#the light bill is gonna be glorious this month

[ineed-to-sleep]

Yk in horse with no name when they said the heat was hot. They were right

[honibee-arts]

dramatic villain nie huaisang and hero jiang cheng? maybe nie huaisang flirts with the hero while jiang cheng is kinda horny but has a duty to fulfill?

Just a warning this gets a little steamy but its a kind of pan to the window vibe. I will mark this as NSFWish text to be safe though.

"Jie, I don't think I can get all of these people out of here in time.” Jiang Cheng panted into his headset, holding the crumbling ceiling up with one arm, watching the people run out.

He heard his sister sigh, her manicured nails clicking against her keyboard.

“Lightbearer and Moonbeam should be on the scene in the next two minutes.” she replied.

“Jie, I don’t have two minutes. This building is going to collapse in the next thirty fucking seconds.” 

“A-Cheng, language.”

“I’m holding up a building, I don’t even have super strength. I’m gonna die like this. Can’t you tell them to hurry up?” He grit his teeth. He’s going to have a fucking hernia and broken bones after this shit, and he was going to make that stoic asshole Lightbearer pay for his goddamn medical bills. He probably had more than enough money.

“They’re going as fast as they can, A-Cheng.”

“And your boyfriend couldn’t come and help?”

“A-Xuan’s taking A-Ling today so you could patrol, remember?”

“It’s hard to remember when I’m being crushed.”

Jiang Cheng widened his stance, pushing the crumbling ceiling back up with both hands, growling in pain. Black spots began to gather in his vision, his static flickering across his visor from the strain on his suit. 

“We’ll take it from here, thank you, Violet Spider.” Came Moonbeam’s firm yet gentle tone, taking the weight literally off of Jiang Cheng’s shoulders.

“About fucking time.” He wheezed, taking a deep breath as his arms dropped by his sides, wincing in pain.

“Would appreciate some gratitude.” Lightbearer huffed petulantly as he helped his brother carefully lift the falling ceiling back up, holding it there in an eerie white glow.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes as the remaining people rushed past them, scrambling to get out of there as quickly as possible. Jiang Cheng didn’t blame them in their haste, not one bit. He didn’t like being the one to hold that shit up.

“Are you alright, A-Cheng?” His sister asked in his earpiece, the display on his visor recalibrating.

“Yeah, yeah. Just. Exhausted...” he stood back and caught his breath.

“I’ll make sure to have some lotus rib soup for you when you get home, A-Cheng. I’ll check over your injuries too.”

“A-Jie, you don’t need to do that.”

“Aiya, hush. It’s nothing. I’ll check what the damages are to your suit too.”

“A-Jie...”

“No buts, A-Cheng.”

He sighed and looked down, his hair falling over his visor as he stared at the rubble beneath his feet.

“I’m going to have the longest goddamn nap in history after this.”

“You deserve it, A-Cheng.” A-Jie hummed. “Thank you, A-Xuan.” she said softly, sipping what Jiang Cheng assumed was a cup of tea handed to her by her boyfriend.

In his visor, purple warning symbols flared up in his periphery.

“A-Cheng-”

“On it.” He said as he spotted a flare of green a few blocks away. Gritting his teeth against the ache in his arms, Jiang Cheng jumped up onto the wall of the nearest building, scaling it as quickly as possible and sprinting across the rooftops.

Sometimes, only sometimes, Jiang Cheng hated this fucking job. Sure, he could have a normal 9-5 job and earn a stable income, but no, he just had to be born the son of Yunmeng’s protector and inherit her powers and mantle, along with a load of fucking pressure. He just had to have been trained intensely by his mother, day in and day out from the second his powers manifested at 11. He just had to have had the heroes instinct and the motto of “Attempt the impossible” drummed into him since he was a child.

As much as he wanted to push back against his instinct to protect in favour of his exhaustion sometimes, he couldn’t stop himself. 

The blasts led him to the Jin Corporation office building in Yunping, only a half mile from the crumbling building he was just almost crushed under.

“A-Jie, the source is coming from the Jin Corp. offices in Yunping.”

“Mm. I saw. The building that you were just in was a Jin owned business too.” She replied thoughtfully.

“Does your boyfriend know anything about someone that might have been slated by his father? Cousin maybe?”

“Nothing. I know Jin Guangyao had a complicated relationship with Red Blade. There were rumours about him having something to do with his retirement.”

‘Retirement’ had been a delicate way of putting what happened to Red Blade. When Jiang Cheng had first come onto the hero scene, Red Blade had taken him under his wing. He had been something of an older brother figure, despite being the protector of Qinghe rather than Yunmeng. 

He had been familiar with Jiang Cheng’s abilities, having also been mentored by Jiang Cheng’s predecessor. Everyone knew and respected Red Blade. His super strength and speed was matched by none, in his prime he could leap a building in a single bound and punch a meteor out of the sky without so much as a single scratch. With all that power however, came a price. Red Blade had been prone to feral rages which were difficult to pull him out of, very few people could. Moonbeam seemed to be the only one beside whoever was in his ear all the time who could do it.

About six months ago, Red Blade had disappeared for three days. Moonbeam had found him snarling and bleeding from his eyes, his right arm severed and his eyes white. How Red Blade had survived, Jiang Cheng had no idea. After a few weeks in a medically induced coma, Red Blade had announced his retirement and hung up his mantle for good. Only Moonbeam was said to know what had happened to him following his retirement. There was sometime unspoken between those two that Jiang Cheng couldn’t quite figure out but stank of probably resolved sexual tension.

“Shit!” Jiang Cheng cursed, narrowly avoiding a blast of green energy, rolling onto the nearest roof and ducking for cover.

“A-Cheng.” A-Jie chided.

“Like you didn’t say worse when you were being shot at.” Jiang Cheng argued, sending a bolt of violet lighting back.

“Back in the day, I didn’t run my mouth like a sailor, A-Cheng.” 

“I bet you don’t miss this part of heroing, huh?”

“There are times I am grateful I took a permanent maternity leave, yes.” She replied. “A-Cheng! On your left! Someone’s coming your way, and its not anyone on the Lotus servers. Be on your guard.”

Jiang Cheng nodded and raised his hackles as a a figure cloaked in blinding green energy floated onto the building, their black heels clicking against the concrete roof. As soon as the figure was close enough, Jiang Cheng shot a bolt of lightning in their direction, yet, to his horror, it was deflected easily.

“Come on out little spider, I won’t hurt you.” The figure said.

Jiang Cheng swallowed thickly and stepped out, hackles still raised.

“Aiya, so defensive. Put your arms down so I can see your pretty face. I won’t try anything.” Jiang Cheng slowly lowered his arms but kept his guard up, stance firm. “So stubborn. That’s better though, hello handsome.” 

The figure was slender, androgynous with long, dark hair that shone in their eerie green glow and flowed behind them in the wind, their eyes afire with the energy that seemed pulse from their entire being, almost drawing Jiang Cheng in like a moth to a particularly deadly yet hard to resist flame. Their body was wrapped in a skin-tight leather-like substance with mesh panels, leaving even less to the imagination, half of their face obscured by a mask that started at the neck and wrapped around his mouth and nose.

Jiang Cheng swallowed thickly, ready to burst into action whenever necessary.

“And what should I call you?” Jiang Cheng said steadily.

“Well, I go by he/him pronouns, but I do quite like it when sexy men like you call me beautiful.” He giggled, bouncing on his heels a little. “Binary terms are horseshit anyway, gender is a social construct.”

“Not what I meant but. I don’t like misgendering people. Even if they’re tearing up half the fucking city. So. Thanks.”

“Well, I haven’t really given myself a name yet.” The man hummed, snapping open one of the fans in his hand and fluttering it lightly. “Kinda just wanted to do one thing and hang up the whole thing I guess.”

“And you wanted to what, not get caught?”

“Well, something of the sort.”

“And you assumed you could do this tearing up half the city looking like a green lava lamp dressed like a hooker?”

“A-Cheng! Be nice!”

“Yes, listen to your sister, A-Cheng.”

“How do you know that!” Jiang Cheng snapped, his hands sparking.

“Whoa, whoa, easy hot stuff, I mean you and your family no harm. You have your headset on way too loud and everyone can hear you saying A-Jie so. Go figure.”

“Alright... I’ll be more mindful in the future.”

“He seems genuine, A-Cheng. I’m going to log off for now, but I’ll keep an eye on your vitals and see if you seem like you need help.”

“Alright...” He heard the line go quiet, her lotus icon in the corner of his visor going totally transparent. 

“Is it just us?” The man asked. 

“Yeah. Just us. So. What the fuck is your deal?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“The Jin corporation have fucked plenty of innocent people over, but there are also innocent people in that tower you’re trying to destroy.”

“They’re collateral. I’ve accepted those losses.” The man said, his demeanour turning cold suddenly.

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“You wouldn’t understand my motivations.” The man turned around and stared ahead at the slowly burning building ahead of them.

“Ugh, what is it with villains and cryptic bullshit? I can’t let you wreck the fucking building, okay?”

“Watch me.”

Jiang Cheng lunged and grabbed his arm, earning a blast of green energy to his solar plexus that sent him staggering. Today was not his day. 

“If you want a fight, then fine.” The man said, rolling his shoulders. “I’m just sorry I’ll have to kick that glorious ass of yours.”

Jiang Cheng felt his cheeks flush. 

“Oh please, the spandex doesn’t hide shit.” The man said before lunging at Jiang Cheng.

Yeah, okay. This was a day Jiang Cheng really hated his fucking job. His muscles screamed with exhaustion as the man tackled him to the roof, straddling him and pinning his arms above his head. Maybe he was tired and his resolve was slipping, or maybe he had been rocking a semi for a fair amount of the fight and could admit this man was fucking hot despite his different side of the law.

The tightly coiled strength in his deceivingly slender limbs forced Jiang Cheng down as he straddled his lap. As he brushed his groin, Jiang Cheng let out a slight groan.

“Hold on,” The man said, sitting back. “Are you hard? Does fighting me turn you on?”

“Sh-Shut up! Are we gonna fight or not?!” He struggled under his grip.

Fuck, okay. The man was right. This was humiliating. Why does he enjoy this?

“I dunno, do you want some help with that?” The man purred, his long, thick lashes fanning over his cheeks as he leaned in closer, shifting his hips ever so slightly and earning another groan from Jiang Cheng.

“Are you crazy? I’m meant to be fighting you!”

“I know but, I kinda like this vibe we have going. Do you?”

Jiang Cheng bit his lip and looked away, nodding.

“I need a verbal yes.”

“You care about that?”

“I’m an anarchist not a monster, damn. Answer me.”

“Y-yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I... I like... this.”

“And is it a yes that you consent to this rooftop encounter?”

“C’mon I already said-”

“Yes or no spider. I won’t take that horseshit for an answer.”

“... Yes. I would like you to. Help me out.”

“Good,” he hummed, hooking a black gloved finger in his mask and tugging it down, revealing soft, pink lips pulled into a suggestive smirk. “I’m glad to be of service.” and he leaned down to press his lips to Jiang Cheng’s.

[mewmedic]

A Very Kingfield Christmas

Read it on AO3 here.

Summary: Dwight and David are both working at the mall during the horrendous holiday season. They sometimes keep each other company to make the job more tolerable. Dwight wants to move forward in their relationship but can he get into the Christmas spirit to pull it all together?

Warnings: Mentions of sex but no actual sex occurs.

Notes: My first DbD fic was supposed to be either Megdette or Dwake because those are my favorite ships. However, I came up with a clever Kingfield Christmas idea and Christmas week also happens to be Kingfield week. Fate had taken the wheel from me on this one. I hope it's alright because I haven't written any fics in years. Enjoy!

       It was finally time. After four hours of pain and suffering, the moment Dwight had been waiting for had assuredly arrived, his legally mandated 30-minute lunch break. It was two o’ clock in the afternoon, late for lunch but a perfect time for a break as it was exactly in the middle of his shift. His Job? He played the role of “Mr. Elf” in the fantastical production of daily life many would call “being an assistant for a mall Santa.” He served this noble part-time cause all for the glorious reward of eight dollars an hour.

      Dwight quickly rushed past the employee-only doors and headed to the punch out machine. Once upon a time, this wouldn’t be such a nerve-wracking experience but now lunch brought the opportunity to talk to a certain someone. He had recently started a relationship of sorts with a fellow employee, a British fellow by the name of David King. That is, if you considered getting fucked in a car within one of the mall’s many parking lots a relationship. He was currently trying to upgrade to getting fucked in a bedroom at the bare minimum. A man can dream, can’t he?

       Sometimes the two would be able to chat as they eat, but other times David’s schedule just didn’t line up perfectly with his. Dwight always took his break at the same time every day, so it was really up to David to reciprocate. He had finished giving his precious time data and fingerprint to the punch out machine, rounded the corner, and there he was. David sat in a cheap foldable chair at plastic table, eyes on his phone for a moment but then he looked up and nodded to Dwight.

       David’s dark red uniform consisting of a billed cap, button-up top, and cargo pants could use an ironing, but Dwight really had no room to talk. His own uniform had him trapped in itchy elf ears, an even itchier sweater, and a pair of pantaloons over leggings he had to thrift because he ripped the original pair. The worst part was the bells attached to the pantaloons, which jingled with every step he took towards the fridge. He grabbed his lunch box out of the fridge and plopped down on the chair across from David. Within Dwight lunchbox was a ham and cheese sandwich, a chocolate chip cookie, a bag of cheesy chips, and a water bottle. David on the other hand, had nothing but a beige-colored protein shake.

       “You arrest any shoplifters today, mister mall cop?”

       “You know I’m not a damn mall cop-“

       “You’re a supervisor contracted out by a security company that works with the mall.” Dwight placed his chin in his palm and his elbow on the table, attempting to lean his body towards his companion. David crossed his arms, sharing a performative pout as he reclined back in his chair.

       “And no, I didn’t arrest anyone. Even if I wanted to, I can only observe and report. They don’t even give me handcuffs!”

      David did not have handcuffs at the ready, he tossed that fantasy out of mind. Dwight and David enjoyed the faux verbal jousting and it always quickly led to complaining about their jobs. Sometimes it was nice to have a routine, especially during the chaos of the holiday season. After all, nothing united coworkers quite like shit-talking a job with the risk that their boss may potentially be within earshot.

       “Today, a girl who had to be at least eighteen threw herself onto Bill’s lap and started yelling about wanting a new gaming rig. I had to pry her off of him while her friends laughed at us. I thought the old man was gonna break his hip.”

        “Customers act like Christmas is open season to being an asshole to us. I hoped maybe Americans would be different but they’re just as wild as back home this time of year.”

       There was a pause between the two as David gulped down a long sip of his protein shake. Dwight seized the moment to rip a bite out of his sandwich, it had grown soggy after sitting for hours in the poorly maintained refrigerator. It was then that he realized that he knew nothing about English life and learning more could be a way to get closer to David.

       “What is Christmas like in England?”

       “Well, when you’re a kid. You don’t send your letters to Santa off to the post. You burn it in the fire.”

      “That’s insane. How is it supposed to get to the North Pole?”

      “I don’t know! The same way Santa’s fat-ass slides down the chimney. It’s all stupid magic that parents makeup. We also got this thing called a Christmas cracker.”

      “Oooh, sounds yummy.”

      “It’s not a snack. It’s a present you pull on both ends and it cracks open. Usually has a paper crown and other trinkets inside.” While David spoke, he pantomimed the act of tugging on the ends of this so-called cracker and then wiggled his fingers to represent the explosive crack. A smarmy grin creeped across his lips, “Of course, Christmas really gets interesting once you can get piss drunk.”

       “C’mon, we do that here in the States too.”

       “No, I mean really drunk. Parents will even leave out brandy and a mince pie for Santa too.”

       “Wow, I couldn’t imagine being like ‘Okay Junior, we have to make sure Santa can get wasted tonight.’ Sounds wild.”

      The two briefly chuckled for a moment. David consumed another gulp of his shake; Dwight shoved a handful of cheesy chips in his mouth. The two sat in silence for another moment, the only sound the crunching of said chips.

      “Do Americans eat chipolatas on Christmas?”

      “I have no idea what that is.”

      “It’s a sausage, for Christmas we wrap it in bacon.”

      “That sounds fucking incredible.”

      “One thing I see here that I wish more folks did back home is all these fairy light. Americans love to have a show of things.”

        “Oh, I have my apartment decorated like that.” This was silly little lie. Dwight was too busy working one and a half jobs to adorn his dwelling in accordance with any festivities. The poor fool could barely clean his bedroom once a month. He would be willing to make time to decorate if the glow of Christmas evening were enough to attract David.

      “Well, I’d be delighted to see your flat. What’s it like?”

      “It’s… Cozy.” This was not a lie so much, since ‘cozy’ was basically the millennial code word for ‘tiny studio apartment.’ Dwight gulped and could feel a line of sweat drip down from his hairline. This was the pivotal moment he had been anticipating every time he punched out for lunch. He just needed to work up the courage to make the move. “I’m free this weekend if you want to come by. I’ll have eggnog and we can watch a movie… If you want, that is.”

      “I’m free Saturday after eight. That good for you?”

      “Sure!” Dwight accidentally spoke with a little too much enthusiasm and the realization made his cheeks redden a little. He averted his gaze from David and looked down to his mediocre sandwich. The two continued to enjoy their meals, and each other’s company, for a brief moment until they were interrupted by an alarm on David’s phone. The Brit returned his protein shake to the refrigerator and gave a parting salute.

     “See you when I see you.”

     “Have fun supervising.”

      He couldn’t help but let a small smile spread across his face as David exited the break room. He really pulled it off. Now he had to sacrifice what precious free time he possessed to pull off an exterior and interior decoration job. He could pull the whole operation off in the next three days, right? Did Dwight have what it takes to make this Christmas merry? Not really, but he can damn well try.

[srhlsx]

Rewritten & Reposted March 23, 2021

MASTER | Ch. 7 |CHAPTER 8 | Ch. 9

A few days after your encounter with Bokuto at the corner mart, you were on your way home again from practice. A few girls from your team and a few members of the boy’s team were walking off campus, practices having ended around the same time. 

“Absolutely not, that is completely false!” You laughed, looking at Daiki with a shocked expression as he tried to convince you that what he was saying was correct.

“I swear!” He yelled, looking to one of his teammates for reassurance. “Tell her, Shouta! Fukurodani locker rooms literally have attendants manning them.”  

The teammate he was looking to, Naguri Shouta, looked bored with the conversation but nodded nonetheless as he walked next to you. “Haven’t seen it,” He said, shrugging casually, too cool as he always was. “But wouldn’t be surprised by it though, with their bourgeois lifestyle over there.”

“Fancy words will not win this argument,” You tugged a lock of his styled hair teasingly. “Plus, they are not all that over there just because they are an academy.”

Daiki continued to argue his point, insisting that the rumor he heard was true even though he himself couldn’t confirm it either. Shouta just continued to nod along casually, walking next to you to keep a safe distance from Daiki’s erratic motions, making little side digs at his captain under his breath that made you laugh.

“Proof or it’s not real!” You exclaimed as you all continued to walk through the streets, a few people from the group breaking away to their homes as you went.

“How am I supposed to get proof?” Daiki laughed, then his face lit up like he had the greatest idea in the world. “Hey, text Bokuto and ask him!”

You gasped, agreeing that it was in fact the greatest idea in the world, and pulled out your phone to do just that. You didn’t notice the way the other boy standing with you bristled slightly at the mention of Bokuto’s name, but when you looked up you did notice his expression quickly clear from a furrowed brow to his more typical blank expression. You gave him a closed eye smile while he returned with a half smile of his own.

“Can I walk you the rest of the way?” You tore your eyes away from the crosswalk sign to look up at Shouta waiting for you to respond.

“Ah, no no!” You waved him off with a grand smile. “It’s so out of the way for you. I will let you guys know what he says!” 

After crossing the street on your own, you waved at Daiki and Shouta as you turned to leave. The two of them went their own direction, Daiki slinging an arm over Shouta’s shoulders and pulling him close to probably tell some kind of joke as they walked.

The further you walked, the less crowded the city around you became. You let your feet move on auto-pilot down the alley, and through the mostly abandoned park. 

New Message: 5:22PM

Bokuto: Yeah right! I wish! You offering??

To clean up after a bunch of gross high school boys? I’d rather run the hill ten times!

Bokuto: No! Just me! Be my lil helper~

Bokuto: we can get u a cute outfit

Bokuto: like a maid cafe!!!!!!!!!!

Bokuto: BUT WITH MY NAME AND NUMBER

Absolutely not.

You rounded on a house, nothing fancy but obviously well taken care of, and took the steps leading up to the front door two at a time. You knocked out a familiar rhythm and waited patiently as a thundering of small feet met your ears from beyond the door.

Greeted by a pair of grey eyes, weathered with age, you crouched down to meet the height of your little sister, Yua, as she politely pushed past the older woman who opened the door to you. She started spewing off about things she had accomplished that day before you could even get a word out to her.

Further into the house, you could see your little brother packing up his school things into his bag. “Baba helped me with history homework today,” He called out as a form of greeting, walking past the old woman to start your short trek home. “She said she was there when it happened.”

“I said I remembered it happening, I wasn’t there Eiji-kun.” The old woman laughed, handing over your little sister’s bag as your two siblings began their descent down the stairs. 

The older woman’s eyes crinkled as she looked up at you, tired but still happy. You appreciated this woman more than you could ever express.

When things began to go downhill with your mom you’d had to move homes to accommodate for the extensive bills that were coming one after another. Your own grandparents lived in different cities, but when one of your grandmother’s friends who lived in Tokyo heard what was going on she sprung into action like it was a second calling for her, even though you’d only met her a handful of times. 

She was adamant about you calling her family, hence Eiji calling her Baba, and would accept nothing but thank-yous and dinner together once a week in exchange for helping your family when you needed it most. Between the time school got out for your siblings and you being able to leave volleyball practice, they would be safe at her home until you were able to collect them - every day.

“Thank you,” You nodded at your elder. “Tomorrow we have a practice match, so I may be a bit late picking them up.”

The woman waved a hand in front of her face absently, brushing off the extra time you had loaded on her suddenly. “No mind,” She said, rubbing your arm comfortingly. “I’ll make sure they have dinner then.”

You gave her hand a tight, but gentle, squeeze and turned to where your siblings had gone. You followed them to the apartment complex just a few houses down. Graffiti littered the lower walls, nothing too obscene but also nothing that was supposed to be there in the first place.

Unlike most apartment buildings, yours did not have any indication of who lived where via buzzer system. All the homes opened up to the outside, marked with floor numbers and unit letters, some were upside down so it could get a little confusing. It wasn’t the most glorious of living arrangements, compared to where your family lived before your mom had gotten sick, but it was home and you would make out of it what you could. 

*

The small, digital clock on your desk let out a soft beep as it shifted over to midnight. You rubbed under your glasses at your eyes, blurring your vision slightly before focusing on the words of the book in front of you again. You had gotten a good amount of work done that night, knowing that tomorrow you’d be home late from your practice match and wouldn’t have nearly as much time to fit in school work after.

New Message: 12:01 AM

Bokuto: You didn’t tell me you had practice match w FA girls tom?

technically today… Slipped my mind! Forgive me!?

Bokuto: w kiss?

shoot your shot!

Bokuto: meet me after!!!! 

Ugh fiiine - twist my arm…

Bokuto: oh hell yeah, gonna walk you home SO hard~

You’re disgusting?? - but curious about how you walk someone home “hard”

Bokuto: involves aggressive chivalry, you’ll see

The following message was an animated sticker of an owl tipping off the top hat he was wearing. You muffled a laugh behind your hand, glancing over your shoulder to make sure your siblings were undisturbed in their bunk beds. Satisfied you hadn’t woken them up, you said your goodnights to Bokuto and locked your phone after making sure you had an alarm set for the morning.

Down the hall, you could hear a set of keys jingle. The door to the apartment opened and shut, if you hadn’t been listening so intently you might not have heard it at all. A deep sigh echoed through the walls and you almost thought about getting up to greet your father as he finally arrived home, but something stopped you. Instead, you silently flipped the switch on your desk lamp and let the darkness flood the room once more.

As you sat motionless at your desk, holding your breath while a shadow passed beneath the door to the bedroom. The figure paused, hesitating a moment - you could imagine your father’s hand hovering at the doorknob, wondering if he should enter to see his children or not. The shadow continued to move, opening the linen closet and rustling around for what you knew were blankets and a spare pillow. 

There’d been many previous nights over the last seven months when you’d woken up to your sister asking for a snack or a drink, and when you’d gone to the kitchen to fetch something for her you’d caught your dad sprawled out on the couch under a makeshift bed of old blankets. At first it made you sad, the thought that your dad couldn’t even sleep in the same bed he once shared with your mother. 

Over the months though, as his work hours grew longer and longer, you started to form a routine of folding up the linens in the morning before your brother and sister could see that their dad was sleeping on the couch.

When the hall light finally turned off, you took that as your opportunity to get up from your desk and finally go to bed. You unclenched your hands, which you hadn’t even realized were in fists tight enough to turn your knuckles white. Since you shared a room with your siblings, you pulled the thin futon out from under their bottom bunk and spread out the blanket you had tucked away within it.

As you pulled your own blankets up to your chin, getting settled into your comfortable nest of warmth, you heard your little sister grumble sleepily. “Neechan?”

“What is it chibi?”

“You haff good dreams ‘kay?”

“You have good dreams too, babygirl.”

*

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Beauty Within the Fallen ch.VII

Summary: Two misfit twins come across an enchanted castle, home of a mysterious beast, and slowly begin to form a strong bond that just might survive through anything. Even evil demons.

