#scooter could have fallen from the face of the earth BUT NO

[bandzboy]

scooter braun is only becoming a ceo full time because nobody in the west wants to work with him anymore but ofc bang pd gave this loser a second chance and now we have to deal with him and his zionist ass like i hate it here

[scones-and-texting-and-murder]

Bookends

(This story was originally written for and published in the DeanCas Anthology back in 2018. )

Word Count: 2223 Rating: General ao3 link

Cas pulls as close to the door as he can, checking the rearview mirror to make sure he isn’t blocking traffic as he waits for Dean to get out of the car. Before heading inside, Dean ducks his head back in to smile at him. “I’ll get us some coffee.”

Instead of driving away, Cas stays there, watching until Dean pulls open the diner door. Leaning heavily on his cane, he shuffles more than walks, his bow-legged gait made stiff by the arthritis that wracks his joints. Cas waits until he’s safely inside, then pulls past the open handicapped space Dean stubbornly refuses to use, and finds an empty parking spot.

Cas’s car is boxy and utilitarian, and Dean often proclaims that he wouldn’t be caught dead behind the wheel of something so ugly. Cas plays along because giving up driving had been Dean’s toughest concession to age, but as his vision deteriorated and his reflexes slowed, it had become an unavoidable sacrifice. With replacement parts for the Impala harder and harder to come by, Dean had finally agreed to keep her stored safely away in their garage. Cas knew it pained him to see her shrouded under a tarp, her motor idle and useless, but Dean would rather enshrine her in pristine condition than risk one more run-in with a light pole or curb.

With his ugly car parked, Cas crosses the lot to join Dean inside. While he’s aged as well, aged to the point that nobody questions the two of them together, he’s been spared many of the maladies that Dean’s combat-wrecked body has endured, and he moves with relative ease. The best they can figure is that the grace he’d had on and off over the years left his body with a certain resilience to the passage of time. Cas can’t cure Dean as he once could, can’t ease the aches or slow the aging process, but he can use his own comparatively good health and mobility to take care of him.

Inside, Cas navigates past the hostess stand to find Dean at their usual booth, chatting with their usual waitress. The two of them go to this diner religiously each Sunday morning, where the pews are scuffed burgundy vinyl booths and the altar is the breakfast buffet with the generous senior discount. As always, Dean has maneuvered himself across the bench seat to make room for Cas to sit beside him. His cane rests against the wall in easy reach, the simple carved wooden handle belying the fact that the base unscrews to reveal a bayonet-like tip. It’s never been wielded as a weapon (although Dean uses it, still sheathed, to poke at aggressive pigeons who muscle in around their favorite park bench), but that potential made it “badass” enough to overcome Dean’s resistance to using it.

To Sam’s everlasting chagrin, Dean has kept all of his hair, and it’s turned a stunning silver. The crinkles around his eyes have deepened, meeting the roadmap of lines that cross his face. His shoulders are stooped, his joints are stiff, and Cas thinks he’s never been more beautiful. After so many seemingly certain ends, so many years assuming Dean would die young and bloodied, the fact that he’s living out a full, lengthy life is an unparallelled blessing. Cas marvels at the gift of days that have unfolded into decades, granting them time he never dreamed they’d have together here on earth.

As Cas settles into the booth, he smiles and greets their waitress.

“Two for the buffet?” she confirms as she pours their coffee. Cas doesn’t even have to check to know that she’ll leave Dean’s at a little more than half-full so he can lift it without the tremor in his hands sloshing it over the brim.

They drink their coffee quietly, simply enjoying the ritual of being here. Dean peers at the laminated card that lists the specials, even though he never orders off the menu.

“Shall I?” When Dean nods, Cas gets to his feet. “Any requests?”

“You know what I like,” Dean says, leaning over to swat at Cas’s butt.

Picking up two plates from the warmer, Cas slides them along the metal counter, filling them in tandem as he traverses the buffet. Pancakes are too difficult for Dean to get on a fork, but the crisp waffles are good. Bacon he can pick up and eat, and Cas uses the tongs to place precisely two strips on his plate. If Dean wants more, he can get up and get it himself.

Dean can argue with Cas’s choices, but they’d had a hell of a scare a few years back. Cas will never forget the look on Dean’s face when their phone rang in the middle of the night, alerting them that Sam had been taken to the hospital in an ambulance. They’d rushed there themselves, Cas driving in silence, knowing that nothing short of seeing Sam with his own two eyes could reassure Dean. Thankfully, it had been a mild heart attack and, after spending a few days in the hospital, the discharge plan called for cardiac rehab and an appointment with a nutritionist. With Sam’s release imminent, Dean had relaxed enough to crow at the irony. “Don’t either of you try to tell me what to eat ever again. Mr. Organic Produce is the one lying in the hospital bed while my pork-rind-fueled ticker is going strong.”

Still pale, Sam’s brow furrowed with resignation. “I’m beginning to think you can’t die.”

Dean jabbed a finger in his direction. “You don’t get to go first. We have a deal.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam lifted the hand without the IV in a mock salute.

“That’s more like it,” Dean said. “Speaking of which, I need a snack.”

Cas helped him up and they walked to the elevator that would take them to the cafeteria. As they waited for it to arrive, Dean pulled Cas into a hug. Cas left a hand on his shoulder when they stepped apart again. “All right?”

Dean nodded, his green eyes shining with tears. “I’m glad you’re here.” Cas started to respond, to remind him that there was nowhere else he would be, but Dean cut him off. “I know you know. But I wanted to say it anyhow.”

Cas noticed a change after that. Dean was still the same stubborn mule Cas had fallen in love with, but he gradually became more willing to let Cas help. And somehow, Cas loved him even more for it. He loved seeing the slow-blossoming acceptance that came when Dean stopped seeing Cas’s help as a sign of weakness.

Now, standing in front of the steaming trays of food, Cas considers what else to add to their plates. He bypasses the cauldron of oatmeal (they eat that at home most mornings) and continues along the buffet. There’s a tremendous satisfaction in being allowed to care for this man who has done so much for so many and asked for so little in return. In fact, Dean has now embraced this new role so fully—no longer questioning what he deserves, or grudgingly accepting help, but full-on enjoyment of being doted on—that Cas has to be careful he doesn’t get lazy. There’s nothing Cas would rather do than settle Dean in front of a sunny window, snug in the recliner for Cas to wait on like a pampered cat, but he knows that sort of inactivity would do Dean’s joints and his heart no favors. So he watches Dean’s diet and insists on them taking slow walks after breakfast when his energy is highest.

Their neighborhood is a mix of young and old and everyone knows the two Mr. Winchesters who circle the block on days when the weather permits. The kids on bikes and scooters know to give them a wide berth, their parents warning them that the old men need the entire sidewalk, but they call out their hellos as they go by. They’re friendly with everyone except the woman who lives on the corner. Dean is convinced she’s a demon, but Cas suspects his distrust of her stems more from the fact that she seems immune to his charm. (Whatever the reason, he’s had to talk Dean out of chalking a devil’s trap inside her mailbox more than once.) They chat with their neighbors about the weather and the score of last night’s ballgame, and it’s so painfully normal that Cas sometimes feels his throat tighten up at the wonder of it all.

When Cas returns to their booth, Dean examines his plate. “They outta bacon?”

Cas cuts the waffle into manageable pieces and peels the wrapper from the muffin before sliding Dean’s plate over. “You know the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says. “You just like to look at my ass when I get up.”

They eat in congenial silence with Dean methodically working his way around his plate, eating everything heartily, even the fruit. Sitting next to him, Cas can easily scoop up any bites that miss his mouth, plucking them from Dean’s lap or his shirt.

“You two good?” The waitress asks when she comes to refill their coffees. “Need anything?”

Dean swallows the bite of muffin he’s working on, and rests his hand on top of Cas’s. “I’ve got everything I need right here. An actual angel, this one.”

She nods agreeably. “I can almost see his halo.”

Cas has learned that an old man can say just about anything and receive an indulgent smile in return. When Dean references angels or demons or the apocalypse, people assume he’s speaking in metaphor and they’ll nod pleasantly. Sometimes he’ll do it purely for effect, telling rambling tales from their past for the sheer enjoyment of being able to speak openly. He can’t always keep the details straight, but Cas is there to remind him. Some days, though, he seems to lose where he is in time, and there’s nothing Cas can do for that. Cas has taken to keeping a watchful eye on him in the late afternoons when he likes to doze on the couch with their one-eyed black cat curled up on his chest. Cas stays close in case he wakes from his nap agitated, calling for Cas, wanting to know where Sam is. Cas helps him to sit up as the cat springs down and scurries away.

“Don’t go,” he says again and again, and Cas takes him in his arms, assuring Dean that he’s here and reminding him that Sam is safe at his own home. He holds him until Dean shakily dismisses it all as just a bad dream.

The unfairness of it overwhelms Cas, and each time he’s left filled with wrath. These final years should be spent in well-earned peace, but instead Dean seems cursed with reliving his most frightening memories, traumatized anew by old, familiar fears. If Dean’s mind is destined to slip, why can’t it be toward blissful forgetting? What Dean has endured goes beyond what any human should; to ask him to bear it again is nothing short of cruel. But it’s a torture chamber created in his own mind, and all Cas can do is sit helplessly by, doing his best to ground Dean and bring him back to the present.

Cas looks at Dean’s empty plate. “Did you want to get some more?”

“Nah.” He’s full and happy and it’s time for their walk.

The waitress arrives to clear their plates. As he does every week, Dean asks if she needs to see his ID for the senior discount. As she does every week, she pretends to consider it before leaving the check. “You boys take your time.”

“Tip her well,” Dean says, leaning in to supervise Cas as he signs the bill.

“I always do,” Cas assures him.

When they’re ready to leave, Cas stands next to the banquette, waiting for Dean to retrieve his cane and slide himself to the edge. Using a combination of the cane and Cas’s extended arm, Dean hoists himself upright, groaning a little. Cas keeps a firm hold on him until he’s steady on his feet. Dean still dresses in layers, but these days it’s because he gets chilled easily. He favors heavy knit cardigans and as long as Cas gets the zipper started for him he can tug it up or down as needed. Cas checks him for crumbs then together they walk through the other tables crowded with families. They continue by the hostess station where a woman is wiping down menus. “See you next week,” she calls as they pass.

Cas steps forward to push open the door, and stands holding it. “Watch your step,” he says as he always does, pointing toward the raised metal threshold of the doorway.

Using his cane to steady himself, Dean shuffles his way over it, then stops to lay his hand on Cas’s cheek. His knuckles are gnarled, the skin of his palm is dry and warm, and Cas feels the same flare of awe go through him as he has since the moment he first found this glorious soul in the depths of hell.

“I am the luckiest man who has ever lived,” Dean says.

Cas kisses his palm, then takes his arm to help him on his way.

[phantoms-lair]

Ok, but Zuko's crew figuring it out after just a week or so and having had enough time to propperly convince him before finding Aang (because he might have seen reason but he's still stubborn and what else are they gonna do? Open a tea shop?) Zuko: *didn't think he'd get this far* 'THIS IS SO AWKWARD; WHAT DO I DO?!?!' Lt. Jee, who knows kids need other kids their age around them, seeing the Gaang: 'They're friend shaped!'

“Here we are, the Southern Air Temple.” “It looks amazing Aang,” Katara couldn’t help but be breathless at the sight. Even so she couldn’t help the feeling of trepidation. Aang was from a time of peace long past. No matter how much they told him otherwise, he wouldn’t truly understand what the Fire Nation was capable of till he saw t with his own eyes. And this was the place she feared it would happen.

Aang led them up a long and winding path, chattering excitedly about everything he knew about the place. “And that’s the field where we played Air Ball, and that’s where the air bison slept and-” he broke off, sadness filling his voice. “This place used to be so different. It was full of monks and life. Now there’s nothing here. I can’t believe how much things have changed.” “Maybe not.” Sokka was looking around with sharp eyes. “If this place was really abandoned, there should be all sorts of weeds and overgrowth.  But everything’s neatly kept. Someone’s been here, and a lot more recently than a hundred years ago,”

His voice was filled with dark suspicion, but it went right over Aang’s head. The last airbender perked up. “You’re right! Come on let’s find them!”  “Aang wait!” But it was too late. Aang had taken off on his air scooter, following the path as quickly as he could. He came to an abrupt stop, air dissipating, and stared at the two figures wearing blotchy grey clothes standing in front of him. One of them, a woman, dropped the bundle of sticks and weeds she was holding. The other, a man with sideburns whispered “An airbender...” under his breath. “Get Iroh, he’s meditating in the Avatar Chamber.” He then bowed deeply as the woman ran off. “Honored Monk, would you and your companions please join us for some tea. I know our leader would be honored to speak with you.”

Aang nodded, but he seemed a lot more subdued than before. They were led into a large room. Sokka kept one hand on his boomerang, just waiting to see if trouble would start. On the way they saw several more grey-clothed people staring at them in wonder.

“Iroh should be here shortly.” the man explained. “My name is Jee.” “Iroh’s the one in charge?” Katara asked. “Everyone but he himself would tell you so.” Jee had a half smile. “Iroh sees our little group as a collection of equals, but in times of crisis or question, we tend to turn to him or Zuko.”

“Who’s-” But before Sokka could finish asking who Zuko was (and for that matter who this group was) he was interrupted by heavy footsteps running towards the door and throwing it open. “Jee is it true?” An elderly man was panting, clearly not used to running like he was. “An airbender has returned?”

Jee nodded. “This good Monk and his friends just arrived at the temple.”

“Spirits be praised.” The mans face twisted as tears began to flow from his eyes. “That the balance might not be destroyed, it’s more than I dared hope.” Then he seemed to catch himself and dried his eyes. “Where are my manners. My name is Iroh, let me make you some tea.” “Thank you. I’m Aang, these are my friends Katara and Sokka.” Aang introduced. “But may I ask, please, how did people from the Fire Nation get here. I thought this temple could only be reached by flying bison.” “Fire Nation!” Sokka rose from his seat, grabbing his boomerang. Likewise Katara reached for the water Iroh was pouring into the teapot.

“Peace.” Iroh sad calmly. “No one here wishes any of you harm.”  “How can you say that?” Katara spat. “You’re Fire Nation!”

Iroh looked directly to Aang. “Will you hear our story, honored Monk?”

“I will.” Aang turned to his friends. “We can’t attack before we’ve heard them out.”

“Watch me.” But despite his words, Sokka made no move to attack.

Iroh poured more water in the kettle, to replace what Katara had taken. “I am curious myself, how you identified us so quickly.”

“You’re wearing ash-dyed clothes.” Aang explained. “That’s what Fire Nation people wear in mourning.”

“A custom no longer practiced, sadly. We have taken it for our own as we mourn the loss of so much in the world, and seek to save as much as we can. If we can call ourselves anything, we are Restorationists.” Iroh handed each of them and Jee a cup, before pouring one for himself.

“Our story began three years ago, in the Fire Lord’s war council. My nephew, Zuko, was about your age and had talked his way inside to observe and learn. Like all children of the Fire Nation he’d been raised to believe the Nation was perfect and the war just. And it was in this meeting those beliefs were destroyed.”

“A General suggested a plan that would end in the sacrifice of the youngest Fire Nation recruits in a gambit that would gain very little, for you see the Firelord cares as little for his own people as those of other nations. The War Room was usually divided into two factions. Those like the General who reveled in slaughter, and those like myself who knew there was nothing we could say to stop it. Except that day there was another.” “Zuko spoke out, loudly and passionately, about how wrong the plan was. He was told he’d have to fight an honor duel for his disrespect. Zuko was pleased to fight someone as dishonorable as the General. Only on the day of the duel, his opponent wasn’t the general, but his own father.”

Sokka drew in a hissing breath. “The Firelord made him fight his own father?”

Iroh took a long sip of tea. “He forced Zuko, yes. But it was not involuntary on both sides. My brother longed to be rid of his kind-hearted son, and saw the duel as an opportunity. But my nephew thwarted him.” Iroh smiled to himself. “He surrendered, refusing to harm his own father. As a result my brother couldn’t land a killing blow without being disgraced himself. Instead he scarred Zuko and had him banished in disgrace for his ‘cowardice’.” 

For the first time they heard anger in Iroh’s voice. “No child should have to learn so young that their Nation is disgraceful, that their family has no honor. It was a terrible lesson, and yet one he did learn. The Firelord gave him an impossible task in order to rescind his banishment, but it’s one Zuko has no interest in pursuing. Instead he set out to learn how much more of what he knew was a lie. I’m sure you know what he found.” 

“Zuko wanted to make a pilgrimage to the places most harmed by the Fire Nation, starting with the Air Temples, the Western Air Temple in particular. We told him only an Air Bender could reach it. We underestimated him. Within a day he had managed to get inside. What he reported back to us was...it was nothing less than a tragedy. The corpses of Fire nation Soldiers and Air Nomads alike were strewn over the temple, which, as you can imagine, had fallen into serious disrepair.”

“Over the next few weeks, we had removed the bodies of the soldiers and gave them tradition field rites as per the Fire Nation. But we agreed we did not want to disrespect the Air Nomads further by denying them the proper rites. We searched the temple in hopes of finding the instructions, which we did.” “Please Iroh,” Aang looked like he was a moment away from sobbing. “Can you tell me...I just want to be sure.” Iroh nodded. “We burned them on an outdoor pyre, eight people in attendance at the cardinal directions. Four people facing the pyre, praying for the spirit of the fallen monk, four facing away, praying to the spirits to guide them. When the fire burned out, we spread the ashes to the four winds.”

Aang let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” His voice shook and Katara pulled him into a hug. Iroh nodded. “But the search for the proper rites drove home to my nephew how much had been lost. We spent much of the first year at the temple, finding what we could on Air Nomad Culture, as well as undoing what damage had been done. We were few to start with, barely thirty people. But as we traveled, more came to us. Most were former soldiers of the Fire Nation who could not stomach what they were asked to do. Some were Earth Kingdom scholars, seeking to uncover what had been lost to the war. We have restored all but the Norther Air Temple, as well as several places in the Earth Kingdom.”

“What about the South Pole.” Sokka crossed his arms. “You said you were going to places the Fire Nation hit hardest.” “The South Pole is still occupied, and I doubt the current residents would appreciate us showing up. We have found some various parchment scrolls, which we have copied into our caches, but not much.”

“Hold up, what caches?” Katara demanded.

“We didn’t want to make it easy for The Firelord’s servants to destroy the histories of the fallen peoples again. All the information we’ve found has been copied and placed in caches. We have one places in each of the locations we’ve restored, as well as several other hidden places throughout the Earth Kingdom. The memories of these people will not be forgotten again.”

“You’re more than welcome to look through the cache here for any knowledge lost to you tribe.” Jee said kindly. “And we would greatly appreciate anything Monk Aang could add. We’ve done our best, but that’s not the same as someone who’s lived in the culture.”

Iroh bowed his head. “For that matter, we recognize that this place and the other Air Temples belong to your people. If your people do not want us in their ancestral home, we will of course leave.”

Aang felt a lump in his throat as he realized that Iroh, and probably the rest of the Restorationists, had made a mistake. They thought he was one of a group of Air Nomads who had escaped. Not that he was the last. And...and if they had been to all the temples, except maybe the Northern One, he very well could be.

