#their removal is mostly fine but Scorching Shot is pushing it

[dravidious]

Was thinking about removal and came up with what I think are some reasonable costs for common removal effects and also counterspells

[pogueit]

First Aid Kit

Paring: Pope Heyward x Reader

Summary: You have an accident while attempting to do a new trick and Pope is the man for the job.

Warnings: blood ofc and general first aid stuff nothing too graphic tho!!

WC: 1,994

A/N: There's not enough Pope content!! SO I made some!! Pls enjoy some Pope and Y/N action!

THE GIF IS NOT MINE IT BELONGS TO @rue-bennett !!!!

Saturdays are not meant to be boring, but this scorching afternoon there was nothing to do. John B. went on his weekly date with Sarah, JJ scored a date with a kook he's been eyeing, and Kie was forced to go to a gala on the mainland, so it was just you and Pope alone in the chateau. He had been studying all day for an upcoming chemistry exam he has first thing Monday morning. You tried all day to get his head out of the books, but he was not having any of it. It wasn't until the late afternoon that you got him to go outside with you. Even though his nose was still deep in the piles of notes at least he was outside. You were skating on a horrifically uneven stretch of concrete that was oddly slathered in front of the chateau. Every time he could hear the wheels pop upwards he would snap his eyes to you, cheering you on when you stuck the landing. You were glad that he was far enough away to not be able to see how red your cheeks were. You've had a massive crush on the boy ever since Kie introduced you to the group. Your mom had just moved your ass down to the banks to get a fresh start far away from your poor excuse for a father. She managed to quickly score a job at The Wreck (where you were also forced to work part-time) as head chef. Your mom got on well with the Carrera's who only deemed it appropriate to force their daughter to hang out with you, being new in town and all. Kie wasn’t bothered at all and was glad to have another girl around. After hanging out with her for a single day, you wouldn’t hesitate to take a bullet for her. Kiara didn't introduce you to the knuckleheads right away, since she had taken a liking to you and didn't want to scare you away. The day that she did you remembered Pope had been the last one to say "hey" yet his was the warmest. After that day your stomach would erupt with butterflies whenever you'd even look at him and you would nearly die when your hands would brush against each other in passing. There was just something about him. Maybe it was how he didn't believe in stupid questions, except for JJ's of course, or how he would learn a new subject just to be able to help one of you ace an exam. It could be how the sun sparkled against his wet skin after a long day of swimming or surfing. How relaxed he looks sitting in the driver's seat of the HMS Pogue taking in all that the sun had to offer. You were glad the rest of the crew hadn't caught on yet, especially JB since he's already taken the role as your big brother, even though you're sure that you’re definitely older than him. He would never let you hear the end of it if he knew. The constant pestering, nudging, and side-eyeing would have driven you insane. Your mind slowly drifted back to the boy studying a few feet away from you. The thoughts of those hot summer nights in the cool water with him clouded your brain, so much so you nearly wiped out.

"You good!?" Pope's concerned voice made your head snap in his direction. You knew that the embarrassment on your face was very telling but you just shot him two thumbs up and got back on your board. You shake off any remaining thoughts from your head before attempting your new trick. You were sick and tired of random strangers, but mostly JJ and JB, yelling at you to do a kickflip whenever you were skating. After watching countless videos on kickflips you were basically an expert on them at this point and all you had to do now was actually stick the landing. You slid your right foot to the middle of the board so that your heel was just off the edge while your toes rested in the middle. You shifted your left foot to the tail of the deck and with all the strength you could muster you push down on the tail while your right foot flicked down on the edge of the board. It would have been a spectacular landing if it weren't for the random-ass pebble that your wheel landed on.

"Oh fuck, are you alright!?" Pope was by your side before you even realized you were on the ground. Falling came with the game and you were not fazed at all, since you've had grislier wipeouts than this, but that's before you saw the fountain of blood that poured out of your knee.

"Yeah, I'm fine dude-- I've had-- I need to--The bathroom--" you hobbled quickly into the bathroom at the chateau trying your darndest to not get any blood in the house. By the time you were able to sit down on the toilet, you were seeing stars. Your vision was slowly fading to black and you felt like you were going to vomit. You closed your eyes tightly as you pressed a clump of toilet paper to your knee, which pulled a hiss right from your lungs at the sensation. Promptly, you bit down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from letting out a scream. A light knock came from the door and it couldn't be anyone else but Pope.

"Are you alright in there y/n?" From all the pain you were in you could only hum out a yes as a response, but you knew that would not be a good enough answer for the boy.

"Yeah, just don't--" before you could even finish your sentence he barged in "--open the door, why don't ya". His eyes grew wide at the bloody mess you made in the bathroom, but then quickly softened at the sight of you. Your skin was flushed with developing perspiration clinging to your skin and your lips had gone pale as your lungs suddenly only knew how to hyperventilate.

"Uh, I don’t think it would be in your best interest to say that it looks like a slasher flick was filmed in here" his words made you squeeze your eyes tighter as bloody images flashed before you and it only got harder for you to breathe. Pope stepped inside the rather small bathroom and closed the door behind him. He picked up all the toilet paper you had used for your leg and tossed them into the trash bin before he crouched down next to you.

"Does it still hurt?" His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, as if you would shatter if he spoke any louder. All you could muster was a tiny nod as the pain took up most of your energy. His hands then gently pried your hands off of your injured knee and inspected it. Since the cut had almost stopped bleeding completely, Pope, was able to see that the wound was deep but not enough for it to garner any stitches and it was free of any debris. Lucky for you because JB had fallen there a couple of weeks ago and Pope had to whip out the tweezers to get all the gravel out of the bloody gash.

"Hey, it's not that bad-- I mean it is bad but it could be worse-- I'm gonna clean it now" the boy got to his feet and helped you sit on the edge of the bathtub with your feet sitting inside the tub. He then washed his hands furiously to avoid infection and gathered all the supplies he needed which consisted of antibacterial soap, antibiotic cream, gauze pads, gauze rolls, and unconditional love and support. Pope helped you undo both your shoes and removed them along with your embarrassing Winnie the Pooh socks. He sat with his legs outside the tub to have easy access to the supplies. After he checked to make sure the water wasn't too hot or too cold Pope moved your leg so your knee was underneath the faucet. The wound's contact with the water wasn't as bad as you thought, but it could’ve been you were distracted by his soothing touches as he held you close to him. Pope was careful not to get any of the soap in the cut just on the surrounding area and when he was finished he made sure to clean the rest of your blood-caked leg up as well. Once you were all cleaned up, he padded your leg dry before he attempted to put ointment on the tender flesh.

"Is it going to hurt?" You squeaked as he retrieved the ointment from the countertop.

"It might sting, but it shouldn't, '' he reassured you, as he brought the ointment-covered q-tip to your knee, but you couldn't help that your knee-jerked away from his touch.

"Ow, fuck!"

"Y/n, I haven't even touched you yet"

"I know, I know, sorry"

"I promise it won't hurt, y/n, and if it does you can punch me or something" even if it did hurt that bad you couldn’t imagine hurting Pope in any way. He once again leaned back in with the q-tip and sure enough, it wasn't painful at all. The ointment soothed the burning sensation of the area which finally allowed you to relax. He then carefully put a gauze pad on the injury, before wrapping your knee securely with gauze. You slid off the edge of the grimy porcelain tub and onto the ground while Pope stood next to the sink and neatly tucked everything back into the first aid kit.

"Uh, thanks--" your words got lost in your throat when your eyes met his warm eyes "--um, dude?" You felt stupid when it came out as a dumbfounded question and the heat quickly rose to your cheeks. If it was any time for you to die you wish it would have happened right then.

"Yeah, any time, y/n" he shot an endearing smile in your direction and you've never wanted to kiss a man so much before in your life.

You both let the awkwardness settle over you. The two of you riddled with hesitancy, but quietly yearned to confess your feelings to one another. He needed to get out of there. Pope gave you a curt nod and a tight smile, but as he headed towards the door there was vacillation in his movements. Before you lost sight of him from the doorway, he turned back around determined.

"Y/N, I gotta--" you were soon on your feet as the last bit of courage you had for your lifetime allowed you to meet him halfway. He didn't bother finishing his sentence as he decided his actions would speak for him. Pope cupped your face in his soft hands and crashed your lips together. The kiss was sweet, sweeter than anything you've ever experienced before. His plump lips gilded confidently over your timid ones. As the fire inside of you diminished your shyness you shifted yourself forward onto your tippy toes to deepen the kiss. Your movements caused you to pin Pope against the bathroom wall and you could feel him smile against your lips. His velvet tongue dragged against your bottom lip for permission to explore you further and you were more than eager to let him.

"Fucking finally!" The familiar voice of the rowdy klepto caught you guys by surprise causing both of you to jump away from each other.

"I guess I'm forty bucks richer, I knew you had it in ya, Pope!" JJ beamed as he walked towards the two of you and you playfully rolled your eyes at the blonde-haired boy.

"Fuck off!" Pope giggled and slammed the door in JJ's face before he turned to face you.

"Now, where were we?"

[cajunquandary]

Hands that Heal

Link: (coming soon to Ao3)

Summary: Sometimes all you need is a little push the right direction...

Created for: @negans-lucille-tblr SPN Secret Santa Fic Exchange

Rating: 18+ only

Pairing: Dean x OFC (Jay)

Warnings: Jealous Dean, fluff, smut, smidge of angst, medical IV (briefly), unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap the willy)

Wordcount: 3.8k

A/N: Happy Holidays, @jay-and-dean! I was so ecstatic to have received your name and hope that my ramblings make you smile a little.

.

It’s a funny thing, the way everyone goes on about the eyes being windows to the soul. Of course, they can be very telling, and if you ever catch yourself getting lost in those of the Winchesters, how could you believe anything else? Or perhaps you are more like Jay. 

Jay has been with the Winchesters for quite some time. She’s been lost in those eyes. And she’s been found. The pure green folds of Dean’s have scooped her up, swaddled her, saved her. So have Sam’s hazel, but not in quite the same way. Not that either brother knows. Only Cas. 

Cas has seen the way her deep brown eyes linger just a little longer than they ought to, can feel the ache in her chest. There are times when Jay meets the angel’s gaze just afterwards but looks away just as quickly. They both know, but they won’t talk about it. And that’s okay. 

But for Jay, she can see beyond the green. Beyond the freckles and blushing pensive lips, the curve of his jaw, the gently rolling hills of his chest and arms. She traces the majestic waves and ripples beneath his warm skin with only her eyes and her heart. They come to rest just past strong wrists and fall like weighted feathers upon Dean’s weathered hands. 

You see, that’s where the soul really reveals itself closest to visible flesh. Each scar and busted knuckle tell a story. The pattern of freckles and tan lines speak of years in the sun. The calluses of his palm and fingertips disclose a rough life, a tough job. They are toned with skill, accurate in all things. They can field strip a gun and put it back together in the blink of an eye, tie complicated knots with dexterity, bait a hook and cast a line without hesitation, and even mold and create custom parts for Baby as they fix her up.

And yet, the skin between those marks is soft, no longer as elastic as it once was, but still full of life and love. The very muscles that hold together the bone and sinew have the capacity to both take life, and give it. Jay has watched them rip apart monsters and gently caress and hold victims within the same minute. 

Such an extreme duality shouldn’t be so neatly wrapped up in one man, but it was. It was both Dean’s light and his curse. Jay shivered as she hesitated just a moment too long on the fantasy of those thick muscled, deadly, yet oh-so-gentle hands, imagining how they might tickle as they might glide over her smooth skin. Of course, Dean notices. 

“There’s no way you’re cold, Jay. It’s a hundred friggin degrees outside!”

Right. Jay had to remind herself that they were on a case. No distractions. “Yeah, I-I’m good. Just got a chill because, ya know, we’re next to human refrigerators.” She swallowed hard and clenched her teeth to help ground herself back to reality. 

It really was hotter than a witch’s tit out there and not much cooler inside the mortuary. Dean continued to read silently from some forms on the coroner’s clipboard before licking his thumb and index finger to turn the page. Heat washed over Jay, spreading like drunken honey from her scalp all the way to her toes. She tried to steady her breathing, remain in persona as a stoney FBI agent, but the hot red of her cheeks was giving her away. 

She tore her gaze away to inspect the body. Not that anything she made mental note of would stick at this point. Dean cleared his throat and pulled the clipboard closer to his face before setting his thumbnail between his teeth the way he always did when he was laser-focused on something. She only caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye, but it was the final bit to break her. 

With a huff, Jay exclaimed a little too loudly, “There’s nothing here for us, Dean. I’ll be in the car.” Her legs carried her much too quickly out the swinging doors and up the stairs. 

“Um, okay?” Dean grumbled to himself before setting the paperwork back in its place and following Jay. “What the hell got into her?” 

Jay was glad to leave Texas. Mid-July heat drained her, along with every plant and tree scorched under the unrelenting and searing white sun. The world around them was bleached and bathed in the almost-eerie too-bright light. Well, everything except what existed in the shadows of the Impala. The sparse countryside rolled away mile by mile as time ticked by with every song on Dean’s favorite cassette. 

The air conditioning just couldn’t keep up, so Dean rolled down the windows. Jay tied up her locks in frustration, leaving a messy excuse for a bun resting on top of her head. The leather seats did nothing to help as she sweat through her shorts until she was nearly sliding off the seat. 

“How much longer until Oklahoma?” She sighed. For the third time that hour.

Dean shot a glare in her direction before settling his attention back on the highway. The heat was getting to him too, and even with sunglasses on, spots were gathering in his vision and impairing him with every piercing flash of the sun off of the windshields of passing cars. “Jay, I swear if you ask me ‘are we there yet’ one more time, I’m going to friggin pull over.”

“Ugh, FINE.” Jay wished to be nearly anywhere but here. Resignation set in and she slumped in the seat and let her bare feet hang out the window, crossing her arms. 

Dean turned the music louder, trying to drown out his own misery rather than her. He began to belt out slightly off-key to “Dazed and Confused.”

Jay cracked a half smile but hid it from Dean. 

He rapped out the solos on the steering wheel, his hands keeping perfect time as they danced upon the taught leather. 

Maybe pulling over wouldn’t be a half-bad idea, Jay thought. 

She closed her eyes, allowing the steady rumble of the engine to echo through her as hot wind whipped through the cab. She cracked them open again just long enough to witness the stretch of tight skin over Dean’s knuckles, the way the washed out wilderness blurred past behind them and accentuated the tan he’d gained from driving. 

The image was burned into her mind. To help pass the time, Jay granted herself permission to linger on it, explore it. Despite the heat outside, a new, different heat grew steadily in her core, stirring somewhere deep between her heart and soul. 

Not too long after, the Impala slowed and turned into a run down gas station--the first one in an hour. As Dean filled up, Jay took the opportunity to find shelter in some air conditioning and hopefully an ice-cold drink. Inside the store was no better. In fact, it was worse. The air was still and thick with humidity from the cooler, which buzzed and whirred as if it were possessed. 

“Sorry, Miss. Cooler is out. Hot drinks only,” a disheveled and sweat-drenched employee slouched over the register. 

“Thanks… got any pie?” Jay decided that if they had to drink hot water, they may as well have some comfort food. 

“Whatever we got is over there.” The clerk motioned with his eyes, no strength to even lift a finger. 

Jay stalked back to the car empty handed and more pissed than ever. If the summer heat was something tangible, she could just strangle it. Kick it, punch it. Anything to fight it. 

Dean finished up just in time, careful not to touch the scorching black paint and chrome on the car. “What, you go pee and come out with nothing? I’m dyin’ here!”

Jay snapped. “NO DRINKS. NO PIE. NOTHING. K?!” 

Dean was taken aback by the outburst. It was then he noticed the sunken look and dark circles under her eyes and the red sheen over her face and neck. She was getting pale and wasn’t sweating anymore.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry.” His brows knit as he drove slowly through the town, hoping for a decent motel to rest at for a while. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait but a few blocks before The Moonlight Motel came into view. 

Pay by the hour may not be the greatest, but at least it was cheap and would likely be empty this time of day. 

Jay was losing touch and the following events were a blur. The next thing she truly could grasp and remember was lying mostly clothed in a cold shower. Dean sat facing her atop the closed toilet seat, a worried face perched upon clasped hands. Still a bit out of it, Jay relaxed into the cool water as it slowly washed the fever down the drain. The world slipped away, replaced by a gentle, dark nothing.

When Jay stirred, the room was too dim to still be day and shadows were held at bay by only a small lamp on the far side of the dingy room. She couldn’t remember how she got there at first, but as she woke, things gradually came back to her. 

Dean had practically carried her to the room. He’d carefully set her in the bathtub and removed her belt, overshirt and boots. He’d turned on the cold water and at first, she’d protested, but slipped in and out of consciousness. He’d retrieved ice from the machine down the hall and poured it over her as he constantly monitored her vitals and temperature. 