AU and artwork belong to the beautiful and very talented @artsycrapfromsai​. Go give her some love, guys!!!

ch.VI - ch.VIII (finale)

~~~~~~~~~~

Dipper, Mabel, and Waddles hastily traveled through the forest. They may have a map leading them to Fiddleford and then to the village, but the wolves might still come. Dipper led the way with a lantern he had borrowed from the castle and the map Ford had given to them. Mabel looked ahead and screamed before running with Waddles at her heels. Dipper looked up from the map and nearly dropped it in shock.

He hurried to the tree Mabel was kneeling at and examined Fiddleford. He looked more dead than alive, his skin pale, almost blue, and heavy bags under his eyes. He must have been searching for them this whole time. Without a single word, much like how they helped Stan when he was hurt, the twins stood on either side of Fiddleford and helped carry him out of the woods. It was the middle of the night when they arrived home. It would have been comforting if the circumstances weren’t so dire. Fiddleford might be dying. The children quickly worked together, fixing medicine, building a fire, dressing their guardian warmly and putting him to bed, until they finally admitted defeat to sleep and curled up with Fiddleford in his bed. ~~~~~~~~~~ The first thing Fiddleford noticed was how warm he felt. And better, much better. Oh. No. No, no, no! Did he die?! Is he in heaven?! He can’t die yet! The children! He wanted to quickly jump up and act, but his body was weak and he ached. Oh. Okay, good. He was still alive. He forced his eyes open and though his vision was blurry, he smiled weakly to find the kids at his sides. Mabel and Dipper both beamed at him, perfectly safe and okay. Mabel was dressed in her blue peasant dress and cloth headband, Dipper in his navy-blue nest and hat with an orange shirt. He gave Fiddleford his glasses and he croaked, “Welcome back.” “Kids,” Fiddleford sat up and slipped on his glasses, then wrapped each child up in a tight hug, which they happily returned. “Oh, thank God. Thank God. I thought I’d never see y’all ‘gain.” “We missed you, too, Fidds.” Mabel cooed. “You’re finally awake…” “What on God’s green Earth happened t’y’all?” Fiddleford asked as he loosened his hold. “You wouldn’t believe it, Fidds!” Mabel cheered as she sat on her knees next to him. “There was this beast in a castle and a talking hammer and an axe and a teapot and all sorts of magic inside and a poor journal who couldn’t talk or eat or sleep and…” “But the beast and the journal - Stan and Ford - are our friends. They took care of us.” Dipper cut Mabel off. “Well, everyone in the castle did, but the guys are awesome! They’re twins, like us, and under a curse.” “And we have to help them!” Fiddleford blinked, completely and utterly confused, but then he smiled. “I believe ya.” The twins are a bit surprised, but then again, they were talking to one of the most open-minded people they knew. “You do?” They asked at the same time. “O’course.” Fiddleford said. “I always said this world’s gotta lotta thangs we don’t quite get. Some thangs are just different, like us. N’ I trust y’all enough to know ya wouldn’t lie ‘bout this. Now, y’all said they’re under a curse?” “Yeah, and to break it, Stan the beast has to fall in love with someone and they have to love him, too.” Mabel answered. “We were gonna try to help by finding a match for him, courtesy of the best matchmaker in the world!” “Hm, well, if…” Fiddleford stopped when he thought he heard yelling coming from outside. “Did y’all hear that?” “Yeah, what’s going on?” Dipper asked and they went outside to investigate. ~~~~~~~~~~ Stan sat on Abuelita the armchair, watching the sun set behind the woods. His mind was elsewhere. Ford, his journal closed, noticed this and wished to help or comfort him, but the beast, back in his normal attire of red cloak over a white shirt and dark pants, was too distracted to open a journal and read at the moment. The sun was now gone, all light but from candles lost, and Stan sighed. He needed to say something. He cautiously opened the journal and said, “I’m sorry, Stanford. I’m sorry I couldn’t set you free.” Stanley, was the only word for a while, but then Ford managed to write more. You were willing to let me go. Thank you. “No,” Stan shook his head. “It’s my fault you’re trapped.” Don’t blame yourself. I’m the one that summoned Bill in the first place. I fell for his easy flattery, but you saw him for the scam artist he is. “I didn’t exactly make this curse easier for you.” No, perhaps not. Ford admitted, but then quickly added, But your heart was in the right place. You’ll never admit this but you were afraid. I understand; when the curse was first brought upon us neither of us knew how to respond. Accidents happen, Stanley. “Yeah, and I’m chop full of ‘em.” Even still, I won’t lie to you. All those years you never opened me, kept me in that glass container, I nearly went insane. There were so many times I didn’t know if I existed anymore. That wasn’t even the worst of it. All I could do was listen and watch you suffer alone. “I know, I know!” Stan growled. “That was probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done some really stupid stuff, and I’m sorry.” It’s alright. I forgive you. I should have been a better brother to you. I should have seen your pain and done something about it years ago. “And now you’re gonna die like this.” Stan said darkly. As will you. “Who cares?” I do! And those children care, too! The tiniest of smiles flickered on the beast’s face. His memory brought back those kids for a moment, a beautiful, glorious moment. Dancing with them, reading stories, teaching Dipper how to fight and hugging Mabel close to his furry chest. You miss them, don’t you? Stan sighed, a tired old man. “Yeah. I love them.” I know you do. And because you love them, they will be with you, in your heart, for evermore. Stan, once again, cracked a small smile at that. He had no idea if they found Fiddlebucket or not, or if they ever made it home, but he hoped that they were safe and happy. Do you wish to see them? Ford asked. Look at my hand. You can see them whenever you want. Stan, excited, closed the journal and looked at the six-fingered hand. He grinned at the sight of the children, standing at a front door with an old man with a long beard and big nose. His smile dropped when the children looked scared and uncertain. He watched as echoes of voices grazed his large ears. “What’s going on?!” Dipper asked. “What are you all doing?!” “Dipper!” Lazy Susan gasped. “Mabel! You’re okay!” “But… how…” Blubs stuttered. “Gideon says you were kidnapped by some beast in a castle!” “What?!” Mabel gasped and shook her head wildly. “No, no! He saved us! He saved our lives! He’s our friend!” Stan beamed with pride. Lil’ Gideon paled. “I… I don’t understand. Y-You were t-t-trapped by a monster!” “He’s not a monster!” Dipper snapped. “Mabel’s telling the truth! The beast wouldn’t hurt anyone. He gave us a place to stay and took care of us.” “Yeah!” Mabel said as she and Dipper left the porch of their home to talk to the angry crowd. “He’s sweet and kind and gentle. You don’t have to be afraid of him. He’s a very good person. He even liked Waddles!” “No, I don’t!” Stan growled with a smile, unheard by everyone except for Abuelita and Ford. The old armchair rolled her eyes, knowing her boss was lying. Gideon’s face reddened, his chubby face curling inward in fury. “Of course! The beast has them under his spell! I’ve heard of dark magic like this, but never before seen it with my own eyes!” “What, no!” Mabel cried out. “Officers, you don’t believe him, do you? You won’t let this happen, will you?” “Sorry, kids, but we trust Gideon over a couple of odd-balls like you.” Blubs said coldly, arms crossed over his chest. “And nothing short of a miracle could ever change that.” “NO!” The kids shrieked and turned to Fiddleford. “Fiddleford, tell them!” Dipper called. “Tell them it’s not true!” The angry mob laughed. “You’d put your word on a loony old man?! The same guy that destroyed the town three times just this month?!” Durland cackled. “I done rebuilt it every time!” Fiddleford defended. Gideon stood on his dazzling white horse and called out to the townsfolk, “You see?! The spell spreads! Look at what the monster has done to our poor friends!” “He’s not a monster, Gideon,” Mabel snarled and pointed at the white-haired boy. “YOU ARE!” “ENOUGH!” Gideon hopped down and grabbed her wrist so tight she winced in pain. Stan growled dangerously. Dipper yelled and was about to act, but Ghost Eyes grabbed a hold of him. “Don’t worry, Mabel, once I kill the beast and the spell is broken, you shall finally be my queen! Keep them safe! Lock them away! We can’t have them gettin’ in our way!” “NO!” Mabel cried out as a big beefy man grabbed her and shoved her, Dipper, and Fiddleford into a cart and it was locked up. “HELP! HELP US!” Dipper rammed his body against the iron doors to try to escape, but it was useless. “The beast will come after us all! He’ll come after us in the night!” Gideon called out to the crowd, who cheered and yelled. “I say we kill it!” “YEAH!” “NO!” Mabel cried as tears ran down her face. “DON’T HURT HIM, PLEASE!” “We're not safe until he's dead!” Northwest concluded. “He'll come stalking us at night!” Mr. Valentino gasped. “Set to sacrifice our children to his monstrous appetite!” Manly Dan cried out, hugging his three sons so tight their faces turned blue. “He'll wreak havoc on our village if we let him wander free!” Lazy Susan feared. “So it's time to take some action, fellas!” Gideon called out. “It's time to follow me!” And the crowd began to gather guns, torches, pitchforks, and chanted “kill the beast” courageously into the night. Stan stood up quickly and left the armchair, throwing the door open. “Soos! Wendy! Get over here!” Soos and Wendy hopped over as quick as they could. “We’ve got a code Piertotum Locomotor! Man the boundaries! Protect the castle! Get ready for battle! Go, go, go!” And the beast left to organize the attack, all the while he couldn’t shake away the blossoming feeling that those kids were willing to risk their lives for him. Maybe he was worth it, after all. ~~~~~~~~~~ Even after the mob marched away, Dipper continued to throw himself against the doors, making loud bangs but no progress. “DIPPER, STOP!” Fiddleford grabbed him and rubbed his shoulders. “You’ll hurt yourself, calm down.” “We have to do something!” Dipper cried out. “This is all our fault! They’ll kill him! We have to help!” “Hush, boy, hush.” Fiddleford hugged him and rubbed circles into his back. “We’ll think o'somethang. We are three geniuses, after all.” Mabel looked out the window, though the bars, and tried to find something that could help. Her eyes dazzled at the sight of her pig as he ran up to the cart and oinked. “WADDLES! Waddles, we need your help! Go get us a pry bar! You can do it, Waddles, go find one! Good pig!” “Mabel,” Dipper scolded. “He’s just a pig! There’s no way he even knows what a pry bar is!” “C’mon, Dipper, have faith!” “No, no! YOU need to be realistic! I love Waddles, too, Mabel, not there’s no way he’s gonna…” The pig squealed with joy and the three humans peered down to find a ring of keys in his mouth. Mabel gave her brother a sassy look. “Well, it’s not a pry bar.” Dipper quipped. Waddles tossed the keys in the air and Fiddleford put his arm through the window and caught them. He pushed himself against the door and started to fiddle with the lock and the keys. “One of these gotta be it…” ~~~~~~~~~~ Manly Dan led the team to chop down a huge pine tree and cut it so they could use it as a battering ram. The mob hoisted it on it’s shoulders, following Gideon on his noble steed and Ghost Eyes marching beside him. “Take whatever booty you want, but the beast is mine!” He called out, using the map Gideon had woken up with in his fist to find their way. Gideon grinned to find the castle before them and they ran up to the giant doors. Miraculously, it only took one hit and the doors flew open, giving the invaders a false idea that this would be easy. They found the castle filled with items in the lobby, like a rich yard-sale. Gideon left his horse outside and led the crowd into the dark and quiet castle. Books, chairs, chests, dishes, nearly every type of item surrounded the unafraid villagers. Ghost Eyes leaned down to whisper to Lil’ Gideon. “Aren’t you worried this place might be haunted?” “Don’t lose your head, Ghost Eyes.” The bodyguard picked up an axe from a table and held it, ready to attack anything that may come his way. “NOW!” The axe cried out, and the castle lit up with life as the battle began. Drawers smacked people in the face. A coat-rack boxed with one of Manly Dan’s sons and won quickly. Pots fell on people's heads and clashed with metal spoons and pans, making their ears ring. A chest consumed people and dumped them back outside like dumping out trash. Grenda stood from the second floor and cried out, “GRENDA’S JOINING THE PARTY!” and she fell on top of Ghost Eyes. Gideon dodged out of the fight and went up the stairs. Three men were coming towards her to attack, but Grenda had cloth and material swarm around them and soon they were dressed in drag. Two of the boys screamed in horror and ran, but Tad Strange only stared ahead and said calmly, “This is fine.” Robbie was kicking tea cups and trying to squish them, but Candy hung from the above chandelier and spilt boiling hot tea on the crowd. Wendy was running away from Manly Dan’s own axe, but Soos came out of nowhere and hammered him in the face, knocking him out cold. Melody burst through the doors of the ballroom and shot her keys like bullets. Meanwhile, using Ford’s given map, Dipper, Mabel, Fiddleford, and Waddles were running up to the castle and gasped to find the battle before them. “Hurry!” Mabel cried out and they hurried up to the front door. Fiddleford used his banjo to swing at people’s heads. Waddles bit people’s ankles. Killbone was about to go after Fiddleford for helping the enemy, but Lazy Susan hit him over the head with her rolling in, knocking him out cold. “Susan?! But I thought…?” “I’m sorry, old friend, I just didn’t wanna be locked up.” Lazy Susan explained as she and Fiddleford fought back-to-back. “Claustrophobic. Plus I could’ve very well fight the bad guys locked away, could I?” “Ah, gotcha. Well then!” Fiddleford swung his banjo and hollered, “Fight like a hillbilly, woman!” Mabel and Dipper punched people and shoved them out of the way as they hurried up to the West Wing to make sure their friends were okay. ~~~~~~~~~~ Minutes prior, Gideon cautiously opened the door, a bow and arrow in his chubby hands. His eyes immediately landed on the handsome journal on the table. He noticed the six fingers on the golden hand and he hypothesized that this journal must have the answer to undoing the spell Mabel was under. No wonder it was so well cared for while everything else in the room was ruined beyond repair. Gideon walked into the room to take the journal, but the door slammed behind him and he spun around, arrow ready to shoot. His eyes widened at the huge gray beast before him, peering down at him with cold brown eyes and on all fours like an animal. “Last chance, kid.” The beast growled warningly. “Get out before things get ugly.” “You mean uglier than you, never!” Gideon declared and shot his arrow. Stan dodged it, but soon saw that it was a distraction so the little troll could run to Ford. The beast tried to get their first, but just a few feet shy and Gideon had the journal in his chubby hands. “I got it! I got it!” “Give it back.” Stan snarled. “Why?” Gideon asked coldly with a wicked smile. “Why’s it so important, monster?” “Just give it to me.” Stan was careful to sound firm, but he looked in no hurry to hurt a kid or his brother. Gideon opened the journal to find it blank. He flicked through the pages roughly, losing his temper, and when he concluded that the answers he was looking for were not here, he ripped a page out and yelled in fury. Stan grunted and sunk, like he was in pain. Gideon noticed this and grinned as an idea came to his twisted mind. This journal must be the source of his powers! Destroying it would free Mabel! Gideon ripped out another page, then another, and another. Stan growled on all fours and curled in on himself in overwhelming pain. He tried to shake his head and clear away the distraction, but he could practically hear Ford’s screaming in his ears, even if it was only his imagination, and it was maddening. “Stop it… stop it… STOP IT!” Stan gnarled at Gideon. “Or what, huh?” The child mocked. “What are you gonna do, huh? Huh?! Face it, foul creature, without this book you’re nothing!” He laughed and tore out another page. Gideon suddenly cried out in pain and dropped the journal. Stan huffed and puffed to try to compose himself. He looked up to see Dipper and Mabel standing in front of him, facing Gideon, both of them wearing scary looks and Dipper had his fists curled and ready to strike again. Gideon rubbed his pale chubby cheek. “Ow! What the… how did you…?” “Doesn’t matter.” Dipper snapped. “You’re leaving. Now.” “Oh, am I, boy?” And Gideon ran to him to punch him. While the boys punched each other and fought, Mabel hurried to Stan and petted his shoulder, trying to soothe him and help him feel better. “Stan? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Hazy still, Stan weakly looked up at the girl and smiled. “Mabel… you came back.” “Of course we did.” She looked back at the fight and saw that Gideon was having a slight advantage. He shoved into Dipper and they both fell through and broke a window, toppling down the roof. Mabel and Stan yelled with worry and ran after them. The boys tumbled and rolled, punching and slapping each other. Dipper fell on a balcony and groaned with ache while Gideon squealed and kept on going. He fell on a slanted roof and staggeringly got up. Like a scrawny cat, he climbed up to Dipper and kicked him in the jaw. Dipper quickly rolled up on his feet and used the lessons Stan had taught him to fight. Mabel quickly slid down the slanted tile roof and jumped into the fight. She punched Gideon in the jaw and found that his stuck-up traditions made him not hit a girl. She and Dipper took advantage of this weakness and worked together to beat up their enemy until he fell and didn’t get up. He rubbed a swollen black eye and looked up at the angry pre-teens before him. The beast, he noticed, was over on the next roof and letting the twins handle their own battle with a huge smile. “Listen, Gideon,” Mabel said coldly. “It’s over. I will never ever be with you.” “Yeah!” Dipper backed up and Mabel kicked him in the head, just hard enough to knock him out cold. Stan hopped down behind the twins and had his hands on his hips. “Nice technique, pumpkin.” “Stan!” They both cried out with relief and ran up to him. Stan got on one knee and engulfed them in a hug. Mabel nuzzled her face into his fur and Dipper held him tightly. “We’re so sorry, we tried to stop them but they wouldn’t listen to us!” The boy said. “It’s okay, kid, it’s okay.” Stan soothed and rubbed his back as he purred. “I know.” “You know?” Mabel gasped with a huge grin. “Ford! He showed you, didn’t he?! You asked to see us, didn’t you?!” Stan shrugged and put the kids down to ruffle their hair. “What can I say, I missed you knuckleheads.” Mabel squeezed his paw. “We missed you, too, Stan.” Meanwhile, Gideon’s one unswollen eye opened yellow and slit, like a cat’s. He rose and flexed his fingers and arms, getting used to his body. Standing with his back to the happy reunion, he began to cackle evilly. A chill ran down Stan’s spine. His grip on the twins tightened. “I know that laugh.” Dipper’s jaw dropped. “No… it couldn’t be… it’s impossible...” Gideon turned around and they saw his eye. Stan growled protectively and hunched over the kids. “Bill Cipher.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note: I have nothing to say. Except the code Stan used as a reference to the spell McGonagall used during the Battle of Hogwarts. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope y’all enjoy an upcoming chapter full of angst!

[littlemonstersau-blog]

The Feels Awaken, Part 2: The Fandom’s Menace

Written by @jkl-fff, illustrated by me

PART I - PART II [Interlude]  - PART III (you are here) - PART IV [Interlude]

———————————————————————————————-

Soos, excitedly setting up everything: Dude, I knew exactly what we should watch as soon as Stan said “movie day”. The prequel trilogy of Cosmos Conflicts! I’ve been meaning to show you them since, like, the first time you said you love the first two originals movies, and even more since we all sat down together so you could finally see Return of the Jelived, Bitch! The prequels’re actually, like, seriously three of my all-time favorite movies ever.

Ford, actually smiling: Heh. I would’ve watched them before now— especially now that I know how keen you are to share them with me— except Dipper and Mabel would never let me. They kept saying they loved me too much to let me watch them, if you can believe it.

Soos: Well, I admit they’re not the most popular with fans, yeah, but that’s just ‘cause, like, most people can’t handle this much raw, concentrated awesomeness.

Melody, deadpan on the floor: Uh huh. That’s exactly what it is.

Soos: It’s like really spicy food; some people just don’t have a— whatcha call it?—sophisticated enough palette to appreciate the awesome sauce. Y’know?

Melody, still deadpan: Most just aren’t refined enough. For sure. Yep. That explains it.

Stan, entering TV room: I got drinks for everybody!

Bill, right after him: And I got the popcorn! Let’s jump right in to this glorious madness!

Melody, mildly surprised: You like these movies?

Bill, passing around bowls of popcorn: Absolutely! They’re one of the hottest messes in cinematic history!

Stan, passing around cups of soda: Mel, you sure you don’t want my easy chair? It’s no problem, really.

Melody: Lying flat is the best thing for my back lately. Besides, I can put my feet up in my honeybear’s lap while he rubs them for me.

Soos, genuinely happy at this prospect: Sure can, honeybadger!

Stan, taking his seat: Well, if you’re sure. C’mon, gremlin! [picks up Bill]

Bill, almost giggling: Whoahoho! Careful, I’m gonna spill!

Stan, setting Bill next to him (on opposite side of Ford): There. All comfy, kiddo?

Bill, deciding to settle in like a cat: Alright, yeah, I’m okay with this. Primo seating and everything!

Ford, making himself look straight ahead: Let’s start it.

TV: George Dufasfilms Ltd. and 20th Century Foxups presents … Cosmos Conflicts, Episode 1! The Phantom Nuisance! [fanfare theme song plays, prologue crawls upward]

Ford: Wait, what? “Turmoil has engulfed the galaxy because taxation of trade routes to outlying star systems is in dispute”?! This is about freaking tax policy? And that leads to galactic turmoil?

Stan: Don’t know ‘bout you, but the IRS certainly causes me turmoil. [Soos stops rubbing Melody’s feet long enough to highfive him]

Ford, incredulous: This is a prequel, right? So why is all their tech more advanced? Why are there more and better droids?

Soos: Well, the Trade Union canonically uses droids more than other species. It only makes sense they’d create more advanced—

Bill: Because George Dufas has a robot fetish. That’s seriously why. He uses the entirety of this film like normal people use hardcore porn.

TV: Master, I have a bad feeling about this. TV: Be mindful of the Living Force, my rattail-coiffed padawan.

Ford: Pada-what-now? That’s not a word. Why didn’t they go with “apprentice” or—heck!—“squire”, since they’re Jelived Knights?

Soos: Shhhhh!

TV: Gee thanks, Master, that’s certainly helpful and not at all vague. That advice will definitely help me be a diplomat, even though Jelived like us are more like killer, magic samurai-priest-cops. TV: Indeed, my superfluously-ponybobbed padawan, which is why we have openly worn our iconic bathrobes and lasercutlasses instead of even the most basic of disguises. Letting the Trade Union know the Senate sent trained killers will surely put them at ease.

Melody: Nope, they’ll try to gas you both now. Good thing they kept all that toxic gas in their air vents.

TV: My fellow crafty and greedy Trade Unionist insectoids. First, I raise a glass to our race’s abandon of our native customs and tongue in favor of caricatures of antiasian stereotypes and accents. TV: Hear hear! TV: Second, we have done well in executing our secret Shit master’s evil plan to blockade this world of minor socio-economic importance (for some reason), and to kill those two Jelived. They must surely be dead by now, so let’s send in some droids to kill them further. TV: But, sir, they’ve only been in there for fifteen seconds. TV: OPEN THE DOOR, I SAY! AND SEND IN … FIVE DROIDS! TV: Sir, predictably, they weren’t dead, and destroyed the five droids. Now they are cutting through the door to our command center. TV: IMPOSSIBLE! SEND … TWO MORE DROIDS! NO, THREE!

Ford: Wasn’t the hangar full of battle droids?

Melody: Oh, the whole ship is. They just want the fight to be fair.

Ford: … what. [watches as Trade Union leader makes a call to Queen Imdolledupa] … What. [watches as she tells her council “I won’t condone actions that could lead Planet Baboon to war, even if we have been blockaded for months at this point and they’re clearly planning an invasion”] … What. [watches as invasion lands on opposite side of planet than cities] … WHAT.

Bill, grinning: Don’t worry. It gets worse. Much, much worse. Starting … right … now.

TV: Tank yusa for saving mesa from dose bombad battle droids, yusa Jelived who escaped da main starship by sneaky-sneaky on dat transport! Mesa love you! Mesa follow you forever and ever! TV: Master, I sense that this Jerkjerk creature will bring suffering to millions. May I please cut him down for the good of the Force? TV: No, my practically mulleted padawan. We need him alive, because … reasons. Probably related to merchandising. TV: Mesa take yusa to secret, bubble city of mesa people now!

Ford, through gritted teeth: Who the fffff … fuzz is that annoying frog-lizard-man, and why do I feel a collective unconscious urge to beat him to death with my bare hands?! Why aren’t the Jelived Force Choking him, or at least Mind Tricking him into leaving?

Bill: That is Jerkjerk Kinks, a monument to Dufas’s amphibian fetish and the first reason the Twins wouldn’t let you watch this movie.

Soos, defensively: He’s not that bad! He’s got a good heart!

Melody, sighing: Oh, my sweet, innocent, naïf honeybear …

TV: Boss Gass, even though you dislike the humans who invaded and colonized your planet, and even though you live completely apart from them in your Plasmatlantis, you are symbiotic with them. TV: Mesa tinking yusa no understand what “symbiotic” means. TV: Well, if you won’t help the humans, at least don’t kill Jerkjerk—

Ford, spitting out popcorn: YES, KILL JERKJERK!

TV: —because he owes me a life debt and is now basically my slave. Your gods and laws demand that his life belongs to me. TV: Mesa tinking it racist for yusa to claim to understand oursa laws and culture, white man. And to claim ownership of a sentient being (dat isn’t a droid). But yusa hair so fabulous and mesa so bored wit dis conversation, mesa give yusa Jerkjerk and submarine so yusa go. TV: Excellent. Now, to boat through the planet’s watery core.

Ford: … That is literally impossible. Even if the core was water, the center would be denser than rock because of all the pressure. [watches as ship navigates past giant sea monsters] There would be no light, no life, no nothing down there.

Soos, patiently: Yeah, but it’s fun. That’s what matters.

Stan: I like how they just happen to pop up in the capital city, and how nobody notices them, even though it’s occupied.

Bill: I like how the people of Planet Baboon put up absolutely zero resistance to the Trade Union’s invasion, despite all the forewarning they had since the blockade and from the invasion landing clear on the wrong side of the planet. If only Imdolledupa had been Mayor of Gravity Falls, am I right? Heh heh … heh … What? Too soon?

Ford, grimacing at Bill: Mmm …

Stan, patting him: Gremlin, it’ll prob’ly always be too soon for that.

TV: Master, there’s the Queen. How fortunate we came up next to her, and that the Trade Union decided to march her through the streets instead of simply landing a shuttle outside the palace. TV: Yusa big fortunate dey only escorted by six droids even dough hersa entourage has twenty people! TV: … Master, yet again I beg you to let me kill this irritating— and you’re already gone … and the droids are already dead. TV: Majesty, I am Jelived Master Leam-Nee San. Come with me if you want to Jelive. We’ll escape this planet, take you to the Senate, and tell them how heated this tax policy dispute has gotten here. TV: You arrived at a fortunate time, Jelived, because they were about to make me sign a treaty legalizing their invasion of Baboon.

Melody: ‘cause that’d be totally legit, right? No coercion at all.

Stan, nudging Bill, whispering: Maybe you should’ve forced Mayor Cutebiker to sign a treaty, eh?

Bill: Heh! But you just said—

Ford, grimacing at Stan: Mmm … [watches as they find an unguarded ship and fly straight at blockade instead of around it; ship gets away, but with hyperdrive damage] Okay, why is that Jelived—what’s his name? Yuan-Mac Gragor?— repairing the hyperdrive instead of a pilot? Is that supposed to be standard training for Jelived, or something?

Soos, shrugging: Seems like it’d be pretty easy to pick up to me.

Melody: Well, yeah, it would be for you, honeybear. Mr. Handyman with the magic fingers! Aw, yeah, that’s the spot … Keep rubbing …

TV: We can’t land on Hallowine, it’s controlled by Pitsa-Hutts! They’re gangsters! It wouldn’t be safe for Queen Imdolledupa! TV: I’m sorry, non-Jelived person, I couldn’t hear you over how luxurious my hair is. And I don’t care what you said anyway. Now, I’m off to buy us a hyperdrive. Time and stealth are of the essence, so naturally I’m going to take with me a slow-rolling droid, my frog-lizard-man slave who is so idiotic he will step in every literal and figurative pile of doodoo, and this willful teenage girl. TV: Master Jelived, not to question your wisdom, but— TV: Good. See to it that you never question any Jelived ever again, for we are infallible and will take off your head. Tata for now.

Stan: Why take Jerkjerk? D’you think he was hopin’ to sell him? Or maybe just ditch him?

Ford: Being amphibious, it’s likely the extreme heat and dryness might’ve proved fatal to him. Perhaps the hope was he’d drop dead.

Soos, whimpering softly: Why does everyone hate him? He just wants to help!

