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kitkat1003 · 4 years ago

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Everything is Blue

Chapter 1: His pills, his hands, his jeans

MK just wants everyone in his life to be safe and happy, to never leave him. He'll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

And, luckily for him, the voice in his head has the perfect plan to make that happen.

(Or, the author contemplates how slow the possession was for DBK in episode 10 and considers how MK would fall)

Ao3 link

This is a 13k monolith of a first chapter, but I'm very proud of how it turned out! I threw it together in 4 days with the help of my beta reader @imnotcameraready on tumblr, famous for the Chivalry is Dead sanders sides au. Give it a read, it's on Ao3 and tumbr! It even has a sequel! Seriously, she’s a great writer and edited this thing in like 2-3 hrs after I threw it at her. A godsend.

Anyway, happy reading!

When MK knocks the canisters off of DBK’s back, he thinks that’s the end of it. He wasn’t exactly given the rundown on how the cannisters worked, nor does he know why whatever was in them caused DBK to go crazy, but at the very least he only had to fight the one guy instead of the entire family. It was weird to fight with Red Son and Princess Iron Fan (shouldn't she be Queen, at this point? She's married to Demon Bull King, after all. Do they not have the paperwork?) but not unwelcome. He wishes they could be on the same side all of the time.

Because he was raised on stories of Monkey King’s adventures, which frequently discuss the Demon Bull Family, and he’s always thought they were interesting in those stories. He thinks Princess Iron Fan is super cool, even though she’s scary and actively wants him dead. Red Son is...well, he wasn’t what MK expected, but that isn’t exactly a bad thing. If anything, MK thought he’d be older. He doesn’t understand how demon aging works.

Tangents aside, he watches them disappear in a gust of wind and groans, flopping forward as he bemoans the fact that they left again, when he’d just beat them. Well, he hadn’t actually fought all three of them, this time. DBK had fought more people than he had.

He jumps as the cave begins to crumble from all the damage that it took from the fight, scrambling to find a way out, when—

A New Vessel?

A voice curls into his ear, a soft whisper.

Young. Powerful. Weak. Freedom.

He looks down, and he sees a white light sink into his skin. Cold seeps into his every pore, bone, and nerve, his muscles tensing as the temperature drops. His teeth chatter, and when he lets out a startled breath he sees white air drift in front of his face. The warmth of his powers—his Monkey King powers—is smothered, and soon all MK feels is the cold that keeps him in place, rooting him to the spot. It’s a miracle he’s even standing.

What is this?

What’s happening?

His eyes dart to the cannisters. The empty canisters. There was something in there, earlier, right? Where did it go?

Is this? Wher e it w e n t?

Wha t i s . . . ?

It’s hard to think. His thoughts are newly cracked ice upon a lake, pieces crashing slowly against each other and fracturing further, splintering into nothingness.

New Vessel. Rest.

His eyes slide shut, out of his control, as his consciousness, like everything else, is smothered by the chill.

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He wakes up on the shoulder of the Monkey Mech, as the last rays of sun are streaking across the steadily darkening sky, like a lighthouse beam against the dark sea. He sits up, staring far into the horizon, as confusion pulls him out of the just woken up daze. How did he get here?

“MK?” He jumps, startled, and turns to realize that Mei is right next to him, a concerned smile on her face. He stares at her, trying to figure out why she’s here, how she got here. Then again, he doesn’t even know how he got here. He feels dizzy just trying to remember.

“You alright, kid?” Pigsy’s voice comes from his other side, and he forces himself not to jump, turning to look at his boss. Tang and Sandy are there too, and Sandy waves while Tang smiles in greeting mid slurp, bowl of noodles in hand.

“What happened?” he’s missing time. He defeated DBK, and then...then nothing. There’s a feeling of coldness, at the thought, but the memories don’t come.

“I found you on the ground after the Bull Clones all sort of fell apart. I figured you passed out after trouncing DBK, so I picked you up and got you out of there.” Mei doesn’t seem concerned, but MK is, just a little. He’s never passed out after using his powers; rather, using them often results in him getting an energy boost. He thinks back on it, trying to remember any time this has happened before. Macaque comes to mind but even then he wasn’t tired once his powers returned.

His ruminating on the ordeal is cut off by a bowl of noodles being shoved unceremoniously into his hands. He blinks down at it, and then turns to Pigsy

“Here, kid. Eat. You look pale, and skinny as ever. Can’t have my employee lookin’ half starved.” He smiles at Pigsy’s attempt to hide his soft side, picking up his chopsticks with a grin.

He eats, and the loud conversations of what they’d just accomplished arrests MK’s attention so that the questions about DBK, the cannisters, the voice that he swears he can hear in the back of his mind, fall away like sand in an hourglass, time never able to be reclaimed.

The sun finally vanishes and stars dot the sky like sequins on a gown. MK curls in on himself, hunched over the bowl a little, missing the sun's rays and the finished soup’s warmth.

He shivers, but there’s no breeze.

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The bonus of living in such a technologically advanced age is that city reconstruction is pretty fast. Hospitals are rebuilt first, people are brought in en masse. MK spends his time volunteering there, because noodle shops are low on the list of things to be rebuilt and he needs to be useful.

MK tries not to be too guilty about the wreckage, though most of it had occurred because he was late to stop DBK. He'd been kept at Flower Fruit Mountain for a few weeks because Monkey King was worried after the incident with Macaque. Wanted to be sure MK's training ethic wasn't too messed up, wanted to be certain Macaque hadn't left any lasting effects or impressions.

It was a punishment, MK knows, for being a two timing student and for making Monkey King have to deal with a demon enemy when he’s made it clear that he’s retired. Doesn't matter that they only ever trained in the morning and early afternoon, then spent the rest of the day hanging out. MK has watched Monkey King: The Animated Series fifty-three times now, most recently with Monkey King during the duration of his solitary confinement at Flower Fruit Mountain. They'd both piped up with commentary, MK about the production and animation, and Monkey King about the inaccuracies that MK filed away for his sketchbook.

But even so, it was a punishment for MK’s failings. Why else would Monkey King keep MK close, keep him away from his family and friends, keep MK away from the outside world?

It takes two and a half weeks after the battle with DBK for MK to go back to work delivering noodles. He'll sometimes buy extra and drop it off at a random hospital nearby, for the medical staff. They're overworked because of him, because he was away for so long.

He has to be better next time. He doesn't know when DBK will be back, doesn’t know how to sense him. Is he able to do that? Can he learn to sense when his enemies are nearby? That would solve a lot of problems, near rid him of worry. Maybe Monkey King knows?

That thought has him swinging by Flower Fruit Mountain on the weekend, with a promise to Pigsy to be home before midnight. MK is an adult only by age, after all; Pigsy still treats him like the 16 year old he found half dead outside his shop.

When he steps onto the mountain’s sand, though, he feels unwelcome.

The mystic energy that had beckoned him in the first time he’d arrived has shut its doors, like a silent way of saying

Leave.

Not a single monkey comes to greet him, but he can see their eyes, hidden in the trees. They regard him with suspicion. He frowns at them in confusion.

He hears a hiss in the back of his head and winces at the ensuing headache, stepping forward in hopes of pushing past the pain. Every step he takes makes the pounding in his head louder and more painful, and MK closes his eyes and focuses, reaching for the well of power he knows he has, the power that makes the staff feel lighter than air.

It’s like sticking his hand through a well of ice, and his wrist is paralyzed by the time his fingers brush that warmth, the light curling around his palm. Gold sparkles in his vision, and the unwelcome air starts to recede, as if the island recognizes him again. He heads in deeper, and lets out a breath as the headache ceases.

He doesn’t have to head in too deep, because Monkey King comes through the waterfall in a rare moment of MK’s mentor leaving the inner sanctum of the mountain. The waterfall itself moves like a curtain out of Monkey King’s way and the sight has MK focusing on that rather than the expression on Monkey King’s face, until he looks up.

Monkey King’s eyes are sharp, darting around, an expression MK only recognizes from the suspicion and distrust Monkey King gave Macaque. MK fidgets beneath that gaze, though it isn’t directed at him, uncomfortable. He hasn’t done anything wrong, has he? He wracks his brain for any new missteps, but finds very little. Still, his anxiety skyrockets by the second.

The look vanishes, though not completely, when Monkey King’s eyes catch on the sight of MK.

“Hey bud! Impromptu visit?” Monkey King greets.

MK tries not to shy away from the air of suspicion that colors Monkey King’s tone. Is MK really that untrustworthy? He did mess up badly by trusting Macaque, and Monkey King is right to distrust him. He bites his lip and tries to ignore the swell of guilt that sets like a stone in his stomach at the memory.

“Yeah, just-uh-just wanted to train, y’know? Don’t know when DBK is coming back.” He shrugs, and Monkey King nods, only half listening.

He still looks on edge. “Cool. You uh...you bring anyone with you?”

Now that’s concerning. MK scrambles to find a supposed intruder, hands gripping his staff tight in preparation for battle. “No? Unless-Oh no, is there someone here? Is it a demon guy?” What if he led a bad guy here? What if he messed up again?

He jumps as a monkey lands on his head, picking through MK’s hair in typical grooming fashion, and then Monkey King laughs, loud and almost relieved. MK turns back around to face him.

“Nah, must be my nerves. Maybe DBK left something on you, messed with my senses.” Monkey King waves a hand, nonchalant, and MK perks up in ease at the reminder.

“Oh! That’s actually why I’m here!” He takes careful steps forward, trying not to jostle the monkey on his head. “I was thinking-I didn’t know DBK was in the city and destroying stuff, and a lot of people got hurt. But! If I could sense him, like you can, I could stop him quicker! Right?” He’s bouncing on his toes, nervous and excited all at once, and Monkey King smiles down at him fondly.

“Sure, why not? If you’re up for some meditation, that is,” Monkey King turns, waving at MK to follow.

The monkey on MK’s head hops away, and MK sprints after his mentor with a wide grin. “Totally! I’m, like, the best at meditation. I’m like a meditation wizard!”

Monkey King laughs all the way to the training grounds.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Training actually is easier than he expects. MK blusters a lot, but he isn’t dumb or unaware of his limits. Sitting still isn’t his strong suit, so sitting still while not being able to talk, tap, fidget, or do anything else other than think is basically torture.

But, when he gets into the meditative position with Monkey King, something clicks. A cool blanket settles on his shoulders, eases out the desire to move. It’s so easy to be still, and quiet.

Frozen.

“You weren’t kidding,” Monkey King tells him, and MK grins a little, face warmed by the praise. “Now, when you’re like this, you have to let every other sound and feeling fade out. Nothing else matters but the energies around you. Mine’s pretty easy to see cause, yknow,”

MK can practically see Monkey King scratching his chin and grinning with barely hidden pride. “I’m a pretty powerful guy. DBK would be similar, he’s got a pretty loud aura too. Now, just try it, kay?”

MK nods, and takes a deep breath. The sounds around him-bugs, monkeys jumping around and talking to one another, the wind, the ever present sound of something in his head—those all start to fade away.

Wait, what was that last one?

He lets them all go, and then forgets the feeling of the cold, the grass, the fabric touching his skin. Nothing exists except his own mind, and then.

He gets to see the bright light that is Monkey King. Golden and red and royal in its feel, it’s near blinding. He has to blink a few times to get used to its light.

“Woah,” he murmurs, and Monkey King opens one eye, before blinking both in surprise.

“Woah, already? You sure you haven’t done this before?” Monkey King crosses his arms over his chest, almost offended, and MK is reminded of how betrayed Monkey King looked when MK had shown off the skills he’d learned from Macaque.

“Nope! Maybe defeating DBK gave me a confidence boost?” He shrugs, and then stands, looking around. Monkey King’s expression sits in the back of his mind, and MK bites his lip. “Did I, uh, did I do something wrong? I didn’t…,” he trials off, worried.

“Maybe,” Monkey King mumbles in response to his first reply, mostly to himself. “Oh-no, no, you’re fine, bud. I think I’m just a little paranoid,” he laughs it off. MK is too busy glancing back towards town to process Monkey King’s pensive expression.

“I can see Mei! She’s...very green. Did she always have a dragon?” It’s curled around her, like a protective barrier, snarling and poised to strike.

Monkey King chuckles. “You’ve got yourself some powerful friends, kid. Not surprising. Like knows like, even when they don’t know what like is.” He puts a hand on MK’s shoulder, and then starts. “You’re freezing. It’s not that cold, is it?”

MK blinks a few times, and everything comes back, the colors and sounds and feelings of the world returning to normal. Monkey King keeps looking at him, as if MK is a puzzle he’s yet to solve.

“I don’t know, maybe? I’ve been feeling a bit chilly, lately. Maybe I’m coming down with something?” He’s been a bit stressed out, between Macaque and DBK and the reconstruction, and he’s heard stress can cause illnesses.

Monkey King sighs, after a moment, and scratches his head.

“I think I’m becoming an adult,” he says, like it’s a crime, and he shrugs again. “You’re probably fine. Just, take it easy the next few days, alright? Practice meditating at home, or when you’re on the job. When you’re as good as me, you can turn it on whenever you need to,” Monkey King puffs up with pride, and his tail swings back and forth leisurely. MK watches his tail more than he listens to what Monkey King is saying.

“Okay. Anything else for today?” It’s only been an hour or two, they have plenty of time.

Monkey King deliberates. Then, he grins, stepping back to position for MK’s inevitable first attack. “Tell you what. We’ll spar for a bit, and then you can bring up that new show you kept ranting about a few weeks ago. Kay?”

MK’s eyes sparkle.

“Heck yeah!”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

MK’s muscles aren’t sore when he gets home. He actually lasted a couple minutes sparring this time around, and Monkey King had rewarded him with peach chips and an arm around MK’s shoulder as he eagerly pulled up the show he had dove into during his free time on the TV.

Pigsy sent him upstairs with a bowl of noodles and a stern reminder to sleep early so he wouldn’t be late for work. He finishes the noodles in record time and, once he has showered and put on his warmest pajamas, pulls out all of the blankets he can find. He just wants to be warm, just a little, even though it doesn’t make sense that he’s feeling this cold. He’s not tired, he doesn’t feel achy, his sinuses are clogged—none of the other symptoms of being sick are popping up, so why is he so cold?!

He’s practically buried in blankets by the time he feels comfortable enough to rest. For the first time in a long while, he doesn’t dream.

Things go back to normal, somewhat. There’s a niggling something in the back of his head, and there’s guilt and the ever present chill that has MK wearing long sleeved shirts, but otherwise MK falls back into his typical routine, which is nice. He missed his friends, between Macaque and DBK and training. It’s good to see them again.

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The first time he starts hearing the voice in his head, he’s getting yelled at by Pigsy.

It doesn’t happen as often, anymore. MK is scatterbrained, but he genuinely tries to do his best at work. Sometimes, he gets mixed up, because he’s only one kid and he’s never been good at focusing, no matter how hard he tries. It’s hard for his stressed out and ADHD ridden brain to remember whose order is whose, especially when it’s the dinner rush and he’s running behind.

Today was a particularly bad day. He’d accidentally given a customer an order with peanut oil in it, when they had an order specifically without peanuts due to their severe allergy. Pigsy had gotten a very angry phone call, and he passed that rage at MK, rightfully so.

MK can only apologize so much, so eventually he quiets and lets Pigsy let off steam. Luckily the customer hadn’t tried to sue, but MK knows the review Pigsy likely got was scathing. He deserves a bit of a tongue lashing for that, he thinks.

It was an honest mistake. Cruel, to yell at one so young. Why is he so mean?

The voice in the back of his head, new and different, nearly makes MK jump. Pigsy notices the change in MK’s expression and mistakes it for fear, and that gets him to quiet down. He dismisses MK with a sigh and a wave of his hand, and MK heads upstairs, feeling guilty and confused.

That voice….it didn’t sound like him, did it? When he tries to recall the sound, it mirrors his internal voice, but in the moment it seemed different.

It’s probably nothing. After all, if something was wrong with him, wouldn’t someone else have noticed by now? Wouldn’t he have noticed by now?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The voice keeps popping up at random intervals, random moments. When Mei gets annoyed at his ramblings. When Tang pushes him away when he’s begging for a story, because Tang is busy eating. When Pigsy yells at him for being late for work, for messing up. When Sandy awkwardly pushes him to leave because MK can’t take a hint, some days. When Monkey King looks at him with something akin to disappointment, exasperation.

They’re tired of you. They want you gone. They’re plotting against you. They’re going to betray you!

And, see, that would bother MK if he didn’t already know that. He knows people don’t like him, find him annoying. He knows he pushes too much, messes up a lot, misses social cues. He knows that he’s not a good enough successor. And that just makes him want to do better.

As for the whole betrayal thing, plotting against him, it makes sense. He isn’t offended or anything if they are, in fact he’d be more surprised if they weren’t, you know? He’s the Monkey King’s successor. He has all of the powers, has all of the strength and invincibility, with a caveat or two, but he’s also still just a teenager. If they aren’t worried that he could go rogue, mess up and decide to be selfish, then that’s stupidity on their part. Trusting him with anything is never a good idea, so knowing that, should he mess up, his family will be able to enact swift justice is a comfort rather than a worry.

And yeah, it’s a bit embarrassing, knowing just how annoying and useless he can be. He flinches more often at their glares, gets quieter. He doesn’t want to make them mad at him, he doesn’t want to lose them because he isn’t good enough. He just needs to focus, be better, help out more often. If he does that, hopefully they won’t leave.

The voice, after a few months or so, had backed off for a week. He’d felt a weight lift from his shoulders, and smiling was easier. Pigsy had seemingly relaxed at his good mood, and Mei seemed cheerier when they’d gone out to the arcades. He hadn’t realized he’d been worrying them.

Are you so sure they’ll stay?

A single phrase that pulls the rug out beneath MK’s feet. He knows he isn’t good enough, but everyone knows that he at least tries, right? That should endear them to him enough for him to prove he’s worth their time, right? He can be good enough, he can do better, he just needs time!

Not fast enough. They’ll get tired of you, and then they’ll leave.

The cold feeling in his chest feels so much heavier, as he panics in his room. He’s supposed to be asleep, but the blankets don’t do much anymore. He’s losing feeling in his fingers. He keeps fumbling with things, even the staff, and everyone is getting annoyed at him. And he’s so tired, all the time, and yet it’s so hard to sleep. He doesn’t understand what’s happening to him, but he knows that whatever it is, it’s going to ruin the equilibrium he has between being a failure and being good enough to keep around.

What happens when he loses it all?

You can be better.

Can he?

Wouldn’t everyone love you if they were safe?

Well, he can imagine not having to worry about DBK would make them far less stressed out. If he can do that, then maybe they won’t get so easily annoyed at him. He knows stress can make people snappy, and there’s a lot to be stressed about, like the economy and death by demons.

You can make them safe.

How?

Listen to me.

And MK knows it’s weird to make a pact with your own mind, but he thinks he’s pretty good at following directions, so he nods, and doesn’t sleep at all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The plan isn’t an easy one, and MK doesn’t know if he really wants to follow it. The words turn over and over in his head. He doesn’t know if they’re right or not.

Maybe it would be better, if he wasn’t so nice. He beats the bad guys, sure, but he isn’t that violent with them. They try to kill him, but it’s never personal. He’s the successor to Monkey King, it just makes sense that they’d go after him. He’s not upset, really!

Even though the calabash has him looking over his shoulder. They have earthquakes a lot, they live near a ring of active volcanoes, and each one puts him on edge, expecting a lie to turn his whole world apart. And the spider lady tried to eat his friends, tried to kill him. And Macaque nearly hurt Monkey King because MK let him get close. And DBK and Princess Iron Fan won’t stop, not until they get revenge or something.

Red Son is...he’s MK’s age. And MK has noticed just how much DBK and Princess Iron Fan belittle Red Son, and he’s their son. It’s too familiar for MK’s liking, and it makes the desire to bring Red Son to justice lessen. Maybe, if he got Red Son’s parents out of the way…

You could have anything you wanted.

All MK wants is for his friends and family to be happy.

This is how you’ll do it.

MK doesn’t give in. Not yet.

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MK considers it when he goes over to see Sandy, one afternoon. They’re just doing some leisurely painting practice, nothing like painting the whole boat. After the whole clones thing, Sandy had learned that he should probably figure out which color he wants to stick with in the long run before asking for help in such a task. So, he asks MK to come over and brainstorm. You know, sketch out some ideas, test paint samples on different areas of the boat, see how it looks in light and dark.

MK also helps with the many litter boxes around the ship, as well as top up the water and food bowls all around. He gets appreciative nuzzles from the myriad cats around the barge, so it isn’t so bad. Then, he and Sandy will have tea, and Sandy will listen to MK ramble on about anything and everything until either Monkey King or Pigsy or Mei calls him to go do something (he gave Monkey King his number. Occasionally he will get an incomprehensible text. He’s pretty sure Monkey King has a Nokia phone).

Today, when they’re having tea, MK considers.

“Hey, Sandy?” He starts, more hesitant than when he’s ever asked the man a question before.

Sandy notices, and MK sees him soften his pose even more, looking warm and welcoming. “Yeah, MK?”

“Do you think I’m too soft on villains?”

Because he beats them, but he always lets them leave, lets them escape. They get to heal, recoup, and come back stronger every time, and people get hurt. MK doesn’t want to be the type to attack first, to never ask questions, but at this point there aren’t too many questions to ask.

“You’ve got a good heart, MK. You don’t have it in ya to go at ‘em too hard,” MK clenches his fist, his other hand gentle against the teacup lest he break it. He did that a few times when he first got his powers, unused to the extra strength.

“That kinda doesn’t answer my question,” MK tries not to say it through gritted teeth. He can feel his tea getting frigid, and bites back the burst of white air that would make Sandy ask questions.

He wouldn’t know how to answer questions about that, which is why he can’t deal with them. That’s the reason.

He’s saying you’re weak.

MK hides a grimace, and lets his heart ache silently. He sips the tea. It’s ice cold.

“What brought this on?” Sandy asks, instead of answering the question, which grates on MK’s nerves more than it should.

“I let DBK get too powerful,” he says. “He destroyed the city again, and people got hurt. If I’d just got rid of him before, those people would be okay.”

Sandy sighs, taking a sip of his tea. A cat hops into MK’s lap, curling up, but after a few frigid moments hops away. Apparently MK is too cold for its liking. He tries not to get offended by that, but the hot well of shame and longing persists. At least the feeling is warm.

“MK, you’re still learning. Mistakes are bound to happen. Those who got hurt will get better, and the city is rebuilt better than ever! You don’t have to carry everything on your shoulders. And,” Sandy looks away, and suddenly he looks a lot older than MK thinks he is. “Honestly, being too harsh to make an enemy stop can feel good in the moment, but it does more harm than good, especially to the person who does the fighting.”

And MK leaves it at that, but thinks he doesn’t mind if it harms him, if it keeps everyone else safe.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Another story!” MK begs, spinning on the barstool. Pigsy always tells him not to, something about wearing down the seat joint, but at the same time Pigsy never really stops MK when he does it either, because MK only does it when he’s very excited and hyper.