“Would you mind if I took a look at the cache.” To be honest he was less interested in it’s contents and more...he just needed some time to sort all this out.

Iroh nodded his head. “Of course. The cache for the Southern Air Temple is in the Atrium of the Southern Wind. I trust you know where that is?”

Aang nodded and rose. “Thank you for the tea.”” He gave a small bow an left, Katara by he side. Sokka hung back a bit and heard a snatch of conversation as he shut the door.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Jee asked.

Sokka froze, listening carefully.

“It depends on what you think I’m thinking.” Iroh said amicably.

“I’m thinking your bastard of a brother never let Zuko interact with other children and he never had the chance to once he took the responsibility to undue sins from before he was born. You’re hoping the Monk and his companions will be friends to him.”

“You know me too well.”

Sokka slid away, not sure if he was disappointed or relieved.

“What are you thinking Aang?” Katara asked as Sokka caught up. “Should we make a break for it.”

“No, if they wanted to hurt us, they would have tried already.” Aang said heavily. He sighed. “I really am the last, aren’t I?”

Katara gripped his hand and Sokka slung an arm around his shoulder. “You’re not alone thought. You know that right?” Katara asked him.

He gave her a sad smile. “Thanks guys.”

The Atrium of the Southern Wind was a tall chamber that was open beneath the ceiling so the wind rushed through. Though open to the air, it let little light in, so when the opened the door the chamber was flooded with light.

There was a single person inside, shielding his eyes as the new light greatly outshone the small candle he had been using. “I told you, Miki. I’ll take a break as soon as I finish transcribing this. Codebreaking is easier than reading Monk Chaiyun’s handwriting.” He was significantly younger than the other Restorationists they had seen. He also seemed to be wearing a strange white fur hat.

Katara and Sokka instinctively stood in front of Aang, who chuckled. “It really was bad.”

The Restorationist’s head shot up, causing his hat to fall off with a startled squeak. “You’re not-How did you get up here?” Then he shook his head. “That’s egotistical, we got up after all, sorry.” he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

Katara and Sokka felt their stomachs twist. Iroh had said his nephew had been scarred, and they though they had understood what that meant. They had seeen plenty of scars on the men of the village, life at the mercy of the ocean wasn’t kind. Almost all members of the tribe has some scars, from light gashes on fingertips struck with fish hooks, to the broad slash across Chinuk’s chest from when he’s been hit with shrapnel from Fire nation cannons on their last raid.

Nothing they imagined prepared them for the burn covering most of the left side of Zuko’s face. It was like someone with a flaming hand grabbed it and held on. Knowing it was his own father who’d done this, who wanted to do this, sickened them.

Aang’s attention, though, was on his ‘hat’. “Is that a lemur?” he asked, delight entering his voice for the first time.

Zuko smiled. “Yeah. I gave him some food and he’s stuck with me ever since. Do you want to give him some food?”

“Do I? Aang excitedly asked.

Zuko reached into a satchel and pulled out some berries and handed them to Aang. Aang offered them to the lemur who sniffed, then grabbed one, scootign away to eat it.

“I don’t suppose you have some meat in there?” Sokka stared at the satchel longingly. 

“No, but I feel you though. We don’t bring meat to the Temples since the Air Nomads were vegetarians and we don’t want to disrespect them. But I miss it too. I do have some Rabbiyak cheese though.” He reached into the bag and handed a soft yellow wedge to Sokka.

“Good enough!” Sokka grabbed it and shoved it in his mouth, practically melting in joy. 

Katara laughed, both at her brother and her friend, who now had the lemur climbing over him. “You made a new friend, Aang?” Zuko perked up “Aang? You were named after Avatar Aang?”

“Avatar Aang?” Katara asked, thanking the Spirits that the Lemur was on Aang’s face, so Zuko didn’t see his reaction. 

“The last Avatar we have any information on,” Zuko explained. “He grew up in this very Temple. The last piece of information we have on him was that he was going to the Eastern Air Temple. We don’t know if he made it or not though.”

He didn’t. But neither of the siblings wanted to tell anyone from the Fire Nation that, not matter how much goodwill that cheese had bought from Sokka.

Sokka swallowed the last of the cheese. “Iroh said the cache in here might have some lost knowledge from our Tribe?”

“Oh he did?” Zuko looked surprised. “You’re from the Southern Water tribe? I mean, you’d have to be, we don’t have anything from the Northern.” He opened a stone chest next to him. It looked normal from the outside, but opening revealed a strange shape to the interior, as if there were teeth withing the lid. Zuko pulled out multiple scrolls, which he handed to the siblings.

Sokka opened one and was surprised to find a message within stating that this scroll was a reproduction, and described what the original scroll had looked like, from the type of parchment and ink used, to the carvings on the handles. The scroll itself contained information on building a rigging system for a ship.

“Are there Fire Nation Scrolls in here?” Aang asked, the lemur curled up on his head as it had been on Zuko’s.

“Yep.” Zuko scowled, which looked even worse with his scar. “Seems each Firelord does their best to wipe out a culture. Sozin launched the strike on the Air Nomads. Azulon pretty much destroyed all Fire Nation culture that couldn’t be used to prop up the war. So like, the Fire Festival is still on, because ‘Rah Rah Fire Good’, but the Festival of Rebirth, which centered around sowing the fields with ashes to benefit crops was struck from records and history books because it was ‘too Earth Nation’. A vast majority of our culture just...gone.” There was no hiding the bitterness is Zuko’s voice. “And despite the Earth Kingdoms being the single greatest force of Resistance, Ozai’s been obsessed with the Water Tribes, so I guess that will leave Azula with Earth.”

“If they don’t get stopped.” Sokka pointed out.

“I hope so.” Zuko sighed. “If the rest of the world would band together, they could have been stopped a hundred years ago, but too many keep saying ‘not my problem’ till Ozai’s armies are at their doorstep. Everyone keeps saying stuff like ‘If only the Avatar would return, but he’s just one man? Or woman. Like, sure he can bend all the elements, but you just need four people for that. Maybe try to work on stuff yourself rather than rely on one person???” 

“You don’t think the Avatar can save the world?” Sokka asked, eyebrow raised. Sure he like how easily Zuko admitted to the Fire Nation needing to be stopped, but still...

Zuko shrugged. “It’s less I don’t think he can and more...I guess I don’t feel he should have to, I mean, the Fire Nation is about the size and a half of Ba Sing Se. It wouldn’t have stood a chance if all the Earth Kingdoms gave a United front against it in the beginning, much less both Water Tribes assisting.  But only a few Kingdoms and the Southern Tribe did more than protect their own borders. It just doesn’t seem fair to put it all on one person.”

Thank you Aang thought. He wasn’t ready to admit who he was to the Restorationists. In fact, he would have been happy if no one had known. But Zuko saying it didn’t all have to be on his shoulders...no one but Gyatsu had told him that.

“This would mean so much to the Tribe.” Katara said softly, looking at a scroll describing building elaborate structures from ice.

“Would if be better to get the original or copies?” Zuko asked.

Katara gave him a look that was just shy of a glare. “What do you think?” “Depends on how quickly you need the information. We always put originals in the closest cache to where we find them. Like this Waterbending scroll-” Zuko opened one. “-we recovered from pirates in the Earth Kingdom. You can tell from this marking that the original is in our cache in the Fuxai ruins.” He pointed to a small green emblem at the top of the note explaining it was a reproduction. “That’s quite a distance from here. So if the goal is to get the information to your tribe as quickly as possible, it would be easier for me to get a few hands and copy all we have. We’d probably be finished by this evening, which means you could leave to return with it as soon as tomorrow morning. However if it’s important is the cultural history, it makes more sense to get the originals, even though traveling to all the caches would be months worth of work.”

“Oh,” That was...well thought out. It occurred to Katara this may not have been the first time the true owners  of what the Restorationists recovered had come claiming what was theirs.

“Do you think you could do both?” Sokka asked seriously. “Make the copies now and, since we’re going on a journey with Aang, we can swap out the new copies for originals if we pass by.”

“Certainly.” Zuko smiled. “And it gives me a convenient excuse to take a break form trying to decipher Monk Chaiyun’s script for a little while.”

“One question though. If you thought you could be done by tonight and it was important, why would we wait till tomorrow to leave?” Aang wondered.

“And the others say I’m reckless.” Zuko rolled his eyes. “You guys just scaled the mountain. You know how dangerous it is to navigate in broad daylight. In the dark? Even I’d call it a death trap.”

“Actually we don’t. We flew in on my flying bison.” Aang explained.

Zuko froze, then looked at Aang as though he was seeing him for the first time. “A...a real...you really are a...” His mouth opened and closed several times. “Can I see it?” he finally said, then buried his face in his hands as thought that wasn’t at all what he’d wanted to say out loud.

“Sure!” Aang rose to his feet, wind swirling around him. Zuko gaped openly, but followed the monk outside to where they’d entered the temple from.

Zuko hadn’t been the only one interested in Appa. A large group of Restorationists were staring, albeit from a good distance away.

“This is Appa. He’s been my best friend since we were little.” Aang introduced.

Zuko stared in wide eyed wonder. “Can I touch him?”

“Sure, Appa’s friendly. Aren’t you?’ Aang asked, as if expecting the bison to answer.

Zuko tentatively reached out  and touched Appa. He stroked it for a few minutes before impulsively hugging Appa, burying himself in the white fur.

“He’s so fluffy,” Zuko proclaimed in a muffled voice.

Katara laughed and even Sokka smiled. “Still not sure on the rest of them, but this Fire Nation guy’s alright.”

Katara smiled back at him, and at Aang, who was eagerly showing Zuko the best way to pet Appa. Yeah. This one was okay.

[17mounteens]

Kicking ball (Seungcheol)

Request:

Hii! Can I request a fluffy best friend scenario with S. Coups and a tomboy reader (I hope you don't mind) in which they're, idk, just chilling around playing football or something (you can decide!) and then later while they're just talking, they tell each how grateful they are for having each other and that they'll always have each other's back and stuff. Something like, slice of life? I'm sorry if this goes against your rules or something! Looking forward to the new set of scenarios!! <3

» You’re playing football with your best friend Seungcheol, which ends with talks about how happy you are to have one another in your lives.

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With summer ever so slowly turning into fall, the weather remaining warm yet not hot, you and your best friend had decided to enjoy a slightly cloudier - the slightest bit more fresh - day by playing football, or at least play with a football. It was something you both really enjoyed, and what you had actually bonded over to begin with, and with a series of hot days and busy schedules, you hadn’t really gotten the chance to play together for a long time.

It was with a smile that you packed your backpack, just making sure you had a towel, wallet and other simple necessities, and grabbed your football before leaving your home. While walking to the field you had agreed to meet Seungcheol, you moved the ball from hand to hand, and upon reaching the large park the field was in, you began walking while kicking the ball lightly, treating it as a warm-up of a kind.

Having fallen deep into thought, you shrieked when you felt hands on both of your shoulders. “Gotcha!”

“Seungcheol, what on earth,” you groaned quietly, stopped your ball with your foot and turned to look at your best friend, who merely looked at you with a bright grin. You punched his shoulder lightly. “Haven’t we talked about this?”

“I couldn’t resist,” he snickered, and was quick to steal your ball. “You should’ve seen your face!”

Seungcheol ran to the football field with your ball, laughing heartily all the while, and you rolled your eyes with a grin spreading to your lips, too, as you ran after him and swung your backpack next to his on the grass on the side of the field on the way.

The two of you easily fell into the activity of kicking the ball into one of the goals, sometimes in turns and sometimes making it more fun by simply stealing it from each other while also catching up and talking about whatever you’d wanted to share with one another and wherever the topics led you later.

Time passed, and with the sun still fairly prevalent in the sky and the warm weather in general, the two of you eventually worked up a good sweat, and with that came thirst - and the realization that you’d both forgotten the most important thing: hydration.

Panting, Seungcheol nudged his head towards the grass where you had left your bags, leaning against each other’s. “Wanna take a break?”

Tapping your sweaty forehead with the wristband you had on, you grinned and nodded. “The last one is buying drinks.”

While Seungcheol took a second to process your words, you had already dashed to your bags, and ended up winning him. He laughed when he reached you again, and shook his head with a wide grin on his face while digging his wallet out of his backpack. “What do you want?”

“Just get me whatever you’re getting,” you hummed and stretched a little before contently lying down on the grass, having spread your hoodie a little to lie on. Seungcheol, on the other hand, jogged to the nearby convenience store, and soon he returned with two drinks - not matching.

Before you were able to say anything, he chuckled and opened his own. “I know you really like that one, I couldn’t just not buy it.”

“Of course,” you snorted and opened your drink while Seungcheol sat down next to you on the grass. Smiling to yourself, you nudged him lightly. “Thanks.”

He gave you the gummy grin you’d grown fond of, as the mere sight of it was able to make you feel like things would eventually fall into place. Seungcheol then got an almost teasing glint to his eyes. “Just for the drink?”

His question sent your mind way back to how you had first met; how he had joined you in kicking ball after a school day back in high school, despite not even going to the same school as you. It had been and in a way it still was beyond you how he had so comfortably taken your ball when you’d kicked it a bit too far, and casually joined you - and how natural it had felt for you to play with him even though he had been a complete stranger.

From there on you’d played together every now and then and got to know one another well in the process, and somewhere along the way the friendship had really deepened, and you became best friends.

“For everything,” you hummed with a shake of your head and slowly moved your gaze to the park where the football field was located. “For always lending me a shoulder, helping me keep my mind on what’s important and, I don’t know, keeping me on track.”

Recalling some of the times he’d had to be a bit harsher on you in order to get you back to your senses, as well as the times you’d both helped one another when the other was vulnerable, Seungcheol nodded. “I’m thankful, too.”

“Who would’ve known we’d end up here just because you couldn’t resist kicking a ball,” you snorted quietly, and Seungcheol laughed heartily at your comment.

“Wasn’t my plan either, but I don’t regret any of it,” he noted with a warm smile that practically reached from ear to ear. “Thanks for not pushing me away.”

“Why would I have? The only time I considered my choices was when you turned out to really enjoy your hugs,” you laughed and took a sip of your drink. Then, you grinned and quirked an eyebrow a little at Seungcheol. “You also realize that you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon, right?”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t, and it goes both ways,” he grinned, and with a warm look in his eyes, looked into your eyes. “I’ll always have your back, Y/N.”

“Likewise, Seungcheol,” you smiled brightly, and as though you were getting too mushy, stretched out a little. “Think we should go back to play a little? I feel like I still want to score a few times.”

“You can try,” he said challengingly, but was right up for it, and it wasn’t much later that you had returned to the football field, trying to beat one another in your amount of scores as well as showing off the tricks you could do with the ball.

Even while playing, all you could think about was how incredibly lucky you had been to find a best friend like him; someone who accepted you just the way you were, enjoyed being with you and made sure you knew that, too. You had quite likely never felt as safe and comfortable with someone as you did with him, and for that you were grateful.

Even if being his best friend meant receiving the sweatiest hugs like now, after he’d successfully done a trick he’d been practicing for a while.

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Admin Scooter

[goodomensblog]

Afterward - Part 14

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a scene.

At the end of each scene, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes after the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13

(#1 won! Crowley is off to investigate!)

Afterward - - - Part 14

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

Scrolls jut from towering shelves, a canopy of yellowing paper arching overhead. Crowley strolls beneath, jar of Hellfire tucked under his arm.

The painted Bentley is flaking, an echo of the colorful fresco it had undoubtedly been, once upon a time. Nowadays, Heaven is pale, sterile, and sprawling. The decorations of old had likely been purged with each of Heaven’s remodelings. All, it seems, but this one here.

Crowley stops short in front of the mural. Tilting his head, he studies it, tentative fingertips tracing curling edges of paint. The Bentley is painted in hues of black that long ago faded to shadow grays. From beneath it’s wheels, brush stoked flames crawl. The pale, peeling flames encircle the vehicle, climbing in and out of the windows. The car is painted as if it is emerging from a wall of fire. And beyond that - the mural is obscured.

Eyeing the dark shelves, Crowley places his hands on cool wood. Bracing, he gives a single, solid push.

It scrapes effortlessly over marble, and the mural uncovers, inch by inch. When the wall is clear, Crowley, wiping sweaty palms on his pants, steps back.

The mural is - broken. 

Entire patches of it have worn away, a likely combination of age and neglect. 

In one corner is the flaming Bentley. Above it and slightly to the right, half of an electric scooter drives along; it’s hunched riders are ghosts, little more than pale outlines amidst peeling paint. Nearby, a boy stands, blue jacket billowing, flaking golden paint encircling his head. His small hand is raised. 

The scene is hauntingly familiar.

Narrowing his eyes, Crowley strolls along the mural, tracing his hand along rough paint. Slivers flake and fall, drifting like snow upon the marble floor.

The mural is ruined and peeling in the areas immediately surrounding the boy. Beyond the stretch of pale wall, the mural choppily resumes. Rendered in harsh strokes, a red-eyed being claws its way from brutal cracks in the earth, black mist rising. Patches of paint are worn away, and when the mural resumes, Crowley’s fingers are running over the blood mad eyes of Hell hounds, who are painted with their heads thrown back in grimacing howls. The sky above them is red.

The mural goes patchy again, but Crowley’s pretty sure he can make out the whitewashed gates of Heaven, and -  huge, clawed and pale fingers curling possessively over it’s top.

“Hm,” Crowley says, giving the clutching hand a once-over. “That doesn’t look good.”

Nearly the entirety of the remaining mural has fallen into ruin - except for a splash of paint at the end. Or, more specifically, two splashes of paint. Clear, crisp white and rich, velvety black collide in a crash of colors.

Upon closer inspection, Crowley notices that there are figures within the splashes. 

Squinting, Crowley leans in, and realizes the vaguely shaped beings within are reaching toward one another. Where their outstretched reaches touch, a rainbow of color blossoms. Beneath, nearly entirely erased by time an age, precise black lettering spells: Bilanx.

“Balance?”

What does it mean?

Before Crowley has much of a chance to consider, the room rumbles, rocking. Crowley stumbles back as scrolls, tipping from their precarious stacks, begin to tumble down around him.

Alright then. Crowley thinks, giving the mural a last fleeting look. Time to go.

Clutching the Hellfire under one arm, Crowley charges the stairs. This time they cooperate, and he’s out of the Hall of Records and back to sprinting across the atrium in moments. In the marble hallways, the lights have faded to a barely-there glow and are flickering rapidly on then off. 

Crowley takes corners at a full sprint, shoes skidding on the smooth floors.

He’s relieved when he sees Gabriel’s doors are still closed. If something had come for Aziraphale, Crowley reasons, they wouldn’t have taken the time to close the door after themselves.

Crowley flings the suite doors open.

“Angel!” he calls, striding in. “I got the-”

He stops.

The room is silent. And bare.

No, wait. Not entirely bare. A small, dark shape is curled, motionless on the couch.

Not daring to breathe, Crowley pivots, looking over the room.

“Aziraphale?”

Silence is his only answer.

He crosses the room, shoes sinking into the infuriatingly plush carpet. 

“Aziraphale? Where are you?”

Clutching the Hellfire to his chest, Crowley turns in a small circle.

The lump on the couch hasn’t moved. Lifting his glasses, Crowley squints.

“Beelzebub?”

The Lord of Hell is curled in on themselves. Beneath them, the couch is soaked in dark, stale blood. Their face, leeched of color, is partially obscured by black, matted hair.