Ford, curtly: Because he’s the worst, Soos. He’s just … the worst. [watches shadowy Shit Lord Farth Sidious bitch at Trade Union for letting the Queen get away, then dispatches Farth Maul to fix it; watches heroes wander into a desert town on Hallowine]

TV: How fortunate the first shop we enter has a hyperdrive for sale. Now to use my Mind Trick on the disgusting, pig-butterfly proprietor without once having the least of scruples about how unethical that is. TV: Ha! Mind Tricks won’t work on me, only MONEY! I’m surprised you couldn’t tell from my Yiddish accent and hooked nose, human.

Ford, eyes wide in shock: Did they really just—

Stan, shaking his head: Moses—

Soos, blanching: Oh, yeah … I, uh, k-kinda forgot about him. Sorry, dudes. I guess all the lasercutlass duels and space battles made me forget about the, um, antisemitic stereotypes.

Ford: Not … Not your fault, Soos. We’ll just—

TV: Are you an angel? I know it doesn’t make sense that angels exist as a mythological concept in our galaxy, but you’re really pretty, so … I’m a slave, by the way. So is my mom, though you’d never know it since we dress like everybody else and get to walk around freely. I saved your frog-lizard-man friend thing from a brawl, by the way. My name’s Otherkin Skyjogger. I’m 9, but that doesn’t matter, angel. TV: I’m Padmy Resume. I’ll try to forgive you for saving Jerkjerk. TV: Is your friend with the magnificent hair a Jelived, angel? He has a Jelived weapon. There’s a sandstorm coming, even though the air looks exactly the same as it did a while ago, so you should all come have dinner at my place. My mom won’t mind, even though we have very little money for food, presumably, what with being slaves. TV: Why not? Story’s not going anywhere. I’ll get Leam-Nee San.

Bill, stifling a cackle at the next scene: (My favorite dialogue!)

TV: Queen, this is a holo-transmission from Baboon, even though we have no idea where your ship is because you’re hiding. Anywho, the Trade Union is awful, the death toll is catastrophic, the weather is a little humid. Please contact us; this is not an obvious ploy. Love ya, bye! … Wait, did I just say “love ya” to the Que— TV: I know I’m just a padawan with a pointlessly stupid haircut, but I’m gonna tell your planet’s leadership what to do now. *Ahem*. That was an obvious plot to learn where the Queen is. Don’t reply.

Stan: If I was that security office, I’d bitchslap that uppity teen.

Melody, warningly: Language.

Bill: Sorry, Mel, he meant to say “teenslap that uppity bitch”. [highfives Stan]

Ford: Pffhaha! *ahem* [watches Otherkin take them home and mother is all “Sure, why not? I’ll give room and board to three strangers who’ve taken a not-at-all unsettling interest in my prepubescent son. Now for a dinner chat!”] Wait, what? Did he seriously just say he’s the only human who can rocket-chariot race? But racing is just … racing!

Bill: He just wants to impress the “angel”, so he’s exaggerating. But she believes him even though he’s 9 and obviously has a crush on her ‘cause she’s kind of a Dumasc.

Melody, more warningly: Language.

Soos, reluctantly: Actually, he’s not swearing. It’s an in-canon term for “politician” ‘cause the galactic capital is on Planet Dumascent.

Bill: And it’s very political of her—gets them free room and board. Yep, that Dumasc ain’t no dumbass.

Ford and Stan, cracking up: Pfffhahahaha!

TV: There’s a problem, my should-just-get-a-buzzcut padawan. I found a hyperdrive, but couldn’t Mind Trick the owner to give it to me for racist and plot-related reasons, and it’d be unethical to just steal it (and I just can’t be unethical). Nor could I buy it with a promise of higher repayment next week from Jelived funds. But, fortunately, there’s a rocket-chariot race soon, and if this 9-year-old Force Sensitive I just met wins … we’ll get the money to buy it!

Stan, exasperated: What, does George Dufas also have a fetish for 80s sitcom clichés? Don’t answer that question, Bill.

TV: And I’ll win the kid as a slave—Jelived apprentice, I mean— because I unironically rigged a dice toss with my powers. I had to bet the Queen’s ship, but I’m sure she won’t mind if we don’t tell her. TV: Ah, but you’re going to use Jelived powers to rig the race, right? TV: What?! Never! That would be unethical and spoil the suspense! TV: … Master, I’m concerned your gambling addiction is— TV: What? Khshh! Can’t hear you! Khshh! There’s a sandstorm! Oh, also, I’m transmitting the kid’s blood sample through our radio. TV: That’s not how radios work, Master, but okay … dum di dim … Got the results, and this kid has more midi-chlorians than Yoda.

Ford, suspicious: What … are … those?

Bill, grinning: The second reason the Twins wouldn’t let you see this movie. Heh heh heh …

TV: My 9-year-old son is meant to help you in this dangerous race. It’s destiny, and stuff. That’s why I’m so criminally permissive. Oh, did I mention his conception was immaculate?

Ford, jumping up: WHAT?! JESUS CHRIST!

Bill, grinning: Exactly. Space Jesus Christ.

Ford: Does … Does this mean … midi-chlorians …

TV: Sir, you were talking to my mom about midi-chlorians? TV: Ah, yes, the omnipresent, microscopic organisms that confer the Force randomly upon some individuals, are not at all mystical or magical, and are probably your daddy, O Chosen One of the Jelived.

Ford, apoplectic: WHAT THE FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF—

Soos, whimpering softly: Oh, no! the Angry Words™!

Melody: Don’t you dare, Stanford Pines!

Ford, like a death metal singer: —UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU—

Melody: Don’t! You! Dare!

Ford: —NDAMENTALLY STUPID IDEA IS THIS CRAP?! AND HOW DOES FARTH MAUL KNOW TO CHECK THIS PLANET, BUT THE JELIVED DON’T SENSE HIS DARK PRESENCE?! I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS BULLSHI—

Stan, as though his brother wasn’t screaming: Oh, look, Sixer. It’s time for the big rocket-chariot race.

Ford, breathing heavily: If this isn’t the best race ever, I swear … [watches race] Okay, yes, that was genuinely exciting.

Soos, relieved: Hooray!

Ford: Enough that I’m going to overlook the sabotage in front of a stadium of spectators, the fact it didn’t actually impede his winning, the ludicrousy of Otherkin catching up to but not passing his rival, and Java the Pitsa-Hutt being shown sleeping through the race. I mean, really? Why would you suggest your own film is boring?

Melody: To be fair, this is basically space NASCAR, and earth NASCAR is boringer than golf.

Ford, muttering to himself: More boring … Grammar …

TV: Alright, my shamefully beardless padawan, take the hyperdrive and everyone else back to the ship while I make Otherkin say goodbye to his mother forever and ever and ever. TV: About that, Master. Why don’t we just take her with us, too? I mean, slavery’s incontestably morally abhorrent, and we’re Jelived and can screw the consequences of most our actions. TV: What?! Never! TV: Because it’d be unethical to steal someone’s property, Master, even if that property is a sentient being? TV: Well, that, and we already have one major woman character for this whole trilogy. Why would we have more than one woman?

Melody: Grrrr, sexism … Makes me always hope Maul’ll kill him.

TV: Goodbye, son. Jelived, promise you’ll take care of my son? TV: What? Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over how opulent my hair is. Anyway, tata forever. Come along, Otherkin. TV: I love you, mom! I’ll never forget you!

Stan, looking sideways in surprise: Gremlin, are … are you crying?

Bill, swiping at eyes: W-what, me?! No! Not like goodbyes’re s-sad! I just got, um, some g-glitter dust in my eyes … All Mabel’s fault the stuff is freakin’ everywhere in here …

Stan, putting an arm around him: Heh. Tell me about it, kiddo.

Ford, silently glancing sideways at Bill: (… hmm …)

TV: Excuse me, Yuan-Mac, but isn’t that a Shit Lord attacking your master right outside the ship? Shouldn’t you go help him? TV: I would, but this chair’s just too comfy. If I get up, you know Imdolledupa will steal it (that bitch!). Besides, look, Leam-Nee San got aboard the ship just fine. Oh *sigh* and so did his new slave boy. Guess I should go introduce myself to that homewrecking hussy— er, kid! I meant kid … Hello, Master and filthy slave boy. TV: Ah, my worst-hair-of-the-three-of-us padawan, meet my new younger and cuter padawan, Otherkin Skyjogger. The Chosen One. I’m sure you two will be best friends and as close as brothers. TV: Hi! (I’m daddy’s new favorite. Die jealous about it.) TV: Hi! (I will throw you into a volcano the first chance I get.) TV: I knew you two would hit it off. But I wonder who that person in black with a red lightsaber was who attacked me just now … Well, I’m off to bed. Don’t stay up too late becoming best friends.

Ford: Does he really not pick up on them hating each other then?

Soos, confused: What’re you talking about? They get really close.

Ford: Pff. Yeah, which is why Farth Vaper strikes him down in the original movie, right?

Stan: Eh, what’s a little strikin’ down between brothers?

Melody: “Space is cold,” Padmy Resume says to the kid. Like, don’t they have temperature controls in their ships?

Bill: Don’t forget, this was “a long time ago”. They hadn’t invented space heaters yet.

Ford: Ha! Haha—er, *ahem* that was … that was clever. [watches them land on Dumascent, a planet-wide city] That … is also impossible. Completely unsustainable. Without trees, how do they breathe?

Bill: They export all their CO and CO2, and import … everything, pretty much. Oxygen, food, water … It’s the reason they named the planet Dumascent; they’re all—

Melody, warningly: Don’t say it.

Bill, silently mouthing at Ford: (… dumbasses.)

Ford: Heh heh … [watches Imdolledupa’s retinue go with Baboon Senator Shiv Saltine while the Jelived threesome goes to the Temple and tests Otherkin]

TV: Esteemed fellow Senators, I haven’t made a big deal about it, because I kinda suck at my job, but Baboon was invaded recently. I now introduce Queen Imdolledupa and Representative Jerkjerk—

Ford, sarcastically: Well, he certainly is qualified.

TV: —who will speak on my planet’s behalf, thereby rendering my presence here as a Senator utterly redundant. Majesty? TV: I— TV: I’M THE SENATOR FROM THE TRADE UNION, BECAUSE IT TOTALLY MAKES SENSE A COMPANY HAS EQUAL REP WITH INHABITED PLANETS, AND I NOW FORMALLY MAKE A MOTION OF “SHUT UP, BITCH”! TV: Motion is seconded. The bitch is hereby required to shut up. TV: … Okay, y’know what? Screw y’all bureaucrats. As queen, I raise my planet’s middle finger at all of you. Now, I’m going back to do what I should’ve done months ago … fight the invaders! TV: Mesa going wid you? TV: Sure, why the space heck not?! We’re out. Peace between worlds!

Melody, raising a fist: You go, girl! Better late than never!

Bill: And the moral of the story is that democracy doesn’t work.

Ford, dubious: Thank you, Farth Cipher. Anyway, if we get lucky, Jerkjerk will die painfully in the coming battle.

Soos, whimpering: He’s just doing his best!

TV: Spoken, the Jelived Council has (meaning a decision, I’ve made with Master Sa-Myul Jaxon, which abide the other masters will, if what’s good for them, they know). Your padawan, Otherkin won’t be. TV: Master Jaxon, for clarity’s sake, could you explain why not? TV: Our code forbids someone as old as he is be trained. For reasons. Our code forbids you having two padawans at once. For reasons. TV: And much fear in him, we sense. Which bad, always is. TV: But, Master Yoda, his midi-chlorians—

Ford, jumping up: RRRAAAAAARRRGHGHGHGHGHGH!

TV: —and he’s the Chosen One prophesied to bring balance—

Ford: WHO EVEN MAKES THESE PROPHECIES?!

TV: —and it’s kind of hypocritical of you to say his fear is bad even as you are all too afraid to let train him be trained. TV: Clutching my pearls, I now am! A scandal, this is! TV: The council forbids you training him, Leam-Nee San. TV: Huh? Sorry, Master Baldy, I couldn’t hear you over how sumptuous my hair is. Oh, and now my middle fingers are up for some reason. Strange … Well, better go train Otherkin. I’ll start by taking him to the soon-to-be Baboon warzone. Tata, bitches.

Bill: I guess we call that Leam-Nee San’s act of … HAIResy!

Ford and Stan: Pffhahaha!

Melody, annoyed: The prophecy (we almost never hear about again) is to bring “balance to the Force”, right? Why do none of them ever consider that might signify strengthening the Dark Side? I mean, Jelived are kinda dominating the galaxy right now, and are always trying to stomp the Shit out of existence.

Ford and Stan and Bill, uncontrollably: Hehehehehehehe!

Soos, plaintively: Why must we always question it, dudes? Why can’t we just enjoy it?

Stan: ‘cause they’re flyin’ back to the planet without any trouble. Look, the blockade is gone. Where the heck did it go?

Bill: They got sucked into a black plot hole. Lots of those in space.

Ford: And they just happen to land in the swamp right where all the frog-lizard-men are hiding?

Bill: Don’t forget George Dufas made good actors act woodenly. See?

TV: Boss Gass, I woodenly beg you to help us. To be our allies. After this, we’ll return lands and first-class citizen status to you, even though your people are slimy and inferior non-humans. TV: Hmm … Wesa live in a bloody swamp. Wesa need all the land wesa can get. Okay, wesa fight wid you, and Jerkjerk is a general.

Ford, sarcastically: Well, he certainly is qualified.

TV: The plan’s for us to sneak into the palace via secret passages that of course it has. While one team seizes the Trade Union leader, 12 pilots will take on the blockade that just barely reappeared. Well, it’s just one ship for some reason now and not a blockade. So, yeah, 12 should be enough. Meanwhile, Boss Gass’s and *snicker* General Jerkjerk’s armies’ll be a cannon fodder distraction. TV: Mesa have no qualms wid taking on a better armed force. TV: Good, because you blinked and we’re in the palace already. TV: Oh, blast. I was going to leave you on the ship, Otherkin, but the Queen scene-transitioned us here too quickly. Okay, listen. I want you to find somewhere safe to hide, alright? TV: Yes, daddy. I mean, Master Leam-Nee San. TV: Uh, daddy—I mean, Master? That Shit from Hallowine is back. Should I have the Queen’s troops gun him down? TV: No, my why-didn’t-you-get-a-haircut-on-Dumascent padawan, we will seductively slip out of our Jelived bathrobes and duel him despite his badass, double-ended lasercutlass. BONZAI!

Ford, excited: Finally, the good stuff! [watches movie cut back to Jerkjerk; his people’s shields stop blasts, but not droids and tanks rolling right through them] … what. [watches Otherkin hide in a ship, activate it on accident, fly it into the heat of a space battle on accident, not get shot down but rather shoot down bunches of droid ships on accident—because the Force and because rocket-chariot racing and because fuck the audience— “I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ll try a spin; that’s a good trick.”] … What. [watches Jerkjerk shoot more enemies than all the stormtroopers in the original trilogy combined on accident, explode some on accident] … What. [watches Otherkin crash land inside the Trade Union ship on accident blow up its power core or something on accident, escape on accident] … WHAT.

Soos, unironically: Hooray for Jerkjerk! Hooray for Otherkin!

Ford: Boo for Jerkjerk! Boo for Otherkin! Why aren’t they dying?! [throws handful of popcorn at screen]

Bill, excitedly joining in: Woooooo! Anarchy in the living room!

Ford, ranting: Why are all the droids shutting down?! Why would anyone design battle droids without independent operating systems?! Why isn’t there at least one other battleship with a backup for them?! And where the fffff-funky music is my lasercutlass duel?! [watches Queen’s retinue capture the Trade Union leaders “Your invasion of the planet we invaded is over, immigrant sc … um, I mean, Asian sc … uh, no, that’s much worse … Well, anyway, it’s over, you scum who aren’t white or that token black guy!”]

Stan, blinking in surprise: I don’t remember this movie bein’ so racist the first time I watched it. Was it always like this?

Ford, throwing more popcorn: Get to the Jelived already! [watches legitimately epic duel with great choreography progress from starfighter hangar into some sort of massive power plant] … What is a power plant doing inside the palace?

Soos: Shhhh!

Bill: Well, on Baboon, the palace is the seat … OF POWER!

Ford: Ha! Indeed … Wait, why is there a corridor of laser doors? And who’s turning them on and off? Are they on an automatic timer, or something? That’s a terrible security design.

Stan: Especially since what they’re guarding is just a dead-end room with a gaping, bottomless pit.

Bill: Lady and Gentlemen, I give you … the movie’s plot hole!

Ford and Stan: Pffhahahahaha!

Soos: Guys, c’mon! You’re spoiling the emotional climax!

TV: Da—I mean, Master, I’m stuck behind a laser door! Hold on! TV: Not to worry, I’ve got this well in hand, my less-than—Gah! Oh, look at that … I’ve been impaled … Huh … Down I fall … TV: DAAAAADDDDDDYYYYY!

Ford, surprised: Wow … I actually am moved right now … [watches Yuan-Mac Gragor attack once door opens, get kicked into the pit but catch onto a convenient pipe thing or something]

TV: It’s over, Jelived. I, Farth Maul, have the high ground. TV: What a stupid thing to say, Shit Lord murderer! You will pay!

Ford: But how can Yuan-Mac Gragor possibly defeat him now? [watches him connect with the Force and do a flying backflip while drawing the lightsaber to him … and cutting Maul in half] OH, BULLSHIT!

Melody: STANFORD PINES!

Ford: The whole fight scene was the coolest except for that ending! Maul just stood there with his guard down let himself get killed off like a little bit—um … idiot. A genuinely intimidating villain, gone without a chance to develop, and in the least satisfying of ways!

Bill, casually: It was assisted suicide, really, ‘cause he couldn’t bear to live any longer in a universe where George Dufas is his god.

TV: Daddy! Master! I’m here! Hold on, please! TV: Listen … my first padawan, my first son … you must train him. Otherkin is the Chosen One … will bring balance to the Force … TV: I promise. No matter what. TV: And you must … get rid of that rattail, grow a proper mane … It’s important … for being a badass Jelived who don’t give a crap … TV: I will. The most magnificent mane ever, I swear. TV: Finally … most importantly … make sure to bury me … with winged eyeliner … *death rattle* TV: NOOO! I mean, I’ll do that, yes, of course. But NOOOOOOO!

Soos, tearing up: *sniffle* He was such a good Jelived.

Bill, evilly: I think you mean “Jedied”.

Ford and Stan: Pffhahahaha!

Bill: And don’t you meatbags usually consider owning slaves to be something that disqualifies a person from being good? Like, he had two of ‘em. Speaking of, you think this means Yuan-Mac Gragor inherits Jerkjerk? Is he legally permitted to euthanize him now?

Melody, considering that: I think the life debt is fulfilled now.

Soos, muttering: (You dudes all suck …)

TV: Come to Baboon, I have. Along with Senate soldiers to arrest the Trade Union (now that matters, Senate involvement does not). TV: Thank you, Master Yoda. That means a lot during my grief. TV: Out of pity, promote you to Knight we do. Also, more impressive than our lame, traditional trials killing a Shit, we consider. So … TV: And may I take Otherkin as my padawan? Just so you know, I made a deathbed promise to train him, so I’m going to anyway. TV: Changed their minds for no reason, the other councilors did. Little bitches, I consider them to be … But no reason, I have really to oppose his training. Other than that grave danger, I fear in his training for us all. For foreshadowing purposes, you understand. TV: Aren’t you always saying “fear leads to the Dark Side”? TV: Like your master, you are. Meaning go screw yourself, you can.

Stan: Convenient decision, ain’t it? Oh, time for the funeral.

Bill: I’m always amazed and, to be honest, a little jealous at the caliber of the winged eyeliner they get on Leam-Nee San.

Stan, shaking his head: Can you believe Yoda and Sa-Myul Jaxon are discussing Jelived business during the guy’s funeral? That’s just inconsiderate, is what that is. And why would the Shit follow that rule of two, anyway? I thought they were anti-Jelived.

Soos, dismal but unable to not answer: ‘cause they know treachery’s gonna happen sooner or later. One apprentice means only one person to keep an eye on.

Ford, derisive: Why not? Makes as little sense as everything else. Oh, they’re having a parade now. And … there’s a glowing orb? Why is the Queen giving a glowing orb to Boss Gass?

Bill: For his coffee table. It’ll make a great conversation piece.

Ford: Or would, except he’d then have to tell this awful story. Just awful … But the rest of the trilogy, it has to be better, right? It couldn’t possibly be worse.

Bill, smiling evilly: Heh heh heh … You say that now …

Soos, sulking: … I guess if you wanna watch ‘em, we can.

Melody, picking up on her husband’s dejection: Can we leave the movies with them, honeybear? I’m starting to not feel well.

Soos: Uh, sure thing, honeybadger, if you like. [gets up, helps her up, goes out the door with her] Um, see you dudes tomorrow!

Stan, with a tinge of regret: Y’think maybe we hurt his feelings raggin’ on the movies so much?

Ford, realization dawning: He … He did say they’re three of his favorite movies. Though I fail to understand why or how … All the same, perhaps I was being insensitive … again … [sighs, shrugs] Oh well. He’s not here anymore, so I suppose we can be as unbridled in our ragging as we want. And tomorrow, we’ll make it up to him. Somehow … Shall we put in the next one?

Bill, excitedly: 79 Hecks yeah! Oh, wait, they’re both gone now.

All three together: We can swear for real!

[spn-ficfanatic]

How To Save A Life (Ch. 2)

Chapter 2 of 2 (Ch.1 HERE)

Summary: The events of the day-from-hell catch up to you and Dean, helping you realise your true feelings for one another

Characters: Reader x Dean, Sam

Chapter Word Count: 2664

Genre: Flangst

Warnings: Swearing

The ride back to the motel was quiet. Sam and Dean shared glances at you in the backseat where you insisted you sit, and after a while you just shut your eyes so you didn’t have to see it anymore. You hated the concern in their eyes, the pity. You hated the image of Dean or Sam having to breath life back into you, of them having to pump your heart in a desperate attempt to bring you back to life. It embarrassed you and you wished for nothing more than the ground to swallow you whole.

The car stopped and the engine cut off, and you opened your eyes to find you were back at the motel. Gently you lifted yourself from your seat, walking to the door slowly. You were starting to ache all over, you didn’t remember a time that you had felt so horrible.

“So you can take one of the beds Y/N, I’ll crash on the couch tonight,” Dean told you, grabbing his wallet from the counter. “I’ll be back in a bit.” Before you could even take your shoes off he was out the door.

“Was it something I said?” you asked Sam dryly, and he gave a lopsided grin.

“He’s getting us some food and beer, he’ll be back in 20 or so. Jump in the shower, I’ll bandage that wrist for you once you’re dressed.”

“I can do it, ’s fine,” you responded quickly, and before he could argue you were already in the bathroom and shutting the door.

Finally you were alone, though sometimes having only your brain for company was worse than anything else. You turned on the water, knowing the hot took a while to start coming through, and began undressing. With a busted wrist and 3 busted ribs (you’d counted in the car) the process was agonisingly slow and painful, but eventually you were under the warmth of the shower. You had been half expecting to have some sort of PTSD episode the next time you even touched water but instead this was glorious. You closed your eyes and let the warm water run through your hair, down your back and front as it washed away the cold salty remnants of your dip in the ocean. With it you hoped the memories would wash away also but a flash of the merman’s face as he dragged you under proved otherwise. You opened your eyes in an instant and his face was still in front of you, staring at you and laughing. You knew he was dead, Dean promised you as much in the car back to the motel. You shut your eyes tight and opened them again, grateful to find he was gone and only the god-awful green bathroom tile stared back at you.

Your heart was racing, your brain felt like it was ready to implode, and before you realised what was happening you punched the tile in front of you, right where that snarky bastard’s face was a moment earlier. When you didn’t feel the pain you couldn’t help but do it again, and pretty soon you had made a bit of a mess of both the wall and your good hand. A loud knocking at the bathroom door pulled you out of it, and you looked up with wide eyes, trying to catch the breath you hadn’t realised you’d lost.

“You ok Y/N?” Sam called out, clearly trying to hold back on his panic for you but failing.

“I-I’m fine Sam, sorry,” you told him, your voice somehow both shaky and strong at the same time. You watched the door handle like a hawk, hoping he wouldn’t come in to check on you himself, and sighed in relief when you saw his shadow from under the door move away.

Surveying the damage, you were bummed to find your previously good hand was now in worse shape than your sprained one. You ran it under the water shakily, a mixture of blood and water running down your arm. Thankfully you hadn’t broken any bones, but you would definitely be nursing it for about as long as your sprained wrist. You checked the tile next, and kicked yourself when you saw the damage you’d caused. The poor owner of your stolen credit card was going to get a rude shock when the bill came in.

Resigned to the fact you couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever, you finished rinsing off without allowing any further distractions and carefully wrapped yourself in your towel before braving Sam’s wrath.

“Errr…” you started as you stepped into the room. Sam looked up from his laptop, looking concerned. You started to wonder if that expression would forever be glued to his face when he looked at you from now on. “Sorry about the mess. Really. I don’t know what happened.”

Sam nodded, eyes instinctively going to your hand. He stood and came to you, and lifted it gently to his eyeline.

“Don’t worry about it. Dean and I have punched a motel wall or two,” he told you with a tight smile. “I’m just sorry you hurt your good hand in the process. Definitely gonna need me to wrap it for you now huh.”

“Yup. And it’s gonna make bathroom visits a joy for the next couple of weeks,” you huffed out a laugh. He smiled unenthusiastically in return before stepping away.

“Shall I do it for you now, or would you rather dress first?”

“Oh, clothes are good. You shower, I’ll be ready for you when you get out,” you told him with a smile, trying to make it look genuine so he would stop with the pity party. Didn’t work.

“Alright, be out shortly,” he told you, placing his hand on your shoulder and patting it before heading into the bathroom and closing the door. You sighed a breath of relief and ambled over to the bed you’d be sleeping in for the night, sitting down.

“Take your time Sammy, really,” you shouted before he could turn the water on, and you hoped he got the message. The shower turned on and you relaxed, letting the towel fall to the mattress before starting the dressing process.

You got as far as pants before realising that you wouldn’t be able to put your bra on alone. Didn’t seem like you would be going out again today anyway so you slipped on a loose shirt to wear for the night, and gently lay yourself down on your tummy across the bed. You honestly hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but as soon as your eyelids closed your body took control and within a minute you were out for the count.

Dean half expected Sam to be wrapping your wrist when he walked in, so he made no attempt to enter the room quietly. Juggling bags of food and drink he used his foot to awkwardly kick the door open as he stumbled through the threshold and put them down on the nearby dining table. He’d heard the shower the second he’d stepped in, and looking around he spotted you laying across the bed. His heart started to race, and while he didn’t want this to now be the first reaction he’d have every time he saw you unconscious the events of the day were still too fresh in his mind.

“Y/N?” he called out, part of him not wanting to be too loud in case you were asleep, the other part hoping to wake you up immediately.

He approached the bed slowly, honestly scared of what he might encounter when he reached you. He couldn’t see you breathing, you were face down so the rise and fall of your chest was impossible to see, and you weren’t snoring like you sometimes did. It drove him crazy but god-damn it he would give anything to hear you snort in your sleep right now. Standing above your head, he reached down and with a shaky hand he felt for your pulse on your wrist. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt a strong steady pulse under his fingers, and could have cried when you moaned slightly and shuffled your legs into a more comfortable position. He frowned when he spotted your knuckles though; gently he sat down on the mattress next to you and lifted your hand to inspect the damage.

“Dammit Y/N,” he muttered in disapproval, and as the shower turned off he decided to get Sam’s dinner ready before tending to your wounds.

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

You weren’t sure at first if you were waking up or still dreaming. You could feel someone holding your hand. Wait, no, not holding. Wrapping. Ah yes, you threw a hissy over dying for a few minutes and punched in the bathroom wall with your sole-functioning hand in retaliation to the universe. Smart move Y/N.

“You should tell her how you feel man,” Sam was saying through a mouthful of food, and while you knew eavesdropping was a big no-no the context of the conversation you’d woken up to was much too tempting to ignore.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about Sammy,” Dean replied like the stubborn ass he is, and if you’d been properly awake you’d have rolled your eyes.

“Sure you don’t. Because it’s not like I’ve seen you two together for the last 20 or so years. Not like I didn’t know about the kiss you two shared, or the night you’d spent together 2 months ago. I mean, it’s not like we know EVERYTHING about each other Dean,” Sam replied sarcastically, and you nearly giggled.

“Wait… seriously? You knew about that?” Dean replied with surprise.

“Ha. Yer Dean, the whole motel knew about it,” Sam laughed, taking a sip of his drink.

“Huh. Damn.”