He’d withdrawn her, a soaking wet dead weight, stripped away the sopping clothes while careful not to look where it would make her uncomfortable, and buttoned her up in the softest flannel he had. 

Jay glanced down at her right hand, as it felt stiff and sore. A needle was taped there, no longer hooked to the empty bag of saline, taped down and left in place just in case. Jay wiggled slightly when she realized that her other arm had gone quite numb beneath her and--Dean?

His soft snores disrupted as she shifted, equally mortified and elated to be nestled into the crook of his arm. Dean woke and rubbed his eyes, as if pretending he’d been awake the whole time. His voice was low and gravely from sleep. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” He looked down at her, so small in his arms, furious with himself for not taking better care of her. 

“M-good,” Jay choked out, completely entranced by being so close to the hunter. Close enough for their breath to mix and his cologne to shroud her senses. Close enough to see the flecks of golds and blues and dark greens in the folds of his irises. Her breath caught and she shivered. Again. Jay mentally kicked herself for that tell. “Thank you… Sorry I was being a brat.”

“No. No, this is on me. You were sun-sick. I’m sorry. I should’ve--”

Jay put a finger to his parted lips with only the intention to stop Dean from blaming himself (like always,) but the touch sent electric pulses through her fingertips and set fire to every nerve in her body. They were impossibly soft and warm. 

Dean caught her hand tenderly in his before she could pull away and planted a slow kiss on her knuckles. He watched anxiously as her pupils dilated and her breathing became more shallow. Pulling their hands out of the way, Dean leaned forward just slightly and planted a firm, reassuring kiss to her forehead. 

Jay’s mind was a mess. This was more than familial. Were they crossing a line? Or maybe it just meant that Dean was comfortable with her, and concerned. But even as the thoughts swirled, her lips had a mind of their own. As Dean traced his nose down hers until their heads were pressed together, Jay angled upward to meet him. 

When their lips locked, there was no more question. Jay loved Dean, and he knew and he loved her back. It was soft and sweet, with their eyes shut tight, just exploring and tasting and sucking gently. 

The remainder of the trip back to the bunker was spent with Dean humming, a stupid smile plastered on his face, and Jay resting across the front seat, her head in his lap. Dean stroked her soft, brown hair adoringly. The night was much cooler and comfortably dark with only dim, scattered stars to blanket the hunters. 

~

Everything was different after the motel. The kiss. 

Almost six months had gone by and for the most part, they’d been wonderful. Jay spent more time in Dean’s room than her own, and the hunts had been good so far, like old times. 

Until this one. 

Jay, Sam, and Dean were doing a bit of recon at a local bar to dig up some answers, or at the very least, a lead. Jay had dressed to stun, as usual. (After all, men’s lips tended to be a bit more loose around a pretty girl.)

Dean was hovering. Everytime Jay got close to some useful information, Dean would scare off the burly locals with a death glare. 

Until this one. 

This man was built like a tank. He towered even over Sam by a few inches and dwarfed Jay in comparison. Sam eyed her uncomfortably from a few tables over, but he always got like that when someone was bigger than him. Dean didn’t adjust his tactics at all, and when the big guy had enough of Dean dancing around him and bumping his chair with an insincere, “sorry, man,” the guy stood up and puffed out his chest. Dean moved to both protect Jay and get in a prime fighting position, but Jay yanked him away by the collar of his jacket faster than he could complain. 

She didn’t stop until they were completely outside the bar, then shoved him into the soot-covered brick wall. Dean opened his mouth to spout something pigheaded, but stopped himself as he felt the chill of her glare more than the chill of the snow flurries swirling around them. 

“Would you just trust me to do my job? What is your problem?” 

“I do! I just--” Dean waved in a flustered motion, unable to find the words. All he knew was that when she got a little too... comfortable... with anyone, he saw red. 

Still, Jay seemed to understand. She reached up and held his face firmly between her palms, forcing him to maintain eye contact. 

“I’m yours. I know that you worry, what you fear. I’m not going to leave you. Ever. No one can ever take me from you, either, because I’ll haunt your ass and you know it.”

Dean’s bottom lips quivered just barely, and he quickly bit it back. “Don’t you even joke about that,” his voice broke. 

“De- I’m right here, okay?”

 He nodded and leaned into her until his face was buried in her neck. He squeezed his arms around her, never wanting to know what it would feel like to have to let go. 

A muffled “let’s go back to the motel” emanated from somewhere within Jay’s scarf and she nodded in response. 

Dean grasped her hand as they walked the short distance back to the rented room. Jay stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide and pointing over to the edge of the woods. A startled “Dean!” escaped her, and Dean dropped her hand and withdrew his gun, ready for a fight. His plumes of hot breath on the air slowed to nearly nothing as he steadied himself and visually searched the area. 

What had she seen?

Before he could ask, something hard, round and icey struck the back of his shoulder with decent force. He spun on his heels and lowered his weapon to find Jay wide-mouthed and laughing, another snowball forming in her hands. 

“Son of a bitch! You want to play dirty, huh?” Dean howled. He holstered the pistol and raced to close the distance between them. With a squeal and a grunt, the two ended up in a heap in the wet, mushy snow. 

Jay managed to end up on top of him and leaned in for a deep kiss. She could feel the smile on his lips as his tongue graced across hers. When at last they came up for air, Dean was moving his arms and legs haphazardly. 

“A slush-angel?” Jay giggled at the sorry creation. 

“What, my art not good enough for you?” Dean retorted while wearing a shit-eating grin. “And no, actually, it’s a Yeti.” 

The wet chill began to sink into their bones, so they hurried onward. Dean fiddled with the key card but the lock gave him fits. 

“C’mon, Dean! I’m freezing to death!” 

“Yeah, yeah, me too. Hold your horses.”

At last, the door swung open and Jay rushed inside, leaving Dean to close and lock the door behind them. She’d already started stripping off the wet outer layers when Dean approached. With every step bringing him closer, his heartbeat rose and he wrestled out of his own layers. 

Jay moved to lift off her shirt, but Dean covered her hands with his, intertwining their fingers. He stood against her, and in one swift move, wrapped both of her wrists in a single firm grip behind her, and with the other, pressed an open palm against her belly. 

Jay gasped, her knees going weak with what she knew was coming next. Despite the weather, his touch was toasty. Coarse skin slid over her soft flesh, causing a friction that left Jay needing more. Heat flushed her cheeks and pooled deep in her stomach. Dean melted with every shuttered breath of hers as he stroked up and down beneath the fabric of her shirt, making sure to linger over the more sensitive areas as she twitched and bit down on her lip. 

Dean massaged her breasts with skilled fingers for a few moments, but a sensual twist of her nipple sent Jay reeling backwards, supported only by Dean’s other arm. With her head tilted back, Dean took the opportunity to kiss and suck and nip zig-zagged lines over the most delicate parts of her neck and along her collarbone. 

Jay squirmed and panted with lust-blown pupils and a cry just on the tip of her tongue. Dean’s grasp only steadied her against him more until he found himself grinding into her, faint moans already filling the air. The growing bulge in his pants drove Jay mad. She wanted to be covered by him, skin on skin, needed him inside her. 

“D-Dean please, please…” Jay whimpered and attempted to wiggle out of his hold once more to no avail. 

“Please, what, pretty girl? Tell me what you want.” Dean breathed against her ear, just above a whisper. He sucked and nibbled in the hollow behind it.

A shudder wracked Jay, but this time, she didn’t mind the tell. She had him. He was hers. But right then, she needed more and she knew he was holding back. “Unnghh, please… need you, now,” she managed.

“Okay, Baby,” Dean crashed his lips to hers and shifted until Jay was suspended in the air and straddling him as he walked them towards the bed. He dropped her playfully and they scrambled to see who could lose their remaining clothes the fastest.

In a fray of scattered clothing, Dean climbed on top of her, comfortably crushing Jay into the lumpy mattress. He let his full weight rest upon her. 

“Stop it,” she giggled as his scruff tickled her cheek. 

“Why don’t you make me?” Dean grinned between planting kisses everywhere he could reach. 

Before he could react, Jay had him rolled onto the floor. She straddled him and tried to concentrate despite his hard cock resting perfectly between her hot, dripping folds. Her hair created a curtain around their faces, blocking out everything but that moment and the sensations it was riddled with. Dean’s eyes closed and mouth opened like a fish out of water. His breaths were shallow and shaky. Jay fought the urge to lift her hips just so, knowing that if she did, and she came back down upon him, his throbbing dick would line up just perfectly… and they’d end up on the floor for the remainder of their romp. 

She rose to her feet, grasping his hand and pulling him up with her. Dean’s eyes were full of question, longing. His cheeks were flushed and hot to the touch. He was melting at every touch and could do nothing about it but wait for her. 

Jay led him over to the chair and pushed him into it. He nearly tripped on his way down. That stupid smile she loved so much spread across his face again as he dug his fingers into her hips and pulled her onto him. She let out a yelp as the broad head of his large cock spread her entrance, dripping with precum, and buried itself deep inside until her walls stretched almost uncomfortably. The shock of his size was something she’d never get used to. Each time was like the first, the same butterflies swarming in her stomach, the same jolts of pure lust burning through her veins.

Dean gasped and held her close to him, trembling hands roaming her back and squeezing her ass. Jay carded her hands through his hair and pulled just slightly at the nape of his neck as he whined in approval. Those laments made her head swim and her limbs weak. Drunk on Dean, she adjusted her position until he was sunk deep into the spot that was just right, then began to move back and forth, slow and steady. Dean’s breaths stuttered and his head fell back, leaving his neck open for Jay to take into her mouth. 

“Fuck--Baby you feel s-so good,” he stammered between increasing moans and grunts. She could see in his eyes that he was losing control.

Jay cried out as he began to fight her movements with his own, pounding up in all the right spots. She arched her back as the coil wound tighter… higher… tighter… higher... until she shattered in his arms, his name and curses spilling from her gaping mouth. 

He held her through it and chased his own orgasm, sucking a mark onto her chest before he spilled into her. Everyone would know she was his, and only his. Her walls clenched in waves and he pulsed within them, his delicious sounds filling her ears as she came down. 

Jay crashed her lips into his, and he returned with fervor until they were both completely breathless. Wrapped there in Dean’s arms, Jay was home. 

No, nothing was ever the same after that first kiss. And that was okay. It was amazing.

.

.

WAYWARD PEEPS:

@carryonmywaywardcaptain @manawhaat @supernatural-jackles @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch @bummblebeeblue @nothin-after-79-blog @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction @taste-of-dean @impala-dreamer @arryn-nyxx @idk-life01 @attorneyl @deathtonormalcy56 @xwing-baby @wonder-cole @itsangelpie @thinkinghardhardlythinking

ANGST BABES:

@trexrambling​ @abbessolute @emptywithout

ALL ABOUT THAT DEAN:

@akshi8278 @will-winchester

@waywardbaby* the smut was heavily inspired by The Scene. Tagged as promised lol

Tag List now open!

[lovelywingsart]

Loss

-- Karl Heisenberg X OC (AFAB, She/They) --

This is... possibly my favorite story I've written for them, I can't even lie. :'D I don't get to write this kind of stuff often!

Ever wonder why she's missing an eye? (And why she hates the creatures in the factory so much?) Well, now you know.

**Hey! Small reminder that I have a 'Masterlist' for this now! I'll get updated and organized with every story uploaded <3 Please enjoy!**

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*Warning?: Lots of blood, injury/loss of organ, death of multiple Haulers, general shock/panic from pain, medical help

Summary: While down in the tunnels, an unfortunate welding incident leads to a serious injury, dead zombies, and... a surprisingly caring Lord.

The sound of metal striking stone echoed through the tunnels. Grunts and groans of the mutant creatures who worked were common, though one was silent. Emelia kept her eyes on her own work, focusing enough to tune out the other noises except for that of the small welder she held up to a rather large pipe that was fixed to the stone wall. She kept her face covered with a mask, her eyes concentrated on the small area she needed to fix. It was an important pipe, one that would be used for fluid movement once fully integrated into the system of other pipes and machinery. It was a common job for her now, and she enjoyed it. She was relatively left alone due to the proximity of the sparks, and she had come to find that the creatures around her were technically under Lord Heisenbergs command. The man had mostly guaranteed they wouldn't touch her, and he had been mostly right. They didn't touch her physically, but sometimes they got a bit too close for comfort, both physically and while swinging their weapons. And so she preferred to stay off to the side most days, but this time she was forced to be close due to the area in dire need of repairing.

She was careful with the welding, mostly for her own well-being; One wrong move and she was potentially getting hurt. While the sparks from the welding hitting didn't bother her now as much they used to when she was fully human, the feeling of a mis-directed full blast from the welder onto her covered fingers was still a painful possibility, even with the thick gloves she was given. She had to admit, the close proximity of the mutant creatures made her... nervous. She forced herself not to jump with every strike their weapons made against the stone, though she stopped as there was a hit VERY close to her side.

The welder was turned off and she roughly lifted the helmet, glaring at the groaning creature that had stumbled close.

"Back off!!" She snarled, making the creature take a step back and give a screech in response.

She refrained from lunging at it, hearing Heisenbergs words in the back of her mind. 'They're brainless idiots, but they won't attack you as long as they have those pieces on their heads. Leave them alone and you'll be fine.' He had said, and she gave a huff. Sure, they wouldn't attack, but they would come damn close to simply hitting her as they swung their axes to chip away at stone.

She narrowed her eyes at the one who had wandered close as it simply resumed it's own work, failing to notice the ever growing crack it had been causing in a smaller pipe next to the one she was working on. She simply returned the helmet to its position over her face with a huff before turning back to the pipe, bringing the welder up to finish the section she had been working on. It was a decently sized spot, and it was almost done... The angle was tricky to work with, but not the worst. But she kept glancing over at the mutant next to her with every swing, the sound and vibration of the axe hitting the wall causing more of a ringing in her ears than the welder did.

The crack in the smaller pipe got larger and larger, resulting in a small hiss of air that she caught on to almost immediately. She paused, lowering the welder to listen. What the hell...

It wasn't until the hissing grew much louder that she realized where it was coming from, and she tore off the helmet as the mutant raised its axe once more.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU-" she started, taking a step closer to the creature.

She was halted as it swung hard, hitting the wall with enough force to make her teeth rattle. There was a split second of silence before the cracked pipe nearly exploded, sending pieces of shrapnel flying with a concentrated blast of scorching hot steam- directly into her face. She had unintentionally moved in front of it, not noticing until an excruciatingly searing pain shot through her system and she lost vision.

An ear piercing screech left her throat as she stumbled back, her hands clasping and tearing at her face in a desperate attempt to make the pain stop. Blood flowed down her face from a gash across her nose and left temple, and the flesh around her right eye bubbled and bled. Her eye... Through her grasping, her now blood-covered hands found their way to her eye, and the decently sized piece of curved shrapnel that had embedded itself into the organ. She couldn't stop the gasps and yells of pain, her own ears deaf to her noises as tears of pain and shock streamed down her cheeks. Oh god it hurt... It hurt so much... She couldn't see... She couldn't BREATHE...

The creature had backed away in a startled fashion at her yelling, and the others had stopped their with with their heads turned towards her as she began to hyperventilate. The metal... The metal was... She grabbed at the piece of piping that now protruded from her face, taking a near wheezing gasp before instinctively yanking it away to remove it- along with the eye itself.

Another shrill scream of pain echoed through the tunnels, followed closely by the sound of heavy, running footsteps as she dropped the item in another wave of shock. Her back hit the wall as she thrashed from the pain, blood splattering and dripping all over her front and the ground. The vision in her left eye was clouded from the pain, and so she didn't see Heisenberg nearly skid around the corner- but she heard him through her cries.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!" His voice boomed through the cavern, very obviously and incredibly pissed that his own work had been disturbed by the commotion. It wasn't until he realized the sight before him that he froze- the mutants had stopped working entirely, one even nearing something in the ground. That 'something', Heisenberg saw, was the piece of metal that had come from the broken pipe that was now filling the area with hot steam, embedded in a golden-irised eye. Blood covered the ground, a large trail of it leading to the source of the noise. His blood nearly ran cold as the sight of Emelia against the wall finally registered, her pained cries still echoing.

"What the hell-" he started, briskly making his way over to her as she doubled over and collapsed to her knees, blood now streaming down her arms and pooling on the ground as she kept her hands clasped over the right side of her face.

He managed to have her look up at him, his breath halting as she stared up at him with a wide eye and a horrified look on her blood soaked face. One more look around them helped fit the pieces together, and he lifted his arm. Smaller pieces of metal suddenly flew to the pipe, covering the hole and halting the steam. He instantly brought Emelia to his chest, feeling her shaking and sobbing as he bared his teeth. His attention was then directed at the mutant creatures, a spark of pure fury in his eyes as he shifted his hand. The metal devices over their heads suddenly constricted to extreme degrees, resulting in their skulls cracking and popping simultaneously with small explosions and fountains of blood. Each one fell to the ground as he made sure they were dead with the ever tightening devices, only stopping once their heads were nothing but piles of mush against the ground. His attention was turned once more to the crying woman against his chest, using his own hand to cover her face as he quickly picked her up. Her loud cries had resolved to panicked and pained sobs, her gasping breaths still irregular as he quickly made his way out.