“Shit,” Crowley curses, hopping over the coffee table.

Gripping the demon lord’s shoulder, Crowley pulls them onto their back. They roll, limp, head lolling back.

Cursing under his breath, Crowley gives their shoulder a shake.

Nothing.

He shakes a little harder.

Still nothing.

“Oh come on! Wake up!” Crowley hisses, and gives them a rough, abrupt shake.

Chapped lips part; Beelzebub heaves a low, jagged breath.

“See? Knew you hadn’t kicked the bucket,” Crowley says, breathless, and sinks limply down on the table’s edge.

“You….have the Hellfire?” Beelzebub rasps, squinting a tired, pale eye open.

“Got it right here,” Crowley says patting the lid, “And I’ll happily use it to patch you up right as soon as you tell me where in Heaven Aziraphale-”

“Your angel left,” Beelzebub says, breath rattling between words. “We felt the...thing. And the angels started….screaming. He waited....but the screams got louder and louder….and then screams turned to pleas….and your angel begged my forgiveness,” Beelzebub adds with a dry, bloody chuckle, “then left.... to try to save them.”

Crowley surges up, jar of Hellfire loose in his grasp. 

“When? Beelzebub, how long ago did he leave?”

“...ten minutes...I’d say. For a few minutes now….it’s been silent.”

Crowley straightens. Fingers, only slightly trembling, shove his sunglasses higher on his nose. He has to go. Now.

“....you’re going to leave me, aren’t you?” Beelzebub, rasps, their pale eyes cool and discerning. “At least….leave me the Hellfire….to give me.... a fighting chance.”

Crowley can feel his pulse down to his fingers. Jaw clenched, he looks down at the jar.

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

Aziraphale has gone to help the angels, and is presumably facing off against whatever the thing is that has broken into heaven. Crowley has returned with the jar of Hellfire, to find Beelzebub still alive - but inching closer to death with every passing moment. Desperate to follow after Aziraphale, but with Beelzebub’s life hanging in the balance, Crowley makes the difficult decision to...

Stay just long enough to heal Beelzebub with the Hellfire. Crowley can’t stand the thought of Aziraphale facing danger without him….but as much as he wants to rush after Aziraphale, Crowley can’t ignore the feeling that leaving Beelzebub to die is wrong. He may be a demon, but he’s never been a monster.

Go after Aziraphale, but leave Beelzebub with the Hellfire so they can at least try to heal themselves. Crowley will never forgive himself if something happens to Aziraphale. He knows it is wrong to leave Beelzebub without helping them, but he is willing to be a monster, just this once, if it means potentially saving Aziraphale’s life.

Piggy-back Beelzebub and heal them on-the-go. Crowley is a demon of many talents - multi-tasking being one of them. As a firm believer that one can absolutely have their cake and eat it too, Crowley decides he will immediately go after Aziraphale WHILE healing good old Beelz. What could possibly go wrong?

Please comment or reblog to vote! :) Thanks for reading!

Part 15

[sukiandthemarauders]

FIRELIGHT (Zuko x OC) P

word count: 1,164

warnings: no warnings :)

a/n: This is my first atla fic and I had to make it about Zuko bc I’m in love with him (I’m also falling for sokka). This is purely for my entertainment, but I’d love for anybody and everybody to read it and enjoy it as much as I do <3 The beginning will talk about the backstory, but most of it will take place after the comics!

Chapter 1 ->

Masterlist

___________

Prologue

________

Destiny is not a very difficult concept to understand. Your fate and the journey that leads to it is decided by the universe from the beginning— whatever it is that you were destined to do. The hard part to understand is the ‘why’ in the midst of destiny’s process. Why were you going through these hardships? What did you do to deserve this? When would you be rewarded? How would your life turn out?

Now that was the hard part.

And as Kailani resided in the gardens of the Southern Air Temple, throwing the disc of air she bended aimlessly around her as she lied on her back, she wondered what exactly she did to deserve what destiny had in store for her so far.

“You know, you’re my only friend here. All of the monks think I’m going to disgrace our culture, none of the air nomad boys talk to me because I’m the only girl in the temple, and I was never allowed to choose my own air bison.” Kailani said as she turned her head to face the companion she spoke to, only to stare into the brown eyes of Appa as he let out a loud groan. “Even if you can’t actually talk... and are borrowed.”

Appa let out another loud moan causing the girl to nod her head, and stop throwing her air disc around.

“I know! If I had my own air bison, you two could definitely be best friends!”

“Appa, there you are!” Kailani’s gaze snapped towards the new voice that sounded, and found the small figure of Aang—one of the air nomad boys—running towards the enormous bison, and launching himself onto the furry forehead. Aang smiled with his eyes closed as he relished in the softness that Appa offered. “I’m starting to think you’re the only person—sorry, I meant bison— that gets me. My friends don’t even want to air scooter with—oh! Hi Kailani.”

The young monk’s eyes had opened, and had caught sight of the older girl before him. He offered her a small, almost awkward smile and waved his hand, which she returned.

“Hi Aang.” Kailani spoke softly before tilting her head curiously. “Why don’t your friends want to play with you?”

Aang let out a deep sigh, and plopped down onto to ground, leaning his back against Appa. “Well, ever since I found out I was the avatar, they say that I’d be an unfair advantage to whichever team I’m on.”

Kailani frowned. “You may be the avatar, but you’ve only bended air... just like them.”

“I know!” Aang said while splaying his arms out dramatically. “But I guess I understand where they’re coming from. Now I really only have Appa and Monk Gyatso.”

Kailani shrugged before flicking her wrist to create the air disc she was previously throwing around. “Try having nobody, and only a bison that isn’t even mine to talk to. At least for you it’s because you’re powerful.”

“I think the reason nobody talks to you is because you’re intimidating. Not in a mean way, but your like three years older than me, the only girl in the temple, and well...” Aang trailed off as he scratched the back of his neck, and felt the blush creep up on his cheeks. “...you’re really pretty.”

And she was, although not that she flaunted it, for she wore her humble yellow and dark orange clothing. Kailani had the signature grey eyes of an airbender, but instead of the fair skin tone that everybody else in the temple had, hers was a light brown color—only a few shades lighter than her hair. Her eyes came from her mother, an Air Nomad nun of the Western Air temple, and the rest of her looks were inherited from her Water Tribe father. It was because of the fact that she was of two countries that she was lonely—almost discriminated.

The air nomads were incredibly peaceful and open minded, but it was Jesa—Avatar Kyoshi’s mother— that had ruined it all for her. Jesa was an Air Nomad nun who had fallen in love with an Earth Kingdom criminal, and unfortunately she decided to join him in his illegal activities, thus disgracing herself along with the Air Nomads. Because of the woman who had betrayed her culture over two centuries ago, the monks feared that Kailani would do the same, being the product of two nations, and they refused to give her the master tattoos, along with the opportunity to bond with an air bison of her own. Instead, she was sent to the Southern Air Temple which was only occupied with boys, to be away from her mother who remained in the west.

“Yea, but I’m still just a girl who wants friends.” Kailani mumbled. Aang slumped his shoulder and let his downcast eyes drop to the floor.

“I’m starting to understand that now.” Aang said quietly before looking back to Kailani with a hopeful expression. “How about Appa and I be your friends?”

The girl raised an eyebrow. “Appa was already my friend.”

“Oh right.” The avatar said while scratching the top of his head. “Well, I can be your friend, too...?”

Kailani let her lips break out into grin. “How about you teach me that air scooter.”

Aang beamed, and immediately jumped to his feet with a childish excitement shining in his eyes. “Great! First, you form a ball, and then you have to...”

It was only the beginning of their friendship—two outcasts that had banded together—but Kailani quickly learned to see Aang as her little brother who she would protect: her only family. The two were best friends, which was why Aang had begged Kailani to join him and Appa as they escaped the Southern Air Temple, not wanting to be sent to the East and away from Gyatso. And as a terrible storm hit them while they flew over the sea, the two airbenders and the bison found themselves tumbling into the dark water, and only seeing a glimpse of a brilliant blue light before being encased in ice for one hundred years.

Of course, they didn’t feel the slow burn of time.

The next thing they knew was that two Water Tribe kids had found them, and the world was thrown into a raging war instigated by the Fire Nation for the past century while Aang, Kailani, and Appa were trapped. The two Water Tribe kids, revealing themselves as Katara and Sokka (the latter who was the same age as Kailani) joined the airbenders on their journey to help Aang master all four elements, and were later joined by an earthbender named Toph, a Kyoshi warrior named Suki, and the Fire Nation Crown Prince Zuko. Together they defeated Fire Lord Ozai— although those were only the first of their adventures—and together, led by Avatar Aang, were on the path to bring peace and balance to the world.

But little did she know that this was only the beginning of Kailani’s destiny.

Chapter 1 ->

[annabeth541]

wip wednesday

thank you for the tag @merisalright !!

i had to take a little break from writing bc i was burned out, but here is a new part from my voltron fic! once i finish this, i have a snowbaz fic and a zukka fic i really want to work on, so look out for those haha

“If we really knew each other on Earth, everything could have been so much different,” Lance murmured, finger tracing patterns on the couch. Keith was still several feet away, shoulders and back tight and rigid. 

“Better?” 

“No, not better. Just different.” He rested his hand in the space between them, palm facing upwards. An invitation. “I would have taken you on dates on our free days. We could have gone into the city and eaten ice cream and rented hover scooters. I would have taken you back home to Florida during break and we could have shared a room and stayed up late talking. I would have taught you how to surf.” He was only looking at Keith out of the corner of his eye now, enough to see the look on his face. His eyebrows were drawn together, mouth fallen open into a little “o”.

Keith’s fingertips brushed his. 

“I- I could have taken you for a drive on my hover bike,” Keith offered and Lance felt something squeeze his heat because Keith was trying, he really was, and that meant more to Lance than anything. 

“Yeah?” He whispered, moving his hand forward until it was completely under Keith’s palm.

After a moment of hesitation, Keith wrapped his fingers around Lance’s.  “Yeah,” he said, more firmly. “We could have gone out into the desert at night. Seen the stars.”

“I would have liked that.” Lance tangled his fingers with Keith’s. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest. 

Keith finally released some of the tension he had been holding, face almost relaxing into a smile. “Me too.”

hopefully i can finish up this fic pretty soon :)

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

What Might Have Been - 19

@goodomenscelebration - Themes

Quite a lot has gone up! Read all chapters on AO3!

Still trying to post as many as I can but my computer is going wonky. The final 2 may have to wait for the morning (and then a break as I write more - it’s outlined, I swear!).

(CW: cliffhanger that I’m not resolving tonight! we are overdue for a POV switch)

(Also CW for Aziraphale being injured)

For those who missed the previous sections, “Kasbeel” is the name Aziraphale is traveling under. He is in an alternate universe, and the AU Aziraphale is not nice.

Stars

Kasbeel landed on the far side of Milton Keynes and hummed his wings. They would hear it, even at this distance, but it would take his godchildren some time to find the parking lot. Time they didn’t have.

He set Alex down beside the glass doors of the enormous steel building. They didn’t slide open automatically, but few things worked anymore. “I’m going to need to leave you here while I gather the others,” Kasbeel explained. “I believe there is a café of some description inside. See if any food survived the last seven years, you should know what to look for.”

“Ok,” Alex glanced nervously at the nearly-black sky. “They…the angels aren’t coming back, right?”

“I don’t know.” A metal fence ran beside the walkway, each pole twisted and rusted through. He picked out one that looked mostly solid and snapped it free. “If anyone tries to bother you, hit them with this repeatedly and scream as loud as you can.”

“Yes, sir!” Alex grinned, taking the metal rod.

“Oh, and as our people arrive, let them know they’re to gather at the covered area over there.” He pointed right. “I will return shortly.”

As he turned away, a wave of nausea – exhaustion – overtook Kasbeel. He ignored it, wiping more golden blood from his forehead. Not yet. Not yet.

--

Two hours later, Lyla stood just past the covered walkway, watching Kasbeel return from the dark sky. He flew much lower than he usually did, though he only carried Sofia. He stumbled as he landed, but carefully placed the nine-year-old girl onto the ground. “That’s…that’s all I could find.”

“Inez is still missing,” Lyla said. “And Ravi.”

“No, they were with me,” Sophia said, tears in her eyes. “Angels got them. They told me to hide under a car and…it worked…”

“That’s everyone accounted for, then,” Kasbeel said. She’d never realized an angel could look so pale. “Seven taken. I…I’m truly sorry…I did my best…”

Lyla pulled his arm over her shoulders and he leaned on her, heavily. “Look, you need rest. Why don’t you find someplace to stay for the…the night…” she glanced up at the blue-black sky, cinder sun still well above the horizon. Stars were already coming out. “We’ll be fine here.”

“No. You won’t.”

A murmur ran through the crowd. Ella was gesturing at Lyla to bring him over, several others were talking to Mickey. Some of the looks shot towards Kasbeel were grateful. Most weren’t.

“I think…I think they’re going to have some questions for you.”

“Ah. They saw him. I’m surprised I was able to keep it secret as long as I did.” He pushed himself upright. “Do you still trust me, Lyla?”

“I…don’t know. Should I?”

Instead of answering, he shuffled forward, resting his hands on the railing. “I suppose you’ve all heard by now.” A hush fell over the gathering, and his weakened voice seemed to carry, reverberating through the air. “And I want to tell you…it’s true. I am Aziraphale. Angel of the Eastern Gate, Principality of Earth. But not this Earth.”

To Lyla, it was just a rush of voices; she couldn’t make any sense of the shouts. But he just nodded as if he heard every word. “You’re right. It doesn’t make any sense. I fell through a – a hole in the sky, and I wound up here. On my Earth, none of this happened. We stopped the Apocalypse. No, I was barely involved. The humans stopped it, mostly.” He looked around the crowd. “I don’t know why that didn’t happen here. But I am…truly sorry for everything you have suffered.”

Another roar from the crowd, backing away, pulling the children from him. “This isn’t a trick!” He lost his balance for a moment, almost bending double over the railing. “What would I have to gain? The Guardian…the other Aziraphale…he could have taken all of you…”

Lyla stepped up beside him, rested a hand between his wings. “Kasbeel…I mean, A – Aziraphale…perhaps you should go. We can find our way to London from here. It’s only another week, maybe less.”

“You won’t make it!” He pointed to the sky. “The sun is already being extinguished. Next the moon, then the stars will fall – three days at most, almost certainly less.” He looked around the crowd, struggling to regain his composure. “I don’t know if you’ll be safe there, I don’t know if anywhere is safe, but…I will get you there. I promised.”

“How?” she demanded. “You’re half-dead and it’s forty miles away.”

“My dear Lyla. Don’t you know where you are?” He gestured around the enormous parking lot, towards the oversized vehicles left abandoned by the covered waiting area. “This is a bus station.”

--

Aziraphale leaned against the largest bus, trying to catch his breath. Not that he needed to breathe, but it really shouldn’t hurt this much to do so. He was only bleeding from a few spots, but he suspected the damage was worse than he’d originally thought.

He didn’t know what would happen if he discorporated here. So, he would simply have to do his level best not to.

Lyla stepped off the bus, shaking her head. “Well, it’ll only fit about seventy-five people, but you’ll be lucky if that many are willing to let you drive them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I never learned to drive.” He shifted, pressing a hand against his ribs. “I’m going to fly it.”

“Fly it?” She glanced down the length of the bus, about seventy or eighty feet, several tons of steel. “Is that…something angels can do?”

“Well, I managed it once.” He smiled as confidently as he could. “Er, with two bodies on a scooter. But the principle is the same, and if I can replicate the feat, we should be in London in, oh, a matter of minutes. And across that energy barrier. I believe I know how to cross it.”

Lyla leaned closer, running a finger over the cut on his forehead. It stung, in a strangely bright way, causing stars to flash across his vision. “Fine. Is that something you can do? You look like you’re in a lot of pain.”

“I am.” He grimaced. “But my friend is in worse pain.” He could still hear the screams from the video. How long had Crowley been screaming? “I will see you all safe, and then I will rescue him and…”

“And what? You just told me the world ends in three days.”

“Well, precisely.” He smiled, trying to make it more hopeful than he actually felt. “Plenty of time. Once Crowley and I start working together…”

His eyes fell on the moon, just past first quarter, rising above the horizon. It was red as blood.

“Everyone on the bus.”

No one moved.

“Please. I promise I will get you there.”

Ollie started to walk forward, but Mickey grabbed his hand and pulled him back.

“My friends…” He pushed himself to stand up straight, ignoring the flashes of light at the edges of his vision. “No. I suppose I can’t call you that. If I were really your friend, I would have told you the truth from the beginning. But despite that, you trusted me. For nearly three and a half years, you’ve followed me, and I tried to keep you from danger.”

He shuffled forward, and the crowd pulled back slightly. “I know. I failed. We lost seven people today. I’ve led you, without supplies, without shelter to Milton Keynes of all places. But I won’t abandon you here. Let me lead you, one more time, to safety. And then you can…you can all leave, and spend what time you have left as you wish.”

Silence settled over the bus station.

“Wow. You know we don’t care about any of that, right?” Alex stepped forward still holding the metal bar. “Look, can that freaky double read your mind?”

Aziraphale blinked. “Er. No, not in any meaningful way.”

“Can he sense where you are?”

“Not at all, I should think.”

“The first time, he stood as close to you as I am now,” Lyla remembered. “Never even turned his head.”

“Alright.” Alex turned and waved to the crowd. “You heard them. Everyone on the bus.” And immediately, two hundred and seventy-three humans surged forward, filing quietly onboard.

“That’s…why…?” Aziraphale stared after them, at a loss for words.

Alex stepped next to him and scoffed. “You really think we didn’t trust you? Come on, Kasbeel, have a little faith.”

--

It would have taken much more than a miracle to sit that many people comfortably. They sat in each other’s laps, stood in the aisle and the doorwells, pressed as tightly together as the human body allowed. Someone even attempted to ride in the loo, but quickly abandoned that idea.

“I imagine this is how it feels to ride the Underground,” the angel commented, looking for a button that might start the bus.

“So if you never learned to drive,” Lyla asked, pressed against the back of his seat, “and you never rode public transport, how did you ever get anywhere? Flying?”

“Heavens, no. Crowley drove me.” A pained smiled fought across his face. “Ah, this must be it.”

He pressed the button.

The engine revved, and kept revving, several octaves above its usual pitch.

The bus jolted, pressing two hundred and seventy-four humans (and one angel) even closer together. Several in the aisle would have fallen from the change in balance, except there wasn’t even room to move.

“Right. Everyone hold on to…something!”

The whine of the engine reached a level humans couldn’t even hear.

And the bus shot forward.

The speedometer topped out at 150 mph, but they accelerated past that in the first seconds.

--

All along the M1, abandoned cars vibrated, bits of rock trembled in the still air.

A flash of blue-shifted light, shaped something like an inter-city bus, streaked past ten feet above the ground, vanishing in a blaze of red against the star-speckled sky. Five seconds later, anything on the motorway that was still flammable spontaneously ignited.

By the time the sonic boom arrived, the bus was nearly to London.

--

“What’s that? Is that it?” Lyla leaned over the angel’s shoulder straining to see through the windscreen.

“I hardly think that could be possible, we haven’t been driving for two minutes.”