Tang finishes his bowl of noodles with a chuckle, pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose in a practiced motion that MK is oh so familiar with. MK taps the front of his sketchbook with his pencil impatiently.

“Alright, alright. Tell you what, I’ll tell you the story of the Baigujing, or White Bone Spirit,” Tang’s voice falls into storyteller mode, and MK is immediately entranced. Pigsy, from the kitchen, slams down a pan and groans.

“Not that one, Tang. I hate that one, you know that,” MK turns to his boss and is surprised to see an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. What in this story would Pigsy have to be embarrassed about?

“Hey, MK wants to know all the Monkey King stories. I’m not going to rob him of knowledge,” Tang argues back. He leans close to MK and whispers “Pigsy couldn’t sleep for a week after I told him this one.”

“That is not true!” Pigsy barks, indignant, and MK laughs.

Tang chuckles to himself, and Pigsy turns back to his work with a grumble. Right now is a lull in business, right after the lunch rush and before early dinners get called in, so MK is taking his break and Pigsy isn’t too upset by it. It’s just enough time for a story.

“Okay. The Baigujing was a shapeshifting demon, who saw Monkey King and his group of traveling companions as they passed by. Her eyes caught on the human monk, Tang Sanzang,” MK perks up.

“Hey, that’s like your name!” he points out, and both Tang and Pigsy look startled. Tang coughs, awkward.

“Yes-well-uh, it’s a family name,” he amends quickly. MK tilts his head to the side. “Anyway, she decided she wanted to taste the monk’s flesh. So, she disguised herself as a little girl, coming up to the group and offering them poisoned fruits. Because she was so powerful, only Monkey King could sense her treachery, and he hit her with his staff, seemingly killing her.”

MK gasps, doesn’t understand the fury that builds behind his eyes.

Tang glances at him, for a moment, and then jumps.

“MK? You okay?” He asks, and MK blinks.

“What-yeah! What happened next?” Tang looks him over, gaze catching on MK’s eyes, before he sighs and continues.

“The Monkey King’s companions were shocked and appalled. They thought he had killed an innocent girl! He tried to explain, but they didn’t believe him. The Monk buried the girl, who turned back into the spirit. She tried again, once as the supposed mother of the little girl, and then the grandfather. Monkey King managed to show her as a skeleton spirit during their last encounter, clearing his name, but then his companion, Bajie, told Sanzang that Monkey King made it up. Thus, Monkey King was abandoned, at least until the Monk was captured by a demon Wujing and Baijie couldn’t defeat, and Bajie had to apologize to bring him back,” Tang finishes, and MK’s face settles into a pout.

“Bajie’s a jerk!” He crosses his arms.

“He apologized,” Pigsy mumbles, from his place in the kitchen, where he slices scallions violently. “More than once. Not that it matters.”

“Monkey King didn’t exactly endear himself to his peers,” Tang amends. “Perhaps if he had been less full of himself at the time, they all could have gotten along better. But, all four grew to be better people by the end of their journey.”

MK finishes a sketch of the scenes Tang had described with a flourish, and he tilts his head to one side. “Kind of rude to just attack the lady, though, couldn’t he have tried to talk it out?” He doesn’t know why he feels the need to defend the demon, but she doesn’t seem too bad.

Tang makes a face.

“She wanted to eat a person, MK,” he says, and MK makes a face that mirror’s Tang’s expression.

“Right. Eugh, gross. Anyway, thanks Mr. Tang!” he hops off the barstool and puts back on his collared shirt, making sure his headband doesn’t slip down. “Any orders, Pigsy?”

Pigsy jerks his thumb to the few on the counter. MK picks them up, and continues on to work, the story sitting in the back of his mind. He stumbles a bit while walking. He doesn’t feel the key in his hand, his fingers numbed over time. He should be concerned, but everything else seems fine.

He kind of wishes he could have met the Baigujing. She doesn’t seem too bad, besides the people eating. Maybe they could have worked it out.

Who does Sun Wukong think he is, deciding to serve justice anyway he sees fit?

MK frowns and buttons up his shirt. His chest feels like ice.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’s so, so tired.

MK looks at himself in the mirror when he wakes up and his skin looks paler, his lips a little blue. He has bags under his eyes that vanish by the time he leaves the bathroom, a bottle of concealer and a tube of lipstick on the bathroom sink that he doesn’t remember buying.

His memory’s been growing spottier, too, missing minutes, hours. Mei talks to him about a high score he beat at the arcade and he nods along, no clue what she’s talking about but not wanting to worry her. He hasn’t gone to see Sandy in what feels like years, but gets a text from him thanking MK for taking care of the cats one afternoon. There are sketches in his sketchbook he doesn’t remember drawing, from stories Tang told him that he can’t remember hearing.

He’s lost feeling in his hands and feet. He’s dropped enough bowls of soup for Pigsy to go from mad to worried, and he shoves MK off to Flower Fruit Mountain because it’s warmer there, and MK always looks cold.

He stumbles when he hits sand, nearly bowls over with how much the island rejects him, how much it wants him not to be there. This is supposed to be a safe place, but the sand feels like needles and the wind slices at his face. Monkey King comes rushing out like a bat out of hell, teeth bared, but he sees MK, kneeling on the beach, and runs over.

“You okay, bud? You look…,” he doesn’t say awful, but MK knows he’s thinking it. MK looks awful, feels awful, is awful. And the solution to that is right there, waiting for him, but he doesn’t want to take it because he’s a coward. The voice in his head gave him an ironclad idea, a perfect plan, and he’s been ignoring it because he’s scared.

Weak little vessel.

The hiss in his ear makes him wince, and he trembles as Monkey King helps him up.

“Tired,” he manages, leaning against Monkey King because he hardly has the strength to stand.

“I can see that.” The try at levity has MK chuckling, but Monkey King is soft and warm and all MK wants to do is suck that warmth into himself, so he can stop being cold for one second. “Why don’t we head to my place and watch something. There’s always my show, right?”

MK nods, blinking slowly, and Monkey King takes a step forward. Suddenly, they’re at Monkey King’s house. When did they get there? Why are they here again?

He’s set on the couch.

“There’s something off about your aura, kid. Touch anything mystic or weird back at home?” Monkey King runs his fingers through MK’s hair, and MK leans into the touch. Warm. Safe.

He shakes his head, a full minute after the question is asked. Monkey King hums in thought.

“How do you even see auras?” MK mumbles, words slurring a bit as he talks. “Teach me?”

Monkey King’s hand stills, and MK whines a little, prompting his mentor to continue the motions.

“I already have, bud,” Monkey King whispers, more to himself than to MK. MK blinks in confusion. He doesn’t remember that.

Rest, Vessel.

The voice whispers so sweetly in his ear. It’s nice, sometimes. Mean other times. MK wonders if that’s his fault. Is he so bad that even his own head is mad at him? How can he be better? He’s trying so hard.

The TV is turned on. MK doesn’t register the sound, but the light makes him turn his head away. Monkey King turns down the brightness with his remote. Another monkey rests on top of MK for a moment, before jumping off. It shivers at the temperature of MK’s jacket, his skin, and moves over to Monkey King’s shoulder.

MK rests his head on Monkey King’s lap, and closes his eyes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up in a dream. He stands on ice. Each step he takes is careful, lest he slip, and even still he stumbles and fumbles. He can see something in the distance.

“Hello?” he calls out, but the person doesn’t answer. The closer he gets, the more he can make them out. “Mei?”

It is her, but then her head drops, straight off of her neck.

“NO!” MK screams, running to her, and he stumbles and falls. His knees hit ice and they burn with the chill that sinks through his pants. He slides to her body, cradling it and her head as if he could put her back together with hope.

He turns, looking for a reason for this, and when he looks up, all of the adults in his life are standing around him, their faces covered in shadow. Tang, Pigsy, Sandy, Monkey King—they’re all looking down on him.

“Look what you let happen,” Pigsy growls out.

“She’s dead,” Tang continues.

“You didn’t save her,” Sandy drones on.

“You let her die,” Monkey King spits.

“No…” MK breathes, and the tears build in his eyes and down his cheeks, freezing on his face. It burns.

You have a choice, vessel.

The figures of his friends vanish into mist, and MK curls his arms around himself. He misses the contact. He hates to be alone.

A woman wreathed in white kneels down in front of him. It hurts to look at her, and MK averts his gaze until she tilts up his chin so he can look nowhere else. Her face is ice cold, yet inviting. He can’t look away from her eyes.

Don’t you want them to stay? Don’t you want them to be safe?

MK nods, quickly. Of course that’s what he wants. More than anything, he wants that love, that adoration. He wants his family to be safe, to never leave.

You know what to do.

It feels like ice is creeping up his skin, encasing him in frigidity. She holds out his hand, and he can do nothing else but take it. The cold reaches its peak, and suddenly it’s warm. It burns, and yet the warmth is inviting, a relief after months of being so, so cold and confused and tired. He is past the point of cold, of freezing, of sub zero. He is warm. He is ready.

He is hers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up well rested, and the cold that had settled into him still feels like the burn that is a welcome respite from before. Monkey King is still asleep, and MK leaves him there, leaving the house and walking slowly out of the inner mountain.

He leaves footprints of ice where he steps. The monkeys watch, from the trees, trembling as their eyes gaze upon something inhuman, sitting in MK’s skin. MK has never felt better. He knows what to do now. He knows how to make things right.

The staff in his hands feels heavier, for a moment, but MK grips it tight and bends it to his will. He pogos out of the island with ease, letting the wind whip his hair back.

He hasn’t blinked in a while. He forgot he had to. He blinks because the wind makes his eyes sting, and touches the ground with a gentleness he didn’t know he could master.

He lets his eyes glow gold, searching. He remembers, now, how to look at auras. He remembers a lot of things now. It’s like the pressing weight of being weak for the sake of niceties has vanished, and now he is sharp and ready.

The only question is which of his enemies does he go after first? He needs to get all of them, keep them secure. It’s the only way the town, the city, will be safe.

The small fry first. We’ll work our way up to the demon king.

Right, that makes sense. MK grins to himself. It’s so nice to have someone constantly helping, constantly making sure he’s doing the right thing. He’s useless on his own, but give him a direction and he’ll follow it to the letter.

He can see gold and silver, in the distance. He forgets their names, at first, but their auras jog his memory. Yin and Jin.

They put him in the calabash. They weren’t good at it, but they were good enough. They’re demons. Dangerous. He needs to make sure they don’t hurt anyone else.

He heads to their home, not in a hurry. There’s no rush to the inevitable. Is this what self confidence is? The feeling of knowing you can do it, that you will do it, that no one can stop you? It feels very gratifying. He lets the glow in his eyes vanish, because he doesn’t want to startle everyone around him.

His phone buzzes. A text from Pigsy, demanding to know where he is. He responds with ‘Dealing with Monkie Kid stuff. Be back soon!’ and a string of emojis that Pigsy will find incomprehensible, before continuing on his trek.

He reaches the door, and hears a conversation.

“So, our plan has three steps. That’s an improvement,” Yin seems to be pacing, from what MK can hear.

“Step one, capture the monkie kid,” Jin pipes up, and MK fights back a laugh. “Step two, take the staff from him.”

As if they could. MK almost has to admire their tenacity.

“Step three, take over the world!” Yin finishes, and MK takes that as his cue to step in.

He knocks in the door. Polite. He still has manners, after all.

“Huh? Jin, did you order out for dinner again?” Yin barks out.

“We don’t have the money for that!” Is the response.

“Hasn’t stopped you before,” Yin grumbles, moving to the door.

Here they come!

MK counts the steps Yin takes to the door, itching with anticipation.

“Hello?” Yin opens the door, and then jumps in surprise.

“Hi!” MK waves, and taps his staff on the ground.

There’s a thunk; not a thud of a body, but a thunk of a block of ice. MK pats the statue with a fond look. He’ll chip away the extra pieces later. This is his first attempt, it’s normal for it to be less precise. He can get better at it with practice. Jin turns, from his place at the desk, and his eyes widen when he sees his brother, frozen on the floor.

“Yin—what did you do?” Red eyes glow dangerously, and MK wonders if they would be more ferocious if he threatened one over the other. Jin gets up, teeth bared.

“This,” MK replies, tapping his staff on the ground.

Jin takes a step forward and freezes in place. Or, is frozen, MK supposes. He looks at the brothers, safely imprisoned, and wonders. Where is he going to put them? There’s not enough room here for all of his enemies to be placed. What’s a good place to set everything up?

The cave? The old villain hideout?

That’s perfect! After all, it would be the funniest form of irony, right? Turning a villain hideout to his base for his world saving plan. Gosh, he’s so smart. Because this is him, all him. He finally is smart enough to know what to do. He has to clear out the cave, first. It’s not far away, hidden beneath the sewers. There’s a path to it from the area where the staff used to lie.

He sets Yin and Jin next to each other, considering their poses. He thinks they look a little off, but he can fix that, right? He can fix anything, given enough time. That’s what all this is, fixing the problem of demons who’ve escaped because of DBK’s release. He nods to himself, and heads off. He has rocks to clear out, he has a cave to excavate.

But, he promised Pigsy that he’d be back soon. That stops him short. He can’t skip work!

This will make him far happier in the long run.

Still, what’s a few hours of work to make Pigsy happy now? He shakes off the one track mind and puts his staff away. The ice won’t melt fast (or at all) and he’s got time. The flash of cold he gets in response to that thought doesn’t inspire comfort, and he second guesses himself a few times, but he heads to the shop anyway.

“Hey Pigsy!” he waves, and Pigsy glances at him and jerks a thumb over to the pile of orders on the counter. “On it!”

MK swoops them up and sets them all on the delivery cart. Pigsy glances at him again, and then freezes.

“MK?” he asks.

MK turns, blinking a few times. “Yeah?” he responds, and Pigsy peers at him, almost suspicious.

MK tilts his head to the side in confusion. A part of him is glad that he has concealer on, because they don’t have the time to chat about MK’s new skin tone, not with all these orders. He watches Pigsy shiver, muttering something about the A/C acting up, before Pigsy shakes himself off and sets his hands on his hips.

“I thought-your eyes-nevermind. Get those orders out!” Pigsy barks, and MK stands at attention, giving Pigsy a salute.

“On it!” He promises, sliding out of the shop and hopping onto the delivery cart.

It only takes an hour, which is much faster than he usually is, but focus comes easy when he’s driven. The faster he gets this done they faster he gets to get back to his real work. The work that will make things better for everyone.

Right. Of course.

His shift ends when the store closes, and he’s gone before Pigsy can say anything about his work ethic or ask where MK has been or is going. He rushes to the construction site, dives below, rushing past the decaying plants where there once were flowers and a growing tree. Without Monkey King’s staff, there’s nothing making sure the plants live. MK frowns at the sight but stays focused on the task at hand.

Aim. The staff can be as large as a mountain if it needs to be. Crush what’s in your way.

He nods to himself, breaking through the rubble that has blocked off the tunnel. The ground shakes, the whole underground rumbles with power, and he hopes he’s not keeping anyone up. Then again, it’s not too bad if it’s just for a night, considering how many nights later he’s going to keep quiet. Everyone will be able to rest easy once he’s done.

He huffs a breath, and it comes out white. He should be concerned, but honestly it looks cool. He remembers to blink, because his eyes are starting to burn. He doesn’t know why he keeps forgetting.

He makes his way to the cavern, and uses ice to keep the ceiling up. Pillars rise, frost fills the spaces between rocks that would have cracked and splintered eventually. The floor remains untouched, save for when he fills in the cracks that could trip someone up.

He doesn’t remember when he got these ice powers. They seem new? Why hasn’t he used them before? How come Monkey King never told him about them?

Monkey King’s always had ice powers.

Has he? MK isn’t so sure about that.

You’re his successor, not a carbon copy. It makes sense you would have different powers than him.

Right. MK nods to himself. Now, time to get Yin and Jin! Carrying them is going to be a challenge.

It takes him an hour to get them both there, and another half hour to figure out where to put them. He has to consider DBK’s size. Wait, does he have to go and get the spider demon lady? He shivers at the thought, a deep well of terror sinking in his gut. Even as self assured as he is now, spiders still terrify him.

I can take care of that.

Really?

Yes. But first, rest.

Right. He needs to head back to his house. Pigsy will be worried if he doesn’t come home soon. He heads out of the construction site, skipping all the way home.

He barely sleeps.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The week is certainly a busy one. MK spends any time not with his friends searching, and he spends far less time with his friends, nowadays. The spider demon isn’t easy to find. He does manage to get some small fry lesser demons he hadn’t met before and now never will. He doesn’t need to meet people who will inevitably try to kill him and those around him. Far better to prevent the attack than deal with the aftermath thereof.

His collection of ice sculptures is growing. MK likes to spend time chipping away at the blocks to them more polished. It’s like sketching, in a way, or cleaning up a sketch. It also gives him an opportunity to practice a more precise use of his ice powers. He can make a mean ice chisel now, and he’s learned how to force the limbs of those frozen into the position he likes. Yin and Jin stand on top of each other, like they did in their introduction. The expressions on their faces aren’t what he likes, but he can cover it with frost and it’s like it was never there.

He meets up with Mei, one afternoon.

“Hey, MK!” She barrels into him, and immediately jumps back.

He reaches out, missing the contact, but she shakes out a shiver. “Dang, you’re cold!” She slugs him on the shoulder, and he laughs.

“I feel fine. Maybe you’re just being dramatic,” he shoots back, and she laughs with him, before her eyes glance at his face and she freezes. “What?”

“Your eyes,” she murmurs, all joking replaced with concern. He tilts his head to a side in confusion. “They’re blue?” She adds.

“Oh!” he says, and the words that come out of his mouth don’t sound like him at all. He doesn’t think he thought of them, and he doesn’t feel his lips move but the sound comes out anyway. “I’m trying out some contacts. Do you like them?” He bats his eyelashes at her, all in jest.

Her confusion melts into a smile. “I like your regular eye color better,” She admits. “But those look cool!”

She grabs him by his wrist, using his jacket as a buffer, and drags him to an arcade. Every machine he touches sticks a little, the joystick and button a tad frozen by his touch, and he doesn’t win a match by any means, but he doesn’t mind. Every time Mei leans close to him it feels like a victory. Even though he feels warm, at least a sort of freezer burn warmth, the people around him have pulled away. He’s too cold for them.

He needs contact.

Someone trips Mei as they’re running around the arcade. Her nose bleeds, and MK feels his hackles rising. Someone hurt his friend. A demon? A scan of the area reveals no such thing. Just a mean person. He can hear them snickering as they walk away.

Mei is more important than MK’s anger, so he takes her outside and finds some tissues, cleans her up. He takes her out to her favorite restaurant (not Pigsy’s, though they’ll never tell him that) and they end the night with a race around town. Her bike is an electric green streak, and he’ll never catch up, but he gives it his all before they finish outside his place.

“See ya later!” Mei still sounds a bit stuffed up from the nosebleed, and MK waves until she’s out of sight. When she disappears, his expression shutters, anger against her unrecognizable assailant returning in a flash.

He’s been getting rid of demons, but that’s not enough! Mei still got hurt, because people are unpredictable. He heads to his room and paces. How can he fix it, how can he make it better?

Maybe more than demons should be frozen.

MK stops in his tracks. Now, there’s an idea. But to freeze them forever, that seems like too much.

Not forever. Just until they know how to behave. Think of it as a pause button.

It would be nice if things just stopped for a moment. Then he could have all the time in the world to fix it. Once he gets the demons out of the way, he can do that. Then, once everyone learns to behave, they can come out. However long that takes.

He can be patient, for his friends. This is all for them, after all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A day after that, and he’s found the Spider Demon’s lair. Every step he takes inside makes him shake, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to take her. He’s so nervous, so scared.

I can help, remember? Just take a deep breath.

He takes a deep breath.

Close your eyes.

He closes his eyes.

He doesn’t open them, but they open anyway. Everything is washed in a soft layer of white, like frost, and his body moves but he doesn’t tell it to. The fear he felt is muted, and he settles into the comfort of its absence. He asked for this, right?

The spider demon—she wanted to be a Queen, right? MK hadn’t been really paying attention when she went on her rant, too petrified to listen—skitters out, and when she locks eyes with him, she smiles.

“Aww, is the little monkie boy back to play?” She giggles, and MK’s body throws the staff at her. She ducks with a yelp, and scrambles back. “Ooo, we’re rough, now? Seems you’re not so scared anymore,” She purrs, but he can hear the nervousness in her voice as the staff comes back to his hand.

“Iͥ ʷgͣˢoᶰtͤ ͮoͤvͬeˢrͨ ͣiͬtͤᵈ.” The sound comes out of his mouth, and it doesn’t sound much like MK at all. Huh. His body takes a step forward, and ice spreads out from beneath his foot. “Tͭuͧrͬᶰnˢs ͦoͧuͭtʸ,ͦ ͧyˢoͪuͦ'ͧˡrͩe ͪnͣoͮtͤ ᵇtͤhͤᶰeʷ ͦsͬcͬaͥrͤiͩesͣᵇtͦ ͧdͭemͫoͤn ͥoͫuᶠtͬ ͤtͤhere.”

The Spider Queen’s expression shifts, and she tries to run, but MK’s legs are faster. He watches himself move, jumping over stones and cliffs and any obstacle. The webs she tries to trap him in freeze, and he slides across them as if his feet were skates.

Eventually, he corners her. MK watches his body close in, and suddenly he’s back in control, staring her down. Satisfaction crawls up his back, a cold grin splitting his face in two.

“ʷWͪhͦˢoˢ'ͨsͣ ͬsͤcͩaᶰrͦʷed now?” He grins, and she screams.

Ice, it turns out, is a great muffler.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Finding DBK’s hiding place is harder. MK locates it just outside the city limits, in an abandoned scrapyard. The perfect place to get parts for new bull clones and other random things Red Son can come up with.

He decides to go on the weekend, but as he prepares the night before Monkey King makes an appearance in his room.

“Hey, bud,” MK jumps at his arrival.

He must have been hiding as a bug or something, like when MK first found the staff.

“Monkey King!” He grins at his arrival, hopping up. “What’s the occasion? Is there something new you wanted to teach me? Is there a demon we have to fight?” We, not as in MK and Monkey King, but MK and himself. Because he’s not one, not really, and that’s fun! He hates being alone, after all.

“No, no,” Monkey King chuckles, overly fond. Right, MK hasn’t been to Flower Fruit Mountain for a week. “It’s just-you left pretty early, and, uh, you didn’t say anything about our next training sesh, you know? And, uhh, pretty sure you shouldn’t be slacking off on that.”

The half hearted scolding aside, MK almost thinks that Monkey King missed him. But that’s ridiculous.

“Well, you were sleeping when I got up, and I had to go to work,” The lie slips easily off of his tongue. “I didn’t want to wake you, so I left! Um, we’re busy tomorrow, but Sunday works for training, if that’s cool?” He rocks back and forth on his feet, ever excited.