"BREATHE, Emelia-" he said sternly, making a furious pace back towards the upper levels of the factory. He could feel her blood soaking through the shirt he wore, though he didn't exactly care at the current moment.

"Breathe." He repeated.

He utilized metal scraps to move quicker, and before he knew it, they were in his personal workshop. Emelias sobs had then lessened to wet gasps, though she still gripped her face under his hand while also gripping his jacket. It wasn't until he carefully set her down on a cushioned chair next to his table that she made an attempt to look at him, her mouth open as she took gasps and gulps of air. Heisenberg paused for a single moment, meeting her remaining eye. Her body shook as he finally pushed away, moving to rummage through a crate off to the side.

"You're in shock Emelia, you NEED to breathe." He said, finally returning with an impressive amount of medical supplies, namely gauze and a green liquid substance, as well as a simple clean rag. He knelt in front of her, managing to pry one of her hands away. The gashes along her nose and temple had healed about half way, though the one over her nose still bled a good amount. He ran the rag underneath the gash, clearing the blood away from her mouth and nose.

"Breathe. Can you hear me?" He asked, his voice now taking on a surprisingly concerned tone. He frowned as she didn't respond, simply staring at him as the stream of tears refused to slow. He grabbed her hand with his.

"Fine then, squeeze once for yes. Can. You. Hear. Me." He kept the rag pressed to her face, but gave a huff as he received a small squeeze around his fingers. "Good. I need you to BREATHE Emelia, you're not healing fast enough."

Emelia stared at him. Pain still surged through her system as she held onto his free hand, though she did attempt to control what breathing she could. Heisenberg seemed pleased as he listened, wiping away the remainder of the blood from the bottom half of her face.

"Good... Good." He spoke calmly, taking his hand away and nearly covering half of the rag with the green substance. She gave a pained whine as he pressed it to the gash, her breath catching in her throat and her body going rigid with sparks of pain as he dragged it along the wound. His eyes followed the rag, watching as the gash healed quicker with the liquid. He managed to clear her face of most of the blood before finally focusing on the area her other hand covered.

"I'm gonna need you to move your hand." He said simply, frowning as she let out a sudden scared whimper and backed away into the chair. He rolled his eyes and reached for her face, giving a slightly irritated grunt as she held up her free hand in near defense. "Emelia, if you don't move your hand, I'm going to pry it from your face and use every bit of scrap metal in this room to hold you down." He threatened, watching as she stiffened. "This will go much easier for you if you do what I say. Now move. Your. Hand."

He held up the rag in a threatening manor, moving two or three pieces of metal beside him to prove a point. Emelia was silent save for a few whines and whimpers, but her hand eventually twitched. She jumped as he lightly tugged her forward with her free hand, more panic returning to her remaining eye as her other hand was moved- and she realized she couldn't see. She couldn't see, and there was piercing, uncomfortable air where her right eye should have been. Another stream of tears started as her shoulders shook. When she pulled the metal, did she...- She didn't even realize...- She didn't think...-

Heisenbergs frown deepened as he saw the full extent of the damage, followed by her new, terrified sobs. The skin around the now empty socket had all but melted away, having bypassed the blistering point to be nothing but a bloody, shriveled mess. Her eyelids and eyebrow were now nonexistent, caught in the range of both the steam and the shrapnel that had hit her. The gash had actually traveled below her cheek and over her jaw, he noticed, and he pressed the rag against it to assist the healing process. But the eye... Or, the area where the eye used to be... That would take much longer due to the damage despite the bleeding having slowed considerably.

"Hold this." He said, grabbing her wrist and moving her hand to hold the rag against the bottom of the gash. Her lip trembled with silent sobs as he retrieved the gauze, nearly soaking it with the liquid as well. "This'll hurt like hell, but I need you to stay still." He said, leaning up to her height and holding onto her shoulder with a tight grip. Another scared whimper escaped her lips a she held up the gauze, though didn't move as he shot her a look.

She attempted to close her remaining eye and focus on the pressure of his hand on her shoulder, but was unable to stop the heavy cringe and cry of pain as the soaked gauze was pressed over the burns. Her hand flew up to hold Heisenbergs arm as if to push it away on instinct, but he forced her back against the chair to keep her still while she squirmed. He used his other hand to grab the other side of her face, managing to keep her head still with a grunt.

"Stay STILL." He growled, though he calmed somewhat as she gave him an odd look of fear. He sighed. "Easy..." he mumbled, keeping the soaked gauze pressed to her face while reaching for a new piece. He grabbed a larger, thicker piece, carefully maneuvering it over the one already against her skin. "Hold it."

He waited until her hand gingerly felt its way under his to hold the gauze, looking down in order to locate the small roll of medical tape he had grabbed. He pulled at it, nodding to her.

"Come here." He said simply, holding up a piece he had ripped off.

Emelia hesitantly moved forward, flinching as he applied pieces of the tape to the gauze and her skin, locking the substance in place while being careful to avoid the gash that intercepted the burns at points. She jumped as he suddenly grabbed her face to look straight forward at him, though was surprised to find his grip... gentle.

"You're still in shock." He said quietly, his voice having an entirely different tone than before. "You're staying up here for now. You don't get a choice."

She stared at him for a moment before giving a stiff nod. He returned the nod, standing in front of her, though unsurprised as she didn't move save for her shaking. There was a moment of silence as he moved the supplies to the table before giving a huff. Well, she couldn't just sit in the chair the whole time... She'd be in the way of his own work. But more importantly, she wouldn't have room to relax, nor would he have room to screw around with metal pieces as he usually did, and something told him she didn't want to see flying metal anytime soon. An idea suddenly clicked in his mind, and he shrugged.

"Alright. Hold on, Emmy." Hs said casually.

Emelia looked up at him for a moment before letting out a surprised yelp as he suddenly scooped her up into his arms. She held her palm over the gauze with one hand still, but held onto his shoulder for dear life with the other as he walked to the door hidden around the corner. She flinched and closed her eye as he nearly kicked it open, curling to his shoulder in a nervous huddle. He couldn't help but sigh as he felt her move, only stopping once he reached a small room at the top of another set of stairs. More tables lined the walls, as well as a small couch-like object in the corner. He took her to the couch, setting her down carefully and watching as she cuddled to the cushions with a shudder and a sniffle.

"Stay here for... however long." He said, looking down at his blood stained clothing with a frown. "I need to change my shirt."

He nearly chuckled as she let out a whimper.

"Eh, I'm not worried. Wish I would've been a bit more prepared for blood is all." He replied simply, shrugging off his jacket. She flinched as he draped it over her shoulders, though she almost instantly cuddles into it with a shaky breath. An amused smile crossed his features before he stood straight, turning to head towards the door. "I'll come back with more gauze... Next time, don't move. The shock should wear off in a bit, but the pain will last longer. Trust me, I know."

He received no response save for another whimper before he finally left the room. This would be one hell of a few hours, he thought... Maybe days, depending. He knew she'd be fine... She always was. Wait, why was he even worried? WAS he worried??

Oh, hell... This would be interesting.

[always-and-forever-a-killjoy]

Good afternoon fuckers, I wrote approximately 3k words in between roleplay, looking after kittens, and

Title: knight in a beat-up green jacket

Wordcount: 3055

Summary: Jet Star and the Kobra Kid are injured. Party Poison is having a rough time. Cherri Cola just wants to be helpful.

Warnings: Major warnings for hospitals, mentions of/implied serious injuries, and mentions of death as well as general awfulness. Please be careful when reading!

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers @stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

(Actual fic under the cut)

Party Poison was going to cry. Or scream. Or pass out. Because the report had come in, Dr. Death Defying’s gravelly voice echoing through the radio with the dreadful news. Bad news from the zones tumbleweeds. It looks like Jet-Star and the Kobra kid had a clap with an exterminator that went all Costa Rica and uh, got them selves ghosted, dusted out on route Guano. And Poison’s world had shattered.

They and Fun Ghoul had driven out, as fast as the Trans Am would take them, searching for their brother and friend. Kobra’s bike had been lying on its side by the side of the road, broken and scorched, just like his brother’s body would be-

But Kobra had been alive, if barely, and so had Jet. So Ghoul and Poison had bundled them in and rushed them to the hospital, and the doctors had taken then away without even a single reassurance. All they had gotten was a grim “We’ll do our best,” from the head medic. And now Ghoul had xyr head in xyr hands as he and Poison waited anxiously and Poison was going to pass out. They followed Ghoul’s lead and buried their head in their hands, trying to breathe and mostly failing. Kobra could be dead right now, Jet could be gone and Poison wouldn’t even know, not until the dour-faced head medic came out and told them so. Their brother could be dying, in pain and without his friends, and Poison wouldn’t even be there. 

Just as it seemed like they couldn’t bear it any longer, rough, scarred hands materialized in their field of vision, pulling their hands away from their face.

“Poison. Poison.”

“Fuck off,” Poison choked out.

“Poison,” Cherri Cola’s voice said again, very patiently. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“Nothing is going to be okay!”

“It is, I promise. I’m here-“

“And what’s a fucking wavehead going to do?”

They almost regretted the words, watching Cherri flinch. His voice was calm though, when he next spoke. “I checked in with the medics. Kobra is stabilized, but not ready for visitors. Jet isn’t out of the woods yet, but they think he’s going to be okay.”

Poison froze at that, hardly daring to hope. “They’re going to be okay?”

“They’re going to be okay.” Cherri was still holding their hands away from their face, squeezing them gently in his rough, calloused ones, but he let go and reached to wipe a couple of tears Party hadn’t realized were there off their cheeks. “It’s okay, don’t cry. They’re going to be alright.”

That only made them cry harder, more tears pouring down their face. A strangled sob made its way out of their throat, and they crumpled entirely, throwing their arms around Cola. His arms were warm when they wrapped around Poison in return, rocking them gently back and forth. 

“Shh. Shhh. It’s okay.” Cherri kept repeating that until Poison’s sobs turned to sniffles, making vague noises of comfort as they took a few shuddering breaths.

He didn’t release them until a medic came over to tap him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, are you Cherri Cola?”

“That’s me. Is there word on Kobra and Jet?”

“The Kobra Kid is ready for visitors, if you want. He’s not awake yet,” they added as Poison sat up straight, clutching Cherri’s shoulders. “But you can go see him.”

“All of us?” Cherri asked, frowning.

“Only one visitor at a time.”

Poison leapt to their feet. Their throat didn’t seem to want to form words, so they gave Cherri their most pleading glance, practically begging. Thank the Phoenix Witch, he quickly nodded. “Poison will go, of course. I’ll stay here with Ghoul.”

Ghoul didn’t question that, and Cherri gave Poison’s hand a quick squeeze, flashing them a small smile. “Go on, see your brother.”

They tried to smile back, letting go of his hand as the medic led them through the whitewashed halls. It was too similar to Battery City for their liking, but at least in this building the paint was chipped and scratched, bits of graffiti scrawled occasionally here and there. Poison tried to focus on that instead of what this place reminded them of or where, exactly, they were going. 

It felt like both too long and too short before they were entering a hospital room, staring at the figure on the bed. Kobra was so still, unnaturally so. Not that he was usually energetic, per se, but he was never perfectly still, always fiddling with something or other. He looked small lying there- he always looked small to Poison, even if they were a frankly unfair amount shorter, but now he looked even smaller than normal. There were bandages wrapped all around his shoulder and upper arm, and an IV sticking out of his other arm. Poison wanted to cry just looking at him, but their tears were all cried out so they settled for sitting in the chair beside him, grasping his hand tightly even though they knew he couldn’t feel it. 

Kobra didn’t wake, but Poison thought they caught a tiny bit of movement, and their heart skipped a beat. “Kobra? Kobra?” He didn’t stir, and Poison settled back again, not releasing his hand. They were never letting him go again, they decided. 

True to their resolve, they didn’t move an inch until the medic came back to kick them out, insisting that the doctors needed to look at their brother. Poison was left to find their way back on their own, winding through the too-white hallways and trying not to think.

Ghoul was asleep on Cola’s lap when they arrived back at the lobby, curled like a cat, and Cola put a finger to his lips in the universal motion of ‘shh’. 

Poison approached quietly, settling next to the other two. “Ghoulie fell asleep?”

“Cried xemself to sleep,” Cola whispered, brushing a hand over xyr hair. “How’s Kobra?”

They could feel tears prickle their eyes again, remembering Kobra’s still body, but they blinked those away fiercely. “He’s…alive. Still passed the fuck out, but alive.”

“Thank the witch.”

“Any word on Jet?”

Cola shook his head. “I’m assuming they’re alive, since no one’s come to tell me otherwise, but no word otherwise.”

“That was so reassuring.”

He just sighed, the sigh turning into a yawn halfway through. “I wish I had more news to tell you, but no one’s told me anything- the reason I was the one being told news earlier is because I technically ‘checked them in’. I think you and Ghoul were having too much of a rough time.”

Cola’s yawn made Party yawn as well, rubbing at their eyes. “They just rushed Jet and Kobes in, didn’t ask us anything. We went and sat down, and then you showed up.”

“Ah. Yeah. They were looking around for people who were with the two injured ‘joys when I came in, I figured I’d just give them the info they needed.”

It rankled their pride to admit they had needed help, but “Thank you, Cola.”

That earned them a faint smile. “Never thought I’d live to see the day you didn’t call me Pepsi.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Of course not.”

They definitely weren’t leaning against him, not at all. That would be very undignified for Party Poison, leader of the Fabulous Killjoys. But they didn’t protest when Cola wrapped his free arm around them cautiously, pulling them closer on the shitty hospital waiting chairs as Ghoul snored quietly. And if they leaned a bit on his shoulder, who was going to say anything?

-

The next morning, Party Poison woke up in a shitty hospital chair with Cherri Cola’s head leaning on top of theirs and Fun Ghoul stretched across both their and Cola’s laps. All in all, not the weirdest place they had ever woken up, but it was definitely up there. Especially given that there was a killjoy (neutral?) in the colors of a medic standing in front of them. 

“Ahem, excuse me?”

Poison blinked at them. “Fuck off, my crew’s sleeping.”

“Your friend is awake.”

They sat straight up, knocking Cherri’s head off them (to a lot of swearing from him, which they ignored). “Which one?”

The medic checked their chart.  “The killjoy known as Jet Star.”

“And they’re awake?”

“Yes, but there are some…complications.”

Cola was somewhat more awake by now, blinking and yawning with another muttered “Shit.” He pushed his hair out of his face. “What complications?”

“They’ve lost an eye.”

Poison appreciated, in some distant corner of their mind, the way that the medic didn’t try to sugarcoat the words. They just said it, straight-up, which was far better than dancing around the subject, in Poison’s opinion. But the greater part of their mind was involved with worrying about Jet. How were they going to take the news? Would it be harder for them to do what they needed? Would they be freaked out? 

“Fucking shit,” Ghoul swore from Poison’s lap, and they almost jumped. They hadn’t realized xe was awake. “Can I see them?”

“Yes, but only one visitor at a time.”

Ghoul cast Poison a pleading look. Although they would never admit it, not in this lifetime or the next, his puppy-dog eyes were very convincing. Not to mention that the worry in them broke Poison’s fucking heart. “Go on. I saw Kobra, you can see Jet.”

“Thanks, Pois!” Ghoul leapt up, almost toppling to the ground, and hurried after the departing medic.

Cola yawned and blinked at Poison. “Good morning, I guess. Sorry about falling asleep on your head.”

“I fell asleep on your shoulder, it’s fine.” They weren’t paying much attention to him, busy worrying about Kobra. “You think the medics would let me see Kobes?”

“Worth a shot.” He yawned again, running a hand through his messy hair. “If you want, I can talk to the head medic. They seem to have a soft spot for younger ‘joys, they’d probably let you see your brother if we ask nicely.”

Poison ignored the weird surge of guilt that Cola still hadn’t gotten to see either Kobra or Jet. They hadn’t seen Jet, and Ghoul hadn’t seen Kobra, so why should Cherri fucking Cola get to see either of them? “Great, let’s go ask.”

Cherri led them across the room, heading up to the tall and dour medic who had told Poison “We’ll do our best.”

“Hey.” Their voice was flat and calm.

“Hey…senior medic Dowdy, was it?” Cola’s voice was neutral bordering on friendly, and the medic’s face softened as Poison came to stand next to him.

“That’s my name, yep. And you are…Cherri Cola?”

Cherri nodded. “And this is Party Poison.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m assuming you two are here about seeing your friends?”

“We were hoping Poison might be able to see their brother, the Kobra Kid, since our other friend Fun Ghoul is with Jet Star right now.”

“Ah.” Dowdy frowned. “Well, Kobra isn’t awake yet, but I don’t think some visitors would hurt. Come on, both of you.”

Poison glanced at Cola, finding him already staring back.