“But we’ve got to be going nearly the speed of light!”

“My dear child, no. That would be dangerous.”

“We wouldn’t have passed that quickly if it was London,” Mickey pointed out. “Looked like a couple of warehouses.”

“There! That’s it!”

“No, that’s a service station,” said Mrs. Sherwood, somehow managing to stand despite carrying a child on each hip. “Used to be where you’d stop to put petrol in the car.”

“Oh. Hey,” Lyla leaned forward again. “Do we need petrol? Because if it takes more to drive fast, than we’d probably run out—”

“Lyla, please!” The bus lurched upwards, dodging above an overpass. “I am trying to break the laws of physics here, I do not need distractions!”

“Are we there yet?” called a child’s voice.

“Yes, yes!” Lyla slapped his shoulder. “There it is! A city! Just ahead! London!”

“No, that’s too soon…”

“I see a map!” Mickey pointed to a pocket on the side of Aziraphale’s seat.

“Got it!” Lyla leaned down to grab it at the same time Mickey did, cracking their skulls together. “Ow! Come on, I’m the navigator here, I should get to read the map.”

“Who said you’re the navigator? Navigator’s the one who calls—”

“Shotgun!” Alex squeezed between them, elbowing Mickey hard in the stomach. In a flurry of paper the map spread between the teenagers, showing the whole of England.

“Right. London’s over here, isn’t it?” Lyla jabbed with a finger.

“Don’t you even know how to read? That’s Sheffield!” Mickey traced a finger across the endless squiggles. “London is…here. And we’re coming down this road, so that’s…Luton! We passed Luton.”

“Wonderful,” the angel said, jaw tight. Lyla suddenly realized the strain he was under – his forehead broken out in a sheen of sweat, the cut on his forehead dripping golden blood again.

“Are you going to make it?”

“I can…keep this up for hours,” he assured her, though his smile wasn’t very convincing.

“Hey, Kasbeel?”

“Is this important, Alex?”

“I think so.” Alex’s voice was much more subdued than normal. “I think one of the stars just fell.”

All eyes turned to the windscreen, at the stars that filled the sky between the grey sun and the blood-red moon. Ahead of them, Arcturus trembled, broke loose, and streaked down towards the horizon.

The bus accelerated.

--

Aziraphale was nearly gasping, bent over the wheel, trying to hold everything together. He had to think of everything, the shape of the bus, the bodies inside, the air – humans needed air, this wouldn’t work if it all pooled at the back. The edges of his vision were already fading dark, and still the stars, Crowley’s stars, fell from their appointed places.

But there, ahead, the strange heat-haze glow of the M25, the demonic sigil surrounding London, sealing everyone in. “Ha,” he said, too tired to actually laugh. He could just make out beyond it – the fields still green, still lit by a sun he couldn’t see, the towers of the city rearing high. The rumors were true. The city was safe.

As he had seven years before, Aziraphale concentrated on the counter to the sigil Odegra, which would allow him to pass across the barrier unharmed.

Nothing happened.

“Who has the map?” His hand reached frantically towards the children behind him. “Someone! I need to see the map of London!”

Paper hit his hand, and he tore his eyes away from the road just long enough to look at the shape of the M25, the crooked ring looped around London.

It was a demonic sigil.

It was not Odegra.

It wasn’t anything he recognized.

Different Earth. Different Crowley.

“Oh…fuck,” Aziraphale said weakly, as the bus careened at full speed into the wall of light.

--

(Is that cliffhanger enough? Also, can you believe that I nearly went straight to London after “Miracle”? Look at EVERYTHING we would have missed! Quick shout out to @angel-and-serpent who suggested having the sigil NOT be Odegra. Surprise! I don’t think this was what you expected.)

[ladyoutlier]

A Demon’s Demons

In which Hell reunites Crowley with his Falling pains.

[Read on AO3] | [Read My Other Fics]

Prologue

In the deepest pits of Hell, below the torture cells and the mail room, existed a hallway that had been forgotten for longer than the Earth’s existence. Back when Hell lacked design and it was only a plane of fire and brimstone, this hallway was one of the first structures the Fallen created through their agonizing pain and scorched beings. As their wings burned and their chests collapsed with hollowness from their lack of Grace, the hallway came into existence as a way for them to rid themselves of the pain. They could hardly stand as a threat to Heaven when so horribly crippled from their Fall.

So the hallway became endless and gained many rooms that branched from it—one for each of the Fallen. And in these rooms, each newly born demon ripped themselves apart, tearing their Sins from their being. The Fall became a memory, moving into the past rather than living with them in every second of the present. The pain was gone, and the Fallen could live again.

Their Sins remained in their rooms behind doors with a thousand locks that were boarded up with a hundred planks. Left to the depths of Hell to be forgotten as the place of horror built on top of it for the next six thousand years. However, it was not gone. It merely continued to stir below the floorboards, waiting for someone to return. And after the End of the World was thwarted, someone who had never quite forgotten the hallway did return.

The hallway was dark and dusty but far from silent as Lord Beelzebub, accompanied by their right-hand demon Dagon, walked down it. Even through all the precautions, the doors rattled angrily as the Sins demanded to be freed. There were not a lot of things the Lord of Flies feared. Board meetings with Satan after particularly low months were one. A demon immune to holy water was another. And the Sins of a past better left forgotten were the most feared of all.

Still, one does not rise to Beelzebub’s position without the ability to press on in the face of fear, and so they walked on, footsteps echoing down the hallway barely audible above the smashing and banging of an army of Fallen’s Sins. The way forward and the way back were both consumed by darkness as the light flickered ominously above the two demons as they walked. Unlike the Sins, the dark didn’t trouble them. Those of Hell were all too familiar with it.

Beelzebub stopped before a door and gestured to it. “This izz the one.”

Dagon, Lord of the Files, looked to the door. A glowing signature that rather resembled a cursive letter ‘J’ burned above it. The door shook, and the chains barring it shut rattled. Dust puffed from the door’s seams as the Sins slammed against it from the other side.

“Shall I open it?” Dagon asked. “There’ll be no getting them back in there once it’s opened.”

“We may not be able to destroy Crowley, but that doesn’t mean we have to do him any favorzzz. If he wishes to live on Earth, let Earth have all of him.”

Dagon nodded and produced a crowbar. Board after board began to fall, clattering to the ground in a racket that was still drowned out by the noise of all the Sins. As the barricade weakened, the Sins behind the exiled demon’s door grew increasingly aggressive, pounding harder and more frequently. An eternity of waiting was coming to an end.

As the last board fell, Dagon’s crowbar became a key, and the locks and chains began to clatter to the concrete as well. There were still about ten locks on the door when the Sins busted it open. The dark spirits they embodied soared out from the crypt of a room in a frenzy. 

The hallway, although it was as deep in Hell as it could get, froze over. Screaming far too high pitched to be heard brought a chill to the hallway’s only occupants. Not from the cold, but rather from the distress of the Sins. They were only held together by the knowledge that those particular Sins tearing about were not their own.

As the Sins fully grasped their newfound freedom, they gained direction and skyrocketed down the hall, eager to return to the being they haven’t seen since the Fall. He wouldn’t be hard to find. Long ago, they had been one after all.

Dagon and Beelzebub were left in the hallway alone. Although the Sins of every other demon remained behind all the other doors, this one spot in the hall had become eerily quiet. Yet, without the presence of the Sins, both demons felt more at ease.

“It izzz done,” Beelzebub began. “For his sake, I hope the betrayal waz worth it.”

As the Sins piloted their way through every layer of Hell, the demons occupying them all felt a rather uncomfortable shiver down their spines. As one might imagine, this was hardly a normal occurrence. An uncomfortable demon was as much an oxymoron as a faithless priest. Something quite devious had occurred, and all the Fallen of Hell were glad they weren’t on the receiving end of it.

Only God could make an angel Fall from Heaven. To Fall from Hell, on the other hand, required a whole lot less divine intervention as Crowley was soon to find out.

*

Chapter 1: Sharing Secrets

Meanwhile on Earth, an angel and a demon that had chosen humanity over their respective head offices were taking a nice after-dinner stroll through Green Park to where the demon had left his Bentley. They had many conversations over the years stemming from humanity’s true nature to the brain mass of aquatic animals. On this particular day, they were talking about their favorite decade of human culture.

“‘Course the mid-1800s were your time, angel. You haven’t updated your wardrobe since then.” Crowley eyed Aziraphale’s outfit and smirked. “Me though? Big fan of the 1960s.”

“The youth did become rather rowdy during that time,” Aziraphale replied, tearing off a piece of a leftover dinner roll to throw to a duck crossing their path.

The warm summer air was beginning to cool for the year, and this evening was a prime example of that. Although something else entirely might have been bringing the chill to Green Park on this night. Something that was currently racing down Piccadilly as they spoke. Regardless, it was a beautiful, romantic evening, and many couples could be spotted sharing body heat on the sporadic benches along the walking path. 

Crowley very much wanted to share one of them with Aziraphale, but he shook that thought out of his head. There was one thing about the 1960s not at all related to human culture that he really didn’t like. One specific event in 1967 that keep him from moving too fast on those thoughts.

“Only you would describe the turf war between the mods and rockers with a term as mild as rowdy.” Crowley rolled his eyes with a shake of his head. “Oh, loved the chaos both sides brought about, although never could decide who had the most style.”

“Which side wore the suits? Found that to be a bit more charming than the leather jackets,” Aziraphale asked, wrapping the remainder of the roll in his handkerchief and tucking it into his pocket.

“The same side that rode scooters instead of motorbikes, so they lost any points they gained from attire there. I mean, really? Scooters? Who ever looked at one of those and thought that was the best way to get around?”

“Madame Tracy’s was a bit on the slow side. We would have straight up missed Armageddon had I not taken things into my own hands.”

“Exactly! The things have always been useless.”

“Seems like there were benefits to both sides then.”

“Why I never chose a side myself. Wanted the best of both—”

Crowley was harshly interrupted mid-sentence as a part of himself he abandoned over six thousand years ago finally caught up to him. He came to a complete standstill, and Aziraphale took a few more steps forward before looking back at him.

“Crowley, dear, are you alright?”

The demon stood petrified in place, mouth agape, as if he had just been shot through the neck which, in essence, he had been. He sputtered out a series of syllables which essentially translated into nothing before clutching his chest and falling to his knees.

Needless to say, Aziraphale panicked. His eyes went wide, and he ran up beside the demon and kneeled down to him. He clutched Crowley’s shoulder with one hand and his face with another. “Crowley, Crowley. Look at me! Oh, Heavens above. You have to tell me what’s wrong!”

The demon jittered rather irregularly. His sunglasses fell to the ground, revealing that his eyes were darting about in a similar fashion. Merely two words escaped his lips. “Holy fuck.”

Aziraphale gave up on holding Crowley’s shoulder, deciding instead to use his hands to cup Crowley’s face. “I’ve never seen you in such a state. Please, try to calm down. Take a breath. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on!”

“T—thought we all had forgotten about that.” A smile briefly flashed over Crowley’s face before falling back to distress. “I mean, I did. Until now that is.”

“You’re going to have to elaborate a bit more on that. Forgotten what?”

Crowley took a few breaths, slowly regaining his composure. The pain seemed to be subsiding.  He pulled Aziraphale’s hands off his face. “Not—not here. Let’ssss just get sssomewhere more private.”

A few onlookers began to crowd. One lady, looking to do more than gawk, came up to the two. 

“Is he alright?” she asked Aziraphale.

“Fine. Peachy.” Crowley answered for him. “Mind your own businesssss, lady. C’mon, angel, let’sss go before we attract a crowd.”

Aziraphale did not correct him that is was indeed just him that was gaining attention, and instead helped the demon to his feet. Crowley marched off in the direction he parked, and Aziraphale turned to apologize to the woman. However, neither did Crowley get that far or did Aziraphale get out his apology before the demon let out another garbled yell and fell back to the ground.

“Do you need me to call an ambulance?” The woman asked.

Crowley ignored her. “Aziraphale, just get us out of here.”

“But with all these people watching?”

“Who caresss? They’ll write it off as a group hallucination. I can’t—not here.”

Aziraphale blinked his eyes, coming back to grips with how dire the situation was with Crowley sprawled out in pain on the pavement. Yes, this called for quite the miracle despite how many witnesses were about. “Yes, alright. Very well.” 

He snapped his fingers, and both he and Crowley disappeared from Green Park and appeared back at the familiar Soho bookshop. The demon growled and pounded the floor with his fist. Aziraphale, once again, went to his side to aid him.

“Crowley, please tell me something. You’re worrying me sick!”

“Worrying you? That’s the issue? Want to swap placesss?”

“Gladly. If it would at all help you!”

Crowley was silent. He looked down to the floor, huffing out heavy breaths. Once again, he seemed to be at a pause in the pain. It was almost as if—

“Well, aren’t I lucky?” the demon sneered.

“What do you mean by that? You aren’t answering any of my questions, Crowley.”

“J—just stay here. Don’t go anywhere, okay? I’ll tell you.”

“Of course, dear. I don’t plan on leaving you alone when you’re in such a state.”

“Yeah, well, yeah,” Crowley fumbled. “Listen. To put it briefly, Hell’s reunited me with all my Sins, and it’s rather painful.”

Aziraphale straightened up. “Reunited? I didn’t know it was possible to separate.”

“Demons have been doing it since the beginning. Falling hardly felt like warm, summer days and cool breezes. Left most of us unable to do much of anything. So we lobbed off the part causing the pain and moved on.”

“I see…”

“And Hell just handed me a box full of the things on my desk, and my Sins were right on top.”

“Why are you not then…” Aziraphale gestured with his hand. “...crying out now like you were a moment ago?”

Crowley made a rather strange expression. He cocked his head, curled his upper lip, and squinted his eyes which were still certainly visible due to his sunglasses being left behind in the park. A dozen or so words formed from his mouth before he landed on one. “You.”

“Me? What about me?” Aziraphale became rather flustered. “How could I be influencing this at all.”

“You have an, uh, angelic aura. Whole Falling pains revolving around us, well, y’know, losing that.”

“Oh.” The angel’s eyebrows furrowed, and an introspective look took over his face. “So, quite literally, my presence comforts you.”

“Yeah, I guess you could put it like that.”

“In that case, I won’t leave your side until we get all this sorted.”

Crowley’s eyes widened, and he babbled for a moment before pulling himself back into a neutral, less readable appearance. “This isn’t going to be as easy as you think.”

“Well, I’m involved either way. If I’m going to stay next to you to keep you from being distressed, I might as well provide my assistance in any other way possible as well. We’re in this together. Our own side, remember?”

“Using my own words against me, huh?”

“It’s only what you would do.”

“And since when did you start acting like me?”

“Oh, 1601 after I lost a coin flip with you, I believe,” Aziraphale said with a smug grin which became more serious as he returned to the topic at hand. “What exactly are the difficulties here? You were separate from your, um, Sins before. Can you not separate again?”

“Few issues with that.” Crowley stood up, feeling like himself with Aziraphale near. “Nowhere to box up the Sins once they’re out, and we wouldn’t even get that far. It’s a messy process. Removing them, that is. Highly doubt this body would survive that, and unless Adam’s handing out more, I’d be shit out of luck considering Hell’s not going to be keen on giving me one. You know, since they put me in this situation.”

“I see how that makes this tricky.”

“Tricky. Yeah, just the word I’d use.” Crowley rolled his eyes.

“We’d have to find some sort of get around, or an alternative solution.” Aziraphale gestured for Crowley to follow him and began walking to his backroom. “If you didn’t experience the pain, there would be no reason to go through the separation process. As we’ve discovered, my aura neutralizes it, but if we could find a way to cancel it out without my presence being necessary, you could simply continue on as normal.”

Aziraphale paced about his backroom. In all sense, having this conversation here rather than in the storefront made no difference in terms of privacy. The shop had been most definitely closed while they were out for dinner. Rather, the angel simply had a better time thinking clearly in this room. It had been where Crowley had talked him into thwarting the Apocalypse, and it was where he had studied Agnes Nutter’s book. If an idea were to strike him, it would be here.

“Are you just pondering out loud, or is this leading somewhere?” Crowley asked, taking a seat. “‘Cause I have absolutely no clue how to do what you’re suggesting.”

“Well, you could atone for them.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no. Yeah, uh huh. Sorry, no.”

“It is how humans overcome their own sins.”

“Yeah, but not human, am I? And I’ll tell you, there was plenty of trying that right after the Fall.”

“Perhaps, that was too soon. The meaning wasn’t there yet.”

“Wasn’t there yet? Oh, if you were anyone else, you stupid bastard.”

“Crowley, please calm down. I didn’t mean any offense by it. I’m only trying to find a way to help you.”

“No. I’m not—I’m not having this conversation. About atonement. About the Fall. None of it.”

Crowley stood and made an effort to leave the room. He got about as far as the doorway before the distance became too great, and he found himself gripping the doorframe in agony. Aziraphale took his arm, and despite his best attempts to shake him off, the angel’s persistence won out and he was returned to the couch. They were both silent as Crowley slowly relaxed.

“I know this is beyond personal,” Aziraphale began. “It’s why I haven’t asked once in the six thousand years I’ve known you. I always thought that if you wanted to tell me, you would. But I’m afraid that’s a luxury neither of us can any longer afford due to our current predicament and this information’s relevance to it. I enjoy your company quite a lot, dear. However, I think we would both quickly tire of the companionship if we could never travel further than ten steps from one another. And I’m your friend, Crowley. After all we’ve been through, you can tell me anything. So please tell me, what did you do to Fall?”

Crowley continued to sit hunched over from his place on the couch, showing no signs of having heard anything Aziraphale just said. Of course, he had. He just wasn’t sure how to react yet. If he had ever thought this conversation would be happening, he would’ve straight up avoided Aziraphale that day in Eden and on every day after. But it was too late for that, and now here the angel was asking something of Crowley he had never intended to give. 

He would do anything for Aziraphale and had made a point to show it back in 1941. Crossing consecrated grounds to avert a mere discorporation was crazy, yet he would have done it a million times over. Actions were easy. Aziraphale was the focus. Questions were not. Which was really funny to him in a not at all funny way. 

What Aziraphale wanted was something Crowley had been keeping to himself since, well, forever. It was impossible to give, but impossible hardly mattered when Aziraphale was involved. It was impossible for an angel and a demon to be friends. Yet, Aziraphale had said it himself. They were friends. And perhaps that mattered a bit more than keeping secrets. So Crowley decided to share a conversation only God and him had heard before. 

“Look, angel, I really didn’t mean to Fall.” He broke his statue-like stillness to look to Aziraphale. “Really just found myself in a mess I couldn’t get out of.”

They were only a few words that hardly went into the specifics, but they still revealed quite a bit. More than Crowley had ever let anyone else know. That was for sure. For one, that he really wasn’t all that into the doom and gloom schtick Hell promoted. Of course, Aziraphale had already come to this conclusion many, many years ago. A demon could hardly show as much good as Crowley had over the centuries without coming across as a bit less than thrilled with their current employment. Still, this was delicate territory, and Aziraphale definitely recognized that.

“What kind of mess exactly? Would you be willing to tell me the story? Your version of it that is.”

Crowley looked up to the ceiling and bit the interior of his cheek. They were bad memories, and he’d much rather bury them in the back of his mind than share them to rot in Aziraphale’s instead. He didn’t want the angel’s pity or worse, his disappointment, but he had already decided to commit to this.