“So cummon, when will you tell her? Because if her nearly dying wasn’t enough motivation for you I don’t know what else will be.”

“Look it’s not... it’s not that simple. So just drop it, OK?”

You heard Sam scoff, but the conversation didn’t continue and after a few minutes you decided it was time to open your eyes. Your eyelids fluttered open, your sight adjusting to the bright light in the room before settling on Dean.

“Hey you,” you told him, your voice hoarse and your throat sore. He looked at you with surprised wide eyes, and his face lit up when he saw you were awake.

“Hey yourself, you doing ok?” he asked you, his voice a little gruff.

“Throat’s a little sore,” you shrugged. “Actually I take that back, everything’s a little sore.

You heard Sam shuffle around in the kitchen and soon he was handing you a glass of water and some painkillers. You thanked him as you sat up, ignoring Dean’s offer to help, and drank the water and pills down in one fell swoop.

“I uh, I just remembered I need some new socks. I might head out and get those before we skip town,” Sam commented, and just like that he was out the door and you and Dean were alone. He turned back to your busted hand and clipped the bandage together before reaching for your busted wrist to start wrapping that as well.

“So,” you cleared your throat. “What’s the damage Doc?”

“No broken fingers at least,” he tutted with a frown. “What were you thinking?”

“I was pissed. Don’t get all high and mighty and act like you’ve never punched a wall Dean.”

He sighed and nodded in resignation. “Fair enough. And hey, at least now you’re symmetrical.”

You laughed lightly as he smiled, and you kicked your foot out to tap his hip playfully.

“Shaddap.”

Silence fell as he gently strapped your wrist, which thankfully was already feeling a little less painful thanks to your primo painkiller stash. You watched Dean as he worked and saw the concentration in his eyes as he carefully wrapped the bandage in the right places, making sure it wasn’t too tight but was tight enough to help it heal. You felt his fingers brush against your skin and shivers ran up and down your spine. You felt your heart rate quicken as you saw him lick his lips and, almost on instinct, you felt yourself leaning into him. He looked up at you, his green orbs reflecting in your eyes, and his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Y/N? You alright?” he asked you, reaching up to feel your forehead. “You look a little out of it, are the drugs kicking in?”

You shook your head and cleared your throat, pulling yourself back into your sitting position.

“Sorry, no, I’m fine. Was just thinking is all…”

“What about?” he asked nonchalantly as he turned his attention back to your hand.

Oh fuck it, you thought to yourself. “About kissing you.”

The bandage slipped from his fingers and rolled off the bed, leaving its trail from your wrist to the floor. His eyes shot up to stare at you, looking like a deer in headlights.

“I-I’m sorry, what?” he sputtered, sure he’d misheard you.

You didn’t bother answering, opting instead to show him. You leaned forward again, this time without stopping before your lips were on his. He pulled you closer instantly, breathing you in as he reciprocated the kiss hungrily. He moved closer to you, resting his hand on your back before gently laying you down on the bed.

“Wait, hang on,” he stopped suddenly, holding himself up above you as his arms straddled your torso. “What’s happening right now?”

“I heard you before,” you admitted, feeling your cheeks redden. “And it’s not as complicated as you think it is.”

He frowned, and before you could stop him he pulled away and sat on the bed next to you.

“Dean, cummon.  You say it’s not that simple but I don’t understand what’s so hard about it,” you argued.

“You’ve been with us long enough Y/N,” he said quietly, looking at his hands. “You know what happens to the women Sam and I love.”

Your heart jumped to your throat, but realising that he didn’t notice what he’d actually confessed to you, you pushed on.

“Yer ok, they die. Guess what Dean? I just died, like, an hour ago.”

“Yer I know, I was there,” he replied angrily.

“Yes you were. And I dunno about you but I wasn’t dating you when that happened. Shit happens Dean, regardless of whatever our relationship is. If you hadn’t been there, I still woulda jumped into that water to save the kid. The only difference is that you and Sam wouldn’t have been there to save my life. Did you ever think for a second that perhaps we’re good for each other, instead of assuming the worst?”

Dean didn’t answer, instead looking down at his hands and furrowing his brow as he pondered what you’d said.

“If I’d lost you today...” he started, his voice cracking.

“But you didn’t,” you interrupted. “And I might lose you one day, or Sam. Or maybe both, heck knows you two like to do everything together.”

Dean huffed out a laugh despite himself and you smiled in response. You ran your fingers through his hair, your nails scratching his scalp lightly, and he let out a soft moan.

“Stop worrying about what could be. We’re alive now, so let’s live. We’ll worry about the end when it comes, and based on statistics we’ve got at least another 3 years before I die again.”

Dean looked up, his eyebrow raised. “That’s not funny,” he scolded you, the hint of a smile in the corner of his lips betraying him.

You shrugged feigning innocence. “It’s a little funny.”

“Oh you think so?” he told you, all pretense now gone as he grinned and leaned over you, pressing his lips to yours.

You hummed and nodded in agreement as you let life happen... At least until Sam came back with his new socks.

My Masterlist

Tag Lists (Open)

“Dean/Jensen” taglist: @lilydarcy (won’t tag *SOB*), @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​, @perpetualabsurdity​

“Everything” taglist: @angelsandwinchesters​, @grace-for-sale​, @growningupgeek​, @iamnotsaneatall​, @nanie5​, @waywardasfudge​, @ronja-uebrick, @im-dead-inside05​, @julzdec​, @adoptdontshoppets​, @meghanbeinghappy​, @sleepylunarwolf​ , @sammysgirl1997​, @imaginationisgrowth​

[master-sass-blast]

Authority Issues

Well, well, well. What do we have here?

(AN: I’m not abandoning Strong as Stone. This was just my entertainment for the day.)

Long story short: I had a dream with Piotr Rasputin/Colossus in it last night. It was glorious. I might’ve kissed him.

Like I said. Glorious.

And thus, after kissing the dream Colossus, I woke up inspired to write some fanfiction loosely inspired by my dream.

So, essentially, welcome to my latest hyperfixation.

For the record, I haven’t seen the Deadpool movies. I haven’t read the X-Men Comics. I haven’t seen the X-Men movies.

Yes, you got that right, this is undoubtedly the crackiest fic you’ll ever read.

Or maybe not. I’ll let you be the judge.

So, loosely based in the Deadpool Movieverse/X-Men universe, I present you this: a self insert pic with Colossus.

You’re welcome.

Also, @colossus-and-cable, I blame you for suckering me into this hyperfixation! Because of your brilliant writing, I can’t get enough Colossus content!

Well, they say create the content you want to see.

Rating: M for kidnapping, mentions of abuse, sexual assault, sequences of terrifying action (nightmares), and stong language.

Pairing: Reader x Piotr Rasputin.

Alright, so, it wasn’t your fault. Technically.

Remember that ‘technically.’ It’ll come in handy later.

For context: you are the latest trainee/recruit/refugee at the Mutant Mansion a la Professor Xavier is really stinking rich to afford the utilities bills for this group.

You’d seen the X-Mansion briefly, two years ago, on a newscast that your mother had turned off as soon as she’d seen you watching it, then forced you up to your room to ‘pray for protection against the ungodly lures of the outside world.’

Ah, the joys of growing up in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere --zero tolerance of the queers, people of color, and mutants.

You’d read about the X-mansion’s purpose --taking in and training mutants to control their powers--in a newspaper article a few months later --well after your parents had decided that TV was ‘too great a portal to temptation’ for someone of your ‘unnatural, hedonistic tendencies.’

You’d been shocked. You hadn’t known that there was an actual group out there that was willing to take in mutants, much less train them.

Your father had ripped the paper out of your hands a few moments later and tossed it into the burning fire, stating that the X-Men were nothing more than heathens upsetting the natural order of God’s holy creation.

Perhaps with some great amount of foresight, your parents had decided to lock you into your room that night. Not that it mattered; the lock on your bedroom door had always been easy to pick.

No one ever said that foresight and practical wisdom were the same things.

You’d packed a bag of everything that mattered --clothes, toiletries, a stuffed bear, your state ID--then crept downstairs and broken into the family safe. You’d taken all of your paperwork --birth certificate, social security card--and all the cash that your parents had kept in there, and left.

Looking back on it, you were incredibly lucky the universe had gifted you with the powers to control air and wind. Instead of having to plot out a route via bus and train routes --thus risking being caught by the authorities and shipped back home--you could simply fly to the X-Mansion, stopping to buy food and rest as needed. Within a couple days, you’d found the X-Mansion, dropped yourself on their doorstep, knocked, and asked if you could stay.

Which, apparently, they were used to, because they’d just said ‘sure’ and let you in.

Two years later and look at you now!

A --still, technically--trainee on account of your difficulty controlling your powers and hot, hot issues with authority, under the tutelage of the X-Men. Free room, personal bathroom, three hot meals a day, and the fastest WiFi the world has ever seen.

And, well... a boyfriend, too.

Piotr Rasputin, code name Colossus, with the real secret to his identity being that he was a massive marshmallow with a heart of gold. He’d wooed you in his own sweet, subtle way as he’d helped you adjust to your new life at Xavier’s, taking your poor impulse control and hot, hot issues with authority in his patient, gentle stride.

It had been a good two years. The best two years of your life.

Which wasn’t to say that everything was perfect...

Right, so this is where the ‘technically’ comes in. And, as with ninety percent of your ‘technically’s, Wade Wilson is along for the ride.

You and Wade get along like a house on fire --compatible in all the wrong ways and usually resulting in some sort of damage to persons and/or property.

Wade, also known as Deadpool, also known as the Merc’ with a Mouth, also known as ‘the Obnoxious Red Dildo,’ has widely known and accepted authority issues, zero impulse control, and a daddy kink a mile wide that he likes to remind everyone of at any given moment --which is all of them.

You, the formerly repressed and abused mutant who has had their first taste of freedom and are itching for more, are --unfortunately--all too willing to help Wade execute any sort of prank, joke, or hijink, because for fuck’s sake, people, live a little!!!

Cue today’s incident.

It had started with a bet. Wade had bet you that there was no way in hell you could use your powers just right to launch a lit firework into Scott Summer’s --aka Cyclops’s--room.

The man had given you kitchen duty for being fifteen minutes late to morning training. The loser had to buy the winner pizza. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up!

You're just about to light the firework when something lifts Wade off the ground and hefts him to the side. A large shadow falls over you, and you look up with a cheesy grin. “Hi, babe.”

Piotr stares down at you, arms across his chest. He’s in defense mode, which means he isn’t here on the friendliest of terms. “What are you doing, myshka?”

You look down at the firework in one hand, the lighter in the other, then up at Scott’s open window. “Uh...” You look back up at Piotr and give him the most convincing look you can muster. “Arts and crafts?”

He isn’t convinced. “Professor Xavier sensed your plan.”

Ah. Well. That would do it.

“Hey! Russia’s Greatest Love Machine!” Wade interrupts, madder than a hornet and a little more crooked than the human body usually looks. “Stop fucking throwing me everywhere, you giant metal dildo!”

“Wade, watch your language, please.”

“Suck a cock!”

“In my defense,” You interject before Piotr can go off on his usual spiel about rules and ‘appropriate language,’ “it was Wade’s idea.”

“Hey!”

Piotr is still unmoved. “You are capable of making your own choices, dorogoy. Wade did not force you.”

“He was going to buy me a pizza, Colossus! How do you expect me to refuse?”

“Hey, that was only if I lost!”

“Yeah, well, you were gonna lose!”

Piotr sighs, shakes his head, then extends a hand to help you off the ground. Even when he’s busting you for misbehavior, he still treats you with the utmost respect and courtesy. “Come. We need to talk to Professor.”

You sigh and trail after him. This is gonna suck.

It does, in fact, suck. Talking to Xavier --again--sucks like a vacuum cleaner gone prostitute that’s hellbent on sucking its client’s dick off.

The professor, as always, is patient with you in talking about rules and your struggles with following them.

Scott Summers, who must have a serious anal kink considering how far he has a pole wedged up is ass, is not. “I’ve just about had enough of your acting out! Either act your age or--”

“Or what?” You interrupt with a roll of your eyes. “You’ll kick me out?”

“No,” Professor Xavier interjects firmly before Scott can speak. “You will always have a safe place at the Institute, Y/N.”

Scott scoffs. “Safe for her and no one else.”

You narrow your eyes at Scott. “Says the guy who has to wear glorified sunglasses all the time or he’ll blow a hole through the wall. You look like a tool, by the way.”

“Your destructive tendencies are way out of hand!” Scott snaps.

“My destructive tendencies? Logan goes through four phones a month and cut your bike in half because you drank one of his beers! How come he always gets away with it?”

“We’re not talking about that right now!”

You sit back and your chair and nod, feigning amicability. “Ah, I see. You’re a misogynist.”

“Y/N--”

“No wonder Jean’s always looking at Logan the way she does. You must be a pain in the--”

Scott’s hand smacks down on Xavier’s desk, cutting you off. “Are you looking for extra kitchen duty? Because I’ll be happy to provide it for you.”

You refocus on Xavier. “Okay, I have an administrative question. Why’d you make the actual tyrant in charge of punishment duty?”

“I run a fair and understanding system!”

“You gave me three nights of kitchen duty after I was late for morning training! By fifteen minutes!” You look back at Colossus, who is standing post in the back of the room. “Does that seem fair to you?”

Piotr flounders. “Well... being on time is important...”

Your jaw drops. “You’re not honestly siding with him.”

“I think things have gotten out of hand,” Xavier says, reasserting control over the room. “And I think I need some time to speak with Mr. Summers about his ‘system.’”

Scott recoils. “What?”

You pump your fist in the air. “Ha! Suck it, dickhead!”

“In the meantime,” Xavier added with a stern, if somewhat amused look in your direction. “Mr. Rasputin, I’m discharging Y/N into your care. I’d like to keep her separated from Mr. Wilson until she and I have had a chance to talk about the root of her rebellion.”

Your mouth falls open at the Professor’s orders, and your shock only mounts as Piotr actually accepts. You’re so shocked that you let yourself be ushered out by the metal man himself --ever gentle and respectful of your space--into the hall and away from Xavier’s office.

It isn’t until you’re halfway down the hall that it hits.

Rage. Red hot and burning. Rage at being chastised by Scott, rage at Piotr’s refusal to defend you, rage at being unfairly separated from your best friend. You were an adult, for fuck’s sake! You could make your own decisions!

You storm ahead of Piotr, ignoring his concerned calls, and march to your room.

Like the exposition said: hot, hot issues with authority.

You manage to grab the essentials --bag, wallet, ID, phone--and make it halfway to the front door before he catches you.

Technically, he’s already waiting there for you, in his human form.

Well, that would explain how he beat you there and why you didn’t hear him.

Piotr looks up at you, expression patient if somewhat admonishing. “And where I are you going, dorogaya moya?”

“Out,” You say. No point in denying the obvious.

Piotr sighs and shakes his head. “I do not think that would be wise.”

You shrug. “Arguable. I just need some time to blow off some steam.”

Piotr presses his lips into a firm line. “Y/N.”

Uh-oh. You recognize that tone --the ‘we need to talk as serious adults about serious things in a serious manner.’

Right now, it’s just seriously annoying.

“This is fifth incident in as many weeks.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, can the record please note that Wade and I have been trying to scale back our ‘escapades?’ The car blowing up was a complete accident, not that Scott cared --oh, by the way, thanks for sticking up for me back there.”

That one lands hard, you can tell by the way his shoulders tense. “This behavior is irresponsible.”

“What, exactly, is with the vendetta against having fun?”

“Throwing firework into someone’s room is dangerous, myshka. Someone could have been hurt.”

You roll your eyes again. “It was a smoke bomb, Piotr. Not a 4th of July finale piece! Remember was I said about ‘scaling back?’” You finish descending the stairs and reach for the door handle.

Piotr reaches out --not much of a reach, he’s still a giant in his human form--and places his hand against the door. “No, myshka. You stay here.”

You bristle as you glare up at him. “I don’t remember for asking for you permission.”

Piotr exhales through his nose, the first sign that he’s actually getting frustrated with you. “The Professor--”

“Is not my dad.”

“--has asked me to watch you.”

“Well, I mean, if you want to come with me, I wouldn’t mine.” You grin up at him. “It could be a date.”

“I have things to do here.”

“Of course. Well, in that case...” You yank at the door, but Piotr is unmovable. “Look, Piotr, I’m an adult. I can make my own choices.”

“My instructions are to look after you. I cannot do that if you are not here.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “And how are you going to keep me here? Lock me in my room like my parents did?”

The comparison hurts him, you can tell by the way his blue eyes flash, but it’s enough of a distraction to suit your purposes.

While he’s still reeling from your words, you rip the door open and dart onto the front lawn. You can hear Piotr pursuing you, shouting your name, but outrunning him is easy, even when he’s in his human form. You simply manipulate the air around you to propel you forward. Before he’s even taken three strides, you’re over the wall and out of sight.

You grin as your feet hit the ground outside the wall that borders the grounds of the mansion and run towards the city.

Freedom.

The first thing you do is find a diner and order a heaping plate of food. A massive, greasy cheeseburger with extra bacon, a small mountain of fries, fresh out of the fryer, and a thick, sugary chocolate milkshake that comes in a glass bigger than your head.

It tastes like heaven. Junk food is in rare supply at the mansion, what with Piotr’s obsession with proper nutrition. You love him for it, but you miss your guilty pleasures.

The next thing you do is find that arcade Wade took you to for your birthday. You still have the credit card he bought for you, and you spend the day switching from game to game as you please.

It’s early evening when you leave, and it occurs to you that Piotr is going to be absolutely --you’d use the word furious, but you’re not sure if that’s even genetically possible for him--upset with you when you get back to the mansion, so you stop by the chocolate shop he took you to on your first date and pick up some fudge for him. He rarely treats himself, but you know it’s a favorite.

As you start walking the path back to the mansion, you get the eerie sensation that you’re being watched. Maybe it’s just the unfamiliarity of the city after growing up in a small town, maybe it’s just being a woman in an unfamiliar place while the sun is setting, but--

You look behind you, trying to find anything out of the ordinary.

A man, wearing a black sweatshirt, quickly turns to look in one of the store fronts.

You watch him, anxiety churning in your stomach. You catch his eye, he nods, and starts walking in the opposite direction.

You sigh in relief, and resume your progress back to the mansion. False alarm.

A few blocks later, and that creeping sensation on the back of your neck is back with a vengeance. You turn around again, unable to shake the suspicion that was curling in your chest.

The man in the black sweatshirt was back, standing about twenty feet behind you.

You grit your teeth as you pick up your pace. You focus on trying to find a place where you can duck out of sight and use your powers to run back home, back to the safety of the X-mansion, back to Piotr’s waiting arms --because even when you’ve been an ass, he’ll still oblige you with buckets of affection.

You spot an alley ahead --not ideal, but out of sight enough that you should be able to levitate yourself to a roof top, then hide there until the guy goes away and fly home.

You glance over your shoulder to check the pace of the guy following you and nearly have a coronary.

He’s now five feet behind you. 

How did he catch up that fast? You break off into a run, desperate to reach the alley before the guy reaches you.

A man steps out of the alley, grinning malevolently at you. “Going somewhere, doll?”

You barely have time to skitter to a stop before something hits you in the back of your head, knocking you to the ground.

Your last thought before you lose consciousness is how bizarrely empty the streets are.

“Hey there, doll. Open those pretty eyes for me.”

You come to in some sort of basement, dirty and littered with crumpled beer cans and other garbage. You’re tied to a chair, arms tied to the arms and legs to the legs, with another thick rope tying your waist to back of the chair. There’s a gag in your mouth and odd weight hanging around your neck.

The man that jumped out at you is sitting in a chair in front of you, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. “You’ve been difficult to track down. Lucky us, you decided to step outside your precious fortress for the day.”

You’d smirk at the man if you weren’t gagged. Apparently, for all their efforts to find you, they didn’t research your powers very well. You flick your fingers, ready to send the man flying across the room with a gust of wind.

Nothing happens.

You try again, then again, stomach sinking with dread as the man’s grin grows.

Nothing.

The man leans forward and taps at the weight on your neck, a soft metallic sound resulting from the press of his fingernails. “Suppression collar. No powers for you.”

Shit.

Left with nothing else, you try to yank yourself out of your restraints. You thrash and struggle to no avail --no amount of training was going to make you as strong as Piotr, even in his human form.

“They told me you were feisty. Apparently, you tried to run away from home several times before finding the X-Men.” The man leans forward, watching you with a lurid gaze as you struggle.

You growl at him through the gag. Just wait, motherfucker. I’ll get out of these ropes, and then I’m going to beat your ass stupid.

“Not gonna lie. It’s pretty hot.”

You try to flinch away as he reaches towards your face, but are ultimately subjected to the unpleasant sensation of his fingers caressing your cheek.

His touch is nothing like Piotr’s --it’s too rough, too forceful, and nowhere near loving enough.

“Now, we’re supposed to just take you back home--”

Your eyes widen at the mention of home --the small town you grew up in--and you start your struggle to free yourself anew.

“--but maybe we should have some fun first. After all, we’re not in any hurry.”

You stiffen and stare at him as your mind puts together what ‘fun’ might mean, then thrash around violently, almost knocking yourself over in the process.

The man reaches out and grabs the chair, forcing it back into its normal position. “Of course, I’d have to untie you for that, and I don’t want to risk you running away...” He turns to look at the other man --the one that had been wearing the hoodie. “Go get me the paralytics.”

You watch, horrified and on the verge of tears as the other man walks away and up the stairs, and let out a muffled scream.

“Oh, it’s alright,” the man said, leaning in to run his tongue over the shell of your ear. “You’ll be doing a lot of that later, and you’ll be loving it.”

You’re about to headbutt him, but are distracted by the sound of several heavy thuds on the floor above you.

You and the man look up in unison, both trying to discern the source of the noises.

Then, there were several brief bursts of gunfire, accompanied by several metallic pings.

Silence follows.

The man growls under his breath and pulls a gun out of his jacket. He points it at your head. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You watch him ascend the stairs, then start trying to work yourself free. In your efforts, you cant the chair sideways and fall on your side, back to the stairs. You wince at the impact --your arm’s going to be bruised as shit later.

You flinch at the sound of another gunshot.

Everything’s silent for a minute, and then there are footsteps on the stairs again.

You start crying, tears streaming down your cheeks, and you try anything to wiggle your way free.

Then, there are a pair of hands on your shoulders, pulling you up and turning you around, and--

Piotr kneels in front of you, resplendent even in his human form, smiling reassuringly. “It’s alright, moya lyubov’. I’ve got you.”

You draw in a sharp breath and moan at him through the gag.

“Hang on.” He pulls the gag out of your mouth --carefully, the man is always careful--and lifts it over your head.

A cry bubbles out your mouth, followed by a breathless apology. “Piotr-- I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry--”

His thumbs are already wiping the tears off your cheeks while his lips press sweet, gentle kisses along your hairline. “It’s okay, myshka, I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He leans back and flashes you a crooked grin. “Let’s get you out of here, da?”

You nod, already itching to be out of the chair and in his arms. “Da. Yes. Si. Now, please.”

He chuckles and pulls a knife off his belt. “I need you to hold very, very still, moya lyubov’. Can you do that for me?”

You nod again and focus on holding still while he works at the ropes holding you in place. “How did you find me?”

“Tracker on your phone. Men forgot to turn it off.”

You manage a weak, half-hearted giggle. “Idiots.”

He chuckles back, mostly because it’s clear that’s the response you wanted. “So, what did you get up to before all this happened?”

“Oh, you know.” You tip your head back to try and hold back the tears that are threatening to reappear. “Got a bite to eat, smashed Wade’s highscore in Pac-Man at the arcade.” You manage a wavery smile as you tip your head forward to look at him. “I stopped by that chocolate shop you took me to on our first date, got you some fudge.”

“That was very sweet of you, dorogoy.” He’s done with your legs and waist and already halfway through the ropes on your left arm.

Your laugh comes out less as amused and more as hysterical. “Yeah, well, I figured it’d pay to have a bribe.”

“Bribe?”

“To get back in your good graces after being an ass.”

He smiles at you, soft and sweet, as he tosses away the rope that had been holding your left arm in place. “You don’t have to earn my ‘good graces,’ Y/N. You’ll always have them.”

It’s serendipitous timing that he finishes freeing your right arm in that moment, because you want nothing more than to be in his arms after that comment. You launch yourself at him, winding your arms around his neck. You sob, the weight of what could’ve happened hitting you full force, and press your face against his chest.

Piotr is forced to temporarily abandon his knife, tossing it off to the side so he can wrap his arms around you. He’s massive, exceedingly so, and it’s easy for him to curl himself around your --much smaller--body. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I’m so, so sorry, Piotr! I shouldn’t have run off, and I shouldn’t have said those things, and--”

“It’s okay, dorogaya moya, it’s fine.” He presses his lips against your forehead. “Let’s get you out of here, then we talk. But first.” His hands turn to the solid steel you know so well, and he presses his fingers against the suppression collar. “Hold still.”

You keep yourself still as he tears the collar off of you, then let out a relieved breath, sending a gust of wind throughout the dusty basement.

“Much better,” Piotr murmurs as he rubs his hand up and down your back.

You press against him, trying to close every tiny gap between you and him. You’re shaking like a leaf in a gale, body trembling with adrenaline and relief. You let out a tiny squeak as he lifts you into his arms and wind your arms around his neck as he starts carrying you up the wooden stairs. “I half expected you to come down in full metal.”

“House is very old,” Piotr grunts as he navigates the rickety steps with ease. “I am surprised I did not fall through floor.” He pauses halfway up the steps to look at you. “You may want to close your eyes.”

You oblige him and lean your head against his shoulder. “A grisly scene, unfit for the eyes of a lady?”

A puff of laughter ghosts over your cheek. “There was struggle.”

You can’t resist the temptation to peek at the scene as he carries you through the house. You open your eyes and gasp at the sight of bodies crisscrossing the floor, riddled with bullet holes.

“I thought I told you to close eyes.”

“You should know by now I’m not good at listening.”

That finagles a chuckle out of him. “Stubborn girl.”

“Well, duh.” You peer at the bullet holes --some in the bodies, some in the walls--then check Piotr over for any sign of injury. “How’d you survive the shooting?”

“I came in defense mode. I was not sure stairs would hold me, so I changed.”

“They should’ve thought about the ricochet.”

“Da.”

The sun is almost done setting as he carries you outside to the awaiting jet.