“I don’t have to come,” he said quietly. “If you’d rather visit Kobra alone.”

Even though Cola had offered, and even if they didn’t trust him all too far, Poison didn’t have the will to keep him from seeing their brother. “You can come, but it’s not pretty.”

“Believe it or not, I’m rather used to not pretty.”

“Oh, I believe it.”

Cola’s voice softened slightly. “I think it’s harder for you to see him than me to see him, so the only question is if it’s harder for you to have me there.”

Why was he so goddamn fucking nice? “I don’t care.”

“I’m coming, then.”

Poison would never have admitted it, not in a thousand years or more, but it was nice to have Cherri next to them when walking the halls of this too-clean building where they weren’t in control of a single goddamn thing. They hated feeling helpless, always had, but at least with Cherri Cola there (and still trying to get his fucking hair to stay out of his face), they didn’t have to feel alone.

Another thing they would never admit to was the way they reached back, fumbling for Cola’s hand as they entered the room. It was long habit, forged by a good while of reaching for Jet whenever shit went south, but they never intended to reach for Cola of all people. Ghoul, at least, would have been understandable- xe was a member of Party’s crew- but Cola? Absolutely fucking not. 

Thank the Phoenix Witch, he said nothing about it, simply giving their hand a small squeeze. Poison didn’t squeeze back, but they didn’t let go either, not even at Cola’s tiny gasp upon seeing Kobra. Their brother looked not much better than yesterday, still far too small and far too still, but as they watched, he shifted slightly.

“He’s on his way to getting better. Assuming he does recover, we predict it will be one or two more days before he’s awake,” Dowdy informed them. “Now, I’ve got other patients to attend to, I’ll come kick you out if I need.”

Poison damn near cried, thanking every deity out there that Cherri was too absorbed in watching Kobra to even notice. He had moved. He was alive, and on his way to well. Poison thanked every deity out there for that as well, even muttering a few prayers under their breath.

Once the initial relief had worn off, it was back to watching their baby brother lay there, quiet as anything and still too fucking still.

“He looks so still. Still and small,” Cherri said softly. 

Poison hated that his first thought was the same as their first thought. “He’s too fucking small. And too fucking quiet.”

Cherri nodded and squeezed their hand again. “He’ll get better though.”

“You trust the medic?” It wasn’t like they trusted his word much, but Cola did know just about everyone in the Zones and the reputations thereof.

“Dowdy’s been working at this hospital for as long as I’ve been in the Zones. I’d trust them with my life- and I trust them with Kobra’s, which might be worth more.”

Poison shot him a glance. “Look, it’s not like I wouldn’t be sadder if Kobes died than if you did, but I’d still be sad.”

His smile was wry. “I didn’t realize you cared so much.”

“You’re a decent person, even if you’re insufferably nice.” They shrugged. “Plus, Kobes likes you.” 

“So not too personal then.”

“You’re my brother’s friend, nothing more.”

Cola gave them a small nod of acknowledgement. “I don’t mind, so long as all of you are safe.” 

“Stop being insufferably nice.”

“Then how will I be insufferable?”

“You could try not being insufferable,” they muttered.

He grinned. “I could, but there’s no fun in that. Besides, my plan is working. I’ve distracted you from worrying.”

Poison glared at him, but something he had said jogged at their memory. “You’re a bastard, but uh...sorry for being a dick to you when you first got here.”

“It’s fine, really.”

“No, it was shitty of me. I should’ve dealt with stuff without being pissy at you, even if I was worried.” They stared at the floor.

Cherri sounded both surprised and happy when he next spoke. “Well. Thank you, Poison. That was a nice apology.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” 

“No, seriously, I’m proud of you. You’re getting better at acknowledging your actions.” 

Poison looked up and made an ick face at him. “You sound like every other adult.”

“I am almost thirty, you know.”

“Old person.” 

“Hey! Rude youngster!” He was smiling though, and so was Poison, the shitty situation briefly forgotten.

“You guys are fucking loud.”

Party Poison’s head whipped around so fast their neck hurt, turning to see Kobra Kid blink sleepily from the bed. “What?” was all they could think to say.

His voice was quiet, but it was there. “Said what I said. You guys are fucking loud.”

The noise they made was halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Of course the first thing you do when you wake up is complain.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a little bitch.”

There were tears rolling down Poison’s cheeks now, but they couldn’t muster the energy to care. “Fuckface.”

“Bastard.”

“Bitch boy.”

“Baby fucker.”

“Dipshit.” 

“Asshole.” Kobra turned his head vaguely towards Cherri. “So how long have you loud bastards been stuck with each other?”

“Only since yesterday,” Cola told him. “When you and Jet came in.”

“Is Jet okay?”

Poison shot Cola a warning glare as he opened his mouth. “They’re going to be fine.” Kobra could find out later. 

Thank the witch, Cola nodded along. “They’ll be okay.”

“Good.” Kobra’s eyes were drooping again. “Now shut up and let me sleep.”

Dowdy arrived back a few minutes after that, and kicked them out just as promised. And thus began their second round of waiting, this time waiting for their friends’ recovery as opposed to news of them.

Cherri Cola stayed with Poison in the lobby as they waited for Fun Ghoul, and then he offered to wait with Ghoul while Poison went to see Jet. He waited with them through the next night and most of the next morning, until Kobra was awake again, and he stayed right by Poison’s side when Jet Star came down to the lobby for the first time, soon to be released from the hospital. Cherri was there when they had to help Kobra limp on out to the Trans Am, and he took the papers with all sorts of instructions on wound care from Dowdy. Cherri Cola was with the Fabulous Four from the moment he arrived at the hospital to the moment they got back to Dr. D’s radio station, where the Girl had been staying, and she came running into their arms. 

Later, when Ghoul would laugh and say “You’re a fucking hero, Cola. Like a knight in shining armor and all that”, he would smile and say “Not a hero. Just a poet.”

Maybe not a knight in shining armor, but Poison certainly thought he had been their hero in a beat-up green jacket.

[futurewriter2000]

Opposite Numbers - pt. 5

XX

It was cold. Cold and dark. Your fingertips were touching something- wood? Why did you feel wood underneath you? Where were you? You opened your eyes but it was still dark, the only light coming from the crack underneath the door. What door? Your arms tried to push you up but there was only pain in your stomach, ribs and mostly everywhere. It hurt, so you just laid there, trying to recall what had happened.

‘Voices, flash, darkness.’ you repeated in your mind over and over again, trying to search the darkest corners of your mind for a memory. Your hands pressed themselves against the wooden floor, your arm strength tried its best to push you up and with so much pain in your body, you were finally able to sit. The light that shone through the crack didn’t help much to help you figure out where you were. You lifted your arm to try and find the light switch but the moment your hand moved above your shoulder, pain stabbed your hip once again and you let out a groan. You felt like crying. There was everything coming to that point where you just knew you were about to cry.

‘But not today.’ you told yourself. Yes, it’s pain. Yes, it stabs and aches and hurts. Yes, you want to cry but guess what? You are not made of fragile bones. You are made of stones and stones don’t break.

Gritting your teeth, you pulled yourself together yet your legs could barely hold your weight. It felt like you haven’t walked in weeks but you still managed to help yourself with a shelf that appeared to be on your right.

“Shelf?” you wondered, moving your arms around the room. It was small and cramped with many objects. You knew exactly where you were. You were in a small cabinet, where usually the lost objects go to. You reached for the doorknob and tried to open it, but the door didn’t budge. “You have to be serious?” you groaned and looked around the darkness. Your hands tapped your robes for your wand but there was no wand with you.

There was no other solution than to look for the light switch. By now, you got so used to the pain that when it stabbed and scorched, you gritted your teeth and moved your hands on the wall until you felt something resembling a light switch shape underneath your hand.

And there was light. There was so much light your left shadow started to hurt and you closed your eyes before opening them slowly so they could adjust to the light.

If this was lost and found object room, then there has to be a wand somewhere here, couldn’t there. But who would ever be so reckless to lose a- “Wand?” you furrowed your eyebrows at the pack of wands on the second shelf. Apparently, a lot of students lose their wands. You picked the one that resembled yours. It didn’t feel right when you touched it and when you used it to unlock the door, it felt more foreign than ever. It took you four tries to get the spell correctly but when you did, you finally opened the door.

Morning light. Brighter and more powerful than the one you left behind. What time must it be? Perhaps five am in the morning? Maybe six?

Merlin, you just wanted to go to bed. Everything hurt and the more you limped towards your goal, the more adrenalin started to fade in your body. Your whole body was sore but it was still functioning and you were soon to enter your common room.

The next thing you knew you were standing next to your bed but you felt dirty, sleeping- if you could call it that- waking on a dirty wooden floor. So instead of just crawling into your bed, you took your towel and fresh clothes and went to the bathroom.

Boiling waterdrops were hitting your face, neck, shoulders, back, breasts, arms and legs. The shampoo from your hair moved down your back and legs. You looked down and you could see dirt- dark grey dirt and blood. There were bruises covering your legs with dark blue colour, purple shape spreading all over your right side of the upper body.

“Fuck.” was all you said when you noticed it. You felt the swollen flesh underneath your skin. It was numb, just like the flesh under every bruise. You walked out of the bath and wrapped a towel around your hip so that your breasts were exposed.

There you were. Bruised, beaten, defeated. There was even a thick line on your cheekbone. This one was more reddish than the other lines and shapes on your body.

There was something wrong? - Why couldn’t you cry now? When you woke up it was the first thing you wanted to do and now... now all you want to do is forget something had happened and go to sleep.

“(y/n)!” someone knocked on the door and you shot your head towards it. You knew that voice. It was Angelica’s, your roommate's.

“Yeah?” you replied with a raspy voice.

“Oh my God! You’re back! Are you okay?!” she shouted through the door and you looked yourself in the mirror. Bruises, marks, cuts...

“Yeah, I’m fine.” you replied and grabbed the clothes on the sink. “Give me a minute. I just need to get dressed.” and you heard some mumbles coming from the other side but the sound of your clothes being dragged onto your body overruled it. You twisted your hair into a towel and unlocked the door. Slowly opening it you found your four roommates staring at you.

“Oh my God!” Angelica burst into your arms, leaning her whole weight on you that it felt like your ribs were cracking all over again.

You gritted your teeth, trying to not let out a sound of pain.

“Where were you?” another roommate, Silvia, asked as Angelica let go of you.

“And what happened to you?” Angelica put her hands on your cheeks and brushed her thumbs on it. “Where did you get this cut?”

‘I’ve been beaten and locked in a lost and found cabinet.’ you thought.

“To be honest, I can’t remember.” you put Angelica’s hands away and moved passed them.

“You’ve been gone for three days- 41 hours to be specific and you’re telling me you can’t remember.”

‘41 hours?’ you stopped at the foot of your bed but still managed to put your dirty clothes in a bag and move to your nightstand.

“Can we talk about this later? I’m really beat and just want to go to sleep.” you uncovered the bed and was about to lay down.

“Hell no. You need to go to the hospital wing!” Silvia stormed over but you were already in bed.

“I’m fine.” you mumbled.

“Look at you?! What happened?! Tell us!” she demanded but you were already asleep. “(Y/N)?” she asked and kept glaring at you.

Were you asleep?

“She’s looking pale, Silvi.” Angelica ran to you and put her hand on your forehead. “And she’s burning up.” she panicked and looked at the others. “Go get the professor! Now!”

A few of the roommates left but Silvia and Angelica stayed with you. “(y/n), sweetie. Wake up.” Silvia kept moving your wet hair from your forehead. “Wake up, (y/n). Please...”

---

“We fixed the internal bleeding but the bruises and scars will have to heal by themselves.” a voice echoed in your ears, waking up your brain. “It was enough that she lasted for 41 hours. That much pain- it’s hard to handle but looks like you have one strong daughter.” you could see the figure talking. You could match the voice with a face. He was young, dark haired-

“Dad?” your eyes moved to the more familiar figure. Your voice was weak, barely coming out without sounding raspy. Your father’s eyes darted towards you and he was quickly by your side.

“Oh, sweetie.” he kissed the back of your hand and pressed it against his cheek. “You scared me.”

“I’m fine.” you simpered and he let out a small laugh.

“Once a stubborn child, always a stubborn child.” he smiled and you mirrored his expression.

“Where’s mum?”

“She’s on her way. She stopped by the house to get your documents but she’s coming.” he reassured, kissing your hand one more time.

“Hello Miss (y/l/n).” the Healer spoke and walked to your side. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

He smiled and lit the pocket light. You shut your eyes immediately, feeling strong pain in your right and left shadow. “Clearly not.” he put the light in his pocket and pulled himself a chair. His hands lifted your arm and he looked at you with his gorgeous brown eyes. “I will remove my hand and you will hold your arm up like this as long as you can. Alright?”

“Yes.” you replied and kept your arm like this, feeling like a fool.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Stupid.” you looked at him and smiled, showing him you were only joking. “I feel fine.”

“You keep saying that but I don’t know if I believe you.” He smiled and wrote something on the paper.

But then you felt it. The pain and you couldn’t help nor stop what happened next. It got dark again.

It didn’t take you long before you gained back your conscience but when you did, he was standing above you and looking at your eyes. “(y/n).” he said softly and you let out a small uh-huh.

“What happened?” your father cut in.

“Appears that her Basal Ganglia, the part of her brain that is responsible for her muscles, is either a bit dysfunctioning from 41 hours of not receiving any messages from the muscles or-” he stopped, glancing at you and your father.

“Or what?” you cut in before your father.

“Or it’s damaged.” he sighed and you felt your heart somehow squeeze in your chest.

“What does that mean?” you spoke before your father could say it.

“It means that it might still work but you won’t have much control of your muscles as you used to. Slower reflexes, not managing to lift heavy objects or flinching...”

“But- but I’m a wizard. How will I use my wand without knowing if it’s going to be okay or if it’s going to fall from my hand during a spell?” you started panicking, pleading the handsome Healer for him to tell you a cure or something to fix this.

“Until we do some more tests on it, I can’t reassure you anything but if you tell me what had happened, maybe I’ll understand better.” he sat back on the chair but you only glanced at your father and quickly at the doctor, shaking your head.

“I don’t know.” you lied and looked away.

The Healer looked up at your father and sighed. “Mr. (y/l/n), would you mind if I asked you to bring your daughter a glass of water. It’s important for her to drink a lot of liquid.”

Your father, worried, nodded and quickly left.

“Why do I need to drink a lot of liquid?” you furrowed your eyes.

“Stay hydrated.” he winked and put away the papers.

“You wanted to get rid of him.” you said and he leaned back on his chair.

“I thought you wouldn’t want him to know about your sexual activity.” he looked at you seriously and you immediately blushed.

“You thought right.” you buried yourself in the softness in the bed and he only chuckled.

“Do not worry. This is confidential. If you do not want them to know, you don’t have to tell me and so don’t I. You are 18 years old, legally an adult.” he smiled and you returned the smile. “Have you had a sexual relationship?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you on the pill?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” he checked something on the papers. “It’s good to know if we decide to give you medicine. Some cures can mess with the concentration pills. So it’s better if we know.” he nodded and you simpered. “Now.” he put the pen away as well. “What really happened?”

“I told you. I don’t know.” you lied one more time but there was something about him. The look in his eyes that wasn’t pity or forceful exactly. There was a soft feeling and that same soft feeling made you feel a bit guilty lying to the Healer.

“I saw how you looked at your father. You think that whatever you say, he will feel ashamed- or you would feel ashamed but you can tell me. If you tell me, I can understand your health better.”

There it was. That smile. It held the same power as the eyes.

He understood, so why were you still holding back?

“I don’t remember much. I was walking and I heard these mumbles and laughs. Suddenly, I was on the floor, there was a wand but I couldn’t see who it was because it was dark. I heard my wand snap and the next thing I woke up in a closed space.” you kept looking away from him. “I just didn’t want my dad to know he raised a bad wizard. I should have put my wand out sooner instead of running.”

“I can say one thing, (y/n). You may be stubborn but you’re definitely not a bad wizard.” he put his hand on your arm and looked at you seriously. “If I see anything in you. It’s strength. Not any wizard or Muggle, could go through this much pain and survive.” he smiled and you felt better after he said those words.

“I also took a shower. ” you added and he laughed. He had a wonderful laugh.

“And you also took a shower.” he repeated after you. “Most people wouldn’t take a shower but you were strong enough to.”

“You flatter me.” you joked and he let another chuckle.

“Go rest now.” he stood up, took the papers and leave you with the last smile before disappearing behind the door.

Who needs a cocky neighbor when you can have a handsome Healer? Right?

[antiquechampagne]

Mixed Media - Chapter 2 - Jump

Running into the fortress tower, Rita could feel the heat through her thin pajamas. Her ears rang from the piercing inhuman roars echoing through the stone fortress. She knew to stay well behind the soldier who ran up the stairs in a panic before her. The archdemon burst through the wall belching fire just as she expected, the soldier pushed from the dais and crushed by the heavy blocks below. What she didn’t expect was the smell. The stench of the dragon hit her like wall, a foul wave of rotting flesh mixed with sting of ozone.