“Listen, before I tell you any of this, you have to remember that this was a different time,” he began. “Things like betrayal and hate and evil didn’t really exist yet. Wasn’t obvious like they are now. This is what made those things exist. So there’s good reason I didn’t see any of them coming.”

“I’m not going to judge you, Crowley.”

“You say that now.” The demon let out a sigh. “Really this whole mess of horrible events started with a chat with a soon-to-be Satan.”

[Chapter 2]

[whitebutterfly16]

My Close Friends Suicide. My Devastating Story.

Part 1

You don’t fully realize how much a person has impacted your life until they’re gone. Completely gone from the face of the earth, knowing, you won’t see them in a very very very long time. 

I will be referring to my friend as (he). 

Two weeks ago on a Wednesday night around 6:00 pm, my team and I were getting ready to preform at a school event. My teammates arrived at different times (this was not unusual). Throughout the time of us preparing and stretching the last of the girls were coming in. We were all having fun, talking about normal teenager things blah blah blah you get it. Sooner than later it’s 10 minutes before the performance begins, one of our teammates doesn’t arrive and we freaked out because if he did not show up, we’d have to change our whole routine. We waited a little longer. He did not show up. At that point we were all upset and quite nervous because there was only 5 minutes left to change the routine around. 

I believe that us humans have a 6th sense that helps us realize when something is off. That night, I felt it. 

He would ride his bike or electric scooter to school and to practice, and I knew that he never would wear a helmet. In the back of my mind as I was learning the (new) routine, I feared he had been run over by a car or had fallen down (because this had happened to him before). I texted him asking him if he was okay. He did not respond. 

After the performance, I got home, showered, then went straight to bed. I knew from the bottom of my heart that something was not right. A). He never ever missed any practices or performances without telling us. B). He never wore a helmet. I could not stop worrying about him, I just couldn’t; so I texted my friend to see if he had answered her. He didn’t. I texted my boyfriend that night around 1:00am telling him I felt like something was wrong with (him), that I was worried about (him). He told me that nothing was wrong and to go to bed. So I did. 

The next morning, I woke up, and for some reason it was extraordinarily hard for me to get out of bed. My body felt heavy, my chest felt as if there were a bag of rocks on top of it, and my eyes were burning. That whole morning felt very depressing and odd, never like anything I’ve experienced before. I genuinely felt  as if I woke up in an other dimension. 

3rd period ends and a mandatory meeting for all the staff members was called. This had never happened before. At first I thought there was a school shooting threat or something (thanks America). Us students had to wait in the quad for half an hour. Very, very strange. 

I got to 5th period (block schedule), my teacher hands me a pass. I thought it would be another “meetup with your counselor because it is part of their job” kinda thing and got annoyed because I didn’t want to miss class. The pass ended up being to a conference room. As soon as I realized it was the same pass my other teammate got, I knew... I knew something was going down. 

We went inside the room, that dark, hideous room. There was one long oval table and about 12 chairs. My friend and I sat at the very front. 

An older white man comes inside, introduces himself, and tells us to wait for the other girls to come. I asked him why we were there and he just told us to wait for the other girls. After was seemed like 5 minutes, my teammates came in, crying, hugging one another, hugging me... really..really tight. 

I started to panic, asking where he was. Asking over and over again were. he. was. No one answered me. 

Administrators came in, settled down, and told us all the news. 

My friend had taken his own life Wednesday night, his father found him in his room. 

I remember shaking uncontrollably, genuinely believing that I was in a dream. A nightmare. I broke down into tears, and I was yelling. Telling them it’s wasn’t true, they were wrong, they were all so fucking wrong.  

We were all in tears, shock, fear, confusion, denial and hurt. 

That day, was the worst day of my entire fucking life.   

[timetrickster]

Living W/ Immortality: Episode 2: The Return Of The Madness

CUT TO:

NEXT DAY. MORNING

FINN is walking to school.

LUCIAN/ NARRATOR (V.O)

And we’re in act 2 of our story. Now… where were we? Ah! Our dual-faced soon to be dumbass was frightened by his first experiences of pain, idiot. He is yet to meet his dark old fool of a mentor and the other two immortals morons.

The song “Vertigo” by Raphael Lake. FINN is silent while walking to school.

ERIN (V.O)

Are you okay? It’s alright if you’re not.

FINN is still silent and doesn’t respond.

ERIN (V.O) (cont’d)

Finn, say something.

FINN

WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY?!

(He screams loudly and breathes heavy in anger)

ERIN (V.O)

Calm down, it’s okay.

FINN

It’s not okay! Everything, that happened yesterday. Being stabbed and cutting my own hand, feeling pain for the first time. It was freighting, I never expected this to ever happen in my cursed life and look what happened! Something normal happened.

ERIN is silent now.

FINN (cont’d)

I’m sorry.

ERIN (V.O)

It’s okay. We can figure this out later.

FINN

Thank you.

Without noticing, a STRANGER follows FINN. He brandishes an article of full black clothing with a black trench coat. FINN stops in his tracks for a bit and gets serious in the moment. FINN pauses the music. Stop the music at, “Why’d it end so soon.”

FINN

You see him too right?

ERIN (V.O)

Yup.

FINN

Random stranger, a black trench coat. Kidnapper, you think?

ERIN (V.O)

Most likely, it’s obvious because that entire outfit spells out “You want some candy?”

FINN plays the music again at Verse 2 and continues his walk while ERIN keeps an eye on the STRANGER. FINN keeps walking till the end of Verse 2. The situation gets tense when the STRANGER suddenly appears right next to both of them.

STRANGER (ACHERON)

Hello.

Chorus of the song plays. FINN out of sheer panic gives the STRANGER a couple punches to the gut and face. He then makes a run for it, running past random people in the streets. He turns around to find the STRANGER looking back at him. ERIN takes over suddenly. He runs at the STRANGER about to attack.

FINN (V.O)

Erin stop!

The STRANGER attempts to grab him by the arm but ERIN manages to throw more punches at his gut releasing him from his grip. The song stops once FINN’S body suddenly stops moving and hits the ground.

INT. FINN’S MIND.

FINN pulls back ERIN and both end up in an empty space of darkness. With a light looking above them in a circle.

ERIN

What the hell?!

FINN

We can’t fight him! We don’t know what he’s capable of!

ERIN

Screw being cautious! I’m tired of you wanting the peaceful way.

With the two of them arguing, Neither FINN or ERIN was in control. FINN realizes this at the last second, the STRANGER is seen kneeling down in front of them.

STRANGER (ACHERON)

We need to talk.

He reaches his hand onto FINN’S shoulder. They both teleport to a different location and are sitting on a bench.

STRANGER (ACHERON)

Take your time kiddo. It’s not like I have nowhere to be.

FINN looks at ERIN and he nods in responses. FINN walks into the path of light showing the outside images. He awakens and back into his body. He holds a fighting stance and the STRANGER doesn’t react. He simply motions him to sit.

FINN

For a kidnapper, I expected to be in a dark room or a van or drugged.

STRANGER (ACHERON)

Sorry for not living up to your expectations…  But to clarify, I am no danger to you or the person I can see floating about in your brain. I’m only here as a counselor.

FINN

A counselor?

STRANGER (ACHERON)

Yup and I know you and the other one are immortal.

FINN & ERIN were stunned by the statement.

STRANGER (ACHERON)

I’ve met my fair share of immortals and you both are one of the youngest ones. It’s my job, as a counselor to immortals, eternals, whatever you damn please call yourself.

FINN

There are others like us?

STRANGER (ACHERON)

Oh, yes, many immortals, but recently the Big Man Upstairs decided only three immortals can roam the Earth.

FINN

Just who are you?

STRANGER (ACHERON)

You’ll both figure that out one day. Just call me Acheron.

FINN

Alright, Acheron. Why are you here?

ACHERON

Well, like I said I am a counselor. I’m also here lawfully bound to inform you both of the rules of your immortality given by the Man Upstairs.

FINN

Is there a field trip?

ACHERON

Yes, there is. You’ll learn how your immortality works and you will meet the other two.

FINN

Oh… cool, love a good field trip. I just have a question?

ACHERON

What’s your question?

FINN

Is there a way to take away my immortality?

ACHERON

That’s an interesting question… I have no clue.

FINN WHAT?!

ACHERON

Kid, I’m a primordial being with the main job. This is part-time gig and immortals are born whenever which literally takes years or you and the other two die.

FINN

Jeez, sassy much?

ACHERON

Again, primordial being, watching every being in the universe is a difficult job.

FINN

Oh dang, sorry, it’s just that my powers had gone crazy the other day and I’m curious if there was anything that could affect it.

ACHERON

All your questions will be answered on the field trip to Fortune Valley, meet in Chinatown.

FINN nods as a response.

FINN

Fortune Valley?

ACHERON

There are places in this world, humans without magic or without creature status can’t see. This one is in Chinatown.

FINN

Crap, that’s far from home.

ACHERON

If anybody’s got information, it’ll be the Knowledge Dweller who we’ll meet.

(He looks at his watch)

I have to go, my main job is calling. I’ll meet with you at Fortune Valley, once you get there whenever. I’ll keep my eye on you.

ACHERON gets up from the bench and walks away.

FINN

Wait!

He says as he gets up from the bench. Stopping ACHERON and looking toward FINN.

FINN (cont’d)

Can you bring me back to school? Ya took me to Waipahu and the last time I was here I ran into a group of kids who for some reason had a pink scooter, a shopping cart, a chicken and a red balloon.

ACHERON looked at him with a face that was about to say, “What The Fuck?” He snaps his fingers and they instantly teleport back to Campbell High.

FINN

Thank you.

ACHERON

Oh, forgot to mention.

FINN turns around and ACHERON throws a blue jewel attached to it, and FINN catches it.

ACHERON

Protection charm. Should keep your immortal scent hidden away. I really have to go… I’ll see you both around.

He disappears into a cloud of smoke and FINN looks at the charm in his hand.

ERIN (V.O)

Was it just me… or did he say hidden?

FINN

Yeah, he said hidden…

ERIN (V.O)

You think we can trust him?

FINN

Probably, but the field trip means information and that info could actually help us understand all of this.

FINN closes his hand and walks toward school.

CUT TO:

CHINATOWN AT NIGHT.

Night has fallen and FINN had snuck away from home. His headphones are in and playing the song, “Sorcererz” by Gorillaz. He takes a bus to Chinatown. Shows a montage of him on the bus, bobbing his head, moving from seat to seat, sleeping. He ends up at Chinatown’s East Gate, where two Guardian Lions had stood.

FINN

Well, here we are.

ERIN (V.O)

Alright, let’s hope Acheron shows up before we get robbed.

FINN

Right…

He notices two other people nearby, a boy and a girl. It was ATHENA & TAVEN. FINN attempts to hide but they both notice him and confront him. Sorcererz stops playing

TAVEN

Finn? Is that you?

FINN

(awkwardly)

Hey, Taven, Athena…

Song stops and FINN takes off his headphones placing them around his neck.

ATHENA

What are you doing here?

FINN is nervous and doesn’t know what to tell them. Not wanting to reveal his secret of his everlasting life. He struggles to make an excuse but blurts out a random word.

FINN

Drugs?

ACHERON shows up in that puff of smoke frightening everyone in company.

ACHERON

Ah, you’re all here.

FINN becomes shocked at the fact that his friends are actually the other two immortals in the world. ACHERON moves past him and whispers some strange chant. A portal opens revealing a world different from their own. Red skies were floating in the air and they had entered a place full of exotic creatures. The three kids looked both amazed at what they see before them.

ACHERON

Welcome to Fortune Valley. Lovely place. Now, let’s find the Knowledge Dweller.

FINN/ERIN, ATHENA, & TAVEN follow ACHERON into Fortune Valley. As they walked through the magical town, they passed by different creatures alike.

RANDOM KAPPA

Cucumbers for sale! Freshly stolen from the local farmers!

RANDOM KAUPE

Fresh human organs for sale! Just lured away and ripped apart fresh!

ACHERON leads the three young immortals to what looks like a library.

ACHERON

We’re here.

The enter the library and find a simple mid 50s Chinese old man near a desk.

ACHERON

Wan Shi Tong, hello old friend.

WAN SHI TONG

Acheron…  I’m guessing you’re here with the newborns?

WAN SHI TONG looks at ATHENA, FINN, & TAVEN.

WAN SHI TONG

Interesting, one flourishes in life and this wanders through death. But the two in the middle, they walk in time both light and dark. Fascinating… you know what to do.

ACHERON

Understood. Come on kids, time to learn the rules.

ACHERON leads the three to a room, with a table and a few seats and a mirror in the back.

ACHERON

I have some business to attend to. You three know what to do.

He disappears in his cloud of smoke and the three look at the book.

FINN

Well, let’s do this.

TAVEN

Did Wan Shi Tong know about our powers?

TAVEN looks toward ATHENA

ATHENA

Acheron says he’s a Knowledge Dweller, whatever that is. He must know many immortals that have our powers.

FINN steps into the conversation.

FINN

You guys have other powers too?

ATHENA

I’m able to control plant life.

TAVEN

I can change into a ghost. What powers do you have?

FINN

Accelerated probability, semi-telepathy, enhanced condition. I haven’t even developed any time powers.

ATHENA

What did he mean by the two? When he looked at you.

FINN sighs and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath and lets ERIN take over. His full physical features manifest.

ERIN

Hi, my name is Erin Nitty. The split personality of Finn. His immortal powers affected me somehow and well I became sentient and we’ve been like this since we were kids.

ERIN retreats back into the mind of FINN and takes over again.

FINN

So yeah…

ATHENA

So the times, you’ve been talking to yourself? That was Erin?

FINN

Yup.

TAVEN

Why didn’t you tell us?

FINN

People would think I’m crazy. Which I technically am, the fact that I have a Hulk in my brain… Can we just move on?

The three read the book, and each learns the rules of their own immortality.

TAVEN

Reliant immortality, their existence tied to an object, soul fragments, or even a person or concepts. So long as these things exist, the user can never die.

ATHENA

Multiple Lives, the user is able to become back to life after being killed or fatally wounded, giving them multiple chances to live. WARNING. User may be limited to a certain number of lives, be cautious.

FINN

Immortality… healing factor. Blah blah blah, know all this. If advanced enough, the ability will cause the body… granting immortality. Turn the page to find out the different levels.

FINN turns the pages.

FINN

Level 1… no. 2? No. 3… fuck no.

TAVEN

Finn? Read Level 7.

FINN reads the paragraph.

FINN

Level 7: Meta Regeneration. The user can heal from anything completely, even if there is absolutely nothing remaining of the body… No. No. No. No No! Why? Really?!

FINN looks at the paragraph in disbelief.

ATHENA

Are you okay?

FINN starts to freak out over this fact.

FINN

I literally can’t die. Even if there’s nothing left. I can heal from a metaphysical level of existence and think my injuries were all just a dream.

TAVEN

You want to sit down bud?

ATHENA

Yeah, you should sit down.

FINN does so and keeps his head down. With FINN’S face down on the table, he mumbles an unintelligent noise.

FINN

I have immortality figured out, I just haven’t figured out my emotions.

TAVEN

Well, maybe there are limitations too. There’s always a way around something, we can find out right now.

TAVEN grabs the book and looks up the weaknesses of FINN’S powers. FINN drags his head on the table and chair to their side of the table to hear the possible weaknesses.

TAVEN

Alright, Divinity… Emotional Spectrum & Self Judgement. An immortal with a specific type of healing can be weak to the Emotional Spectrum. Embodiments of specific Emotions. For example, Love.

FINN’S head raises up after hearing the word.

TAVEN

Falling in love with a non-immortal can result in a fluctuation of their ability, and possibly loss of immortality.

FINN

Serena…

He says under his breath. ATHENA seemed to hear him.

ATHENA

You love her, don’t you?

FINN looks at ATHENA, he simply nods and looks his head down in shame.

ATHENA Hey, don’t feel ashamed. There’s nothing wrong with loving someone. Especially Serena, she a great girl.

FINN

She makes me feel normal. Like my immortality never existed. I feel genuinely happy whenever I’m around her or when we hang out. She makes me feel mortal. And thank you.

NARRATOR (V.O)

Aw, that’s touching. An immortal boy falling for a mortal girl. Now entrance music!

All three of them here the voice talking, looking around to find the source. The song, “Return Of The Mack” by Mack Morrison plays all of a sudden. Shouting is heard from the main room. The three immortals investigate and see WAN SHI TONG being confronted by a gang of mythical creatures.

NARRATOR (V.O)

And so meanwhile our three immortal soon to be heroes are now listening to this new conversation of a turtle, a fox and an owl disguised as an old man.

RANDOM KAPPA

Where are they old man? The three immortals that walked through the valley.

WAN SHI TONG

I have no idea what you’re talking about.

RANDOM KITSUNE

You can’t hide them forever. He’s looking for them you know?

WAN SHI TONG looked at the KITSUNE with grave concern. He realizes who the two creatures were referring too.

WAN SHI TONG (cont’d)

Lucian.

LUCIAN (V.O)

Yes, old man me.

LUCIAN had appeared suddenly, dancing to the beat of the song. While also mumbling the words.

LUCIAN

Return of the mack… Return of the mack… don’t ya know. Return of the mack… here I go.

He was this average man glowing blue. His face was cracking like a porcelain mask. One eye was glowing while the cracked side showed darkness. He held his arms out as the song continued to play toward WAN SHI TONG.

LUCIAN (cont’d)

Wan Shi Tong, one of the last great Knowledge Dwellers of the Pantheon of Wisdom. You haven’t aged a day, old man. But anyway, let’s get on with what I’m after, I know that they’re here.

He snaps his fingers and the music stops.

WAN SHI TONG

You shouldn’t be here. Let me rephrase that. You should’ve been destroyed, your existence is a rule broken by the laws of Him.

LUCIAN

Aw. That hurts my heart you know.

He says sarcastically.

WAN SHI TONG

Your heart’s nothing but dust and sand.

LUCIAN laughs.

LUCIAN

Where are they? I just want them to join me on my crusade of creating a better world between us and them. If not, I can still take away their immortal lives and extend mines for another 300 hundred years. Like I did the last two… thousand? I usually forget that.  

WAN SHI TONG

Even if I knew you know I wouldn’t say a word.

LUCIAN

Oh, old man, that wouldn’t be any fun. Although a little blood and death didn’t hurt anybody.

WAN SHI TONG is silent.

LUCIAN/NARRATOR (V.O)

The great wise man was effortlessly fierce in protecting the newborns. Yet it was impending that I knew where they were. As they weren’t ready for the grand acts of heroism just yet. That was a finesse, that dear old Acheron didn’t bother to teach them!

WAN SHI TONG

Who are you talking to?!

LUCIAN

As of right now… a bunch of college students trying their best to voice the characters of this act. A professor who thinks how horrible this shit show is. And the one student who created this story, who has no idea what he’s writing at this point.

WAN SHI TONG

You still think you control this story, don’t you?

LUCIAN Haven’t seen any evidence to the contrary old friend.

He points to the door where FINN, TAVEN,& ATHENA were hiding behind

LUCIAN (cont’d)

Now, if you will excuse me I have to meet the newborns.

