Fic War

A 48-post collection

Elvis has left the building

It’s August 1977, news has spread that Elvis Presley has died. For Amy & Zerachiel this is a problem. Niether can find them. Their department heads are furious, the records show that the King has just dissappeared and if Amy and Zerachiel can’t come up with the goods they’re fired. Might be that he’s not even human, mortal or even subject to either of their departments.

Amy = plain clothes demon
Department = Hell, collection agency

Zerachiel = plain clothes angel
Department = Heaven, new admissions

How would a covert meeting between them to exchange information over coffee at a local 7-Eleven go?



In a darkened hallway, in-between
seconds and invisible to normal mortal eyes, two figures squared off. They were an angel and a demon, and only experts can really tell the
difference. They squared off in the same way that cats squared off,
namely by staring intensely at each other, followed closely by some
intense ignoring of the opposite faction.

Minutes ticked by.

“He’s mine,” said the demon. Hir name was Amy[1].

“He’s mine,” said the angel, who answered to Zerachiel. “He has spread more love through the world than hatred.”

“Ah, but many believe that his music is the tool of my master,” countered Amy. “And belief is everything, no?”

“No,” said Zerachiel flatly. “And, because his soul is in the balance, we must wait the Final Adjudicator.”

More minutes ticked by. “Where is he?”

“He’s late.”

“He’s never late.”

“This is the appointed time and place…” said Zerachiel. “Isn’t it?”

“Of course it is. Our masters wouldn’t send us, otherwise.”

“Then where is Azriel?”

“I AM EVERYWHERE,” said the dark shadow of Death. The one angel for everyone, guaranteed. “DO YOU NEED SOMETHING?”

“We’re here to collect a soul,” said Amy. “Elvis Aaron Presley? So-called King of rock and roll?”

“NOT HERE,” said Death. “NOT NOW.” And then its presence vanished from perception.

Amy and Zerachiel shared a Look. It said, Oh shit



One slid the other coffee. They both nursed their disposable cups and glared at each other like cats.

“Da capo?” suggested Zerachiel.

Amy rolled hir eyes. “I’m not in the mood to go over decades of cold trails. News, thank you.”

“The tabloids have it wrong. Of course.”

“Of course,” sighed Amy. “And I was joking about them being right at all.”

“I’ve searched this entire orb. There is no sign or trace of him.”

“As have I. The only conclusion is that he no longer lives here.”

“If he lives.”

“He was supposed to have died decades ago!”

“I DON’T CARE WHAT THEY SAY,” said the passing shadow of Death, “I NEVER LAID A FINGER ON HIM.”

[1] Angels and demons do not, strictly speaking, have genders.

[Muse food remaining: 16. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Something I found difficult to type.

You’ve mentioned having Aspie kids before. As an Aspie myself, with a little brother who is also one, I’d like to see you show the world (or at least, your readers) why Aspies and Auties (Autistics) are not “broken”, nor are they “just trying to be difficult”, nor are they “emotionless sociopaths” or “shoving [your] face in [their] differences”, “making excuses” or even “just whinging.”


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Challenge #00219: Drained

The worst way for Rogue to gain her sense of touch. Heavy angst.

She only knew him as Leech. Since he turned up as the Acolyte’s secret weapon, turning off powers just by standing around, he fascinated her. It was his job to be in their way. And it forced them all to hone the skills that did not require their powers.

He always worked alone. No backup. Just clever trick after clever trick until she found the cleverest trick

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Challenge #00218: Goodbye, Good Boy

The last good year. Make me weep.

Every day, since she adopted Boy, had been the same. Etta got woken up by his slobbering kisses and his eternally cheerful, “Good morning, Boss.” and some vestigial orders he used to give his old master. Even after all this time, Boy obeyed his programming/training and looked after his owner.

This morning, the alarm went off before Boy’s cold nose pressed against her skin and his tongue lavished her with

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"Now, That Makes...Sense."

Write a story about a young man, who on the best day of his life, finally realizes why the old man is dancing in the middle of their locker room waving their trophy around in this link. Make both he and I cry please.

[AN: Sport is not my forte…]


It had been his job to round up the towels on the day they won. The crowd had been too thick for him to see the old man, and too

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Paraphrasing Zaphod Beeblebrox, pt. 2

Same challenge as before, only she’s not being literal instead of sarcastic.