Once the dragon retreated from the gaping hole, she knew what she was supposed to do. She couldn’t even count the number of times she had started a new Skyrim character, but never before had she felt the pressure of actually failing to make the jump from the tower into the gap of the neighboring roof quite so keenly before.

Staring down, Rita barely heard Ralof yelling at her.

“See the inn on the other side? Jump through to the roof and keep going!” She froze. It looked so real… the drop so far down. “JUMP!” he urged.

The proximity of the next deafening roar jolted Rita out of her stupor. Taking a deep breath, she tried to convince herself that it was just a dream, nothing bad could happen to her. Closing her eyes, she finally jumped.

She did not land with the calculatedly helpful grace of the video game she knew and loved. Instead, real world physics pulled her down, her feet catching the round logs supporting the roof. Her momentum carried her painfully to the wooden floor below, landing hard on her left arm and shoulder. Stars sparked behind her closed lids.

“Go!” Ralof called from above her. “We’ll follow when can!”

“Yeah, sure…” she squeaked.

Rita tried to rise but she realized quickly that not only was her wrist was in bad shape, but her ankle also protested painfully when the put her full weight on it. She hoped both were only sprained and not broken. She didn’t have much time to investigate, as the whole inn shook as the archdemon flew low over head. Making her way to the other end of the building, she lowered herself through the hole in the floor to the ground floor as gently as she could. Luckily, she landed mostly on her good foot.

Outside, the dragon spat fire as soldiers and civilians took cover.

The Imperial soldier who had been holding the checklist turned to her. His name surfaced in her chaotic mind; Hadvar.

“Still alive prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way.”

He took off and Rita followed as best she could, her twisted ankle forcing her limp most of the way. As they passed by a tall stone wall, the archdemon landed above them. A tattered purple leathery wing nearly clipped her in the shoulder as she attempted to hide, huddled close to the quaking wall. She watched helplessly as it destroyed more of the town with great gouts of fire. The fetid smell of the creature once again filled her senses, nearly making her gag and her eyes water.

“Quickly! Follow me!” Hadvar ordered as the beast took flight again. He led her through the burned out husks of a home. As she ran past a toppled doorway, movement caught her eye. Something small, hairless and rabbit-like wiggled under the wreckage of the thatched roof. With an impressive sense of certainty, Hadvar ran through the chaos around them unfazed.

Suddenly, they ran into Ralof, who was now brandishing an axe.

“Ralof! That traitor! Out of my way!” Hadvar growled.

Rita glanced around worriedly, clutching her bound and aching wrist to her side awkwardly. The dragon loomed above them, belching out fire, strafing the nearby buildings.

“We’re escaping, Hadvar. You’re not stopping us this time!” Ralof answered.

“Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!” the Imperial spat back.

“You!” Ralof looked to Rita. “Come on! Into the keep!” He beckoned her to follow him inside the stone keep.

Hadvar turned and sprinted in another direction. “With me, prisoner. Let’s go!”

“Damn it!” Rita grumbled as the dragon came around for another pass. She knew she had to make a decision, and fast. She went with the choice she favored. She ran towards Ralof, the dragon scorching the courtyard just a few feet from where she had been standing.

Once inside the keep, Rita caught her breath by the door while Ralof ran over to a fallen Stormcloak.

“We’ll meet again in Sovngarde, brother.” He turned back to her, scanning the roughly circular room. “Looks like we’re the only ones who made it.”

“Just like every time.” Rita huffed. “And, yes, that was a dragon… but not dragon native to Skyrim.”

“What?”

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter.” She held up her bound wrists. “Would you mind?”

Ralof nodded and quickly cut the ropes. “There you go. You may as well take Gunjar’s gear.”

Before he could finish, Rita interrupted him “He won’t be needing it anymore, right?” Ralof gave her a funny look before moving off to the corner to wait.

Rita looked down at the body on the floor. Picking things off a real looking body was much more intimidating. With a bit of a huff, she finally knelt beside the dead man. Unsure where to start first, she tugged on Gunjar’s armor, the multitude of straps and ties confusing her. Rita’s stomach lurched. He was still warm.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

Ralof’s eyes narrowed. “You’re green in the guts, girl?”

“Just give me a second.” She gave up on the armor, resigned to pick his pockets for anything useful. All that was in his pockets was an apple, a few Septims and a small polished marble figure of a woman in robes. She didn’t remind Rita of any gods from Tamriel. Who could she be? Rita returned to looking over the body. The only other thing she removed from the corpse was his fur boots.

“Sorry,” she whispered to him, the guilt of stealing a dead man’s clothes eating at her. It was so much harder when it felt so real. Scooping the axe off the ground, she joined Ralof as he examined one of the closed gates that sealed the room.

“Ahh… this one’s locked. Let’s see about that other gate.”

He walked across to it. A memory jogged in Rita’s mind. Imperial soldiers were going to appear soon. She wanted no part of ensuing fight. She stayed next to the locked gate, eyeing Ralof nervously.

“Damn. No way to open this from our side.”

She heard the shouts of the rushing soldiers. A dead man’s armor was looking very nice now.

“It’s the Imperials! Take cover!” the Stormcloak warned.

The Imperials quickly opened the gate, too hurried to notice Ralof crouched next to the door. Rita’s reaction was much less advantageous. She just stood stock still in the open room, the axe held loosely in her shaking hands.

The soldiers rushed into the room. Missing the hiding Nord, they raised their swords to attack the petrified woman before them. Ralof leapt from his hiding place, squarely landing a heavy blow on one soldiers back with his axe. Watching the heavily armored woman rushing towards her, sword raised, Rita lost her nerve and dropped her axe. It landed with a loud clang on the cobblestone floor. She covered her head reflexively as she cowered, her eyes closed and hands up in surrender. Rita screamed, feeling the axe blade slice into the flesh of her hand. Abruptly, instead of warm rush of blood, tingling electricity shot from her palm, throwing the Imperial across the room, even arcing to the second man. Stunded and confused, Rita just blinked when neither Imperial got up once they fell to the ground.

“So you’re a student of the arcane arts, I see.” Ralof wryly observed.

“I… guess so?” Still shaking, Rita looked down at her palms. The left one decided to start bleeding, but from inside the wound a strange glow started to build.

Ralof seemed unimpressed. “Maybe one of these Imperials had the key.”

Rita quickly found the heavy iron key in one of their pockets, holding her breath to prevent the smell of burned flesh from distracting her. Whatever was happening here, she needed to focus and protect herself. As quickly as she could, she took a simple hide helmet from one soldier while pocketing what valuables she could fit in the two pockets of her pj pants. On second consideration, and with a little more effort than she wished, Rita also pinched a belt with a few pouches on it, tightening it around her own waist.

Handing the key over to Ralof, he unlocked the heavy gate. “That’s it! Come on; let’s get out of here before the dragon brings the whole tower down on our heads.”

Heading down into the bowels of the keep, Rita hobbled along, still favoring her ankle. Suddenly, a deep rumble and roar reverberated through the stone, causing the corridor in front of them to collapse.

Frustrated, Ralof wiped the dust and grime from his face, grumbling, “Damn, that dragon doesn’t give up easily.”

As they moved closer to a wooden door, Rita could hear agitated voices from inside.

“Do you think you have enough in you do that spell again?” Ralof asked.

“I can try.” Rita really hoped that she would not need to get sliced open again to summon another bolt.

Carefully opening the door, they slowly advanced into the room. It was filled with barrels, trunks and sacks. They snuck close on the two Imperials who were hurriedly raiding the storeroom. Rita looked down at her hands, nervously rubbing the edges of the strange wound. It hurt sharply and wept blood, but the glow was growing brighter. Looking over to Ralof, he shrugged his shoulders towards the soldiers, urging her to hurry up.

She stepped out from behind a large barrel, pushing her palms towards the men but nothing happened. Startled, the soldiers turned and stared at her for a heartbeat before dashing towards her, pulling the swords at their belts.

“Come… on…” Rita stammered, taking a step back. “WORK!” After what felt like the longest second in history, her hands started to tingle before another blast ricocheted off the advancing soldiers, knocking them off their feet. One laid still, but the other tried to struggle to his feet. He quickly meet his end by Ralof’s blade slicing into his neck.

Rita hid her revulsion to the copious amount of blood pooling on the floor by turning away and steadying herself on a barrel. Her head swam, but she wasn’t sure how much of it was due to being faced with this much gore or the exhaustion that was suddenly flooding her body.

“I’m going to see if I can find any potions.” She knew she would find a handful of useful concoctions hiding in one of these barrels. There always was. She was happily tucking away the glass vials when she noticed something familiar nestled next to them, a stimpak.

“This is so weird.” She shook her head, but this strange feeling did not stop her from pocketing the post-apocalyptic chem.

“Done? Let’s get going,” Ralof urged.

“One second.” She pulled out a small-unmarked vial of bluish liquid. Rita hope it was a magicka potion of some kind. So many of these potions looked similar. Pulling the cork, she sniffed. An earthy but medicinal smell filled her nose. She had no way of knowing how much energy she had used. Downing this now could waste it, but she knew there were many more Imperial soldiers to encounter, more than she really wanted to deal with. She swallowed the solution as quickly as she could. It smacked of bitter herbs and meaty broth. Rita waited. She felt a tiny rush, as if she had downed an espresso shot, but nothing else. She silently wondered what would happen if she died in this strange dream. Would this all start all over?

“Ready?” Ralof asked.

“I suppose.”

They rounded the hallway and opened the next door. Down a short ramp, they could see cages suspended from the ceiling coming into view.

“Troll’s blood! It’s a torture room.”

The sounds of a scuffle echoed up the hall. Running down the ramp, they could see the torturer and his assistant fighting against two blue-clad Stormcloak soldiers. The soldiers appeared to be gaining the upper hand, pressing the torturers to gain the advantage. Rita stayed back, letting Ralof rush in to battle and finished off the pair.

“That takes care of that,” He said as the last one fell. He turned to the taller female soldier. “Was Jarl Ulfric with you?”

“No, I haven’t seen him since the dragon showed up,” She answered.

“Wait a second.” Ralof stopped and turned to Rita. “Looks like there’s someone in this cage.” He tried the door. “It’s locked. See if you can get it open with some picks. We need all the help we can get.”

Peering between the thick metal bars, Rita gasped. Slouched in the corner, her eyes barely open and her breath shallow, was a familiar face, but one that was very out of place.

“Curie?” Rita shook the cage to see if she could get any response from the synth. All she heard was a low moan. Running to the small table, Rita rummaged through the small knapsack she found there. She pocketed the potion before bringing the four metal lock picks over to Curie’s cage.

“Do any of you know how to use these?” she asked the others around her. They all shook their heads.

She looked desperately at the crude metal lock. “Okay, then…” Holding the padlock in one hand, she inserted the thin metal tool into the slot. She fished around, feeling the tool scrape against the innards of the lock before getting caught on something and snapping in half.

“Fuck.” She swore under her breath. She could almost feel the Stormcloaks’ stares. “I’m doing my best, I swear. This is a lot harder than it looks in the game.” She tried again, this time closing her eyes. She tried to imagine the lock picking mini game, visualizing the locks delicate cylinders and gently pressing each one up as she had so many time before. She tried to mimic the movements with the tools in her hand. When the first one finally depressed and stayed, she nearly let out a shout of joy. The feeling quickly disappeared when she rushed the second tumbler and her tool broke again.

Taking a moment to gather her resolve, Rita slotted the third pick into the lock, aware that she was quickly running out of chances. It took all her concentration. When the last tumbler clicked into place and the lock popped open in her hands, she finally allowed herself to breath.

Hastily, Rita slid the lock off the door and swung the door open with a creak. Kneeling next to Curie, she looked her over. She looked mostly intact except for a few scrapes and bruises.

She fished the stimpak out of one of the pouches on her belt. “I hope this works.” Stabbing the needle through Curie’s threadbare jeans, she pushed the plunger and prayed. Within a few seconds, Curies blue eyes blinked open.

“Oh? Another stranger, but you…” she pushed herself up, propping herself against the bars of the cage. “You don’t look like the others.”

Rita could imagine how strange she looked, kneeling there in a crude helmet and pastel purple flannel. “I’m not,” The room shook. Rita offered the synth her hand. “Think you can stand?”

“Yes, I believe I can.” Pulling her to her feet, Curie stepped out of the cage. “What is happening?”

“We don’t really have time for that. We need to get out of here first, then we can figure that out.”

Curie hesitated, glancing at the group of Stormcloaks mulling around the other end of the room.

“Their friends, I promise.” Rita tried to sound as reassuring as she could. Pointed to the adjacent corner of the room. A long counter dominated it, weapon racks lining the wall. “Find something to protect yourself with. Pocket anything that looks useful.”

As Curie walked over, Rita looked back into the cage. She scooped up a few stray coins, but what really caught her attention was the book lying among the refuse. It wasn’t a leather-bound spell tome she had expected to see. Instead, there was a dusty D.C. Journal of Internal Medicine.

“Maybe later…” she thought to herself, roughly shoving the journal into her belt pouch. Turning back to the group, she nearly laughed as she saw Curie’s choice of weapon. She stood with what looked like a giant elongated spoon resting on her shoulder… one that crackled with a strange red energy.

Curie, noticing her curious look, simply shrugged. “It was all that was available.”

“You both done?” Ralof impatiently asked. Both women nodded. “Then let’s go.”

Rita couldn’t agree more. The sooner they could get through the caves, the quicker she could figure out what the hell was going on. Maybe if she completed this tutorial, she could finally wake up.

Authors Note:

I hope you enjoy it! How many little nods and Easter eggs did you spot?

[rainforestgeek]

If you lose your strength to stand (I’m gonna reach for your hand) part 6

And here is chapter six!

AO3 link

Keith recognized her instantly. One of Lotor’s old generals, the blue one with big eyes. He wracked his brain for her name – Acxa. She slipped her way through the fringes of the crowd, nearly invisible if it weren’t that she was the only person in the city not socializing and celebrating. Something Keith could relate to on principle, but the last time he’d seen her she was working for Haggar – who was with Sendak. Never mind that she’d saved his life that night.

He reported this to Selick. The agent’s gravelly voice responded. “What is her position?”

“A couple hundred meters south of the City Palace. It looks like she’s making her way there.” Keith slunk in the shadows parallel to her path, trying to pass and cut her off. Selick told him to keep his eyes on her. He checked with the border patrol for their status.

“It’s been inactive,” Nox reported. “Do you want us in the city for backup?”

“No. The general may be attempting to draw us to her and leave the boundaries unguarded.”

Keith kept pace with Acxa. Her path began to veer closer to his own. He quietly told the others, “Lotor’s old generals have been working with the druid witch, so keep your eyes peeled for robeasts.” That was when he saw his chance: a narrow but open split in the crowd straight toward his target a few meters away. It was a noisy area and the opening was in her blind spot. He swiftly closed the distance, grabbed her arm and locked it behind her back, and slipped his dagger against her unarmored waist.

After training with the Blades for a long time, Keith learned all the major weak spots on galran bodies (including, apparently, his own, which clarified his dad’s old war with the medical establishment). His blade was pressed against a major artery running down her right side. If he slashed or stabbed that spot, she’d bleed out in less than a dobosh. It was a pretty dumb weakness, but like many bipedal species galra often left their torsos minimally protected to avoid restricted agility in battle.

Acxa twitched, as though about to defend herself but stopped. Smart. Keith could kill her before she’d be able to do anything with her free arm. Trying to be as discreet as possible, Keith pushed her forward and hid them behind a monumental, silvery pillar framing the City Palace’s front steps. It seems he intercepted her just in time. He pinned her against the metal.

“Where’s Haggar?” Keith growled.”

She looked at him coolly. “Why should I tell you that?”

“Because she’s a demented witch who tortures and experiments on people.”

“Not much of an answer. Besides – ” her tone was frustratingly nonchalant “ – you won’t be able to stop Haggar, no matter what I do or do not tell you.”

“We’ll see about that.” Keith summoned a pair of alien handcuffs and secured Acxa’s wrists behind her back. “Selick, I have the general I was following captured. We’re just outside the palace. Keep watch for the red one and the big one.”

“I have eyes on the latter,” replied Kivva. “She’s close to your position, Keith.”

“Do NOT engage the other general, Keith – I can hear you thinking it.” Keith rolled his eyes. “Get out of there, we’ll take care of her.”

“Yes, sir.” He turned Acxa around and pushed her toward the Blades’ rendezvous point. Unfortunately that split second with his knife pulled away was all she needed.

Keith hit the ground hard, vision spinning. Somehow she’d swept his legs out from under him with one foot. She shoved her boot against his neck, cutting off most of his air supply. A brief image flashed through his mind, of a similar but much more playful position he’d been in just a day ago. He saw light brown eyes instead of yellow and blue.