You wince as your eyes adjust to the fading natural light, then blink as you realize you couldn’t have been captured for more than a few hours. “How did you know to come looking for me in the first place?”

“Professor Xavier got letter from intelligence operative. Said your parents had hired bounty hunters to find you and to keep you at X-Mansion until coast was clear.” He clears his throat and ducks his head, looking sheepish. “My... over-protective instincts got the better of me.”

You can’t help but tremble in his arms at the mention of your parents or the fact that they hired a fucking bounty hunter, good God. Your stomach churns as the memory of the hired man threatening to rape you and asking for paralytics, and you cling tighter to him. “Well, I’m glad they did.”

“So am I, moya lyubov’. So am I.” He carries you onto the jet and sets you on one of the seats. “Stay here. I will come back when we are in stable flight pattern.”

You try to stay in the seat as he starts the take off process, but you can’t help but stumble up to the cockpit after him.

“Yes, I found her.” Piotr looks up at you as you press yourself against his arm, and pauses to kiss your forehead. “She is alright, a little shaky.” He pauses again as he pilots the jet high enough to clear the top of the trees and surrounding buildings, then nods as the voice in the pilot’s headset speaks. “Da. We are on our way back now.” A few more exchanges between him and the voice in the headset, and then he’s setting the jet on autopilot and taking the headset off. He turns to face you, flashing you a crooked grin. “I thought I told you to wait.”

You try to reciprocate, you really do, but the past few hours as catching up with you. You lower lip starts trembling, and you slump against Piotr, crying quietly.

He wraps his arms around you and presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Come on, dorogaya moya. Let’s get you checked out.” He carries you back into the main bay of the jet and --with a gentleness that completely belies his sheer size--deposits you on one of the seats. “How did they capture you?”

You lift your hand to the back of the head, wincing as your fingers brush against a small lump. “They hit me. Knocked me out.”

Piotr’s lips are set into a tense line as he pulls a flashlight out of his suit pocket. “Look at my nose, myshka.”

You stare straight ahead as he checks your pupil response to the light. “Piotr... I’m really sorry for being such an ass at the mansion.”

He chuckles. “It is alright, dorogoy. I need you to follow light with your eyes now.”

“And...” You add quietly as you track his light with your eyes. “...I’m sorry I compared you to my parents. That was... royally unfair of me.”

“It is okay, Y/N. I forgive you.” He clicks off the light and turns his attention to the nice, ugly bruise forming on your left forearm. “How did you get this?”

“I knocked myself over trying to escape.”

Piotr chuckles as he carefully prods the bruise. “That’s my girl. My fierce myshka.”

“Getting herself bruised,” you mutter with a wince. “That sounds about right.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“Well, it’s a bruise and you’re poking it. What do you think?”

“I am trying to ascertain if it is broken.”

You shake your head. “I’ve broken my arm before. It just feels like a bruise.”

He stops prodding at your forearm in favor of encapsulating your hands with his massive ones. “Did anything else happen? Anything you can remember?”

“No, I was out for most of it.”

“What happened when you came to?”

“I tried to use my powers to throw them across the room.”

Piotr snorts --actually snorts. “I suppose, for them, it was good thing they had collar. You would have kicked their asses otherwise.”

“Good for them, pain in the ass for me,” you mumble, annoyed. “He pointed out the collar, so I tried to yank my arms free.”

“I figured. You have rope burns on your wrists.”

You have to stop to force down the bile creeping up your throat before you can go on. “He said I was feisty. Said it was hot.”

Piotr’s hands tighten around yours. “Anything else?”

You start shaking again. “He said that he had to take me back home... but that he didn’t have to rush. He... asked for some paralytics... said he was going to make me scream.”

Piotr’s jaw clenches, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly.

You giggle hysterically against his chest. “You came in the nick of time. He’d just sent the guy up for the paralytics when you crashed in.”

“Bozhe moi, I am grateful. I am grateful I found you when I did.”

“Me too.”

He presses his forehead against yours, taking deep, shaky breaths. “Was there anything else that happened, lyublyu?”

You frown. “Yeah. He touched my cheek and licked my ear.” You rub your cheek, then your ear. “God, that was gross.”

Piotr is quiet for a moment. Then, he lifts his hand to your cheek, rubbing his thumb against your soft, supple skin. “Like this?”

You lean into his touch, smiling weakly. “Yeah. Yours is better, though.”

“I would hope so.” He’s quiet for another moment, then leans forward.

A shiver runs down your spine as he presses a soft kiss against your ear. “Piotr,” you sigh.

He presses the side of his face against the side of yours. “Better?”

“Yeah.”

And, oddly enough, it is. It was as though Piotr’s touch erased the traces of the bounty hunter’s harassment. Sure, you could remember it happening, but you couldn’t quite remember how it felt. All you could feel was Piotr’s loving, tender touches and the affection he so willingly lavished upon you.

You turn your head towards him and press your lips against his.

He kisses you back for a moment the way he always does --with a tenderness that never fails to make you weak in the knees--and then pulls back. “I must apologize for my behavior earlier. I was too controlling. You are an adult, and I need to respect that.”

“Eh, I think I need to talk to Xavier about that one more than I do you.”

“Still, I am sorry--”

“I forgive you, Piotr. Stop beating yourself up.”

He ducks his head, smiling sheepishly. “Khorosho. I also want to apologize for not defending you in front of Scott. He was out of line.”

“It’s alright. I’m just glad to be with you right now.”

“As am I, myshka. As am I.”

After one of the resident medics gives you a thorough check over and a blood test to ensure you hadn’t been injected with anything while you were knocked out --at Piotr’s worried insistence, and you were too worn out to put up too much of a fight--you're given a clean bill of health and instructions to rest for a few days.

Piotr escorts you to the living space side of the mansion, his hand a warm and soothing presence on your shoulder.

The two of you are met by Professor Xavier and one very pissed off looking Scott Summers.

“It’s about time,” Scott snaps. “We have jobs to do, you know. We can’t just waste our time keeping up with your outbursts.”

You roll your eyes. “Geez, Scott, who rusted the pole up your ass?”

Before he can retort, Piotr steps in between the two of you. “Enough,” he says, voice deep and hard. “She has had long day. She needs rest.”

“Yes,” Professor Xavier agrees. “We’re glad to see you back safely, Y/N. Rest for now. We can resume our discussion when you feel more recovered.”

You nod and let Piotr escort you to your room.

“The medic cleared you for concussion, so you can sleep on your own tonight.”

You bite back a frown. You would rather stay with him --in general, yes, but especially tonight, given the circumstances. Dammit. Why couldn’t I have a concussion? “Okay.”

Piotr cups your face in his massive hands. “If you need anything, come wake me up. Time does not matter, okay?”

You nod, then roll up onto your toes to kiss him. When he tries to break away once, you grab onto his shirt and cling to him.

He humors you for a few moments longer before disentangling your hands from the material of his shirt. He kisses both of your hands. “Sleep well, myshka.”

You manage a smile for him, but it dissipates as soon as he turns away.

You’re not sure sleep will come easy tonight.

You’re not sure it’ll come at all.

The needle glints in the glaring overhead lights of the basement, sinister and clinical.

You wrench at your restraints, but you’re stuck, frozen in place.

The man in the hoodie holds you still while the man from the alley stabs the needle into your arm, slowly injecting you with its malevolent contents.

You try to fight, try to free yourself, but you can feel yourself quickly becoming sluggish. Your limbs are heavy, stiff from the dose of the paralytic.

You can only watch, frozen, as they cut your ropes away. Tears trickle down your cheeks, but you can’t so much as flick a finger.

You’re helpless. Completely at their mercy.

You’re laid out on the dirty stone floor without any decency or preamble.

The man from the alley laughs as he cuts your pants away from you, laughing at your tears and the sight of your shame. He leans towards you, close enough that you can smell the beer he drank while waiting for the paralytic. “You’re going to love this, doll.”

You stare at the ceiling, crying as you try to will your useless limbs to move --to fight.

You jerk upright, breathing hard.

You’re in your room, lonely and terrified in your bed. The darkness around you feels oppressive, like it’s choking you.

You try to calm yourself, to still the tremors in your hands. You use your powers to draw more air into your lungs, to try and quiet your nerves.

You can still smell the beer on his breath...

You can still feel your limbs going numb...

You bolt out of your bed and fling open the door --screw anyone who complains about the noise. You dart down the hall, skidding to a stop in front of Piotr’s bedroom door. You rap your knuckles at the door, trying to stay upright while your knees knock together. “Piotr! Piotr!”

A light flicks on his room, the glow creeping out from around the edges of the door. There’s the thud of footsteps --too light for him to be in defense mode--and the door swings open to reveal Piotr’s confused, sleepy face. “Zdravstvuyte? Hello?” You must look worse than you thought, because the exhaustion drains from his face in seconds. “Myshka, what is it?”

“I had a nightmare,” you whimper.

Piotr ushers you into his room, closes the door behind him, and kneels in front of you. “It’s okay. You’re safe. They can’t reach you here.”

You sniff and slump against him. “I dreamed that you didn’t get there in time, and that they injected me with the paralytics, and--”

Piotr wraps his arms around you and holds you against his chest. “Sh, lyublyu, it’s alright. You’re safe, I’m here.”

You wipe your eyes with the back of your arm. “Can I stay with you tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”

You hadn’t asked earlier to avoid making him feel awkward. Piotr was such a stickler for rules and ‘appropriate behavior,’ and you had no doubts that he would consider sleeping in the same bed --especially since your relationship was still fairly young--to be inappropriate, to say the least.

However, he doesn’t so much as hesitate when you ask. He simply presses a kiss to the top of your head and whispers, “Of course, dorogoy. All you had to do was ask.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and let him carry you to --and set you on--the bed.

There’s bit of shuffling as Piotr finds a pillow for you, and then he shuts his bedside lamp off and lays down next to you.

You wiggle across the bed until you’re pressed up against him.

Rather than mind the invasion of his space, he simply winds his arms around you, holding you against his large, muscular body. “I would’ve have offered earlier, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You can’t help but smile at his sweetness. “Well, I would’ve asked earlier, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Politeness gets you nowhere.”

He huffs out a soft laugh and runs his fingers through your hair. “You don’t mean that.”

No. You really don’t.

Rather than admit defeat, you opt to trace your fingers over his chest. He’s wearing a loose t-shirt, exposing his collarbone and the tops of his pecs. His skin is warm and soft under your fingertips.

Something in the back of your mind registers satisfaction at the shuddering gasp you pull out of him when your fingers graze over his collarbone, but you’re too tired to let the thought manifest past that.

By all means, it’s really soothing. Piotr’s fingers playing with your hair, his comforting embrace and warmth, the way his skin feels under your fingers. It’s almost enough to lull you into sleep, save for one nagging thought--

You tilt your head back to peer up at him. Piotr’s face is near indiscernible in the dark, but you can make out the shadowy outline of his features and the soft glint of his eyes. “What happens if I have another nightmare?”

“I will wake you up and comfort you.”

That --the promise that you won’t be left to suffer alone--is enough to finish calming you down. You close your eyes, lay your head on his chest, and let yourself fall back asleep.

You wake up --but not in the place you fell asleep in.

You’re in your room --not the one at Xavier’s, but in your old room, back in the middle of nowhere.

You bolt out of bed and race to the door. You yank and pull on the handle, but it doesn’t budge.

You try the windows next. You rip the curtains away, only to find that you’ve been sealed in. The windows are boarded over; not even a trace sunlight peeks into your room --your cell.

You pound your fists against the walls, desperate to find a way out. “Help me! Please, help me!”

A bright light floods the room, seemingly from nowhere. Someone grabs your shoulders--

“Y/N!”

You jolt awake, mid-scream.

Piotr is holding you by your shoulders, expression pinched.

Oh. That’s right. You’re in Piotr’s room. Not at home.

The relief hits you like a brick to the chest, and you start crying.

“Oh, myshka, what happened?”

“I dreamed was back home, trapped in my room.”

His arms slid underneath you and lift you off the bed. “It’s alright, love. I’ve got you.”

You draw in shaky, uneven breaths as you press your forehead against his shoulder. “I know. I’m just happy that I’m here, instead of stuck back there.”

“So am I, lyublyu. So am I.”

You sit at one of the many window seats, staring out at the cool, rainy day. Normally, a view like this --gray skies and damp grass--would leave you in a foul mood. Today, however, you were simply grateful to be seeing it.

It was horrifying to think that if Piotr hadn’t started looking for you, or if you had left your phone at the mansion, or if the bounty hunters had turned it off, or --a thousand other things, who knows. Point stands, you would be on your way back to your parents, never to see Piotr or the other X-Men again.

Or, maybe you wouldn’t have been underway to see your parents by now. Maybe the bounty hunters would’ve kept you in the basement, torturing you however they pleased.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t hear Piotr sneak up behind you. You shriek as he lifts you off the seat and spins you in a circle.

“ Zdravstvuyte, myshka.”

You can’t help but smile at him as he settles you into his arms, bridal style. He’s in defense mode, which makes things a little uncomfortable, but you don’t mind. “Hey, yourself. I didn’t heart you coming.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I was lost in thought.”

“Good thoughts, I hope?”

Your smile fades. “Not really, no. I was just thinking... what would’ve happened if I hadn’t had my phone on me...”

Piotr’s grip on you tightens. “Easy, dorogoy. There isn’t much to be gained by those thoughts.”

“I know. It’s just kind of horrifying.”

He kisses you gently, then carefully sets you on your feet. “You need distraction. Have you had lunch yet?”

“No.” You intertwine your fingers with his --a near impossible task when he’s in defense mode, but you manage. “But, I can think of a couple other things if you really want to distract me.”

He ducks his head and chuckles. “Perhaps another time, myshka. Skipping meals is not healthy.”

You smile and let him lead you out of the library and in the direction of the kitchen. “Of course. Heaven forbid we mess up our meals.”

[esselley]

Happy birthday @allykat023​! I’m so glad I snuck into your DMs all those months ago <333 LOVE YOU LOTS!

[Now on AO3!]

[*clears throat* the context for this fic is that Oikawa is a psychic single dad trying to raise two annoying ghost kids, and the ghosts are winning]

It is beginning to become clear to Tooru that there is, in fact, some absolute bullshit going on, and he is definitely not amused by any of it.

This is the fifth time in a little over a month he’s had to have a plumber come to look at his apartment—he’s even had to reschedule tarot readings—and yet, as far as anyone can tell, plumber included… nothing seems to be the problem.

Which means that the only problem, then, is the bright and unabiding torch Tooru seems to be unable to set down, in regards to the plumber himself.

“So…” the man says, wiping his hands dry on a towel in his belt loop. Tooru has to tear his eyes away from the prominent flex of his biceps as he does so, the swell of his pecs beneath his uniform polo shirt. The name tag on it reads Iwaizumi. “Can you walk me through what happened again?”

Tooru almost offers to walk him wherever he wants to go, up to and including the bedroom. He clenches his jaw shut so the words don’t escape. Now is not the time to be thirsty—he doesn’t even have running water.

“I was in the shower,” he says, and feels his cheeks go distinctly pink just from the suggestion of nakedness, and forces himself to look at the man. Mistake. He finds his gaze being met by a pair of serious, attentive green eyes; Tooru feels like he’s baring his soul, not recapping the issues with his faulty water line. He clears his throat, hoping Iwaizumi has not noticed the unnecessarily long pause while he gathers himself. “I was… showering, when the water started to feel—strange? I don’t know how to describe it. And when I looked, it was… purple.”

“Purple,” Iwaizumi repeats, deadpan.

“Yes.”

“Well,” Iwaizumi says, turning the shower knob to the side. Out the water comes, clear as usual. “It’s not now.”

“I can see that,” Tooru sniffs. It’s one thing to have a crush; it’s another thing to have a crush on someone who clearly thinks he’s an idiot.

“Just like,” the distressingly attractive handyman continues, and oh, no, Tooru can see what’s coming next, “last week, when not only did the water not run cold when you tried to turn it hot, but the toilet also flushed the correct way. Which is to say—”

“Down, yes, I know,” Tooru cuts him off, feeling increasingly mortified. Last week had really been a nightmare—frigid water every time he tried to shower, and toilet geysers every which way he looked. “Look, I’m just as confused as you are! One of your colleagues who came the… second time, was it? He said it could be something to do with the pipes. Mold, or something!” He shudders at the thought. “Maybe he could give a second opinion?”

Iwaizumi scoffs. “He’s not coming back. Why do you think I’ve been here four times already?”

“I don’t… know?” Tooru says. “I figured—scheduling?”

“Yeah, he’s been scheduling himself other jobs so he doesn’t have to come here,” Iwaizumi says. “He’s superstitious. All your weird, mystical stuff, it freaked him out.”

“What—” Tooru can’t believe this. “But it’s not dangerous!”

“You try telling him that,” Iwaizumi says, shaking his head. “He kept telling me he felt a presence.”

“But I would have felt it, too,” Tooru insists. He knows people tend to take one of two routes with this: skittish, like the other plumber. Or skeptical, like Iwaizumi. But he seriously needs his house fixed, or he’s going to lose it. “There’s no other presences here, besides me and—”

He trails off. Wait just a fucking second.

“That’s what I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t bite. So, good luck getting him back here…” Iwaizumi shrugs. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Tooru waves a hand vaguely. “Oh, I don’t mind that.” He peers around the room, turning in a slow circle.

“You… don’t?” Iwaizumi asks, eyebrows raising in surprise. When Tooru doesn’t answer, he glances around the room suspiciously, too. “What are you doing?”

“Shhh...” Tooru says, holding up a hand. “I’m divining for spirits.”

“Are you serious,” Iwaizumi says flatly. “Listen, I’m gonna pack up and head out—I won’t bill you for today, I barely—”

“Shhhhh!” Tooru hisses, silencing him. The air in the room feels very still, to him—still and pitched high, like a tuning fork being struck although in reality, all is quiet.

He spots movement at the edges of his vision and whips his head sharply to the side, where he sees them—two wide, floating pairs of eyes in the bathroom mirror, not a reflection, but an impression. One pair deep and dark, the other sparking and bright. Two little souls, bound to him by choice.

He flings out a hand and points dramatically at the mirror. “It’s been YOUUUU!” he howls, startling Iwaizumi, and both pairs of eyes dance about in silent panic before blipping out of existence. Only they’re still there, he knows, just hiding.

“What the fuck—” Iwaizumi says, but very unfortunately, Tooru doesn’t have time to devote to him anymore—he needs to figure out how to murder someone who is already dead. An exorcism is too good for these little shits.

“Sorry, Iwa-chan, but I'll have to say bye for today—” Tooru tells him as he rolls his sleeves up menacingly.

“Iwa-chan?”

“The spirits have turned against me!” Tooru yells, shoving him towards the door. “This is no place for a normal person, quickly, escape!”

“Wait a second—”

“I'll be fine!” Tooru insists, before he bodily shoved Iwaizumi out into the hallway. It's not easy—Iwaizumi is solid. “Forget what you saw here today,” Tooru hisses ominously at him through the crack in the door, before slamming it shut in his stunned face.

Now. To deal with his little ghoulish problem.

He yanks the plush tablecloth and all his seance equipment off his dining room table and locates a piece of ordinary chalk. After several moments of frantic scribbling, it is covered in the symbols and sigils of a powerful summoning circle. He places candles around the edges, and begins to chant a binding ritual ominously. The candle flames flicker, and his hair blows in the gathering breeze inside his living room.

A noise begins to build as well, a terrible, scraping, screaming noise, filled with agony and tumult. It gets louder as he chants, and as it grows, so too do two indistinct shapes in the center of the summoning circle. They writhe and tremble, shapes at once frightening and pitiable, carving to his whim at the same time that they fight it with all their might. The flames suddenly surge upwards, bursting to life, and Tooru slams his hands down on the tabletop.

“Would you give it a rest with that?” he says crossly, and the unearthly screeching stops at once. “The neighbors are going to complain again!”

“Why couldn't you just call us normally?” Kageyama asks him. His ghostly form bubbles sulkily, like seething, purplish-blue lava.

“Because,” Tooru says, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “you two never come out when you know you're in trouble, you just make me follow your traces all over the apartment—”

“Are we in trouble?” Hinata asks. He is light made solid, a fizzing sine wave of glinting gold.

“Obviously!” Tooru says, and both ghosts wobble flinchingly. “What on earth are you two trying to do? Do you know how much money I've spent on repair company appraisals that all lead nowhere?”

Honestly, even he isn’t sure what they’re up to. It's not like them—they aren't poltergeists, they're not malicious. For all that Tooru pretends it's a chore having them around, he's constantly surprised by how little he actually does mind. Since the two of them unceremoniously crashed his life as an (extremely) eligible bachelor and practicing psychic, they've been content to just keep each other company and learn how to be better ghosts. Unfortunately, this seems to have included manifesting the ability to haunt his plumbing.

He shakes his head. “This isn't like you two. I'm… frankly, I'm disappointed.”

The candles flicker morosely and the chandelier directly overhead sways in remorse.

“We… we just wanted to help,” Hinata says eventually.

“Help with what?” Tooru asks, blankly.

“You just seemed lonely!”

“He’s gonna get mad…” Kageyama warns.

“I seemed lonely?” Tooru repeats, sputtering. That's preposterous, to say the least. “I'm certainly not. I could never be lonely with you two—” he catches himself just in time, “—with you two constantly pestering me!”

“It's not the same!” Hinata says.

“Trust me, Shouyou-chan—”

“We noticed the way you stare at the repairman,” Kageyama interjects.

Tooru's mouth falls open. He cannot believe he is being set up with his plumber by two dead idiots who still haven't realized they are in love with each other.

“Have you, Tobio-chan?” he replies, with a silken smile. “Recognize the feeling, do you?”

Kageyama must realize the danger he's in, because he stops trying to argue. Tooru drops his smile.

“You two,” he says, “are going to stay in the circle for awhile and think about your actions. Also, there is to be no possessing of any household objects for one whole week, effective immediately.”

Kageyama and Hinata both whine something awful at this, and Tooru crosses his arms and basks in their misery for a few glorious moments. They love racing each other to possess things right before Tooru uses them, but they’ve never try to make anything malfunction before, so he allows it. Hinata's favorite is the teapot, because it tickles when it starts to boil. Kageyama likes the aging washing machine. He's never said why, but Tooru suspects it's because the old thing sounds nearly as grumpy as Kageyama himself does when it really gets going on its spin cycle.

“Keep it up,” he sings, as the candles start to turn an odd shade of green, “and it's gonna be two weeks.”

The whining stops, but Kageyama does throw a “You know we're right,” at him as he leaves them there in the summoning circle. Tooru does not deign to respond.

“How long before we can come out?” Hinata calls after him.

“Until I say you can,” Tooru replies. He ignores their ghostly wailing for the rest of the afternoon, until they have settled down and started to play I, Spy with each other. He refuses to admit that he finds it adorable when they get along, even if it's mostly because they're plotting against him together.

Unfortunately, the plotting does not end there. A few days pass without incident, and Tooru is lulled into a false sense of security. The week comes and goes; Friday arrives in a leisurely fashion. So leisurely, in fact, that Tooru decides to take a luxurious bubble bath to pamper himself. He spends a long time soaking in the tub, and is slightly surprised to see no signs of his two ghosts anywhere—normally, they would get into a game of Bubble Wars while Tooru relaxed, watching the massive orange and blue soap bubbles floating around the bathroom, trying to ram each other to see who would pop first. Today, all is quiet, and so Tooru enjoys a glass of wine in peace.

He finishes his bath and lets the tub drain, wrapping towels around his waist and his wet hair. He will need to blow dry it and make sure it looks appropriately dashing before his evening client appointment, and he’s about to dig the hairdryer out from under the sink when there’s an odd rumbling sound from behind him. He turns, frowning, to look at the toilet.

Naturally, this is the point at which the toilet attempts to murder him.

“WHY?!” he shrieks, devoid of anything else to say in his panic, as twisting tendrils of water burst from the bowl, latching around his arms and legs, dragging him towards it. Try as he might, he can’t break free, and as he is wrenched closer and closer, the entire opening of the toilet seems to yawn, wide—he can see blackness and light swirling in its depths, and he realizes, shit, spirit portal— “Tobio-chan?! Shouyou?!”

The entire bathroom is flooding with water. There’s a horrible, slurping, shloomp-ing sound as Tooru hits the rim of the bowl and starts to get sucked inside of it. He can feel the vacuum of empty space seizing onto him, an unstoppable force.

“You little shits, I’m going to make you corporeal long enough to punch you both in the face—”  

He hears a loud banging from far away, and wonders, what now, but then comes the sound of something splintering, and a moment later a voice bellows, “OIKAWA?”

Tooru gasps. “I-Iwa-chan?!”

He hears someone running, and then Iwaizumi—how is he here, Tooru wonders—bursts onto the scene, framed in the doorway, bearing a stunning resemblance to an angry bull. He takes in the sight before him quickly—the toilet, the spirit portal, Tooru’s hair in a towel cone—and leaps into action. He wades through the flood, reaching out, and Tooru stretches out his hands—Iwaizumi grabs his arms and heaves, and Tooru begins, ever so slowly, to pull free of the portal.

“GRAB ON, STUPID!” Iwaizumi shouts at him, and Tooru throws caution to the winds and flings his arms around his neck, and Iwaizumi seizes him around the waist and yells bloody murder as he leans all the way backwards—and then they’re falling free, onto the bathroom floor, Tooru crushed to Iwaizumi’s extremely firm and noticeably broad chest. There’s a howling, rushing noise, and all the water on the floor recedes whiplash fast, suctioned back into the toilet, which then closes its lid with a sassy and decisive snap.

For a moment, neither Tooru, nor Iwaizumi moves. They just lay there, panting and exhausted. Iwaizumi lets out a slow breath.

“Holy shit,” he says, “your apartment is haunted.”

Tooru sighs. “It’s not haunted. It’s being visited by spirits.”

“That literally is what haunted means,” Iwaizumi points out.

“We’re not visiting, we live here!” Tobio’s ghostly voice shouts in Tooru’s ear.

“I’m evicting you!” Tooru shouts back, incensed.

“Are you talking to the—” Iwaizumi says, before sitting up abruptly, causing Tooru to roll off of him. He hastily readjusts the towel around his waist—he’s lucky it stayed on at all. Iwaizumi swats at the air. “Hey! You fucking ghosts! What the hell is your problem?!”

“They’re trying to get me to—” Tooru pinches his lips shut, irritably. He settles on redirecting the conversation. “Why… how did you know I was in trouble?”

“I didn’t,” Iwaizumi says. “I mean, not until I heard you screaming.”

“Screaming seems like an exaggeration—”

“I thought it was the fire alarm at first,” Iwaizumi says. He is ruthless. Tooru likes it.

“Okay,” he concedes, “but that doesn’t explain why you were here.”

“Ah,” Iwaizumi says, “well… the days have been alternating.” When Tooru continues to look confused, he elaborates. “The first time you called us was on a Monday. Then Thursday of that same week. Then the next week, Friday. Then last week, back to Monday, then Thursday. Now it’s Friday, so I just thought…”

