#I hope this fucking platypus STAYS DEAD

[viperscreeed]

I'm so insane about this panel, I'm literally chewing through my restraints

[starknife-starmimi]

here’s a number for motivation to write,10!

I am very new to writing angst, so here's to hoping this will help gain more experience in it!

“ What part of ‘I want you, and only you’ do you not understand? ”

Starline pleaded. He couldn't comprehend how after everything he's done for him, how after everything they've been through and done together. How could he not understand this?

Mimic remained silent, merely turning around and beginning to walk away.

Starline followed after him.

“ What else must I do for you to understand this? What must I say to get this through to you? I- Can you at least look at me? ”

Starline quickly reached out to his webbed hand to grab Mimic’s shoulder, only to be swatted away with a tentacle.

“ I DO UNDERSTAND! And that's the fucking problem here… This wasn't supposed to happen, Starline. None of this should've happened.”

Starline froze, finally beginning to comprehend this twisted situation. Mimic did understand. He always did. This experience, this desperation — it was all a shared struggle. It was all a scattered mess. Every clue and hint they needed was in clear sight, yet they never saw it. They were too blinded by their own motive and gain.

Oh, what this all could’ve been if their vision wasn’t so fogged.

The platypus found himself feeling more emotionally vulnerable than ever. He was weak and open to strike. He hated it. He hated this feeling, it was too much. He couldn't ignore it, he could barely hide it. He didn't know what to do. His mind was spiraling into a mess.

“ Mimic- ”

“ No- Don’t you try to bullshit your way out of this, Starline! Do you really think this could fucking work!? How the fuck am I supposed to stay hidden when I'm following a fucking glitter bomb into a revenge plan I never wanted to be apart of? Did you ever think about that, Starline? Or were you just thinking about your own damn self? Wanting the one damn thing you couldn't have with Eggman? Just searching for some bastard to finally give into your plea? ”

“ For goodness sakes, I HAVE been thinking about you! Every mission I have planned for you to lead me into was stealth, because I knew that's where your talents lie. Yet every mission I tried to take on my own, YOU followed me without accepting my input or refusal because, and I quote,

‘You're going to get yourself killed out there, Starline.’

‘You'd be dead in two weeks if it weren't for me, Starline.’

‘The only thing I'm allowing you to kill you, is myself, Starline.’

So don't turn to me to blame for your own sense of protectiveness because the only thing you could've done you allowed no other force to do. ”

Mimic took a few steps back, horrified by how much he had let his facade go. The platypus was never supposed to see this much of him. No one was. Mimic had foolishly convinced himself to trust in Starline’s occasional oblivion and here was the payment. His own words being repeated against him.

Mimic shook his head, it didn’t matter now. This will all be over soon. None of this will matter once he gets the fuck out of here.

“ And yet you went out of your way to make it no easier to give a shit about you! You ran into every damn plan like a death wish because you're this high and mighty genius who can’t step down for one fucking second to question his own thinking! Do you even know how many times you could’ve died in these past missions? Do you even know how many times I’ve had to save your sorry ass from yourself?! It’s like you want to get yourself killed! ”

Mimic’s glare deepend as he watched Starline’s eyes begin to water. He was breaking. As if he wasn’t already broken.

Starline began to brush his right hand through his permed fur, attempting to provide himself comfort as he felt his thoughts slipping away. He was speechless. Was Mimic right? Did his search for revenge and control really result in him being so self-destructive? He used to have such a strong sense of self-preservation, rarely risking anything before Eggman came into his life.

Starline looked down at his left hand, knowing how damaged it was under his thick glove. How much pain had he caused himself in order to live up to expectations?

Mimic was right. Starline had lost his sense of worth so quickly despite holding himself so high. Every step to power was a trip to death. All this time he had been balancing ego and destruction on a thin blade of fate. But then Mimic came, and eventually that blade tipped. He had taken his care for granted. He had ruined everything.

Wiping the tears from his face, Starline focused his vision only to see his body shaking. He was spiraling and it was only getting worse. He needed to stop this somehow.

Hugging himself and attempting to calm his breath was of slow but eventual help, yet by the time he had brought himself back from it all, Mimic… Mimic was gone. The octopus had vanished without a trace to leave Starline in his own suffering.

Despite the obvious conclusion that could’ve been made, Starline activated the Tricore and began searching the base for Mimic. The doctor wasted hours that day, looking for any trace of his former ally, but there was nothing to find. Mimic had erased all hints of his existence, as if he was never there to begin with. Yet Starline continued his search into the night as if trying to track down a ghost.

How long would he let himself roam in denial? He may never know.

[ad1thi]

@starklysteve me?? spamming you w recs because i love talking about my ships?? more likely than you think :)) (here’s some rhodeytony to get you started on what is objectively the best tony ship)

i place your hands around my neck:  @fanfictiongreenirises

"Rhodey could practically feel his lungs getting heavier again, weighed down by roots of plants that he’d thought would never take hold in him again."

Or: the one where Rhodey's been pining over Tony for much longer than either of them realised and develops the Hanahaki disease

Pretend We’re In Love (The Heartache Still Hurts): @marvelingjules

Rhodey's dad is dying, and what he's always wanted is for Rhodey to be happily married. Tony and Rhodey were best friends, and haven't spoken in years. But after a chance meeting at the airport, and a desperate, insane idea on Rhodey's part, they end up pretending to be engaged.

But how much of it is really pretend?

i can’t seem to get a grip, no matter how i live with it:  @psikeval

Tony knows he's got no business being a father.

A Million Shades of Blue: @notfknapplicable

“I just know that if I could get to wherever he is, I could find him. Dead or alive, I'd bring him back to us.”

James Rhodes will never stop searching for Tony Stark.

Twenty Five Years: @notfknapplicable (part of a series)

Nobody knows how long this has actually been going on. (Tony Stark has pretty much been in a monogamous relationship since he was 18 years old.)

Leave The Light On: @notfknapplicable (part of a series)

He was never doing this for fun. He'd just wanted to stay awake. And whatever you do, please don't tell that guy he's been fucking. He kinda likes him.

coloured in sun: @heleus

The one in which Anthony Edward Stark, having just reached the warm age of seventeen, realizes that he's in love with his best friend.

(The idea is terrifying.)

the planets that bend us: @deathsweetqueen

When Antonia Margaret Stark wakes up on her sixth birthday, it’s to the words: I didn’t get any sleep last night after that fucking lawn mower decided that 7 in the morning would be a perfect time for him to start his day, right outside my room.

She runs a thumb over the long string of words, wrapping around her wrist like a thick leather band.

She smiles.

She’s fourteen when she meets James Rupert Rhodes for the first time.

Written for the "more than a partner" square (S3) for the Tony Stark Bingo 2019 and the "soulmate" square for the Iron Husbands Bingo 2019

we rattle together in a bed of honey: @deathsweetqueen

Toni first met James Rhodes in Cellular Neurophysiology and Computing, when she was fourteen and trying very hard to stay in the shadows. She stumbles into the classroom, clutching her books and binders and pencil case close to her chest, as she stares at everything, wide-eyed and hungry and terrified. She seizes on the contempt, the confusion, the incredulity of the other freshman who look at her like she’s an incongruity – she’s used to that look, all that hate and derision.

She eats it up like chocolate cake.

Much to her luck, all the seats are filled, all except for one towards the middle of the row, a table shared only by a tall, handsome black boy, sleeping on top of the counter.

a winding road that stretches to the truth: @/coulddaughter (this author ostensibly has a tumblr but im unable to locate it -- so if anyone knows what their tumblr is please let me know so i can tag them!)

“Why do you need a date? Also, no offence, but why did you come to me? I stole, like, four of your girlfriends and at least two boyfriends, remember.”

“I do remember that, Tony,” said Jim, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, I need you to come on a date with me.”

Love in the Eyes:  @child-of-sunshine

The moment each of the Avengers realized Tony and Rhodey were in love.

The Curious Case Of The Discarded Condom:  @/AssvengersArsemble

Natasha, Clint and Steve get just a little nosy about Tony's love life. Tony finds it extremely amusing they can't see what's right under their noses.

takes a lot of love and compliance: @gyzym

She's born breech, feet kicking out before the rest of her screams free; she's born breech, and never stops running. (Rule 63!Tony)

Targeted Persuasion: @galwednesday

Jim opened Tony's most formal closet and started pulling out tuxedos. "Put one of these on.”

"Why?"

"We're getting married."

Tony froze. "No, we're not."

"Oh yes we are." Jim tossed three tuxedos onto the bed. Three was a good number of options, enough for Tony to make a choice, but not so many that he'd get lost analyzing the ramifications of navy pinstripes vs. charcoal paisley. Tony did best with clear, specific expectations rather than an unlimited universe of possibilities that he would inevitably filter through his neuroses and obsess over, and Jim was really kicking himself for not considering that, oh, ten years ago when they’d first started this, but there was no point in beating himself up about it now when he could put that energy towards solving the problem instead. "You brought this on yourself, Tones. Pick a damn tux."

Five thousand roses: @/forestgreen

She is broken and all the more dangerous for it. The world should tread carefully around the shards of her former self lest they cut themselves on Antonia Stark's sharp edges.

A Guide to Handling the Unhandleable Tony Stark:  @/nightrider101 (this is ab a/b/o verse)

Written for the following prompt on the Avengers Kink meme: The rest of the Avengers assume Tony is an unbound Omega by the way he acts. He's reckless and carefree and does what he wants. Imagine their surprise when they find out that Rhodey is Tony's Alpha. They're all confused at the way Rhodey lets Tony act and how they can be away from each other for long periods of time and Rhodey's just like 'He didn't want to give up his career and I didn't want to give up mine. And I gave up trying to tell Tony what to do years ago.'

It’s Not Bacon Until It Ceases To Be Bacon: @sobebold

Tony has lived with his best friend Rhodey for fifteen years, and everything is perfect.

Until Rhodey finally gets a boyfriend, and Tony's world gets turned upside down.

by any name: @machi-kun

Tony calls him ‘mine’, sometimes.

And he also calls him platypus, honeybear, sugarplum, all those stupid nicknames; but James’ favorite will always be ‘mine’.

Tutor Me: @wisiaden

Tony really wants James Rhodes to be his math tutor. The guy was hot, and if he had to play dumb, well, he can say he hates math.

run and hide: @/starksrhodey

Tony may or may not have a crush on football captain James Rhodes.

Or, Tony is extremely insecure, Pepper knows best, Steve likes to bake, Bucky loves red heads, and Rhodey keeps trying to talk to Tony.

This Is The Real Life: @blancheludis

It takes doing the laundry for Tony to realize he is completely, irrevocably in love with Rhodey. Who knew that the way to Tony Stark's heart is to teach him how to wash his clothes.

Anything For You Darling: @areiton

Tony is sitting on the balcony of his palace in Malibu, and Rhodey hates it, more than he's ever hated anything, watching his best friend stare at the water, limmed by the sun and utterly alone.

"She's dead," Tony says, before Rhodey can ask and he feels his breath catch, his heart stumble.

There's--

Grief. For pretty, troubled Maya with her big eyes.

Heartbreak. For a sweet infant who will never know the mother who gave him up, whose life will never be exposed, now.

Relief. Because Harley is safe. Safe. Gods, he's safe.

or

Rhodey helps Tony raise his son.

it goes like this (just like heroin): @quandongcrumble

He’s twenty-six and you’re twenty-eight and you get a midnight phone call from Obadiah and between the two of you, you manage to beg and bully until you can fly back to the States and sit beside the white hospital bed while they say words like heroin and accidental overdose and that Tony should pull through but Tiberius might not wake up.

It goes like this—for almost sixteen years Tony’s addiction problems are a blight on Rhodey’s relationship with him. Friendships crack and trust is shattered, over and over again.

motor oil and coconut oil: @/halfasgoodasanything

James loves his best friend. He's entirely supportive of his friendship and his almost relationship with Steve Rogers. He is! He is. Carol and Pepper seem to think otherwise, but he's cool. Loving Tony doesn't mean no one else can. Even if he wanted to.

lost and found: @starkslovemail 

“Are you lost?”

Tony jumped at the voice cutting into his thoughts. Turning around, he saw another teen, maybe a year or two older than him, decked out in Team USA gear. He shook his head, flashing what he hoped was a disarming smile, “Nope.”

“Are you sure about that?” The athlete raised a disbelieving brow as he stared down at Tony. “You’ve been walking up and down this hallway for the past ten minutes, and the least embarrassing reason why is being lost.”

The blunt honesty startled a laugh out of Tony. He grinned cheekily, rocking back on his heels, “Guess I’m lost then.”

--

Written for the RhodeyTony Mini-Bang! Art can be seen on twitter here!

two boy geniuses walk into one frat house: @starkslovemail (part of a series)

There were too many white people at this damn party.

The Other 'Mr Stark': Iron Man’s Mysterious Paramour:  @presidentrhodes 

Clint leans over to Tony and whispers. “For the record, I know you’re lying. You’re describing the perfect man and he doesn’t exist. You might as well say you’re dating Superman because at least Christopher Reeve was a looker.“(Based on this prompt: Tony keeps telling the avengers how awesome his husband is but they don't believe he exists because it has been months and they still haven't met him yet and then finally, Rhodey comes home.)

[lachlann-macnab]

Task #16 Jukebox Musical/TV or Movie Soundtrack: come up with a playlist of at least 10 songs, write a scene summary to go with each one. Disclaimer under the cut.

Disclaimer: I, once again, decided to abuse the system. Nowhere on the prompt does it say that the scenes have to be related to a character I have, that's why I present to you: "The prompt, but short stories done with characters Jean would love to write but doesn't have the time to actually have".

Also, weeb rights.

*King  (English cover) -Will Stetson John Kingsbury 

Watch your back no warning warning Taking all my stress there's only just one thing to do Brace yourself for all my love's attack now Left side right side Bear your fangs it's time to fight Pa - pa - pa parade in shame tonight Left side. Right side. Bear your fangs and come alive Pa- pa - pa, Hah! You are king!

Mother always did like Richard best. 

Screw that, everyone always did like Richard best, even John liked his brother more than he liked himself. Even so, when he had been declared MIA during a mission with The Order, John quickly became the first option (the only option) for everyone -he was on cloud nine.

His new comrades didn't quite like him, but John didn't quite mind since he'd make sure that by the end of that year they'd be kneeling to him. Just  like he'd make sure that Richard never, ever came back, even if that meant making allies with a certain policeman and some Magicks whose information he'd make sure to erase from The Order's databases.

Pa, pa- pa Hah! He was (finally) King!

*La mer - Julio Iglesias cover  Basil Rathbone 

Mrs. Judson would have never expected to hear Julio Iglesias, of all things, coming from the flat. It was a strangely cheerful song for someone like Basil to hear, being the snob (not only musical, but general snob) he'd always been.

She was unsure about whether she really wanted to open the door, suddenly afraid of what she might find on the other side. Sometimes Basil would be immersed reading files upon files upon files, sometimes he would be languishing on the sofa while staring blankly at the roof, sometimes he would be walking around while talking to himself in a very obvious bout of mania -he was a wild card, that Basil, and the fact that she simply couldn't guess what he'd do next always worried her.

Worried as she was, she opened the door.

She found Basil staring at the portrait that hung just above the chimney, just...watching it. 

"I have always quite admired Le Carré's works" Basil merely said, without even looking at Mrs. Judson and instead keeping his attention on his own personal Karla while the song went on and on, silently hurting in all of the right places.

*Everybody loves me - OneRepublic  Kuzco Apaza

Get down, Swaying to my own sound Flashes in my face now All I know is everybody loves me Everybody loves me

Kuzco was on a roll. 

He felt the stares as he made the street his personal catwalk and kept (very loudly) chatting with his lawyers on the other side of the phone. The sun was shining surprisingly strongly that day (surprisingly for that side of the world, that is), it's rays hit his jewelry and clothes and made him shine almost as strongly as the star itself.

There was no way anyone could ignore him. And he couldn't blame them -he was fabulous! A gift of the gods themselves, almost as brilliant as the sun and twice (no, thrice) as charming!

...and he was shouting his plans to build a waterpark on Atlantis Lake. And, sure, people didn't seem to love the idea quite yet, but...?

At least they were staring. And they'd eventually learn to love him.

*Dramaturgy (English cover) - Will Stetson Hans Westergård 

All alone now no one’s looking, act out in greed deceiving all their eyes But there’s no real me that You’ll find if you believe and I can’t find a single role that showed what’s really there to see

He caught the eyes of his reflection by accident.

Hans had tilted his head and his eyes had almost immediately found his own reflection against the showcases, making him forget about his date (what was her name again? He couldn't, for the life of him, remember that but he certainly did remember how much her net-worth was and which medicines she needed to take at what hours of the day, just like her previous beau had needed to do before the "accident" had happened) and focus instead on his own eyes.

The thing is...he couldn't find anything in there; The baby blue went on and on but there was nothing beyond- behind it-

-when he moved his gaze, however, he found that he was smiling even if he didn't felt like it. And that his carefully selected clothes looked as they had been designed just for him to wear (and they had), and that his globed hands were still holding his date's recent purchases inside the yellow bag even if he found every item utterly tacky and a ridiculous expense.

He was smiling and looking good and doing perfectly. So why did finding his own gaze him the same effect as placing a mirror in front of another, creating a ever going loop of emptiness?

Was he not playing his part correctly? What could possibly fill that void?

*My Neighbor Totoro/Azumi Inoue Music Box ver - R3 Music Box Totoro Seishin 

Totoro decided to take a nap under the sun while Chu and Chibi were busy playing with some squirrels. It was a sunny day and there was no place he'd rather be but outside, basking and feeling the grass under him.

At one point, however, he felt some extra weight on him. He didn't feel like moving or particularly offended by something deciding to lay on him, it was just amusing.