“We’re? Who’s cooler than me to hang out with?” Monkey King reaches out to ruffle his hair, and MK can feel the shiver that jolts through the monkey’s body at the touch. Monkey King doesn’t comment on it, though.

“I promised Mei we’d hang out. It’s been a busy week at the shop, so I haven’t been able to party with her,” He doesn’t know where these lies are coming from.

Sometimes he talks and it’s not him at all. He should be concerned, but honestly he doesn’t mind if his other self takes the reigns. He fumbles over his words way too often to be annoyed that someone is smoothing him out.

Polished like an ice sculpture; MK thinks he could be beautiful if he was like that.

“Alright, fine. You and your friend can….do whatever it is kids do these days. Am I an adult—oh my god I’m an adult,” Monkey King flops back onto his nimbus cloud with a groan while MK giggles.

“Anyway, get some rest, bud. You look tired,” is the last thing Monkey King says to him.

“On it!” MK salutes, and Monkey King floats through the window and then rockets off. The papers in MK’s room all swirl from the blowback, and MK grabs one of the sketches that floats back down.

He doesn’t remember the last time he asked Tang for a story. The last time he sketched anything else at all. But, a hero doesn’t need hobbies so trivial.

He plans. Plans for how the city is going to look like, when he’s finished with it all. He doesn’t need to write down the steps to get there, he has his head voice for that, but the city. How it will look, when he’s done. He has to figure it out, draw it out, and pin it to the wall so he can look at it every morning and evening and remember why he’s doing this. So he sketches. Pins the piece to the wall.

Squints. He doesn’t like it.

Back to the drawing board.

His wall is covered by the time the sun rises, and MK still isn’t satisfied. But there is no time to waste. So, he picks up the outfit that feels all the more new—blue isn’t a color he expected to like, but blue is cold is safe is good is the burning warmth he needs, so he leaves the orange jacket and red headband hanging off of his desk chair.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he can barely tell the difference!

He is gone before Pigsy comes up with breakfast, before Pigsy calls for Tang to look at the mess MK left behind, enough drawings of the same thing for anyone to get the picture. He is gone before Pigsy and Tang investigate, speak in hushed tones, and call for Sandy, Mei, and eventually Monkey King.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Getting to the outskirts of town is the easy part. Infiltrating DBK’s base is a bit harder. It’s not heavily fortified, but MK thinks that’s more because he has never tried to infiltrate such a place. He doesn’t really attack first, he just protects. But that’s not good enough anymore, clearly. He can’t just be protective, he needs to be proactive.

He slides past the guards, freezes them for good measure. After all, they’re going to be made useless once he takes their leader down, so it’s not as if he’s wasting anything. There’s also always the chance they get wise, and MK doesn’t want his entrance ruined.

The inner sanctum of the base looks more like a house, made large to accommodate DBK’s figure. There are pictures on the wall, from painted portraits to black and white to color photos. MK supposes that the Demon Bull Family has been around long enough to have portraits taken in all sorts of mediums. He wonders if they have statues, a shrine? He bites back a giggle at the thought.

The booming sound of cloven footsteps alerts MK to DBK’s arrival, though by the sounds of two voices approaching, Princess Iron Fan must be with him.

“Red Son has been pulling away from us,” the gravel in DBK’s voice is soft, somehow. MK listens in with interest. What is it they are doing to their son now?

“You tried to kill him. He can’t help but take it personally,” is Princess Iron Fan’s reply. “He barely knows you, and he’s young. He’ll grow out of it,” she waves a hand, unconcerned.

MK glares at them. The temperature in the hallway drops, until Princess Iron Fan shivers.

“Darling, I thought this house had a heating function?” Princess Iron fan curls her arms around herself, and DBK picks her up and sets her on his shoulder, suddenly on guard.

“It does, the boy made it so,” he growls, sniffing around for intruders. MK decides to let himself be known.

“Hi!” he says as he pops out from around the corner.

“Noodle boy?” Princess Iron Fan questions.

“Little Thief,” DBK growls.

“Actually, I go by MK,” he corrects cheerily. “But, anyway, could you hold still? This will be harder if you move,” He twirls his staff casually. DBK growls, and Princess Iron Fan places a hand on the side of his face to silence him.

“MK,” Princess Iron Fan starts, with a forced air of politeness. “We are in your debt for helping save my husband. However, if you attack us, we will have no choice but to fight back, and we will not be kind.”

She grins, self assured, and continues “And you know what happened the last time you tried to fight me.”

Fire. Volcanoes. She had tried to kill him and, more importantly, she had made his friends cry. But things have changed, haven’t they?

MK giggles. The sound echoes, and the hallway gets colder. Frost crawls over the walls, and MK looks up with eyes that glow.

“Aͣcͨtͭuͧaͣˡlˡlʸy,ͥ Iͭ ͪtͥᶰhᵏiʸnͦkͧ ˢyͪoͦuͧˡ'ͩllͬ ͧᶰfiͥᶠnʸdͦ ͧmᵏeᶰ ͦʷtʷoͪ ͣbͭˢeᵍ ͦhͦaͩrᶠdͦeͬrʸ ͦtͧo ᶰbͦeͭatͭ ͪtͣhͭaʸnͦ ͧbeͨfͣᶰorͤˢeͨᵃᵖᵉ,” He jumps up with a smile, and sprints forward.

Something dawns on her face, and Princess Iron Fan stands.

“Darling, we need to run,” She says, quickly, but MK jumps and bounces off of the walls and is eye to eye with her before she can explain.

She doesn’t even have time to grab her fan.

DBK jumps back as the block of ice slides off his shoulder and he roars.

“Father?!” MK hears Red Son’s voice from afar and ignores that for now.

“I will tear you to pieces you ingrate!” DBK shouts, and MK laughs.

“ʸYͦoͧu ͨcͦoͧˡuͩᶰlͭdnͤ'ͮtͤᶰ ˢeͭvͦᵖenͫ ͤbʷeͪaͤᶰt ͥmʷeͣˢ wͥᶰhʸeͦnͧ ͬI ͪwͤaͣsͩnʸ'ͦtͧ ᶠtͦrͦˡying!” he shouts back, dodging a blow that sinks DBK’s fist in the wall.

The frost slides from the wall to DBK’s arm, gluing him there. He fires the gun on his other arm, and MK dodges.

“Nͥiͩcͥeͦ ͭshot!” He dances around the room.

DBK takes a step in the wrong direction, and slips on the ice cube that is his wife, dropping to the ground. MK wastes no time, and DBK’s roar is silenced abruptly.

Finally.

“Noodle Boy! What on earth are you doing?!” Red Son looks rather steamed, if the smoke coming off of him is any indication.

“Hi, Red Son! I was just taking care of your parents,” MK gestures to the popsicles on the floor. Red Son stares, face a mixture of confusion and horror, and MK barrels toward him. “Now they can’t be mean to you anymore. You can make fun inventions and not have to be a mean guy all the time!” Honestly, if anything, Red Son should be thanking MK, but MK doesn’t do this for thanks. He takes a few hairs and blows on them, and his clones start to work on moving the new additions to his cave.

“You—” Red Son is at a loss for words before landing on “Give me back my parents!”

See, MK was worried about that. He would likely have responded the same, when he first left his parents.

“But I worked hard to get them out of the way!” MK pouts. “But, I get it. You don’t understand. You just need to ᵍcͤoͭolͦ ͧdͭowͦᶠn,ͦ ͧoͬkʷaͣʸy?” MK reaches out, places a hand on Red Son’s shoulder before he can be stopped, and Red Son is going to freeze too, when—

Red Son explodes, and MK burns.

It’s not enough to melt the ice, no, but MK is thrown back against the wall, eyes wide.

The chill in his bones vanishes with a screech, and all he can hear is screaming. For a moment, something rises within him.

This is wrong.

He shouldn’t be doing this, he can’t be.

He isn’t a bad person, he isn’t cruel. He wouldn’t do this.

He needs to stop, he needs to—

And then the flames vanish, and so does Red Son, and the cold slips back into place with brutal efficiency. MK blinks, tries to remember where he is. Right, DBK and Princess Iron Fan. He got them! Great.

His clones have been destroyed in the blaze, so he makes some new ones, and heads back to base.

A shame he couldn’t get Red Son to understand, but they all will soon enough.

Good job, vessel.

MK feels warm. It burns.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’s deliberating back at his hideout about where his newest statues should go when he hears a sharp gasp from behind him. He turns, and Mei is looking at him with something that looks like horror, but that can’t be right. Why would she be horrified by something so beautiful?

“MK?” she starts, cautiously. “What…happened to you? You look really bad, why are you wearing blue?”

“I like the color!” he asserts. “And I’m fine!”

She purses her lips, and then tries again.

“Um...MK. What is this?” She points to the frozen menagerie behind him.

MK does not pout, even though he feels like he should.

“You ruined the surprise,” he grumbles, arms crossed over his chest. “I stopped all the bad guys! See?” he gestures to them. “Now they can’t hurt anyone.”

There’s a pause, before Mei can catch up, where MK asks, “Hey, do you think people would want to put them in a museum?” He taps his chin with his index finger, deliberating.

“How did you...does Monkey King have powers like this?” she tries, a third time.

“No, I don’t,” MK jumps at the sound of Monkey King’s voice. Monkey King floats down on his cloud, hopping off and looking at MK with an air of suspicion. “Kid, how are you doing this? Why are you doing this?”

“‘Cause they hurt you guys,” MK has been itching for a chance to explain, to get someone to understand. “And the-my head voice gave me the idea. Once these guys are all gone, everyone can be safe, and no one will leave!”

“Head voice?” Pigsy comes from behind a pillar. “MK, what are you talking about?”

“You know, the voice in your head that sounds like you?” He explains. “It-it told me how to do it. And I’m not a carbon copy of Monkey King, it makes sense that I’d have a few new powers, you know?”

“No,” Tang appears, from somewhere.

When did all of his friends get here? He can see Sandy, Mo in tow on his shoulder, peeking in.

“You shouldn’t have any deviations. Maybe your transformations would be different, but to go so far as to have ice powers?” Tang pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, and his glasses flash. “That shouldn’t be possible, given Monkey King’s power set.”

“What’s going on, kid?” Sandy’s voice is very soft, as he approaches, just like when they were on the boat.

“Nothing!” MK’s voice is cheery as ever. “I’m just fixing things, okay? I think you need to ˢcͪhͧiͭllͧᵖ ʷoͧʲuͥᶰtᵍ,” he reaches forward, and Sandy and Mo are ice.

Mei screams.

“What?” MK looks on, bewildered, as his friends stare at him in horror. “He’ll be fine! It doesn’t hurt. I’ve been freezing for ages! It gets warm after a while.”

His eyes glow, and Tang pales.

“Baigujing,” he breathes, and MK turns to him.

“What about her?” he asks, and Tang puts a hand to his mouth, biting his lip and glancing between the rest of the group and MK, unsure.

“Bud,” Monkey King takes a few cautious steps toward MK, as if MK were a cornered animal. His feet slip a little on the ice, but not enough to stop his careful approach. His tail is poised and very still, not so much as a twitch from it. “I think you’re feeling a bit...um, scrambled right now. Why don’t you hand me the staff, and we can talk about this?” He gives MK a soft smile, but MK frowns.

If he takes the staff you can’t finish your work! Does he think you don’t deserve it anymore?

“But I need it,” he responds, simple and to the point. “It’s mine.” Right? Because Monkey King gave it to him. Gifts can’t be taken back, right? MK’s still worthy, right?

Monkey King takes a deep breath, like he’s biting back a retort.

“Preeeeetty sure I let you borrow it. ‘S called ‘Monkey King’s Staff’ for a reason, bud. C’mon.”

Another step forward. MK grips the staff tighter.

“MK, please,” Tang calls from his other side.

Don’t let him take it!

“We need you to let go!” Mei’s voice hits his ears.

They’re all lying to you!

“Kid-I-c’mon, just let ‘em have it and we can go home,” Pigsy’s voice breaks, and MK feels like he’s going to break with it.

Is he even going to let you keep your home?!

Monkey King is close enough that MK can feel the heat of his power emanating off of him, of the great Sun Wukong. His paws are soft and somehow even warmer than his power as he curls them around MK’s grip on the staff.

They don’t understand! They’re going to abandon you!

“That’s it, easy does it,” Relief colors Monkey King’s tone, and he smiles at MK as if MK were the sun. It’s too soft to be true. “Just hand it over, and we’ll make sure everything’s okay, alright?”

He starts to tug, pulling the staff out of MK’s grip ever so gently, and MK flinches as the voice rings loud in his ear.

YOU NEED IT DON’T LET HIM TAKE IT FROM YOU HE’LL RUIN EVERYTHING—

“It’s MͫIͥᶰNͤE!” MK shouts, and he slams the side of it into Monkey King’s stomach and launches his mentor across the room.

Monkey King crashes into the wall, groaning as he pushes away the falling rubble. MK’s eyes are wild.

“It’s mine, and you can’t have it! I need it!” Ice crawls over his right hand, cementing his grip.

Tang sees it, takes a step back, and turns to the two horrified bystanders.

“Run!” he shouts, and Mei bolts. Pigsy stares, motioning for Tang to run, but Tang is too close to MK to do anything.

“What’d you do that for?” MK frowns, lowering a hand onto Tang’s shoulder. Pigsy makes a choked sound.

“Go! Bajie, get out of here!” Tang shouts, far more desperate than MK expected. Why is everyone so terrified? This is just a misunderstanding.

“Okay, tͭiͦmͦeˡ ͣoͭuͤt ͭfͦorͬ ͧᶰyˢoͣᶰuᶻᵃᶰᵍ,” MK pats Tang’s shoulder once, and Tang is rooted to the spot. MK freezes him slower, because Tang isn’t strong, merely smart. And if he does it slow, then he doesn’t have to chisel away the extra later.

Mei comes roaring in on her bike, and she picks up Pigsy by the back of his chef’s coat, throws him on the back of her bike, and zooms off.

“Tang!” Pigsy screams, but his voice gets farther and farther away.

“What’s wrong?” MK is so confused. He looks to Monkey King, who is just sitting there on his cloud, horrified.

“Sun Wukong,” Tang says, voice hard. The ice is up to his chest. “Get out of here. Bajie is going to be a wreck after this.”

“Can you make sense!” MK throws his hands up, tired of being ignored, talked over, walked over. “Or at least ˢsͪtͧoͭp ͧᵖtalking!” And Tang goes silent, frozen.

MK turns back to Monkey King, and finds that his mentor has vanished.

Well, that won’t do.

After them!

MK jumps onto a disk of ice and slides across stone, feet still as the ice barrels over any obstacle, leading him past the dead sliver of a great mountain and up onto the streets. Mei just has made her way to ground level, aided up by Monkey King, and MK zeroes in on them.

They pass by cars, and MK ignores the blaring horns as he slides over city streets. The ice trailing behind him makes cars swerve out of control, but he needs to get to his friends. They have to understand. This is all for them!

The ice shoots forward, and he gets closer and closer, until Mei’s back wheel hits frost and the back of the bike jerks one way, the front the other. The bike slips onto its side with immediacy, and Pigsy and Mei go sprawling as Mei’s bike falls apart, skidding across the ice.

Oh no.

“Mei!” he runs to her side.

She groans, her bike suit torn. He doesn’t even think about Pigsy at the moment, too worried about his best friend to think of the other person he hurt. Plus, Pigsy’s a full grown adult, and MK has never seen Pigsy hurt like Mei is, so it doesn’t even register that Pigsy could be as injured as she is. Her left arm has a large patch of skin that’s been burnt off by the road, and her legs are bleeding from various places. Thankfully, she was wearing a helmet, so MK doesn’t have to worry about something so serious.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Are you alright? Where does it hurt? I’m sorry!”

Some ice might help with the pain.

Right, right, icing the wound always helps. He goes to make some, the power swirling in his hand, when a horn from a car blares, making him wince.

Gosh, humans. They’re so annoying! If they could just stay out of the way, because he needs to fix this, that’d be great.

Remember the pause button?

It seems very inviting. MK nods.

Right. A pause button.

“Just a sec, Mei,” he leaves her groaning on the ground, turning to face the city.

He slams his staff into the ground.

Ice shoots out in a wild dash. It crawls over and into everything. Cars, buildings, people—everything freezes. He hears some screams, and watches people try and run for the hills, but the cold is faster. It billows down the streets, kicking up a white haze that is almost impossible to see through, that the pedestrians tripping on ice and solidifying get lost in, but it’s a snowy sheen that MK sees through perfectly. He can see the polished figures of buildings, glistening beneath their ice, the little mounds that must be people beneath the thick layer of ice.

It’s all so pristine. So perfect.

Finally.

MK is glad for the quiet. With him and himself in his head, it’s hard to deal with outside noise. He just needed a moment of calm, to get to the task at hand.

The task at hand...Mei!

“Mei, are you—” he stops. Mei and Pigsy aren’t there.

His eyes search for them, and he can see Monkey King hurriedly pulling them up onto his cloud. “Wait!”

Monkey King looks at him, and MK’s face is pleading. He just wants to do right. Why don’t they understand? Once he fixes it all, everyone will be happy. Can’t they wait?

“Sorry, bud,” Monkey King says.

MK doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. A rush of panic tries to grip his brain, something that was once so familiar, something that was once so him, but it disappears in MK’s desperation to act.

The cloud zooms off. He throws a hand out, running after it.

“NO!”

This is just like his dream. At the edge of the city, a wall of ice rises. It sparkles in the light of the setting sun, and MK raises it higher, and higher, as Monkey King and Mei and Pigsy and everyone he cares about most gets farther and farther away.

Monkey King punches through the ice, and they disappear into the horizon.

MK drops to his knees. They land hard on the frozen ground.

“You said they wouldn’t leave,” he whimpers out, crying because it hurts and he doesn’t know exactly why.

It’s more than just regular pain. Something warm and different and yet familiar stings. Something knows this isn’t right, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go! If this was the right thing to do, why would everyone leave?

“I have to stop!” The words are forced out of his mouth.

MK doesn’t know when the words are him and when the words are something else. He doesn’t know who he is. What’s right? What’s wrong? How can he tell?

He’s just been listening to his own head, but his own head is arguing with itself.

He slams his free fist into his temple, to try and make things settle.

Chains drag him to the ground, leaving him stuck.

You are doing everything just right.

The voice is soft in one ear, but on the other side MK hears No! On repeat. No, this isn’t right. You froze good people. Innocent people! You froze Tang and Sandy! You made Pigsy cry! You hurt Mei!

They don’t understand yet. Monkey King is notoriously stubborn. He isn’t ready for his successor to pass him yet. All you have to do is wait for them to come back. And they will.

It’s harder and harder to hear the argument against this.

The voice sounds so self assured. The warmth that doesn’t burn gets weaker and weaker, like a fire out of kindling.

He wheezes, and tears turn to snowflakes on his skin. He chokes on his own breath. It comes out white and fogs his vision, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

Everyone’s gone.

He’s alone.

This can’t be right.

It is. You just haven’t done enough yet.

That, MK understands. The need to do more, be more. It makes far more sense that he hasn’t done enough, than anything else.

“They’ll come back?” He asks, and his voice sounds so loud in the quiet. He feels a hand brush his hair back. He leans into the touch, but it’s gone.

Of course.

MK stands. The chains vanish, and he smiles.

“Okay then! Let’s get to work!”

He hasn’t let go of the staff in ages. He doesn’t think he can. He turns to the mess he’d made in his rush job, the frozen city’s statue. He has to fix that, it’s unsightly! Mei and Pigsy and Monkey King won’t like a mess.

As he plans, as he hopes, he feels a smile in the back of his head. It feels like a snowball to his skull, chilling and yet a comfort, somehow.

Wonderful work, Vessel. We’re going to do great things together.

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #possession au #monkie kid mk #sun wukong #monkie kid monkey king #monkie kid mei #monkie kid red son #red son #kitkat1003

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sweetestlamb · 4 years ago

Text

Touch My Heart Part 2

Summary: Baby come back, you can blame it all on me. Or how to get your man back using bath soaps.

She has to cry silently, let her heart crack and splinter in silence because she doesn't want to explain her tears to Hong Yeon or Court Lady Choi. She should have expected nothing, should have known the King would want the one he truly fell in love with. But she'd still hoped, wished, dreamed selfishly that he would accept her and her feelings.

That he would beg and plead with her to stay, would declare that he loved her too. She knew that wasn't the case but still her useless heart had been holding out, only to be shredded apart when his eyes revealed how much he missed Jang Bong Hwan. It wasn't fair for either of them, she couldn't be a replacement and he would be forever longing. They would live eternally in limbo, that was no life worth living.

It was a fool's dream, she'd thrown away her chance when she jumped into the lake drowning both her desires and ambitions. She thought filling his shoes would be doable, some of his quirks and behaviors had left a lasting impact on her soul and they had many hobbies in common. But they weren't the same, maybe cut from a similar quilt but the patchwork was too intricate to be replicated.

So she cries, gasping sobs that rattle her bones and wreck her lungs; for the life she couldn't have and for the pain she knows the chef must be going through. If she was this heartbroken at the thought of being without the King, he must be crushed; soul and spirit pulverized to dusty remains.

Sleep comes to her painstakingly, her eyes so raw and red that even the act of closing them hurts and she twists and turns all night until the sandman pulls her under.

👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑

"Hong Yeon-ah, you have been loyal to me since the day I was brought here." The young court maid looks at her with a puzzled smile at her sudden reminiscing, but nods as if she's used to her oddities by now, barely pausing her actions.

"Yes, you're highness. You are always most important to me. I will be loyal to you until the end. And when your child is born, I shall be loyal to them as well." Hong Yeon smiles sweetly at her whilst gently brushing her hair, putting fragrant powder on the roots as she twists her hair into braids.

"I will always cherish you."

"Your highness?" The court maid stops braiding her thick hair, peering into her eyes inquisitively through the mirror. "Why are you speaking as if you will not be here with me?"

She forces a content smile, having now accepted what she just do for herself, the King and most importantly Jang Bong Hwan, the one who saved them all.

"I might be going on a faraway trip, don't look for me. Just care for my baby and take care of the King." She can tell that the younger woman has many questions on her mind but mostly she seems...saudade; she understands more than she wants to and she's sad but she knows the Queen well enough to know why she must do this.

"I too, will always cherish you. I hope we meet again and I can be by your side once more, it was my greatest achievement."

She hugs the court maid, no her close friend probably one of her best friends. Remembering how eagerly she would follow her around, becoming her confidant and supporter as she found her footing in the palace.

"I hope I meet you in another life." She whispers into Hong Yeon's trembling head, embracing tighter because this is her last time.

The others are not as perceptive as Hong Yeon, but she does notice tears lingering in Court Lady Choi's eyes before she blinks them away.

"Thank you for always nagging me, it made me feel like I finally had a mother. I hope you can find your own happiness now." She knowingly looks over at the royal kitchen, making the older woman blush and turn away.