“Of course.” Tooru snaps his fingers in realization. “Spirits can’t tell the flow of time like you or I, so often, they’ll develop certain predictable paths of behavior… you must be sensitive to their ways in order to have seen that!”

Iwaizumi stares at him. “Or… I’m just better at pattern recognition than you are?”

Tooru waves a hand. “Whatever. Second question: did you break my door down?”

Iwaizumi’s expression turns slightly shifty. “Kicked it off its hinges, actually… I can fix it.”

Tooru only wishes he'd been there to witness it. Iwaizumi stands, and Tooru allows himself to be helped to his feet, Iwaizumi’s strong, sturdy arms steadying him after he pulls Tooru off the floor. He notices, then, two fuzzy gazes peering out of the mirror at him, and scowls at them. He can’t decide how angry he is yet. On the one hand, having Iwaizumi come daringly to his rescue is hardly the worst thing that could be happening to him on a Friday afternoon. On the other hand, he’d been stuck inside of a toilet when it had happened; not quite the stuff of romance novels.

Iwaizumi notices him staring, and turns to look curiously at the mirror. “You don’t act like they’re evil.”

“They’re not,” Tooru says, rolling his eyes. “They’re just meddlesome and stupid.”

“Hey!” Hinata yelps.

“Well, you are.”

Iwaizumi’s lips twitch. “So… mind telling me what they were meddling for?”

“Um…” Tooru does mind—but unfortuately, it doesn’t seem as though this is going to stop unless he does something drastic. Like telling Iwaizumi the truth. And so, because he doesn’t want some innocent civilian constantly being pulled into the affairs of ghosts, he says glumly, “They want me to ask you out.”

There. Now, Iwaizumi will reject him, and Kageyama and Hinata will finally get out of his business.

“Well, why don’t you?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Why don’t I what?”

“Why don’t you ask me out?”

Tooru opens his mouth to explain why he’s not going to ask Iwaizumi out, when his synapses finish firing properly. He blinks. “...I thought you’d say no.”

“Okay…” Iwaizumi says, and though his expression is completely serious, Tooru swears his dark eyes are gleaming a bit in amusement. “Why would I say no?”

“Because I’m weird,” Tooru tells him. Is he being made fun of?

Iwaizumi shrugs. “Everyone’s a little weird,” he says. “You talk to ghosts. I get crushes on idiots who can talk to ghosts. While I’m trying to fix their haunted toilet.”

“You—have a—” Tooru splutters. “On—on me?”

“Yeah, so, I may not have been totally honest before?” Iwaizumi confesses. “You did freak my colleague out, but I offered to take the house calls from you… I was pretty curious.”

Tooru gapes at him for a few more seconds, before composing himself. He attempts to sweep his hair back, but just ends up knocking the towel off his head. He acts like this was intentional.

“Well, then,” he says, “I’m glad that’s been resolved.” He turns to address the room at large. “You hear that, you monsters? I told you I’d take care of it, so you can stop being the worst, now.” Oh, my god, Iwaizumi is into him.

“You didn’t take care of jack shit,” Kageyama says.

“Language, Tobio-chan!”

“You swear all the time!”

“What… are their names again?” Iwaizumi asks.

“The stupid one is Shouyou,” Tooru says, ignoring Hinata’s continued protesting. “And the stupider one is Tobio.” Tobio joins in.

Iwaizumi tries unsuccessfully to bite back a grin. “Okay. Well… Shouyou, Tobio, I’m Hajime. It’s, uh—nice to meet you?”

The discarded towel suddenly lifts at the corners, like it’s waving at Iwaizumi. He takes a reflexive step backwards, before laughing, somewhat in shock. He waves back.

It makes Tooru feel terribly fond, which he hates; not just because he's only spoken to Iwaizumi five times so far in his life, but also because Hinata and Kageyama deserve an exorcism, not an introduction. But Tooru thinks he will let it slide, this once.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” he asks Iwaizumi.

“I would…” Iwaizumi says, “but I should probably head home to shower…”

“Stay,” Tooru says lightly, even though his heart is pounding, just a little. “And use mine?”

Iwaizumi grins. “Might as well. I’m pretty familiar with it already.”

This is actually a continuation of a previous ghost!KageHina fic I wrote, which can be read here! And has a sequel here~

[For easy-to-find updates on fic, I have a writing-only blog: @esselle-hq!]

[beheadingofmakai]

“Baller”

Lance “The Monster God” @tainbocuailnge hit me with:

for writing prompts, how about someone drunk bidding on a sword (or other weapon you're the one who knows shit about weapons) on ebay only to find out when it arrives that it is a magic and/or possessed sword that /desperately/ wants to belong to some mythical ancient hero despite it being the good old year of 2018 and if it has to whip its new owner into shape then so be it

So sit back, grab your pop corn, and let Uncle Drimo Beheading tell you the story of an unemployed man who drank a little bit too much and got in a scuffle with a mysterious man with an anime avatar, an event that changed his life.

                                                          ———  

“...And who the shit has an anime avatar on ePay?! You mean this freaking nerd outbid me? Get the hell out, let’s see what other deals he’s in, you’ve crossed the wrong unemployed drunk, shithead.”

The dark room’s sole source of light was the monitor’s light blue hue, reflected on a man’s glasses that sat in front of two tired, drunken, furious eyes.

2:38 AM, three bottles of schrobbeler, twelve cans of stout and a small army of discarded potato chip bags. It was a particularly bitter Friday, now Saturday, for Jan, and what better remedy for the sorrows of modern life than senseless spending? Like syrup finding is way down one’s throat, vigilantly hunting for a cold, the act of burning money seems oddly cathartic. It’s very much just pretending one’s current problems aren’t there by simply creating more trouble for oneself in the future. And sometimes, this future trouble is worth it if one’s splurging involves spiting someone with an anime avatar and a lot of booze. Not really, but it sure as hell seems so during the heat of a bid war.

“You think you’re hot shit, xX_KimikoKisser937_Xx? That I’m gonna let you flaunt your weight around just because you got some disposable income? I’m gonna shit on your sofa!”

Bills are a pain in the ass, aren’t they? Water, light, real estate, food expenses, cab fare... We’re lucky these brutes haven’t found a way to pipe oxygen and charge us for it yet, but it is what it is. And for bills, you need a job, for you kill those with your paycheck. Things were rocky, but stable enough the last few months for Jan Wildemors, but just yesterday, Fate decided to be that unlikable bitch we all hate and that hates us back, and he was laid off. No feedback or reason given, either. He was handed his stuff in a box that was missing a flap, and told to go, thank you for your hard work the last eight months, which is a very polite and corporate way of saying “go choke on a cat-o-nine-tails composed entirely of dildos”.

“Hah! Really regret on screwing me over with that keyboard now, don’t you, jackass?” Jan adjusted his glasses as he proudly asserted his dominance, victory his, not really sure what he just bought, but satisfied with the knowledge that he did. Hooray, unhealthy coping mechanisms! With his objective complete and his body at its limit, Jan went down like a glorious baboon that just missed a branch during its jump, his face smacking his desk as he lost consciousness like an ape plummets down a tree: With a lot of drool and a dull thud.

                                                          ———  

“Now, hold on just a second, let me check one more time with my bank, and--”

“Hey, you bought it, I just deliver it, now please just sign up already, and with all due disrespect, wear some pants next time. The day’s not even begun, and your hairy legs already ruined it. And yesterday too, retroactively.”

As the confused, unemployed man signed the paper on the clipboard (with a lent pen, of course), he was left one on one with the fruit of his idiocy: An ornate box, long and purple, the most expensive thing in the small apartment by far without even accounting for whatever it contained. “Oh man, oh man, I really messed up last night...”. Well! Whatever! It’s here already, so might as well open it! The best part of messing up is when you finally realize there’s no use in crying over spilled! Hooray, unhealthy coping mechanisms!

Inside the long and purple box was nothing other than a longsword, ornate and majestic. It was at this point that our dearest Jan propped a chair close to the window and prepared himself to just fucking throw himself out of it headfirst into the speeding traffic from the fourth floor.

“Welp, that’s that. I went and bought a sword. A sword. I can’t buy anything fancier than instant ramen or soggy lettuce leaves, not even the whole thing, I just got laid off from my job, and the first thing my drunk ass does is buy a sword. No wonder I had no cash when I checked in the morning. Well, alright, I’d like to thank my father for my ethics, my mother for my sense of humor, and neither of them for my savvy with finances, now let’s check out heaven, alley oop!”

“A moment, if you would.”

“Oh, sweet, the delirium is starting to kick in, I can hear voices! I love nervous breakdowns!”

“Face me when I speak to you, boy.”

Jan froze in place. This was the first time the panic voices ever were so untoward. He considered, for just a second, that maybe he truly wasn’t alone in this room, that perhaps, against all odds, that which was inside the box was the one...

“...Yes, it is I that speaks to you, now turn around and face me already, you unruly child.”

In the words of Oscar Wilde himself: “Holy shite”. 

“Hold on, what, no one told me swords could speak.”

“And they normally don’t, but I am not a normal sword.”

On top of the chair, wearing only a sleeveless white t-shirt and coffee stained boxers, Jan Wildemors faced the sword in the purple box, a faint silver aura blanketing it, the two staring at each other while Jan comprehended, little by little, that his mundane life was about to end. The faint glow of the morning sun that filtered in through the closed blinds accentuated this scene, the young man’s face stained with lines of bewilderment and amazement.

He then faced the window and tried to throw himself out again.

“H-hey, stop trying to kill yourself for a second and hear me out, will you not!? What kind of reaction is this to the honor of being addressed to by Moonflare itself!”

“Yeah, no thanks! I’m not only unemployed and in debt, now I am being plunged into some magic nonsense that I want no part of! This truly is the end for me!”

“Wait, you’ve no job and you owe money? That’s less than ideal, young one.”

“And now a sword is criticizing my life choices! This sucks!”

“Just hear me out, damn it!”

“Aaaaaa!”

“Aaaaaa!”

                                                        “Baller”

                                                          ———  

“Coffee or juice?”

“I’m a sword.”

“Yeah.”

The young man sat in front of the sword, sipping his coffee, finally wearing pants, the weapon unmoved from the purple box, its faint silver flow still emanating like a candle at the end of a long, dark hallway. A resigned sigh is all the young man could muster, lifting his arms in very real surrender.

“Alright, let’s do this. What’s up?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’s up’? First your purchase me and now you wonder what the dickens I am? Where is it that I came from? How could you possibly acquire a Resonant Arm without knowing? Is this some manner of jest?”

“Yeah, look, I’m not going to lie to you, Monsieur Sword, I--”

“Moonflare.”

“Hm?”

“I’m no Monsieur, nor am I a Madame, I am a sword with a name, and that name is Moonflare. Be sure to use it.”

“Yeah, sure. Anyways, so yesterday, I was laid off from my job, so I got real damn drunk, and decided, yeah, Imma buy a gaming keyboard! It’s a sound investment! It’ll improve my morale and help out with my job hunting!”

“Uh huh...”

Jan stretched and sipped from his coffee, making keyboard motions with his free hand. “No, for real, reward yourself, and then be responsible without a regret! It works! Sometimes! Unfortunately, the model I wanted was the last one in stock in ePay, this bidding website for online transactions--”

“You bought me online!?” Moonflare cut in.

“What, that weird?”

“I’m a Resonant Arm! It’s akin to saying someone bought a priceless relic on the internet!”

“Well, about that...” Jan produced his smartphone, tapped it a couple of times, and pointed the screen to the hilt, where he assumed the sword’s “eyes” were. Jan is no sword biologist, so we hope you’ll excuse his beginner’s mistake. “...People kinda buy really expensive things like the Mona Liz--”

“Someone bought the Mona Lizard!?”

“On the internet.”

“Curses!”

“Yeah, so I guess you ended up being sold off online, and whether your previous owner knew about you being a Restaurant Arm or not is anyone’s guess, but the fact is, the keyboard I wanted was ripped from my bloody, splintered fingers by some asshole with an anime avatar that outbid me at the last second. So I got mad and went to outbuy him in something else he was putting money in for.”

“...What for?”

“A foolish and short-lived sense of satisfaction and spite.”

“Marvelous, and that’s how you came to own me.”

“That’s the whole shebang, ya.”

If the sword had eyes, their revolutions per second would create a localized cyclone. It was clear this was a six piece McNobody who just obtained them as a consequence of bad impulse control and good taste in alcohol.

“...Well then,” Moonflare finally let out, as if forcing words out of its sword throat. “You know, at least you’re honest. Well, this might just be what you need.”

Jan’s eyebrow raised inquisitively. “...What do you mean?”

“This could be destiny at play, young man. No job, crippling debt, the end of the road, that’s what life is for you right now. And at the moment of most need, when you see the horizon as a guillotine encroaching on your throat with each passing day, cooped up in this cell that no doubt will be subjected to embargo, you come across me, Moonflare the Pilgrimbreaker, Resonant Arm... No doubt you see where this is going, right?”

“What are you suggesting...?” Jan inquired, his interest thoroughly piqued.

“You can be a Hero. I can make you a Hero. One worthy of wielding the real me. Look around you, you know you want this. Say, what’s that poster over there, above the couch?”

Jan looked to where the sword had verbally pointed and found his old Funny Fantasy VII poster, with its protagonist boldly wielding his weapon in an action pose.

“It’s my Funny Fantasy VII Collector’s Edition poster. It’s my favorite game ever.”

“And who is that brazen, courageous man showcased oh so prominently in the forefront?”

“That’s Clown Strife! A failed JESTER who didn’t have it in him to make it big in the ranks of the CIR.cus organization! After taking to wandering as a mercenary, his freelancing eventually landed him smack in the middle of a huge, world-class incident!”

“Poetic, is it not? You’ve just been released from your own job, you’re swamped in debt, and nothing seems to be going right... And that’s when we cross roads. It’s not only that you don’t really have a choice, this is the right choice. We’ll make it big.”

For the first time in years, Jan’s eyes shone with a fire they had long forgotten. Hopping from job after job, doing shit he didn’t wanna do, forcing smiles for nasty bosses who didn’t give a damn about him... It could all be over. It could all remain in the past, were he to become a Hero.

“I’ll do it.” he said, resolution dripping from his voice and fire emanating from his eyes like a faulty smelter. “Let’s do this!”

                                                          ———  

“Let’s not do this!”

“Quit whining and give me ten more laps!”

“Stop giving me more laps!”

“Then stop whining, cur!”

It’s been a week of this tragedy. Day after day, night after night, the sword and man duo engaged in this pitiful play. Moonflare, the sharpest drill sergeant in town, attacked the would-be Hero with arduous routine after routine, if one could call “20 hours straight of morbidly harsh training” a routine, by any stretch. When he was finally done doing suspended midair push-ups with a tire, Moonflare gave the signal (which is a disappointed sigh, by the way), and Jan finally came down.

“You’ve got the physical condition, Jan, you are fit and can move well, but you don’t take pressure well.” the sword chided. “How are we going to achieve fame like this?”

“...”

This silent reply didn’t go unnoticed.

“Is there something that’s bothering you, young one?”

“Yes, actually. You keep mentioning ‘fame’. We need to be the best to cause an impression this, we need to be at our peak condition that, you seem really obsessed with fame. Isn’t a Hero’s role to save people in the first place?”

But now, the silence came from the sword.

“...Hey, I’ve put up with this for a week, you could at least tell me what a Restaurant Arm is already in addition to answering to what I just said. I’m breaking my back, almost literally, here.”

“You make a good point.” the sword replied with what almost was a sigh. “A Resonant Arm, and please get ‘Resonant’ right already, is a weapon crafted with a fragment of a powerful weapon of legend. In this body, I am powerful sword with capabilities far beyond regular weapons, yet, I’m still a shade of my true potential. It’s because only a shard of my original body is in this shell.”

“Oh! So wait, you’re not just some delirium or haunted sword with delusions of grandeur?”

“I ought to pierce a lung of yours for that statement, hmph! Indeed, I am not a figment of your desperate psyche, I am indeed THE Moonflare, the Pilgrimbreaker, the Discipliner, the...”

Jan scratched his head as he drank some water as Moonflare went on and on with his titles before he interjected. “I’ve never heard of you.”

That window shattering in the distance? That’s Moonflare’s confidence you just heard. “...Yeah, that’s the problem.”

“Hm?”

“...I am a legendary weapon, but I am unsung, because my previous master didn’t care for fame in the slightest.”

Jan simply looked at the sword, as if telling it to go on.

“...Centuries ago, I belonged to The Pilgrimbreaker, a very unknown Hero. There’s no records of her real name, for she refused to announce it, there’s no records of her face, for she always wore a helmet that shrouded it, and there’s no records of where she went to after the Mana Turbulence, for she disappeared without saying a word after all was said and done. Just a few souls in this world know about her, hence why I’m an unsung legendary weapon.”

“Huh... I was thinking she was small time, but the Mana Turbulence was a big deal way back in the day, wasn’t it? Was she weak compared to the other Heroes or something?”

“Nonsense!” Moonflare suddenly raised its voice in stark contrast to its usual calm bearing. “Pilgrimbreaker was the real deal! I never could see eye to eye with her, but I will never tolerate illspeak of her!”

“W-woah!”

“Her form was perfect, her mind impenetrable, her defense unbreakable and her aggression irresistible! She struck fear in whoever was in the wrong side of her blade! Do you know where she got the moniker of Pilgrimbreaker, boy!?”

“Moonflare, calm down, I didn’t mean to--”

“She singlehandedly infiltrated the dread cavern where the Pilgrims Of Brozarok held the Ritual Of Turbulence, which would’ve torn the world’s apart thrice had it been completed, and killed every last one of the wicked dastards! Her arm swished left and right, which each move an impact responding, each swipe a life taking, over and over, dodging curses and enduring maladies! She fought for an entire two days, killing every single Pilgrim in the cavern. By the time four hours had passed, I had gone dull from the sheer and excessive amount of cleaving, and yet, she relented not! With myself as a blunt hunk of moonsteel, she kept going, going, and going! What once were slashes now were blunt strikes, but her sheer strength would break them apart all the same! By the forty eighth hour, when she had broken every Pilgrim and stopped the Ritual, her own sword arm lay shattered and her muscles swollen. She saved the world! She saved us all...”

“...But she’s not famous, not unlike the other Heroes whose names are now in history books, huh?”

Today, Jan learned that swords could indeed cry. “Indeed... The other Heroes actually acknowledged and respected her. Some admired her! They worked together many times, and they were all equally instrumental in stopping the Turbulence. However, she always insisted in others not singing her praises. She foolishly refused to reveal face or name, and eventually, history forgot her.”

“...I guess that explains why you were sold as an antique at best online. No one knows the true of your previous Master, and thus, of your deeds.”

“...Yes. I suppose that makes sense.”

“So I guess your true body, that is, the true Moonflare is elsewhere, if only a fragment is built in you?” Jan inquired, going back to that topic not only because of his genuine curiosity, but also to change the topic, as it clearly was a sensitive topic for Moonflare.

“Yes and no. The ‘true’ Moonflare would imply I’m a fake one. I am indeed Moonflare, just, not in my true body. This blade was forged with a fragment found in the cavern where the Pilgrims met their end. As thus, I have consciousness in this ‘body’. Resonant Arms are called a such because they resonate with their true bodies, and can thus direct their owners to the real legendary weapons. Since it’s my body, I know where it is -- where I am.”

Jan’s eyes shot wide open and he choked on water. “Pwaah! H-hold on, if we can go get your real body, then why haven’t we done that?! We’ve just been wasting time for a week!”

“It’s not that easy. I need to make sure you are worthy. Not anyone can handle a legendary weapon, and you need to show me your physical and mental aptitude. That’s why, today, we’ll have a little test.”

“What? What’s this test? If you make me run more laps, I swear to Aunt Jemima I’ll--”

“We’ll go and do heroic deeds! The streets are dangerous at night, no? We’ll go and stop a crime! Then, I shall judge you!”

“Oh!”

It was finally time. After a whole week of this tiresome nonsense, of pushing his body to the utter limit, of ragging his muscles to shreds, it was finally time to engage in the whole Heroing dealio! And Jan, our strapping would-be Hero, simply couldn’t wait.

                                                          ———  

The streets of the city aren’t exactly what you’d call safe. In fact, they are not what you’d call “oh they are alright as long as you stay in the main streets and by the light”, either. Every back alley you see is a brave new world of armed robbery and assault, with your neck and wallet ripe for the taking. The ideal place to truly thrive as the scum of society and get your doctorate in banditry. Why, just now, a helpless office worker, on her way back from overtime, has found herself tangled in an interesting business proposition between herself and a switchblade pressed against her neck. The switchblade’s companion, a rather forceful fellow with an iron grip and a neck covered in veins, currently yells at her politely, suggesting she voluntarily makes a generous donation to his wallet. How beautiful they are, the streets of this city, rife with opportunity and bankrupted in morals and safety.

Little did the streets know that a brand new market element was about to change their business dynamic.

“Hold it right there, fiend!”

The sudden voice blindsided the mugger not from behind, but from above. As his neck craned to see just who in the world would dare interrupt such an important business meeting, he soon found his answer: It was the man wielding a longsword that currently plummeted towards him.

“The fu--!” The mugger moved out of the way in time to avoid feasting on boots, finally finding himself face to face with the vigilante. The lady that was being mugged couldn’t help but stare in disbelief at the cloaked figure of justice, its silver blade glimmering under the moonlight with unnatural fervor. The billowing cape and the small domino mask made it abundantly clear that this was no mere civilian, this was a vigilante who meant business.

“R-repent now, wrongdoer! Surrender yourself peacefully, and you may yet know mercy!”

“Oi! What’s wrong! Don’t stutter your lines!” Moonflare whispered.

“H-how do you expect me not to!? These lines are so cheesy and stupid...! J-just let me handle the script, yeah?”

“Absolutely not! Who is the seasoned legendary weapon here? If I may be so bold, I believe I know more about this whole Hero business than you do! Just follow my lead and we’ll rake in the fame I de-- we deserve! Now shush!”

With a sigh, Jan simply surrendered and went along with it, dramatically pointing the sword towards his foe. “Hark! Release the dame or taste the righteous fury of the Pilgrimbreaker, miscreant! Know that I shan’t stay my hand a second longer!”

“...pfff...”

A small chuckle finally interrupted the monologue of the would-be Hero. It wasn’t the mugger that let it out, however, it was the victim.

“pppfff... I-I’m sorry, but wow, you are extremely lame. A domino mask? Cape? Really? What C-list telenovela did you jump out from? Shouldn’t you be looking for your missing baby? Maybe slashing ‘Z’s on walls like a loser? Please do me a favor and let me get robbed, it’d be far more dignified than letting you save me, Costume Party.” the lady mercilessly commented, performing Herculean efforts to contain her laughter.

“Shit, I know, right? Who goes, ppfppfffffff, who goes all ‘reepehnt villuns!’ anymore? Did your mom slam dunk you when you were a child, guy? Cloak and mask over sweatpants and a sleeveless wife beater with coffee stains? Really?” the robber added, shaking his head.

“A full outfit is expen--”

“Then don’t wear any at all, idiot! You only look like an overgrown manchild going out trick or treating! You really looked at yourself in the mirror and thought, ‘yeah, this is cool, I look like justice itself, I’ll drown in pussy!’?” the supposed victim harshly mocked, her laughter now out of control.

“Pffff, yeah right, this guy couldn’t score in brothel. His birth certificate is an apology note from the condom factory. Imagine being this asshole’s mom!”

“Oh, fuck off! Someone carried this thing for nine months! Imagine looking at this dude’s FateBook and seeing him posting pics of his outfit, like, ‘Yeah! Ready to fight crime! #Herointhemaking’, and then thinking, yeah, I did this, I made this, I was irritable and in pain for 9 months so I could bring this specimen to the world. At that point, I rip my ovaries out with my own hands and play ping pong with them.” she mercilessly chided.

“Bwaaahahahaha! Hey, you are really funny, and pretty cute, now that I look at you.” observed the criminal, apparently taken with her, now that he could see her better, out of the darkest reaches of the back alley.

“You are not bad yourself... I like a man that can handle a knife. Say, are you free right now? I’d like to unwind after work. We had a meeting today and my bitch of a supervisor, who happens to be why I drink, was on one of those moods today.”

“I’m down for that. I know a really good place here, they have craft beer really cheap, since they make it themselves, and the steak is to die for. Let’s leave Captain Virgin behind and get started!”

The mugger and the victim looked at each others’ eyes with just an inkling of passion for a few seconds before walking away, arm in arm, leaving behind our would-be Hero, the night young and ripe for their taking. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship that would steer the young man towards rehabilitation and for him to abandon the ways of the petty street criminal, working long and hard for his doctorate in electrical engineering, a career he dropped out of, with the loving support of his girlfriend, whose own lifestyle greatly improved thanks to his good domestic skills and the encouraging fire of his pep talks. Together, they had three children (two of them twins) and lived a happy, humor filled life, growing old together, hand in hand.

Anyways, back to the present, where Jan’s self-esteem was shattered into so many pieces that you couldn’t even vacuum clean them.

“...What did just happen...?” Moonflare inquired, confused, no scratching his sword chin with the sword hand it didn’t have.

“C-crime successfully prevented! A-all part of the plan!”

“Are you crying?”

“Of joy!”

“Are you also trembling of joy?”

“Y-yup!”

“...In your parlance, this ‘sucked’, didn’t it?”

“Yup.”

“I really don’t know what to say, Jan. This is the first time I see an attempt at crimestopping end up in matchmaking. You might be cut out to be a Cupid more than a Hero, perhaps. Well, no matter, let’s try with the next--”

“Oh no no, look here, we’re not doing this again.” the would-be Hero vehemently declared, ripping his tiny domino mask off and throwing it in a nearby trash can. “No way. This sucks. Your way sucks. I’m absolutely not doing this your way. Look, we’re doing this my way, or it’s the highway for you.”

“Fool, I’ve got more experience, you must listen to me, and then we’ll be famous!” argued Moonflare, its silver glow intensifying as if to show irritation.

“You’ve no legs, so the highway means I’ll dunk you into the nearest river and call it a day. Now, you listen to me and you better listen well, Moonflare.” Jan’s voice finally hardened up, much like his grip on Moonflare’s hilt. “I’m neck-deep in debt, out of a job, stuck with a stupid sword that talks like a shitty Shakespearian secondary character, humiliated and ready to go and throw myself off that window, just like I should have. You either take me to your real body right now, or I’ll really make sure no one can find you. I’ll take a damn loan for a shovel and some scubba gear, dipshit. I’ll bury you at the bottom of a river or a lake, and no one will know.”

“Jan, please wait, you are clearly making a hasty decision here, your body and mind are not ready for the brunt of a legendary weapon,  just follow my lead and--”

“And keep playing Cupid to victims and their would be assailants? Fuck off and fuck you. You’ve three seconds to start leading the way.”

Seeing as there was no convincing Jan, Moonflare finally complied, giving in to the demands of Captain Vir-- Jan.

                                                          ———  