He couldn't be bothered to open both eyes, so he only opened one, finding a sleeping girl against his chest as if that was the most normal thing to do.

He smiled, closed his eye and decided that was quite fine by him.

*Delusion Girl - Oktavia Cover (TW Suicide and Mental Illness) Bernard Newhart

Every hero knows when they’re needed, so, that’s just what he’s born to be A man who manages throwing out his hand, Who doesn’t care if his own life is spared Such a feat like that, it’s a selfless act only completed in dreams And it stays like that for me With a crash I’m trapped back in reality

Bernard wanted to help, he really did. He just...didn't always know how. Nor did he know if it really matter.

His partner always seemed to be five steps ahead and the Australian she'd taken a fancy to was just like her, if not a couple of steps ahead of even her. And it made Bernard feel like a third wheel, to question if he was really doing something worthy, if he had done something, anything sufficiently good ever and-

-he caught the girl's cellphone before she ever noticed it had slid out of her hands. And soon enough he was getting hugged and receiving many 'thank you's and- and maybe that was enough?

*The Lost One's Weeping (English Cover) - Will Stetson (TW   Depression) Martin Ambrosius (Merlin)

And no matter how much time passes us by, We’re drunk on sweet and hypnotic lies. With all our sources of hardened pride We try to erase and hide now

Martin would always act indignant at the question, and would always reply with a 'I am under no obligation to use my magic to explain or prove anything to the likes of you'.

He was Merlin's blood, for fuck's sake! He didn't have anyone to prove anything to save for maybe the Once and Future King himself!

Oh how he hoped, deep, deep inside, that he would never wake, that he would never ask any questions, that he would never do anything but keep dreaming his mythical dream and let him live his unmagic life.

He was a showman, he loved smoke and light and mirrors, he could fool anyone, anytime -but he knew that wouldn't be enough if (when) the time came, that the Once and Future King would need an actual advisor, an actual wizard.

He prayed that day never came to pass.

*When you're evil - Aurelio Voltaire Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz

It gets so lonely being evil What I'd do to see a smile Even for a little while And no one loves you when you're evil I'm lying through my teeth! Your tears are all the company I need

"Ah, Perry the Platypus! Don't shake too much or you'll make the laser sharks angry and- no, hey! the insurance doesn't cover laser damage to the roo- yeah, that's better thank you. You might be wondering what this is all about- you see, noone has decided to play ME so far so- BEHOLD, THE HEINZ DOOFEN-INATOR! (patent pending) WITH THIS DEVICE I SHALL HIJACK ONE UNLUCKY ROLEPLAYER'S DRAFTS AND SLOWLY BUT SURELY CONSUME THE WHOLE THING THEN THE OTHER POSTS ON THE DASH, THEN THE WHOLE BEING DISNEY PAGE, THEN- HEY! HEY, DON'T DO THA- I'M NOT DONE WITH MY EVIL MONOLOGUE!"

*DEAD HAND - anakin ft. IA English (Ferry Cover)  (TW  Nuclear Warfare mention) Major Francis Monogram

Oh this is overwhelming, time for the iron curtain call The panic is seeping through the fractured border wall My livid heart powers this reactor core “Oh this is all wrong” but I don’t mind at all Turn up the volume, execute the protocol You know it’s M.A.D. and it’s all about to blow What an unfortunate way to end this show I shed a tear as you vanish in the snow

Francis had zero interest in dealing with anyone's shit (save for his own or his son's, that is) ever again; He'd done his time and the whole thing during the fucking Cold War had done a number on his nerves.

He still could remember how all seemed lost, an adequately mad situation (of Mutually Assured Destruction, that is) had come to pass and everyone in the HQ was losing his mind and running around like a bunch of headless chickens-

-until he very calmly pressed a couple of buttons and the thing was ok once more. Some people cried, some people laughed, some people shouted.

(Dramatic bitches, all of them. They didn't have to cause a scene just because of the fucking coffee machine)

That was one of many situations that made him love his retirement and not want to let go of it.

*Gasoline - Halsey (Captain) John Silver

You're part of a machine, you are not a human being With your face all made up, living on a screen Low on self esteem, so you run on gasoline

'Phantom limb pain' sounded way cooler than it actually was. Silver would rather call it 'a pain in the ass' any day, but that'd be a misnomer since what hurt was his stupid (lack of) arm and not his ass and he was not risking some smartass trying to make a joke about his butt, thank you very fucking much.

Like, fuck, 'phantom pain' could be a sick name for a metal (heh) band. And hiding things inside his prosthetic was one of the few perks the whole thing offered, just like the fact that he could smack people with the thing without having to bother about hurting himself or dealing with that pain.

However, during that cold night he couldn't think of any possitives about the damned thing and cursed his rotten luck, his (lack of) arm and the thoughts that came along with them.

[stxphxn-strange]

that endgame deleted scene is killing me, so here’s a (not great but) wholesome ironstrange short to combat it:

“This feels like a betrayal. I miss him, I want to be with him again.”

“Then I think it’s time we make that happen.”

“You’re serious?”

“FRIDAY, activate the ‘on the mend’ protocol, please. And yes, I’m serious; it’s time.”

++++

Wong was rudely interrupted from his mystery novel by frantic knocking at the Sanctum’s door.

“Strange, I’m in the middle of a chapter! Get the door please.”

“No.” Stephen’s broken voice called quietly across the house.

“Ugh, fine, but don’t get mad when I give you a full synopsis of what I just read.” Wong had recently gotten into mystery stories. The idea of detective work appealed to him, and it was different enough from his sorcerer duties that he could immerse himself in them when he needed a break.

After putting his book down, he opened the door to see a flustered James Rhodes.

“Is it time?”

“Yep.”

Wong smiled. “You’d better come in, then.”

Rhodey followed Wong inside and took a deep breath. This was a good thing. Stephen was probably going to be pissed, but not for long.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Wong offered.

“Decaf coffee, if you have it,” Rhodey replied. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I hope you didn’t have any difficulties getting here, I understand that the traffic can be a mess when you don’t have the luxury of traveling by portals,” Wong said.

“You seem to have forgotten that I can, in fact, fly. Thanks to Tony, of course,” Rhodey replied.

The entire vibe of the conversation and the building itself changed when Rhodey uttered his best friend’s name. Something felt lighter, and it probably had to do with what was about to happen. It probably had to do with the gentle footfalls that could be heard in the near horizon.

“Rhodey?”

++++

“What I’m about to say is going to be out of character for me, but it’s important; don’t be dramatic about this when you go to see him. Leave the drama to us,” Tony requested, a glimmer in his tired eyes.

“As if I’d ever steal your spotlight,” Rhodey teased. “How do you even know there’s going to be drama?”

“Silly question, Platypus. You know how we are. Plus, you know he’s hurting,” Tony replied. He became very sad, suddenly, and a few tears made their way to his eyes.

++++

Wong quickly hurried out of the room, muttering something about having to check on a relic. In reality, the librarian made a beeline for the living room, picked up his book, and began to discreetly eavesdrop on the conversation in the kitchen.

“How’ve you been?”

Stephen didn’t know how to answer such a stupid question, and he informed Rhodey of that fact.

“Okay, valid point,” Rhodey replied. “But seriously, have you been doing okay?”

“I’ve been keeping myself busy. The trait of working past the point of exhaustion has transferred itself to me, I suppose. I just have to keep going and going, lest I allow myself to get absorbed in my memories,” Stephen said.

In truth, he was trying to get over Tony, he really was, but it was hard. He couldn’t stop thinking of the proposal and everything that was going so right before it all went so wrong. He thought of his mistakes, his selfishness, and his selfish mistakes.

“You know that nobody blames you, right? Least of all Tony,” Rhodey began gently.

Stephen scoffed. “How would you know whether he blames me or not?”

“He told me yesterday that he doesn’t,” Rhodey replied.

Wong placed his book to the side so he could watch Stephen’s reaction. He hadn’t known until today that Stark hadn’t actually died. Yes, the power of the infinity stones knocked him unconscious, and he was pronounced legally dead for a few minutes. Stephen had fled immediately after the man stopped breathing. He’d missed the moment when Stark was miraculously resurrected (to this day nobody knew how or why it happened). Obviously his medical condition and chance of survival once we woke up was in some limbo, and that’s why Stephen still didn’t know that he was okay.

“I’m not telling him until I’m absolutely certain that I’m not going to die from this,” Stark had said firmly. “So no one tell him. I’m not going to get his hopes up only to let him down.”

Wong figured that Rhodes was here because it was finally confirmed safe to tell Stephen. Wong could tell from his facial expression that Stephen was confused, maybe a little hurt, but mostly doubtful.

“How can that be?”

“He had me over for dinner last night, and he told me to tell you not to blame yourself,” Rhodey said.

“You’re fucking with me, and I don’t appreciate it,” Stephen snapped. His voice was shaky, but he still held his authority.

“No, Stephen, I’m not,” Rhodey replied. “I’m really not.”

“But he died, FRIDAY said so,” Stephen said, “I don’t believe what you’re saying.”

Rhodey smiled with a twinge of sadness. “I know you don’t. That’s why I’m here to show you that I’m right. Can you open a portal to the lake house?”

Stephen made the portal, stepping through it just before Rhodey did and just after he told Wong where he was going.

As the pair walked towards the house, Stephen turned to Rhodey and said, “You know if you’re wrong about this, there’s a chance I’ll never speak to you again.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me, and I don’t blame you. I’m not too worried about that, though,” Rhodey said. He’d seen movement from inside the house, and he knew that whatever was going to happen next would be sickeningly emotional.

“Why?”

“Because I know I’m not wrong.”

Before Stephen had a chance to reply, the door opened.

“Are you two going to stand out here all day, or are you coming in?”

++++

“I didn’t expect him to pass out.”

“How would you react to the news that your fiancé is miraculously back from the dead?”

“What, are you saying we should call it even now?” Stephen asked, blearily entering the conversation.

“If that’s what you want to call it, sure.”

The hand brushing through his hair felt too soft and familiar. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, but nothing actually felt real. Sure, the sensation of Tony’s hand playing with his hair felt real and soothing, but for all Stephen knew this could have been a dream.

“Anyway,” the voice sounding suspiciously like Tony’s continued, “that’s not funny, Platypus. To answer your question, though, you beat the Titan that caused his death.”

That remark brought Stephen back into the battle against Thanos. He heard the words “I am Iron Man” in his head, he saw Tony die, and he felt his world growing colder as he left the scene through a portal.

“I didn’t say it to be funny, Tones.”

The hand in his hair stilled, and soon Tony (was it Tony? Was it very human-like AI? Stephen didn’t fucking know) was laying down and cuddling up to the sorcerer, just like he used to.

“What the fuck is going on?” Stephen asked. “Rhodey what the fuck?”

“I told you.”

“I don’t understand,” Stephen said. “Tony died, I— I saw it.”

“I don’t quite know what happened. Everyone was gone when I somehow woke up, and I still don’t even know how this was all possible. Once my eyes reopened, though, I figured I’d try and fight through all of the harm I sustained during that battle. I told myself that I wouldn’t tell you I was okay until we were certain I’d fully recover from this. I wasn’t going to get your hopes up for no reason,” Tony explained.

“I don’t know what to say,” Stephen whispered. He gently reached out for one of Tony’s hands. “You’re actually here?”

Tony stood up, much to Stephen’s sadness (he really liked cuddling, sue him). After flashing a soft smile, he said, “Yeah, I really am.”

Stephen sat up. “I should be mad at you.”

“Livid, probably,” Tony said. He was going to stay something else, but before he could, Stephen leapt up and wrapped his arms around him.

He was crying embarrassingly loudly, but he didn’t care. “For the record, I am a bit pissed, but more than anything I’m really happy,” he cried.

Tony just nodded and hugged him back. He wasn’t sure what to say, honestly. In truth, he hated himself a little bit. Was it selfish of him to want to spare Stephen the pain of his coming back to life and then dying because of a failed medical procedure? Maybe it was.

Once he calmed down a little, Stephen smiled mischeviously at Tony.

“What?” The genius asked.

“I’m thinking about all the ways that I can convince you to let me decide on a color scheme for our wedding,” Stephen said mirthfully.

“I thought you picked already!” Rhodey shouted from the kitchen.

“Maybe I’m changing my mind again,” Stephen said. He dropped his voice to a near whisper. “Assuming, of course, that there’s still a wedding to plan now?”

“Of course there is, though I was a bit worried you’d be so mad at me you’d— never mind. I don’t even want to put that thought out there,” Tony said sheepishly.

“Good, don’t. I wouldn’t,” Stephen said. “Not after an emotional response like the one I just had. Not after all we’ve been through. Not after how much I’ve loved and appreciated you, not after how much we’ve both grown.”

“Trying to make me cry, asshole?” Tony asked, drying his eyes.

Stephen pulled him into a hug. “Now we’re even, douchebag.”

[elisaphoenix13]

Everlasting Spirit (Ch. 3)

Get some rest.

Tony wanted to punch them in the face. They wanted him to rest while his wife was god knows where going through who knows what? All because he snapped at Diana when she was asking where her mother was…

Fuck. He was an asshole. His daughter was just as scared as everyone else and went to her father for some kind of reassurance and he almost yelled at her. Told her if he knew where Stephen was, then he would probably be home by now. Tony instantly felt guilty afterwards, but before he could apologize, Rhodey shoved him toward the stairs and told him to lay down. Tony was no stranger to being up for days on end, but it had only been a little over twenty four hours and he was on edge. That's what happened when he was endlessly stressing about getting his spouse home safely.

Now, an hour after the incident, Tony continued to toss back and forth in bed. It was all wrong. Valerie wasn't in her crib since she was currently being taken care of by the team, Stephen wasn't next to him to fill some of the empty space of their bed...hell...he even got used to having Athena sleeping at the foot of their bed. She was currently with Diana and comforting her since Tony made her cry.

Tony groans and rubs his face when he rolls onto his back to look up at the ceiling. The room was too empty. He was so used to hearing Stephen breathing softly next to him, that the silence was grating on his nerves even more. There was no way he would be able to sleep like this. So he sits up before getting out of bed and he blearily shuffles out of the master bedroom and looks over the railing into the living room below. Some of the Avengers sat around with tablets to go through security footage over and over, and it was unnervingly quiet. They were all tired, but they were just as devoted to finding Stephen as Tony was.

They still got some sleep though. Steve had a point when he said that looking through footage or out on the streets while exhausted could easily make them miss something vital, so they rested when it got to be too much. He also said that Stephen would have lectured them and there were no arguments. Only Quill and Tony ignored Steve's logic.

Tony for obvious reasons, but Quill because he was committed to finding the sorcerer with his Gaze by any means necessary. He hadn't stopped searching since the captain gave him his assignment, and he was actually starting to wear a hole in the carpet from all the pacing he was doing. Not even Scott could coerce the god to take a nap so the thief stayed up in the penthouse on the couches while Quill continued his search. Cassie kept Diana company in her room, Wanda and Natasha took turns with the baby and when the witch wasn't babysitting she was cooking or out on the streets, and everyone else continued with what Steve and Rhodey assigned them to do.

The Avengers rarely left the penthouse. They all just crashed somewhere in the living room.

Right now, Quill was still pacing and searching with his Gaze, Natasha and Scott were dozing on the couches, Wanda was cooking while keeping an eye on Valerie in her high chair...and Diana was coloring in one of her books with her brothers and Cassie. Even from upstairs, Tony could see that she was still upset and it made his heart drop into his stomach. He was the reason for it and he needed to fix it.

Tony walks down the stairs and into the living room, internally cringing when Diana looks up at him before immediately looking back down at her book. With a deep breath, the engineer sits at the coffee table with the kids (and a soft groan; he was getting too old for this) and slowly reaches over to run his fingers through his older daughter's hair.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you piccola. That wasn't fair to you and you didn't deserve it."

Diana drops her crayon and looks up at her father. "I forgive you...Uncle Rhodey just said you were tired and scared. Is that true?"

Tony sighs. "Yes."

"Did you get some sleep?" Rhodey asks when he walks into the living room and the engineer looks over at him.

"I tried. I couldn't." Tony admits and sighs when Diana moves over to him and crawls into his lap to hug him. "I can't lose him again Platypus."

"We're not going to stop looking."

Tony looks from Rhodey over to Quill and watches the celestial pace and grumble to himself as he runs his fingers through his hair. He could tell the endless focusing was wearing on the god. Every once in a while he would either rub the back of his neck or rub the side of his head with the palm of his hand (Quill must have formed a killer headache), he was visibly exhausted based on his body language, and he even growled at anyone that suggested he take a break for a few minutes.

"Me and Dad already tried." Cassie says from the other side of the table.

"He kind of did what you did to Dia." Peter says and Tony cringes before whispering another apology to the little girl in his lap and kissing the top of her head.

"Don't piss him off. I can't handle an angry god right now. Especially if there's a chance that Scott can't--"

Quill suddenly halts in his tracks and inhales sharply, and when Tony saw the perturbed look on his face, he wasn't sure whether to be worried or hopeful. What did he see? It had to be Stephen, but did he really want an answer to his question? Tony didn't like the look on his face.

"I see him." Quill finally manages to croak out.

Everyone, including the ones who had been dozing, immediately direct their attention to the celestial. "Do you know where he is?" Steve asks and Quill remains quiet for a few moments.

"Not really...but I know how to get there."

=============

It hurt to breathe.

Orion beat him, cut him, electrocuted him...any form of torture that would hurt him without killing him or starting a slow death. He was bruised and hurting and it was difficult to keep his head up in the new position he found himself in. With his wrists bound above his head in chains hanging from the ceiling. Surprisingly the torture he went through was similar to the many deaths he experienced with Dormammu, but the only difference was that the pain never went away. He couldn't heal himself with his magic, but no matter how much pain he was in, he refused to break like his captor wanted him to.