"Are you going to be okay?" She thinks about the question, and she smiles as she answers, "Yes. I'm going to be happy, I will make sure of it this time." She now knows that she has the power to do so, nothing can control her life besides her.

She sends for her father, hugging him tightly despite his apparent confusion. He's been all she's had for so long, it's her hardest goodbye of all. He will never know she's gone but she will mourn his loss until she takes her last breath.

"Father, I love you. I know everything you did was for my future, I know you made mistakes along the way but I couldn't have asked for a better father. In another life I want to be your daughter again." She cries into his shoulder, childishly gripping the bottom of his robe like she did when she was young and had a nightmare.

He looks at her with wet eyes and a huge grin, chuckling before rubbing her belly and showing her all the new gifts he's brought for his grandchild. She smiles and listens, soaking up all his love and warmth to keep her warm on those lonely days.

Later that night, she presses her palm to her stretched skin she's barely showing now only a minor bump under her clothes. But she can feel the life inside of her, her sweet baby.

"My baby, know that I loved you. That I would do anything to protect you. Please be good to them and have a happy life. I hope we too will meet in another life, you are blessed to have two mothers who adore you. Never want for anything." When she feels light taps at her belly, she grips her belly tighter.

She has no regrets, it's time.

The next day, she goes through her day as expected. Letting her servants serve her and enjoying the breeze from the lake, she takes in the majesty of her life and smiles at the sky.

When night falls, she stealthily rises from her bed donning only socks on her feet to make her steps undetectable, she's already said her goodbyes so there is nothing keeping her back now. Only her fears but she's stronger than she was before, there's no turning back now.

The lake glistens remarkably under the mystical glow of the moon, calling to her like a siren. The water sloshes as she steps into it, hissing at the cold that prickles at her skin before her body adjusts. She keeps walking until the water buoys her off her feet and licks at her collarbone, taking a deep gulp of the night air she plunges her head under the watery sheet. Water burns her lungs as she loses the ability to breathe, resisting her bodies urge to escape.

This time is different, this time she's here to live.

He goes through the motions of life, but everything feels like a chore. He quits his job, deciding to open a a small restaurant with his savings. His restaurant instantly becomes a fan favorite because of his delicious flavors and affordable prices, he also takes to cooking at a soup kitchen on the weekends. There's a young girl whose innocent smile reminds him of Dam Hyang, he always gives her extra meat with a wink.

That's the only thing brings him joy these days, he had so desperately wanted to be back and now, now he was miserable.

What had he been missing so much? His body? His job? Technology? All of it meant nothing now, it couldn't fill the void in his heart. Nights are the hardest, sleep is elusive and his thoughts race thinking about them- how were they living without him? Was his Cheoljongie able to fall asleep? Did Court Lady Choi and the head chef make it official? Was Hong Yeon doing well? Did they even notice that he was no longer in the body of the Queen or was he already forgotten?

Did he mean anything to them or was he easily replaced by Soyong? Those thoughts haunt him daily and he starts drinking, blacking out every night in a stupor just trying to turn off his brain. But that does nothing to soothe the ache.

He tries to find comfort in others.

Finding willing partners is easy, women throw themselves at him but he's more thoughtful now, no longer seeing them as conquests. He remembers their names and cooks them breakfast in the morning, but he still feels hollow like all of his innards have been scrapped out with a jagged spoon.

So he sleeps with men, gets fucked hard into his bed stifling his moans into pillows trying to feel something, anything. But being taken does nothing, he's still empty even while stuffed full. Nothing compares to him, everyone else falls short and it makes him crazy; he has to move on. One night stand after one stand does nothing to abate the emptiness he feels.

Spending time with his mother brings him solace, she's older so he has to care for her but it's not a chore, he's happy to.

"You seem different these days." He hums as he bathes her, swiping a soapy loofah across her shoulders and wetting her short thin hair.

"How so?" He hasn't mentioned anything to her or anyone, there's no way anyone would believe his story. Sometimes he wonders if it was all a vivid dream that he created to deal with his coma but the proof is in the history book, the one he keeps on his bed side table. A reminder that it was real, that he's not crazy. It's both grounding and soul crushing.

"You're waiting for something." She answers mysteriously, eyes sliding shut as he tips her head back to wash out the shampoo.

He doesn't reply. He's not waiting for anything, there's nothing coming. This is his life now. He's just waiting for the end.

After putting his mother to sleep, he travels back home his body aching, tight from lifting another human. Mentally fatigued from suppressing his feelings all day.

He watches idly as the water fills up the tub, his fingers dancing across the surface before he stops the flow squirting a honey scented bubble bath until the water is foamy. He undresses dropping his clothes carelessly on the ground before dipping one toe into the bath, he groans at the welcoming heat letting the water envelop him fully.

The bubbles tickle his nose as he sits in the tub, his muscles slowly relaxing under the luscious heat. It feels nice. He should be content, he's able to take a warm bath in his lavish apartment that should be enough to raise his spirits.

Tears start pouring from his eyes, he hadn't let himself cry that day that feels like a lifetime ago. Had sucked up all his sadness and loneliness and pushed them in a corner of his mind, but now the corner is exploding and he can't control his emotions. All his walls are crumbling in his mind.

He sobs, choking on air and wiping at the moisture on his face but they are falling too quick for him to catch and he starts to hiccup.

"I'll never see them again. Hong Yeon, Court Lady Choi, head chef, Cheoljong, my baby! It's like I never existed, why did this happen to me? I never asked for any of this!" He screams at his ceiling, he's never been a religious person not wanting to put that much trust in an intangible being in the sky, but if there is some omnipresent being, he curses them for punishing him.

"Why me?" He pounds at the water, shouting when soap splashes back hitting him in the eye. Flailing and attempting to rub it out, he's unaware of how close he is to his shower caddy until his hand hits the metal contraption, causing the suction cup adhering it to the wall to lift and the caddy precariously dangles before loosening and crashing down. Pain explodes in his temple before he slides into the water, excess leaking over the edge and onto the floor. Soapy water fills his lungs until he loses consciousness, everything fading to darkness.

"Jang Bong Hwan! Wake up! Open your eyes."

A familiar voice penetrates the foggy cloud in his brain, as he struggles to clear mind.

"Please! Wake up. This may be our only chance!"

The voice pleads with him, he feels wispy threads weaving around his mind and finally he starts to force his eyes open, willing his body to follow his commands.

Wake up. Wake up. WAKE UP!!

Bursting free of his prison, he jolts awake looking around wildly shocked to see himself submerged in water far deeper than his tub is capable of holding, everything feels familiar. Eerily so.

Then he glances in front of him and a face he's grown so used to seeing is peering back at him.

"Kim Soyong?" He barely whispers, certain he's having a ridiculously vivid dream.

"This isn't a dream. I've been waiting for you."

He stares at her in shock, in complete disbelief about the situation. What the fuck was going on??

"What the fuck is going on?" He voices his thought, watching as she smiles and swims closer to him.

"I'm bringing you back. I'm giving you back this body." She states confidently, taking his world and knocking it upside down.

"What are you talking about? Everything is back to the way it should be, the King loves you. History changed. Everything is as it should be." He squashes the desperate hope that blooms at her words, nothing was that simple. It simply wasn't their fate to be together.

"Is that how you truly feel? Is everything as it should be? Are you happy?"

Happy. That feeling is foreign to him now. But he has accepted his fate, he was able to help his King that was enough.

"I helped him. That's enough. I can't ask for anything more." He answers honestly, resolve melting as he thinks of his King and his smile.

"He loves you. I thought what I felt for him was love but I know the difference now, love is earned. You earned his love."

The tears start again, he looks at her lost. He doesn't know what to do.

"But you deserve to be happy too. I know everything you went through, I felt it too. I can't let you die because of me, I want you to live Soyong." He cries heart aching for the woman in front of him, she only ever did what she thought she had to. If someone had truly been there for her without any motives, this could have been different.

"I do deserve happiness too." She agrees and his heart jumps because this is it, he'll truly never see Cheoljong again.

"But I won't get it in this universe." Blinking through his tears he stares at her, a sad accepting smile on her face.

"I will always live in your shadows. That is not a true life, I want a fresh start. I deserve a live of my own without any regrets." She swims closer until they are face to face, nose barely grazing as she carresses his cheeks. It's clear what she intends to do, her lips moving closer until only millimeters separate them.

"Take care of him and our baby." She whispers before closing the gap, warm lips pressing against his and then he feels a sharp tug from the center of his stomach lurching him forward and then suddenly backwards.

He's only able to get out two words, "Thank you." Before he's plunged into darkness again.

He swirls in a sea of nothing for what feels like eternity, locked somewhere he can't escape. He wanders and wanders trying to remember who he is and where he is? The darkness is unchanging and he feels smothered by it, running only to end up back at the same spot. But then he hears a sound, something soft and sweet. A voice, a voice he recognizes but he doesn't know how.

Who is that?

Where am I?

Those questions spin around and around in his head, vicious cycle that leaves him feeling no closer to the truth or the end.

Then he hears another voice, louder and deeper. It's pleading and pained, his heart aches for the agony he can feel and then he feels a sensation, a distant touch and suddenly a door opens in the darkness, light pours into the once desolate room and he rushes to the door, chasing the light. Needing to be closer to that voice and that touch.

His head is throbbing, opening his eyes feels like a splitting headache but he pushes through the pain desperate to see where is he. His eyes are burning but he forces his heavy lids up and sunlight floods his vision, making him wince and shut them once more.

"My Queen?"

It can't be. No. He's dreaming.

He feels a hand wrap around his own, completely cocooning it.

"My Queen! You're finally awake!" The King cries, relief emitting off his body as he clutches him to his chest. His hot tears landing on the thin material covering his shoulder.

Throat scratchy and aching he licks his lips before speaking, "Cheoljongie?"

Immediately the King freezes in his arms, it's so quiet he can hear the crickets outside chirping loudly. The King slowly leans back, his eyes darting all over his face with something that looks like nervous wonder.

"What did you call me?" He whispers, his eyes wide.

"Cheoljongie!" He screams suddenly throwing himself into his King's arms, which are loose at first but then they become rib straining tight but he doesn't care, he needs this hug more than he needs air.

The King breaks them apart grabbing his face ardently, "Is it really you? Jang Bong Hwan?" His name sounds foreign on his tongue and now it's his turn to be speechless.

"You kn-kn-know my name? You know who I am?" He stutters incredulously, feeling the tears streaming from his eyes but this time doing nothing to stop them.

"I know everything. I know you're a man from the future, you were telling the truth. You always told me the truth."

He feels steamrolled, pressed out and flattened by this discovery. He knew that and he was still here hugging him? It didn't make sense.

"How do you feel? About the truth?" It's not an easy question to ask but he needs to know the answer, there are in a different time now. Cheoljong hadn't said such when he had explained to him that sexuality was more fluid in the future, people were allowed to express themselves in many ways. There was no right or wrong way to love.

It was a nice sentiment, but this was a Joseon period. Everything was different here.

"I love you."

He's not expecting that answer and he stares with his mouth open, feeling himself being drawn into a tighter hug his small body slotting perfectly into Cheoljong's. It's unnerving and familiar being this much smaller than him again.

"I love you so much. I don't care what form you take, I'll love you every single time." He growls the last words, rumbling between their bodies.

He's never said these words out loud to anyone but his mother, but he knows that he means it. He's never wanted to say them to anyone before but now he can't wait, he's bursting with it.

"I love you too. Life was empty without you, I was walking in an endless desert. You are my oasis." They stare at each other passionately, the King's fingers warm on his cheeks as he clutches at his royal robes. They gravitate towards each other as their lips meet and the universe rights itself. He moans at the sensation of having his King's lips back on his, the kiss tethers into frantic in mere seconds. All of their longing and heartache colluding as they slam into each other.

Their tongue slide and twist around each other, he nibbles at the King's lip letting him lick at his open mouth gasping as a hand grips the nape of his neck.

He grabs the King's hair pulling him closer so he can plunge his tongue deeper, swallowing his hardy groans and letting some breathy moans escape from his bruised lips. It's going to take some getting used to, being so slight once more, whimpering as the King easily manhandles him pushing him back onto the bedding and bracketing him in his powerful arms.

The move knocks his head into the floor, momentarily dazing him as a soft "Oof," falls from his lips.

The King reacts immediately, drawing away with concern pouring from his face.

"I apologize my Que...en I was too eager, you've just woken from a vegetative state. Now is not the appropriate time for such.... activities. I will control myself." He notices the King's hesitation as he pauses while saying the title which has become something more for them.

"It's okay. You can still call me that it means too much to me now and I don't want you to be careful. I've spent all this time feeling alone and empty, trying to find other," now he hesitates and the King's eyes widen and then scowl in comprehension, "Means to feel alive. It was all futile, nothing compared to you."

The declaration does little to douse the jealousy he can feel surging off his King, he almost purrs in response. Excited. Electrified.

"I will make you forget about all others. My name is the only that will fall from these lips," Cheoljong rubs a large thumb across the his full bottom lip, seductively. "I missed you so much and I'll show you just how much."

"I spent so much time hoping to get back to my dragon, only to miss yours too much to enjoy my own. It's sad isn't it?" He pouts reaching out boldly to grab the King's thick cock peeking through his layers.

The King smirks, crawling over him before lifting up his dress easily and lowering his undergarments with a swift tug.

"My dragon missed you immensely, it's time to get reacquainted. " Cheoljong warns before slipping into his body without preamble, he shouts and tightens at the intrusion.

Every cell in his body feels alive and buzzing.

They get acquainted all night, into the wee hours of the morning hoarse shouts filling Daejajoen hall as all the court ladies blush and cover their faces bashfully. Hong Yeon smiles knowingly at Court Lady Choi, both with matching 'earmuffs' the Queen had gifted them long ago.

"Mr. Jang, can you hear me? Mr. Jang?" She struggles to regain conscious as a light is shined into both of her eyes, blinking wildly she turns her head away trying to escape the bright glare.

"I apologize. I had to check your pupils. How are you feeling? You've been in a coma for three days. We were very worried since you had been comatose just a month prior. It's not good for the human brain to be in that state several times." She listens absently to the doctor(?) too fascinated by all the unfamiliar things surrounding her.

There's a strange machine beeping away next to her and something attached to her arm, her eyes bulge at her arm, it is larger thick with muscles she's never had before. She flexes and watches entranced as her arm gets even bigger.

"Mr.Jang, are you okay?" Finally she glances over at the feminine voice, clipped and professional but a tinge of genuine concern.

She's gorgeous, a round face and wide almond eyes that are scanning something in her hands, she has thick hair that is held up in a topknot with tendrils framing her face and her lips are succulent and rosy red, she feels blood rushing to her nether regions. When the doctor notices her staring she puts down the thing in her hands, to meet her gaze head on.

"Mr. Jang?" She finally realizes that's her name, Jang Bong Hwan.

"What's your name?" She feels compelled to ask as if this is the most important question she'll ever utter, something tugs in her stomach as they stare at each other.

"Dr. Won Beom."

She smiles.

Author's note: This will be my canon moving forward in my future untouchable updates, I'll also be incorporating a love story behind Director Hong and Kim Hwan because they are the sweetest beans and I feel like they can get great advice on their relationship from our King and Queen. 🥴😉 I was very selfish with this fix-it I don't want to let go of my Joseon family, so we're staying here instead.

#mr.queen #queen cheorin #king cheoljong #kim soyong #jang bong hwan #sobong #mad homo #as it was intended #bath tub time travel #science #no touch princess

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remmushound · 4 years ago

Text

Not a request, but a random bonding idea I came up with for my one-shots, so enjoy!! @assanmaharielsreblogs

Michelangelo was making dinner like he always did. While the brothers frequently indulged themselves in pizza and other fast food, that was usually a lunch thing for them. Breakfast and dinner always fell to Michelangelo, just how he liked it. On the odd occasional Michelangelo was hurt or sick or exhausted from a long night out on a mission— too exhausted to get up early or too tired to make dinner— Splinter or Leonardo always substituted (though Leonardo’s substitution was almost always takeout he tried to pass as his own cooking, even when Donatello’s cash count said otherwise. Leonardo always left a generous tip.) Splinter’s cooking wasn’t bad, but it was always some obscure, vaguely familiar dish from his heritage, such as unagi or tempura, that they almost never had all the right ingredients for. Splinter’s supplementation for the missing supplies never really turned out right, though he insisted it tasted just like the real thing. Still, if finances allowed, Donatello always made sure to splurge on supplies at the end of the month so that their father could make the dishes properly and bring some joy to his life. Something to hold onto from his human days.

One time, he remembered, Leonardo had a complaint about the dish Splinter had presented (hiyashi chūka, if Michelangelo was remembering right) and Splinter just about blew a gasket.

“You will eat what I served you..” the old, angry rat had said to his then twelve year old son, “...or you will eat nothing at all!”

Michelangelo carried a similar mentality into his cooking, though he’d always switch to Doctor Feelings before dinner to get everyone’s recommendations, and if they still complained even after the alterations were made, then Doctor Delicate would come out to play.

“Not all of us have your iron stomach, dad.” Twelve year old Leonardo had argued back to his father, to which Donatello had added:

“Only one of us did, actually.”

Then all eyes had turned to thirteen year old Raphael, who was onto his third bowl and was absolutely demolishing it with a savage, starving ferocity.

“RAPH STILL HUNGRY!” The teen had spat before throwing one of their good bowls at the wall, which earned him a time out (and also more soup to keep him content).

But that was then, and this was now. Michelangelo was cooking a new recipe— a four cheese ravioli with marinara sauce and pepperonis. He remembered the New Brothers asking about something called Pizza Gyoza and he wanted to try it out for himself. It didn’t take him long to realize he was being watched. Still with a smile on his face, he turned to meet the spy.

“Hey!”

Mikey gave a yelp and tried to shrink back out of view around the corner. Michelangelo frowned and tilted his head as he left the ingredients to go investigate.

“Hey.” He repeated again, holding a patient hand out to his counterpart, “didja wanna help?”

Mikey seemed surprised by the offer. “I’m not a good cook.”

Michelangelo shrugged. “And I don’t know how to play the tuba— doesn’t stop me from practicing every Sunday night! Just ask Donnie.”

Mikey laughed, and it made Michelangelo smile to see the other him not so scared anymore. Through the laughter, Mikey sputtered out words that Michelangelo couldn’t quite make out, but it seemed to bring the speaker joy so he didn’t mind.

“So?” Michelangelo prompted after the giggle fest had run its course.

Mikey gave a few last giggles before he was still and sad once more. “Are you sure...? You don’t think I’ll ruin it?”

Michangelo took the older turtle around the shell and began to guide him to the counter.

“There’s no wrong way to mess up a recipe you’re making up! Besides, even if it’s bad, raph’ll eat it like it’s five star lobster! I don’t even think he can taste anymore.”

“Really?” Mikey gave a look that showed he didn’t quite believe, “my Raph’s really particular about what he’ll eat....”

Michelangelo snapped. “Ah, a picky eater! I got one of those! That’s why I gotta make Donnie’s portion separate on most nights. Splinter tried to use the ‘can’t leave the table until you eat it’ technique and Donnie say there for almost two days refusing to touch it before splinter gave in.”

Mikey whistled. “I don’t think I could go two hours without food...” he clutched at his stomach, “let alone two days...”

Michelangelo gave a patient smile and patted Mikey’s shell to urge him closer to the counter. Mikey looked out over the perfectly laid out supplies, and then back nervously at the other.

“W... what are you making?”

“What do you think?” Michelangelo motioned to the ingredients. “Take a guess!”

Mikey narrowed his eyes as he took a second look. Several jars of Marinara, four different cheeses laid out... pepperonis and meat-cutting scissors... flour, salt, eggs, olive oil...

“Are... you making pizza gyoza?” Mikey could feel his stump of a tail beginning to wag excitedly at the thought of the soft, cheesy goodness of the treats his friend murikami often made for them.

Michelangelo tisked his tongue and bopped his other on the nose. “Close~ I’m making my own version! The best chef can improvise with what he has in his kitchen! The gyoza you described would be put in a dumpling, but this one will be improvised to fit in a ravioli! I could have done the traditional gyoza, but I like putting my own spin on things! It’s gonna be a four cheese ravioli with pepperonis mixed in and topped with marinara sauce! I call it Mikey’s Masterpiece!”

Mikey could feel his mouth running at the thought and swiped his tongue across his lips. “Sounds tasty...”

Michelangelo nodded, almost about to open his mouth to offer more praise before he saw that the poor mutant was still looking nervous and unsure.

“Here,” Michelangelo slid over several cups of flour and a measured amount of salt. “Mound them on the the counter and Make a well.”

Mikey poured the ingredients in the table and stared at them for a few seconds before Michelangelo recognized his mistake.

“Oh! Mm. We’re gonna make... a lake! See, the flour and salt will be our sand and the wet ingredients...?”

“Will... be our water?” Mikey offered tentatively.

“Exactly! So make the sand, but leave space in the middle so we can put in our water!”

“Oh!” Mikey giggled as he began to make a surprisingly well-crafted well, “this is fun!”

Michelangelo let the turtle have his fun before bringing over his egg mixture and offering it.

“Your ‘Water’ my liege~”

Mikey took the bowl and, after an encouraging nod from his other, carefully poured the mixture into the center.

Michelangelo cleared his throat. “OH NO! The tides coming in!”

Mikey gasped.

“And it’s taking a bunch of sand back with it!” He knew lakes didn’t really have a tide, but it worked for the euphemism. He took his hand and swiped some of the flour into the liquidy center. “Do you know how tides work, Mike?”

Mikey shook his head, his eyes in awe as he imagined the water cutting across the Sandy shores and taking them away into the cold depths.

“Well, tides come in a little at a time, so they can only take a little sand at a time.” Michelangelo explained, “and then!” He began to mix the liquid around with his hand, “the waves all get crazy in the middle and have a party! Now the tides gonna take even more sand! You try!”

Mikey knocked some of the sand into the mixture and, when he wasn’t scolded for doing something wrong, he began to carefully mix it. Michelangelo guided him through the rest of the steps until the ingredients were all mixed into a soft, doughy ball.

“What now?” Mikey giggled— his face and hands were now coated in flour to add to his genuine enjoyment of the activity.

“Now: feel how it’s all gooey-ooey?”

“Ya!” Mikey poked the dough.

“That’s like mud!”

“Mud?”

“After it rained all day and the earth got soft! But it’s January! What happens when night comes?”

Mikey scratched his head. “It gets all cold...”

“Aaaand...?”

“And the mud freezes!”

“Exactly!” Michelangelo folded the dough safely in plastic wrap and put it in the fridge. “So now it’s night!”

“So we go to sleep?”

“No silly! We’re ninja! We stalk the nights!”

“We own the night!”

“Exactly! So let’s own the night and keep busy while the dough freezes!” Michelangelo hummed as he looked over the cheeses. He took a handful and showed it to Mikey. “See these?”

“Cheese?” Mikey took a piece and ate it happily.

“No! It’s not cheese its... mystic crystals! Do you have those in your world?”

“No.” Mikey gaped, “Well, there was this one time that April got an evil Crystal from an alien planet. Does that count?”