Marble tiles, ivory pillars, and a massive sanctum lit only by mysterious floating gems that shone a dim blue. This was the Sanctum Of Moonflare, hidden deep within the underground, a place impossible to reach unless you know of it, as the path to it will capriciously twist and curve to kick you out if you don’t, leading you back to the entrance, no doubt all part of the arcane architecture that the gnomes who built this place are known for. Only Heroes, or those with the aptitude to become one, could reach this place.

“Well, it’s awfully convenient that this was located under the sewers of my city. What are the odds?”. Jan wore his trademark sleeveless white t-shirt and black sweatpants, without the silly cape and mask, of course. The majestic room clearly had gotten his attention, his eyes scanning the place thoroughly with child-like admiration, whistling at the intricate handiwork of the engravings in the ivory pillars that held the place together. “Sure looks like a place where you’d find a legend!”

“Odds had nothing to do with it.” curtly replied Moonflare. “We are no longer underneath your city. We are far, far away, in another country, actually.”

“Oh, quit it. We just went down a manhole, don’t try to embellish your shitty tale more than you need to.”

“I speak the truth, cur. This place is not subject to the physics and logic of the world. All Sanctums that hold a legendary weapon are hidden away in places that would be impossible to reach physically, and instead, one must know of the place and fulfill a certain number of rules in order to reach them. My Sanctum, as an unsung weapon, hasn’t difficult rules, as you can see.”

“I assume they are something like ‘knowing about the place’, ‘travelling underground while intending to reach it’, and ‘carrying a fragment of Moonflare’?”

The sword didn’t respond for a few seconds. “...That’s spot on, actually. Those are the three rules. How did you...?”

“Intuition. Places like this turn up in games and novels a lot. Perhaps they were inspired by the real tales of old Heroes in the first place, with no one knowing any better.”

“...The era of mass information is terrifying.” the sword lamented, still not used to the 21st century.

In the center of the massive Sanctum, a staircase led to an altar where a protrusion with a sword planted in it could be seen. As the duo approached the gorgeous marble staircase, the engravings of the ivory altar, which turned out to be runes, glowed with the same dim blue at the crystals that floated aimlessly, resonating with the fragment in the incomplete Moonflare, the structure making a noise that was simultaneously organic and mechanical.

“Well, it’s ready. Try and fail so we can get out of here.”

“...So, you are a sword in a stone that only the worthy can pull out, huh?”

“Good, seems you’re familiar with the concept. Saves me having to explain it to you. This is what I meant when I said you were not ready. Now, give it your futile go so we can go back and apply ourselves to accruing fame.”

As Jan’s hand approached the indigo hilt of the true Moonflare, just inches away before he could grip it, Jan and Moonflare were interrupted by a slow clap behind them.

“Bravo! You actually made it here. My compliments! Now, would you please turn around and face me, you thief? I’d so love to see your face.”

Surprised by the sudden personage, the duo turned around to see a man dressed in an exquisite purple suit, two long and curved blades hanging on his hips, one on each side. “What do you mean, ‘thief’? I ain’t taken a thing from you.”

“I disagree, you lout. That sword you insolently grip right now should have been mine to begin with.” he replied, his footsteps echoing in the ample hall as he approached Jan.

“Hold on... xX_KimikoFucker456_Xx!? Is that you!?”

“Kisser! xX_KimikoKisser937_Xx! Get it right!”

“So it is you, the weeb from ePay that outbid my keyboard! You asshole, I should’ve guessed only someone with an username like that would wear a tacky purple suit and carry two... Ppfff.... Two katanas! My goodness, you really are a disaster! Where’s your fedora? Shouldn’t you be at home complaining about the fairer sex?”

“These are tachi, you ignorant, insolent nobody! And the plural of ‘katana’ is ‘katana’, which you’d know if you knew anything about weaponry. You’ve got a lot of nerve to outbuy me for a Resonant Arm, but... I wager you had no clue it was one, am I wrong?”

“Oh, please, of course I kn--”

“He had no idea and everything you say is correct”

“Moonflare, shut up, the people with opposable thumbs are talking right now!”

“You’re telling me this is all because you were mad that I outbid you for a gaming keyboard? You went a got in a bidding war with me for a legendary weapon just because you couldn’t accept that someone took a blasted keyboard from you?”

“Ye.”

“Incredible.”

“Indeed, I said the same.”

xX_KimikoKisser937_Xx sighed and simply took a stance, his hand on the left tachi’s hilt. “...My name is Clement Marmaduke Solaris, and I challenge you to a duel for the Moonflare that you currently hold. In the impossible case that you defeat me, I shall gracefully relent and admit defeat, pursuing you nevermore.”

“Hey, quick question.” Jan shot at Clement as he readied his blade in a stance unlike anything Moonflare taught him during the hellish training week. “Does everyone involved with legendary weaponry and Heroes and all this jimjam talk like a loser nerd? Is it part of, like, a contract? Why do none of you speak like a fucking real person? Is it too hard to not be immediately unlikable as soon as you open your mouth?”

“...Do you accept my duel?”

“On one condition. If I win, you gotta give me the keyboard.”

“You’re still going on about that, Jan!?” the sword chastised, but Clement simply laughed.

“Very well. If I win, I get Moonflare, and if you win, you get the Palanquin Corsair K195 RGB Platinum Gaming Keyboard.”

With a nod, both men agreed to the terms of the duel, and not ten seconds passed before they were at it, the two clashing as the altar with the true Moonflare served as their judge. Eschewing all of the sword’s antiquated teachings, Jan’s fighting style was far more fluid and natural than the proper sword technique Moonflare would rather he used, involving tumbling on the ground and spinning, launching unpredictable slashes and thrusts from every direction and angle.

“Jan! What in the world is this!”

“Breakdancing! I do this a lot, hence why I was in shape before your training. Your formal style is too stiff and old, this suits me better!”

“We’ll never be famous with a silly style like this! Just use the proper style of Pilgrimbreaker, and--”

“Fame, fame, fame! It’s all you talk about! Put a sock on it, already! I don’t give a fuck!”

But just because he was doing much better didn’t mean he had the advantage. Clement’s technique was equally unorthodox, drawing his blade with lightning speed and re-sheathing it, shooting out attacks with immense force as he attacked and defended at the same time.

“Impressive, Jan. I didn’t think you’d last a second against my Iaijutsu.”

“Just like a weeb to use freakin’ Iai... But I hate to admit that you are really good at it.”

“Oh, you flatter me, but you’d seen nothing!”

Jan spun and flipped in the air to attack Clement with a smashing overhead, but the man in the suit, with practiced mastery and a cool head, blocked the attack using his tachi’s pommel, paralyzing Jan with the impact, and subsequently launching him across the room with a powerful sheath thrust to the gut, saliva and tears shooting from Jan’s face.

“Phwoo! Sh-shit... He’s really good...” Jan struggled to say as he cough and barely managed to get back on his wobbly feet, the air knocked out of him. “...He may be a loser, but he’s a strong one...!”

“Cease this child’s play and use the style I taught you already, Jan!”

“I’m afraid there’s no need to. I’m done playing.” Clement approached the duo, none the worse for wear, the pressure around him increasing tenfold compared to what it was before. He was clearly holding back, but playtime was over. “You are a disappointment, Jan. I held back to see if you truly had what it takes, but you don’t even clear the minimum requirement. That Moonflare and you are opposites, and thus, without ever agreeing on what your purpose should be, nay, in how you should even move, you’ll never unleash its true potential. Ready yourself.” Without letting go of the hilt on his left hip, Clement’s left hand now reached for the hilt on his right hip.

“...Wait, no way, are you really gonna--!”

“Hwaa!”

He was less a man and more a raging storm. With speed that defies comprehension, Clement’s attacks doubled in both velocity and quantity, employing iai strikes with both swords at the same time. If the flurry of one such blade was already difficult to keep up with, defending against this storm of steel was impossible. The sheer impact and velocity of the bladed tempest lifted Jan off the floor, silver and blood dancing around his helpless frame as his clothes were ragged to tatters, his mangled body landing square on the altar, next to Moonflare.

“H...Holy shit... I can’t fight that...”

The footsteps approached him. “Indeed, you can’t. Now, surrender the sword. You can’t keep going.”

There simply was no way for Jan to win. With a pained sigh and a bloody cough, he mustered the strength to extend Moonflare towards the Iai master. “Yeah, it makes sense for you to have it... You’ll make a better Hero than me in every way...”

“Hero...? What are you talking about?”

Jan twitched, confusion tinging his face. “Huh? Don’t you want Moonflare to become a Hero?” The statement was apparently a devastating joke, for Clement could barely contain his laughter.

“Of course not, silly. I just want Moonflare in my collection! I’m a collector of weapons who travels all across the world finding different antiques and relics, but alas, I’ve grown tired of simple mundane masterpieces. I’ve set my eyes, thus, on legendary weapons, and with Moonflare as my first, my collection will reach the next level.”

“Hark!” Moonflare interrupted, shining a furious silver. “I’m no ornament! I refuse to gather dust in your vault when there’s heroic deeds to be performed! You can simply commission a replica if you must! You have a fragment of me, as well, don’t you? You wouldn’t be able to come here otherwise.”

“Hah! Indeed, a fragment, albeit one too small to even house your consciousness. I’ve waited here for little over a week for you to show up. A weapon ought to obey, for without an owner, you are nothing. Simply sit tight in my basement as the crown jewel of my collection, O mighty Pilgrimbreaker, and cease your yapping?”

“...Don’t give me that bullshit.”

Blood oozing from his wounds, muscles tearing from the exertion and damage, Jan stood up, a new fire in his eyes. “You know, I was ok with losing to you. Moonflare’s a dick, but it’s a strong sword. If it was in the hands of a capable swordsman, no doubt it could mete out some ridiculous amounts of justice, enough to clean up the streets easily! I was ok with that Hero not being me! But you...”

“Jan...?” “Oh?”

Jan pointed at Clement. “You are no Hero! You’re just a selfish little cunt who wants to feel good by filling his basement with shiny things! I’ll never give Moonflare, the Pilgrimbreaker to you! Not such a storied blade with a bright future in front of it!”

“Hah!” Clement could only laugh. “And how, I wonder and ponder, do you expect to make good on that? You are no match for me. Will you seriously throw yourself to the grinder for these ideals? Heroes are a thing of the past, and should remain so! They have no place in the modern world!”

“Oh, fuck you. Moonflare! I finally understand Pilgrimbreaker.”

“What do you mean...?”

Jan simply took a deep breath and approached the sword stuck in the stone of the altar. “Pilgrimbreaker was a real Hero precisely because she didn’t give a damn about fame. You only held her back, but she still managed to save the world.”

“What!”

“You’re obsessed with fame. You just want the glory of other weapons and their Heroes, and I kinda do feel for you, but that’s not what Heroism is about. You know what my job was before I got fired? I was an insurance agent. I got fired because I kept giving people benefits. Insurance is supposed to be there for when tragedy strikes.”

“...” “Oh...?”

“When you have a car accident, when your parents die, when you get sick with a complex illness, insurance is supposed to cover for you. But my boss kept insisting that we find ways to screw our clients over, to bring up the small letter of a contract and fuck ‘em over! I ignored it, gave our clients our support, and that meant loses for the big wigs on top, loses they recouped by kicking me out. I thought I could make the world a better place, yet, it was another dumb pyramid scheme, the insurance game. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of all this shit!”

Jan grabbed the sword’s hilt. “Moonflare! Pilgrimbreaker was the same! Heroes are all about public image, but she kept fighting as silently and anonymously as she could! Fame didn’t cross her mind! She wanted to make a difference! I admire her, I didn’t know about her until this week, but I wholeheartedly admire her! You should be ashamed of disrespecting her style and respecting only her strength!”

“Jan, I...”

The silver glow of the blade turned gold, and strength seeped into Jan’s body. The golden glow of affinity, achieved only when user and weapon are one mind and one soul, shone brightly from both sword and man, Jan’s words striking chords Moonflare didn’t even know about.

“...Interesting. Still, you won’t be able to draw that sword. A little bit of determination isn’t enough to change the world, which is exactly the kind of power that Moonflare requires to be drawn.”

“Bite me, nerd. Moonflare! Your methods are old, but your power is real! What you need to become a Hero in the modern day is to be a baller!”

“A... A what?”

“Baller! One who can do, no, who does what needs to be done. One who can make a difference, and makes the difference! Not one with the potential, but one with the intent! If we are to change this cynic piece of shit world, you need more than tradition! You need innovation! And with this innovation, we’ll pull out your body!”

“Jan, that’s fine and all, but it’s not how it works! But...” The sword’s golden aura intensified. “Whatever! We’re doing this your way! Let’s do this!”

Jan gripped the true Moonflare with all of his might and pulled, pulled, and pulled. Even the massive power boost from synchronizing with Moonflare didn’t seem to be enough. “W-we can’t do it...! You don’t have the power to change the world just yet, it’s nothing one can achieve overnight! That’s why I didn’t want to bring you here!”

“I don’t have the power to change the world...”

The altar rumbled.

“I don’t have the wisdom, either... The tradition... The pedigree...”

Cracks began to form on the floor surrounding the altar.

“But I have the heart! And there’s no way I’m surrendering you to an egoist jackass like this! I don’t have the power to change the world, but I sure as hell have it to draw one stupid sword--!”

The floor quaked wildly.

“--And start with the small things, like the streets! I don’t have the power to change the world, but that won’t stop me from trying!”

With a sound as loud as an explosion, rocks flew everywhere and a wall of dust obscured Clement’s vision as Jan let out one final scream. When the dust finally settled some, Clement couldn’t believe his eyes. In front of him, Jan stood boldly, the True Moonflare resting atop his shoulder... Still embedded to the rock and the altar, which he simply carried as if it was nothing.

“Y-you what!? You just ripped the altar off the ground?!”

“I got no time for these dumbass traditions and tests of worthiness you losers like so much! This sword is rotting away down here when it could be saving lives and making the world a better place! If I have to take it with stone and altar and all, so be it! I like clubs better than swords, anyways!”

“This is unprecedented...! No one ever ripped the whole altar along with the sword! You technically didn’t draw me, but at the same time, you practically did! Is this the modernity you speak of?”

“Damn right! I’ll drag the entirety of the Sanctum if I need to. A little altar stuck to the sword is nothing! Now, Clement... Clench your teeth.”

“You dastard...! Hand over Moonflare!”

“Take it from me, bitch!”

Clement once again turned into a cyclone of steel, his infinite slashes approaching Jan faster than a ballistic satellite could catch, but Jan stood calm, took a deep breath in, and swung the altar-sword forward, like a baseball bat, with all of his might. The holy altar clashed with the furious steel, and the steel shattered into pieces. Behind the steel was the arm that held it, and the arm, too, was shattered into pieces, mere bone unable to withstand the impact of a ton of ivory and righteous Heroism. Behind the arm that held the steel was a body, and the body was, too, shattered into pieces, the single deft swing enough to incapacitate Clement easily, his mangled body rolling away from the sheer force of the impact, a few lucky bones in his body unbroken.

“W...Wha...? H-how...?”

“The thing is, Clement, you ain’t a baller. You are simply a selfish rich boy who looked at people’s hope and saw an ornament for his wall. You could never swing this blade meant to serve the people. You ain’t shit, Clement.”

                                                          ———  

“Hey, we’re on the newspaper again!”

“...Is it another collateral damage report?”

“...Y-yup...”

The sword sighed.

“We sure are stopping crime and accruing fame, just, not the kind of fame I wanted...”

“Hey! We’re saving people! What if a few cars or buildings get smashed in the process? I-It stimulates the economy!”

“Maybe if you were more careful when swinging me! I have a whole boulder-like altar stuck to my body!”

“Ok, ok, mom, chill. Let’s just go home now. We keep at it like this, and crime’s a-gone in a few weeks. No one wants to risk being clobbered by an altar, after all.”

The duo jumped from rooftop to rooftop, Jan lugging the massive altar casually atop of his shoulder still, less sword and more comically oversized hammer. 

“You just wanna keep gaming with that new keyboard, don’t you? I swear... You should be training to be able to draw me properly!”

“You can’t rush Heroism, Moonflare! As long as we keep being ballers, we’ll get there eventually!”

“...Heh, you’re right, Jan. Yeah, sure, let’s go.”

What is a Hero? A beacon of hope for the people? Or someone who acts for their safety in the shadows? Both are valid definitions, and many more kinds of Heroes exist, too. There’s some that are Heroes due to their lineage, while others are self-made, defying expectation and rising to greatness, all that truly matters is that you seek greatness for yourself and others, regardless of how you go about it. Some prefer the bombastic splendor of the spotlight, while others feel comfy in the shadows, but as long as you are excellent to one another and keep going and going, no doubt you’ll become a Hero in your own way, be that sticking to old tradition or carving your own path.

For Jan and Moonflare, the path to being a Hero is to be Ballers.

“...But really, stop causing collateral damage, your debt is only getting worse, you idiot.”

“Oh, shut the hell up.”

...Even if it’s expensive sometimes.

                                                                                                             End.

[d0gdaze]

Totally forgot if I sent you a song already but if I didn't here's this! 'Modern Love' by David Bowie ~grownups-are-the-real-monsters

I love this song afshjkdal thank youThis is kind of messy and half finished but it was getting too long so

Word count: 2348

Pairings: Reddie, Stenbrough, Benverly

It was their lastday of high school, the final bell had rung and they all ran likehell to the parking lot and piled into Richie’s truck, Richie andEddie in the front seats, Mike, Ben, and Beverly in the back, andStan and Bill holding on for dear life in the cargo tray, the radioblasting Hungry Like The Wolf while they all screamed along,all of them absolutely overflowing with euphoria and a love for life.They drove straight to the Barrens without anyone even needing tosuggest it, it just felt so right thatthey would end up there after all these years. Intheir minds that was their starting point, where four had become fiveand then six, and then eventually seven. Lucky seven, as Bill hadsaid that fateful day, as they watched Henry Bowers scramble off onhis hands and knees following that rock war. Richie still had a smallscar on his forehead from a stone that had damn near knocked himunconscious, now hidden by a mess of blackcurls, but still a glorious reminder of their triumph.

Theypulled up on the side of theroad and jumped out of thevehicle, towing their backpacks that they had filled inpreparation that morning withfood and alcohol (but mostly alcohol), acouple picnic blankets, and Richie’s brand new boom-box that he hadbeen saving up for since junior year. Theyknew that evening was goingto be theirs, and the rest ofthe world, every problem and bad memory and all the pain they hadgone through, it all just wouldn’t exist.

Theyflew, hooting and hollering, through the trees to the clearing alongthe Kenduskeag stream, the same spot where an eleven year old BenHanscom had run into a much smaller Eddie Kaspbrak having an asthmaattack, and where they had later built the best damn dam in theworld. Where Richie Trashmouth Tozierhad mortified both Eddie andStan as they watched him and Bill trudge through the greywater inthat sewer pipe. It’s where Bill had first kissed Beverly and whereBeverly had first kissed Ben as confused lovestruck teenagers. It’swhere fifteen year old Mikehad captured a blurry photograph of a very surprised and cluelessEddie falling backwards into the water after an acne-ridden Richieleant in to kiss him, and another where Eddie had pulled Richiein after him by the collar ofhis shirt and kissed him back. It’s where first Stan, and then Bill,had come out to the group in junior year, and a week later confessedthey had been seeing each other in secret for months, and where therest of them tried their best to act like it was news. And so, somuch more. That place was theirs, and it always would be.

Theyset up their things, Stan and Bill laying out the blankets, Beverly,Ben, and Mike pulling countless bottles and cans out of everyone’sbags and grouping them together on the ground next to the boom-box.Richie and Eddie had already made it clear they weren’t going to beof any help, as Richie hadEddie thrown over his shoulder, pounding his fists in protest againsthis back and screamingat him to let him go asRichie spun around in circles, cackling like a lunatic. Richiereceived a punch in the stomach after Eddie managed to squirm out ofhis grasp, causing him to double over in pain but still laughing allthe while.

“Canyou two hold out on trying to kill each other for one goddamnafternoon?” Beverly had teasedas she shoved a beer into Richie’s hand and a cigarette into theother.

“Yeah,spaghetti man, let’s save all this pent-up aggression for thebedroom,” he winked and leant down towards Eddie, making sloppykissing noises.

“You’refucking disgusting,” the shorter boy scoffed, rolling his eyes andstomping off to where the drinks were. Hesettled on a lukewarm wine cooler and joined Ben on one of theblankets.

Thesun hung low in the sky, slowly painting new colours across theclouds, and they all talked and laughed for hours until eventuallynight came and stars started to litter the heavens above them. Mikeand Bill had built a small fire for light and warmth, and they all atone point or another moved until they were all surrounding it,looking around at each other in varying states of intoxication, litup by the dancing orange flames, all thinking something along thelines of I am so ridiculously in love with these people, asthey reminisced fondly on certain memories and cringed at certainothers.

Thesong on the stereo faded into another, and Richie shot to his feet asthe guitar riff started.

“Ohgod, this fucking song!” Beverly squealed as he grabbed her handsand stood her up.

/ I catch thepaper boy / But things don’t really change / I’m standing in the wind/ But I never wave bye-bye /

Theystarted dancing together, in some strange, out of time, overexaggerated waltz, spinning and jumping around and singing along verymuch out of tune.

/ Never gonnafall for modern love / Walks beside me / Walks on by / Gets me to thechurch on time /

“Thisfucking song,” Stan muttered with a dopey smile on his face,leaning over to bury his face in Bill’s shoulder.

“Thisfucking song,” Eddie groaned, burying his own face in hishands, and Ben and Mike exchanged amused glances, both wearingshit-eating grins.

Ofcourse it had been Beverly’s idea. Stan’s sixteenth birthday and theywere going to celebrate in the barn on Mike’s family’s property.Richie had managed to sneak a mostly full bottle of vodka from hisparent’s liquor cabinet, Eddie and Bill spent the day sweeping andgetting rid of cobwebs and disinfecting the old couches that werestored in there, Mike and Ben spent the day baking, (though Mike didmost of the work and Ben just happily followed instructions when theywere given), and Beverly allowed Stan to drag her around to all ofhis favourite birdwatching spots in town for the whole day, listeningto him talk and laughing when he got overly excited when he thoughthe saw something new, and to her surprised she really enjoyedherself, so much so that she almost forgot about the party and theyshowed up twenty minutes after they were supposed to and completelyruined the surprise, but Stan had to hold back tears when he saw themall standing there nonetheless.

Theyhad pooled some money together to buy him new binoculars seeing ashis old ones were being held together with duct tape, and Richie hadmade a few mix-tapes with some rather obnoxious and inappropriatevoice messages between the songs, and Mike and Eddie put together asmall scrapbook with copies of photos of them all together. He hadcried then, and they all crowded him in a group hug which only madehim sob more, and they all just held on to each other for a minute ortwo until he recollected himself. They cut and ate the cake, it waschocolate and almost sickeningly sweet but too damn good to not eat,and then things started to get a little messy.

Stantook the first shot from a red solo cup, throwing his head backdramatically as he did, swallowing and scrunching up his face as theliquid burned the back of his throat.

“Fuckinghell, that’s gross,” he spat out once he was confident it wasn’tcoming back up again, “why do people do this?”

Richiehad laughed and swung his arm around Stan’s neck.

“You’llfind out, my friend,” he answered as he poured six more shots forthe rest of them, and hoisted one up in the air, “a toast to Stanthe Man, that glorious bastard.” The rest of them lifted theirplastic cups up in response, and they all threw back their drinks.

Twohours later, the vodka was all but empty, and though they had allobjectively had too much to drink, Eddie was probably the worstculprit. He had decidedly brought it on himself to give them all aprivate concert, standing on the couch, unbalanced and wobbling allover the place, a very intense expression on his face as he serenadedthem to the music that was playing.

Beverlyhad her head resting on Ben’s shoulder and his arms wrapped aroundher waist as they swayed along, giggling their heads off as theywatched Eddie almost fall off the couch multiple times, (it hadgotten to the point where Mike had moved the cushions from the othercouches for him to land on when he would undoubtedly face-plant).

Richieand Mike were sitting on the floor, singing along and cheeringwhenever a song finished. Stan and Bill were off in their own corner,partially obscured from view, the two were probably the least drunkout of all of them and they were having a very nervous discussionwhich would lead to their first kiss later that night.

/ It’s not reallywork / It’s just the power to charm / I’m still standing in the wind/ But I never wave bye-bye /

Eddiewas very dedicated to the bit, holding an empty cup as a microphoneas he slurred out the lyrics.

“That’smy fucking boyfriend, dude,” Richie had said to Mike througha dopey, lovestruck grin, before standing up and stumbling over toEddie and putting his hands up on his waist.

“Putsmy trust in G- Richie!” he whined as Richie started to tug atthe hem of his shirt in a weak attempt to get him off the couch.

“C'mere,”Richie slurred, balling up the material in his fists, “c'mere babe,Eds, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Eddiestarted to protest but lost his balance for a second, having to holdhimself up against Richie’s shoulders. Richie took the opportunity towrap his arms around his waist and pick him up and move him to theground, without letting him go.

“Richiiiiiiieeeeeee,”Eddie sulked, stomping his foot dramatically “I was doingsomething.”

Richiesmirked and tilted his head down to kiss him, which Eddie immediatelyescalated, grabbing his face and sloppily biting on his bottom lip

“Geta room, guys,” Beverly teased, and Ben hid a laugh in her shoulder.

/ No confessions/ No religion / I don’t believe in modern love /

Stankissed Bill first, interrupting a conversation that neither of themwere really keeping track of. His hand ghosted over Bill’s cheek,eyes closed, heart racing faster than it ever had. It took Bill amoment to even figure out what was happening and it was over by thetime he did, Stan looking at him expectantly, worry written on hisface. Bill had blinked at him a few times, lips parted, feeling ablush creep up his neck. And then they were kissing again, neither ofthem knew who initiated it that time.

Mikelooked over a little later to see Stan sitting in Bill’s lap, but atthat point his vision was pretty foggy and he wasn’t thinking verycommonsensical so he just shrugged it off and forgot about it.

“Haveyou told him yet?” Beverly asked, cigarette in hand, sitting nextto Richie at the edge of the water. The others were all still aroundthe fire when Richie had pulled Bev off to the side to smoke, butreally to talk.

“Notyet,” he replied, pulling on his cig and letting the smoke filterout a small gap in his lips, “honestly I don’t really know what Iwould say.”

“That’dbe a first for you,” she smirked, and Richie gave an offended gaspand punched her lightly on the arm. She laughed and took a long drag.“But really, he needs to know. Not gonna get easier the longer youwait.”“I know that, Bev, but things are just so perfect rightnow,” he turned his head to look over at the others. They werelaughing about something, just too far off to hear what it’s about,the music humming quietly in the background. “I feel like I’mfucking it all up, you know?”