The more pained noises he held back, the angrier Orion got. He was getting frustrated that Stephen hadn't broken as quickly as he possibly wanted him to, and the sorcerer continued to sass him. Not the greatest idea on his part, but it helped keep Stephen sane.

Stephen manages to bite back most of another pained groan when leather harshly meets the skin of his back again, and ignores the warmth running down his back. He lost count of the lashings he received in the last ten minutes. Maybe ten minutes? He used to be the protector of the Time Stone, but now time meant nothing to him. He didn't even know how long he had been here.

He never gave up hope that his family was looking for him though.

"I have to hand it to you." Orion says after finally lowering his current weapon of choice (something Stephen didn't bother identifying). "You're tough. I can tell you still have hope that the Avengers will find you."

"They will." Stephen rasps. "...and they won't show you any more mercy than you've shown me. I can't even promise you'll come out of this alive."

His captor harrumphs. "I can't promise that for you either. Even if they do manage to find us, you'll be long dead."

"I wouldn't count on it." Another voice says.

It was music to Stephen's ears. Orion looked around the room in confusion when he saw no one else in the vicinity, and that's when Scott grew to normal size, grabbed the man's arm, and threw him over his shoulder. If he weren't hurting so much, Stephen would have smirked at the look of surprise Orion had on his face when Scott seemingly came out of nowhere. Everything else happened far too quickly for the doctor to process after that. He remembered the door being kicked off its hinges by Steve and Bucky, and then suddenly Tony was in front of him. His husband's armor crawls back into its housing unit as he grabs Stephen as gently and carefully as possible (no doubt that he asked Friday where it was safe to do so), and someone else released him from his bindings.

Stephen barely had the strength to drape his arms over Tony's shoulders when more pain followed his release. That was when he finally let a pained whimper escape.

"I got you." Tony whispers soothingly into his ear. "We found you baby."

"My cubs…" Stephen croaks out miserably.

"All at home and safe. They want their mom."

Comforting warmth suddenly envelops him and Stephen shudders when his pain begins to slowly ebb away. Only one other person had the magical ability to heal and the sorcerer had never been so glad for Quill as he was now. He was thankful for all of them. Stephen only truly let his guard down when Bucky dragged Orion out of the room with Steve following and giving the man the nastiest glare the doctor had ever seen on him. He honestly wasn't sure what was going to happen to Orion now and couldn't find it in him to care.

"You have no idea how badly I want to follow them and give him the same treatment--" Tony starts until Stephen tightens his hold on him a little more.

"Tony...please." Stephen whispers. "Just hold me."

He did. Once he and Scott stopped Quill from healing Stephen any more (the celestial was already exhausted from his search; healing just drained him even more), and made sure Quill wasn't in danger of passing out, they helped Stephen to the waiting Quinjet outside. Sam had found his sling ring in another room, but Stephen was too exhausted to create a portal to the tower and instead trusted Clint to fly them back home safely.

Tony only stopped holding him for the period of time it took to get Stephen settled in the medbay and for Bruce to make sure he wasnt in any danger from the torture he sustained. If he had been, Quill had taken care of it, so now the sorcerer was just sore and a little bit injured. The moment he was bandaged and put on painkillers, Tony got on the bed and held Stephen against his chest as tightly as possible without hurting him.

"Please don't let the kids see me like this." Stephen pleads and Tony shushes him as he gently pets his hair.

"No matter how badly they want to see you, they won't come until you're ready." The engineer promises. "Try to get some sleep tesoro."

"Don't leave."

"Wouldn't dream of it. I'll be right here when you wake up."

Stephen let himself truly relax then. His husband's smell of coffee and motor oil soothing him into sleep, and again when he had a nightmare. He dreamed he was back in the cold room with concrete walls and being tortured in some way or another, and then woke struggling in Tony's embrace. It took Stephen a couple of minutes to remember where he was and sobbed out an apology when he calmed down. His husband only hushed him again and mumbled softly in Italian to help the doctor relax again, and pet his hair until Stephen fell asleep again.

As far as Stephen was aware, Tony never left his side until the sorcerer woke up properly. Only then did he leave to use the bathroom and physically check on their kids. Steve was the one that sat in a chair next to his bed to keep him company until Tony came back.

"How long have I been asleep?" Stephen asked quietly, gaining the captain's attention from the movie on the tv.

"A while. That's good though." Steve answers.

"What happened to...him?"

A dark look very briefly crosses the captain's face. "We took care of him."

Stephen decided he didn't want to know that badly. Not with the look Steve had. It was enough to tell him that Orion wouldn't be threatening him or anyone else anymore.

"Thank you." Stephen mumbles.

"No one hurts Mom and gets away with it." Steve replies with a smirk and the sorcerer snorts softly.

"The kids?"

"They're waiting for you to let them come see you. Right now they're happy knowing you're home safe, but we can all tell they're getting antsy."

"Just a little longer."

Steve smiles softly. "I think they can manage that."

"Have you met my children?"

The captain grins and gently pats Stephen's blanket covered leg as he returns his attention to his movie.

"Get some rest Mama Bear."

[crimes-and-gelato]

Only Half a Blue Sky (Chapter 6)

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes

A/N: If you're still here, thank you for staying. And I'm sorry for adding another chapter, because I wanted to write a long one to tie everything up, only for my real life drama to hinder my writing. So, I'm sorry for cutting y'all short with this chapter. But at least we still have another one next week. Yayyy???This one is unbeta-ed because I wrote it sooo late, I couldn't find the heart to burden someone with my unchecked grammar. So, if there are any spelling mistakes or grammar error, please look at it with kindness and tell me in a soft voice, yeah? Thanks.Chapter title is from Maroon 5's Daylight, because that song is about leaving. Or well, that's how I perceive it.Also just T/W: there is detailed (but not really because I can't write) torture in this chapter, and assumption that Tony is dead. If that's not for you, I'll see you next week where it'll be more fluff. This whole chapter is just angst. Okay, now on you go. Enjoy.

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if the hurt comes so will happiness. -be patient || rupi kaur 

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Cold is the first thing that registers into his mind as he slowly gains consciousness. The pain follows like an inevitable addition to the discomfort. Why is JARVIS not doing anything about the temperature? He should be at least warm even when he’s in pain.

He’s about to ask his AI to turn the heat up; only that, he opens his eyes to an unfamiliar surrounding. The words die in his tongue.

Where is he? What is this cold, semi-dark place that smells of rust and decay? He tries to rummage his hazy brain for clues. And the only thing that answers him back is more pain. God, his head feels like he’s been hammered by Thor himself. It takes him back to those mornings with a hangover. Only worse.

Shit! His head is pounding so bad it makes him nauseous just opening his eyes and looking around for clues as to where the fuck he is.

Oh, and he’s tied up to a metal chair. Great! Why didn’t he notice that before? Right, because his brain was having a hard time processing everything with how painful it is to even blink.

And gosh, lucky him, he’s got burns littered all over his arms and legs. A few lacerations too on places he can’t specify, because every inch of him hurts that it’s hard to figure out which part of him is not aching. Just fucking fantastic!

At least his not bleeding out… yet. No, he’s only being held hostage on an ugly looking chair. Fucking fantastic indeed. And of course, very classic: kidnappers and chairs. When will villains get creative? Tony can think of other ways to hold people hostage. Not that he’s ever going to share them with the bad guys.

So, how did he end up here?

He scans his memory for clues again because his heart rate is starting to quicken, and the arc reactor in his chest suddenly feels too heavy, that it’s making it difficult for his lungs to distribute the correct amount of oxygen in his body. And he’s not looking forward to the worst case scenario when he’s still in a middle of another worst case scenario.

He needs to keep calm and think of solutions, because if he looks closely into his current predicament it’ll only spiral him into thoughts that’ll push him into a panic attack. He can’t have that right now.

He can’t.

He can’t. Not even when everything about this reminds him of Afghanistan. The cold, the rusty smell of decaying metal, the foul scent of an unkempt room. Somewhere he can hear a faint water droplet that makes his stomach churn at the thought of dirty water and lack of oxygen.

Tony shakes his head to control his rogue thoughts. He’s not going down that rabbit hole. It’s not going to help him get out.

‘I see that you’re awake, Mr. Stark.’ A man appears from the only opening in the room. His English is accented with Russian that completely matches his hard military feature. He fits the perfect role of a HYDRA agent.

‘We’ll it’s hard to stay asleep when your place lacks warmth and cosiness,’ he replies and tries to ignore the uncomfortable dryness in his throat. ‘Also,’ he gestures to his handcuffs, ‘we need to work on consents and safewords for this kind of thing, don’t you think?’

The evil man smiles, showing off chunky yellowish teeth. ‘It’s amazing how you still have humour after all that injury.’ He moves closer, right in front of Tony’s chair. ‘Guess that’s a good thing.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes, Mr. Stark.’ He takes a stool from the side and occupies it. ‘You see, we need you alive at least.’ He studies Tony’s face, and his eyes gleam of something sadistic. He smiles again and it makes the genius shiver because he doesn’t like this man’s wicked eyes that promises pain. ‘Things apparently didn’t go as planned.’

‘It doesn’t always,’ Tony agrees just to humour this villain. ‘Word of advice? Accept it and move on.’

Another wicked smile as he scratches one of his eyebrow with his pinky. ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ He pulls out a short knife from his back. His adept fingers plays with it, tosses the blade from one hand to the other. ‘We’ve figured something out.’

‘Who is this we?’ He’s trying not to look intimidated by the sight of the knife. ‘HYDRA?’

‘Can’t tell you… because then, I have to kill you.’

Tony’s not sure if the stranger is humouring him as well, or he’s being honest. But he did say that they — whoever they is — needs him alive. So, they’re not going to kill him. That doesn’t mean that this bad guy won’t make him suffer though. Sadistic bastard!

‘The thing is…’ The man throws the knife in the air and snatches it swiftly, just to plunge it on Tony’s thigh.

The groan escapes his lips as the pain spreads into his body. And here he’s thinking that he’s numb to feel any pain with how much every nerve ending is burning from his injury from the explosion.

Yes, there was an explosion when they were trying to infiltrate a lab that the officials said to be of HYDRA. The officials wanted it to seem like they’re doing government check-ups on private organisation. But it seems like there was a mole on Bruce’s alliance team.

‘We really need a safeword,’ he jokes through gritted teeth.

‘It won’t be necessary as long as you tell your friends to give us back the sceptre,’ the man whispers into Tony’s ear, hand gripping on the knife handle and twisting it slightly, earning him another muffled groan from the engineer. ‘And they could send back the soldier as well,’ he adds. ‘Tell them to obey… or else they’ll have your body, back in a bag.’

‘Is that why you need me?’ The blade sinks further. ‘As leverage?’ He chuckles darkly and the man leans back away, looking at Tony like the genius has lost his mind. ‘That’s a very stupid plan.’

‘Oh please… They’ll bargain for you,’ the man spits, putting on his sadistic mask again. ‘You’re their precious teammate. An important person in society.’ He produces another knife. ‘Surely, they’ll come for you and exchange you for the Winter Soldier.’

‘Not really.’ Tony shakes his head and has the greatest urge to tell this idiot of the truth. How, firstly, there is no way in seven hells Captain America will ever let James near these assholes. Neither will Tony, over his dead body. And secondly, there’s no room for argument that his life can be use as a bargaining chip in exchange for the life of those who will be affected if HYDRA gets their hands on the sceptre. Because duh… he’s not worth it.

Back on his first reason. Has these idiots forgotten that Steve is bonded to James, and would probably sacrifice anyone — much less Tony Stark — to keep his soulmate safe? Seriously, bad guys should study the laws of soul bonding too because they are just clueless as to how far people would go for those they love.

‘I’m being honest with you, buddy,’ he says. ‘They won’t exchange Winter and the sceptre for the likes of me.’ He shrugs. ‘So, unless you have another plan, it’s better if you change route right now.’

The man doesn’t believe him. ‘I’ll come back for you when you’re ready to talk, Mr. Stark.’ The second knife vanishes, but thank goodness not under Tony’s flesh. But the bloke did twist the knife that’s still attached to Tony’s thigh before he leaves the room. Probably going to report to his masters.

Tony’s not sure why he’s trying to convince his tormentor that he’s team cares so little for him. He blames it on the lack of common sense and sanity when all he can register is the pain. The last time it hurt like this it’s because he was betrayed. And he was betrayed because he deserved it — he deserves to be alone since he’s never going to be good enough.

His burns, the old wounds, and the new one eats away his logic. Maybe it’s true that the team won’t come for him, especially not Steve who won’t even risk James’ safety. And he agrees with that.

Maybe Rhodey will come for him. But his platypus is busy fighting more important battles that’ll save myriad of people who deserves to live. Not like Tony.

And Pepper — his dear lovely Pepper — who manages his company better than he did, making sure that every single employee is taken care of. Pepper will also not come for him, it’s protocol that SI will never pay ransom money for him.

No one will come for him. No one. So, he should probably stop staring at the door like someone’s going to come busting in and rescue him.

He doesn’t know how long he stares at the door. But he sees the man returning with renewed hope and sadism in his posture.

‘Have you still not changed your mind, Mr. Stark?’ The evil minion occupies his stool once again.

‘Now that I think about it… I never got your name,’ he says. ‘So, what is your name? Or does HYDRA do the whole Hunchman One, Hunchman Two, etcetera thing?’

‘Well,’ the man sits comfortably like he’s simply lounging around with Tony, ‘if it’s all the same to you,’ the punch completely catches Tony off guard, so did the pain, ‘I’d rather not get us both acquainted.’

There’s a new addition to his collection of pain with that blow. There’s a fresh batch of headache that follows the other one that had just ebbed from the explosion. Ah, just his luck.

Tony spits blood on the floor and glares at his oppressor.

‘Beg your Avengers, Mr. Stark,’ he orders. ‘Beg for them.’ Another blow to the other side of his face. ‘Or else, I’ll have too much fun breaking you.’

**

**

It’s cold. It’s always cold, Tony notices. And he’s not sure where he is. He’s sure the bastards that have kidnapped him had stripped him of all his tracking device. Maybe it’s time to install one deep within his flesh like JARVIS had suggested.

And his suit, no one has mentioned about his suit. They must have abandoned it somewhere. Smart of them, because the suit has a tracking device, a good one too.

He needs to escape. He’s not going to be leverage for these assholes. They’re not going to be able to use him, no matter the amount of colourful addition on his face, not to mention the twin knives that’s sunk on both his thighs.

Everything hurts. Everything.

There’s that annoying sound of a slow water drip from inside the room as well. It’s damn irritating, especially that it seems to echo the blood that drips from both of his twinning thigh wounds. Fuck, everything hurts, but at the same time he’s slowly losing feeling on his legs.

Few more hours and he’s going to to bleed out. And this could be it for him.

He lost count of the time Mike — that’s what he calls his instigator, the man didn’t appreciate it (rude much) and lands a rather heavy blow on Tony’s left lung — had come into the room to wreck him into submission. Tony is very close to his breaking point. He can feel his sanity slipping away with each punch that lands his face and body, with each twist of the knife, and the amount of pooling blood beneath him.

His tormentor has promised a much better means next time he sees him; something wet he said, that had Tony’s breath hitching with fear at the vague indication. He’s still have nightmares about dirty water and gasping for air. And that might just be the last straw that breaks the camels back.

But he can’t give up now. He can’t break now. Stark men are made of iron, his own subconscious repeats over and over again. He hates it because his own subconscious sounds like his father’s voice.

And just like he had done before, Tony draws strength to the one thing that grounds him and gives him peace of mind when everything falls apart.

‘Steve,’ he whispers in reverence as if on prayer. ‘Steve.’ He smiles a little, the name tastes safe in his mouth, easing some of his discomfort. His soulmate to Steve Rogers — Captain America, the guy who lost everything and still managed to survive, the guy who Tony wants to become, the man he wants to be with. Brave and wonderful Steve Rogers: Tony’s soulmate. ‘I think… I might miss you, Steve.’

The tears that pool his eyes finally run down his cheeks as he closes his eyes in the hope to never wake up to more suffering. Death doesn’t seem so bad, right? Everyone he loves is safe. His team have recovered Loki’s sceptre — based on Mike’s tantrum — and they’ll be able to end HYDRA once and for all.

And that’s his last thought before darkness finally takes him.

**

**

Everything is in chaos: Tony Stark is missing. And Bucky’s not ready to face the worst case scenario that it completely breaks him; that’s how Steve finds him when the rest of the Avengers returned back home after being unsuccessful in locating Tony in Europe. They have all decided to recoup and plan.

Steve had to fix him back together after his melt down, and he feels bad for stealing Steve’s own rights to mourn for his missing teammate — and probably, the man Steve loves that he doesn’t know yet. It’s embarrassing to need Steve like that because it had always been the other way around, with him taking care of Stevie. But times can change.

It wasn’t his best moment as well, he gets clingy and panicky when he’s not in the same room as Steve, or when he doesn’t see the man. And the weight of Tony’s loss still brands his chest like an empty crater. It’s the sort of ache that won’t go away. It’s the sort of ache that squeezes your heart time and time again just to remind you that it’s there.

Twenty-four hours later, they received a message from the low class HYDRA franchise in Sokovia that had held Tony hostage. They are trying to hold the genius ransom for Loki’s magical sceptre (which Thor and Loki had successfully retrieved). And for him, the Winter Soldier.

Bucky wanted to say yes… to both. He doesn’t give a fuck what happens to him or to that blasted sceptre. All he wants is for Tony to be safe, to come home. But of course, that decision isn’t up to him, and he knows that if they all follow his thinking it’d be a disaster, because honestly, he’s not even logical.

Well, they can’t blame him, he’s not very sane to begin with. Your soulmate being threatened and in the face of danger doesn’t make the most rational human being either. So, he waits, instead of voicing out his idiotic ideas.

