part 9. Part 8. Part 7. Part 6. Part 5. Part 4. Part 3. Part 2. Part 1.

Sam Winchester is sitting on the hood of a car, holding an archangel blade.

No, his archangel blade.

The one he used to kill Lucifer.

He feels no remorse, even when he had cleaned the remaining bright-red-angel-blood off.

Sam thinks it should have been black. Black as the Devil’s heart.

He turns it slowly in his hands, examining the writing circling the shining metal. The Enochian words are bunched together in a twisting and turning line, none of them forming complete sentences.

Sam Winchester can read them all, but not because he now has grace.

SamaelSamuelPoisonOfGodNameOfGodArchangelSoulGraceBornDemonRaised–

And on and on they go, speaking of an intricate description of him, of his life, of what he thinks, feels, knows. It should probably creep him out, but for some reason, it doesn’t.

He hears footsteps approach him from the side, crunching quietly in the mix of dirt and gravel.

Sam sighs softly, and the blade disappears with a thought.

He tilts his head a little bit to his right, and his eyes widen slightly in surprise as he sees who it is.

Gabriel. Loki, Trickster, Liesmith, Archangel, Messenger Of God.

Something deep inside Sam whispers, Brother.

Sam shifts to the left, waving his hand in a gesture to sit down.

Gabriel nods, doing exactly that, and knits his fingers together in his lap.

They both stare into the empty space in front of them, neither one looking at each other.

Gabriel swallows, looking down. “I heard you killed my brother.”

Sam stills as he hears those words. Not Lucifer, not the Devil, but my brother.

For the first time after Lucifer’s death, Sam feels guilt.

But he won’t deny that he did it. That’s not him.

Sam nods reluctantly, forcing the words out. “I did.”

His wings ruffle uncomfortably. He doesn’t know what else to say.

There’s silence for a bit before Gabriel releases a strangled breath. “I don’t know, Sam…I know he was, well,” Gabriel snorts. “A great big bag of dicks, yeah, but he was also my brother.”

Sam flinches, shoulders curling inwards. “I’m sorry.”

Gabriel looks over at Sam in surprise, straightening up.

“I’m not mad at you, Sam. I just…”

Gabriel turns away once again.

“It’s strange. Having everyone nearly gone.”

Sam doesn’t need to ask who everyone is.

“All the archangels are dead, Sam. Raphael, Lucifer, Michael.”

Gabriel’s eyes flick to the ground, beginning to glow a faint amber-whiskey-gold, like polished bronze, while Sam’s is a bright shining gold, and Gabriel murmurs, “Except me.”

Sam swallows. “Michael isn’t dead.”

Insane, crazy, lost a few of his marbles, sure, but he isn’t dead.

Gabriel frowns, tilting his head to look up at Sam. “What?” He croaks out.

Sam shakes his head, forcing himself not to look at Gabriel.

“He’s not dead. He’s…” A mess of limbs and heads bleeding bright-blue grace as it huddles in a ball, mumbling words that come from a shattered mind. They make no sense. “He’s in the cage.”

“What?” Gabriel’s voice is sharp, demanding answers. But Sam looks at Gabriel, and all he sees is pain.

Pain, because Gabriel knows what the cage can do to someone.

Sam stares at nothing again, licking his lips and taking a shuddering breath.

“Michael is in the cage. Our Michael, at least.”

“How?!” Gabriel snarls, and it sounds broken.

Broken like Michael, Sam thinks, and he shakes his head to clear it.

“You…you told us to get the rings. We did. Then we trapped Lucifer. Michael came along for the ride.”

Gabriel leans back, shocked. Then he asks the question Sam has been dreading.

“How’d you get them in the cage?”

Sam stops breathing as his eyes turn glassy, unfocused.

Pay attention, pay attention, pay attention, pay attention.

Pay attention, says the Devil, you don’t want your tongue ripped out, again, do you?

Pay attention, says Michael, sneering. Abomination. Learn some respect around me.

There is a burning sensation wrapped around Sam’s wrist and he whimpers, oh God, what a pitiful sound, and wait, no, it’s not burning, it’s just really, really warm, too warm for the Devil, too cold for Michael, what is it, why isn’t he being tortured, what’s going on–

“Sam!” Someone yells, and Sam thinks that an archangel’s voice in the cage should shred apart his eardrums like paper like they’ve always been a million times and they don’t and now he just feels lost–

“Sam, listen to me!” Sam thinks he knows that voice, now. Who is it? It’s been so long.

“Sam, fuck, I don’t want to have to explain this to your brother, he might actually kill me. So please. Open your eyes.”

Sam does, and the world explodes with light.

Gabriel knows something is wrong as soon as he asks the question. In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have asked at all.

Sam freezes, eyes looking at nothing. And then Gabriel notices he stops breathing.

He’s seen that before. In himself.

What was Sam not telling him?