“No. These are mystic crystals! They take on the properties of whatever they’re added to!”

“It just looks like cheddar to me...”

“That’s exactly what it wants you to think.” Michelangelo winked. “Now, we’re gonna make a magic potion with our mystic crystals!”

“What does the potion do?”

“It’s a... warmth potion! For when you’re cold! So we gotta add a lot of heat for it to form proper!”

Michangelo put a skillet on the stove and added olive oil, half a fan of marinara, and garlic. He offered a cup of heavy cream to Mikey, who promptly took a sip before pouring the rest of it into the concoction— it was going to get boiled anyway, so it shouldn’t matter. After a few minutes of standing over the heat, Michelangelo offered his friend the cheese.

“Now is the time to add the crystals— slowly!” He quickly added as Mikey went to pour the whole thing, “we don’t want the crystals to be on top of each other! They need to melt for the potion to work!”

Mikey nodded and obeyed, and while he did, Michelangelo started to warm up the rest of the marinara on a separate pan and preheat the oven. He checked in quickly on the brewing potion and removed it from the heat once it was ready, taking a wooden spoon to scoop up a small bit and taste before offering the rest to Mikey. The box turtle practically melted as the heat overtook his body in a pleasant mix of sauce and cheese.

“Mmmmm...” he moaned softly, “that’s really good!”

Michelangelo grinned, and began to sprinkle some pepperonis in and begin to mix it around. “Oh good other of mine~! I think it’s daaaaawn!”

Mikey gasped and hurried over to the fridge and pull out the flattened dough, giving it a poke. “It wooooorked...”

“Now! Roll it on the table, quick!” He tossed Mikey a rolling pin, “before the dough worms come out!”

Mikey’s jaw fell open. “The whaaaaat?”

“THE DOUGH WORMS! They live in cold dough and steal all the flavor! Now hurry and smoosh them before they can escape with the taste!”

“OH NO!” Mikey slammed the dough on the table and began to roll it out.

“No thicker than a nickel— the worms are really small and can survive otherwise!”

“I WONT LET ANY OF THEM ESCAPE!��

Mikey did an excellent job of flattening out the dough into a large, thin sheet. After reassuring him he had gotten all the ‘dough worms’, Michelangelo carefully cut the sheet in half and began to lay his cheese mixture.

“See these?” He held up the spoonful of the mystic potion, “when mystic potion is added to dough and boiled, it’s affects increase tenfold!”

“Ooooo!”

“So put them in piles like so...” Michelangelo began to lay out spoonfuls an inch apart, “so we can make a bunch and share it!”

“Good idea! We all need to stay warm and toasty!” Mikey grabbed another spoon and began to help.

With the playful assistance of Mikey, they had finished making the ravioli within two hours and Michelangelo let Mikey serve to to the hungry brothers.

“Mmm...” Leonardo moaned almost sensually at the explosive taste in his mouth. “This is really good.”

Leo had been hesitant at first when he found out it had been Michelangelo preparing the dinner, but a quick sight test showed nothing awry. A smell test yielded only a warm fragrance, and lastly a taste test...

Leo’s eyes shot open and he was sure they had fallen from his sockets in his surprise. One small nibble had turned into swallowing the chopstick-ful whole and almost purring in delight as the warm, perfect mix of sauce and cheese and dough rolled down his throat. Once their brother had taken the dive, Raph and Donnie exchanged shocked glances and began to scarf down their shares as if they hadn’t eaten in days.

Mikey didn’t open his mouth, except to eat his extra tasty dinner of course. Just seeing his brothers happily scarfing down something that he’d made was more than enough.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt au #donatello #donnie #leo #leonardo #Mikey #Michelangelo #raph #raphael #one shots

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marvelousstevetony · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! Just wondering if you could write something with Bucky sneezing For 47. Hiding sneezes and/or 52. Did you just sneeze? Any pairing/relationship is fine. 😊

Ahh, I love this so much for Bucky! Thank you, anon! Seeing as TFAWS is coming out later this year (and I can’t wait!!!), I decided to do Sam/Bucky for this prompt, with a hopelessly pining, sick Bucky. Hope you like it <3

As if going on a mission in the middle of fucking nowhere wasn’t bad enough, Bucky curses internally, they are now stuck in a small cabin miles away from civilization for who knows how long. The blizzard had hit them by surprise, and before they even had time to think about it, Sam had been sent coordinates to the nearest safe house. They got there just before the snow made it impossible to drive on the roads safely. Sam had been so relieved when they pulled into the driveway, Bucky too, but he’s still a little hesitant even as he got out of the car.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with the cabin. It has a functional kitchen and bathroom, a fireplace in the small living space, and though both of them had doubted it, it had electricity. So yeah, it’s sufficient.

There’s just one, small problem, though. There’s only has one bed and the sofa is just about big enough for the two of them to sit upright in. They can, if they’re really squeezed together, but even for just one person to sleep on that, it would result in severe back aches for days.

“We’ll just share the bed,” Sam had said and shrugged nonchalantly before lighting the fireplace.

Okay, so maybe there’s more than just one problem.

Bucky has slept next to a lot of guys, even in smaller beds than this one. He and Steve did it all the time before the, and sometimes during the war there was just no other choice than cramming up. On a previous mission he’d even bunked with Barton, and though it wasn’t necessarily comfortable, it could been worse. This couldn’t get any worse.

No, because the difference is that Bucky has never been attracted to any of the one’s he slept next to. He didn’t have the desire to swing his arm over their waist and pull them close, to bury his face in their neck and whisper sweet nothings. With Sam, it’s different.

With Sam, Bucky wants to do all that, wants to have Sam’s fingers thread through his hair. He wants to wake to see Sam’s relaxed face, how his lips are slightly parted and just how peaceful he looks when he sleeps. But that would never happen. Sam simply doesn’t like him like that, and Bucky can handle that just fine. When they’re not pressed together like sardines in a tin, that is.

The third problem, and Bucky wants the world to swallow him whole, is that because of the drastic weather change, Bucky is ninety-nine percent sure that he’s come down with a cold. His nose has had that runny-itchy feeling all day, and his head is starting to feel stuffy, the way it always gets when he has a head cold. If he’s going to be sleeping next to his crush— no, the guy he’s in love with, he would prefer to do it when he’s not all sniffly and full of germs.

He’s been trying to downplay it for the last few hours, rubbing his nose tentatively with the cuff of his sweater, stifling a few sneezes when Sam hadn’t looked. It was getting harder to keep the sniffles at bay, though, with how the cabin was being heated by the fireplace and how his colds always get worse in the evening.

When Sam decides to look through the cupboards to look for something to make for dinner, Bucky excuses himself to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he notices the pink tint to the tip of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. He looks like a child, Bucky thinks. His Ma and Steve had always said he looked so young and innocent and that it was really cute how his face flushed that way when he was sick. Bucky couldn’t see it back then, but he does see it now. Fucking perfect. A man with blushing cheeks and a nose channeling Rudolph is just what Sam’s looking for. Bucky rolls his eyes at himself, and pulls some toilet paper from the roll to blow his nose into.

It triggers a few coughs that Bucky desperately tries to mute, not wanting Sam to hear it. He flushes the paper and goes back out to Sam, raising his eyebrows in surprise when he sees Sam stirring something in a pot.

“Soup,” Sam explains when he catches the questioning frown on Bucky’s face. “Thought it seemed fitting,” he adds and glances out at the steadily increasing layer of snow.

They eat at the small table in the kitchen. The soup tastes nice, from what Bucky can taste, anyway, especially considering it was from a can and not homemade like his Ma used to make it. Maybe it’s because Sam made it that Bucky likes it. Not that he says that out loud.

Bucky offers to clean the dishes, but Sam insists he’ll do it himself.

“Can’t blame me for not doing anything if you won’t let me help you,” Bucky says, earning a small grin from Sam.

“I like doing dishes,” Sam says. “It’s domestic. Simple… you’ll just owe me a favor instead.” Sam smirks at him with a mischievous glance. Bucky’s breath catches at the twinkle in his eyes. They’re beautiful; a rich chocolate color, full of depths and warmth and life.

Bucky shakes himself out of the trance. Get a grip, Barnes.

He rolls his eyes at Sam instead and snorts. “You wish, Wilson.”

Bucky is amazed at how well he’s managed to conceal how badly this cold is affecting him. By 9 pm, he had a splintering head ache and his nose is completely clogged up. He can’t pronounce his consonants right and trying to avoid words that include n’s and m’s is downright exhausting. When Sam suggests that they head to bed, Bucky is both relieved and absolutely terrified.

“I’ll just take the couch,” Bucky says stiffly. He doesn’t want to sleep on the sofa, he really doesn’t, but an aching back is better than having Sam listen to him sniffle and sneeze and cough throughout the entire night.

Sam glares at him with crossed arms. “We both know you’re never going to fall asleep on that thing,” Sam states. “The bed’s big enough for both of us.”

Bucky swallows around nothing. His throat’s dry, and it’s not just because of his cold.

“C’mon,” Sam says and waves towards the bedroom.

Bucky hesitates, but it’ll seem even more suspicious if he keeps refusing to sleep in an actual bed instead of a 40-inch wide sofa.

“Which side do you want?” Sam asks, looking over the bed.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky mutters and goes to the left side of the bed when Sam moves for the right.

They pull out their sleepwear from their bags. Both of them brought a pair of sweatpants, but Bucky took an old henley while Sam chose a plain t-shirt that’s slightly too small for him. He looks sinfully good in it, according to Bucky.

“Do you want to use the bathroom first or?”

“Uh… no. No, you can go first,” Bucky answers and begins pulling off his jeans and shuffles into his sweats when Sam nods and leaves through the door.

When Sam’s out of sight, Bucky sighs and buries his face is his hands. This is going to be a nightmare. Maybe he’ll be able to sneak out of the bed room later, but Sam has to fall asleep before he can do that. On top of that, a tingling sensation is beginning to build at the back of Bucky’s nose. He tries pinching the bridge of his nose, rubbing his septum against his shoulder to impede the tickle, but it lingers, unable to fully disappear or even just coax it out. He sighs again, in frustration.

“Tired?”

Bucky’s head snaps up; he hadn’t seen nor heard Sam entering the bedroom. “Um, y-yeah… I guess.”

“Me too… the bathroom’s all yours.”

Bucky mumbles a quiet thanks and goes to brush his teeth. He tries blowing his nose, but that doesn’t rid the persistent itch either.

When he comes back into the bedroom, Sam’s tucked up under the covers, arms behind his head as he stares at Bucky when he walks through the door.

“Stop staring at me,” Bucky grumbles, “it’s creepy.”

“Sorry,” Sam laughs.

Bucky feels a mixture of disappointment and ease when Sam does look away. Bucky likes when he Sam looks at him, even though he blushes like a school girl when they gain eye contact. He just always looks so happy, a wide smile plastered on his face and that characteristic shimmer in his eyes. But Bucky wants that to be for him, because of him, and that’s… that’s not the case. Instead, it makes him feel sad, knowing that there’s a reason behind that smile that isn’t Bucky.

Bucky shifts as he gets under the covers, being careful not to touch Sam as he lays down, but even though bed fits both of them, it’s not big enough for them to be sprawled out without touching each other. Bucky turns his back towards Sam, who’s still lying on his back, looking towards the ceiling.

“Night, Buck,” Sam says, a casts a glance at the back of Bucky’s head, the long brown hair falling loosely onto the pillow.

“Night, Sam,” Bucky echoes.

They lie in silence for a while, and Bucky thinks that he might just me able to fall asleep, but of course, because he��s just that lucky, the tingle in his nose flares up again. He tries to stop it by wrinkling his nose, pushing his knuckles against it, even pinching it shut, but it’s still there, becoming more intense with every passing second.

Soon enough, he draws in a breath, grabs a handful of the duvet and crushes his face into it, stifling the sneezes to make them as quiet as possible.

“ng’tCHh! HNgx!”

Bucky’s body jerks slightly with the sneezes, and it feels horrible holding them in like that. He always gets super congested when he’s sick, which makes his sneezes really strong and stuffy. He gives an experimental sniff and exhales warily.

“Huh?”

Bucky stiffens. Shit. “What?” He asks, feigning ignorance.

“Nothing,” Sam says. “Thought you said something.”

A couple of minutes pass before the tickle resurfaces. Bucky tries with every inch of energy he has left to swallow the itch, but he already knows it’s futile.

“hngxt! h-h-H’tsngshh!”

He stifles the first one successfully, but the second one slips a the end.

“Was that a sneeze?” Sam asks and Bucky is mentally slapping himself.

“Ndo,” he lies, but it sounds unconvincing, even to him. It doesn’t help that a sudden sneeze creeps up on him before he gets a chance to react, either. “hh’ttsch!”

“Bless you,” Sam says, his voice soft.

“Sorry,” Bucky sighs, and now that he’s already blown his cover, he might as well just give up. “snffSNFF! Than’gks.”

“Are you sick?” Sam asks and now he just sounds concerned. He’s propped up on his elbow, a hand placed on Bucky’s shoulder. It feels nice, so nice, when Sam touches him like this, softly, naturally, because Sam’s always been a very tactile person, and Bucky would be lying if he said he didn’t spend hours thinking about all the small touches they share, like when he pats him on the shoulder after a mission, or when their fingers brush when they both reach for the coffee pot.

And apparently, Bucky has these masochistic tendencies, because he think about Sam all the time, even when he’s not right here, and it’s killing him. And Bucky’s selfish, because even just the the thought of Sam touching someone else like this makes him furious, makes his face burn with unjustified anger.

“Ndo, I’m fi—“ Bucky tries to answer, but he’s cut off by a harsh coughing fit. Sam winces and squeezes his shoulder.

“Buck,” he murmurs, voice impossibly softer.

“I’m okay,” Bucky assures. “Just a cold.”

Sam hums and lays back down. After a few minutes, when Bucky thinks Sam’s fallen asleep, Sam suddenly says, “Is it just me or is it really cold in here?”

“Uh… I think it’s just you.”

Sam hums, but he shivers violently. Bucky hears him draw in a breath, but he hesitates and it’s only after a few seconds of a pregnant silence that Sam speaks. “You remember that favor you owed me? For doing the dishes,” Sam clarifies, and Bucky huffs a laugh.

“I owe you ndo such thidng. snff! But sure, what about it?”

“Can I, maybe, cash it in now?” Sam’s voice sounds uncertain all of a sudden.

“What is it?”

“Warm me up? Please?”

Bucky freezes and it’s like his brain has short-circuited. “Uh… y-yeah— I mean… okay. Sure,” Bucky manages, and Sam quickly scoots closer to Bucky, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s middle and places his face in the crooks of Bucky’s neck.

“Mhmm,” Sam sighs contentedly. “’S nice.”

Bucky doesn’t know how to answer other than nod and follow Sam’s lead, hugging the smaller man closer to him. “Are you sure about this?” Bucky hears himself ask, just because he can’t let himself have anything good. “I mean, I’m kinda sick.”

He waits for Sam to withdraw himself from his grasp, but contrary to Bucky’s beliefs, Sam snuggles in closer, nosing his face into the long, dark hair, lips brushing against his jaw.

“I don’t care… I’ll take care of you,” Sam whispers, and warmth pools in Bucky’s chest, fluttering with happiness and affection. He wants to tell Sam how he feels, right this second, but there’s too many things to say, and he doesn’t know where to start, and… and then Sam’s breath evens out.

Bucky exhales. He’ll tell him everything tomorrow. Tonight, he’ll just enjoy the closeness of Sam, how perfect this moment is. Maybe a cabin in the middle of nowhere with only one bed was exactly what Bucky needed.

#my fic #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sambucky #I love these two #and I can’t wait for TFAWS #🥺🥺🥺#ask box #they’re both pining so hard your honour #let them be happy

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webrokethe4thwall · 4 years ago

Text

Venus in the City

A request from @rottmntrulesall for their Little Sister Venus AU. I highly recommend you check their blog out!

After begging and pleading with Splinter, the Turtles and April had finally convinced him to let them take Venus for a ride in the Turtle Tank. Venus fussed only a little as Donnie strapped her into a car seat that he had made especially for her before squealing in delight as the tank roared into life. Her older siblings smiled fondly at the happy noises she made.

“You like that, Venus?” Raph asked, carefully driving through traffic. “You like riding in the Turtle Tank?”

“Yeah!” April cheered in a high pitched voice, waving both of Venus’s arms in the air and pulling a giggle out of the Indian Tent turtle.

Venus’s eyes shone happily. The buildings were moving so fast, and her chair would bump and rattle in the most fun way! This was great!

“Wait, was that—” Donnie started as he squinted out the window.

Suddenly, the Turtle tank swerved as the Foot Lieutenant, Foot Brute, and Foot Recruit landed on the hood.

“Turtles!” Foot Lieutenant rasped. “Prepare for defeat!”

“Oh, come on!” Leo groaned. “Can’t we go for one drive without some bozos ruining everything? How’re we gonna deal with these guys with Venus here?!”

“Like this!” Donnie flipped a switch, and Venus was pulled into the back of the tank and encased by a clear dome. “That bubble is made of a highly damage-resistant material that will keep Venus safe while we deal with these jerks.”

“Don’t worry, Venus,” Mikey comforted the confused baby as their siblings rushed out of the tank. “We’ll be back soon. Just sit tight!”

And like that, Venus was alone in a bubble in the Turtle Tank as the teenagers battled the Foot Clan just out of her sight. The baby chewed on her teal ribbon tail for a little while before growing bored. Venus didn’t want to be in her chair anymore. She wanted out!

A moment later, Venus felt herself slipping free of her car seat, out of the bubble, and through the Turtle Tank’s floor. Her brothers and sister were still in heavy combat though, and the baby didn’t like how loud they were being. Closing her eyes and crawling forward, Venus slipped through dimensions to get to someplace quieter until her siblings were done fighting.

“That didn’t take very long at all,” April said as she and the Turtles climbed back into the Turtle Tank.

“I guess they didn’t restock their paper from the last time we fought them,” Raph gloated, hefting himself back into the driver’s chair.

“Let me put Venus back in her spot, then we can get rolling again,” Donnie said. Flipping another switch, the protective bubble pulled away, and the car seat returned to its original position. “Ready to go, Ve-ven-oooh, boy.”

When they all saw the empty car seat, their stress levels skyrocketed, but it could’ve just been Venus messing with them. April swiped her hand through the air just to be sure. They all shared a look and started freaking out.

“Where did Venus go?!” Mikey screamed. “She’s just a baby! What’s going to happen to our sister?!”

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“Where’d yous come from?” Venus blinked her eyes open to find Repo-Mantis staring down at her. She had traveled all the way to the junkyard. “You lost or somethin’, kid? I’m not a fan of turtles runnin’ around my junkyard.”

“Baah! Puh!” Venus babbled, crawling between Repo’s legs and disappearing further into the junkyard.

“Where d’ya think your off’ta?” Repo asked, ducking to follow the baby turtle’s travel. But she was gone. She had literally disappeared. “Wha?”

Not wanting a baby mutant wandering around his place of business, Repo went to look for her. He soon found her in his electromagnet. She managed to swing the heavy machine to hang over the school bus plugging Mrs. Nubbins’ den.

“Wait, no, no, no, no!” Repo shouted, rushing towards Venus. “Not that scrapheap, kid! Stop!” Too late. The bus pulled free, and the cat-mantis was unleashed. Repo immediately about-faced and ran away from his beloved pet.

Growing bored of the purple bugman and the machinery, Venus slipped out of the electromagnet and crawled out of the junkyard. She quickly caught wind of something that smelled delicious! A yellow van topped with a T-bone steak was parked across the street. What was over there that smelled so good?

“My, my, what have we here?” Venus was lifted up by metal hands that brought her face-to-face with a smug Meat Sweats. “You’re just the ingredient I needed for my latest recipe! How fortuitous for me.”

He plopped the baby turtle into the broth heating up on the stovetop, scrapped in some chopped up veggies, and sorted out the seasonings that would “unleash the flavor” within Venus. The Indian tent turtle gurgled delightedly in what she thought was tasty-smelling bathwater. She munched on a carrot piece, splashing in the broth, when pepper suddenly dusted her snout.

“That should do it,” Meat Sweats said. As he cleared away his spices, he noticed Venus scrunching up her face. “What’s that look for? My seasoning is perfectly balanced.”

He drew closer to the pot just as Venus unleashed a powerful sneeze. The sneeze was followed by spikes shooting out of her shell, flying all over the food truck’s kitchen. Meat Sweats squealed in horror. He knocked the pan off the stovetop and out of his truck, baby turtle and all, as the spikes pinned him by his apron to the cabinets.

“Oh, rubbish,” Meat Sweats grumbled.

Venus continued to chew on the veggies remained in the pot with her after the tumble when the she was lifted up once again. This time it was orange crab pinchers that carried her into an alleyway. So many new people in one night!

“Hey, Carl, check it out! It’s one of those turtle mutants that we hate, but littler!” The crabman without pinched Venus’s cheeks. She whined in displeasure and swatted his pincher away. “This one would be way easier to eat, and she’s already in some soup!”

The crabman with hair poked Venus’s cheek and felt his heart melt like butter when she sucked on his claw. “Pass, Ben. That’d be messed up. Maybe if she was bigger.”

“Bah?” Venus questioned, releasing the claw from her jaws. Bigger? What did that “bigger” mean? Steadily, the pot she was sitting in started getting tighter. Venus’s line of sight climbed, higher than when she sat on Raph’s head! The crabmen seemed to begin to panic. The baby turtle giggled and clapped her hands as the crabmen did a silly dance in front of her.

“This is not what I meant!” Carl shouted, swinging his arms wildly as the baby turtle quickly grew to double his and his brother’s size. Ben and Carl ran in wild circles for a moment before crashing into each other hard. The shock from the impact and panic from the giant infant knocked the duo unconscious.

Venus stared at the still crabmen before shrinking down to her normal size. They weren’t doing much more than breathe at this point, and the Indian tent turtle wanted something more entertaining than that. She crawled away and soon heard the laughter of children at a playground. All those colors and kids looked fun! Venus was all set to join them when something flopped onto her head and over her eyes.

“Turtle! Prepare to taste defeat at the hands of your greatest foe, Warren Stone!” The long pink thing in a purple jacket rolled into a dramatic offensive pose before the Indian tent turtle. “I won’t hold back just because you’re a ba-argh!”

Venus gripped the worm mutant by his throat and pulled his stretchy body as far as she could. This was a great toy! She whipped Warren around like a lasso and laughed brightly at the way he yelled. He made really funny noises, too! A white dove then flew into Venus’s line of sight and made her think of the cartoons she and Mikey would watch where birds would flock around the worm and beat them up. Attention drawn away, the baby mutant dropped the mutant in her hands and followed the dove.

“Where are you going?!” Warren shouted after her. “I’m not done with you yet!” He was then surrounded by a flock of large pigeons that had materialized out of thin air. “Or maybe I am.” The flock proceeded to attack the worm mutant. “Aaagh!”