But it’s hard to ignore his questionable ideas when a cryptic video arrives eight hours after the offer has been announced. And that video alone makes what’s left of his sane brain cells perish, because the video is awful. Painful to watch.

There’s this bald Russian guy that tortures Tony to beg the Avengers to rescue him in exchange for the sceptre and Bucky. The methods are simple: a few punches and a few stabbing. Nothing worse than Bucky had gone under HYDRA’s hands. But then, Bucky’s a super soldier, who heals easily; Tony on the other hand is a non-powered human, looking all bruised and battered with his injuries from the explosion and now the current tormenting.

It’s wreaking to watch. They were all angry, he can tell. Even Bruce who is usually relax looks a little green. Natasha is physically an embodiment of chaos and destruction at the sight of the second knife digging into Tony’s thigh.

‘JARVIS, I hope you’re tracking the source of this video.’ There’s a hardness in Steve’s voice that he’s never heard before. Steve is usually gentle when speaking to people, especially towards JARVIS or the bots.

‘On it, Captain,’ JARVIS replies severely.

The video only last five minutes, but it feels longer. It plays on a loop, with them cursing every second of it. But they have to study it, in case it clues them to where Tony’s being hold up.

Every quiet groan and tormented scream rams into Bucky’s soul like ton of brick. Mutely, he promises terrible pain to those who’ve caused Tony’s painful screeches. Morality be damned. There is blood and suffering to be paid in full.

**

**

It takes two more days for the next video to arrive. It contains the same stomach churning gore of Tony’s torture. They can all see how the genius slowly withering, despite how he still has his sass intact.

‘Can’t that alien god help locate him?’ Bucky demands, watching the newest set of video for too many times that he knows isn’t healthy. His therapist would disapprove. ‘What use is his magic?’

Steve looks just as weary as Bucky is. They all do, but he thinks him and Steve has it worse. His other soulmate is being maimed, and somehow he thinks Steve can feel the negative and dark energy within him. It might has something to do with how they are soul bond.

So, Captain America has to shoulder Bucky’s hidden anxiety, and he has to worry for his friend. Hence, Steve looking worse for wear.

‘It’s not that easy, Buck.’ Steve runs a hand over his tired face. ‘We’ll find him.’ The blond reaches out a hand to comfort, but Bucky moves away from it. Hurt and confusion mixes in Steve’s face.

‘But when, Stevie?’ he shouts. ‘When he’s dea—’

‘Don’t say that,’ Steve cuts him off sharply. ‘Tony’s one of the strongest people I know.’ He squares his jaw as if daring Bucky to challenge the unquestionable faith in his voice. ‘And we’re doing our best to find him… And we will.’

Being pessimistic probably doesn’t help anyone. And really, he’s only hurting himself by thinking of the worst. Yes, the worst could happen. But not now, not when he’s got Steve to tell him that it won’t. He’ll believe Steve, he always will. Steve could believe for the both of them.

Because god, if the worst do happen, Bucky’s not sure how he will survive. He probably won’t, right? He doesn’t think he’s that strong to survive this heartbreak. He can deal with HYDRA and all their torture, but not the loss of a soulmate. That feels too impossible. Even now, just looking at Tony suffering is killing Bucky, too.

‘We’ll find him, Buck.’ Steve pulls him in a hug, which he accepts because he knows the blond needs it, too. ‘We’ll find him.’

It’s almost a miracle Steve doesn’t ask him about his rather passionate feelings towards Tony Stark. But maybe Steve doesn’t notice it as well, too lost in his own worry for the genius.

**

**

The next video comes sixteen hours after the last one, Steve and Bucky were the one standing vigil for any news. The team had developed a schedule to have someone — usually a pair — wait up for important updates. Not that any of them get any sleep longer than two hours when they are not on duty. Ever since Tony was gone, sleep has been a scarce commodity in the tower.

The video holds the usual disgusting torture of the engineer. But this time Tony looks like he’s at his breaking point. The pool of blood on the floor is also concerning. There’s a haunting paleness in Tony’s face that makes Bucky’s chest twist painfully.

Tony looks weak and fragile and broken. And it’s heart-wrenching to see that he deflates the ball he’s been playing with the bots. There’s far no greater pain than watching his soulmate slowly ebb to death.

‘Steve,’ comes Tony’s weak voice from the video.

Bucky has long accepted that Tony had feelings for Steve, just as Steve has feelings for Tony. But witnessing it so bluntly is something else. He waits for the pain or jealousy to come. Surely, it’s inevitable for him to feel any of the two or both, given that his soulmate uttered someone else’s name when all hope is lost in Tony’s eyes and Steve’s name sounded like a saving grace.

The pain or jealousy didn’t arrive. Yes, there is pain, but it’s the same one he’s been nursing since Tony had gone missing and was tortured.

Bucky aches for his imprisoned soulmate. And he’s about to tell Steve that they really need to fasten shit up and rescue the genius, because he can’t stand these awful videos anymore.

‘Wha—’ Steve’s motionless as he stares into the monitor, horror and confusion sits on his face.

‘Stevie?’ He reaches for his soulmate in concern. A hand on the blond’s shoulder for support. Did the videos finally break Steve as well?

Steve’s tortured expression turns to Bucky, his lips are agape, but no words passes them. ‘Buck,’ he says like he’s remembering Bucky’s there. He holds on to Bucky’s outstretch arm like it’s the only thing that’s keeping him upright. ‘Tony… h-he’s… he’s…’

It’s a good thing that Bucky’s a super soldier because Steve is heavy with how he’s relying all of his weight on Bucky’s arm. He’s never seen his soulmate so startled and terrified.

‘Oh god,’ Steve mumbles quietly with disbelief and fright as he looks everywhere but Bucky’s own worried face.

Steve’s action is scaring Bucky, and he’s about to ask the blond man what’s wrong when —

‘Steve,’ Tony mutters again.

Steve whips his head back to the screen in a flash that Bucky’s amaze he didn’t break his neck in the process. Steve’s sudden alertness to Tony’s call is an embodiment of a siren calling to a sailor; like a sunflower following the sun in the sky.

But god is it clear to Bucky what’s happening. It’s written all over Steve’s face with how his eyes looks like he’s seeing Tony for the first time.

One single word.

One single name.

Bucky knows by experience what it feels like to have Tony say your name for the first time and be envelop by a phantom sense of safety and happiness. It’s like finding meaning to life all over again, and being lulled in euphoria. But he can’t imagine what it’s like for Steve when there’s also that dreadful emotion of fear for the life of a soulmate which had sat painfully on Bucky’s chest for days now. A few days that felt like years.

‘I think… I might miss you, Steve,’ Tony says as he closes his eyes.

They both stare at the screen in silence. Waiting for the genius to say something more.

But nothing.

Tony remains still. So still that Steve’s hand grips on Bucky’s so tightly it hurts.

Damn it, Tony! Open your eyes! Bucky yells mentally in anger and desperation. Please… Please. He watches and waits for any sign of motion.

The seconds tick by, but Tony continues to be static.

Open your eyes, doll! His own hand digs into Steve’s shoulder as they both try to support each other. Open your eyes.

‘No,’ Steve says in defeat and heartbreak. ‘Tony.’ His voice is wet and bleak and aching.

And Bucky mutely asks for some miracle, staring at Tony’s motionless body on the screen. It doesn’t fit Tony to be this still when he’s always full of energy and life.

God no, Bucky thinks as the tears cascade his cheek.

**

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

I Got You (chapter 5)

I am honestly beyond grateful for everyone’s encouragement on the last chapter.  I’ve been struggling to keep this story going, but your response definitely helped, and I am so thankful to you all 💕💕💕 I best express my gratitude with writing, so here’s another chapter for you, guys. Thank you!

Tagging:  @jamesrhodey @supernaturalyloki @chanderefk @aimeeroot21 @markedplaces @mostly-marvel-stuffs @matre-dee @le-ephemere @lo-anlurui @savedbyholmes @kimmycup @typicalcampbell @natty-ts70 @damnhiatus @pubzie @giulisetta

Links to chapter 1, chapter 4

Chapter 5

 “You know, this is a pretty decent family restaurant,” James points out, watching with a mildly disapproving frown as Stark tears into a plain-looking cheeseburger, all but moaning with pleasure as though he were savoring a most exquisite gourmet meal.  “You could have ordered some real food.”

 “What’s wrong with cheeseburgers?” Starks looks almost offended.

 “Nothing,” James shrugs, shifting his attention back to his own plate with its piece of herb-roasted chicken seasoned to mouth-watering perfection. “I just figured that after getting our breakfast and lunch orders at drive-through windows you’d want something a bit more sophisticated than a meal that usually comes in a greasy paper bag with an optional toy for customers 12 and under.”

 “I like cheeseburgers.” It’s Stark’s turn to shrug as he takes another hungry bite that drips grease and ketchup onto his chin. He reaches for a napkin, dabs it at his chin.  “S’comfort food,” he manages around a mouthful, winking at James over the remainder of his sandwich.

 James shakes his head, goes back to cutting up his food.  “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a junk food kind of guy.  Given where you come from, I figured you’d have a more… sophisticated palate,” he says, snagging a piece of chicken with asparagus onto his fork and sending the combination into his mouth.

It’s good.  It’s so fucking good and so welcome after the questionable-quality fast food Stark had forced on him earlier that he simply closes his eyes for a moment and lets himself enjoy the flavor, the texture and the aroma of actual, human food.  

 It’s why he doesn’t notice right away that something’s amiss.  Not until he opens his eyes again and finds Stark looking back at him, his expression guarded, tense.

 “Where I come from?” There’s an unpleasantly cold challenge in Stark’s tone, and James wonders what particular can of worms he inadvertently opened with this conversation, but the words are out now and it’s too late to take them back.  

 “You’re Howard Stark’s son, aren’t you?” he asks, trying for nonchalant as he goes to cut himself another piece of the chicken.  “Millionaire inventor?  One of the biggest names in weapon manufacturing? I didn’t make the connection right away, but I just haven’t seen any Stark tech around in years.  Our military contract had been picked up by Senator Hammer’s company after your father–”

 “Passed out drunk while working on an arc reactor prototype and blew up the entire mansion?”

 He frowns at the glacial callousness of Stark’s interruption, blinks uncertainly at the man.  “I’m sorry,” he tries.  

 “Don’t be,” Stark waves him off with an ugly grimace of a smile.  “Blowing himself up was the best thing he could have done with his life.  Although,” he drops his unfinished cheeseburger onto the plate, leans back in the chair, dabbing the napkin at his lips, “I heard rumors that he may have had some help leaving this world.”

 It’s so casual the way he says it, so matter-of-fact.   It makes James’ skin crawl.

 “You’re saying someone had him murdered?”

 Stark crumples up the napkin, tosses it onto the plate.  “Don’t know that for a fact,” he admits with a dispassionate shrug.

 “But?” James prompts, intrigued despite himself.

 Stark hums.  “Howard was many things – stupid wasn’t one of them. Being drunk wasn’t new for him, but he knew his limits.  He wouldn’t have gone down to his workshop if he was that hammered.” He chuckles unkindly.  “Hammered.  Now that’s a thought.”

 James feels a cold unpleasant shiver trickle down his spine.  “You’re not suggesting…”

 “The good senator?” Stark’s smile is positively predatory now, and he seems pleased somehow by James’ deduction even if he shakes his head in the negative.  “I’ve had the displeasure of observing Senator Hammer quite closely for ten very long and sadly irretrievable months of my life.  He’s a vulgar little shit with no sense of morals or civility.  But he doesn’t have enough brains or balls to pull off something like this.”  He cocks his head, winks conspiratorially at James. “Now if we assume that he was not acting alone, and we combine his financial means and his unbridled enthusiasm for fattening up his own pockets with, say, Vice President Stane’s formidable ruthlessness and an unhealthy craving for power–”

 “Stop!” James hisses, putting up his hand to shut the man up even as he glances furtively to the sides to make sure their conversation has not attracted any unwarranted attention. “Do you even realize what you’re saying? Accusing a high-ranking senator and the goddamn VP of conspiracy to murder?”

 Stark watches him calmly, seemingly unperturbed by his agitation.  “I’m not accusing them of anything, Sugar Plums,” he deflects easily, the sharp piercing gaze of his amber-brown eyes pinning James in place. “Don’t have enough facts for that. I’m merely pointing out that together those two individuals have both the appetite and the means for any sort of hostile takeover.” Stark’s eyes narrow ever so slightly.  “Such as, for instance, the removal of an undesirable president.”

 For a brief moment James forgets how to breathe.  Just sits there, blinking owlishly at Stark, his heart stuttering like a scared animal inside his chest.  “You...,” he chokes out, fingers tightening convulsively around the handle of his knife. “You’re insane.  Do you even hear yourself?”    

 Stark snorts quietly, picks up his glass of water, leaving a ring of condensation on the wooden surface. “Relax, Platypus,” he responds easily and takes a long drawn out sip before setting the glass back down onto the table. “This is all purely hypothetical at this point.”  The mask of feigned impassivity slips for a moment, his eyes flashing steel like the metal of a drawn sword.  “Believe me,” he says, leaning forward into James’ space, and his voice, though quiet, has that same unmistakable edge of steel as well, “if I had any concrete proof that they had anything to do with that bomb that landed Happy in the hospital, they both would have been dead by now.”  He waits a beat, lets the words sink in.  Then pulls away, settling back in his chair, the already familiar plastic smile firmly in place.  “Now, what was it you were saying about my… palate?”

 James blinks rapidly, thrown completely off balance first by the wild accusations bordering on seditious and now by the dizzying change of topics.  He needs time to think, to process everything that Stark just said. Because it can’t be right what he’s implying.  It’s crazy. It’s the words of a madman.  And yet… and yet…

 “Um…,” he begins inarticulately, looking down at his poor unfinished chicken as though somehow hoping to find inspiration there for something meaningful to say when his mind is drawing a complete stunned blank.

 “Hold that thought, Buttercup,” Stark interrupts him unexpectedly, and the subtle change in his tone, a slight but unmistakable strain of warning, draws James’ attention back to the man.

 Stark’s whole demeanor has changed.  He still sits sprawled against the back of his chair, looking for all the world like he’s relaxing over a meal and a friendly chat, but James can see a kind of battle-ready tension in him now, a cold wariness of a professional on the job.

 “What’s wrong?” he asks, knowing instinctively that he needs to whisper this part.

 Stark flicks a lightning quick glance somewhere past James’ shoulder, reaches once again for his water glass.  “Seems like your secret admirer wasn’t quite happy with you leaving Washington so abruptly,” he murmurs into the glass.  

 “He’s here?” James straightens out in his seat, fighting the urge to look around.  “Who is he?”

 “It’s not the puppet master himself,” Stark shakes his head, setting the glass back down.  “But I will bet good money that the merry little group that just sat down at the table behind us is not overly interested in today’s specials.”  

 James swallows tightly, rubs his suddenly sweaty palms.  “How many?”

 “Five that I can see. Probably more waiting outside.” Stark shifts forward a bit, casually leaning his elbows on the table, bringing him that much closer to where James is sitting.   Smiles a wide artificial smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.  “Listen to me very carefully,” he says, his voice so low that James has to strain to hear him even at this short a distance. “You’re gonna excuse yourself now and get up to go to the restroom – it’s in the back of that hallway behind me.  The moment you step inside that hallway, you take the first door to your left – that’s the kitchen.  You’re gonna go in and you’re gonna keep walking until you reach the back door. Don’t open it, just stay there and wait for me.  Understood?”

 Stark’s gaze bores into his, intense, burning, demanding, and James wants to object, wants to know what exactly is it that Stark plans to do while he makes his escape to the kitchen, wants to insist that he stay and help, but there’s a grim urgency in Stark’s expression that makes him hold his tongue.  He nods once, mutely, and finds himself oddly comforted upon seeing something in Stark’s posture relax slightly at his assent.  Decided now, he puts both hands on the table, takes a deep, steadying breath and pushes up, plastering on a painfully artificial smile of his own.

 “I’ll be right back,” he hears himself say, holding Stark’s gaze for a brief moment before gesturing widely in the direction Stark had indicated to him earlier.  “Just gotta use the little boys’ room.”  

 And he walks off, silently repeating to himself that Stark is a professional, that he can handle himself, that it’s his job…. And tries very hard to stop himself from turning back around when he hears the first telltale crash of splintering wood behind him.

[bujeetles]

a very messy (m-rated) panda shrine avengers fic. to the two people reading this, hope you enjoy!

Peter Orso fucking hated his boss. He had always disliked Francis Monogram, his blatant favoritism towards the main branch and his upper management outlook were bad enough, but this? This was the last straw.

“Ah Agent P. Apologies for calling you on your day off.” he said through Peter’s watch, voice fuzzy and picture weak, because Peter had been hiking, and there wasn’t much signal on the mountain. He didn’t actually sound apologetic at all.

“As you’ve probably heard, some of the Avengers were recently in Danville, and OWCA had a manner of cooperation.”

“So?” he signed, raising his eyebrows even further than was probably necessary.

“Director Fury feels it necessary to set up protocol, in case a similar situation arises. We have elected to send you as the OWCA liaison.”

Peter bit the inside of his cheek to avoid a growl, because seriously? They were shacking this bullshit paper-trail nonsense on him?!

“Why not yours?” he asked, carefully steeling his face so it comes out neutral, instead of infuriated. After all, Agent Perry, Codename Platypus, had been the heroic savior of the hour, or whatever. (The pictures were pretty fun to look at, if he was honest. Very Silver Age.)

“Our Agent P is busy.” He said, like that was any excuse, they were all busy. “Seeing as your nemesis is currently...offline, you are our best option.”