What the fuck. Chalking it up to oxygen deprivation, Keith shoved aside the memory of Matt’s smirking face. He summoned his sword. The slash at Acxa’s abdomen barely grazed her,but only because she jumped off him and out of range. Keith gasped for air, stumbled to his feet, and attacked.

It was easily his most goddamn frustrating fight to date. The ex-general was unarmed and both her hands were restrained, but she still evaded each of his attacks fluidly. And holy crap, she knew how to kick an enemy where it counted.

A deep voice bellowed out, “ACXA!” That same second Keith heard the distinct sounds of laser fire start up. The burly general with huge ears charged toward them, dodging the snipers trained on her. In his moment of distraction, Acxa rammed Keith with her heavily armored shoulder and knocked him off balance. She spun and snatched her gun out of his holster.

The newcomer – what was her name again? – slashed Acxa’s bonds and promptly got shot in the leg for pausing her evasive maneuvers.

Acxa trained her weapon on Keith. “Zethrid, call it in,” she ordered. Zethrid was yelling and dodging fire, looking way passed annoyed. The hit had barely slowed her down.

On impulse Keith lowered his mask. He and Acxa stood in a frozen standoff for several moments. She was too far away for him to attack with his sword and she had a short-range energy pistol aimed and ready. Whether he charged her or not, his chances of getting shot looked much higher than getting to stab her.

A shadow passed over them with a great whooshing noise. A dark, slightly beat up spacecraft hovered over them with the cargo doors open and a ladder hanging down. Once Zethrid had leapt on board, it moved closer to Keith and Acxa and she grabbed hold of the ladder, eyes and gun staying trained on his face. He watched, frustrated and helpless, as they sped away, vanishing into the atmosphere in a matter of ticks.

--

Lance’s good mood began to sour at the sound of Shiro’s voice in his ear like a cold wind. “Paladins, get back to the surface. Now.” The Black Paladin sounded tight and on edge. Shiro never used to make Lance feel nervous, except in fanboyish excitement. Nowadays, unless he was in a particularly good mood, Lance tensed in anticipation every time Shiro talked to him. And he sure as hell did not sound like he was in a good mood.

“We’re coming. Did something happen? The festival and feast shouldn’t be over for another – ”

“Lance. Just get down here. You, Hunk, and Pidge meet us on the bridge.” Shiro’s comm cut out with a sense of finality.

Lance looked over towards the Yellow Lion. “That was weird, right?”

Hunk responded, “I guess something got past us?”

“Well that is what Keith was for. Let’s go see if he did his job.”

They blasted toward the planet, ducking and dodging through the debris field the fight had left behind. Lance couldn’t help but grin at the sight of enemy ships blasted into shrapnel. They’d dealt a major blow against the rogue galra today.

Mostly thanks to Pidge. He and Hunk covered her back while she snuck aboard, but let’s be honest: taking down that battleship was all her. It was crippled and dead in space, completely the handiwork of one tiny girl with a huge brain.

Lance soared into the atmosphere and flipped open a channel to Pidge.

“Hey Pidge, just making sure you heard Shiro say get to the bridge.”

The channel was silent. Like, completely silent. Frowning, Lance double-checked the connection. Yep, that was definitely Green. Maybe she’d turned off her helmet? Lance hit the button that makes a light flash inside the other lions’ cockpits to signal a they were trying to be contacted.

“Pidge? Where are you, are you okay?” She still didn’t respond. Hunk tried to get her with the same result.

Oh, god. What if she got really hurt? That blast was pretty huge. But she sounded fine! Okay, she sounded rattled, but –

Panic setting in, Lance repeatedly smashed the light signal, trying hard to get her attention. Hunk kept calling her name. Lance told him to shut up, listened intently, hardly seeing what was in front of him. And he heard nothing. Not even the sound of her breaths.

Lance landed Red roughly in her hangar, hitting the floor too fast and too hard, making her grumble at him. But behind her irritation she sympathized with his fear. He leapt out of her mouth before she’d even finished lowering her jaw and hit the ground running. Nothing but his heart pounded harder than his feet as he sprinted to the Green Lion’s hangar.

Hunk rattled away in his ears, “Oh god, she’s still not answering! Maybe her helmet’s damaged? Maybe she just disconnected? Did something happen to her, Lance! Is Pidge okay?!”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know that, Hunk?” Lance snapped. Hunk went quiet. Lance skidded to a stop in front of Green, who towered regally over him.

“Pidge!” Lance shouted. “PIDGE!”

For several heart-stopping moments, nothing happened. Just Lance sweating and heaving and staring at a giant, motionless robot with the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He tore off his helmet and threw it to the side in frustration. Hot tears forced their way out of his eyes. “Come on! Let me in!”

His plea must’ve done something, because Green flickered to life and finally lowered her head to grant him entrance. Lance gratefully sprinted into the dark cockpit and nearly crashed into the pilot’s seat – where a small figure sat still and slumped over. Like a doll with the strings cut. Lance carefully removed Pidge’s helmet and took her face in his hands, inspecting her carefully. No visible injuries, but her skin was unnaturally pale and clammy. Her thick bangs clung to her sweaty forehead. He pressed his fingers under her jaw, where he was relieved to feel a warm, steady heartbeat throbbing in her neck.

Lance gathered Pidge into his arms and carried her out into the hangar, where Hunk stood in the doorway with eyes the size of plates.

“She’s alive,” Lance rushed to tell him, “but knocked out. And I…I don’t…” Lance looked helplessly at the Green Paladin’s limp body. Out here in the light, he could really see how scorched, scratched, battered, and even dented her armor was. She may not have been gushing blood, but that didn’t mean she was safe.

Hunk looked her over when they reached him. “God knows what kind of internal injuries she’s got. Let’s get her to the med bay.” Hunk moved to take her, but Lance held her closer to his chest and started walking. He distantly heard Hunk radio Coran.

Lance tried his damnedest to get there quickly without jostling Pidge too much. He didn’t want to make her injuries worse, but he also couldn’t risk taking too long to get her in a healing pod. What if she was bleeding internally? What if she bled out before they got there? What if she’d hit her head and he couldn’t tell under all that fluffy brown hair and she had brain damage –

Oh my god, shut up, Lance told his melodramatic brain, and tried to stop thinking. Pidge’s cheek was pressed against his shoulder. The armor fogged slightly where her breaths brushed against it. If she didn’t look so sick, he’d think she were just sleeping.

Coran had to all but pry her out of Lance’s arms. While the old Altean medic eased her out of her battered armor and into a white medical bodysuit, Lance paced around the room trying (and failing) not to worry. He felt like his very blood vessels were shaking with fear. He couldn’t even relax once Pidge was safe and suspended in the healing pod. He leaned over Coran’s shoulder and craned his neck to get a good look at the monitor with Pidge’s readings – never mind that the Altean runes may as well have been Japanese for all that Lance could understand it.

“Is she gonna be okay? These things can heal anything right? Right? She didn’t sound hurt when she got out, but oh god we should have made sure – what’s that red flashing? What does it mean?”

“Whoa, calm down, number Three.” Coran didn’t bother pushing Lance off of him. “Pidge is going to be fine.”

Hunk dropped his head onto Lance’s shoulder and sagged against him with a relieved sigh.

Coran continued, “She got herself quite a lot of bruises, a few fractures, a little internal bleeding…but that appears to have clotted nicely already. From what I can tell, she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion from the battle. Her sympathetic nervous system took quite a lot out of her today..”

Lance almost cried. The tension fled from his muscles and left him ready to collapse. Which, under Hunk’s considerable body weight, he did, and both paladins ended up sprawled on the floor. Lance’s heartbeat finally slowed to something reasonable.

Behind them the medical bay doors hissed open. Frantic footsteps echoed into the room and Matt Holt skidded into view. He didn’t spare a glance for the other men in the room, just glued himself to the glass of Pidge’s healing pod. A familiar figure with dark, messy hair and black armor followed more slowly. He approached Matt and hesitantly squeezed his shoulder.

“KEITH!” A stressed and jumpy Hunk sprang upright and swept Keith into a tight hug. Maybe because he himself was emotionally strung-out, Lance burst int hysterical laughter at the expression on Keith’s face, which was smushed against Hunks chest plate.

Matt turned to them and glared. “Anyone care to tell me what happened to my little sister?”

Lance coughed and sobered. His voice stopped working.

Hunk saved him from trying to answer. “She snuck aboard Sendak’s frigate, blew it up, got back to the Castle, and passed out from over-exertion. The blast beat her up, but don’t worry!” Hunk added quickly. “It wasn’t anything too major. She’ll be good as new by…when’s Pidge getting out, Coran?”

Coran stroked his ginger moustache as he examined Pidge’s readings. “Oh, should be around tomorrow morning. But with a metabolism as fast as Number Five’s it may well be sooner.”

Matt reattached himself to the glass, gazing wide-eyed at Pidge’s sleeping face. “My little sister is such a fucking badass,” he announced in an awe-struck voice.

Well, that answers the question of where Pidge gets her sailor mouth, Lance thought. His older siblings had washed his tongue with soap for saying less. A throaty chuckle from his left distracted him, and he whipped his head around to see Keith smiling at Matt. His eyes crinkled around the corners and his cheeks were slightly pink. His expression was so soft that Lance barely recognized him.

“Hey, Keith.”

“Yeah?”

Lance paused. “What happened down here that made Shiro call us back so urgently?”

The pleasant look on Keith’s face darkened. “You were right about needing ground support. Lotor’s old generals were in the crowd. Two of them got away after we stopped them from blowing up the City Palace. Lotor captured the third trying to assassinate Allura.”

[two-halves-of-reylo]

Mirage in the Force - Tattered Fabric ("Fear" Weekly Challenge)

By Shenanigenfilms aka ReyErso5280

Summary:

Rey is coming to terms with her trauma from the battle arena with Ben Solo. All her life she has just buried any pain and survived but now she is no longer able to keep control and new feelings of fear and confusion fill her.

Notes:

This is the companion piece to Mirage in the Force - Crackling Fire

and to get a deeper context of their trauma that is mentioned in these stories, you can find it in this chapter Blood and Sand  of my longer fan fiction

WACK!!! The sparing room echoed as Reys over head attack struck hard against Dy’mas. The Twi’lek moved back slightly bracing on her back foot to keep her balance. Her vibroblade sizzled against Rey’s staff.

Rey moved forward swinging her staff in a swaying motion as the knight continued to counter moving backwards. Without thinking Dy’mas force pushed Rey back, knocking her off her feet.

Shocked Rey felt an anger build in her as she regained her footing. Immediately Dy’mas apologised but all she could hear was the Scavengers battle cry coming towards her.

The door hissed open as Ben walked into the sparing room. He was humming a tune his mother used to sing to him. He was humming? The might Kylo Ren. The thought cracked a smile on his which grew wider as he admired his fierce scavenger attacking one of his knights

Rey was too focused to even feel his presence. Rotating on her back heel she swung a hard upper cut but her form was getting sloppy and wild. Dy’mas easily countered and hit the staff hard causing it to yank Rey’s arms down. Placing both hands in center of her staff Rey gave it a hard twist but the locking mechanism jammed…again just like the arena battle several months ago. Frustrated Rey extended her left leg and gave the cumbersome weapon a solid axe kick “breaking” her staff into two.

Ben heard the dual lightsabers engage and took this moment to walk towards the two warriors. Rey adjusted her grip on the blades, holding them in an inverted position so they were almost touching her forearms. She rested on her back heel in a fighting stance where as Dy’mas yielded. The Twi’lek knight stood at attention pointing the blade straight up and bowed her head.

Ben continued to advance clapping his hands slowly in approval.

“Impressive” he said with a smile. Dy’mas turned her weapon off and rested the end on the floor as she put her right fist over her heart. It was the Knights of Ren sign of respect.

Rey gathered her breath and came out of her battle stance disengaging her lightsabers. Dy’mas left the two in peace for she had other matters she could attend to leaving the two Jedi in peace.

“So we are using lightsabers in sparing sessions now” Ben joked. He was impressed but also concerned about Rey’s control. He recognised that fiery sprit but sometimes it got the better of her.

“The locking mechanism is still jamming.” Rey said as a sound of frustration and disappointment in her voice. Thoughts of the Execution Arena filled her mind as it was the first time and the last time she engaged her weapon in such a fashion. She felt a pull in her stomach at the memories of the scorching heat from the speeders that dragged them into the deadly space. an inch closer and they would have been scorched. swallowing hard Rey quickly pushed the images down, forgetting them. It was easier that way to deal with life and it was the way she always lived.

“I really should get that fixed…” she finally clicked the staff back in place and rested it against the ground. Ben’s heart swelled as he took his scavenger in. To him she looked beautiful in her battle state. Hair slight ruffled, three buns starting to come undone and a sheen of sweat across her body. He had seen her like this as well the night she awoke after being the medical bay, the night they finally made their connection a physical one.

Ben closed the distance between them and slowly placed his hands around her face caressing his lips against hers starting a passionate kiss. He had wanted to do that since the throne room after she saved his life with a saber toss.

Ben’s body started to ache and need Rey. They hadn’t connected that way since their first night. mostly due to them both dealing with their various demons. Ben was still coming to terms with his terrifying night terror that he nearly killed Rey in the process. Most night he was scared to touch her, but today he couldn’t wait. 

Rey discarded her staff throwing it to the ground as she freed her hands to place them on Ben’s hips. She returned the kiss feverishly as if she nearly wanted to devour him. Pulling at his tunic she ran her fingers across his lower back, raking her nails against his skin. Her touch against him sent a bolt down his spine as his need started to rise. In one smooth motion he picked her up and carried her across the room finding a wall to brace them against.

Rey hit the wall hard as their passion was taking over. Ben kept his hands under her knees as Rey never broke their kiss. Now she was holding is face in her hands but quickly gripped the back of his head as Bens hands faltered. Rey slipped slightly down the wall causing her heels to slam against it. The metallic noise echoed in the empty room and a sudden panic rose in her chest.

Aware of her feet not touching the ground and what would have excited her in the past now filled her with fear and dread. But Rey didn’t understand what was causing this and why her heart was racing in a state of panic not passion.

Ben could feel her energy shift immediately and stopped his advance. Placing her hands on his chest she didn’t look back at him.

“Can you put me down? I can’t…” An awkward moment fell upon them as neither of them knew what to say or do. Rey prepared for his worst. She wasn’t rejecting him but knew this was a fear of his own. Ben complied immediately at her gentle request slowly guiding her back to the ground. He could tell something was wrong, but for once he didn’t feel it was him. This was something else.

surprised that Ben was calm and not conflicted she went into her usual defence mechanism and pretended that everything was ok. But her act was exposed and for the first time Ben looked at her with concern, like she was a wounded animal.

The thought angered her, she was fine and just being over sensitive. A silly girl that should just be grateful to be alive.

“I’m going to go freshen up” she said breaking the awkward silence. Ben nodded and moved aside so she could walk past. He watched as she walked down the halls of the castle. Mustafar was the last place he ever wanted to bring her to. She deserved sunshine and green meadows. But tensions were rising in the galaxy as first order assassins loyal to Hux, even after his death, were always two steps behind them. Causing their voluntary exile to be a necessary evil. Luckily Rey was used to heat that radiated off the planet, something a lot of his knights complained about.

Rey walked down the large corridor to their bed chambers but she couldn’t shift the ringing in her ears. Each step she took forward seemed to echo at a deafening level. She begged her heart to slow down as she also tried to calm her breathing.

Finally nearly staggering through the door Rey immediately rushed into the fresher unit stripping her clothes in a frantic motion. Hands slipped against the knobs as her eyes were now shut and white specs filled them.

Suddenly the cold water hit and all the air left her body. It was like a giant slap in the face but it was exactly what she needed.

Ben entered their chamber and heard her struggles in the fresher unit. His heart ached as he could tell she was struggling and wanted to rush to her side. But he must be patient and wait for her to open up to him.

Rey wrapped a towel around her and tiptoed out. Her eyes fell on Ben and immediately felt safe. She hadn’t noticed the loose white shirt he wore which she always enjoyed any colour that wasn’t always black. Resting on the edge of the bed Ben took her in as she came closer. Rey wrapped her arms around his neck and gently kissed him. Ben tenderly placed his hands on her warm bare shoulders. She felt so soft under his fingers.

“I have something for you” he stammered. A slight grin grew on her face. What could he have?  Ben pulled a large cloth package from behind him. It was tied with a string to hold the covers in place. Clearly by him as the knot was more practical than decorative. But Rey loved the intentions behind it. Rey took the package from his hands and sat next to him, reverently removing the covers to reveal a deep blue frock with gold embroidery. Rey’s head snapped up looking at Ben in a mixed state of confusion and joy.

“It was my grandmothers. I found it after we parted ways at my mothers tomb. You and her are almost the same size and build. I thought you would maybe want it” Ben was nervous, what if she thought it was a silly gift. On the contrary Rey immediately rose to her feet and extended the dress to see its full length. Words still didn’t come to her.