He walks toward the room. WAN SHI TONG now intensely worried, he transforms into a giant owl and dragonish hybrid. He creates this windstorm sending LUCIAN and his two hench-creatures away. He transforms back into his human form and rushes toward the door. He opens it, finding them behind the door instantly.

WAN SHI TONG

You have to go. All of you. He’ll kill you. There’s a mirror portal in the room that will take you back to the mortal world. Now there’s no time for arguing. Go!

ATHENA, FINN, & TAVEN run back into the room and find the mirror. TAVEN goes first, touching the mirror and instantly is grabbed and thrown in. FINN hold ATHENA’S hand and both jump through. They both land on the ground outside of the entrance to Fortune Valley next to TAVEN. They all groan in pain from the fall. FINN gets up first and picks up ATHENA then TAVEN.

FINN

Who the hell was that?!

ATHENA

Acheron never mentioned him.

ERIN switches in.

ERIN

Yeah, no shit Athena!

ACHERON appears before them, which then ERIN proceeds to grab him by his coat collar.

ERIN

WHAT THE HELL?! We almost died when you left!

ACHERON

I’m aware…

ERIN raises a fist quickly but TAVEN & ATHENA try to hold him back as best as they could.

TAVEN

Erin stop!

ACHERON grabs all of them and they disappear in a puff of smoke. Reappear on the hill with the benches,

ACHERON

It was him, wasn’t it?

TAVEN

(intensely worried)

You said there can only be three immortals on Earth. Why does he exist then?!

ACHERON

He was the first immortal. Guardian of peace between the two worlds. Years of endless living drove him insane.

ATHENA

Wan Shi Tong mentioned he started wars?

ACHERON

The Chronicle Wars, old and long forgotten wars between humans and mystics.

ERIN

Then why us?! Three kids who had no goddamn reason to do with any of this!

He screams at ACHERON.

ACHERON

Other immortals tried to stop him. He’s killed many and taken there lives and immortality. Only three were left, they stopped him. Imprisoned him, by suspending him in time.

ATHENA

Who were the last three?

ACHERON

(He is silent for a bit)

Life, Time, and Death.

ERIN

Which one are you?

ACHERON is silent.

ACHERON

Do you all really want to know that?

They are silent.

ACHERON (cont’d)

This is what I am called. I am called Azrael, Thanatos, Mors, and Four. I am La Calavera. I am also called Samael, and Shinigami. I am Keres and The Dullahan. I am Grim Reaper, Dark Angel, Pale Horsemen. I have as many names as there are winds. As many titles as there are ways to die. My parents are Erebus and Nyx, Darkness and Night! My siblings are Dream and Vengeance! My horse is the ashen! I am Death!

As his words were spoken, it was menacing, having echoed as he stood before them. The surroundings roared with screams and thunder. Causing the three immortals to look at him in such grand fear. A black smoke surrounds him like a cloak and his face had shown parts of a skull.

The awkward of silence fills the air.

ACHERON

Can we move on, please?

FINN switches in and nods with ATHENA & TAVEN in agreement.

ACHERON (cont’d)

Back to the matter at hand. Lucian… I never the return of the madness. But some things are inevitable. Has he seen any of your faces?

They all answer with a nod.

ACHERON (cont’d)

Good. You guys have time. I’ll work my way on covering your tracks. Just go back to your normal lives. This time I turned your protection charms on and keep them close, I’ll find you again.

He snaps his fingers and the three of them disappear in clouds of smoke. FINN is outside of his home and sneaks back into his room. He sits on his bed and contemplates his entire situation.

FINN

(Intensely Worried)

Erin? What do we do?

ERIN (V.O)

(Intensely Worried)

I have no fuckin clue.

Tags: @cometworks, @cookiecuttercritter, @coloursintheblur

[abdifarah]

Hotel Pennsylvania

Central Pennsylvania is weird. Homeowners string confederates flags as nonchalantly as Christmas lights. My mom, who moved to Central Pennsylvania against my protests, lives about ten miles from Spring Grove, PA, which we have to drive through whenever we visit my Aunt Darlene and Uncle Kenny right below the Pennsylvania–Maryland line. Spring Grove is a cruel joke of a name as the town perpetually smells of rancid cabbage. The smell emanates from the Glatfelter Paper Mill at the heart of the town. All the shops and services in the town either bear the Glatfelter name or use some corny paper pun in their signage. The old brick row homes that line Main Street have porches but no one sits on them. If you do see someone on the street they have an exhausted expression well beyond their years, perhaps from too many cigarettes, or possibly from years of hopelessly working at the paper mill. A cloud – both literal and spiritual – hangs over Spring Grove.

But there is another kind of small town in Central Pennsylvania. All the companies in this town are higher tech with little pollution to diffuse the sun. Power washed brick houses with immaculately manicured lawns line the small streets of Lititz, Pennsylvania. Voted the Best Small Town in America by AARP, every block has either an ice cream stand, or a guitar shop, or a quaint bed and breakfast. On any summer afternoon the sidewalks and streets are filled with happy people. Kids in their bathing suits weave through older pedestrians on Razor scooters. Fit and fresh faced adults in Tevas and Birkenstocks walk dogs, and still active older couples in Brooks Brothers hold hands while taking an evening stroll. It's the kind of town that takes the Fourth of July very seriously. Year round every house has the same 4 x 6 foot American flag fixed at the same 45 degree angle from a post of the white painted porches that wrap each facade, so as to clear up any confusion with one’s neighbor. “Oh, you’re American? I’m American too! What are the chances?” But around the Fourth somehow more American flags appear. They break out those pleated half-circle numbers with the concentric red, white, and blue ring with the star in the middle, and drape them over their porch railings. Little old ladies plant entire fields of miniature flags in public green spaces, in memory of fallen soldiers. (When exactly did the 4th of July merge with Memorial Day? Let there be no question, Lititz, Pennsylvania loves the troops. In Lititz the 4th alone cannot contain the fireworks, but anytime for about a week before and after you can expect to hear a random boom and see a starburst of red white or blue sparks in the sky.

Unlike Spring Grove, Lititz is thriving, bolstered by a constellation of steady companies offering both good paying blue collar work as well as more tech driven white collar jobs. There is a Rolex factory here. Lititz is what I assume Trump supporters envision when they pray Make America Great Again. Surprisingly, despite the overt patriotism and trappings of Americana, Lititz is not Trump Country. The cute coffee shops and overpriced bistros are populated by salt and pepper haired businessmen pissed that Trump’s steel tariffs are cutting into the bottom line, as well as woke college kids home for summer break shedding genuine tears over the separation of immigrant families at the border. Turns out a lot of white folks despise Trump as much if not more than us various minorities.

Despite the friendly faces and preponderance of liberal allies, my skin still crawls in this still uber-white small town. I am usually the only brown person in sight and while the eyes are kind I do feel all eyes on me wherever I go. I imagine walking into a dark divey bar in depressed Spring Grove and the proverbial record screeches and some grisled bartender asks acerbically, “What are you doing here!?” In Lititz the look on peoples’ faces asks the same “What are you doing here?” without the coldness, but rather with concern or surprise, as if to ask “Are you lost?” “How did you stumble upon our white oasis?” I come to Lititz regularly for work as a subcontractor for one of the big companies fueling the prosperity of Lititz, a company called Tait Towers. Most people will never hear about Tait Towers but they are ubiquitous. If you have gone to a big arena concert in the last 30 years you have seen their work, as they are the foremost supplier of decking and stage equipment for rock and pop concert tours. Anything sleek and shiny and automated that adorned the stage of that last concert you attended was probably Tait.  I get called in when they are working on something a little weirder, handmade, idiosyncratic. Over the years assisting Tait’s in-house Scenic Department, we have built a gold vinyl wrapped tiger and lion for Katy Perry, sculpted a 30 foot jungle Tree for Britney Spears, and created an ice crystal themed stage for Lady Gaga. Turns out the ladies of pop like hand made props to counteract their synthesized sound, for which me and my bank account are grateful. It's not the most avantgarde work, but the pay is decent. They put me up in hotel while I am there. For a while I had Hilton Diamond Status after a particularly long five month stay designing and building an inflatable tree for Cirque du Soleil’s Avatar themed show, Toruk. Strangely, I get asked to make a lot of trees.

This past Saturday I was leaving the local laundromat. My hotel has a washer and dryer but I still jump at any opportunity show my black face in town and mix it up with the townspeople. However awkward, I am a glutton for punishment. As I was turning the corner out of the laundromat parking lot I almost shocked myself into an accident as I witnessed a Chinese family on their porch within a row of houses. Where had these people been during those homogeneous 4th of July celebrations or during those awkward evenings I spent at the bar of the Bull’s Head, a local tavern? I suspected that there was a whole unseen community of minorities in Lititz. I remembered the handful of other black and brown people that worked at Tait. Why had I not seen this more diverse crowd during my daily coffee runs to the local bakery, Dosie Dough, or out walking their dogs or playing with their children in the evening? It seemed that the other people of color went to work, did their job, and immediately jetted home as soon as the day was done. Also, a lot of them probably chose to forego small town living in favor of the more urban Lancaster, Pennsylvania about seven miles south of Lititz.

After a few weeks in Lititz, I too found myself retreating to my hotel room after the work day. Should I go out for dinner for a little more ambiance or grab a drink at the bar with its potential for conversation. The pessimistic belief that I would be the only black person and the sole vessel to absorb the awkward stares proved exhausting. I would instead microwave an Amy’s Mexican casserole bowl for dinner and catch up on the last season of The Americans. At some point myself and the other people of color of Lititz made an unspoken pact with the white people of this sleepy town that we would do our jobs and go home immediately in order to perpetuate the belief that this was one of those ideal small towns, the kind that could be voted Best Small Town in America. When I imagine the best small town in America sadly I do not see a Chinese family, black welders, or even myself.

After years of coming to work with Tait I can confidently say that I hate classic rock. Tait is all about classic rock. The founder, Michael Tait, an Australian expat, got his start building stages for the band Yes in the 60’s. As an independent artist, my short stints with Tait represent my only times working in a real workplace with set hours. For years the shop was haunted by an omnipresent Muzak system that played classic rock incessantly. Everyday at around 4pm the Eagles’ “Hotel California”, a song written by Satan himself, would torment us. Working 10 to 12 to 14 hour days to meet a deadline, 4 o’ clock was our witching hour; too late in the day to bring any new energy or insights to the project, much too early to begin cleaning up for the day. The lyrics, “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave” taunted me, less because of their spot on description of my current predicament but more because they’re just stupid. Hearing the same “classic” songs day after day I realized the utter mediocrity of classic rock as whole. Just competently melodic enough to be easy to listen to, unlike say punk or metal (both far superior). Lyrically the stories ranged from completely meaningless, to embarrassingly infantile, to undeniably problematic. Somehow we decided that this was the American music, over jazz, blues, funk, and r&b. Classic rock will be playing on the space shuttle we board after we successfully destroy earth and it will be playing on whatever outpost we establish on the faraway planet we colonize.

Currently, I am working on a set of nine sculptures of Elton John that will array the proscenium arch above the stage for his upcoming tour. Overall, I enjoy this work. At least it is not another tree. And as far as pop music goes I dig Elton John’s music more than some of the other pop stars for whom I have made art. However, at the end of a long day sculpting his strange bulbous nose and thin lips for the seventh, eighth or ninth time I begin to sour a bit on Sir Elton. Elton John is 73 years old (probably older since, like most performers, I assume he gave a younger age when he started out) and we are building a stage for him for a projected three year tour that will net him millions of dollars. How many black artists or other musicians of color are still relevant and can sell out arenas into their 60’s and 70’s? Maybe Stevie Wonder? I can easily name 20 white (male) musicians. We already mentioned Elton John; how about Billy Joel, Bob Dylan, Paul McCartney, Bruce Springsteen, Paul Simon, The Rolling Stones, The Eagles, The Who, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Bon Jovi, Eric Clapton, Rod Stewart, Aerosmith, Sting, Ozzy Osbourne, Jimmy Buffett? I can keep going. Were these giants of rock undeniably better than their female contemporaries or artists of color working at the same time so as to secure an undying career into infinity?

I read in an article years ago detailing some of the financial troubles of T-Boz and Chilli of TLC, that they did not have much money coming in outside of the $1200 royalty check they received monthly. TLC was a group notoriously mistreated and shortchanged by their management and record labels yet they still had $1200 a month in royalties arriving like clockwork. I can barely begin to fathom what a group like the Rolling Stones receives in regular royalties. At any moment a Rolling Stones song plays somewhere on this blue planet. I hypothesize that the proliferation of classic rock around the world may be the biggest form of white welfare. According to the website, Inside Philanthropy, Jimmy Buffett is worth $550 million. He has one terrible song that he has somehow parlayed into a fortune! He is then free to spread that money among various causes or toward organizations like the NRA. Or take rock and roll’s running joke that the Rolling Stones, despite their hard living are somehow, immortal. While humorous and perplexing we all know the reason for these artist’s longevity. Being wanted, having work to do, being asked to perform, and the monetary and emotional support they afford sustains one’s life. I cannot help but feel that the melancholy that we collectively share when a giant of black music dies – Prince a few years back and Aretha Franklin most recently – stems from the understanding that despite their great fame and success their talent deserved more. They deserved Rolling Stones level treatment. Is there a better rock and roll song that Franklin’s “Respect” or “Chain of Fools?” I should have been in Lititz making nine life-size sculptures of Aretha Franklin and not Elton John.

The last time I arrived at Tait to work on a project I noticed the absence of the Muzak system. Every department now controlled their own music. Sometimes someone plays from their Spotify or Apple Music or we just put on the radio. Much to my chagrin and confusion, somehow the Freddy Kruger of classic rock continues to haunt me even with my mostly young coworkers choosing the music. Someone will mindlessly put on the “Beatles Radio” on Pandora, or WXPN, a Philly radio station, will have a “Throwback Thursday” traversing the entire discography of the Rolling Stones. One day during WXPN’s regular offerings (usually a mix of new rock with a few eclectic curve balls thrown every now and then) Childish Gambino AKA Donald Glover’s “This is America” came on (I too am surprised by the ubiquity of this song as I viewed it less as something to casually listen to and more as the multi-level artwork that I was initially presented with through its graphic video. But alas, the song bumps). Almost instinctively, without prompt, fanfare, or commotion one of my coworkers changed the channel. After hours of absorbing banal rock something mysterious sparked a station change. I tried to put this incident out of my mind. Soon after someone put on an Itunes 80’s playlist. Somehow 80’s music has come to mean “White 80’s”; Culture Club, Billy Idol, and all that other Breakfast Club, Top Gun, Say Anything music, completely omitting black acts, save titans like Michael Jackson and Prince. Surprisingly, a Janet Jackson song slipped onto this mostly vanilla playlist, but almost as soon as I started bouncing my shoulders and popping my neck along with Jackson’s “Pleasure Principle” someone calmly put down their tools, walked to the computer and skipped to the next song!

I work with genuinely good people. The same liberal minded white people that I would overhear furiously denouncing Trump in the coffee shop. But there was something unconsciously disturbing about a black voice coming out of the office speakers, and conversely something calming and reassuring about A-Ha’s “Take On Me,” which restored the stasis after Janet’s interruption. Was the promulgation of classic rock and other culturally white genres part of some conspiracy to entrench whiteness as the default and everything else an aberration? The truth was probably less insidious and more banal, but no less effective. Sometimes I’ll muster the courage to take over DJ duties and I will attempt to put on a more colorful station or playlist, but even I find myself squirming with embarrassment if a particular black song plays. I am conscious that, unlike those classic rock songs that we all know to the point of no longer hearing them, every word of an unfamiliar song from an unfamiliar voice conspicuously grabs the attention and appears in bold text before ones eyes, complete with a bouncing ball keeping place. This can become awkward when, say, Adina Howard’s “Freak Like Me” comes on during a 90’s Jams Playlist. I want a freak in the morning/ A freak in the evening, just like me/ I need a roughneck nigga/ That can satisfy me. Why should a song that boldly expresses black female sexuality be awkward for me? I listen to plenty of songs all day that foreground white male sexuality: AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” or Rod Stewart’s “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy.” Or why should a rap song with explicit lyrics put the room in a frenzy? Eric Clapton literally has a song called, “Cocaine.”

White supremacy resides not only within the purview of avowed white supremacists; that resident of Spring Grove or Dover with truck nuts hanging off his gun metal grey Ford Raptor with the giant confederate flag waving. We are all complicit. The MAGA white supremacist is not the only one lying to themselves about America’s past. The liberal resident of Lititz is as well. So am I. Somewhere we all believed the wonderfully illustrative mid-century American propaganda that America was a white family behind a white picket fence and that everyone else is just borrowing space, when in reality people from all ethnic backgrounds have shared this country since day one. And to be more factual there was a time on this land mass before white people; before genocide, theft, and slavery. Us people of color need to combat this as well. We may be mathematical minorities, but we are not new here. We are not the cousin crashing on the couch, lying awake and hungry, afraid to go to the kitchen and make food, so as not to disturb the owners of the house. We need to not be ashamed of our music, our existence. We need to show up and be seen; at those corny 4th of July celebrations and especially at the voting booth, reminding all onlookers that we are just as American. Only then might we all imagine a more diverse picture when we think of the Best Small Town in America, and only then might I be freed from the hell of “Hotel California” playing on my radio into eternity.

[parttimereporter]

Elizabeth Bruenig writes a really great article in the ATLANTIC about the death of birds taking place. She begins with the drama of the 2020 COVID pandemic beginning and the death that ensued.. the hope of springtime in 2021 was in full force when she began to notice birds turning up dead.

One afternoon in April, when the recovery seemed well under way, a shimmer in the asphalt caught my eye as I stepped out of the car upon returning home with my husband from an errand. A few paces from our front right tire, a cluster of fat bluebottle flies picked over the bones of a fledgling robin. I knelt down to get a look at him. He was smaller than an adult, but feathered, no hatchling. A midsize hedgerow in my neighbor’s yard seemed as plausible a spot as any for his nest, but it seemed impossible that he could have simply fallen. I called my husband over and motioned to our car. I think we killed him, I said. Not today, clearly, but some time ago.

That didn’t make much sense, either. Surely he would’ve flown off, my husband said. Maybe, I agreed. Maybe something else got him, left him here. Both of us knew that no self-respecting carnivore would go to the trouble of capturing a bird only to leave it altogether intact, but I already felt strange enough for being so invested in the matter, and we let it go.

A week later, I opened the garage to search for my older daughter’s scooter. In the dust on the floor were three dead starlings, their spindly nest still tucked above the garage-door operator.

Starlings are beautiful, in my view, though they’re often treated as urban pests. The dark feathers of adults gleam with a scarab-esque iridescence, dotted with scattered points of white. I thought of Clarice Starling, the protagonist of The Silence of the Lambs. In the film, Starling attempts to compose herself during a conversation with her FBI-agent mentor after he tells her Hannibal Lecter, a serial killer she recently interviewed, seems to have murdered a fellow inmate in retaliation for being rude to her. “I don’t know how to feel about this,” she says. “You don’t have to feel any way about it,” her mentor tells her. Emotion isn’t necessarily immediate. You can decline. Hadn’t I just done that for a year and a half straight?

She continues: 

We must have closed the garage door shortly after they nested there, I decided, starving them to death. My God, I said to myself as I stood in the dust. We killed them too.