Offline. What a lovely little euphemism, so peaceable, so voluntary sounding. How utterly bullshit. Mystery wasn’t ‘offline’, he was missing, he might even have been abducted, though Peter didn’t have enough evidence to say one way or the other. But Monogram could never say something like that, it would imply he gave a shit. In fact, he was probably actually sending Peter because he was tired of him using paid time to look for Mystery.

“When.”

“There will be an agent waiting as soon as you arrive back in civilization, Agent P. Do hurry.” he said, and hung up.

Fucking asshole.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter finished his hike, but there wasn’t any of the peace he’d hoped for in it. He had thought, being away from the city, he might think of some way to find Mystery. It was strange, he’d always been a thwart and run kind of agent, never staying with one person for long. He’d seen every type of evil there was and some things that weren’t so morally defined. He was unattached, and he was good.

And then Mystery, who never told him anything, and yet he was drawn back and back again, in his traps, in his non-specific monologues. After the kidnapping turned coffee date, they’d gotten closer to traditional, what with overarching the tragic backstory out in the open, but Peter kind of liked the not-knowing, having to figure it out from what little he did know.

Now he wondered, if they were normal, functional, healthy nemeses, maybe he could find him. But they weren’t. They were weird and wrong and made for each other.

He shook those thoughts away as he made his way into the parking lot, he didn’t like Monogram at all, but most of OWCA was solid. He couldn’t afford to let them down just because of his situation.

At first, he didn’t see anyone. The lot was empty, mini-vans and sedans everywhere, the occasional non-family car. His motorcycle. One blink later and there was a woman, tight-laced, no nonsense, gray suit. Very obvious, as far as secret agents went, but well, SHIELD was secret only in name, so perhaps it was appropriate. He walked over to her.

“Identification.” she said, in lieu of hello. Not exactly incognito. Still, he fished out his OWCA ID and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I thought Agent P worked in Danville.” Peter sighed. Monogram really was leaving it all to him, huh.

“You sign?” he asked, because he hadn’t brought his notebook with him, since it was his day off. He could use his phone if it came down to it, but he didn’t like to. The brightness hurt his eyes.

“A little. Mostly military. You might have to finger spell.” she replied. Not ideal, but at least she wasn’t forcing him to write, nor was she being rude about it.

“Not that Agent P. He’s Platypus. I’m Panda.”

“Weird naming system you guys have got going on.” she said, and he snorted, because she didn’t even know about the alliteration convention, or Agent CH out in Arizona, or was it New Mexico?

“I’ll have to verify your identity on the Helicarrier, but I was going to do that anyway. Let’s go.” she said, and before he could ask their means of transportation, he saw the light gather around him, his stomach start to lurch.

‘Shit. Teleportation.’ Was his first thought. His second, ‘I’m going to pass out.’ He was right.

---------------------------------------------------

Peter woke up on a cot, with a headache and no sound. He could still feel the vibrations of the Helicarrier under him, but his aides were gone. Not on the table, not in his pocket. He swore under his breath, he’d already been on his spares, and OWCA insurance always fought tooth and nail when he requested a new pair. He wondered if SHIELD would pay the bill, this time. It was clearly their fault.

Something hit him in the head, not enough to hurt, but to get his attention, and there was a guy in purple and black spandex in the door, grinning wide. Peter didn’t pay a lot of attention to heroes, but the bow slung over his shoulder was a bit of a dead giveaway. Hawkeye.

“New aides, if you want.” he signed, and it was confident, natural. Peter’s gaze flicked to his ears, the curling piece of plastic resting there. Huh.

“Didn’t know Hawkeye was deaf.” he said as he stood, tucking the box into his pocket. He didn’t really want to hear what he was feeling, not with the headache he was sporting.

“Try to keep it on the down low. Villains and all.” he said with a shrug, which was fair enough. “You’re from O-W-C-A, right?” Peter nodded.

“I’m supposed to feed you to the sharks, but as we are deaf bros I’m obligated to save you.” There was a dramatic tone to his signs, almost like he was performing. It made Peter smile. Perry was the only other person he could sign with easily, and he was all quick and efficient, like he was briefing someone. Of course, that could just be the circumstances. You thwart a taken nemesis one time and it’s all icy stares thereafter.

“Where to?” he asked, and Hawkeye grinned.

“We’re here to debrief, which means the gang is all here. How’d you like to meet the Avengers?”

He’s woken up to worse suggestions.

--------------------------------------

The first place Hawkeye inelegantly dragged him is a lab. Probably. Everything’s so techno-futuristic around here that it’s hard to tell. The occupant helped. It’s Iron Man, or Tony Stark, seeing as he wasn’t in the suit, poking away at screens and looking sleep deprived.

He wasn’t perturbed by their sudden entrance, at least, Peter was pretty sure he wasn’t. The damn screens meant he couldn’t see his lips, though they were moving so quickly he would probably have had trouble anyway. Well, couldn’t all be winners like Hawkeye, he mused, and popped the new aides in.

“-not to mention non-ripable pants for the Big Guy.” Huh. His voice wasn’t quite so deep, outside the suit. “Who’s your friend?” Stark asked, flicking the screens away. Bit late, but whatever.

“He’s the OWCA liaison, Agent P.”

“OWCA?”

“You know, the whole Danville thing?”

“Christ, is anyone ever going to let us live that down? Those kids were good though, hope they take up my offer on that internship.”

“Benefits of not having superpowers to take.” Hawkeye teased. Stark rolled his eyes.

“I don’t have powers either, dipshit. My suit is more zap proof now, though. So, what’s Agent P - you got something else I can call you? Seems a bit Men in Black.”

“Panda.” he signed, and Clint translated.

“That’s what the P stands for?” he asked, incredulous.

“Your name is Iron Man.” he deadpanned.

“Fair enough. Whatcha’ doing here, Agent Panda?” he asked, a little sing-song, like he was echoing.

“Avoiding my responsibilities.”

Stark laughed at that, long and deep, until his breath couldn’t sustain it any longer.

“I like this guy. OWCA might not be so bad.” he declared, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Peter should have stayed quiet. OWCA did not want to get on the bad side of literal superheroes, and overall it did a lot of good. But it felt wrong, not to forewarn him.

“My boss is a jackass.” He wore a scowl as he said it, his teeth grinding together in frustration. His rage had faded a little, being in Hawkeye’s company, but it was back now, and it burned.

“Oof. We’ve all been there. What’s his particular flavor of jackassery? Let me guess: bad insurance, overworked and underpaid.” Stark commiserated.

“My money’s on non-ADA compliance and subtle but consistent bigotry.” Hawkeye chipped in.

Neither of these accusations were wrong, and it’s not like Peter enjoyed them, but they weren’t the reasons he really hated Monogram enough to tell superheroes about it. He wondered if he should tell them the truth of the matter. Maybe they could actually help.

And honestly? Peter was desperate.

“My...” He paused. He couldn’t call Mystery his nemesis, it was a different term on their level. Part of the reason Peter didn’t pay attention to heroes was the evil that followed them, he didn’t like thinking about the cursed red Nazi still walking around. He was happiest when things were on OWCA’s scale. Preventable, personal, often petty. It was evil still, and the more extreme scientists might even be thrown in jail if schemes turned deadly, but for the most part? OWCA prevented the smart and broken from destroying the world by giving them something to do. With that in mind, the term he did use wasn’t technically a lie.

“My partner disappeared last week. He doesn’t want me looking for him.”

Stark and Hawkeye shared a look, one that conveyed information he wasn’t able to decipher, a wordless (and signless) conversation which ended on agreement.

“Let’s call the Cap.”

------------------------------------------

Everything after that was a bit of a blur, if Peter was honest. Captain America asked for everything he knew about Mystery’s last whereabouts, he told him. It wasn’t as hard as he thought it might be, not mentioning the villainy. Mystery was so closed off even his intentions weren’t obvious to see.

He’s about 70% sure they think Mystery is his lover, which is funny and fucked up and only two degrees away from the truth.  There was something kinetic in animosity, similar to sex, and he’s not going to pretend he hasn’t thought about combining the two with Mystery. So many secrets he could unravel under his tongue,  his fingers, and he could just kiss him and kiss him and never stop.

Reality wasn’t that kind. Reality was in the forms he finally picked up, another gut-wrenching teleportation, an empty apartment and a vague promise of news that might never come. Reality was insomnia, coffee he had to pour down the drain because one of the few things he did know is how much Mystery loves it, and he’s not here. Reality was tears that didn’t count because his eyes were still closed.

Reality could go fuck itself.

----------------------------------------------

Four months went by, slow as an ocean current, before Hawkeye - civilian name Clint Barton - texted Peter an update that didn’t include some sort of apology. A photo of a rumpled looking man in a mask with the eyes of a cursed spirit, and a caption that killed in understatement. “he’s kind of grumpy, isn’t he?”

“Yes, yes he is.” he texts back, immediate.

“your bf is kinda dumb, you know”

“like brilliant and whatever but also”

“the only reason he disappeared is b/c of some very illegal wormhole manipulation”

“good luck with the charges on that”

“I’ll manage. When can I come and get him?”

“we were just going to drop him off tbh; you don’t have a good history with teleports”

“also wtf i can’t believe you had us calling you panda for months when your name is actually peter”

“aww he’s asking if you saw anyone else while he was gone”

“I mean he said thwart which is a bit of a weird word choice but seattle so who knows”

“No. I’ve been on desk duty this whole time. I got offers, but I refused.”

“double aww I told him what you said and now he’s all flustered”

“anyway meet us in this field in like an hour”

Peter put on his fedora and googles, sent an email about stopping his nemesis, his nemesis, who was back! He followed the coordinates to a park barely inside Seattle city limits, a little squalid, cameras broken or unattended. All the better for SHIELD’s fake secrecy agenda, when four people beam out of the sky. Thor and Hawkeye were holding Mystery steady, while Dr. Banner - Hulk or not the man had doctorates, while Peter had barely survived grad school - looked on with vague concern.

“Don’t you have somewhere better to be, Peter the Panda.” Mystery growled as he righted himself, and oh how he had missed it, the insults, the banter.

“Not at the moment.”

“Peachy. You know, in another dimension, you’re an actual Panda. And you still left me for Doofenshmirtz. Not exactly encouraging.” he accused, moving towards him, one, two steps.

“He’s not a bad night’s call. But you’re my nemesis.”

Mystery’s eyes went wide, and Peter regretted every second he’d spent stepping out, in downplaying how important Mystery was to him, because it was so obvious in his retrospect.

“You mean that?” he asked, a tremor muffled under fabric. When Peter nodded, the distance between them disappeared, the knife glinted against his throat.

“Very well, Peter the Panda. I will take great joy on obliterating you and bringing havoc upon the entire Pacific Northwest,” He pulled away and smirked. “Tomorrow afternoon. Don’t be late.” With that, he strode off into the depths of the greater Seattle area.

“Did we just rescue a super villain?” Hawkeye asked, blinking furiously.

“OWCA business. Don’t worry, he’s mine.”

[frozs]

the fic where kakuzu is a commbank manager and hidan is like on centrelink

Unedited and don’t care, so heres 3, 900 words about Hidan and Kakuzu being serial killers and dumping bodies in the Australian outback 

@tozettewrites @ thriceandonce @ rhyperographer 

Warning: I made this as Australian as possible and I may have to post translations later 

“What do you want this time? Another loan?”

“No,” said Hidan. “I may have… accidentally killed someone.”

“Accidentally,” Kakuzu deadpanned, looking up from his CommBank tablet that all the employees of Commonwealth Bank seem to carry around with them.

“I need to borrow your ute.” 

Kakuzu growled and Hidan stepped right in front of him.

“Please help me, Kakuzu.” Hidan was wearing a bintang singlet, as if he’d been to Bali, which he hadn’t, and Target shorts. The Australia-Day thongs he was wearing must have purchased for a dollar from Cheap as Chips after the 26th of January. He looked very different to Kakuzu in his yellow tie and black and white suit.

“I’m at work.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Hidan looked around and looked at the unhappy queue behind him. They didn’t seem to give any facial expressions away at Hidan casually announcing that he had killed someone. “Come on, buddy. I will personally, in fact, go with you to like, Ladbrokes and you can use my money for betting, or I’ll buy you Oz Lotto tickets for your birthday-”

“You don’t have any money.”

“I know, that’s why - that's why I'm here. I need petrol money, and your ute. And maybe a big fat fucking loan.”

Kakuzu sighed and pointed at little office on the opposite side of the teller que. “Get in.”

“Commonwealth Bank employees can help anyone. So you gotta help me! But what’s the quote? Say the quote. Y’know, the one from the advert.” Hidan badgered on, opening the door that had Kakuzu - Bank Manager written on a nice little clean plaque.

“...CommBank can.” said Kakuzu grudgingly. Hidan sat down on the waterproof blue chairs that seem to appear in every bank. Kakuzu sat on the opposite side of the desk purchased from Ikea and probably assembled by him, and Hidan stared at the mouse Kakuzu was using which was one of those weird-ass ones that was just a rotating ball, clicking away every so often. Hidan then took the platypus that was for kids to put their pocket money in and shook it, then looked disappointed as he couldn’t hear any coins that he could scab.

Kakuzu made himself busy in case the IT people would snoop into his history, and then went into Hidan’s bank account, which he knew the numbers off by heart and the pin and the three security questions (Which all seem to have the answer ‘fuck off’). His bank balance was negative $135.68, and looking at the transactions it seemed Hidan had fucked off to Mitre 10 yesterday probably to buy a hammer to smash this new person’s head in.

“Who did you kill this time?”

“A dickhead pedo. Can you find out if he has any savings in his bank account? I’m kinda sick of eating mi goreng and those cheese and bacon buns from Coles.” Hidan looked at the computer expectedly. He then started this long-ass explanation about this man, who got arrested the other day for doing ‘pedo things’ and he wasn’t on the ‘pedo register’. The reason for this was because Deidara told him about it.

“So where’s the body?” Kakuzu grunted.

Hidan grinned. “In the bin.”

“Which bin?”

“The blue lidded one because it’s the rubbish one, and he’s trash.”

“How MANY times do I have to tell you to not put dead bodies in council bins!?”

Hidan rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling. “Like… twelve times? Like I fucking care. Anyway, so I was at Centrelink with Deidara yesterday because he had to claim some Medicare stuff back and while we were waiting he was on Facebook and the Popo updated their Facebook status and it said that the guy, I forget his name but he’s still a pedo, lived on the street behind us, but they let him go because he was a fucking nutcase. He still lives there and apparently he’s put an electric fence up so the Today Tonight reporters can’t get in. Then someone mentioned in the comments what his car rego was on it because they caught him after he was on the run. What a cunt.”

“Yep.”

“So yeah, after going to Centrelink I walked home, fed your dog for you-”

“I hope you didn’t feed him this man you are going on about.”

“No.” There was a pause. “Just kibble.”

“Good.” Kakuzu resumed typing.

“And went to Mitre 10, brought a hammer and some tarp. So last night I got a bucket of water, and broke into his house.”

“Why did you have a bucket of water?”

Hidan frowned. “I wasn’t going to kill him inside.”

“Right… keep going.” Kakuzu was now pressing denied on a housing application loan on Hidan’s account, so it seemed like Hidan had come in to ask Kakuzu about getting a mortgage.

“Anywaaaaaaaaaaaay, Pedo-man ran out the house and he tried to jump up the fence, but it’s electric right? So as soon as he got shocked I threw the entire bucket with water in it, and he… yeah, died. Dropped to the floor smoking and he shat himself.”

“So you put the body in his blue bin.”

“Well you can’t reuse him so I couldn't put it in the red bin. So I took the bin home, gave my prayers to Lord Jashin, washed him in human fat soap for Jashin’s blessings and now he’s in your backyard. I think I saw you drive off to work when I turned up with the bin. So Pedo-man is clean, but he’s also a bit grotty from being dead.” Hidan made a flap with his hand, as if the body was with him right now and was stinking out the room.

Kakuzu looked up with his mouth open. “Why is the man in my backyard?”

Hidan shrugged. “I thought if I borrow your ute, then we don’t have to take it to mine and then take it to the cemetery. So can I borrow your ute? When’s your next day off?”

“...Tomorrow.”

Hidan clapped his hands. “We’ll go then.”

Kakuzu rolled his eyes. “Are you done?”

“Yes,” said Hidan. He then got up, and said loudly enough so the queue outside could hear him, “Thank you very much, Mr Kakuzu! I’m sure my wife will be very happy with your decision.”

“You don’t have a wife.” Kakuzu pressed a thumb and forefinger to his head in exasperation. “Get out.”

“Whoops, I’m late for a job interview.” Hidan checked his fitbit by tapping it several times to display the time. (It was actually Kakuzu’s old one). Kakuzu moved him out the office. He noticed the queue hadn’t moved, but this was normal for lunchtime.

“You? Job interview?” Kakuzu didn’t believe it at all. Hidan wasn’t a liar, but he was a Newstart Piece of Shit, which Kakuzu hating dealing with Centrelink dole bludgers like him who refused to be employed.

“Yeah. The job agency told me to apply for something. So I’ve applied to stand in the mall with the Jehovahs and those stands and smile and give out things.”

“You don’t get paid for that.”

“No, no no no no no you don’t understand,” said Hidan, holding his pendant and kissing it. “They’ve got these pamphlets, about like, Watchtowers. So I will give them my Jashin ones instead when I see people. Anyway, I plenty of shit about Jehovahs. They do like, church and things and no blood transfusions and that’s what I know.”

The only thing Hidan seemed to know about - as a university drop out of Religion Studies – was what he knew about religion. Unfortunately the one he practised was the most fucked up one in the world and involved human sacrifices, which was why Hidan seemed to borrow Kakuzu’s ute for things like this.

Hidan waved at him and raced off, not exactly dressed for a job interview.