“Try it on see what you think?” Ben encouraged. Absent mindedly Rey discarded her towel completely forgetting modesty. Ben immediately shot his eyes down to give her privacy. Rey sensed his intent and was moved. He had seen her completely bare before yet even now he still respected her privacy, that her body wasn’t his to do with without her consent. It was another thing that helped her feel completely safe with him.

She threw the dress over her head and adjusted the fabric to mould to her body. It was surprisingly heavy but the details were exquisite.

“You can look now” Ben looked up and her and immediately his breath was taken by the sight of her.

“Beautiful” he said over a whisper, clearly affected by the sight of her. Rey was taken back. He had never vocalised something like that before. “you I mean…not the dress…well that is too…” Ben’s ears started to glow red from embarrassment and quickly changed the subject. 

“I was thinking maybe we should go to Endor for a few days. the trees are so tall they seem to never end in the sky and I think you’ll like the furry locals” Rey loved the idea of somewhere new to explore but the dress seemed out of place to go into a forrest

“Would I wear this?” She asked genuinely. Ben let out a slight giggle

“No sorry I see the connection. I was just thinking you could use some fresh air and peace”

Rey smiled back “I’d really like that. Will you zip the back I can’t reach.” Ben rose to meet her and places his hands on the tiny zip. The dress moved tighter around Rey as the neck details started to raise up her chest as it ended with a velvet collar. Ben gave her a gentle kiss on the shoulder as his hand accidentally pulled on the neck detail causing the fabric to pull against Rey.

Suddenly the room left Rey’s eyes and she felt a heavy and cold sensation against her neck. She extended her hands behind her and pushed away from Ben hard.

“What’s wrong?” He asked gently sensing the same fear and confusion that she had earlier in the sparing room. He cursed his clumsy hands.

“It’s nothing…sorry I just startled that’s all” she moved to turn around to see him but the folding fabric pressed against her neck awkwardly again.

Immediately Rey felt a tingle in her lips and her eyes go dark as the room around her seemed to pull away. She grabbed around her neck and felt a cold collar lifting her up against a large metal platform.

“Talk to me” Ben tried to move closer but Rey extended her arm out, signaling for him to stay back. She rested her hands back on her stomach quietly commanding her body to still. 

“I’m fine it will pass…I’m ok…it’s going to be ok..I just need to breathe.” Ben wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince, him or herself.

“Rey listen to me…” but it didn’t help. Rey was now staggering trying to keep her balance muttering curse words to herself. 

“Look at me. Open your eyes Rey and look at me” Ben whispered, slowly tiptoeing to the frantic woman. But that shifted her even deeper into the flashback. Ben had said those exact words to her as Hux had drawn her up by her neck, holding all the weight of her body. Heels frantically banging against the platform as she struggled to breathe and felt her life draining.

All that came rushing back and she couldn’t find her way. All she could see was Ben looking at her across the arena

Something was very wrong and Ben could sense it when searched her mind. Immediately saw where she was. Her eyes were sealed shut and she was frantically pulling at her neck. Overcome with fear she was back on Parnassos where she was certain they would die. Rey saw troopers running her direction as she struggled to breathe.

Back in their chamber Ben moved closer to her extending his hands out trying to catch her arms. Their bodies connected and Rey’s eyes flashed open as she panicked seeing a trooper before her trying to ravage her.

“Stay away from me!” Kicking and screaming Rey found Bens shirt and pulled it from his body. He could no longer wait Ben threw his large arms around her. Rey continued to fight back with all her might as Ben pulled her tightly to his chest holding her in place.

“Come back to me Rey…it’s not real. Sweetheart it’s not real.” He risked being struck as he whispered I her ear. The tender gesture seemed to calm her down as she could now feel his bare chest against hers and begged her heartbeat to steady with his.

Opening her eyes Rey saw white fabric from his shirt. Ben could sense she was back with him and released her slightly. Her eyes met his as Rey tried to find her bearings. Extending his hand Ben caressed the side of her cheek which she quickly nuzzled her face in.

She was back. Rey’s breath settled and took a few steps back taking in the room around her. looking at her hands Rey saw tatters of dark blue and white fabric. Immediately she looked at Ben and saw his shirt had a deep tear and the dress he had just given her was now a tattered mess. Tears started to well on her eyes. “Ben your grandmother’s dress! I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to” Ben came closer to her again and placed his hands in hers causing the fabric shards to fall to the floor. They locked their fingers together.

“It doesn’t matter, we can fix it. We can lose the neck detail and the dress will be yours.” Rey felt relived but embarrassment and shame started to come over her as she released Ben’s hands.

“you shouldn’t have to deal with this. I have to be the strong for us”

“For us? Rey you’re done nothing wrong…”

“Can you help me out of this please?” Rey was trying to ignore his words. Ben pulled his ripped shirt over his head and moved closer. Undoing the zip behind her with one hand he gave Rey his shirt so she could cover herself.

Ben turned his back allowing her to change

“You don’t always have to be the strong one.” He continued.

“I don’t know how…”

“Then let me help you. Don’t shut me out” he turned and faced her again.

“We can’t keep doing this to each other”

“You are no longer alone in this fight. We’ll figure out triggers and come downs” Rey was amazed by his insight and she knew he was right. 

“Tell me what you need Rey…” he pressed firmly, it was his way of making her face her own wants and desires. 

“I don’t know, I’m scared to close my eyes" 

"Then don’t…look at me” his request was surprisingly vulnerable as he moved towards her shirtless. memories rushed back of the first time she saw him like this through their force connection. but this time she didn’t want him to cover up, no she wanted more. both their chests started to heave with desire but neither of them hand the courage to move any closer. how did they do it the first time? 

Rey slowly lifted her hand out to him, trying to find the strength to say what she truly desired. “Ben will you…” why was this so hard?

taking only one step closer his heart started to pound as he gently placed his hand in hers. “Will I what?" 

looking up trying to keep the tears from falling from her eyes. "Will you touch me…” she shot her eyes down embarrassed but fought her fear. Ben squeezed her hand slightly encouraging her to finish. and continued to vocalise her request. Rey cleared her throat and continued. “like you did that one night”

Ben knew exactly what night she meant and he wanted to rush over and rip his shirt off her. but he took a moment and opened their connect to see what was really in her heart. She was scared but also needed to feel him, to connect to him. never letting go of her hand he looked at her intently knowing he needed to be gentle.

She moved closer to him and placed her hands on his chest. Ben took his hands and placed them on her shoulder. gently placing his lips on hers his kiss was warm and sincere, almost as if he was trying to heal her pain through the Force. the intensity of their kiss grew and slight moans started to escape from their chests. Ben broke their kiss and gently kissed down her neck. Rey seized for a moment, “Stay with me sweetheart…you’re ok” he purred into her ear. his hands caressed the very thin scar around her neck from the shock collar. slowly tracing his fingers down her body Ben lifted the white shirt on her. Rey eyes followed his movements as Ben started to kneel before her. movements painfully slow as she felt his breath move closer to her waist and centre. Things were moving a lot faster as there was few less layers of clothes on them unlike the last time. 

Ben tenderly raked his fingernails behind her strong thighs and immediately felt her body nearly give out. Griping on lose handfuls of his midnight black hair Rey could feel her herself shiver in excitement. Ben placed his hands on the inside of her thighs and gently signalled them to open a bit wider so he could get closer to her intimate core. Now panting Rey was already feeling a tingling sensation in her stomach, rising much faster than the last time. Maybe because she knew what it meant and she wasn’t fighting it off. No this time she welcomed it and wanted to feel him inside her.

caressing her fingers through his hair she looked down and saw he was looking back waiting for her command. Rey opened her legs a bit wider, bracing her heels firmly on the floor. she could barely form a sentence she was so turned on.

“Please..” it was like a song to Ben’s ears as he heard his scavenger beg for him. she needed him. placing his strong hands on her thigs he moved her wet centre close to his face. he could smell her arousal and his mouth watered at the idea of tasting her again. no longer able to wait Ben took his tongue and traced the full line of her slick folds. Rey gasped as stars filled her eyes and immediately cried out. She was not going to be quiet this time, she needed to completely let go and lose herself in him.

Ben moaned against her and he explored every inch of her with his tongue, tasting the sweet liquid that was already falling on his face. Heat was rising in Rey and she quickly threw his shirt off herself allowing the cold air to give her goosebumps. releasing one hand from his dark hair she moved it up to her breast, caressing and tracing circles around it, allowing her rosy nipples to rise. The sight of Rey pleasing herself in tandem with Ben made his shaft completely solid. removing his fingers from her sweet centre he undid the fastenings of his trousers to give himself some relief. Rey’s heart skipped at the sound and she looked down and saw him swinging free. She couldn’t wait she needed him inside her now. Ben didn’t have time to process what was happening as Rey quickly dropped down to her knees to meet him. Feverishly she kissed him and she grabbed for his hardened shaft. The quick motion caused Ben to tense and a hand found her wrist. 

“Im sorry, I got excited…” Rey cursed herself forgetting that she needed to grab him slowly. Something they discovered was a slight trigger of his from Hux’s assault on him. Rey slowed her hands and kissed him again. “lay on your back” Ben was liking this confident and dominate side of her. It was still unsure but her lust for him was growing. Ben awkwardly tried to pull the rest of his trousers down but they were tight. Rey assisted before she stood up and straddled him. The sight of her from this angle nearly made Ben explode. Rey found her knees and started to position him to her entrance. Before Ben could even ask if she was ready he felt himself completely sheath inside her, all the way to the base. Both of them let out a cry that felt like it echoed through the entire castle. Rey had misjudged gravity and her arousal and she took him a bit to fast. Ben begged every fibre of his body not to release yet. Rey now had her eyes closed and was completely still. a sob starting to build in her chest. Ben felt the energy shift and carefully sat up while still insider her. “No no no…its ok catch your breath” he said gently holding her chest close to his. he guided her legs so she was no longer on her knees but resting on him and her heels touching the floor. facing each other Ben held her completely still. Rey finally let out a breath but kept her eyes shut. Ben ran his fingers over her hooded eyelids silently asking for them to open. Their gazes finally met. Hers was full of lust, anger and confusion. While his was full of passion, patience and understanding. “You control everything” his whispered. Rey nodded and finally moved her hips slightly against him. The moment causing them both again to cry out in pleasure. Rey adjusted her grip on Ben and placed her arms around his neck as his hands lightly held her shoulders, gently caressing them. Ben waited for her next thrust. this one was a bit stronger and Rey pulled his head closer to her as her fingers found his hair. Ben gladly took the crook of her neck between his lips kissing her gently as she started to move a bit faster. Rey was finally letting go in the moment holding Ben to her, breathless cries escaping with every rotation. Not knowing what came over her Rey tightened her grip on Ben’s hair and pulled his head back. The motion caused him to release a deep guttural moan through his clenched teeth. He loved it, he wanted her to take control. Rey made herself look into his intense eyes as she continued to crash herself on top of him. Ben could feel her growing tighter around him, spasms starting to fill her walls. he too could feel the pressure building in his own body as he was begging for release.

Rey pushed on his chest directing him to place his back on the cold floor. She tried to rotate back to their original position but failed as Ben fell out of her. Both cried out at the connection being accidentally broken. Ben adjusted his shoulders flat on the floor as Rey took him back in. leaning back she held on to his waist as she rode him harder that before. The sight of her chest heaving and breasts starting to bounce was almost to much for Ben as he took his big hands and rested them on her waist. Head completely thrown back Rey was now feeling sweat starting to roll down her shoulders as the heat intensified. the throbbing around Ben inside her was almost to much and she needed to release. throwing herself forward on top of him, her right hand found his throat and she started to squeeze.

Rey’s eyes shot open immediately as she gave him a silent apology and loosened her grip all the while still pounding against him. The moment caught Ben off guard but he could tell it wasn’t violent in nature. he felt her near orgasm start to fade and willed his voice to speak 

“Please keep going…” he smiled encouraging her to own her primal need. Rey felt a wave of excitement roll down her spine as she adjusted her grip on his neck. his eyes never left her as she started her attack on him again. Ben’s head started to pound as the air was slowly leaving him. Unable to hold anything back Rey could feel her centre throb and grow tighter, body shaking involuntary, words escaping her mouth. “Ben I’m gonna cum…” He couldn’t believe she actually vocalised it. he didn’t know if he should be proud or join her. she tried not to let the confession embarrass her as she cliched her hand tighter around his throat. letting out a deep cry Rey allowed her centre spasm against him. Ben felt himself starting to pass out, at the same time all the muscles tense in his body as he released inside her. Everything around them feel silent as Rey could no longer hold herself up and fell on his chest. Ben heaved for a deep breath of air causing his head to spin and his lips to tingle. He lifted her weary head and made their lips connect, kissing her gently. Both of them could barely breathe as tears fell from their eyes. 

the sound started to fill the room again as Ben could hear the crashing lava flows outside the castle. a stark contrast of the harsh wasteland outside to the peaceful oasis inside. ben could feel Rey shivering against him, a sob trying not to escape her lips. “You with me sweetheart?” he knew that word would always find her. Rey shifted her weight so they could both sit up. “I’m here” she wiped away some rogue tears. Ben could feel her vulnerable state, she was still embarrassed by her actions and words. Ben stood and put his arms around her helping her up. then he lifted her into their bridal carry and guided her to their bed. Gently placing her down he knelt down next to the bed and caressed the side of her face. 

“Don’t ever be embarrassed by your needs.” he said plainly. her eyes focused and a feeling of relief filled her. Ben continued to caress her hair as he gave a gentle smile. he started to rise when he heard a whimper escape from her as she quickly gabbed his hand. “Will you stay with me?” his heart swelled as it felt like a dual request. One for the moment and one for their life together and all he could say was “Always" 

[dracusfyre]

Exit Strategy

Prompt Fill!  Original prompt:  Tony gets stranded in the desert after taking out the ten rings camp. Up to you why. Maybe someone nails him with a lucky shot and his boot thrusters fail. Bucky, who happens to be on a HYDRA-assigned mission in the area and still mostly without his memories, finds him. Lots of bonus points for BAMF Tony. A bunch more for Bucky being intrigued enough to skip his mission for whatever reason (Tony). Up to you whether something Tony does triggers a few memories to come back.   from @imaginetonyandbucky‘s unfilled prompt list.

Also on AO3!

              The Soldier’s insertion and extraction team drops him off a few miles away from the target.  The Soldier straps his rifle on his back and set off through the rocks and dust with an easy lope that chews up the miles; it is a beautiful night, clear and cold with a bright moon that lit up the desert in shades of silver.

               Then the silence and darkness is shattered by an explosion about half a mile ahead, right at the target’s location.   The initial detonation triggers a chain reaction of the munitions being stored at the target’s location, and the ensuing explosions send out a wave of heat and light that made the Soldier shield his face.  He approaches more slowly and hears the rat-tat-tat of a rifle set on three round bursts.

               By the time he reaches the location, however, the gunfire has gone silent and he only sees one man standing and watching the flames with grim satisfaction on his face.  He is pale and slightly haggard, with the long hair and overgrown beard of a man kept in captivity for a few months.  Piled carelessly around him are pieces of metal, dented and scorched and purpose unclear.  Now that he was close, the Soldier could smell the scent of burning human flesh, but the man in front of him doesn’t seem to mind.

               “Who are you?” The Soldier asks finally, and the man jumps, bringing up the rifle that had been hanging carefully down at his side.

               “Who are you?” The man asks suspiciously, backing up.  “You don’t look like a member of the Ten Rings.”

               “I’m not,” the Soldier says shortly.  “You can call me the Winter Soldier.”

               “Yeah?” When the soldier makes no move to attack, the man lowers the weapon.  “You can call me…the Man of Steel,” the man says, kicking at a piece of iron at his feet. “Wait, no, that’s Superman.  Man of Iron? Iron Man?”  He looks at the flames, a thoughtful look on his face.  “Not as cool as Winter Soldier, but I think it’ll grow on me.”

               The Soldier finds his lips twitching and presses them together. “Why are you here, Iron Man?”

               “Turns out I was just leaving,” he says.  “These terrorists were kind enough to let me stay here for a few months, but I think I overstayed my welcome, so.” He gestures to the fire.  “I thought I might clean up a bit before I go.” Given that there were still probably a great deal of unexploded munitions, they were probably standing entirely too close, the Soldier muses, but it is a nice night for a fire.  “Why are you here?”

               The Soldier studies the man, seeing the too bright smile, the sweat at his temples, the fine tremors wracking the man’s body despite the warmth of the fire.  His hands were shoved into his pockets, but they were probably shaking.  Clear signs of shock and an adrenaline crash, which probably explained why the man didn’t run away screaming when the Soldier appeared beside him.

               Then again, the Soldier thought as he stared at the remains of the terrorist encampment, perhaps this man had just been pushed past the point of being afraid anymore.  There was a freedom and a strength in that, the Soldier knew.  “I was sent here to kill a man.”

               The other man stiffens and puts a hand back on the rifle but leaves it at his side. “Yeah? Who?”