Gabriel grabs Sam on the wrist, using what grace he has left to try and take a look inside, to see if he can bring Sam back. But Sam’s mind is completely shielded. And to add insult to the injury, Sam curls inwards, closing his eyes and letting out a whimper. Shit.

Blocking should be impossible, Gabriel wants to say, but he knows his powers are more than a little down, and Sam was psychic in the past. So he tries what anyone would do. Yelling.

He shakes Sam’s shoulder. “Sam!”

Sam doesn’t respond.

“Sam, listen to me!”

Gabriel growls in frustration. “Sam, fuck, I don’t want to have to explain this to your brother, he might actually kill me. So please. Open your eyes.”

And then Gabriel nearly flies away in shock when Sam does.

Sam is kneeling on the ground, head down, and has blasted everything within a twelve-foot radius away. Except for Gabriel.

Sam’s wings are stretched out, feathers splayed, glinting like metal and his molten gold halo is dripping and hissing when it hits the ground like it’s evaporating, and there are scorch marks on the ground, surrounding where he kneels and his eyes hold no trace of human, they’re just rippling energy contained within a vessel and Sam lets out a breath and it shakes the ground–

And then Sam throws up.

The power snaps back into his body as Sam begins to stand shakily, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his head and turning to Gabriel, who stands there, amber-gold wings outstretched and a disk of solid bronze hovering over his head.

Gabriel’s eyes are wide as his wings fold back and halo dissipates. And then they both look human again. Although they are very much not.

Sam stumbles over to another car, leaning on it and hanging his head.

“Sorry,” He grunts.

“You have grace,” Gabriel says, and it’s not a question.

Sam frowns. “Yeah, I thought you could tell.”

Gabriel walks over slowly, stiff. “No, I couldn’t- my grace wasn’t strong enough, I was far too weak.” He narrows his eyes as he looks Sam over. “Why do you have grace?”

It’s not, “How do you have grace?”, because Sam thinks Gabriel already knows. Just take a look at the golden feathers, golden eyes, golden halo.

It’s why, because Sam knows a soul should not be able to contain grace, no matter how powerful it is. A soul is all soul, that’s it. Except for Sam Winchester.

Sam’s hands shake, and he grabs onto the edge of the car. It creaks under him, and when he moves away, there’s a handprint-shaped dent in the metal.

Am I ever going to get used to this? Sam thinks, sighing. Then he turns back to Gabriel, eyes full of pain.

“My soul…” God dammit, Sam, just say it. “It was shredded, torn apart, whatever you want to call it. The cracks, well,” He snorts. “The cracks are filled with gold, so to speak.”

This time, Gabriel is the one to freeze. “What happened?” What happened to your soul? Why is it shredded? There are so many other questions behind the words Gabriel says. Still, he says it quietly, not demanding an answer.

But Sam chooses to anyway. “The Cage,” He says simply, as if it’s no big deal at all.

Gabriel snarls. “How?”

Sam bites his lip, turns away. He speaks as quickly as he can. “I said yes. Jumped in. Accidently dragged Michael down too.”

Gabriel makes a wounded noise as he flinches backward. “How long?”

Sam winces and shuts his eyes, shuts the memories out. “Five thousand years,” He whispers, and his wings curl around him like a tent of feathers.

Gabriel chokes. “How are...how are you still alive?”

Dear boy, you're all duct tape and safety pins inside. How are you alive?

Sam shrugs, putting on a bitter smirk. “Honestly? No idea,” He rasps out.

Before this, he knew he’d been falling apart for quite a while.

The only thing holding him together now is grace.

Gabriel looks wary, but he sighs and a weak smile forms at the edge of his mouth.

“Come on, let’s get back to camp.” Gabriel’s three pairs of wings stretch out in anticipation.

Sam looks at them and feels something break in his chest. “Gabe…I’m sorry about your grace.”

This time, Gabriel grins, eyes sparkling. “It seems I got a super-charge from you. Don’t worry about me.”

Sam sucks in a breath. “What?” He whispers, shocked, confused, and thankful, because for once he did something right in his life.

Gabriel rolls his shoulders, wings stretching out as well. “Yup! Okay, now let’s go, because I’m pretty sure Dean will stab me if we don’t get there on time for food.”

Sam looks at Gabriel, frowning. Gabriel rolls his eyes.

“Yes, I think he knows you don’t need to eat, but food is excellent, yes? Come on, let’s go.”

Sam nods, getting up from where he was leaning against the car. This time, when he stands, he’s stable. Good.

And Gabriel sobers a little bit when he watches Sam. And then he looks Sam in the eyes.

Amber-whiskey eyes to those of an ever-changing color.

Archangel to archangel.

One, old as time and the other newly born.

And at this, fate herself, trembles.

And Gabriel, Archangel, Messenger of God, speaks.

For what it is worth, Samael, I think of it as an honor to have you as a brother.

Sam falters at Gabriel’s voice in his head, but then he smiles and replies with a quiet,

And I you, Gabriel.

They both disappear with a whisper of wings.

Tagging: @saintsurvivors