That night Kakuzu took the S87X bus home, because parking in the city everyday would cost $28.95 and he was a bit too stingy for that. Kakuzu lived on the edge of a middle class suburb where kids were most likely not vaccinated and mothers jogged with prams every morning and night. The suburb on the other side of the road was the derro ghetto where Hidan and his housemates lived. He lived in a sharehouse with nine other people but spent most of his time bumming around at Kakuzu’s place.

The light was on, and Kakuzu knew Hidan was inside. He rattled his keys and felt the blast of the air conditioner once he opened it. He put the keys down on his side table purchased from Oxfam and went into the living room. There, Hidan was sitting with the dog Taki, a labradoodle that was purchased because Hidan bought him off Gumtree for $20 before he found out he wasn’t allowed pets at his sharehouse. Also, labradoodles were hypoallergenic and didn’t shed much, so he was allowed on Kakuzu’s couch.Hidan was patting the dog absent-mindedly while watching the Kangaroos lose to the Pies spectacularly at the MCG.

“Turn that shit off,” said Kakuzu. Taki barked and went to Kakuzu happily, greeting his owner. Kakuzu could smell yoghurt, and it seemed that Hidan had been feeding him Fruche from the fridge.

“No.” Hidan got up and padded down the hallway, beckoning Kakuzu to come along - giving him orders in his own fucking house. Kakuzu made Taki stay in the lounge while both of them went out to the neat courtyard with its fake fern plants and the three legged Kmart barbeque Kakuzu never used.

The council bin was placed with the other ones that Kakuzu used himself. He knew which one wasn't his, because there was soapy sediment around the edges.

“Wanna look?”

Hidan opened the bin for less than second, and then the smell hit both of them hard, and Kakuzu banged it shut. “For fucks sake, Hidan!” He looked around as if his nosy neighbours would look over the tin fence.

“Hey! At least he isn’t alive anymore.” Hidan went back inside and grabbed some lynx deodorant, and then proceeded to spray the entire can into the bin, but opened the bin only a crack so it wouldn’t smell. “So when are we leaving?”

Kakuzu sighed. “Tomorrow. I’m not dealing with this shit now.” He opened the flyscreen and went back inside, while Hidan shook the can, and realised it had run out. He shrugged and put the entire can in the bin as well. Kakuzu heard the clonk as it hit the man’s skull.

Hidan the mooch slept on the couch with Taki that night. He fell asleep to Rage on ABC with the dog next to him. When Kakuzu woke up the next morning, it seemed that Hidan had turned the air conditioner on in all the rooms sometime last night. He stomped downstairs (as he was not a morning person) and thumped him on the head.

“What the fuck, man!?” He yelped, grabbing a pillow to cover his face.

“My electricity bill will go through the roof.” Kakuzu growled.

“Get solar panels instead of being with Origin you fucking dickhead.”

Kakuzu ignored him and went into the kitchen to make vegemite and cheese sandwiches for him and Hidan, as they were going on a long trip. Hidan went to check if the lynx spray had worked on the council bin (It hadn’t). Then, he put on Sunrise to check the weather, as for some reason all Australians are obsessed with knowing the weather even though it was February and fucking hot every day.

“Forty-three fucking degrees today,” Hidan called to Kakuzu in the kitchen. “I’m gonna slip slop slap so I don’t end up like a leather handbag with skin cancer like you.”

Taki barked in agreement. Kakuzu didn’t reply, because if he did then Hidan would snarl something back.

But then they got into a fight anyway over Hidan tripping over the TV cable and pulling the TV out. Kakuzu punched Hidan so hard he fell into the TV with a crack.

“At least I know what the weather is today, you fucking idiot.”

The TV was in pieces, so Kakuzu would have to go off to JB Hi-Fi to get a new one later. Hidan offered to put the TV in the bin, but then he put the barbeque in the bin too (“You aren’t fucking using it!”). Kakuzu didn’t even care at this point, as it was seven in the morning on a fucking Saturday and he was supposed to go out into the middle of nowhere to shove another one of Hidan’s dead bodies into a grave.

He remembered the first time he’d met Hidan, which was only a few years ago. Kakuzu had gotten a bit pissed at an antique book dealer for giving him a second edition instead of a first of Banjo Patterson’s collection of poems and verses, so he dug a grave at the local cemetery. Then he killed the dealer, but he turned up to cemetery at three in the morning to find that some other fucker was also depositing a body into the same grave. Kakuzu had pushed Hidan into the shallow grave in anger, but then he jumped out and slashed him in the face with a knife, which required Kakuzu to get stitches on his cheeks. He still had the scars to this day.

And that’s how they became “friends”.

(Or murder buddies, as Hidan happily called them).

The sandwiches were now glad-wrapped and put in the esky, several cans of soft drink were put in ice and Hidan had gone to the BP on the corner and bought two packets of Twisties which were on special for two for $2.50 and they were all set to go.

Kakuzu opened up his shed to set up his ute by checking the oil and water, while Hidan bounced away into the courtyard to sort out the bin. Kakuzu only had this ute for depositing bodies. Putting tarp on the tray, Hidan came into the shed with the council bin, which he had duck taped (“It’s duct-tape, not duck tape, you moron…”) the lid all over so fluids and the body wouldn’t come out. They put a few things around the bin, which was camping gear that they never used but had it just in case they got pulled over, and then put more tarp over it. Hidan swung down from the tray using the bars on top of the ute and roped it down. “Excellent.”

They left Taki with a neighbour with unvaccinated kids, and hopped into the ute and left. They barely got past the BP when Hidan suddenly asked, “Are we there yet?”

Kakuzu smacked him.

Hidan wiped his bloody nose on his bintang singlet and then reached over and wiped it on Kakuzu. Kakuzu didn’t even hit him back for it. Hidan laughed with that crazy shrieking sound he did, rolling down the windows. Kakuzu pulled the Garmin GPS off the window.

“Put the directions in for me.”

Hidan for once, actually did what he was told, then put on the radio, shouting ‘WHAT ABOUT MEEEEEEEEE….” out the window to Shannon Noll’s cover of Moving Pictures. “I’VE HAD ENOUGH AND I WANT MY SHARE, CAN’T YOU SEEEEEEE?????????”

Kakuzu turned the radio off.

“Wanna play iSpy?”

“No. We have five hours to go,” Kakuzu changed gears and they got onto the expressway up North, revving up to 100km/hr and hearing the tarp rattle away behind them.

“No, four hours and thirty minutes,” Hidan pointed at the GPS which displayed the arrival time of the cemetery. “iSpy with my little eye, something beginning with C.”

“Cunt.”

Hidan pretended to look shocked. “How did you know?”

Kakuzu smirked. “I know these things.”

Within the hour Hidan had already eaten all the sandwiches and a packet of Twisties. He offered to pay for Maccas but in fact that meant Kakuzu had to do that because Hidan had minus $138.68 in his account. The radio had to be turned off because Hidan kept switching stations and making racist comments. They left the city now and were in farmland, where it was nothing but fields, the occasional emu herd clogging up the road and locust plagues. It was getting hot. Too hot. The air conditioner was on full blast, although of course this wouldn’t make the dead body any cooler, so when Kakuzu needed petrol Hidan jumped out and got a jerry can full from Shell while Kakuzu drove around waiting.

Back in the ute, they drove a few more hours.

Then something shitty happened.

Hidan was telling Kakuzu about how he believed that the judges on X Factor were secretly Jashinists because they were connected to a set of disappearances ten years ago (he had photos to prove it) when Kakuzu had to put the GPS back in after it accidentally disconnected. Hidan suddenly shrieked and Kakuzu looked up quickly to see a Kangaroo jump in front of the ute and collide with them. There was a loud bang and crunch of metal and Kakuzu swerved onto the other side of the road and barely went into the creek, but into the reeds. The ute shook violently.

Hidan was sprouting a torrent of swearing, saying he wasn’t prepared to die just yet because Jashin told him not to. Kakuzu shut the engine off, and pulled the door open, going into the reeds and hoping there was no snakes in them. He got prickles stuck into his socks. Hidan jumped out the other side and inspected the front. There were bits of fur sticking out the vents, blood wiped over the lights.

“Fuuuuuuuuuccccck,” said Hidan loudly. He looked over at the dead kangaroo on the other side of the dirt road. The head was hanging off an angle and blood was mixing in with the dirt and rocks. “You should have been paying attention.”

“Just shut up, shut up,” Kakuzu went to the back and got the esky out. He threw the soft drinks at Hidan and poured the cooling ice - now water - over the front. It didn’t do much, but he managed to get most of the blood off and wipe off the fur.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Hidan breathed. “Do you want me to drive?”

Kakuzu had been driving for four hours now. He knew where they were, just out of a small country town. He nodded.

Hidan jumped into the driver’s seat, but the engine wouldn’t turn on. “You gotta be fucking KIDDING me,” Hidan lost his temper and hit the horn, which beeped back at him. At least that was working. If he’d hit it any harder the airbag would have come out and suffocated him. He turned to Kakuzu. “You gotta call the RAE.”

“No.”

“Why not!?” Hidan snapped.

“Because we have a dead body in the tray!” Kakuzu hissed. “The RAE could look, and they’ll want to know what that smell is-”

“We can’t dump him here, we gotta get to the fucking cemetery, Jesus fucking Christ on a bike…” Hidan whipped out his phone (also Kakuzu’s old mobile) and squinted at the screen. “Fucking Vodafone…”

“For fuck’s sake,” Kakuzu badgered him out of the car and he opened the seat behind him. “At least Telstra has signal.” He threw his phone at Hidan, who promptly called the RAE. “Next time get a plan where you can get signal in the country.”

“We have half an hour,” said Hidan. He hung up, and gave him back his phone.

The RAE man came around in his yellow van forty-five minutes later.

“Have you got any food?” Hidan asked. “We’ve been driving for days. Like, four hours.”

The man laughed. “Sorry mate, ain’t got no snags and no nothin’ for smoko.” Hidan slightly cringed at the country bogan, because he was a city man through and through and didn’t like anything that was different to what he was used to. The RAE man was very chatty, fiddling around with the front of Kakuzu’s ute.

“So what’ya up to, ‘round these areas?”

“...Camping,” said Kakuzu, feeling sweat trickle down his neck. It was getting hotter and hotter and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

“Fuckin’ great. In the arvo they’re opening up the caravan park, but that’s on the town over, it’s not too far, only four hundred kilometres away,” said the RAE man.

Hidan cringed even more. Ew.

“Yes, that is where we are going,” said Kakuzu. He didn’t say any more, because Kakuzu wasn’t a sociable person. Hidan talked to the man about God for a bit, which Kakuzu ignored because well, religion, and then the man argued with Hidan about calling people drongos as apparently it was a shitty word and Hidan wouldn’t use it, because he preferred to use the word cunt instead. Before he left, Hidan offered him the last twisties. He went back into the driver’s seat.

“He didn’t even fucking talk about the dead body smell.”

Kakuzu shrugged. “Might have not noticed it.”

They finally reached the cemetery when it was one thirty. Gumtrees surrounded the cemetery, and galahs were shrieking away. Bull ants went crazy as the ute approached. It was an abandoned cemetery which Hidan used to put his sacrifices. It was a pretty good tactic, because nobody ever came here and nobody checked cemeteries for missing people. The gate was rusty and hot to the touch, and Hidan wanted to run it over because it would just crack but Kakuzu reminded him that it was his ute and his insurance.

Hidan purposely drove over a few graves and then he stopped in the corner, where there was an unidentified grave with a broken angel statue hovering over it. The very occasional rain had washed the names of the people on the headstone away; and left no marks. This grave was their current dumping ground.

About a year ago they’d used a saw to carefully break away the mound then dug a few metres using a small tractor Hidan had stolen from a farm one night. Currently, there were four bodies dumped in here, three of them were Hidan’s sacrifices and one of them was a hitchhiker Kakuzu had run over when he was mad once. On top of the bodies was a small tank so the dirt wouldn’t cave in.

They removed the mound carefully, as it hadn’t rained since the last time they’d been here so the dirt was rock solid. Kakuzu grunted as he managed to get the tank out while Hidan crawled over the tarp on the ute to get hold of the council bin that Pedo-man was in. He peered down to see four skeletons all dumped into one hole, one and a half hours from the nearest town. He didn’t feel anything for them.

Because he didn’t fucking care.

Hidan got the heavy bin down, and got his army knife out of his shorts. He was sweating in the sun, because forty-three fucking degrees was hot. “That soap and lynx must be working,” he mumbled, grinning like a fucking nutcase serial killer (which he was). The knife cut easily into the duct tape and he ripped it off. Hidan hummed loudly. The cicadas were going crazy and all Kakuzu could smell was the thick scent of dust and eucalyptus.

“In you go,” said Hidan cheerfully, pushing the bin down so that the body could slide out and dump itself onto the four skeletons below.

However, Kakuzu flew into a rage as he saw his TV and his barbecue fall out the bin.

“YOU BROUGHT THE WRONG BIN.”

“I-I-I... FUCK.”

- End  -  

[forestwater87]

Campbell's crew was legendary. And she'd heard stories of his closest associates.

The strange old man who'd had a million-dollar bounty on his head for the last 21 years, who with a bad eye and a missing hand was somehow unkillable.

The little boy who always seemed to be in the right place at the right time and for not a second longer. He'd never been identified successfully, so everyone called him Ghost.

The bodyguard who stayed plastered to Campbell's side, who never seemed to speak. Gwen had laughed when she'd first heard he was known as the Platypus, but no one else had.

And David Ethan Greenwood. Davey to his friends.

Gwen Santos had been following him for three days, and she still didn't know why anyone would bother paying to kill him.

She'd been following him for three days, and she still didn't know why anyone would bother paying to kill him.

Hell, he'd almost done her job for her at least twice. First he'd tripped over his feet and nearly catapulted himself down a set of stairs, only managing to catch himself by clinging to the railing and scrabbling against the wall with his feet like an overturned bug. Barely ten minutes later he'd rushed into traffic to rescue a pigeon that didn't seem able to fly; he'd then sat down on the sidewalk and fed it scraps of his lunch for almost half an hour until it hopped away.

Gwen pushed up her sunglasses, leaning against the side of a bus stop and flipping through her notes. Possible informant, she'd been told. Strong connections to Campbell. Regularly seen with high-level CC associates. Function unknown.

She didn't make it a habit to familiarize herself with the gangs in Lilac; mercenaries who played favorites didn't stick around long, and in general the less she knew the better. But it was hard to avoid Cameron Campbell's crew, they were everywhere; they'd all but locked down the drug and weapons markets for the entire city — and according to rumors, most of the eastern seaboard. (Fuck, the gun in her jacket pocket had come from Campbell's people.)

And she'd heard stories about his closest associates.

The strange old man who'd had a million-dollar bounty on his head for the last twenty-one years, who with a bad eye and a missing hand was somehow unkillable. (Gwen herself had taken a shot at the bounty when she'd first moved to the city, young(er) and cocky and fresh off a heist that had left her armed to the teeth. She'd escaped with a broken wrist, some cracked ribs, and a scar that sliced through her left nostril and twisted her lips into a permanent snarl.) Hook was Campbell's right-hand man, had been since the explosive birth of the crew.

The little boy who always seemed to be in the right place at the right time and not for a second longer; if there was a heist or shootout, inevitably it would come out that someone had noticed a child wandering around just a few hours earlier. No one could ever say what he'd done, exactly, but he was always there and then gone just as fast: a flash of golden hair, a bright neon jacket and light-up shoes. And yet he'd never been identified successfully, in pictures or lineups or security cameras (the eye was drawn immediately to those clothes), so everyone called him Ghost.

The bodyguard who stayed plastered to Campbell's side, who never seemed to speak — no one knew if he even could — and whose eyes were always hidden by locks of mangy brown hair, except for a beak-like nose that overwhelmed the rest of his face. Gwen had laughed when she'd first heard he was known as the Platypus, but no one else had; stone-faced, she'd been told that he hid poisoned spikes on him at all times, and that a kick from him would leave her writhing in agony and fevered delirium for days after — if she was lucky.

And Davey.

David Ethan Greenwood, the only member of Campbell's crew that was a complete mystery. And yet everyone knew his name, his face, the daycare he worked at . . .

He was so vulnerable, exposed, yet the other gangs didn't seem to touch him. Gwen had asked around when she got the assignment, and none of her contacts had ever had a hit on the kid. As far as anyone knew, he'd never been marked for kidnapping or as a hostage, not even a mugging. For all anyone knew he had nothing to do with the crew. No police record (not even as an eyewitness), nothing except for the fact that he was just sometimes there, chatting with Hook or playing cards with Platypus in one of the CC-owned bars. More than anything he seemed like Campbell's dog, bounding along at his side with stars in his eyes, feeding the man's ego with unconditional adoration.

No one knew what information Greenwood had about the crew. No one knew why they had anything to do with him, or he with them. And when she'd pressed them, no one knew what caused that invisible halo around him that kept him untouched, why such an obvious victim had never been victimized.

Gwen didn't know, and she didn't particularly care. She just knew that his head was worth $10,000, and she could do a hell of a lot with that money.

She glanced at her watch. It was just after 6 p.m., and Greenwood was predictable as the sun: said goodbye to the children at 4:30, locked up the daycare at 5, and took a long, meandering path along the trash-strewn shore of Lake Lilac, watching the sunset before hopping on the bus home, taking the stop about twenty feet away from where she stood.

And there he was. He waved at the bus driver like he did every day, then hurried into the corner store across the street to pick up ingredients for dinner.

It was convenient, his routine. And astoundingly stupid. It was like he wanted to be killed.

Once he was in the store, she abandoned her position and strolled into the small courtyard between his apartment building and the townhouse next door. Pretending to admire the flowers — which she'd watched David lovingly tend each morning before work — she waited until the street was clear, then vaulted over the chain-link fence and slipped in through the never-locked back window.