               “A spoiled rich man being held captive, with soft hands who spends most of his time spending money, who knows how to build weapons but not use them.  Someone wants to make sure that man doesn’t make it out of the desert alive.”  The soldier thinks about the mission briefing while the man watches him warily.  The photos had been of a man with carefully manicured hair and beard, dressed in an expensive suit, and then of the same man bleeding and half dead with terrified brown eyes.  He will be in a cave somewhere in the complex, his handler had said. There will likely be a number of enemy combatants guarding him.  The soldier looks at the deserted camp, enemy combatants dead or fled, and then at the man beside him, who had neither expensive clothes nor terror in his eyes. Instead there was a challenge there in that dark gaze and his hand was still on the rifle and the Soldier knew the man did not plan on going down without a fight.  “I think, however,” the Soldier says carefully, “that man is already dead.”

               The other man laughs in surprise and takes his hand off the rifle. “Yeah, that man died a few months ago,” he says with a pained look on his face, staring down at his feet.  “So what now?”

               The Soldier thinks about the team waiting for him a few miles away, and then the chair waiting for him after that. “I don’t know,” he says finally.  He knows what he wants to happen, but suddenly he feels an uncharacteristic pang of terror at the thought of it. Fear of the unknown, fear of the punishment should he fail.  So he just stands there, pulse pounding as they watch the fire together.

               “Well, I’m done with those guys, I think,” the man says, jerking his head towards the entrance of the cave just barely visible through the flames.  “But I’m still a long way from home.  You look like a guy who is good in, ah, tense situations.  Want a new job, since your assassination gig turned out to be a bust?”

               The Soldier weighs the risks versus the potential reward.  It would be a gamble, but this man did just defeat a whole camp full of terrorists using just what he could build in a cave.  The Soldier found himself respecting that kind of ingenuity. “I’m interested but there may be an issue with my former employers,” he says after a moment.

               “Possessive types, are they?”  The Soldier gestures towards the former encampment expressively, and the man’s eyes are drawn to the gleam of fire on metal.  “How long do we have until they show up looking for you?”

               The Soldier makes his decision and takes his rifle off his shoulder, propping it up against a rock, and starts unstrapping his body armor.  “Long enough to take out the tracking device,” he says, and hands the man a knife.

               After a moment of hesitation, the man takes it.  “Alright, let’s do it, hot stuff.”  The Soldier can feel the man watching him as he strips efficiently; the tracking device had been placed under his shoulder blade to ensure that the Soldier couldn’t remove it himself.   “But if we’re going to start taking off our clothes, I feel like you should call me Tony.” 

[necromantic13]

Masters of the Land

A story about a new world, a man, and the demons that inhabit them both. 

Kir paused beside the windswept concrete remains of the toppled house, lifting his spyglass to his eye to survey the world as it existed now, after the bombs fell and the robots woke up. The wasteland was precisely as it always was: dry and dead save for the remnants of suburbia littering the landscape, dusty white and desolate. A thin coating of snow mixed with the dirt, remnants of the previous night’s frost. Tonight would be worse. He could taste the bitter chill in the air.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, unwary of the caustic radiation that seemed to exist in the very air. He would die from it eventually. He could already feel the burning starting to scorch across his skin, leaving angry red welts, especially when it was cold. It was an inevitable fate for one who walked the surface as much as he did; there was no need to endure it hiding behind a mask. He wanted to taste the life the humans had brought upon themselves.

Tugging his hood over his head, he shifted his bulky clothing into a more comfortable position. As the heavy cloth settled over his body, he began walking, using his momentum to warm himself up. He had been walking for close to a full day now and had yet to come across anything even remotely edible in the wastes. If he didn’t hurry, his family would suffer.

The winds swept away any trace of footprints, so he had to rely on other things things to track his prey - spoor left in buildings, remnants of hastily-scraped dens, leftovers from prior meals. He’d heard a black bear grunting an hour prior and had pursued it with haste to no avail. The wastes were hard to travel in and game was becoming more scarce every season, but one successful hunt could feed a small community like his for days.

He walked for a bit, letting the wind whip across his face and through his beard. Brown eyes and brown skin had grown hard with time and the elements, and it barely fazed him. The rhythmic crunching of his boots eventually took him to the end of the wastes and to the edge of the dead plains: an endless nuclear desert without landmarks or any hope of survival once you ventured too far out. He knew little about it, having braved his way in only when in pursuit of prey, and even then always cautious to keep the crumbling topside wastes in view. He had known men and women who had dared explore the dead plains in the hopes of finding new resources or civilizations, packing themselves to the brim with food, water, and rad pills in the hopes that they might find something worth dying for before they finally succumbed. None had ever returned, and he was neither proud nor intrepid enough to follow in their footsteps.

Not even the mechanoids ventured into the plains, preferring to keep to their stolen city. His grandfather had told him stories of how the mechs took over when there were not enough humans to protest. All of humanity, swept into the wastes and under the ground like so much refuse.

The soft wailing of a lynx caught his ear, stirring him from his musings, and Kir shouldered his rifle. He did not have much in the way of ammunition. It was scarce, even in the city factories. Over the past hundred or so years, supplies had been mostly picked clean, and no one was making them anymore. Gunpowder was a precious commodity, and he saved his bullets for big kills where the first shot might be his only chance, and used arrows and knives for the rest.

It was nearly impossible to hide in the crumbling landscape, but he’d donned clothing specially designed to help him blend in with the stark grey setting: thick fur, sun-bleached hides, and clothing cut so as to break up his outline against the horizon. It was the most effective way to hunt, especially since most of his prey were large predators. He’d tried trapping smaller prey, but found that such a method was more reliable for luring in bears and large cats than actually catching rabbits and foxes for food. It made the hunt far more deadly, but once he realized it was a viable tactic, he employed it as much as he was able.

He stopped by one of his traps to check. It was empty save for a smear of blood and fur. Whatever had stopped by had left a single rabbit foot stuck inside the teeth of the trap. He picked it up and tossed it into his bag in case he needed to gnaw on something later.

Pausing in his scavenging, Kir tilted his head into the light breeze. Something was growling softly, and it was not far.

He stepped into one of the old buildings of ancient suburbia. It had no ceiling and barely any walls, but it provided a windbreak and some privacy. Inside he saw the lynx he’d heard wailing earlier, cowering in the corner and snarling at him as it licked blood from its muzzle. One of its back legs had been broken, likely by another hungry predator, and it could do little but growl and glare at him.

He sighed. Predators were starting to hunt one another in the absence of food. It did not bode well for the humans, but he could do nothing about that. He set down his gun and lifted up his crossbow. One bolt to the head was enough, and the lynx fell down dead, lolling over the remains of its meal.

Kir set to skinning the massive beast and partitioned the meat into small bags, leaving the bones and sinew for something else to eat and hopefully grow strong so that next week there might be something left to hunt.

His pack was heavy now, and he started home, dreaming of the meal his family could cook. It would take him an hour or so to return, but it was cold enough that he was not worried about the integrity of the meat. It was difficult to store uncooked food in their small community. Generally they salted it and left it to hang high in the rafters of a hollowed-out building they’d repurposed for precisely that usage. As long as they kept tabs on it, they didn’t lose much to scavengers, and it remained a viable way to keep food around during the year.

The other option was to bury it in sacks, utilizing the cool earth to keep the meat from rotting. It was not an ideal solution, but it resulted in much less poaching from animals. For the most part, they simply cooked and ate what they could as quickly as their jaws could chew until it was gone, at which point Kir would venture into the wastes again.

He kept moving, trudging along the frosted path until the sun began to set, its glow replaced by the lights of the shining robot city in the distance. The broken buildings around him became less dilapidated and the dust less prevalent, at which point he knew that he was almost home.

The lights of Metalovekia burned in the night. He did not understand the cities or the humans that frequented them, seeing nothing within those dead pillars of metal but uncertainty and slavery to machine masters. On the rare instance he needed to venture close, he would look over at the occasional human scurrying out from the subterranean underways to meet furtively with the robot denizens of the city and shake his head. He did not need them or their poison machinery. His community survived, if not thrived, on the broken land by the sweat of their own brow - the way humans were meant to live. Their ancestors may have forgotten this, drunk for the love of technology, but he would not, and if he had any say in it, his community would not, either.

Despite this, some machinery was unavoidable. They would trade with the subway dwellers, of course, conveniently ignoring that many of their goods came from the city’s metal inhabitants, and he made himself comfortable with this single degree of removal. They were still humans, despite their ethics. They cultivated fine mushrooms and hunted the small rodents that lived along with them, crafting up a hearty stew of meat and fungus that warmed down to the bones. That they felt the need to hide underground and consort with metal men was their prerogative, and he did not have to share their ethos.

With a heavy sigh, Kir approached his home, bone weary and famished. He pushed open the door to the crumbling brick house, expecting to see his son and companions staring up from the fireplace to greet him. The room was filled with his extended family, but instead of his son, he was greeted by something altogether unfamiliar.

“What is that thing?” he asked, setting his heavy bag on the ground and doing his best not to track in mounds of dirt and snow. The room grew quiet, muffled voices speaking too low for him to hear. He closed the door against the wind picking up outside. There would be a squall that night.

“It’s a freeze-box, dad,” his young son, Dimir said, beaming as he stepped out from the hallway. He wiped his greasy hands on a rag. He must have been tinkering with the generator again - one of those necessary evils that even Kir could not deny they would die without. “When we hook it up we can keep meat frozen for longer, and without rads sinking in from the soil or critters sniping it from the rafters.”

Kir frowned, staring at it as if it was his enemy. It did not appear to be on, but its existence alone was enough to raise his hackles. “It will use up the energy we need to light the buildings and keep the houses warm.”

“Not by much,” Dimir shrugged. “And we can always recharge the generator with fuel from the city.”

“You’ve been consorting with under-dwellers?” he asked, displeasure thick in his voice. “That is Alexi’s job, not yours.”

“Well Alexi has been too sick to do much of anything, and we needed food,” his son replied, petulance edging his young voice, half way between adolescence and adulthood.

Kir pursed his lips. Lifting the meat back onto his shoulder, he grunted and left the house. They stood on the precipice of a slippery slope, and he would be damned if he watched his community slide down it.

He spent the rest of that evening in the shed, salting what he could and hanging it in the rafters. The rest he gave to Ulana, the community’s head cook, to make into dinner for that evening. Their community was small - only about fifteen individuals living together under the same roof - so a little went a long way and everyone pitched in to help.

Once dinner was served, he headed to bed, too exhausted from his work to contemplate the thing his son had brought into their house. His sleep was fitful and left him feeling more tired when he woke up than when he’d gone to bed.

That day, his son turned on the freeze box to the hoots of delight from everyone in the house. Kir simply watched, stone-faced, and did his best to ignore its existence. With any luck it would be too much of a drain, or would break, or the novelty would simply wear off and it would be hauled outside and sold back to the under-dwellers as the garbage it was in the first place.

When he awoke the next day, however, the machine was still functioning just fine. The same with the next day, and the day after that. He didn’t know what to think of the new technology. It was a boon to the community, for sure, but something about it rankled inside him. It was too smooth, too shiny for the vicious reality of the wastes. It was an intruder on his lifestyle and livelihood, and he did not trust it. On some level, he even feared it.

Dimir, on the other hand, was enamored of the thing. He would shine it during the afternoons, whistling to himself as he wiped it down with a dirty rag before disappearing outside to maintain the generator. Kir watched him labor, impressed at his work ethic but deeply concerned as to its focus. When they had traded for the generator several years ago he had been wary, but it stayed outside and its benefits could not be achieved efficiently by any other method. The freeze box, on the other hand, seemed almost excessive. They had ways of preserving their food. They did not need it. It was an ostentatious luxury, and a dangerous one at that. He had seen what happened when man relied too much on machine. Technology had brought humanity to its knees before.

And yet, as the weeks dragged by, the community eschewed their old practices for preserving food in favor of the simplicity of tossing a slab of meat into the metal box, closing the door, and thinking no more of it until hunger overpowered their senses and they withdrew a piece to thaw, marinate, and roast. With less time required to prepare the food for storage, they grew complacent as a whole, spending more time engaged in acts of leisure and less working to ensure their survival.

Even old Ulana, raised in the old ways and skeptical of anything that she did not make with her own hands, utilized the freeze-box without complaint.

Kir grew to loathe its presence. It hummed in the next room all night, keeping him awake. It was as though it were trying to speak to him, and while he could not understand what it was saying, he feared its words. It called out for anyone, anything that might hear it. Beseeching any passing monster to join it in its slow vigil over humankind. He had heard tales from those who had visited the robot city, tales of a constant pulsing hum, never abating, connecting each mechanoid to its kin.

He thought about it at length, lying restless in his bed, and grew more unnerved as his mind wandered. The mechanical monsters, stoic in their indifference, were biding their time. He knew it as surely as he knew when a bear was about to charge or a lynx about to pounce. They were predators - predators with all the time in the world and absolutely nothing to lose.

And there was one in his house.

Eventually, he refused to eat any of the meat that came from the box.

“Dad, it’s just meat,” Dimir would protest, but Kir would not be moved. Instead he would disappear into the sheds and peel salted bear fat from the rafters, chewing angrily as the rest of the community enjoyed fresh rabbit stew. It became a ritual - the family gathering around the table to share a meal as Kir vanished into the snowdrifts, tearing the piddling amount of salted jerky off the walls and digging up an occasional forgotten bear haunch. He cooked by himself, ate by himself, and more and more often brooded by himself.

One day, as the spring began to settle and the remaining snow was dripping from winter’s icy claws, Kir was sitting outside the salting shed when he saw Dimir leave the house. He was bundled up in furs and a gas mask and had a large bag slung around his shoulder. It was not uncommon for the boy to leave on his own, scavenging for goods or foraging for food, but this time something told Kir to follow him lest he lose his son forever.

Kir was good at whispering unseen through the wastes, and he was a sapient shadow in the thicker, more condensed geography of the robot slums. His son never noticed his presence, not once during his trek through the city, and while Kir was certain the robots knew he was there, it was not their eyes he was concerned about for once.

When Dimir returned to the settlement with canned goods, batteries, and fuel for the generator, everyone hailed him as a hero, not questioning for a moment where these items must have come from. Kir simply vanished back into the salting hut, chewing over the life his son was courting and what must be done about it.

He wasn’t sure when, precisely, he named the freeze box as the root of his problems, but once the idea took hold, there was no shaking it loose. He slept on it, supped on it, breathed through it, and existed within it. The box had to go, or it would take his son with it into a depth he could never hope to reach.

His decision came abruptly one night as he shivered himself awake. He’d fallen asleep in the shed again, desperate to be away from the machine’s incessant humming, and he shook the frost from his beard as he reached for his rifle. It was dark as he stepped outside - still the middle of the night - and everyone would be sleeping in the main house. He went inside.

The freeze box stood as a solemn guardian where it had been placed within the kitchen. It was flush with the wall and gleaming brighter than ever. Its humming pressed against Kir’s hearing, and he wilted in on himself, covering his ears against the noise.

“No!” he shouted, steeling himself against the noise and raising the gun at the machine. “You will not have him!” Pulling the safety, he placed his finger on the trigger.

A shuffle from the corner of the room drew his attention for long enough to cause him to hesitate. “Dad?” said a sleepy, young voice. “What are you doing?”

Kir did not respond. He returned his gaze to the fridge and braced himself as his son’s eyes grew wide with understanding and clarity.

“Dad, no!” Dimir shouted, leaping for the freeze box right as Kir pulled the trigger. The recall shook him and he lowered the gun, rubbing his eyes with his left hand to clear them. What he saw before him was the freeze box, unaffected save for a small dent where the bullet had made impact. Lying at the foot of the machine was his son, his stare distant and his heart still, a welling patch of blood staining the front of his shirt.

Dimir’s blood dripped down the silver door, mocking Kir. Barely harmed, it almost looked as though it was smiling at him through the grate along the front, relishing in the taste of his son’s blood and in its own metal immortality. There was a shout from elsewhere in the house and the sound of running feet.

Kir stared at the freeze box. It hummed back at him.

Dropping his rifle to the floor, Kir left the house.

 He’d walked for a day and a half, numb to his grief, the elements, and the hunger gnawing at his stomach. He’d heard the bellow of a black bear from closer than he would have usually been comfortable with, but he paid it no mind and just kept walking, steadfast through the wastes.

Kir did not stop until he reached the edge of the dead plains. Wind whipped snow in eddying vortexes around his feet, biting at the skin of his rad-worn cheeks. He did not wear a mask. He was destined to die in these wastes, warmed by radiation, and he would not hide behind a plastic guise from the inevitable.

He took a step into the plains, not unlike he’d done before, but this time he did not turn back to catch his bearings or return once he’d lost sight of the city. This time he continued onward, like so many men and women before him. Unlike them, however, he had no desire to find anything but his own death - and perhaps if he was lucky, some way in which to forgive himself for what he had done.