Her article frighteningly equates the death of the birds and the death of summer, and the rebirth of a new winter Delta variant..

She ends this way:

On another night, early in July, I noticed a blue jay freshly dead in a bed of creeping phlox. After some time birds look very regal in death, with their beaks turned and their wings outstretched, the arc of their shoulders framing halos around their heads. But when they first die they are as they were in life but graceless, bluntly inert. I sat down on the back porch with a garden spade in my hand after I buried him in a stretch of earth between two great tufts of pampas grass, alongside all the others. A low wind cooled the sweat at the nape of my neck. Autumn would come soon enough, and the birds would fall silent, and then what? Through the patio door, I heard a local news anchor warning of an incoming surge of Delta-variant COVID-19 cases.

Doesn’t make any sense to cry about all of this now, I thought. And as I lost the argument I had posed to myself, I thought: Oh Lord, please don’t make me do this again.

X X X X

The Coal Speaker already has been reporting on the deaths of birds and the mystery behind it.. 

Recently news has emerged that a multitude of states and the District of Columbia are facing bird deaths in huge numbers. Scientists are studying and so far coming up with only more questions..

[missmeltycat]

24. favorite scene you’ve ever written

Asks for fanfic writers

24:

That’s a tough one. I’ve written a number of scenes that I still grin over. It’s not very often I like my own work, but a few do spring to mind. The majority of them I actually co-wrote with others.

I’ll add a couple here.

Conflict of Interests

A fic based on the old fan Inspector Gadget series Go Go Gadgetinis. This was a collab between me and @thatredheadedchick12

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15563118

As Gadget heard the ruckous die down, he relaxed a bit more. “Actually it isnt so bad after you get past the initial metallic bitterness. It has a very unique after taste.” He smiled before taking another healthy pull, as his brain already began to grow a bit cloudy around the edges.

“Good, I’m glad you like it. Just be sure to take it slow. If you aren’t used to drinking then it could go to your head fast.” She relaxed and braced herself on the bar with her elbows. “So…” She peered at him under the brim of his hat. “Tell me about your gadgets? I am curious about them. What kind of stuff do you have in that there body of yours?”

He set his glass down from another healthy pull as he listened to her. Something about taking it slow? Oh. His gadgets! “Well there isnt a lot I dont have. I actually have a mobile phone in my right hand. Keys, pen, helecopter…” he went on listing each gadget hidden within him as he looked at her. He was happy to tell her about himself. As he was happy to listen to her talk about herself. She was a very interesting lady and he very much enjoyed how he felt around her. They barely knew one another for 24 hours and yet he felt as though he had known her a lot longer. The way she acted around him… So… Unique. She was something else and as his head began to cloud a bit more he nearly lost track of his gadgets he listed. “So that is basically all of it. I think I forgot one or two but im sure I will remember them before the night is out. Wowzers this is good.” He took another pull, as her voice telling him to take it slow sounded deep within his mind. However a louder voice was yelling at him to drink the beautiful liquid faster as each sip tasted better than the last.

“So, you’re quite the package, huh?” She raised her glass to her lips once more. “You really are as amazing as they said you are.” Prince offered a wink before having another good swig of her ale. He was fascinating. She’d never met anyone like him before. In the back of her mind there was a prickling sensation, but she tried to drown it out by downing the rest of her glass in one go and ordering another. “You good, or are you up for another?”

As he drained his glass completely, he hiccuped rather loudly. “I… Yes! Yes another. If you dont mind?” he asked as the cloud began to take hold. It was so delicious! He couldnt help himself!

She patted him on the back and gestured for two to the bartender. “Wow, I’m glad we did this! I got to introduce you to something new and it’s been fun!”

Dick had been spying around the corner and saw her pat his back and then snake her arm around his shoulder. His brows knitted together as a pang of jealousy washed over him. That was not right…

Digit was having very much the same issue as he looked inwards through the mucky old window and almost slipped and fell off the dumpster he was stood on.

Gadget tried to swallow the lump in his throat as she threw her arm around his shoulder. “Y-yeah. You know what? I am glad we did this too. I was honestly afraid you would reject the idea of dinner with me after all the stuff I had done this morning.” His face turned instantly red as he recalled the details of his face between the twin peaks. “I… Uh… Yeah. I am glad you accepted.” His speech was slightly slurred, but not to the point of being unintelligable. As the barkeep brought their drinks he clapped his hands like a giddy school boy in a chocolate shop before he took a good swig of his beverage.

Prince let out a loud and hearty laugh as she watched him down his drink. “Think nothing more on this morning! It’s all water under the bridge. I know you didn’t mean any of it.” She joined him in downing the ale, her own brain now comfortably fuzzy. “It’s best to forget… Especially if we’re working together for a while. And you know what? I like you! You’re the best partner I’ve had so far!”

He smiled stupidly as his face took on a pink tinge from the alcohol. “And you know what?” he said before taking a few more swigs. “You…. Are amazing yourself. And not bad on the eyes.” The fuzz completely took over. He downed his stout in no time and pushed his glass forwards. “Nmmn I think I have had… ‘Hic’….. Enough…” He said as the slurring became a bit more prominant.

Easy on the eyes? Her face suddenly flushed a vivid red colour over the compliment. “Oh! W-Well, thank you, I er…” She chugged the rest of her stout, not really knowing how to respond to such a comment and placed it back down with a wobbly hand. “Me too. M-Meee tooo. I think… We… Uh… Did you wanna go? Or stay a while?”

“I… I am up for whatever you are up for. We can uh… Head back to the hotel if you want.” he said as he picked up his glass and slammed the dregs before returning it to its coaster. He attempted to get up, but ended up tripping on the bar stool and fell backwards, causing the row of chairs behind him to fall like a line of dominoes. “Heh. Whoops.”

That was strangely funny and she found herself laughing so much she couldn’t even stand up straight due to her stomach muscles tensing. She offered a shaky hand to him, still chuckling over the perfect way the chairs had fallen. “You stupid arse!”

The landlord, however, wasn’t impressed and gave them a glare.

Dick watched as Prince made for the exit with Gadget and felt a tug at his heart. It wasn’t fair… He couldn’t even speak to her. If he did, he’d risk everything.

Gadget hardly even registered the dirty looks as he took Prince’s hand and stood, nearly toppling over again. “Yes. I say we go back to the hotel now.” he said as he walked rather wobbly over to the doors and attempted to hold the door open for Prince, which was actually the only thing keeping him from faceplanting into the sidewalk.

She skipped her way awkwardly onto the pavement outside and moved quickly to Gadget’s aid as she could see him wobbling rather badly. She caught hold of him around the chest and propped him up as best as she could. “Wooooah now, hehe. You gotta stay upright! I’m not strong enough to carry you.”

“Never fear dear lady for I am…. I can walk!” he announced a bit too enthusiastically. Fortunately the hotel was a block away. “Is it hot out here?” he asked as he loosened his tie a bit. He felt… Amazing. Laid back. Relaxed. As though all his cares just melted away.

She still had hold of him, but adjusted herself so that she kept one arm around him under his own. She wasn’t feeling too steady on her legs either. In fact, the pavement was looking a bit uneaven. “It’s n-not far!” She giggled as she swayed and then came back against him with a thud. “Someone needs to tell the street to stop it.”

“It is a lot more uneven than the last time we were through here. Obviously the earth shifted!” Gadget stated as he held on to Prince.

It was a hell of a trek, but they had made it back to the hotel and Gadget had finally gotten her safely back to her room. “Welp… Prince… I ‘ave had a 'hic’ wonderul evening. I… Thank you.” he said with a silly smile as he turned to look at her, reaching up to caress her face and nearly missing.

She reached out, the night air having enhanced the drunken effects and patted his face back in return the same way as he was doing with hers. “You too! This was… Like… SO fun. We need to do it again. Because, we… I mean… We won’t get long to like… Work together and stuff. You know?” She swayed a little and used her free hand to brace herself on the wall that joined onto her bathroom.

Inside the room by the window, Data and Scooter were on recharge mode and that meant they were dead to the worldand Prince glanced over quickly to make sure they hadn’t woken up.

“Yes! Oh yes. Please. I mean… If you want. I quite enjoyed tonight. I… Yes. May I do anything for you before I turn in for the night?” he asked in his gentlemanly fashion. He probably wouldnt have been able to do much in his current state of mind, but he would try none the less.

Prince wobbled a bit again and used her other hand to grab his jacket. “I think… I think it’s… That’s all. I mean… Unless you can tell the room, the floor and my bed to hold still.” It was unusual for her to feel so woozy after just two pints, so her theory about the cask sitting for a while must have been correct. What was originally just over 6% was probably closer to a 9%.

“I… I mean I can try!” he said happily as he walked, no, staggered into her room. “Listen here room! Prince isn’t in a mood for your incooperative nature! Behave!” he said as he shook his fist at the room and it’s general contents.

Prince wobbled inside a bit as she watched him order the room to stop its shenannigans. “My hero!” She clapped playfully and laughed as he waved his fist around. The fact that he was trying was brilliant and she was glad he had a sense of humour. She’d hate to have been saddled with a partner who was as funny as a brick to the face.

“All 'n a day’s work m'lady” he said as he struck a heroic pose as he attempted to bring her in for a hug. What was the worst she could do? Push him away? He felt… Bold. He supposed they werent kidding when they called alcohol liquid courage.

She didn’t put up a fight, in fact she was still chuckling and hugged him back in return. It was a pity his threats hadn’t stopped the room from moving around so much, but she could live with that. She snaked her arms around his chest and held onto him tightly. “Are you a knight in shining armour doing battle against the evils of spinning rooms and shifting floors?”

“For you, anything.”

King of Iron Fist Tournament 8

A fic in collaboration with @thatredheadedchick12 again. NSFW WARNING

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13810308

Inside her room Rae breathed a sigh of relief as the hammering on her door stopped. She didn’t fancy the maid stumbling across her bloody corpse, after all. She slowly slumped back onto her bed and let out a large sigh. Great, now she’d definitely screwed up and made an enemy. Maybe he wasn’t malfunctioning after all.

Raihiko leaned against her door and let out a sigh. She could hear the muffled argument going on outside, but at least she couldnt see is anymore. Dear god. That thing should be registered as a weapon!

Bryan, however, wasnt going to waste any more time. He reared back and punched a hole near the handle and quickly unlocked and opened it and stormed right in.

“You want to fucking die- you!” he snapped as he recognized the heap on the bed.

Rae flailed as she heard the splintering of wood, as she sat bolt upright on her bed, her leather jumpsuit around her waist. “THE FUCK!?” There, stood in his white underwear, was Bryan looking exceedingly miffed. “You call that fucking knocking!?”

“I fucking knocked.” he growled as the fact that her jumpsuit was around her waist completely went over his head. “The fuck is the big idea?” he hissed as he stepped closer, letting the broken door swing shut behind him.

Meanwhile Raihiko had grabbed a cocktail glass and was listening in. If he was going to throttle her new friend she would be ready to jump in, but she felt if she barged in there that very second she would only make it worse.

Rae grabbed a nearby pillow and held it in front of her. “The hell are you even talking about!? I was minding my own business trying to cool down and having a banging contest with whoever was next door! And now this? Now my door is busted and people can see in!” She hurled her pillow towards him in frustration. “I don’t want any old git seeing me change!”

Bryan growled as he caught the pillow from out of the air and tossed it to thw side.

“Yeah! That was me telling you to shut the fuck up! I’m next door.” His voice rumbled as he stepped closer.

“That was YOU? Oh for crying out loud. Why didn’t you just yell? You do enough of it as it is!” She tried to battle with her jumpsuit again, her skin sticking to the fabric again making it hard work. “How was I to know that thud was you saying that?”

Sergei had been disturbed from his poetry reading by the commotion and has ventured outside of his room to see what was going on. If it was someone who had come for him, he would deal with it. As the shouting continued, his eyes narrowed. No. It wasn’t for him. But whoever it was they were sure being overly loud and loutish.

Rai’s eyes widened as she tossed the glass on her bed. She grabbed her Tonfa from the top of her bag as she moved to her door and quickly opened it to see she was not the only one disturbed by the happenings. She looked to the man across from her before she moved to Rae’s door. She noticed the big hole near the handle and swallowed hard. She didnt want to use her weapons. She wpuld surely be disqualified from competing if she attacked another competitor, but she wouldnt let this brute harm her new aquaintance. She stood by the door, listeing as he tonfa rested against the back of her arms, the end blades past her handles resting on the back of her thighs. She was ready if she was needed.

Sergei simply regarded the other woman who had joined him in the hallway. When he caught sight of her weapons, he gave her a very subtle shake of the head.

Raihiko tilted her head at the man in the doorway.

“What? Am i supposed to just let him tear her apart?” she whispered harshly as she backed up to her doorway. Was he nuts? Though…. Maybe he was right? Maybe she shouldny poke the bear with her weapons.She gave them a professional spin before she retreated to throw them on her bed for now before she ran back to the hallway to listen.

Bryan narrowed his eyes. She was certainly testing his self restraint, and there wasnt much there to begin with.“An idiot would know a knock to the wall is a sign of shut the fuck up!” he yelled as he balled his fists. He was on the verge of seething. This woman was jump roping with his last nerve.

Sergei simply stood with his eyes on the broken door. He was conflicted with regard to the other female voice he could hear coming from inside. This was the King of Iron Fist. If she was unable to defend herself, why would she be here? But if he allowed Bryan to go ahead and kick seven shades out of her, what sort of gentleman would he be? Not that he would ever really speak about such things, but he had strong opinions. He glanced over to Raihiko, moved forwards and leaned against the wall next to Rae’s door, his arms folded across his chest and one boot on the paintwork.

Rai blinked as the man stood besides her and leaned against the wall. Wait, would he help her take bryan if he tried to take out Rae?

“Can you see anything?” she asked in a whisper as she tried to peer around him. Wait. Could he ever understand her? She couldnt quite figure it out yet. He hadnt said a word. She didnt even know his name! She nearly tripped on her own foot as she tried to move around him to get a better look.

He held out a gloved hand to stop her toppling over, but to also stop her revealing herself. The hole in the door was large enough to be able to see movement through, after all. He slowly raised a digit on his other hand up to his lips. He didn’t want to do anything if it was not needed and he certainly didn’t want them to know they were there.

“An idiot!? Rich coming from someone who just goes around destroying things for no god damn reason and then expects me to magically know via telepathy or some shit that a bang on the wall meant shut up when he is CLEARLY capable of using his brutish, overly loud voice!” She shot to her feet. “And another thing! What gives you the right to even enter my room?”

Bryan ground his teeth as he tried to keep his cool.

“You know what? Fuck you.” he said as he turned on his heel to leave. He was pissed. And if he didnt leave now, the maid would be scraping her off the walls.

“Try to keep it the fuck down in here.” he growled before he ripped open the door.

Rae felt her stomach churn as he turned to leave and watched his retreating form until the door had slammed shut behind him. Something didn’t quite sit right again. Why was he being so passive? It wasn’t that she wanted to die horribly. But she couldn’t help but wonder what was happening to the man… If he could be called that. She scrunched her eyes shut and flopped back down on her bed as images of his white underwear assaulted her mind. She would find out, though. She had always enjoyed watching his fights, so if he was breaking then surely someone needed to be informed.

Outside Sergei stood bolt upright as Bryan left the room, the door slamming, but swinging due to the broken handle and lock.

Rai slapped her hands over her mouth to stop the sudden gasp that nearly escaped her lips. “Arigato. I am normally not so-” but she was cut off by the form of Bryan plowing through the door. She suddenly pressed her back against the man, trying to make herself small as the brute trudged back to his room.

Bryan didnt even register that he had a mini audience as he ripped open his own door and entered before slamming it shut, causing Rai to flinch. She finally let out the breath she didnt realize she was holding.

He was pissed. He grabbed his pack off the table and lit up a smoke as he began pacing. He needed to let off some damn steam. But how? That bitch next door to him had really lit a fire under his ass.

Rae was also pissed. She scrubbed at her face furiously and rolled off of her bed. Once she was on the floor she shuffled to the adjoining wall and punched it making sure it made as much noise as possible without damaging it. “NEXT TIME WEAR SOME DAMN CLOTHES, YOU FUCKING ASS!”

Currently Untitled

An FF7 fic with no title I started years ago and never finished. It’s so old and terrible, But i enjoyed writing the comical dialogue.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2836442/chapters/6363332#workskin

Seeing the city in the distance, they both swallowed loudly. It was a beautiful place, but they only saw it as a place of evil.

“DAMMIT”, cried Cloud punching at a near by shrub, “Why!?”

Cid decided to follow suit and began to strangle a small sapling, but to no avail.

One of them needed to get a grip, as flying off the hook in such a manner was really not going to do them any good. So, Cid, seeing he was getting no where in his attempted sapling strangulation, took a deep breath and tried his best to calm Cloud down.

“I don’t get why. I mean… I do! But, WHHHYYYY?!”

“Get a grip, man… DAMMIT!” Cid gave him a good thwack across the face, to which Cloud responded by sniffing.

Wacky Races 2004 - Chapter 14 (Chapter 6 of DD’s Ending - Survivalists)

A fanfic I started in 2002/2003. One chapter in particular stands out, as I wrote it with my husband.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9018259/1/Wacky-Races-2004

The wind howled against the side of the car causing the snow to form large drifts. The windshield had been smothered blocking all view to the outside world. Rachel shivered into her coat and laughed at Dick as he struggled to get to the back seat over the stick and hand brake.

“Drat! Double drat! Last time I opt for a manual!”

In his frustration he forgot to balance his weight and keened forward.

Raising a brow Rachel placed her hands on her hips. “Hey, careful of the upholstery. I jus… What do you mean YOU? It’s my car you fool.”

Another laugh echoed through the car, but it was cut short as he lost his balance.

“Ah. AGH!”

His head was caught in a dizzy whirlwind where images of planes and pidgeons assaulted his mind. He thought how lucky he had been to have his fall suppressed by the vehicle’s air bags but then…remembered that was at the front of the car.

“Oh…my…”

Rachel let out a surprised shriek, pushed his shoulders back and leaped backwards in her seat. She wasn’t sure how to feel and flushed red hot. “Aiiyaah, c-careful where you stick that nose of y-yours!”

It suddenly felt very warm in the car and it wasn’t anything to do with the heaters.

He reflexively touched his nose in response to the comment. The assertion blocking out any guilt of having accidently violtated his fellow racing competitor.

“Look Felicity Funbags! I happen to have a nose of character! What occured was an accident - pure and simple!”

She had adopted a somewhat fetal position in the corner of the car, her knees up to her chest.

“What did you just call me!?”

Her brow furrowed, but it was difficult to tell due to the lack of light in the car.

“And, yes. I suppose I should expect it from you. Mr Accidents-R-Us!” She scoffed and flailed a finger in the dim light towards what she hoped was his face. “You’re so accident prone it’s a wonder people don’t follow you in an ambulance!”

“Accidents? Those were fully intentional schemes gone awry to secure the lead posi-” He stopped and brushed a finger over the tip of his nose. “Uh, yes. You’re right accidents.” He chided, settling into the back seat opposite her.

“Hmph.” She pulled her coat on tighter even though she was radiating heat. “Anyway, you’re here now. I told you that the front seat was no good for sleep.”

The wind howled louder, subsided and then got up again as she paused for a moment to figure out just how close he was sitting.