Campbell treated his pets well, Gwen had to admit as she picked the lock to apartment 2A. This certainly wasn't the swankiest part of Lilac, but it was far nicer than a glorified babysitter should be able to afford. Especially this glorified babysitter, who she'd once seen give money to 8 different hobos on his walk home. And then when he was out of change, he handed the 9th his sweatshirt!

Must be nice, she thought, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. His apartment was clean and relatively bare, knitted afghans and embroidered pillows splashing color on the ultra-modern furniture. Resisting the temptation to snoop through the rest of the apartment — Greenwood would be home in 5 minutes and 20 seconds — she settled against the wall next to the door, pulling out her gun and inspecting it thoughtfully.

She was a fan of guns, as a general rule. They didn't require much athleticism, and there was something elegant about being able to pinpoint a spot on someone's body and with a flick of her finger watch it bloom into gore. But they were also loud and messy, and at close quarters more of a hindrance than a help. With a disappointed sigh, she put it away and drew a knife from her sleeve. The gun had been more of a security blanket than anything, a comfort to make up for the fact that she'd had to leave her sniper at home. Without it she felt strangely naked.

Naked and way, way too close to the target.

Gwen preferred to kill people from a safe distance. It was cleaner that way. But this apartment had no good stakeout points near any of the windows — she guessed Campbell had picked it for that very reason — and she tried to avoid taking targets out in public, partly because she wasn't the best sprinter and partly because concealing a gun as long as her arm was a lot harder when everyone in the vicinity was panicking and calling the police — or worse, allied gangs.

Her body tensed as she heard the sound of footsteps, humming, the jingling of keys in the lock.

There he was. Right on time.

The door swung open and she followed it, staying in the darkness until he was fully inside. The second the door closed, she threw herself forward, slamming him in the throat with her forearm and driving him against the wall with a dull thud. With her other hand she stuck the tip of her knife into his ribs, ignoring his weak, pained whimper. "Okay," she growled. "Someone wants you dead. Why?"

She should've just slit his throat. But she was curious.

Besides, no one had ever accused her of being good at her job.

Greenwood was breathing in short, desperate pants. For a second she thought he was trying to shake her off, but quickly realized he was just . . . shaking. "I — I don't — um —" He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing, and she let up on his neck enough so he could talk more easily. "I didn't say thank you to a waiter last week. Maybe I made them mad?"

She was used to targets insulting her, screaming, begging, crying. Rarely did they go for humor. "You think this is fucking cute, you piece of shit? You get that I was paid to kill you, right?"

"N-no ma'am! This is a very un-cute situation!" He swallowed, a movement she could feel against her arm. "And while I know that you need to do your job, I-I hope maybe you could . . . m-maybe reconsider . . . I don't have much money, but, well . . ."

Once again she couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic. She had to admit, it threw her off. "Christ, hold on," she muttered, ducking her head and shaking it to remember how she'd gotten into this situation and what she was supposed to do about it. It didn't help that he was staring at her with these wide green eyes and lightly flushed cheeks, his mouth falling open slightly as he struggled for breath. "I, you — fuck . . ."

This was why guns were better than knives.

"Ssssomeone wants to hurt me, right? And you want to know what I could've done to deserve it?"

She glanced up at him, incredulous. "Are you trying to help me assassinate you?"

"I don't know!" he whined, flinching at the bite in her voice. "It's just, I, ah, know how annoying it is to lose your train of thought, and — and you seem like a nice lady, so . . ."

"Nice?"

"Given the circumstances," he clarified. "C-could I just —" Before she could stab him in the wrist, he reached over and flicked a switch, flooding the room with buttery light. "That's better!" he chirped with a smile, one that fell immediately when she hissed at the glare. "Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am, I should've warned you —" He drew his arm back, his watch catching on her arm with a pinch hard enough to draw blood; she winced but didn't pull back to inspect it. She'd looked like enough of an idiot so far, and the last thing she needed was for her target to think she was weak enough to be distracted by a little pinprick.

He stood patiently while her eyes adjusted. "Did you just annoy Pikeman into wanting to kill you?" she muttered, more to herself than to him.

"Edward Pikeman? That's who asked you to . . . ?" He frowned. "I thought we were on good terms."

Gwen was uncomfortably aware of how much better she could see Greenwood now that the light was on. With a groan she pulled away, so suddenly he slumped back against the wall, and slipped her knife back into her sleeve (keeping her other hand on the gun, just in case). "How do you even know Campbell, anyway?"

He had his hands on his knees, taking relieved gulps of air. "He took me in when I was 9!" His expression turned hopeful. "Is . . . is that all you needed? Because I don't have a lot of information, but I'm sure he'd be happy to speak with you . . . Would you like some tea, ma'am?"

Yeah, this wasn't one of her finest performances. "No, no." She ran her free hand through her hair with a sigh, feeling like she was trying to capture her scattered thoughts with a butterfly net. "I'm gonna kill you, I'm gonna take my money, and I'm gonna get the fuck out of this fucking piece of shit fuck town."

It was a good plan. A smart plan.

She just had to . . . well, do it.

"Move and I shoot you," she muttered dully. God, she had a headache, one that pounded through her skull and crowded at the corners of her eyes with each thudding heartbeat. In fact, it'd started to creep into her vision, a soft decaying blackness that . . .

She pulled her arm up, noticing that it moved with dreamlike slowness and left colorful trails in the air, and finally took a closer look at where he'd gotten her with his watch. A bead of blood wiped away to reveal a small round hole that looked remarkably like a bee sting.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

The son of a bitch had poisoned her.

The next (and last) things she was aware of were hands hauling her into a sitting position and Greenwood's voice: "I'm sorry, sorry! I didn't want to have to do that, but I promise you'll feel better when you wake up . . ."

[dreamingreality00]

71 and 69 hmu w that good pshmirtz content fam ;0 (its okay if theyre separate or joined fics whatever works

“Perrrryyyyyy,” Heinz whined at his companion as he swiped the card to unlock the door to their hotel room. He heard his voice crack and he knew he was pouting, but he was too sore and tired to care. His back felt as if he just slept on a pile of rocks, and his neck like he’d done it standing up. His arms and legs felt like dead, cramped up weights, and in all honesty, he would have stomped his foot at Perry had he been able to lift it high enough. “Perry the Platypus, I’m never going to be able to move again in my life. I’m going to fall right here on this dirty hotel floor and sleep until I die, and it’s all because of you.”

Scoffing and rolling his eyes, Perry opened the door and gestured to the bed. After his mind took a brief trip to the gutter, Heinz groaned and shuffled his feet across the room and over to it, glaring at Perry as he passed. Never before had he been so thankful for the small size of the room they were staying in, taking about six shuffles before flopping down on the bed. He hummed in satisfaction as his back sank into the soft mattress and his head into the cool pillows. The physical relief he felt with finally being able to lay down almost made him forget to continue complaining at Perry. Almost.

Without raising his head to look at Perry, he started up again. “I don’t even see why we had to dance that much anyways right before going to look for clues. What did it do for the mission? Nothing! Maybe I should go back to being an evil scientist and make an -inator that would prevent dancing forever. Yeah, I’ll do that!”

He looked up at Perry, who was used to the empty threats by then and shrugged it off. You’re my fake husband, deal with it. And besides, the dancing was so they would assume we were too tired to do anything other than come back up here and go to sleep, Perry signed to Heinz.

Too tired to come up with a retort, Heinz settled for groaning again, this time louder, until Perry picked up some clothes and disappeared into the cramped bathroom to get ready for bed. Heinz briefly thought of waiting for Perry to get out and doing the same, but really, it wouldn’t have been the first time he slept in his day clothes, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Besides, unless a fire decided to start up in the hotel, Heinz wasn’t sure he would be able to get out of that bed until after he got some sleep. He settled for kicking off his shoes, removing his belt, and taking off his sweater, tossing everything on the floor next to his bed.

He heard the shower start up in the bathroom, and figured he would be able to drift off to sleep before Perry got back. He hoped so, at least. Working with O.W.C.A. was fun, it really was. It was also fulfilling, it gave him a sense of purpose. If it weren’t for certain things, he probably wouldn’t have a single problem with the job. Certain things including being forced to do this mission, being forced to pretend to be married to Perry, and being forced to share a bed with the man. Certain things that made it harder and harder to hide his feelings.

Sure, he’d always felt something for Perry. Even as his nemesis, Perry made Heinz’s stomach do flips and his throat tighten up. He had thought that when they started to become friends, his affection for Perry would be revealed and ruin things, but it didn’t. Even so, the more time they spent together because of O.W.C.A. and the lack of a nemesis-typical boundary between them, the harder it got for Heinz to hide how he felt.

Then Monogram decides to put him on this mission.

Fake marrying Perry was fine and all. It might have hurt to look at the ring on his left hand and know it wasn’t real, but he could deal with it. But having to be around Perry every second of the day? Going out in public and holding hands, sharing loving looks, light kisses on his face or lips, and arms around his shoulder? Sharing a bed with Perry? It hurt. It hurt more than his back after the hour of dancing he did, more than when he was forced to be a lawn gnome, more than when he and Charlene got divorced. Every kiss, every look, every night spent in a bed too small for personal space with the man he cared about who didn’t feel the same way, it all hurt. What hurt the most, though, was knowing that it would all be gone as soon as they figured out who was behind the recent kidnappings and got them behind bars. It had only been a week of this mission and already he’d forgotten what sleeping alone felt like.

He was screwed.

Covering his face with his hands and letting out a bitter laugh, he turned over in the bed and curled his knees up to his chest. He remembered what Major Monogram had told them before they left to go undercover.

“Now I know acting like a convincing married couple will be pretty hard, especially with your history as nemeses, but you need to remember what’s at stake here. Heinz, you most of all, seeing as Perry has had his training already. Just remember-”

“All you need to do is act like you care about each other a million times more than you do,” Heinz finished out loud, his face scrunching up in anger. Being this tired really wasn’t helping him keep his emotions in check. “Funny, Monogram. I’m a good actor when I need to be, but if you can find a world where I can do that, you let me know. I don’t think I could love him any more than I already do.”

His anger and hurt exhausting him further, he gave in and decided to fall asleep. He pulled a blanket up to his shoulders and turned around to get more comfortable, a flash of teal appearing in front of him as he did so. Closing his eyes, he sunk further into the bed and-

Wait. Fuck.

Reluctantly, he cracked open one eye to confirm his suspicions. Yep. In front of him stood Perry, mouth open and eyes wide. Cringing, he sat up and opened his other eye. Well, he could at least try to salvage their friendship.

“Um, I, you uh, heard that, didn’t you?” He stammered. Shaking his head and blinking, Perry seemed to get it together and nod. Stomping down the urge to pull the comforter over his head and never come out, he continued. “I, um, that wasn’t… wasn’t what it sounded like. I, well you see, I was um…” he rambled off, trying and ultimately failing to come up with an excuse. There went that. “I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, his stomach twisted making him feel sick, his chest squeezed so tight it hurt, and a chill went through his body. His eyes filled up with tears and his throat felt tight. This was it. He finally did it. He screwed up the best thing that had ever happened to him, and all because of some useless mission and his carelessness. He knew as soon as he looked up he would find the same disgust in Perry’s eyes that he had seen countless times before. In his father’s, Charlene’s, his brother’s. Instead, he pressed his palms hard against his eyes and choked back tears. He wouldn’t guilt Perry into feeling sorry for him. Despite his efforts, a sob worked its way up through the knot in his throat and past his lips, spilling out as some sort of watery hiccup.

Immediately, he felt a familiar arm around his shoulders. He instinctively leaned into the attached body as he broke down, feeling hopeless. His eyes burned and his throat was sore by the time he calmed down enough to notice the hands rubbing small circles into his back. Remembering who it belonged to, he pulled back, opening his mouth to stammer out another apology. “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to… I mean I know you don’t feel the same, the same way and I just don’t-”

He stopped and clamped his mouth shut when Perry held up a hand and gave him a gentle look. Tentatively, he waited for what Perry had to say.

Heinz, he began, a soft smile on his face as he signed, it’s okay. Stop and let me finish, he signed sternly when Heinz looked ready to speak again. The only reason Monogram assigned you to this mission with me was because I told him I wouldn’t do it with anyone else. Nobody else could even act like they know me as much as you do, and… he paused before finishing, there’s nobody else I’d rather be here with anyways, because I love you, too.

Heinz blinked once, twice, then three times. Searching Perry’s face to make sure he heard right, he felt the knots in his chest loosen and form again for completely different reasons.

“You… you love me, too?” he asked. A giddy smile made its way on his face after he received a nod and smile in return. Unable to contain it, he suddenly doubled over giggling.

As he caught his breath and calmed down, he looked back up at Perry, who was giving Heinz a look similar the ones he put on for their mission, but one that felt somewhat more real. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to Perry’s lips. Pulling back, he let out one final huff of laughter.

“As much as I would love to sit here and talk about this, I’m officially worn out beyond measure. Can we talk in the morning, Perry the Platypus?”

To answer, Perry leaned back down onto the bed and gently pulled Heinz down with him, taking Heinz’s arm and wrapping it around his middle. Heinz hummed and snuggled into the warmth of the smaller man’s body pressed up against his, and fell asleep instantly, feeling lighter than ever before.

[eviipaiadin]

Dungeons & Shitposting Episode 47: Time to Meet the Happy Couple

After a billion years on hiatus (read: since April 17th), we finally came back... Well, by ‘we’, I mean half the party. A shame since a big plot reveal occurred but that’s life.

The cast:

Sir J. P. Fluffsworth aka Sir Fluffy, a shifter fighter/paladin who loves friendship and is just a sentient version of Greater Dog. (as played by @friendlyneighbourhood-spider-dan) Recently acquired a magical talking sword called Hollowblade. Original party member. [ATTENDED THE SESSION; MISSED THE REVEAL]

Orion Nebulorn, a half-orc barbarian who loves fighting and seafaring. (as played by @servantproto) Wielder of the Monster Execution Combative Heavy Axe Build 0.8.2 and recently hurt by the betrayal of a clanmate. Original party member. [ARRIVED AT THE END OF THE SESSION FOR THE REVEAL]

Cyrus Cormack, a human tempest cleric of Waukeen. (as played by @blangyouredead) Recently bitten by a werewolf  and was earlier framed by Orion’s clanmate, Lyra. [ABSENT]

Drachedandion Bipen aka Bipen, a ‘dragon’ (tiefling) sorcerer who loves to fly and lives with his Mom and his Maam. (as played by @brokou) Inheritor of the magical helm, Trothar. [ABSENT]

Navitas Stormfey, a tiefling sorcerer/bard who parties hard and trusts few. (as played by @dovahheim) Wields the Horn of Blasting and is still unable to get in Rickert’s pants. [ATTENDED THE SESSION]

Naqine Stormfey, a tiefling demon hunter (homebrew) who lives to rib her older sibling and fight demons. (as played by @spectrefox) Currently freaking out about the fact that multiple demon lords have shown up in the Material Plane. [ATTENDED THE SESSION]

The events:

The session began with the rolling of initiative to kill Diam’Rem, a kuo-toa who hunts followers of Demogorgon. Party disliked the whole ‘harness demonic energy to power up weapons to kill demo and use their soul to ascend to godhood’ angle, despite Diam’s refusal to fight back.

This didn’t matter as Diam’Rem got first initiative, disengaged, and fucked off into the ocean. Most of the party is relieved because Navitas was the only one with a major murderboner over this.

The party takes a moment to harness some spoils from the dead dragon from the previous session and finally get a long rest. (They fought two deadly encounters with only a short rest in-between.)

Party wakes up and spot a flying creature approach. Navitas and Sir Fluffy recognize it as an eala, a sort of big swan thing that fae types like to take as pets/status symbols.

Some tiefling rides it down to the boat, jumps off, and runs up to hug Naqine, calling her ‘twin!’. Everyone is confused, especially Naqine, not knowing any twins, especially ones that have a completely different skin tone.

Party tries to calmly explain she is mistaken and the tiefling has a bit of a breakdown before summoning her ‘children’ out of her magic wand: an owlbear (later to be called Professor Hoots), a basilisk, a girallon, and a catoblepas (aka Cat-Platypus).

Tiefling reveals her name to be Credence and her twin’s name to be Creed, @dovahheim‘s characters in a previous one-shot. She has a strange marking that another one-shot character had: a diamond eye with a jagged line that glows red when stressed.

Due to a well placed Fear spell at the start of combat from Navitas, Credence flees early on her eala, with the girallon following.

Sir Fluffy spends almost all of his combat ability wailing on the catoblepas (due to it being able to shoot death lazers) and trying to make it fear him. He only succeeds in pissing it off (and doing like 85% of its health in damage) and it blasts him with the death lazer doing a whopping 65 necrotic.

The party makes quick work of the catoblepas, making sure it doesn’t get another attempt to pull that shit. Meanwhile, Professor Hoots mauls the fuck outta Naqine but she stands firm. They dismantle both the owlbear and the basilisk without too much extra trouble. Oh also, the mast caught on fire and burned up the sail.

As the party licks their wounds, Sir Fluffy decides to open up the dead animals, hoping for... something??? Honestly, it was weird. They find a pair of unbroken eggs: a white egg with sharp claws protruding the top (later revealed to be a hook horror egg) and a dull grey one with red flecks (later revealed to be a cockatrice egg).

Navitas cases the rest of the boat as Captain Creig Cornswaggle, the Courageous Commander of The Cruel Craven and Co-Owner of The Crow’s Call mourns his losses. She finds the wand Credence used to summon her pets and a locket. Inside the locket is a painting of three people: a halfling male in heavy armour, a human woman with a rapier and fine dress, and Credence (a tiefling barbarian). On the back of the locket, an engraving: “The Four Mulefolk of the Inconveniencing: Zizitoppah, Soleil, Creed, and Credence. Painted by Credence. Love you assholes.” (This is the party from the one-shot: Creed and Credence are twins because Creed got eaten by a purple worm before they even entered the mine they were casing.)