Venus followed the dove for a few blocks, watching it land on the broad purple shoulder of Hypno-Potamus.

“There you are! Back in the hat you go,” Hypno said. He placed the dove back in his magic hat, poofing the accessory away, and caught sight of the baby turtle. She clapped at the sight of the hat disappearing, eyes wide with wonder. “You like that trick, little lady? Wait a tic, where is your family?” He glanced up and down the empty street then shrugged. “How about a little magic show until they come along?”

At the baby’s impartial gurgling, Hypno started performing tricks for Venus. She was delighted by the multicolor hanky rope the magic hippo pulled out of nowhere. Hypno clapped his hands together, and the hanky rope had transformed into a rainbow of cards floating between his palms as he drew them apart. Hypno flinched back at how high-pitched Venus’s surprised shriek was.

Where’d the rope go?! How’d the cards fly in the air like that? Was he magic like Leo and his portals? Was she magic? She looked at her own hands, clapped them together, and opened them herself. Cards floated between her palms, just like Hypno! She was magic!

“How’d you do that?” Hypno asked, just as surprised as Venus. He smirked and snapped his cards away. “Let’s see you copy this then!” He conjured up his top hat once more, and doves rocketed out from its depths.

Venus unleashed amazed laughter. Her cards disappeared as she waved her hands towards the birds flying up into the air. However, her happiness turned to fear once the flock of doves changed directions and flew straight at the baby turtle. Scared and confused, Venus screamed at the doves and the unfortunate magic hippo behind them as well.

“Argh!” Hypno cried out. He pressed his hands onto his ears, but the baby turtle’s scream was too strong. He squeezed his eyes shut against the birds that swarmed past him, missing Venus scramble away. All he was left with was ringing ears and a sense of confusion.

Venus blinked around tearfully at the fancy hotel she somehow entered. She crawled around the front desk and sat down. She liked birds, but those had gotten way too close way too fast.

“Hey, who’s kid is this?” A bellhop asked as he rounded the desk. “She doesn’t have a cloaking broach.”

“Take her to the yokai floors,” another bellhop said. He sniffed the air around her. “And see that she gets cleaned up. She must’ve gotten into the kitchen and lost her broach somewhere along the way if her scent is anything to go by.”

“All right, little one, let’s go.”

Venus let the bellhop carry her into the elevator and was happy to get a bath for once. The broth from earlier was starting to make her scales itch. She also liked the gentle attention the funny creatures in the red suits gave her. They were almost as good as her big brothers and big sister!

“Oh, she’s so pretty in that shade of teal!” The octopus yokai who had given her a bath said, carefully bouncing her in front of the other bellhops.

“Is she one of our guests?” A fox yokai bellhop asked, letting Venus fiddle with his hand. “I don’t recall any turtle yokai staying with us. And that mask kinda reminds me of those other turtles who keep breaking in.”

“What seems to be the piddly-problem here?” A sickeningly sweet asked from behind employees.

“Big Mama!” The octopus yokai spun to face the powerful spider yokai. “We seem to have a lost guest in our midst!”

Big Mama bent down to get a better look at Venus. She was stare was intense and unwavering. The yokai holding the baby and the bellhop were starting to sweat from how long Big Mama was locking eyes with the Indian tent turtle. Then, the disguised spider yokai squealed in delight, sweeping Venus into her arms and cuddling the baby close.

“Oh, what a splendiferously precious, teedly tiny turtlely-boo!” Big Mama cooed, rubbing her cheek against Venus’s. Venus laughed as Big Mama’s hair tickled her neck. “Such sprinkly-sparkly eyes! A fantampulous giggle as lovely as her ribbon!” She pulled back and considered the child in her arms once more. “Come! Big Mama will take care of you.”

Venus burbled contentedly in the purple lady’s arms. She reminded the baby of her daddy with how she talked.

“But Big Mama, what about her family?” the bellhop asked. “Won’t they be worried about her?”

Big Mama gave the bellhop a scathing look. “If her family truly loved her, she wouldn’t be lost and causing such a fizzywinkle among my on-the-clock employees! I shall deal with this doodlie-bug’s family if they ever show up.”

Venus chewed at the end of Big Mama’s cravat, watching the other yokai shrink away from the pretty purple lady. She must’ve been tough like April and Donnie for everyone to be so scared of her. Venus loved how much attention this “Big Mama” was giving her, but she was starting to want her brothers, sister, and father the longer the lady held her. Maybe everyone was done being loud by now? She should go back to her car seat. Venus started fussing and struggling to get to the floor.

“Oh, what’s wrong, cutie-doodle?” Big Mama asked. “Don’t fuss.”

When Big Mama lifted her higher and started walking away from the other yokai, Venus began to struggle in earnest. She didn’t want to be in this fancy building anymore! She wanted her family! Put her down! She slipped, quite literally, through Big Mama’s fingers and crawled as fast as she could towards the elevator.

“What?!” Big Mama shrieked. “Catch her!”

Suddenly, bellhops galore blocked Venus’s path. The baby didn’t stop for a second before she was crawling up the walls and onto the ceiling. All of the bellhops stared up in shock at her. However, the owl bellhop shook off his surprise, leapt up, and pulled the baby mutant into his arms. The unfortunate bellhop soon found his hands full of many Venus’s piling one on top of the other until he toppled over. Each bellhop and even Big Mama caught a duplicate before she hit the ground.

“Well,” Big Mama said, obviously ruffled. “That was unexpected. Are you quite done, turtle-boo?”

That’s when the acid vomit started shooting out of every Venus’s mouth.

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“Why doesn’t she have a tracker on her?” Leo yelled at Donnie. “You put a tracker on everything.”

“I wanted to!” Donnie yelled back. “But you all thought it was too extreme to put a tracker on a five-month-old!”

“Since when did you listen to us about where to put your trackers?!” Raph yelled.

This fighting was getting them nowhere. The Turtle Tank tore through the streets as the worried siblings searched for their missing little sister. They had chased of the Foot after five minutes max of combat. They had locked the tank door. Where could Venus have gone? Who could’ve been able to take her?! If it hadn’t been for sporadic dust clouds shooting up from Repo-Mantis’s Junkyard, they wouldn’t have had a clue where to start.

“Return our sister, you fiend!” Mikey demanded.

His family jumped out of the tank, armed and ready, only to see Repo dodging and running away from Mrs. Nubbins. Well… they weren’t expecting that. Repo was pretty good at keeping his beloved murder cat contained.

“Do we help him?” Leo asked slowly.

“No,” Donnie said. “This is a waste of time!”

“He might know something about Venus, though,” April countered.

“Alright, Mad Dogs,” Raph said. “Get that cat-mantis!”

One determined sibling fight later, Repo found himself on the business end of Leo’s odachi.

“Hey, bug-man,” Leo greeted. “You see a baby turtle mutant pass by?”

“That little thing was with yous guys?!” Repo yelled.

“And don’t even think about lyin—what?” Donnie asked. “You’ve seen our baby sister?!”

“Yeah,” Repo said, head lulled back. He may as well tell the kids what they wanted; they had saved his life after all. “She must’ve crawled off after letting Mrs. Nubbins out a minute ago. Came outta nowhere, that kid. Left outta nowhere, too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” April demanded.

Muffled shouting from across the street drew the teenagers’ attention away from Repo, who took this opportunity to slip away. With their initial target gone, they went to investigate where the shouts had come from. April was the first to see the familiar food truck parked across the street. Something pointy stuck out at several spots on the outside of the truck.

“Meat Sweats!” she yelled, throwing the ajar backdoor open wide.

“Not you lot!” Meat Sweats groaned from where he hung on the wall. “One turtle disaster was enough!”

“Give us our sister!” Raph said, pulling the pig mutant free and dangling him in the air.

“That little terror is your sister?!” Meat Sweats roared. “Does the big one here shoot spikes, too?!”

“What? No,” Raph denied, lifting Meat Sweats higher. “Where’s our sister?”

“I threw her out, pot and all, when the spikes came flying at me,” Meat Sweats explained.

“We’re coming, Venus!” Leo yelled, tearing out of the food truck with his other siblings as Raph continued to hold Meat Sweats.

“Stop. Trying. To eat. My. Family!” Raph snarled in the pig mutants face before going to join the others.

Leo and Donnie were on the rooftops, looking in every direction for a hint of teal of their bubbly baby sister; Mikey and April scourged the alleys and streets for signs of Venus; and Raph patrolled in the Turtle Tank. A few moments later, the three groups converged where scraps of metal and two mutant crabmen lay uselessly in an alleyway.

Donnie prodded the mutants with his tech bo, saying, “What happened to you guys? Wait. Let me guess—you found a little turtle and she beat you up?”

The crabman with hair opened one eyestalk, saw the frustrated and near-feral teenagers looming over him and his brother, and shook his head.

“No, she got big, and my bro and I freaked out so much we knocked each other out. I thought she was gonna eat us.”

“Okay.” Donnie crouched down to look the crabman in the eyes. “First of all, she’s just a baby. Worst thing she can do to you right now is bite your exoskeletons. Second, where is she?” The crabman without hair raised a claw and wordlessly pointed towards the park across the street. “Thank you, gentlemen. You will not be eviscerated today.”

The Sando brothers cowered away from the determined children and slunk into the sewers as they crossed the street. The park was empty at the moment, so April wasn’t worried about anyone seeing the giant mutant turtles wadding through the bushes.

“Venus!” April and the others called in intervals, tearing the park upside down for their baby. “C’mon sis, where are you?”

“You guys looking for a baby turtle?” Warren Stone asked. He was chilling on a park bench, sipping a smoothie.

“Warren Stone!” April squealed. She ran up to her news anchor idol. “Do you know where our sister is? She’s got a teal mask and a pretty defined shell.”

“Yeah, she crawled that a-ways about ten minutes ago,” Warren said waving in the general direction. “Chasing a bird or something. No respect for the laws of mortal foe combat.”

“Thanks Warren! Stone-head for life!” April ran off to get her brothers. “I got a lead! Venus isn’t here anymore, but I know where she went!”

“Lead on, April!” Leo said.

April led them in the direction Warren Stone had waved in, and they soon came across Hypno. He was shouting and swinging a top hat at a flock of doves swarming over his head.

“Hypno!” Mikey shouted, wrapping the chain of his kusari-fundo around the hippo mutant. “Where’s our sister?”

“What?” Hypno shouted. “I don’t know anything about a ‘blister.’”

“I said sis-ter,” Mikey yelled. “Baby turtle mutant. Teal mask. Where?”

“Never met one,” Hypno shouted. “Why would a lady turban merchant need a flask? Speak up! I can’t really hear at the moment.”

The teenagers groaned. This was getting them nowhere!

“Did you lot happen to lose a baby turtle?” Hypno asked. “One passed by a minute ago. I gave her a magic show, but the doves scared her off.”

“Where’d our baby sister go?” Mikey yelled as clearly as he could. Hope shined in the box turtle’s eyes.

Hypno seemed to wilt from the question. “I don’t know. She let out a killer scream that took out my doves and my hearing. I didn’t see where she went.”

“That would explain the screaming-match,” Leo grumbled. “Mikey, let him go. Venus isn’t here.” But she has been causing some top-tier mischief.

Raph brought the Turtle Tank around for everyone to pile in and regroup. Now what? Hypno was their last lead to finding Venus, and he didn’t know where she crawled off to. How did her screaming make the hippo mutant go that hard of hearing anyway? Sure, the baby had a loud voice but not loud enough to make someone go near-deaf. Right?

“Now what, team?” Raph asked. “Where do we look next?”

“Well,” Donnie started. Then explosions erupted from the Nexus Hotel in the distance.

“FOLLOW THE CHAOS!!!” April shouted.

Moments later, the Turtle fam burst into Big Mama’s hotel, weapons drawn and ready to take on the spider yokai. The sight that greeted them was not what they expected from the usually put-together criminal boss. Small fires lit up parts of the lobby and stairs, yokai and humans alike were either flopped over broken furniture unconscious or shaking in absolute terror. A yokai ran from one end of the room to the other screaming his head off.

“What happened here?” Leo asked, lowering his sword.

“I don’t know,” Donnie said, looking at his wrist scanner and typing on it. “I’ll hack into the security feeds; you guys keep an eye open for—”

Big Mama chose that moment to leave the elevator in giant yokai spider form. The first thing the Turtle fam did was pull into a tighter circle, defending Donnie as he reviewed the hacked feeds. They noted how she looked, well, battered, bruised, and burned. Big Mama looked at the teenagers with six tired eyes, down at her thick arms, then back at the teenagers. She slowly walked towards them.

“Does this belong to you?” she asked, voice wavering from exhaustion.

Extending her arms, Venus dangled from her hands.

“Venus!” They all cried.

Raph carefully took Venus into his arms and backed his entire family as far away from Big Mama as he could. His siblings launched themselves onto his arms, kissing and cooing at the baby turtle warbling happily back at them. Before they could interrogate the spider yokai about how she got her claws on their precious baby sister, Big Mama passed out less than gracefully in her lobby.

Raph quickly carried his family back to the Turtle Tank where they continued to fawn over their baby sister, relieved to have her back and taking turns holding her close. Donnie held Venus very carefully. She had somehow gotten out of one of his inventions specially designed to protect her, and he took it personally. How had it happened?

“Let’s see how you got into Big Mama’s hands, shall we?” Donnie said, passing Venus off to April and hooking up his gauntlet to the tank’s display screen.

As the security feed played out, the Turtle fam watched with increasing shock as their baby sister all but destroyed the Nexus Hotel. From the very moment that she went intangible in Big Mama’s arms, to crawling up onto the ceiling, duplicating, and puking up acid, the teens couldn’t look away. Then things really got weird.

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Venus screamed in the arms of every bellhop that held her, causing them to drop the duplicates to cover their ears. Big Mama wasn’t so lucky. She held the original baby turtle. Big Mama had to transform into her yokai form in order to cover her ears and not drop the baby.

“Hush, cutie-doodle!” Big Mama tried to soothe the child.

No! Venus didn’t want the spider lady anymore. Maybe if they couldn’t see her, they’d leave her alone. Leo played peekaboo with her all the time. Maybe the same rules applied? Venus covered her eyes and held as still as possible. She heard a gasp of surprise and suddenly felt her bottom hit the ground.

“Where’d she go?” a bellhop asked.

“I don’t know,” Big Mama replied. “She was right here! Find her!”

Venus crawled away as the bellhops and Big Mama waved the air around the ground searching for her. She made it to the elevator right as it was closing before becoming visible again.

“There she is! How’d she get in the elevator?!” a yokai yelled out.

The crowd tried to get to the baby turtle, but the doors had already closed. Venus blinked. She looked around the box-like room she was in. How did these things work again? She spotted the shiny panel of buttons and made grabby hands at them. They were too high up! The Indian tent turtle’s line of sight was soon above the panel of buttons. She could totally reach them now! Venus slapped the panel happily. The room felt like it was moving.

When the doors opened again, there were bellhops waiting. They, unfortunately, were not expecting the little baby to have grown to be bigger than their employer. Venus mowed them down as she crawled into the hallway. She found a stairwell and wandered her way down a few flights before shrinking down again.

The door was too heavy for her small body to open. However, she didn’t hesitate to crawl right through the wall to the other side, which just so happened to be a fish tank. Venus loved swimming! She followed the exotic fish in the tank for a minute or two, completely missing the looks of horror guests and employees alike gave her for how long she was in there. What? It wasn’t like she was gonna run out of air. She did this all the time at home.

“There you are!” Big Mama cheered, scooping the baby turtle out of the water tank. “Oh, now you’re all sobbled! Come, dear, let Big Mama dry you off.”

Oh, not this lady again! Venus huffed and puffed, struggling to get out of the gentle but firm grip. Then, she felt something shoot out of her shell. Screaming rang out around her, and Big Mama gasped. Venus looked around and saw several spikes impaling pillars and pining people to the walls. The baby clapped, clearly enjoying the silly poses the yokai had struck to avoid the spikes.

“That’s quite enough of that,” Big Mama admonished. Neither yokai nor baby noticed the pillar behind them starting to fall over. “I’ve had enough fizzywinkles in my hotel today, thank you.”

The pillar groaned and slammed on top of the two females. The bellhops rushed to lift the pillar from Big Mama, who was banged and bruised from its weight, but Venus was perfectly fine. Her scales had formed into a silver armor, leaving a baby turtle shaped hole in the raised column.

Then, a fire started from one of the spikes slicing through an electrical outlet. Everyone started screaming and running. Venus started crawling away again. And—

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Donnie shut of the video feed. He, Raph, Leo, Mikey, and April stared at Venus in shock. Raph quickly drove them home. After the teens all gathered in the living room, they collapsed into a heap of exhaustion, stress, and disbelief. Splinter walked in to see Venus sucking her thumb on top of Donnie’s chest as the soft-shell gently patted her head.

“Ah, there’s my precious little girl!” Splinter smiled. “Come to Daddy, Venus.” He lifted Venus to his hip and rubbed his nose to her beak. “So, how was her first ride in the Turtle Tank?”

Splinter raised an eyebrow in confusion at the way the teens groaned and sunk even further into their sibling pile.

Mikey shot up from the pile and shouted, “VENUS HAS POWERS,” then sunk back to his place between his brothers and April.

What a chaotically long day.

58 notes · View notes

girlofmanyfandoms · 4 years ago

Text

A/n: Next chapter is out! This one has a lot of setting up of the future plot points, it’ll be fun if y’all can pinpoint it. If the next chapter takes too long, I’ll post more of “The Plot out of context,” if it’s wanted!

Key:

Tater - @a-lonely-tatertot

Lynn - @lesbilynnette

Gray - @silver-snow

Lilah - @tribblemakingalicorn

Cadence - me

Ivy - @imaramennoodle

Molly - @molly-sencen

Farris - @everyonehasthoughts

Speens - @an-absolute-travesty

Holes - @holesinmyfalseconfidence

Connor - @linhammon-roll-bromance101

Panda - @worldwidepandamonium

Meg - @ultralazycreatorfan

Word count: 2,740

Warnings: Nothing makes sense.

“Lynn, can you have the next shipment of the Gatorade sent to my address in Peru?”

“Farris, what did you do now?”

“Nothing!” They grinned nervously.

“I swear if you moved to Peru just so you could buy an alpaca, I will-”

“It’s not that, I swear! Well, not just that. Boss called and said I have to be at the excavation site by tomorrow, that it might be a big break.” Farris scoffed. “As if. Last time, the only thing I found with my metal detector was someone’s Betty Boop keychain.”

“Yeah, I can ship them there,” Lynn sighed, exhausted from a night of getting a deal with the investor and setting prices for the products. “And that’s crazy.”

“I know right?” Farris answered. “Betty Boop? When was this person born, the 1950s?”

“That’s not- yeah, you’re right, Farris.” Lynn changed her sentence halfway through. “Any word back from Panda?”

“Yeah, Panda got back to me. Said that her sign is a Scorpio.”

“What?”

“Exactly, who would’ve thought Panda was-”

“Farris, you were supposed to ask about the chain restaurant idea!” Lynn massaged her forehead. “Why did we agree to be partners?”

“Because I threatened to blackmail you,” they responded, taking a bite out of an apple. “And I did ask about that. The zodiac sign was probably the question I wrote on my arm so I wouldn’t forget.”

“And?”

“She said the chain restaurant idea is a good thing to look into, as soon as we can make a good menu, hire some staff, good prices, nice locations, accessibility, y’know, all that jazz.”

“Because that’s so simple.” Lynn sighed, shuffling through the paperwork that had accumulated within the past week. “Alright, tell you what, I’ll get an artist to make an ad, maybe a social networker, I’ll set up a blog and we get the word out. As soon as you get back from the gig, you call me, alright?”

“Yup,” they agreed. “Oh, and Connor just texted saying he needs your help. I told him to wait ‘til I got back so I could teach him how to properly rollerblade, but the kid’s a madlad.”

“Anything broken?”

“His sanity.”

“Farris.”

“And a lot of furniture.”

“Guess I’ll have to find out for myself, huh?”

“You sure will.”

“Alright, I’m checking in with the supplier. Talk later?”

“Cheerio, mate,” Farris grinned, saluting her before ending the call.

Lynn opened her laptop and emailed her supplier, who had requested to remain anonymous. This was fine though, identities shouldn’t be known when dealing with the black market and pyramid schemes. Lynn was fine with using her real name because of her position as co-founder of Forbidden Incorporated. If she was going to go deviant, she’ll be damned if she didn’t do it with style.

_________

Cadence’s phone buzzed, as an email from a client had just arrived.

“Forks do not work with ice cream,” Tater yelled for the umpteenth time.

Holes clutched their head in a mixture of disappointment and annoyance. “Why would you use a spoon? It’s not soup, you can’t just spoon it out!”

“Then pop it in the microwave for a few seconds, for fu-”

“Crank it down 12 notches,” Molly suggested.

“-for Pete’s sake,” Tater acknowledged Molly. “And didn’t you just eat an entire bag of flamin’ hot Cheetos in one sitting?”

“They were good! And I’m fine,” Molly insisted. “Sure, we’re out of milk, and I have strep throat, but I just took a shower and I don’t think I’m gonna pass out just yet.”

Tater and Holes pulled out a Lysol can, masks, gloves, and a plexiglass barricade within seconds, clearly getting flashbacks from 2020. Cadence wasn’t paying attention, as usual, and kept writing her response to the email.

“Relax,” Molly laughed, clearly not finding it strange that they had those on hand at least a decade later. “I got my antibiotics, it’s not contagious anymore. And hey, good news: I made a questionable decision, and that’s also not contagious.”

They threw the equipment behind them, seemingly into the abyss, and relaxed a bit.

“Ok, now to address the real problem,” Holes started. “Who is Pete and why are we doing everything for his sake?”

“Oh my gods, it’s an expression, Holes,” Tater sighed.

“No, no, Holes, is onto something,” Molly said, grabbing the detective hat Lynn had designed for her and putting it on. “And I intend to find out.”

“Cadence, please make it two against two,” Tater pleaded.

Cadence glanced up from her phone. “What’s happening?”

“Oh my- you know what, I should’ve expected that, considering the Paint Water incident.”

“Ok, the Paint Water Incident was ONE TIME!”

“The what?” Holes looked interested.

“We don’t talk about it,” Cadence chimed in. “Think of it as the Great Gulon Incident of our group.”

“Great,” Holes sighed. “Another mystery. You’re all high.”

“I was fully aware of what I was doing in that incident.”

“Even better,” Holes commented dryly. “Nevermind, I don’t need to know.”

“Besides, there are great puzzles to be solved,” Molly continued enthusiastically. “Onward! We must scavenge for our first clue of Pete’s identity.”

Tater closed her eyes, telling her conscience to shove it for a moment. “Where do we start, Detective?”

Holes raised their eyebrows.

“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” Tater shrugged.

Molly looked at Holes in expectation. “Alright, fine,” Holes caved. “But I’m taking Cadence with us, I’m not going crazy alone.”