“I told you there was room for two.”

“Then how did you fit back here?”

He smirked to himself twisting his moustache around his index finger then realised Muttley was not there to be present to his jest. It felt a little depressing not hearing that familiar snicker.

“I beg your p…” she certainly was not going to stand for that comment.

She swung a punch satisfied that it would at least land somewhere that hurt.

Removing his plump hat and toying with it in his hands as he thought on the absence of his cohort and was suddenly surprised to see a fist punch through it’s crown.

“Eegads! My hat!”

“What?”

Rachel struggled to see in the dim light and could just make out the outline of Dick flailing with his hat.

“What about your hat? Nuts to your hat! You insulted me!”

“Getoffgetoffgetoffgetoff-!”

In his panic, he yanked his hat towards himself trying to get the fist through it out but through lack of planning yanked the entire arm and body of Rachel onto him.

“Oof!” She landed with a thud, face first onto his chest, her fist still stuck through his precious head gear.

A moment passed as she attempted to get up, her free hand slipping off the side of the leather seat every time she tried to push herself up and landing on Dick each time she aimed wrong.

“Agh! Eep! Let go!”

Dick froze with his arms paralyzed above his head holding the hat aloft as the aggressive woman continued to rise and fall onto him. Thoughts were a luxury his male biology couldn’t afford right now.

Rachel felt him tense under her and this made her realize just what sort of a predicament she was in. She took the opportunity to attempt to get up. Each movement was slow and exaggerated to be sure she didn’t make the situation any worse.

He lay stiff like a board, watching her arm slip easilly out of the hat despite having created the awkward situation earlier.

After managing to sit up once more, she fanned herself with a hand and squinted towards her racing companion.

“A-Are you OK?”

He seemed to still be rigid and she began to get a little concerned.

“Hey! I s-said are y-you OK?” She prodded him lightly and as best as she could in low visibility in the hopes of stirring some sort of reaction.

“Fine as wine!” He squeaked out.

He still didn’t move. Her body atop his prevented any thoughts of movement.

She slowly slid herself off and returned to her corner. He certainly didn’t sound fine, despite what he said.

“Are you sure?”

She drew her knees back in towards her chest and gave him some room.

“I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I?”

He pulled the hat back over his crown to hide the heat in his cheeks as he rose to sit much like she did opposite him.

“Not at all! Perish the thought!”

“Oh phew!” She let out a sigh of relief. Though she wanted to punch him for that comment, it was only going to be a light punch. She didn’t want to cause too much harm to him. After all, she was fond of the idiot.

“Uh, so, er…” She twiddled her thumbs. “Nice weather. Shame about all the frostbite.”

He chortled nervously.

“Eheh, why yes. It’s very…” He looked out the window with a sigh. “Bitey.”

“Bitey?” Rachel shuffled around a little. “Yes. Bitey frostbite. Mmm.” It seemed as if she was just blurting out any old thing that entered her head. She felt awkward and was not sure what on earth she should do about it. There was no escaping the car, not unless she wanted to walk miles back to the hotel and probably freeze to death on the way.

“Uh…I uh…” He noticed her shiver and removed his purple coat, holding it out to her. “It’s pretty cold so…”

She watched as he took off his coat and hold it out to her. Almost taken aback, she stared at it for a few moments before finally managing to form words. “Oh! N-No, it’s fine. Don’t worry. I don’t want you getting cold either.”

He put it on her and crossed his arms, huffing out a cloud of frosty air.

“H-Hey! Now you’ll get cold.” She started to take it off again to return to him.

He shook his head and laughed.

“You kidding? When I didn’t sleep on the floor the living room in my childhood home was colder than this! Ahah!”

Rachel tilted her head and pulled the sleeve back on. “Living room? Wait, sleep on the floor? You didn’t, did you? When was this? Who made you do that?” Her voice took on a shocked breathlessness as her mind tried to process what he had just said.

“Mother. I think. I just remember a woman who told me what to do. It wasn’t very fun.” He stroked his moustache nostalgically.

“Oh. That sounds rather horrendous. So, it was cold?”

“I suppose. It was the forgetting to feed me that mostly took it’s toll. Oh. The floor. Yeah. It was.”

Rachel lowered her gaze to the floor. “I had no idea. Wow.” A small smile spread across her face. “Well, things are better now, right?” She patted his shoulder. “I mean, you’re a Wacky Racer, after all.”

“It’s alright. I don’t remember much. I can only recall finding a runt in a cardboard box and nursing him back to health.” He touched a finger to his chin, thinking back. “After that it was just schemes and dreams.”

“Dreams? You had something to hope for? I take it that was the goal of winning, right?” She reclined back in her seat and rested her knees against the back of the drivers seat.

“Hope for? No. No nonsense like that. I just kept coming up with reasons to laugh with that stupid mangy hound.” He chuckled despite the remark.

“Heyyy.” She nudged him with her elbow. “He’s not so mangy.” Muttley was indeed a favourite of hers and she found herself feeling terribly sorry for him whenever one of Dick’s plans would backfire. “Is that all you do it for?”

He scratched his chin idly in thought. “I used to believe I was achieving something back in my hayday, but the more I failed. The more I realised I didn’t want to succeed. It was more fun that way.”

“You didn’t want to succeed? But, what about winning the races? Being crowned the world’s wackiest racer? The sponsorships, money, fame?” Rachel’s brow furrowed. “I don’t get it. You always seemed so driven to win.”

He turned to her rather somlemnly and spoke slowly. “But what happens when you do win?”

“I guess,” she looked at her hands, her fingers were nervously linked together, “I guess that you win the money, the title, go on with sponsorships and…” She paused for a moment. “Wait for the next race?”

He nodded not turning away. “And then what?”

“I don’t know. I never really thought about it. I guess people just go on with their lives.” She shrugged her shoulders. It was true, she hadn’t really thought about it. Like everyone, she had just been focussed on winning.

“I don’t want to win or I have nothing left to…what’s that word you used? 'Hope’ for.”

She reeled back in shock. “What? I find that somewhat hard to believe.” She began chewing on her lip anxiously. What he had said had jolted her internally. “Everyone knows who you are and what you do. You could probably do anything you wanted.”

He chuckled and fell back in his chair forgetting the cold for a second. “Haha, my dear, that is precisely what I am doing!”

“But, as you say, then what? What happens when this race is over? What will you do?”

“I would have won and would no long be the dark horse underdog of the Wacky Races. Why would I give up that thrill so easilly? People never think I’m going to win, so it makes it all the more fun when I finally do.”

“So you want to win eventually? Have you thought about when that might be? I mean, you’ve been winning the last couple of races no problems.” She leaned back and rested her head against the seat. After removing her cap, she tossed it into the front and awaited his reply.

He smirked scratching his chin idly with a finger. “Heh, like you…I don’t put much thought into it. I just make sure I’m having fun with it.”

“Like me?” She raised a brow and chuckled under her breath. “What makes you so sure I don’t think about what I do, Mister?” She jabbed him on his shoulder. “I may be smarter than you think.”

“Because if I’m not mistaken when I asked the purpose to winning, you answered and I quote: 'I don’t know. I never really thought about it.’”

Rachel shook her head. “Agh! Damn it. Heyyyy, fine. Come on. It’s late and cold. My head is in a mess.” She chuckled again. “I can’t help it if I’m spouting bollocks. It must be, what… 3AM?” She craned her neck to see her dashboard.

Dick’s Head was lain back under his hat. “Snooooort!” The sounds of his nostrils flaring from exhaustion resounded through the vehicle.

“Hey! HEY!” Rachel jabbed him in his ribs. “Wake up! That’s not fair, you’re not supposed to fall asleep while I’m talking to you!”

He snorted and sat up at attention “Huh whu whassat?”

Unfortunately, when he sat up his head collided with hers. “OUCH! Ooyah!” She grasped her head and keeled over. “Nrrrgh!”

He grasped at his head in pain. “Yeow yeowzer yeow!” He then blinked momentarilly afterward and rather then insult the girl; “Are you alright?”

Rachel just let out a low 'hnnnnn’ sound as she rolled back and fourth on the seat. She now wished she hadn’t removed her hat as it may have stopped or cushioned the blow.

He glanced at her forehead and chuckled “Now, now it isn’t all that bad. Just think we can call it a beauty mark tomorrow!”

She peered up at him with a furious expression, still doubled over on the seat. “I’ll give you beauty mark. Just be glad it wasn’t my eye! How would we explain a black eye?”

He stopped to think a moment then grinned. “Mascara?”

“I don’t wear that crap!”

He smirked. “Oh yes yes, quite. My bad.”

She hit him again, this time harder. “HMPH!”

“Owch! I see your mother passed some wonderful traits onto you,” He said nursing his poor arm.

“OH, we’re talking about mothers, are we?” Her eyes narrowed as a strange smirk spread across her face.

“Yes, well if you ever meet mine I’m sure she’ll be sporting a wicked attitude and moustache herself,” He retorted

That did it. Just the mental image alone. Rachel sucked in air, choked a little and fell about in hysterics. Her mind instantly imagined Dick in a dress.

Dick could only imagine what she was laughing about but he had a pretty good idea.

She attempted to catch her breath and leaned forwards resting her chin on the back of her hands. “Oh man. That’s funny. That’s good stuff.” A tear rolled from the corner of her eye from all the laughter and landed on the seat.

He smirked and tipped his hat at an angle over his eyes as he sat back and cross his arms. “Laugh it up, I know I would.”

After wiping at her eyes with her sleeve she shook her head and pulled on Dick’s coat over her, bundling up like a sausage roll. “You know nothing.”

“Uh huh” was all he could manage. The fatigue dragging his eyes down like weights.

“Ah ah ah!” A hand shot out from under the coat and prodded his ribs. “Are you saying I’m boring?” After sitting up straight she unfurled the coat from around her shoulders and handed it over towards him. “Here. Have it back. You don’t want to end up with a crick in your neck or something.”

He glared unfavorably at her. His eyes stemming red from the lack of sleep he was getting. “Are you capable of shutting up and going to sleep?”

Her brow instantly furrowed and her lips thinned to a small line. “Fine! Take your smelly coat!” She threw it at him. “Telling ME to shut up. Especially after that little stunt at the hotel earlier. What was all that about, huh?” Her voice trailed off into a low mumble as she continued cursing under her breath, turning away in a huff and folding her arms.

He flinched as the coat slapped against his side but just sighed and tried to drift off, ignoring her frustrations.

“And budge over.” She ignored his sighing and pushed her butt into his to shove him further to the side. “Taking all the god damn room. How am I supposed to sleep like that Mister I-Love-You-Shut-Up-And-Go-To-Sleep.” She fidgeted some more and folded her legs under her to take up more room.

He chuckled and made a fake groan. “Oh lord, is that the moon falling? What could this crushing weight be?” He reached out and grabbed a hand full of it to emphasize his point.

Rachel instantly yelped and jumped over to her side. “Aiiie! Watch where you’re grabbing!” She slapped a hand around in his general direction in case he was still trying it.

He had already moved his hand and watched her swat out of corner of his eye, only replying with a chuckle.

“Grabbing ladies butts. You should be ashamed of yourself.” She turned her head and stuck out her tongue. “First you’re all moody then that! HMPH!” She shuffled noisily, trying to make as much noise as she could on purpose.

“When I see a lady…” He yawned. “I’ll be sure to do so.” A wicked smirk arose on his face.

Rachel shot upright and glared at him. “I beg your pardon?!”

He once again lapsed into a bout of snoring under his hat.

“How dare you!?” Her voice was high pitched as she grabbed hold of his hat and began to pelt him with it over and over. “Insult me, will you? Tell me to shut up, will you? Say my ass is as big as the moon, will you!?”

He flailed and twitched under her assault but found himself laughing regardless.

“Stop laughing, you nit!” She continued to swipe. “It’s… not… funny!”

He finally gave in, sat straight and grabbed her wrist in mid attack. “I think you’ll find, my dear, it is.”

“Ouch!” She scowled at him and wiggled her nose in disgust. “Careful how you g…” He kissed her cheek and smiled at her cutting her sentence short. “Don’t… Don’t you try and butter me up, Mister!”

His smirk only widened. “That I can accomodate you with at a later time.”

“Wait… What?” She blinked in confusion, her brain trying to figure out what he had just said. When it finally registered her grimace transformed into a wide, goofy grin. “Now, that’s just dirty.”

He released his grip, twiddling his moustache as he sunk back into his chair. “Dastardly one might say.”

She picked up his coat and flopped it on his lap. “Seriously, though. I’m OK. Take it back and keep warm. I don’t want you getting hypothermia or something.”

“You know” He said, still twiddling his moutache. “They say the best way to keep warm in circumstances like this is to share body heat.”

She blinked again, leaning forward on the seat with her hands. “Wh-What?” She slipped off the seat and quickly caught herself. “They do? Who is this 'they’?”

He only continued in stroking his moustache. “Oh, you know, survivalists.”

“Oh? You know some survivalists?” She gave him a sarcastic grin and yanked at the other side of his mustache.

“Yeah, I contacted them shortly after falling for you.” He mired back at her.

She tilted her head. “What?” An eyebrow raised again. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh nothing you have to concerned about, my dear.”

“Now you said that I can’t HELP but be concerned.” She folded her arms in a huff and sat back roughly.

He replied by only smiling in a dastardly way and snuggled down into his seat.

Silence fell again as Rachel pouted. She hated not being in the know and she was sure he was doing it on purpose. After a while she couldn’t resist piping up again. “So, what else did these survivalists say?”

“About what in particular?” He said gesturing in a quizzative way.

“Well, you said they told you about this whole body heat thing.” She narrowed her eyes. “What else did they say?”

He smirked. “Oh lots of helpful survivalist..things.”

“Liiike?” She leaned forward on her hands and urged him to continue. She did not intend on letting it go.

“Hey look, a sudden distraction!” He pointed wildly in a panicked state at the window.

“Hm?” Her head whipped to the side. “Oh yeah. Snow. Great.” She narrowed her eyes again and slumped back into her seat again. “Fine. I get it.”

He stretched, flexing his fingers infront of him while casting an innocent smile.

Silence once more. Rachel hated uncomfortable silences. She kept giving Dick sideways glances hoping he’d start conversation again. When certain it was a lost cause she sighed. “So, yeah. About Max…”

Dick raised a brow awaiting the end to her statement.

“I didn’t encourage him, you know. That’s not the type of person I am. He just got,” she paused for a second and rubbed the back of her neck. “Clingy.”

This Doggy Bites

Still going RP between me and @dagurlicious

https://www.wattpad.com/story/54795952-this-doggy-bites

Below decks, Dagur had taken to picking at a wooden table with a small blade, mumbling incoherently to himself and occasionally rubbing at his arm. When he heard footsteps his head snapped up to see who dared disturb his brooding time and saw Rae. “What do you want, wench? Can’t you see I’m busy?” He saw the deer on her shoulders and frowned deeper. “I thought I told you to leave that to the men!?”

“Yeah? Well, I didn’t.” She dumped the deer right onto the table that he was picking at and stood with her hands on her hips. “Unlike some, I actually like to pull my weight around here.”

Dagur flinched as the deer hit the table right in front of him with a violent thud. He scowled up at Rae with an unimpressed glare and slammed the blade into the wooden surface. “There you go with those jaded insults again, wench! How about you say what you really mean?” He pushed himself away from the table and circled it until he was face to face with her.

Rae stared up at his face and wrinkled her nose at him, a small smirk on her lips. “You couldn’t handle it if I did, wussboy.” She shoved him playfully. “You can’t even handle a little punch. You whine and complain like a baby!”

She had touched him again. Made physical contact. It may not have been as painful as a punch, but it still caused him to shoot her a nasty look. “Don’t call me that!” He gripped hold of her tunic again. “So help me, I will crush the greedy milk from your bones with my teeth!”

“I haaave noooo idea what you just said, but it sounds brutal and awesome.” She reached her hands up, grabbed hold of his hands and attempted to remove them from her clothing. “Easy on the clothes, Wussboy. Yeesh! I only have this set on board.”

He kept his grip firm despite her attempting to pry his hands off of her attire. “What did I just say!?” He virtually roared in her face, spit flying out of his mouth as he shouted. “I can only take so much of your crap, Rae! Only so much before I-” He began to chuckle, his face breaking from his frown into a psychotic smile. “-Before I snap and teach you a lesson.” He let go of her tunic with one of his hands and moved it to her throat. “Go on. Call me Wussboy again. I dare you.” He moved his face in closer, his nose touching hers and hissed. “I dare you, wench.”

Rae didn’t know how to react. The fact that he had his hand around her throat was one thing, the fact that he was in such a close proximity that she was being tickled by his breath was another. And now he was daring her to call him names again. She tried to avert her eyes to focus her thoughts and continued to attempt to pry his hands off. “I… Well… Why should I? Not on your command. I’m not a trained dog!”

He tightened his grip on her clothing and moved his hand from her throat to her chin, tilted it upwards so that she was looking him dead in the eye and laughed. “Not so tough now, are you? …. Little doggy?” He made a barking sound to tease her further and continued laughing to himself.

Such a mockery, although expected, was not something Rae wanted to let him get away with. She reached her hands out to either side of his helm, yanked him closer, leaned her face in and sunk her teeth into his lower lip triumphantly.

“YARRRGH!” Dagur’s eyes flew open as her teeth sank into his lip in the most agonizing way. The pain was sharp, piercing and intense and he felt tears form in the corners of his eyes. He shoved himself backwards in an attempt to get away from the crazy wench. Unfortunately, that only served to stretch his lip and, in turn, caused more pain and broke the skin. He flailed around and managed to yank his lip free, stumbled back tripping over his own feet, landed against the table and grabbed at his mouth protectively.

Rae wiped her mouth and spat onto the floor. She had not known how he’d react to her doing that and her heart was racing, ready to defend herself should he have retaliated right away. “This doggy bites!”

[letters2jm]

Shortness of life

In case I leave the earth

before we speak again

I need you to know

You meant everything to me.

I need you to know

I was never closer to happily ever after.

I don’t think I have it in me

To try that again.

Or more truthfully

I don’t want to love anyone else.

It was radical to let go

Of my self- sabotaging cautiousness.

It was something so slow and difficult

I’m not sure you noticed

When I began to trust

That it’s ok to be happy.

The love I showed on the outside

Couldn’t compare to how I feel on the inside.

Trapped in a stupid belief

That the moment I let myself believe

I’ve fallen in the kind of love

I’ll never climb out of.

You’d leave.

But faith started to remove that fear.

It was in the badminton

And the scooter rides, Salt flats, hot springs, hiking trails, face painting, cave exploring, sand dunes, date farms, sand bubbles crunching under our feet...

And I kept wishing it would light a fire and wake me up. To bring me back from some dreary place I’ve been stuck in, but it didn’t quite do that... until it did.

And now I’m looking around

While I’m coming back to life

So I can tell you, “It’s working!”

And you’re gone

I was trying with all my might

To break through lifelong dark clouds

And I wish I could tell you everything

About how they have been lifting

And what has changed

What I’ve discovered.

Because life is short,

I need you to know that

Every ounce of strength and effort

That I put into this life

is because I love you

more than I’ve ever loved anyone.

And I am going to fight for you

Even if you can’t see it from there.

I will always love and care about you passionately and deeply. I will always wish for happily ever after.