Another boat appears as they approach the continent of Faerun. An aarakocra approaches them, wearing the garb of the Lord’s Alliance, specifically the Border Security unit. Sir Fluffy recognizes him as a friend from his old military unit: The Green Sabres. Jackolas “Flappy Jack” Zakeem eagerly greets his old friend and grants the party (and The Cruel Craven) passage into Neverwinter.

The party gets caught up on some goings-on in Faerun (the up-coming wedding they were invited to, the recent battles they had with the giants before a peace treaty was signed). Fluffy begins explaining the party’s adventure but Flappy Jack points out that there’s a bit too much to unpack and that this would have to wait to have this discussion over some nice glasses of milk.

The party begins to splinter off: Orion is pulled aside by Captain Creig Cornswaggle, the Courageous Commander of The Cruel Craven and Co-Owner of The Crow’s Call to invite her to join as a full-time crewmember and assist in transforming the ship into a travelling tavern (Orion’s player’s new job’s hours make them staying an unfortunate impossibility); Cyrus leaves to speak with the local fishermen to find good spots to fish; Navitas attempts to go drinking only to be given false directions by Flappy Jack and end up at an AA meeting; Naqine follows her sibling, expecting disappointment but getting the world’s most satisfying surprise.

Eventually they all retire to The Sleeping Dragon and get a good night’s rest.

Except Navitas, who decides to go on a late night stroll and finds Egg-cellent Eggs!; a stand run by a young-ish human man by the name of Tomathan. They learn of the nature of the eggs that their companions possess and purchases one of their own: that of a remorhaz.

The next morning, the party notices Navitas has not returned from her night stroll. They are, in fact, sitting on the roof. As the party leaves, she assails Naqin with pebbles on the roof and a bizarre team-up from Sir Fluffy, Bipen, and Naqine attempt to fly up and lasso her. Tomfoolery ensues and eventually they all descend.

Flappy Jack takes them to Ye Olde Teleporte Housee and bids them farewell as they must return to their work on the Border Security unit.

Inside Ye Olde Teleporte Housee, they meet Tedrick, a very tired sounding elf who is in charge of conducting inter-continental teleportation circle travel. He asks some brief important security questions (such as the meaning of their visit to Gauntlgrym as well as if they were an animal what animal would they be) before taking them there.

Arriving at the Gauntlgrym teleportation circle, they meet Rickted, a shockingly similar elf in every regard, before leaving Ye Olde Teleporte Housee and into Gauntlgrym.

Rickted catches up to them and hands them official documentation to get them into Castle Feldrun so they can meet with the people who invited them.

As they arrive, their dwarven escorts attempt to inquire about the location of the soon-to-be-married royal couple before a regal looking elf male, that none of the party recognize, enters the room.

As the servants and the dwarven guards bow, he takes in the party before looking specifically at Orion and Sir Fluffy. He smiles and says “It has been a moment, has it not?” before the doors behind him burst open.

Barreling down the stairs, in a brilliant green tunic, shimmering silver scarf, with her long shock red braids flying behind her, a young dwarven woman tackles Orion and Sir Fluffy with a hug.

They recognize her as one of the jailmates they escaped from the drow with. They recognize her as someone they watched die and bury themselves. They recognize her as Eldeth.

The exuberant Eldeth turns to her fiancee: “Isn’t it nice to have them back with us, Derendil, dear?” (Prince Derendil was also a fellow jailmate; a quaggoth who claimed elven nobility and was secretly ‘dealt with’ by two former party members: Talinid and Kana, both alive but away from the party).

And that’s the end of the session!

[witchymarvelspacecase]

Wraith pt. 12

Summary: Follows the storyline of CA:CW. Regan is an ex-HYDRA experiment who has been on the run for about a year. Turns out the Winter Soldier has been hiding not only in the same city as her, but the same BUILDING. Chaos ensues and she offers her help to Bucky and his friend Steve.

Word Count: 1742

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of syringes, Typos (sorry)

A/N: I’m really sorry this has taken so long. I haven’t felt the inspiration lately...

Masterlist

Not my gif, credit to the owner

Bucky’s POV

Regan was still, but she was breathing. Her heart was still beating and for the moment, that was enough. When she had passed out in his arms, he and Natasha had sprinted to the jet, narrowly beating the others. Wanda caught sight of him carrying Regan and her face paled.

“Wilson,” Bucky called, his voice scratchy, “Regan’s worse than expected, she’s unconscious.”

Sam rushed over at his call, carrying the kit. Bucky laid Regan out on the small cot at the back of the jet when Sam instructed. Sam leaned over her, checking her pulse, and started cataloging her injuries. Bucky felt sick. He kept his position by her side, holding her hand as if he could will her to wake up if he just gripped her strongly enough.

“How is she?” Wanda appeared just behind Bucky. She spoke quietly and kept her gaze on Regan.

“Not great,” Sam responded as he began to cut away what remained of Regan’s clothes. It looked like she was still wearing the prison jumpsuit that Wanda, Sam, Clint, and Scott had been wearing when Steve broke them out, but it was hard to tell considering how dirty and torn up it was.

“How not great?” Clint now peered around Wanda as he, Steve, and Scott returned to the jet.

“Well, she’s lucky she’s unconscious. It looks like she has multiple broken bones. Judging from the bruising around her ribs, she may have some internal bleeding. There are slashes and what look like puncture wounds all over.”

“Puncture wounds?” Natasha called questioningly. She and Clint had headed for the cockpit and the jet was rising now, but at the mention of the punctures, she had returned to Regan’s side.

“Yeah, like needle marks. Someone shot her up with somethin’, and I’m guessing it’s not penicillin.”

“No,” she confirmed as she walked back towards them, “it’s not.”

“You know what it is then? Cause I have a feelin’ I may need to know.”

“Yeah, but you’re not gonna like it. We’re gonna have to call T’Challa. Regan is going to need a full course of antivenom, multiple varieties.” Natasha shouted instructions to Clint as he put through the call for her. She jogged back to the cockpit to talk to whoever answered, Wanda trailing behind her. 

Steve and Scott were seated along the sides of the jet, seeming deep in conversation. Bucky was silent.

He closed his eyes, feeling useless. “What can I do?” He asked quietly, to no one in particular.

“Take this and press it here.” Gauze was placed in his free hand, his metal hand, and it was guided to Regan’s side, where a wound was bleeding heavily. Bucky pressed the gauze to her wound, applying pressure.

“So,” Sam said calmly as he opened more gauze, “you and Regan knew each other from before?”

“Yeah,” Bucky answered, slightly stunned that the man was talking to him.

“She didn’t talk about it much, but she seemed to trust you. What do you remember?”

“Not- not much. But I do remember working with her a few times. Mostly it’s bits an’ pieces. But I know that she and I were friends, or as close as you could get to that anyway.”

“I can see that. She important to you?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, he looked up at Sam, “what do you mean?”

“I mean, you obviously care about her. Dunno if this is cause of how close you were before or somethin’ else, but you went back. Back into a HYDRA base, to get this kid. Now I know,” Sam said, cutting Bucky off when he looked about to speak,” I know that she helped you, but I don’t think you’re acting like this just to repay a favor. I don’t think she was either.”

The happy memory played in Bucky’s mind again. The memory that he wasn’t sure happened, but he hoped it had. The plane jostled beneath his feet and snapped him out of his reverie as Natasha walked up to them.

“T’Challa’s people have the antivenoms on standby, we should be there in 15,” Natasha met Bucky’s eyes briefly before looking to Sam. “Is she gonna make it?” she asked softly.

“I think so, we just have to get this bleeding under control and keep her vitals up. What venoms are we dealin’ with here?”

Natasha sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose before answering. “If it’s the same as the last time, it will be a mixture of coral snake, platypus and bullet ant.”

Bucky and Sam both made faces. “Well that’s an odd and specific combo,” Sam mused. But Bucky met Natasha’s eyes again before speaking.

“Bullet ants venom causes the most pain. Coral snake venom can induce seizures. And Platypus venom is the longest lasting, and has no known antivenom.” Sam grew more concerned as Bucky explained.

“Is this woman insane?!”

“Arguably, yes she was. She’s dead now, thankfully, but we can’t know for sure that she hadn’t changed her formula.” All they could do was hope that the crazy woman hadn’t improved her torture juice. 

Bucky pressed a little harder on his gauze pad, asking for another when he noticed Regan’s blood seeping through.

Just a little longer doll. A few more minutes and the pain will go away. Just keep breathing… please.

Regan’s POV

A stinging pain all over her body woke her, but as soon as she was awake, Regan couldn’t believe she had slept through the cacophony surrounding her. 

She was being wheeled off of a jet that looked strangely familiar, though she couldn’t place it. People all around her were shouting to each other. She went to raise her hands to her ears, but they were strapped to the gurney beneath her. Panic started to burble up within her as she looked around, searching for anything she recognized, hell even a HYDRA agent, at least then she’d know what she was dealing with. But as she tried to move her head, pain shot up and down her spine. She cried out, her body doing its best to thrash on the table within the restrains. All she could feel was pain and fear; she didn’t know where she was, or what was going on. 

A man in a lab coat approached her with a syringe and she screamed.

Reaching out with her power, she drew from the jet she’d just been wheeled off of and shot the electricity towards the syringe toting man, flinging him backwards with a little flick of her wrist. 

Pulling more energy towards herself, Regan wrapped the warm sparks around her body, creating a cocoon, protecting her from the people around her and shocking the people who had been holding the metal rails of the gurney to pull her along.

She could barely hear the voices of the lab coats around her calling out, over the crackles of her cocoon and the sound of her own breathing. 

Each breath echoed in her head, too loud she knew, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Pulling a tiny tendril away from her cocoon, Regan set to work on removing her restraints. These restraints weren’t metal, but cloth could melt too, or be set on fire with a strong spark. Finishing the straps around her arms and middle, Regan tried to sit up only to fall back to the table, pain now screaming from her midsection as well as her spine. Pushing power through her body to her feet, Regan still removed the straps around her ankles, preferring to be free to move, even if doing so caused her pain. 

Resolving herself to the waves of pain she was sure were to come, she rolled herself off the gurney and to the ground, hitting it with a pitiful sounding moan. She pushed and levered herself into a sitting position and closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, there was a man kneeling in front of her. Wait… she knew him…

“Soldier? Wait… B- Bucky?” she said slowly. His face lighting up when she used his name.

“Yeah Regan, it’s Bucky. Are you ok?” As soon as he talked, her head cleared enough that she remembered where she had been, and what had been happening before she passed out.

“Oh shit… Fuck did I hurt anyone?!” Panicked again, but for a whole different reason, Regan tried to look around, forgetting that she was injured. She fell to the ground again, catching herself on her elbows, hissing.

Bucky went to her, but couldn’t get close, her energy shield still wrapped around her. “No, everyone is ok, the shocks you gave the docs were too low of an amperage to hurt them much. Can you lower your shield so I can help you?” he asked calmly, though on the inside he felt as though he’d run a marathon; heart racing.

She looked as if she’d completely forgotten about it, shaking her head slightly, her shield dropped and Bucky approached again. “Sorry,” she said, “I um- shit, I have no idea what’s going on,” she rested her forehead on the ground as she spoke. “God, I’m so embarrassed.”

Bucky chuckled as he bent down to her. “No reason to be, one of us should’ve stayed with you to make sure you knew what was up when you woke up. Is it ok if I pick you up?”

When she nodded her assent, Bucky gently slid his arms under her and eased her up from the ground. He nodded to the doctors, telling them that he’d carry her inside.

“We’re in a safe place ok? Everyone is here; me, Wanda, Steve, Sam, Scott, Clint, and Natasha. The doctors here are gonna get you patched up and healthy.”

Regan nodded. “Then we’ll kick what’s left of HYDRA’s ass.”

“You got it,” he replied with a small smile.

When they reached what would be Regan’s room, Bucky placed her on the bed. He was about to pull away but Regan grabbed his sleeve. He looked to her face, she wasn’t looking at him, but at the tray of instruments off to the side; her eyes were wide, and the grip she had on his sleeve was tight.

“Want me to stay?” She nodded, so he perched next to her on the bed as they waited for the doctor to come in.

Hey ya’ll, sorry this has waited so long, but please let me know if I should keep going on this, otherwise it’s gonna end soon and I’m gonna try to work on one-shots instead (who am I kidding, this will probably kick around for a while untouched anyway)

Thank You's: @bellblake-trash , @buckyslion , @bovaria , @buckybarnesstar , @fvckingbuckyandsteve, @thatawkwardtinyperson, @imhereforbvcky, and @gigistorm

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@canumoveyourseatup-no, @imsunnysu, @17marvelousfreak , @ipaintmelodies, @blacwings-and-bucky-barnes, @littlxshit

[morwytch]

Kita Questionaire

1: What is your character’s full name? Kita Viktoria Koji 
2: What is their birth? December 1 
3: What is/are your character’s favorite show(s)? he doesn't watch TV much, but when he does watch, he likes ghostbusters, and X files. 
4: What kind of drug(s) does your character do? He doesn't have time for any of that. 
5: Favorite brand when it comes to shoes? He wears converse most of the time 
6: Where does your OC buy most of their clothes? Who pays for them? He gets them anywhere he can find what he likes cheaply. He pays for them. 
7: Can your character cook anything well? If so, what? He's the best cook in His family. He cannot, for the life of him, cook Mexican however. Tortillas, BROKEN! Sauce splattered, meat sauce, crispy. 
8: Would your character sacrifice a friend for $10,000,000 It's a tempting offer for him. Very tempting.... 
9: What song does your character always sing in the shower? In the dark of the night from Anastasia. 
10: As a child, what did your OC wanna be when they grew up? He just wanted to be on one of those paranormal shows. He loved that shit. 
11: Favorite kind of alcohol? Straight vodka. If he wants to get drunk he'll do it as fast as he can. 
12: Who is/are your OC’s best friend(s)? Yosuke. He's his homie with the bus. 
13: Favorite store? Hot topic. 
14: Favorite book? Peregrine's home for peculiar children. 
15: Most visited website(s)? Tumblr. (How meta) 
16: If your OC was a character from King of the Hill who would they be? I don't know I've never watched it and analyzed but maybe pocket sand guy 
17: Propane or charcoal? Charcoal 
18: Favorite troll from Homestuck? The captors. 
19: Has your character ever complained about how Invader Zim got canceled? Meh. 
20: Nintendo or Sony? Nintendo 
21: Favorite video game(s)? Casual games, usually. 
22: What’s the password they use for everything? Concern1cus 
23: What was their email in the 6th grade? PolterSpookyGiest666. He was unnecessarily edgy. That phase lasted years. 
24: Does your character tan or burn? Burns like a hot cheeto covered in wasabi and ghost peppers. 
25: What invisible illness does your OC live with? Asthma, chronic headaches, and the occasional petit mal seizure. 
26: If charged by a swarm of wild animals, what wild animal would scare your character the most? The Platypus. Jesus fuck, the platypus. 
27: Everybody Loves Raymond comes on but the batteries in the remote are dead. Does your character watch ELR or get up and change it? He gets up and turns the TV. 
28: What was their favorite disney show as a kid? Peter Pan. 
29: If your character is LGBT+, when and how did they realize? Around the swim team, He found himself slightly interested in females like the occasional "yeah she looks nice I guess" but a hot guy came around and he was all "👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀 good shit go౦ԁ sHit👌 thats ✔ some good👌👌shit right👌👌there👌👌👌 right✔there ✔✔if i do ƽaү so my self 💯 i say so 💯 thats what im talking about right there right there (chorus: ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ) mMMMMᎷМ💯 👌👌 👌НO0ОଠOOOOOОଠଠOoooᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒ👌 👌👌 👌 💯 👌 👀 👀 👀 👌👌Good shit" and he was like 17. 
30: Who are your OC’s celebrity crushes? Ken Hirai. Hot damn swoon sign him the fuck up he hot. 
31: How does your character want to die? How do they actually die? He wants to go out peacefully, without regrets. I'm still figuring out the how he actually will die. 
32: How does your OC deal with having a crush on someone? He Internalizes the fuck outta that and hopes they make the first move. He'll try but it usually ends up like "uh.. um.. y-you're.. um.., I.. uh;;;;; " 
33: Did your OC cry at the end of Balto? a big resounding YES. 
34: What Bands does your character own merch to? He has a few bracelets from a few scattered bands. He loses them too much so nobody knows. :/ 
35: Emo, scene, goth, or punk? Goth. 
36: Does your OC use words or fists to argue? Words 
37: Did your OC read the book The Secret? Did it change their lives? He has. He's.. yet to see the effects. 
38: Did you character get deeper into My Little Pony than they let on? Much. Much deeper. 
39: Spotify or Pandora? Spotify. 
40: Do they pay for music or download it off the web? downloaaaaad. 
41: iPhone or Android? Android. 
42: Most used emoji? 😪 
43: Do they get lost on IMDB for hours looking up random movie trivia? No. 
44: Remember when Donnie Darko was about to jerk off in his therapists office that was fucked up What? I mean jerking it in a therapists is pretty fucked up. 
45: Does your character think Elijah Wood’s is hot?
 To him, he's soso. 46: Does your character believe in the Illuminati Well he's not American so, maybe if he knew that was a thing, probably. 
47: What do you think youtube would recommend your character watch? Relaxing music, creepy pastas, sad pastas, occasional hypnosis. 
48: Your OC stops at a gas station to buy a drink. What did they buy? He get caffeinated water. Boi needa stay up 
49: Does your character have an enemy/rival? Nope 
50: What kind of blog would/does your character have?(ie: food, aesthetic, SJW, porn, b&w, anime, etc..) Aesthetic and stress posts.