“That ship has sailed for both of us,” Cadence commented, not looking up from her phone.

“Yeah, haha, very funny. Let’s check out the corner opposite of the one they’re searching.” Holes paused, waiting for them to be out of earshot. “We don’t have to do anything, just pretend to search, I’ll be watching to make sure they don’t get killed.”

Cadence looked down at the email from her client. A shipping of 500 bottles, and 3,000 containers of newer products. And to Peru? Why had they changed the shipping address? She sighed. It was going to be a long day.

________

Connor’s house was on fire. Connor’s house was on fire. Why was Connor’s house on fire, you ask? Well, if you need to ask, you clearly haven’t met him. Lynn gazed at the sight in front of her tiredly, not knowing how she hadn’t expected this to happen.

Speens was calmly watering the bushes surrounding the house, not giving a second thought about putting out the fire with the water they had.

Lilah appeared beside Lynn, startling her. “Oh, good, you came. Gray has been trying to help Connor stand up for the past 30 minutes, but he’s way too drunk and he keeps refusing to ditch the rollerblades. Oh yeah, and his house is on fire.”

“About that, how’d it happen?”

“He was rollerblading on the stair railings when he fell onto their lamp, which tilted over and fell onto the seance that he was holding earlier in the day so the candles fell onto the hardwood floor, and then he spilled vodka everywhere, and then the flames turned blue, so here we are,” Lilah recounted all in one breath. “It’s kinda beautiful to be honest.”

“Beautiful isn't the word I would use to describe it,” Speens called. “It’s interfering with the plants. Well, except for Suzy, she’s a stubborn one. She wouldn’t burn, and believe me, I tried to make her.”

“I believe you,” Lynn said, quite understandingly. She had seen Speens around on the Deep Web, but had respected their secret. They all had secrets, after all.

Lynn walked inside where the hose was already uncoiled and ready to be used. Connor, however, was clinging to Gray’s leg. “NO, DON’T USE A HOSE, THE HOUSE DOESN’T LIKE SHOWERS.”

“Connor, the house is an inanimate object, it does not care,” Gray told him, trying to get control of the fire in the kitchen.

Connor gasped. “How DARE you talk to Cynthia like that?! She deserves better!” He crawled over to a wall that was, inevitably, about to burn down, and he stroked it. “You’re gonna be okay, sweetie. Don’t listen to the mean person, they’re just a hater.”

Gray shook their head and sighed. “Hey, Lynn. Can you increase the water pressure?”

Lynn did so, much to Connor’s dismay. To make up for it, Lynn handed Connor a piece of a floorboard that had undoubtedly been broken into pieces when they fell off of the stairs. He hugged the floorboard close to his face, crying happy tears, not thinking about the possibility of splinters. Lynn was confused, but had a feeling she would need him as an ally soon, and this was the best way to start.

Lynn babysat Connor as Gray put out the fire. When they had finished, none of the house had fallen down. It was weaker, and very charred, but somehow it hadn’t fallen.

Gray reached behind them and pulled out a ladder and a blueprint covering the new design of Connor’s structurally damaged home. Everyone had become acquainted with such things being summoned when needed. “Alright, I got the materials in the car, but we need to fix this house, er, Cynthia, up.”

“Renovating a house, huh,” Lynn muttered. “Better than spending all day dealing with paperwork. But if I’m going to help you and Connor, I’m going to need both of your help. So, how about an offer?”

Gray narrowed their eyes. “What would that offer entail?”

“Well, for you, Gray, I’d need help renovating a certain building. We’re talking about new elevators, knocking down walls, putting up new ones, new furniture, everything businessy. As for you, Connor,” Lynn paused, waiting for him to look at her. “I need a spy. You don’t have to be sober, but you have to keep them talking alright?”

“I’m feelin’ woozy,” Connor giggled.

“Can you overhear what people say and report back to me when you hear something important despite the wooziness?”

“Yup, and I can be a skater dude, too,” he grinned goofily. “We can all live our dReAmS.”

“Well, I’m in,” Gray said, helping Connor lay down. “I’ll certainly need a team for that building of yours, but I’m in. I can’t repair a house on my own anyway.”

Lynn nodded. A team, huh? For that she needed customers, crazy, loyal, and determined enough to support her products. She had a few people in mind who might be able to deliver.

______

“Meg, you got the snacks?” Ivy called over her shoulder, setting up the gaming consoles. They had finally stopped procrastinating and organized a group hangout between Speens, Ivy, and Meg, making it a game night. Ivy brought the video games, Speens brought the hands-on games, and Meg was in charge of snacks.

“Yup,” she smiled, wheeling in a wagon of junk food. “Anything you could want, it’s here. What games you got?”

“Rocket League, Mario Kart, only the best of the best. How about you, Speens?”

“Uno, Jenga, Connect Four, Scrabble, Twister, Monopoly, you name it, I got it. Where do you want to start? Virtual or hands on?”

“Virtual, I guess,” Meg decided. “Haven’t played in a while, ever since a pigeon yeeted my controller out of a window.”

Ivy tilted her head, asking for an explanation.

“T’was like a message from an angry god,” Meg said wistfully, resting her head in her hands. “A god who preached ‘live, laugh, yeehaw, and stop playing The Last of Us 2 because it’s a trash game.’”

“Are you on drugs?” Ivy looked sincere.

“I mean, I wrote ‘gay’ and ‘yeehaw’ all over my dad’s truck, and later that night I had a dream about falling in love with the sister of this prince that I had to stop from destroying everything at exactly 12 AM, but I don’t think that’s what you’re looking for.”

“No, that answered my question,” Ivy said, setting up the board out while the sunset shined brightly onto their faces in the cool evening light.

Meg chose the monster truck token. “Refresh my memory, how do you play again?”

“It’s literally just capitalism for kids, and I am above you mere mortals,” Speens helped, choosing the rubber duck token, and taking a Snickers and KitKat from Meg’s snack wagon. What happened next was ungodly. Speens opened the KitKat bar and ate it. Without. Separating. The Bars.

Ivy reeled back in horror, and Meg hid behind her, terrified of the scene going on before their eyes.

“What?” Speens finished the chocolate and wiped their hands with a tissue. “Are we going to play this game or not?”

“Oh no,” Ivy said, pulling her hair slightly. “You don’t get to gloss over that. The Forbidden Spicy Gatorade is for all of us to share and enjoy once we get our hands on it, but you never, never, disrespect the KitKat bar.”

Speens scoffed. “You’re really going to dwell on that?”

“Going to dwell- I can’t even-“ Ivy took a deep breath to steady herself. “I will not allow this in my house. So you know what? Let’s raise the stakes. We need this Monopoly game to be a game-changer.”

Speens narrowed their eyes. “What are you saying? You’re betting something?”

“Yup. If I win, you have to wear a hoodie that says “I love Holes” and you have to help me with a plan of mine. If you win, I’ll help you get revenge on someone.”

“And if I win,” Meg continued. “Y’all owe me a lifetime’s supply of fro-yo and you both have to agree to each other’s bet deals.”

“Deal from my end,” Ivy pitched in, selecting the top hat token. The other two agreed, and the game commenced.

By 3 o’clock in the morning, Ivy had been in jail 17 times, and Speens had one hotel left. With a few lucky turns, Speens was bankrupt.

Ivy smirked, having a good feeling about this. “I call upon the power of the almighty Top Hat!”

“Oh, don’t look so smug, Ives,” Speens scowled, opening their suitcase of vodka and pouring their version of two shots. “You can still lose to Meg, and she bet a lot.”

“True, but in reality, would you rather lose to Meg or me?” Ivy flashed a grin. “The hoodie’s in my room, by the way. Don’t worry- it’s washed!”

Sighing, Speens went to retrieve the hoodie. A deal’s a deal, after all. When they returned, they looked ready to kill someone. They wore a baggy bright pink hoodie with “I Love Holes!” spelled in purple glitter. “You better win this, Meg.”

Meg stuffed a hand in her bag of snacks and nodded. Ivy’s turn was next, and it brought Meg down to $100. Speens muttered something under her breath and waved her hand in an elaborate motion. Seconds later, a loud crash was heard, followed by the breaking of glass and the sound of spraying water.

Ivy frowned. “What was that?”

“Go check,” Speens suggested.

Ivy looked out of the kitchen window to see… no window. The top of a fire hydrant had come bursting off of its mounted position and had crashed through her window. “No!” She frantically ran to the street to assess the damage from outside.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Speens stirred their beverage casually. “She’s not looking, you can win this.”

“Even if it means you always have to pay for my fro-yo?”

Speens shrugged. “Beats having her win. Besides, I’ll eat just as much fro-yo as you do if I’m paying for it.”

Meg went through the cards quickly, ignored whatever magic just went on. With a lifetime supply of such an other-worldly snack, who wouldn’t? Meg found her card just in time, as Ivy came back in, looking surprisingly calm.

“I boarded up the window, insurance will cover it,” she explained. “Your turn, Meg.”

Meg pulled the card she had placed on top of the pile and made her move. She had done it. Ivy was bankrupt. Not only that, but she was going insane. She flipped the board, sending everything tumbling into the depths of her house.

“How did you- you had no chance-”

“Breath, princess,” Speens joked. “I know what’ll take your mind off of this: some good old fashioned revenge on an old rival of mine. Whaddaya say, pal?”

“This day could not get any worse,” Ivy whined.

Except it could. And it did.

The electricity cut out and Ivy let out an ear-piercing screech.

__________

A/n: Not my favorite chapter, but I have some freaking PLANS for the next ones. Stay tuned! And if I made any errors, let me know because I can’t sit still for more than 5 minutes, so I only corrected a few things.

#Forbidden Spicy Gatorade #Forbidden Spicy Gatorade Chronicles #the next chapter is where the real fun begins

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unaskedformagnustheories · 4 years ago

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UNASKED FOR MAGNUS THEORY #6: EXTINCTION IS COMING (AND HELEN WILL BE THE ONE TO OPEN THE DOOR)

If the title didn’t make it readily apparent, this post contains speculation on MAG Season 5. Please do not read if you haven’t made it to 160 in the pod. There be spoilers ahead. We good? All the new offerings listeners gone?

Alright! To my dearest Red-Stringers, I know it’s been a minute. I’ve been gearing up to this one for a while. Teased it on discord, even, but I’ve put off sharing, because this might be the theory I’m most attached to. Seriously, half the other ones on here are rambles at best (an exercise in futility at worst), I'm tired of letting this one collect dust, and want to share with you folks before I lose my nerve. The short of it? I suspect the birth of The Extinction is still a threat in this post-apocalyptic world. I believe Elias’ ritual was just a stepping stone along the path, and Adelard Dekker and Peter Lukas were looking in the wrong place when they assumed this new power would be born from The End. Instead, I think The Spiral has been has been laying out the red carpet from the start with Distortion’s help, and The Archivist’s a little foolish for not questioning whether or not the apocalypse could get worse. While I’ve been wary of Helen for a while (as lovely as Imogen Harris is), I have to admit the seed for this train of thought was planted by Simon Fairchild in MAG 151:

“Peter seems convinced that the Extinction is different, that its actual birth will be as bad - or worse - as another power fully manifesting. He believes its advent will be heralded by all sorts of disasters, and catastrophes, and global upheavals, and whatnot. That kind of thing”

Upheavals? Catastrophes? Seems a fitting description for an escalating few decades worth of failed rituals, wouldn’t you say? Even Adelard Dekker mused in his last correspondence with Gertrude “perhaps the birth of such things is longer and more complicated than I believed” (MAG 157). It could even include an eyepocalypse on the way to greatness, and I don’t think it coincidence a familiar set of corridors has been on the sidelines munching popcorn for most of the story so far. One of the first descriptions we get of Michael is through a distorted window pane in Sasha James’ apartment building, the glass warped like a “funhouse mirror” (MAG 26). This description is echoed in A New Door when Helen Richardson describes the paintings in Michael’s corridors “each distorted [him] differently, like a selection of funhouse mirrors”. Curious then, isn’t it that one of Adelard Dekker’s statements regarding The Extinction tells the tale of a man who stepped from our world into a horrifying, inhuman reality via a very similar pathway? While the mirror world in Magnus 156 - Reflection isn’t usually tied to The Spiral (from what I’ve seen around the fandom) I would argue the funhouse aspect and the maze imagery should make us reconsider. That being said, I’d like to draw your attention specifically to the three odd mirrors this unfortunate dark tourist finds:

1. “expanded him into a short, squat reflection” 2. “bent him out of shape” 3. “squeezed him, made him thin and gaunt, and that was the one which took him”

Is it just me, or do the first two distorted goldilocks mirrors remind anyone else an awful lot of The Maker of Clay “short and squat, with knobbly bare arms that seemed to reach down almost to his knees” and The Distortion (do I really need to explain why? ha, you folks have been listening to the same show I’ve been listening to). Is it such a reach to imagine that the third mirror represents a facet of The Spiral that’s still marinating? Biding its time until full emergence. Have we forgotten already that Extinction-prophet Garland Hillier left a warning telling us that “the door is the door” after presumably losing himself in an alternate Paris full of inhuman inheritors so twisted that the researcher who accidentally followed him couldn’t even put into words how terrifying the creatures that come after humanity are (MAG 134)? Or is The door THE DOOR, and we should really be more concerned about her machinations. It’s not exactly news the Distortion’s motivations have been foggy from the start. In the very beginning Michael told Sasha he didn’t care if she and her friends at The Archives lived or died. And yet he hung around treating their handling of The Unknowing like it was a spectator sport. Then when he became she, Helen stayed around the Institute to offer ‘help’, but happily denied Jon assistance when he came asking for an ally before entering the panopticon. Post-apocalypse? Martin’s not the only one who’s noticed she’s gleefully getting “worse”, and I can’t help but get the sense she’s not riding the chaos so much as riding the tide of a plan finally coming to fruition. Thriving.

It could explain (if we assume The Spider is working to re-establish the world that was) why The Distortion was so intent on getting into Hill Top Road when it was torturing Marcus MacKenzie (MAG 146). When approaching the house, Marcus remembers feeling the door’s playfulness disappear as “a cold hunger” set in “as though [he] had no right to just stand there looking at it. The street was silent, but [he] could feel it screaming at [him] to open it”. Was The Distortion aware that the time-warp house might be the only real threat to Extinction’s birth and wanted to cut it off at the head? I know I’m spiraling into conjecture a little, but this post could turn into a novella if I didn’t. I just think it would be a great twist if while we’re focusing on Elias as the big bad something worse could be lurking in the shadows, and Helen seems like the most likely candidate. Elias had his villain moment. His arc (while not complete) felt like it reached its zenith at the end of Season 4. Tell me it doesn’t sound like a Jonny Sims bait and switch to have our intrepid heroes deal with ‘The King of the Ruined World’ only to find out he was the least of their worries.

Random, but if this theory holds any weight, I wonder (with the whole through-line that the fears are inextricably tied to humanity), if Gertrude accidentally helped Extinction’s ascension by feeding Michael to The Distortion. It seems horribly fitting that if in trying to stop one ritual she lay the groundwork for a power so disgusted by its own existence it had to become something else. Something with the potential to raze things to the ground even further and build an entirely new world unrecognizable to those that came before.

I’d like to leave you with one last (and arguably weakest) point. Ha, but if that’s not proof I do this for fun, I don’t know what is. This isn’t an essay. It’s me rambling, and if you’ve come along this far I appreciate you as a human. All the same, I’d like to draw your attention to episode 99 - Dust to Dust. The statement regards a town in Oklahoma that was built on a lie, a storm that felt like the end of the world, and a man named Stefan Brotchen who became something inhuman during the course of events. While Gertrude mentions that the town’s foundation reminds her of The Spiral, she ultimately admits that The Buried more likely stands to be the entity at play. However the prevailing reality of fear soup doesn’t negate the possibility that something else could be in the works too. Something that starts with an ‘e’ and ends in ‘xtinction’. I’d also like to put these two descriptions side by side:

“Stefan Brotchen was, to all appearances, much the same as any other Okie farmer: strongly built, with a mess of short, curly, blond hair and a round, smiling face. But his eyes were different. There was… something there. I-I was never quite sure what, but they had a depth, a quiet intensity to them that struck me the first time I saw him.

“He was tall, maybe six and a half feet? And he had long, straw-coloured hair that fell onto his shoulders in loose ringlets. His face was round and unthreatening” (MAG 47, The New Door)

Funny that at the end of that statement a very human Michael Shelley interrupts. Like I said. Could be nothing...or it could be the kind of move a certain horror writer likes to play which’ll make you want to bang your head on a desk for not seeing that maybe Extinction has been hanging around longer than anybody noticed. Maybe it’s been a part of The Distortion all along. Maybe it merged with it’s sib during the ritual at Sannikov Land, and has slowly been splintering since.

All I know is we have no idea what Michael looked like pre-transformation. We just have a voice on a tape. And Helen is up to something.

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heli0s-writes · 5 years ago

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Good in the World

Request: So nice thank you! Is there a way you could change the Endgame ending? You were a woman saved by Steve during his time on the run who in the years became your best friend but he leaves you behind all alone. He comes back years later as he realized he was in love with you. You are now struggling (mental health) and you do not want to forgive him as the heartbreak was too much. He does everything he can and in the end you both can move on together.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: My first request and I promised I would deliver something good for my boiiii. I tried! It’s angsty and deviated from the prompt a LIL. I slammed it out in a day and please God let it be AITE.

Images of him come to you in flashes.

Terrible little souvenirs of shared dinners and evening conversation. The once white and red stripes of his suit, grimy and soot covered. The way he held his arm out and asked, “You okay?” the first day you met after the shooting incident in the park.

Three days later, him at your door, checking in on you.

Steve Rogers, on the run, had grown out his hair and beard, had hardened into a fatalist. But he showed up with a cup of soup and sat with you until you stopped crying.

“Hey. It’s okay. Take your time.” In between blubbering stuck syllables of “Wh-wh-why? Wh-what the f-fuck?” as your brain tried to process the sequence of the trauma. A random act of violence in the park. Two shot dead. Four others bled out on their way to the hospital. You, missed.

Why them? Why you?

And he kept showing up. Not too often, but often enough to where you started to expect him.

He turned on the lights for you. Offered to warm up your food when nothing mattered and everything was cold.

Days turned into weeks turned into months and the fugitive Captain America turned into your… something. Perhaps a confidant, maybe your therapist, at the very least, a semi-stable-unstable fixture.

You imagined that outside of his cohort of similarly hidden friends, you were the glimpse back to reality he could have.

The memories of him sting you inside out.

And now that half the world had been reduced to cinders and ruminations and your life turned into one long and desolate dream, sometimes you cling onto his memory because it is all you have. He’s still out there, you know, because the news channels broadcasted every Avenger who was dusted, and they didn’t broadcast him.

He’s out there, but he hasn’t come back.

The fatalist in you has resigned to being just another human, blipped out to him like all the rest.

You teach the art therapy class held every Thursday at the local YMCA. It’s a shit-show, in all honesty, and you’re sure that everyone who’s there can see that you are in no shape to be leading it. Even with your shiny groomed hair and soft pink lipstick, performing the necessary task of femininity, they can see. You have nothing but the meager paycheck and the emptiness of a single studio apartment in a now-dilapidated building.

The current session is dragging when one of your students breaks down half-way through and smashes the canvas. You’re up on your feet, pulling him aside to practice the crisis-prevention strategies you’ve learned throughout the years. He’s sobbing and rocking in your arms, falling apart as he wails.

It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. Why did I survive? I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be here.

You tell him a joke. You hold his hand and run it under cold water. Strategies to replace the overloaded emotions with anything else. You remind him that he’s going on a date next week with someone he’s been very interested in. That the people he loved—loves, would want him to be happy.

He tells you the man he’ll be seeing is also in a group. Grief group. They met by chance. Talked about their grief. Cried over salad about their grief.

Yes. It’s okay. That is okay. Take small steps to move on and soon enough, you’ll have moved so far you won’t be able to see where you started. Go on the date. Let yourself find love and happiness.

The words pour from your mouth like running water, trickling evenly until he is all covered and cool. After a few minutes, the two of you return to the paints, and you pat his back and tell him he’s doing just fine.

The image comes, then, of a heavy brocade comforter wrapped around your shoulders, a cup of tea between your hands burning so hot Steve has to take it from you. You are staring into the dead screen of the T.V. when you say, “I try so hard to have faith in the good in the world. But this... how can it be good? This fucking shitty… fucking life.”

And him, blowing on your tea, holding it to your dried lips, whispering, “Careful, it’s hot.”

When you go home later, you drop tears into your own dinner because the stupid plate is blue and green and shines like Steve Rogers’ eyes and why the fuck have you never noticed it. The words you used to console your student are too close to the ones he had used on you, once. You throw it into sink where it splinters into a hundred pieces, and a little part of you hopes he feels it too, wherever he is.

On a late Thursday session, he arrives with the fallen autumn leaves as they gust in through the sliding doors. Crunching under his feet alerts you to the entrance where he steps in bashfully, as if he is a late dinner guest.

You furrow your brow because you’re not sure who he is at first, because your full session is nearly finished, and you don’t have room for another student. His once covered jaw is smooth, and the long hair you had grown used to seeing is shorter than ever, swept back, more flaxen.

He’s Captain America now, a paragon of hope in these dark times, so he’s dressing the part.

Everyone has finished cleaning their brushes and have placed their canvas to the side to dry. Your rags are slung over your arms, apron crusted with acrylic.

“Hey.” He says, like he’s been here for the past five years. “I heard about a really great art therapy group led by someone who sounded like you.” Then he smiles, like he’s your friend and not your flashback.

The smile is all it takes. You recede into a moment in the kitchen when you made dinner and the sound of tires running over glass bottles outside popped too loudly and your world suddenly caved in. By the time you returned, Steve was smothering a stovetop fire with wet hand-towels and splashing water onto the burn on your palm.

He wrapped you up afterwards with gauze and you half-heartedly made a joke. “Hey.” You called, “What did King Tut say when he had a nightmare?”

In his enormous and calloused hands was yours, half curled with the irritation of the inbound blister. “What…?” He asked, eyes narrowing because it was not the right time for a joke someone might find on a Laffy Taffy wrapper.

“I want my mummy. Fucking classic.” You replied, holding up your hand, gauze now tucked into the wrist. The fugitive Captain America had closed his eyes as the slightest half-smile lifted his face, and under the yellow glare of the restroom light, you imagined a good world protected by him.

He is different now. His grief is different, and his needs are different. His reality is the same as your reality, as everyone else’s reality. He no longer needs glimpses into anything.

So, you think, why is he here?

“Hey. You okay?”

What the fuck? Your irritation pools inside you like magma, threatening to erupt at any sudden movement as you work to clean up the vacated room. Steve slowly moves forward, having been sitting down for the last fifteen minutes since you’ve ended the session early.

“Get out of my sight.”

He looks like you’ve just slapped him across the face, and a part of you wish you had because fuck him. Fuck Steve Rogers and fuck Captain America and fuck this shitty fucking world. He takes a few steps up to you, and in those familiar eyes you see how utterly worn down he looks.