[AN: I hope you mean “is being literal” because otherwise, it would just be the same story]



“Oh my goodness,” all six Saras chorussed. “Oooh. Echo!”

“This isn’t supposed to happen,” said Jamie.

“I’m well used to things that are not supposed to happen… happening,” said one of the

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Challenge #00179: An Affront Taken Aback.

Sara tries her hand at fanfiction.

(Woo, a fanfic about a character invented for fanfiction writing fanfiction. How very meta.)

[AN: Meta, indeed. See how much more meta I can get it]

“Oof. Ugh. Bluh. Oh my good gracious…”

Usually, those were the sounds of Sara on Grease Trap Duty, but these were coming from the library.

Hank knuckled in to investigate, and found Ms Adrien reading the first of the _Twilight_ series at a rapid pace.


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We R Igorth sets up shop in Mechanicsburg.


[AN: Set sometime after Agatha’s return to Mechanicsburg]

They always came to Sparks once a stronghold was established. A tribe of natural minions with a talent for surgery and reanimation. Their balms and poultices could perform miracles still unknown to the rest of modern science.

The Heterodyne kept one on in her castle, on the very good chance that they might come in handy - on one condition.

It was a combination hospice and employment agency, with one name for

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Paraphrasing Zaphod Beeblebrox....

“…You’re THE Sara Adrien?”

“No, I’m just A Sara Adrien - didn’t you hear we come in six-packs now?”

Context irrelevant, but those two lines must appear.  Whether Sara is being sarcastic or literal is up to you.


Sara had never realized she had fans until Thylacine Industries could afford a booth at Genracon.

Five dollars an autograph had only encouraged them.

Ten dollars a picture… she was still

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(DS9 prompt for a change!) Odo has fangirls.


Commence Personal log, Security Chief Odo. Once again, Starfleet’s insistence on records and lists and files forces me to take note of events as if my memory is not reliable enough.

In this case, I have to make note of events as they occur, establish a pattern, and present such evidence to the commander before action can occur. And, since it has to take place in a personal log, I also have to make note of my thoughts and feelings

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Why Red Bull is banned in Bayville.


“So… this is happening,” said the police chief. “WHY is it happening?“

"I don’t know, sir,” said her immediate underling. “I just know it’s continuing to happen…" The swirling patterns of ink on his skin became the repeated word TRUTH.

Many a near-riot had begun because of the quasi-cogniscent ink that had spread like a virus over the skins of all citizens of Bayville. Many men were very upset to find themselves indelibly

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A new Korean restaurant opens up near the X-Mansion. Todd discovers beondegi.


“I know it’s cheap to eat here, but god damn… who wants to eat this crap?”

“Koreans, maybe?” said Todd. “Look, jus’ try a few things a’ight? Koreans eat it an’ live.“

"I don’t eat anything I can’t identify,” said Pietro.

“I stopped listening at ‘all you can eat’,” said Freddy. He was already taking a sampler.

“Heywow… How’d they get all the little lines on

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Challenge #00171: Ideosyncratic Biology

Prompt: Kurt and/or Sara, or another of the interesting-reactions-to-medications group, meet the infamous Dr. House. (Optional: Dr. McCoy and House in the same room)

It was a discrete, free clinic for mutants. So discrete that you had to know it was there to find it. And that was mostly because of the anti-mutant vitriol regularly flooding the organization’s inbox.

It had been a set of flats in a previous life, but now it held a surgery, two small patient

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Don't bottle things up - bottles can break so easily.

Passive-aggressiveness, biting your tongue to avoid snarky retorts, saying nothing when you should say everything, quiet resentment at others’ criticisms…  being hidden behind a mask can only last so long… even the most peaceful and calm spirits among us have a breaking point.

So who is it that’s ready to blow? Push them over the edge, by either words or deeds. Have ‘em let it all out… rage, scream, bellow, yell accusations and obscenities until

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(in response to today's comic and the feels generated therein) - Before Agatha, Zeetha was close to committing suicide by wilderness/apathy....


She should have known, because it was too quiet. Zeetha had become too used to the sounds of battle to listen for them in the midst of conjugal bliss.

And in the morning, Mechanicsburg was lost.

Not fallen. Not burned. Not destroyed.


As if it had never been there.

Many of the armies had fled. A few lost clanks littered the field of former battle and one lone Wolfenbach monitor ship patrolled amongst the clouds.

“…no…” Zeetha breathed. Her heart

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