Ironically, Steve Rogers clean-shaven looks older than when you knew him.

In the bedroom, on a particularly rainy afternoon, he had helped you put on the newly washed sheets no longer stained with the old blood from your clothes—splashes of other people as the bullets ripped through them. You’d slept in it for almost a month before he discovered it, and then, without another word he tore them off and threw them in the washer. The First Avenger, leaning over your machine, deep in thought had sent you into a fit of laughter.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes. I did.” He was firm and too serious. You told him as much. It wasn’t a big deal, you said, sometimes you don’t even notice the blood. You didn’t have to tell him why you never washed it for him to figure it out.

“You don’t have to carry this with you.” Steve stepped forward, until your back was pressed against the wall. He put both his hands on your shoulder. “You’re okay. You can let yourself move on. You don’t have to keep punishing yourself.”

He rubbed his knuckles over his beard and pulled you into a hug when you shook silently.

As he predicted, you eventually took steps to move on. It wasn’t easy, and it had taken almost a year. You still cried a lot and had nightmares almost constantly, so you hardly slept. On one occasion you were so deprived you had come in after a day of work and left the door wide open, collapsing on the couch. When you mentioned it to Steve in passing a few weeks later, he made it his personal mission to swing by even more. It made you uneasy, because as someone in hiding, having a schedule of checking on someone would make him stupid.

He didn’t listen.

At three in the morning as you laid sideways on the floor watching the second movie of the night, Steve had knocked and demanded that you go to bed.

“Can’t.” You sighed, “It’s been too loud lately. Everything… moving. Big noises. I get--” Your eyes squeezed shut, “scared.”

He called your name, jerking you from the haze that threatened to overtake you again, and pulled you up by the hand. When you swayed, he lifted you up and took you to bed, tucking the covers under your chin. Steve had turned down the temperature, piled on a spare blanket on top, and sat by your bedside until you had fallen asleep.

The next day, he dropped off a white noise machine at the door while you were at work.

“Get the fuck out of here.” You hiss, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry. I j-just want--”

“You’re sorry? Holy shit, man. Five years, you asshole! It’s been five years!”

Steve takes in a deep breath and sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his dress pants until the fabric is stretched tight over his thighs. “I don’t know what to say.” He murmurs. “It’s been… really difficult.”

You nearly shriek as a sob threatens to rip from your throat. “You have got to be fucking with me, Steve.”

They’re the wrong words, though, because the last time you said that to him was the last time you saw him. Hearing them out of your own mouth again opens the floodgates.

The white noise machine accompanied by a strict bedtime routine let your progress advance just a tiny bit more, until it crawled along at a snail’s pace, but it crawled, nonetheless. Steve walked you through it in the beginning, turning off all the electronics, setting the temperature to a chilly 67 degrees, piling heavy blankets on your bed, and making the tea.

You told him it was stupid, but he was insistent. The two of you listened to a relaxation video together, practiced deep-breathing, and then he read out loud from a book on your shelf.

Your eyes closed for a few minutes. When they opened again, you were screaming, and Steve’s arms were wrapped around your waist and back.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re okay.”

It had been two hours since he closed the book. He said he didn’t mean to stay for so long, but he was worried. He was reading on the couch when he heard you crying. You sobbed into his chest until he laid you back down.

Eventually it became a habit for him to come over in the evenings. Then, it was making dinner together. Then, it was watching a movie sometimes, curled up on the couch. You started sleeping better, having nightmares less, laughing more than he’d ever seen before.

Eventually, all of those things came for him, too. Eventually, he found it easy to be with you. Eventually, he forgot that he was shunned from the world, because you always welcomed him into your home.

It rained the night he kissed you. It had been raining all through the movie, and he meant to leave earlier, but you patted the place on the couch—his place, and gave him such a sweet smile he couldn’t bring himself to say no.

So, he sat once more next to you and you told him the premise of the movie you picked out tonight. You were notoriously bad about spoiling the plot, so he had laughed when the information was coming hard and fast and he clamped his hand over your mouth before something important slipped.

You bit him.

And the feeling of your teeth on his skin ignited something that hadn’t sparked in him since the war.

Before either of you knew it, Steve Rogers pulled you on top of him and kissed you so roughly you had to break away for air.

“S-Steve?”

He didn’t stop. He fisted your hair, latched onto your neck, bound your torso to his with two powerful arms and kissed you until you were dizzy. He felt so good. Warm and safe, like the world could disintegrate and you would be just fine as long as you were with him.

The days turned into months turned into almost two years and Steve Rogers was holding you in his arms like you were something to him. Like you could have been a lover.

It was too bizarre. You shook your head in the middle of him lifting up your shirt and held his face in your hands. “Steve,” He blinked the haze from his eyes, “Steve, are you fucking with me? Are you—serious about this?”

“Yeah.” He sighed into your neck, “I am. I’m tired of not feeling. And it feels good to be with you.”

You don’t think you can take any more of this. Seven years ago, a random act of violence tore your world apart. It took two years and the help of Steve Rogers to stitch it back together, until he took it into his hands and pulled it to pieces again. The world did disintegrate, and he wasn’t there.

The decimation poked a million holes in it, and you poured out of the spaces until you became nothing more than this. A shell. A husk. A monotonous thing, masquerading as a person.

And now he’s back, shoving his fingers in the chasms.

“I can fix this.” He says. “I think I can. I can go back to before. Before Thanos.”

Your perfectly made hair and immaculate make up aren’t enough armor to shield you from his assault. Him, standing before you now, pierces straight through your chest and your gut, and you are falling apart, all five years of nothing, sliding from your eyes.

“I’m sorry I disappeared. We—we had to go. He came and we couldn’t stop him. A-and, I think I’ve been too...ashamed to admit that. My failure changed the entire world. I couldn’t..”

You want to scream at him and say, I’m not the world. What about me? What about how you changed me?

But inside of your shitty fatalist veneer, you still believe in the good. Despite what Steve Rogers has done to you, he can still be the good you once thought of him. But the years have been unkind, and you hold too big of a wound inside to be healed by an apology. Even if he is good for the world, he isn’t good for you.

In the middle of you sticking a loaded paintbrush onto a canvas, the YMCA erupts into noise as bodies materialize from thin air in poofs of bursting smoke and ash. It’s like the snap in reverse order—and people are crashing into your supplies and students, and there is fumbling and screaming and so many questions.

Your therapy group is scattering like flies, grabbing their coats and rushing out the door, running back to their homes to find their loved ones. When a boy you recognize from before the decimation grabs you by the hand and asks you what’s going on, you gasp audibly because his face is still the same from the last time you saw him. Smooth, prepubescent, on the cusp of growing into a man but still baby-faced and gangly. Your eyes widen when you realize:

Steve did it.

Your feet are soaked by the dirty paint water from your bucket as you look around at young men and women chattering in confusion. Slowly, they move from the room and out the door where others are running and crying, throwing themselves into the arms of their families. Children sprint down the street, going home. Home. A word that’s hurt so many for so long.

Absently, you clench onto the boy’s hand until he taps on you to stop. Your heart might burst now, looking at him.

Steve really fucking did it.

Your dilapidated apartment building is exploding with life. The repairs started last week, and you wake every morning amazed at how the world can heal so quickly with a bit of human effort.

There is energy again. There is life again. Even the wind tastes sweet, even if you can’t quite remember what it was like before.

Memorials for Tony Stark pop up on every corner of the city, but even in the sorrow, the world continues to turn, and the pain is coated in gratefulness and optimism for the future. You walk there, too, under the light and against a gentle breeze, purchasing a thriving stem from a nearby shop. The florist beams at you, tells you it’s a beautiful day.

Yes, you think. It is.

It seemed so gray for so long. The sunflower in your hand is a radiant yellow bloom and you can’t help but smile at it on your way back home, a tangible reminder of the reanimated Earth.

Your steps quiet when you arrive.

He is blue and red at your door. Bruised and cut, but he stands facing the frame and knocks before he rubs his hands over his face and sighs, “Fuck.”

“Hey.” You say, quietly, holding the stem tightly in your hand as if it could give you some comfort or assurance. When Steve turns, his eyes are sunken and welling up with tears. A startling slash on his lip nearly touches his chin and over his eyebrow is an ochre patch nearly identical to your flower- dappled with green and black.

His mouth tugs at the corner, as if he could cry. Or smile. Because you are stepping forward, putting the flower in his hand as you reach for your keys to unlock the door to the apartment he knows all too well.

Down the flight of stairs, children’s’ bike bells ring and chime, cars honk noisily, voices argue and yell. The birds are back and singing. Summertime cicadas screech with the joy of being alive. You crack the door open from its frame and turn to look over your shoulder at the wet trails hanging from Steve’s cheeks.

With a small, hopeful smile at the man who has proven to be the good you need in the world, you ask,

“You okay?”

And he nods. And it’s enough.

#steve rogers #mcu #marvel #steve rogers x reader #fanfiction #reader insert #fic request

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ohblackdiamond · 4 years ago

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little t&a (gene/paul, nc-17) (part 25 of 29)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13 part 14 part 15 part 16 part 17 part 18 part 19 part 20 part 21 part 22 part 23 part 24 part 25 part 26 part 27 part 28 part 29

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter: Gene makes a housecall; Paul gets some advice from Ace over the phone.

It wasn’t a long ride over to that dingy apartment complex.

Gene didn’t know what he was expecting. The place didn’t look any better in the daylight, and when he got out of the car, he saw his driver reach over his seat and start locking all the car doors. He stepped inside alone, walking the craggy flights of steps up to her old apartment number, knocking on the door in what he knew had to be a useless endeavor.

He was a little hopeful when a different girl answered. A pretty thing, really, with curly black hair and sad eyes. A really pretty thing, he could tell that even from the scant few inches she opened the door.

“Yes?”

“Hey.” Gene paused. “I was here a few nights ago. I was wondering if you had a forwarding address for someone who used to live here, Carol—"

“Carol left a couple weeks ago.”

“I know. I’m just trying to find where she went after that.”

“She didn’t pay her share of the rent.” The girl looked Gene up and down, from the baggy sweatpants to the old floral shirt. “We had to kick her out.”

“I know, I—”

“Did something bad happen? Are you with the police or something?”

“I’m not with the police.” Gene tried to think. If the roommates had kicked her out, then that meant she hadn’t been on the lease, right? The apartment manager would’ve had to have her forwarding address if she had been. Wasn’t that how it worked? “She got into some trouble with a rockstar.”

“Trouble?” The girl repeated, with more innocence than Gene could readily believe, at first. “She kept trying to hex one. Kathy got pissed when she spilled some offering on the carpet…”

“Yeah, trouble.” Gene tried to infuse the word with its usual meaning. Babies and under the table payoffs. He couldn’t tell if she took the bait or not. “Can you help me?”

“Her mom lives in Virginia,” she offered. “She’s not from there, though, I think she’s from… I don’t know, Minnesota or Michigan… somewhere that starts with an M…”

That was barely better than no help at all. He tried to pay attention as the girl kept trailing off.

“Her mom’s got scads of money from her dad dying. She helps her out a lot. Carol said if we’d just give her a couple more days, then she’d be good for the next three months. Swore it. Kathy and Bunny wouldn’t have it, though, ’cause between the rent and the occult stuff, she was too wild for us, and—”

“Do you have her mother’s address?”

“No. Well…” She pursed her lips, thinking, and then held a finger up. “Let me look around, maybe there’s an envelope…”

And she scurried back from the door, still leaving it open those few inches as she rummaged around, the door chain keeping him from seeing much of the place at all. He waited, listening to her scuffle across the apartment, rustling through papers, until finally that dark cloud of hair peeked back into existence at the door.

“No. I’m sorry. Oh, but she used to go to discos! You might wanna check CBGB, or the Ice Pa—”

“I’ve done it already,” Gene said, and walked away.

No good. It had been stupid to hope for any new insight. If he really wanted to push it, there was the possibility of finding Carol at 54 again tonight, but Gene doubted she’d be there, and he doubted Paul would want to go there again. He wouldn’t leave Paul at home by himself for a venture like that, either.

Gene had his driver take him to the nearest supermarket immediately after. The driver had weakly offered to take him to a better part of town, but Gene hadn’t cared enough to go those few extra miles for a little more security.

He’d never really gotten his own groceries. When he was off tour, at home, he ate out more often than not, or he went to his mother’s. She always had a smorgasbord at the ready. Always cooking. Gene remembered that early on during tours, when money was tight, Paul and Peter would take it upon themselves to make dinners for the band—they weren’t great—but at least they actually knew what to get and how to fix it. Gene was pushing his shopping cart through the aisles, looking at rows of dried and canned goods and feeling mildly stumped by the whole affair. He’d never paid much attention to how his mother cooked anything, just the end result, so any comfort food from when he’d grown up was out. But maybe…

He settled on a few bottles of Tab, since Peter and Ace had gotten into Paul’s supply of them prior, and then some spaghetti noodles and canned tomatoes. That seemed depressing, so he doubled back to retrieve some fresh tomatoes, mushrooms, and onions as well. Maybe it wouldn’t be that great of a follow-up to matzo ball soup, if he ended up getting it, but it was definitely an improvement to eating peanut-butter sandwiches for dinner. Then he got a box of vanilla wafers, a package of chocolate-chip cookies, and a bunch of bananas.

Gene was nearing the check-out lanes when he felt someone’s eyes on him. He stiffened and stopped, opting not to turn around—it was probably some kid who’d recognized him. Funny how, as long as he’d been with Paul, he hadn’t gotten spotted for who he was once, except on purpose. He pretended to focus all his attention on the label on a bottle of honey, picking it up and inspecting it, waiting for the passerby to either come closer or move on ahead. In a few seconds, he had it—a girl actually scurrying past. A small girl, only carrying a shopping basket and a purse. If he hadn’t caught a glimpse of her pale, freckled face, he wouldn’t have realized who she was.

Absolutely unbelievable. He had to have expended all his luck over the next three years. Quickly, he pushed his cart to the side and tapped her shoulder before she could make it to the check-out line. She turned around, staring at him, eyes wide and stunned. She tried to take a step back, stopping short of even that movement.

“Good morning, Carol.”

Paul woke up abruptly. The day’s newspaper was on Gene’s side of the bed, the sections separated and askew. He didn’t bother pushing them aside, just reached over to check the clock on the nightstand, finding the note Gene left behind. He reread it once, twice, trying to ignore the paranoid, curdling sensation in his gut, the idea that Gene might have just gotten tired of him and tried to find a quick exit, at least for awhile. He wouldn’t have blamed him, not after last night. Not after four nights and five days of putting up with him.

But Gene was bringing him back food. No, more than that, he was bringing him back matzo ball soup and probably a deli sandwich, and whatever Gene thought constituted real groceries. If he was really leaving, he wouldn’t have bothered to specify. Gene must’ve assumed Paul would sleep late enough to start the day with lunch, and, looking at the clock, he hadn’t been too far off. It was fifteen until eleven.

He sighed, stretching out a bit before getting up and pulling on some clothes. All he had left was the dress he’d bought, the one he’d decided wasn’t nice enough for Studio 54. Just a cream and gold colored sundress. Softer colors than he’d usually have opted for. He picked absently at the thin straps. He never felt more fake than when he was alone, even before all this happened.

The phone rang before he could decide what else to do, whether to wait on Gene or eat something or waste awhile in front of the T.V. It startled him a little. Ever since Gene had come, he’d rarely been in the house enough to hear it ring. Another cushion from reality.

He ignored it. It kept ringing. Six times. Seven. Eventually, the answering machine tape started up, and he heard his own, actual voice, another piece of bewilderment.

“Hey, this is Paul Stanley. If you’ll leave your name and number, I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. Thanks.”

“Paul, this is Ace, I—”

Paul grabbed the phone, sudden relief flooding into him.

“Ace?”

“Who’s this?” A pause, and then. “Paul?”

Paul leaned over the answering machine, gingerly unplugging it to keep the tape from running while he spoke.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.”

“Sorry I’m late calling. Gene got you back home the other night?”

“Yeah.”

“Still not normal yet.” Ace sighed. “What’s she want out of you? You never told me.”

“Nothing I can’t do.”

“Virgin sacrifice?”

Paul froze up for a second, the phone feeling like a rock in his hand. No way had Gene told the guys. No way. It was a moment or two before he could force a small laugh.

“You’re not too far off.”

“Shit, do you have to kill someone? Keep the tits, it’s not worth—”

“No! I—forget it, man. I don’t have to hurt anybody. I can do it.”

He expected Ace to push for a better answer than that, but he didn’t. God. Ace knew the fate of the whole band sat right on Paul’s shoulders, and yet he didn’t want to ask for a better explanation. Maybe he didn’t give a fuck. Maybe he wanted to go out on his own. Maybe him and Peter were just chomping at the bit to splinter off from the group. Why shouldn’t they? Paul was ruining everything for them just as readily as he was ruining everything for Gene. Paul took a deep breath, tried to convince himself he wasn’t being rational, but the impressions were still wobbling in his brain even when Ace started to talk again.

“Peter was gonna check on you, but he’s still kinda…” Ace trailed. “So I told him not to worry about it. You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You really okay?”

“Yeah, Ace.”

“Nobody screwed around with you?”

“Ace, if you want a play-by-play of two nights ago, I’m sure you—”

“Okay, okay. Just making sure. Pete’s real worried about you.”

“’M okay.”

“He lit into Gene for letting you go off.”

“He shouldn’t have. It was fine.” God. Gene had told him. Or Peter had called the house. One or the other. Paul swallowed. Something about it hurt, almost made his eyes burn. Weird, how that was. Weird how knowing all the guys really did give a shit about him would be enough to nearly induce tears. Maybe he was just that stressed and worn out. He could almost picture Ace’s mild, affable, probably-hungover look, and that helped him blink back anything incriminating.

“Oh, and you got in the paper, too.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. Not front page, but you’re in the entertainment section—”

Paul scrambled for the newspaper, flipping through the sections. He nearly didn’t recognize his own picture—funny, when he’d been staring at that face for over a week now—but there he was, arm and arm with Gene in a corner photo. Gene’s face was still covered, and Paul was leaning in heavily against him, mouth parted in a strained attempt at a smile. Two days ago. Two days ago and the firmness and warmth of Gene’s hold, the smell of his sweat, all of that had only gotten all the more familiar. All the more something he needed instead of just longed for. Something secure. Something meaningful.

“Gene got his picture after all.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. ‘Tongue-waggling KISS bassist Gene Simmons cozies up to a Miss Isen at Studio 54,’” Paul read dryly. “They misspelled my name.”

“You look sweet.”

“I look awful.”

“Give yourself some credit. You make a hot chick.” Ace laughed. Not maliciously. Paul didn’t think the guy was really capable of being malicious. He hesitated, running his free hand down his knee, smoothing the material of the dress, before responding.

“Can I ask you something, Ace?”

“Sure, Paulie.”

“It’s a… it’s a thought experiment.”

“Don’t get all pretentious and shit. I know you dropped out of college.”

Paul had never been more grateful that he couldn’t see Ace on the other end of the line. He’d have given himself away already otherwise. He swallowed thickly.

“Ace—this is all just—hypothetical. Let’s say… let’s say you got told you could have what you wanted.”

“Then I’d wait on the catch.”

Paul could feel his mouth twitch up into an unwilling, dry smile.

“The catch is, you could only get it once, and that was it. Just once. Would you still take it?”

Ace didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I’d rather have something once than never have it.”

“I’m not like that. If I couldn’t—if I couldn’t keep having something, I’d never—”

“All or nothing, right, Paul?” Paul could hear Ace rustling something on the other end of the line. Papers, maybe. “You can’t go through life like that, you’ll never be satisfied. You gotta compromise.”

“You compromise everything.”

“’M happier for it.”

“You can’t be. Compromising… it’s just giving up, isn’t it?”

“No. Paulie—” Ace made a short, weird sound, almost like he was sucking the spit off his teeth. “You always think you’re figuring on the long term, and you’re not.”

“I am—”

“You’re not. Hear me out, man. You think there’s any guarantees anywhere? Look at the band—”

“This isn’t about the band—”

“’S just an example. We got our big hit. Now what if—what if that’s the best we ever do? Whether you get your dick back or not, what if that’s as good as it ever gets?”

“That… that can’t happen.” It felt like something was stuck in his throat. This wasn’t how he’d expected this to go, not at all. “We just got really big, it can’t be over that quick. There’s no way. Ace, we…”

“What if it is, Paul? What would you say?” Ace’s words sped up in a still-lazy rattle. “What if we go bust a year from now?”

“Don’t talk like that, man.”

“You need to hear it. This ain’t gonna last any way you slice it, don’t kid yourself.” Paul’s stomach churned as he heard the click of a pop top on the other end of the line, and Ace taking a swig and a swallow. “We’ll wear out our welcome. Maybe we already have. Nobody lasts in music.”

“Elvis—”

“Elvis is a joke, Paulie.” Another long gulp. “And if you get past his age, what else d’you got? You got—you got Bing Crosby dragging his own corpse out there every fucking year for his Christmas special. Been wailing out ‘White Christmas’ since World War II. If we’re still playing ‘Cold Gin’ when we’re forty-five, I hope to God someone takes us out back and shoots us.”

Paul chewed his lip. He felt grimmer now than when he’d picked up the phone, almost distracted out of what he’d really been trying to ask of Ace. Ace, who kept up with weird shit like space shuttles and went on drunken rambles about the aliens who’d made him small. Ace, who he’d assumed was just along for the ride on everything. Paul felt an odd curdling in his gut, something like shame for assuming he and Gene were the only ones who ever thought ahead. For writing off Ace and Peter like their myriad addictions made them stupid.

“Shit, Ace, you’re usually a little more positive—”

“’M just trying to make a point here.” Ace blew out a breath loud enough that Paul could hear it over the phone. “If this is as good as it gets, would you say you don’t want it? Would you say you wanted to turn it all back around? Me and you driving cabs? Gene teaching school again? Pete—”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re gonna do better than that, that’s why! I-I’ll write whatever crossover songs I’ve got to, we’ll keep on touring, and—”

“But you don’t know that.”

“I do know that!”

“Nah, Paulie. You don’t know that.” Ace let out an odd sound, halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “You’re just betting on it. Ought to bet on something a little more certain.”

“Like what?”

“Like Geno getting over you not having tits.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“That’s got nothing to do with—did he—shit, what did he tell you?”

“Jesus, your voice gets real squeaky. Did it always do that?” Ace said it so mildly, as always. Ace couldn’t even bitch properly when Paul had his whole career dangling on the line. “I haven’t talked to him since we came over.”

“Then—”

“You’re like a glass of water, Paulie, just see-through. You ain’t fooling anyone. Listen, do what you’ve gotta do. But don’t do it based on anybody but yourself.”

“I’ll call you back later, Ace.”

“Okay, girlie.”

Paul hung up before Ace managed a goodbye on the other end. His heart was thudding harder than ever.

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley #gene simmons #gene simmons x paul stanley #ace frehley

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