“Don’tsay that, Rich.”

Hiseyes drifted over each of them, taking in how they looked in thefirelight. His chest felt tight and there was a lump in the back ofhis throat that he couldn’t get rid of no matter how many times hetried to swallow it down. He lingered on Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak, thatdamn hypochondriac that he’d been in love with since middle school.Who’s house he spent more time in than his own. Who still keeps thatridiculous fanny pack in his closet even though he hasn’t used it inyears. Who he was sure he would have married on the spot if he wasasked.

“Idon’t want to leave him, Bev.”

Sheleant over and put her hands on his shoulder, forcing him to look ather. “Damn it Tozier, you’ve been given the best opportunity ofyour life here,” her voice is soft but still stern, “he’ll beokay. And besides, it’s only four hours away, yeah? Don’t tell me youthink he won’t be up there every chance he gets. You’re both toofucking whipped for each other.”

Helaughs, tears starting to well up behind his glasses. She pulls himinto a hug.

“HowI’m gonna live without your inspiring speeches, miss Marsh, I have noidea.”

“Shutup.”

Theyrejoined the group a bit later, Beverly taking her spot between Mikeand Ben and Richie pulling Eddie onto his lap. He pressed his faceinto the back of the shorter boy’s neck, causing him to squirm andhunch his shoulders a little.

“Ugh,you’re gonna make my clothes smell like cancer.”

“But you love me.”

“Debatable.”

[bregee13]

The Badly Written Lovestory of Hunter and Polly's Parents

Once upon a time, there was a young woman who lived in Watersong. She naturally had a beautiful soft voice and loved the ocean water. She lived there for her entire life, and longed to explore the world. She imagined the many wonderful places in the world, and how each one  would be better than the last.

One day, a traveler arrived at the village. He seemed to get a lot of attention. Even more attention than the  glorious Rose! He must be special in some way... The woman pushed her way through the crowd to get a better look at the stranger. And sure enough, he was very special. He was a handsome man. He had grey fur, gorgeous bangs, a pony tail, and he wore a neat light blue suit. He was a bit older than the young woman, but that's okay. He was very attractive. He was confident and cocky which added to the appeal. The lady walked up to the man, and asked if he knew his way around. The man smirked, like he knew everything the place had to offer. Regardless, he accepted the offer of the tour. Likely to encourage the lady. The man then introduced himself. He called himself "Wilfre". It was a strange name, but it had a nice ring to it. Definitely a name to remember.

After the tour, Wilfre mentioned how expensive the hotels were. Lovestruck, the woman offered to pay for anything he couldn't afford. Wilfre thanked her, grateful he didn't have to waste his rapo-coins at all. By the end of Wilfre's visit, the woman tracked him down. She asked him if she could join him on his journey. While Wilfre didn't want some woman following his tail, he agreed, thinking he could use her and eventually abandon her later. The woman was overjoyed. She was finally seeing the world! ...With a handsome man by her side too. It couldn't get much better than that. 'Maybe we'll move to a luxurious island and get married! We'll have eight kids, and a giant mansion! Or maybe a cute little cottage in a forest!' She thought this to herself over and over. They continued to travel to their next location.

They arrived at Lavasteam. This was a nice place.... but it wasn't as luxurious as the Lady thought it would be. She still did her best to smile and enjoy herself. Maybe Wilfre will spend some time with her... But no. Wilfre distanced himself from the woman who accompanied him. Instead he spent most of his time getting drunk with the Lavasteam villagers and hitting on the chicks there. And yes, he was as cocky as ever. The poor woman didn't enjoy her stay at Lavasteam, and just like the workers, wanted to go back to Watersong. She ended up paying for everything Wilfre wanted. She couldn't just leave him like that. Besides, he told her he was broke. When he finally left Lavasteam, Wilfre almost left without her. 'It was just a mistake...' The woman repeated to herself over and over.

It happened every time. They would visit a village, Wilfre would go out enjoying himself, the woman would foot every bill, and Wilfre would always try to leave without her. She tried to doubt it, but she eventually realized that Wilfre was using her. She lost all affection for the man, and only continued to join him because this was her only way of travel. Hopefully she'll return home soon....

One day the Raposa arrived at the Raposa Village. Once Wilfre stepped foot on the village ground, he was surrounded by fans. Man, these Raposa are even more excited than the ones at Watersong and everywhere else! What kind of place is this? Turned out they were at Wilfre's home village. Everyone knew who he was. He's a major celebrity here... His cocky attitude shined even more brightly than before. He even gave speeches in front of the... Eternal Flame!? That's the stuff of legends! The woman stood in awe. This had to be the very first village! She then heard a bit of Wilfre's speech. He went on and on about how the Raposa deserved to create their own creations, and how The Creator is a tyrant controlling them like marionettes. She was shocked by his words, 'the creator isn't cruel! This man truly IS evil!' Everyone cheered him anyway. ' I suppose they would know more about the creator... They do live in the original village after all...' While she disagreed with Wilfre's statements, she kept the idea in the back of her mind.

After the speech, the lady wandered off to explore the village on her own. It was a nice and quaint village. Everyone seemed to know one another, and the trees made the air fresh and sweet. It was quite a nice change of scenery. She then came across a man on top of one of the houses. It seemed as if he was fixing the roof. "Hello up there!" The man, shocked, turned around and almost slipped off the roof. He grabbed onto the ledge and hung on. "Are you alright sir!? Should I go get help?" The man climbed back on the roof and responded. "Y-yes mam! I'm alright! Anything I can help ya with?" His face was a nice shade of red. "Oh no, I'm fine. I just wanted to say hello! ...Are you sure you're alright? Your face is all red." "What? Ah, naw! I'm good! You just surprised me that's all!" The man smiled at her, trying to convince her that he was okay. The woman frowned. "You don't look good at all! I should get you a doctor! A glass of water at least!" She looked around for a nearby clinic. "But I'm alright! See?" He grinned from ear to ear. "Though I see your point. I could use a lunch break." He jumped down from the roof. He tried to land on his feet, but landed flat on his face. He began to groan in pain. The woman ran over to the rapo on the ground. "Oh my goodness... Are you okay?! This is all my fault... I'll get you help!" She was about to go get help when the man slowly got off the ground. He began to laugh... "I'm fine! I'm fine! This ain't the first time I did that!" The woman turned around towards the man. "You worried me! How could you?!" The man laughed more, holding his arm in pain. "You could have died doing that!" She grew irritated. He chuckled only to ache all over. "I didn't though... Ain't that a good thing?" His expression became more serious. "Sorry I startled ya." He held out his hand. "The name's Builde. ...Bobbery Builde." The woman hesitated, but eventually shook his hand. "Nice to meet you..." She introduced herself and told him she was visiting. "I figured you weren't from round these parts... Besides, you're far too pretty to be from here..." She blushed and stood frozen in place. She nervously laughed to herself. "I'm headed to Cookie's. You know, a visitor such as yourself deserves the finest cuisine. You should come with!" She looked away. "I... I'm not sure..." He smiled. "Come on. It'll be my treat! It's the least I can do..." She smiled, and looked back at him. "Okay." She began to follow Bobbery on his way to the restaurant. "Oh, and no tricks okay?" She joked, only slightly serious. "I'll do my best!" He joked back.

At Cookie's Restaurant, they placed their order and found a table to eat at. "Ze usual Mister 'Bob ze Builde'?" "Of course! What else would it be?" "Ah, what will ze lady order?" "Hmm... I'll have you're finest Star Baki Steak please. Medium Rare." "Zat will be all? Zi shall prepare!" Cookie went into the kitchen to prepare the food. The two rapos began to chat with one another. "So how'd you get to this worn down place?" He sipped at a cup of coffee. "I came here with someone else. The one that was at the flame a while ago..." "Oh! Ya mean Wilfre?" "Why, yes!" "He's well known round here ya know." "I have noticed, yes." "He musta seen something in ya. He won't let just anyone travel with him." Her ears perked. "You really think that?" 'I highly doubt that...' She thought to herself. She knew he would take advantage of anyone he could. "Of course I do! I know so! ...He's real lucky to have a girl like you...." He looked away, avoiding eye contact. "What!?" She jumped in her seat. "It's not like that!" Aside from the occasional compliment, Wilfre never acted like he wanted a relationship with her. ...In fact, it seemed like he never wanted a real relationship with anybody. 'I guess he's too narcissistic to love anyone else...' She sighed to herself. "Wait. Y-you ain't a thing?" She shook her head no. "Oh... sorry. I coulda sworn..." "No it's fine. I... I thought the same once..." She drank some of her tea. It had a distinct flavor. The food arrived at the table, and they began to dig in. "…" Neither of them said anything. It was as if time stood still. "Ya know... I was wondering...." Bobbery broke the silence. "...How long you staying here?" The lady paused, and thought. "I'm... not quite sure. Wilfre can be unpredictable at times. He could be here a few weeks or a few months. As soon as he leaves, I'll make my way back to Watersong." "Well, from what I can tell, He's thinkin of staying here for quite a while..." She sighed. Watersong seemed so far away... "He didn't tell ya, did he?" She shook her head. "No... He didn't..." "That ain't right! He should apologize for leavin ya stuck here!" He got up from his seat.  "Please don't do anything! If you do, he would just deny it!" He slowly sat back down. "I should just face the truth. I'll never see the light of Watersong again..." She frowned. "Hey! You can't just say that! You'll get there one day!" Tears began to fill her eyes. "I'll never feel the sand on my feet... I'll never hear a single opera song... Not again..." Tears fell down her face. Her watery eyes reminded her of Watersong's clear waters. It made her cry even more. "Hey hey hey!! No, none a that! Look at me. Look at me!" Bobbery put his hands on her shoulders, and looked into her eyes. "Everything's gonna be okay. Don't worry bout it." She began to calm down. "...Tell ya what. There's a nice beach round here. Right about that a way. How bout I take you?" She did her best to wipe the tears from her eyes. "I....I would enjoy that." Bobbery paid Cookie for the meal, and the two left the building.

The two walked to the beach together. The beach wasn't crowded, and the breeze was nice. They stepped onto the sand. "It's probably not as good as what you're used to..." The lady stepped into the water. "No...it's... it's great. Beautiful actually..." She let out a deep sigh, watching the waves crash at her feet. "Lemme guess. It ain't the same." He sighed. "Guess I failed huh?" He laughed nervously. "What? No! This place is very..." She looked out into the distance. "...nice." He frowned. "...But it ain't no Watersong. Am I right?" "I... I suppose so... But that isn't your fault..." "Guess not. But it sure feels that way." "What was your name again? Bobbery? Was that it?" "Yeah..." "Mind if I call you Bobby?" "Sounds kinda corny... but sure." "Bobby, do you think I will ever get to go home?" Bob gave a small smile. "Yeah. Yeah I do."

They then spent the rest of the afternoon watching the waves, chatting with one another. By the time they were ready to leave, the Creator drawn sun was setting. "Hey it's getting late. I gotta go rest up for tomorrow. Got a lotta catchin up to do..." "I'm so sorry for taking up your time." "Na, don't worry about it! I had fun." "Same here! It was a nice change for once." "I'll see ya some other time! Get home safe okay?" Bob blushed. "I.. I'm sorry! I forgot... Just.... be safe okay?" "It's okay. I will..." She looked at the ground, unsure of what to do next. Bob began to walk home when he noticed that she was just standing there. He turned around. "You okay?" She paused before responding to him. "I... I'm not sure..." "Hey, you're gonna be fine! Go get some rest. Should help you relax." "Of course but..." "Do ya have someplace to stay?" She took a moment to think. Wilfre probably didn't give her a place to stay on her own. She could beg to stay with him, but she really didn't want to do that... "No. I don't believe I do." Bobbery sighed. "I might regret this but... You can stay with me if ya like." "Really?" "Yeah. It's a bit cozy though." "Thank you so much!" "No problem. It's only temporary though. Till you get back on your feet." "Of course. I understand." She hugged him. "Thank you..."

After that, Bobbery and the lady from Watersong lived together. They ended up becoming good friends, and decided to live together a little longer. Bobbery began to expand the house, making it more suitable to live in. After a while, the two began to date one another. Over time their relationship became more serious. They began to prepare to start a family. During this, Wilfre's accusations against The Creator grew more serious. People were starting to go against the Creator and their methods. The two Raposa brought a baby boy into the world. They named him Hunter. The kid was very calm, and almost never rebelled against his parents. Wilfre's accusations became so strong, that he had even accused the Mayor of wrongdoing. He argued and argued with him until he couldn't anymore. Almost two years after Hunter was born, they provided another baby. This time it was a girl they named Polly. Unlike Hunter, she was a very rambunctious child. She liked to pose a challenge, and could be a handful at times. After the latest argument between Wilfre and The Mayor, Wilfre snapped. He decided that that night, he would take the Book of Life, and create his own creations. The news of what Wilfre had done spread all throughout the village. When hearing that Wilfre ran off out of the village, the woman thought to herself, 'He finally succeeded in abandoning me.... Good for him'.

-------------💜Info💜-------------

I really wanted to write about this somewhere, but it didn't fit anywhere. It's a lot longer than I thought it would be, so I apologize for that. If you're wondering why their mom is referred to as "The Lady/Woman", it's because she doesn't really have a name. At least not yet anyway. This is because she isn't that important of a character, and doesn't really have to have one. It's also due to the fact that I drew her once, and realized that she looked somewhat similar to Eudora. I then thought of the ways they could be the same person. After a while I figured that it didn't make much sense if they were the same person, and that I should preserve Eudora as she originally was. Unless I come up with a name for her, she'll be nameless. I guess it adds a sense of mystery to her huh?

[shiroe-is-my-baby]

You Have The Nerve? - 2

Summary: Based off of the movie Nerve, an AU/crossover fic that doesn’t exactly follow the storyline but does have a similar plot and a few scenes from it. A hard breakup throws Ashley into an emotional wreck, acting out in ways that she never knew possible. When the opportunity to play a game of dares for money, she can’t help but play along. Throwing her into a spiral of dangerous games, along with meeting a few new faces and possibly falling in love yet again.

W: self-insert, romance, angst, strong language, au, crossover

Part One | Part Two |

My hands wrapped around the cup of hot chocolate, the heat warming up my rather cold hands. Even stuffed in the sleeves of my cardigan they were cold. I sniffled loudly, feeling the similar feeling on my nose. I hoped that being in Marielle’s warm house would help, given that I had to walk all the way here. I really needed a car. The money just didn’t seem to be there at the moment, and I kept putting it off in hopes that the asshole would help me buy one. He never did. Figures.

My other, female best friend, sat in front of me, her chin in her hand. She twirled her spoon in her cup, eyes flittering to me a few times. There was an awkward silence between us that seemed to grow and grow the longer I had been here. It began the moment I stepped through the threshold. I knew that she was nervous to talk to me about the whole situation. I was sure that lately, I hadn’t been all that fun to talk to. But I knew that she was purposefully walking on eggshells to not hurt my feelings.

I sipped on the hot chocolate, feeling the warmth spread through my throat.

“Shit, that’s good,” I sighed, licking my bottom lip.

“You always did like your hot chocolate.”

Marielle giggled, rubbing her thumb across the rim of her cup to catch some that dripped down it. I nodded along with her, trying to give a feeble smile. Something to at least help humor her. I came here to help forget or at least talk to Marielle about the things that bothered me. But I can’t even do that right. Folding my leg over the other, I sat back in the chair and forced myself to speak up.

“I’m sorry I invited myself over here,” I mumbled, “I just couldn’t stay at that house.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you called. I’d much rather you be here with me than alone.”

She reached for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. I smiled a little wider, squeezing back to give her some affirmation.

“Thanks…”

She gave a nod, taking her time in one long sip of the hot chocolate. The two of us sighed happily, enjoying he warm refreshment a little too much. We laughed in unison, but it slowly faded into the air as quickly as it left. Usually, this house would be filled with both of our laughter. I missed the days when I could laugh with her for hours without even knowing what was so funny. It all seemed so long ago when it really wasn’t. I tried to think of ways that I could get that back.

Have my freedom again.

Freedom to be happy.

I bit my bottom lip, opening my mouth to speak. But before I could say anything, Marielle was already beating me to it.

“He was a jerk,” She said, “You did the right thing. Even though… it feels kind of crappy right now.”

“It does, but I’ll get over it. I’m just more pissed at myself that I didn’t see it coming. They were texting for almost two months, and I never once suspected a damn thing. I trusted every word that mother fucker said.”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for that! It’s not your fault at all. We don’t want to see things like that, but that doesn’t much us stupid. It just means that we trusted people, which isn’t a bad thing. It can just… hurt us sometimes.”

Man, was she right about that one.

I’ve grown up trusting people so easily that it always ends up biting me in the ass.

I remember listening to everyone telling me how fucked I was going to be as an adult. How I was going to let people walk all over me. Everyone suspected that I wouldn’t do anything because I was always afraid to take chances. That’s why I was so quick to move in with the asshole and get away from everyone. Show people that I could be independent. But all of that was proving to be as much of a joke as everyone else saw it as.

Except for Marielle. She always believed in me. I wonder how she felt about me now.

“I’m just happy that he’s gone. I’ve got his computer too,” I said with a small smirk.

“Nice. Whatcha gonna do with it?”

“I dunno. I was gonna break it, but Sae stopped me. Y’know he’s still stalking me? I’d call him a perv if he wasn’t one of my closest friends. Besides you.”

Marielle laughed, gently kicking my foot from underneath the kitchen table. She quickly tied her hair back into a bun, lazily setting it on top of her head.

“When are you two going to start dating, anyway?” She asked with a teasing smile, resting her elbows back down onto the table.

“Excuse me? I just broke up with my boyfriend! Besides, we’re just friends.”

“It’s obvious that you two have something going on. But I was just trying to make you laugh. And it worked.”

I rolled my eyes, hearing the small hint of laughter in my tone. She was right. I was definitely laughing, even if it was only a tiny bit.

The truth was, I did use to have a crush on Saeyoung. But things faded after a long time. Especially since he has such a crazy life planned out that I just don’t see myself in. Plus, when I was dating the asshole I assumed we’d be together forever. I didn’t want to ruin that for someone that may or may not like me more than a friend.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I felt the conversation slowly fluctuating to something more important. Where we were going to get food. Marielle and I were starting to become really hungry after the light cup of cocoa we had. “Speaking of Sae, I promised to meet up with him at the local diner. You wanna come?” I asked, tipping back my cup to drink up the remaining drops of hot chocolate.

“I’d love to! Just let me grab my coat!”

She scampered off to grab her things, leaving me to trail my gaze around the large kitchen.

Marielle was doing well for herself here. Way more than I was. She’s offered for me to room with her, but I wanted to live on my own. Learn how to pay my own bills, even though it wasn’t doing very well for me now. Her home was always so nice and clean, not to mention smelling of cinnamon. I found myself envying her, but also being extremely happy for her at the same time.

The woman came bouncing into the room, her boots high up her calves and coat that seemed to hug her figure nicely. “Are you ready?” She asked, the sound of her keys jingling from her pocket. I gave her a quick nod, pushing off of the chair and stuffing my feet inside my boots.

I’ll just have to stop comparing myself to her and just enjoy being her friend.

The thoughts of living in her shadow were just not true.

The diner was a little bit of a distance away from her place, and by the time we made it, I felt even hungrier. It wasn’t very busy, which was surprising since it was a weekend. There was a booth near the back that I immediately claimed the moment we walked in, plopping down into the seat. A few of the patrons looked at me with curiosity, but it was quickly lost when they became more focused with their meal. Not a lot of people judge in here, which is nice. Everyone is just more focused on eating.

Marielle took the booth in front of me, sitting down much more calmly than I did. She pulled out her phone, surveying a message with furrowed brows.

“Hey Ashie, have you…”

Before she could say anything, a loud and boisterous voice sounded from the front of the building. I glanced up to see a tuft of red hair jogging in our direction. Now, the other people around seemed to roll their eyes and glare as Saeyoung announced his arrival. Similar to how he always did. He gave a little swirl, sliding down onto his knees and taking my hand. Bringing it to his lips, he kissed the back of it with a small smirk.

“My, my… aren’t you a beautiful young lady. What, may I ask, is your name? If I do have the pleasure of knowing such a glorious word?”

Marielle giggled loudly front her seat, still not used to Sae’s strange antics.

I decided to play along, acting as if I was flustered with the back of my opposite hand to my face.

“Oh, gosh, I… I’ve never been approached like this before. My heart is pounding,” I cooed along, hearing Marielle laughing louder, “But I guess you’re cute enough to know my name. It’s Ashley.”

“Ashley? That’s such a coincidence. I have a beautiful best friend whose name is also Ashley. But… her eyes are not as beautiful as yours.”

“Okay, now you’re pushing it, Sae.”

My tone was stale as I quickly pulled my hand away from his grasp.

The man smirked, laughing while he pushed himself onto his feet. With a wink, he squeezed his way beside me on my side of the booth. I scooted over, rolling my eyes as he motioned a finger gun in Marielle’s direction. “What are you two lovely ladies doing?” He asked, placing an arm behind me on the seat. The two of us rolled our eyes once more in unison.

This was normal Saeyoung behavior.

I remember all the times that it took to get used to his humor.

The embarrassing outbursts in public that seemed to bring too much attention to us. Now, it seemed like a normal thing. I was no longer embarrassed by it. I had fun with it myself, and it usually helped cheer me up. Which, today, I really needed that. Saeyoung always seemed to know just how to make me laugh and feel better.

“Just chatting,” Marielle said, “I was about to ask her about this weird message I got on my phone.”

She pointed the screen in our direction, the blinking message similar to the one I’d seen earlier on my computer.

I took the item from her hands, reading the similar dare description. The two options for playing or observing flashing on the screen, as well as a warning label at the bottom. Something about only being in the game until a dare is completed. That’s how they decide who wins, I started to assume. This all seemed even stranger now that I saw other people were getting the message. It was either some global virus, or it was a real thing.

Saeyoung took the phone from my hands, eyes growing wide.

“I’ve heard about this!” He exclaimed.

“You have?”

“Yeah, it’s all over the internet. Well, the deep parts of the internet, but that’s beside the point.”

“Okay, but what is it, Sae?” I asked.

He pursed his lips, shutting up as soon as the waitress came by to take our orders.

Everyone at the table ordered their usual, with Sae getting the most food out of all of us. That wasn’t a surprise. Once the woman walked off, he threw up his hoodie, a flicker seeming to glow through the lens of his glasses. It happened all too fast before I could make a joke about it.

“Similar to truth or dare, this game limits the option to only dares. Each dare is made by the public, all with a specific cash prize. The more cash and dares you win, the more fans you gain. At the end of the game, the top two are chosen for a showdown. The winner gains ultimate bragging rights between peers, as well as fame,” Saeyoung said in a deep, menacing voice.

Within seconds, he returned to his normal demeanor, throwing the hoodie off his head.

“At least, that’s what I read online,” He said, sipping on the Dr. Pepper the waitress brought.

Marielle and I blinked, looking at him and then between the two of us.

This game sounded strange. I’d never heard of anything like it before. It sounded extremely dangerous as well, especially if Sae heard about it on the deep web. That sounded scary in itself. I almost couldn’t believe that it was real. Things like this don’t just happen unless it has some kind of catch. Like ultimate humiliation of something like that. Maybe it was an elaborate prank by some stupid YouTuber. That usually happens in the big city.

“Has it ever been done before?” I asked.

Saeyoung shrugged his shoulders, “I’ve heard rumors of it happening in a town not too far away from here. But those are just rumors. It’s hard to tell for sure, anyway, given that this game is top secret. Nothing is traceable and it’s all anonymous. There’s some kind of rule that you can’t talk about it either.”

“That’s so weird.”

Marielle took her phone back, glancing at the screen a little harder.

“Apparently, you can observe which costs money.”

“I have to admit,” Sae said, “I’m kind of curious. Even though, it sounds way too suspicious.”

“Coming from a hacker that says a lot.”

He nodded along with my words, sucking down the rest of his soda in one long gulp. I rolled my eyes, watching him flag down our waitress for a refill. This was a normal thing for Sae, given that he had an obsession for this drink. I didn’t judge him, though, given that I did as well. One of the things that we had in common and that honestly brought us closer together.

I took out my phone, seeing that the same options were appearing on my screen.

I had to agree with Saeyoung that it sounded interesting. I would probably never try it, but it was still a weird concept. There was a strange pull that it had on me, a voice in my head egging me on. Telling me that I could use some excitement after today.

Saeyoung seemed to see my curious eyes, leaning down close until his nose touched my cheek. I would have yelped and jumped if I wasn’t used to it by now. His breath tickled my skin as he whispered softly.

“So… tell me, dear sweet Ashley,” He said, “Are you a player or an observer?”

[aslightstep]

13 - ROTC/new-to-the-Air-Force Rhodey and/or CW/post-CW Rhodey

Flying like a cannonball, falling to the earth/Heavy as a feather when you hit the dirt

First

The first thing Jim remembers is flying.

If he was honest, that would be a lie. His first memory is something mundane like his mother singing to him or watching TV with his father. But what he remembers most, brightest, strongest is this: standing on the ledge of his family’s second-story apartment balcony, gazing down at the little section of the tiny backyard Mrs. Turner has used for her garden (bushes grown up high, hopefully high enough) taking a breath, closing his eyes and leaping.

He remembers flying. 

That glorious moment of weightlessness fighting gravity, when he was moving faster than light, faster than sound, the fastest thing on this planet. He was invincible.

He doesn’t remember hitting the ground, but he remembers rolling off his broken arm to stare up at the blue blue sky and thinking someday it would be his. Someday he’d never have to land.

(”He fell,” his little sister Jeanette insists with a pout when his mother comes home and panics at not finding Jim where he should be. He can hear them through the window. “He fell, Mama.”

His mama looks over the balcony and screeches, going back inside. Jeanette stares at Jim through the bars of the railing. “I didn’t fall,” he tries to say, but he’s six and the pain is finally catching up to him. He can’t feel his arm. He cries when his mother picks him up.)

In between fussing over him relentlessly, which he likes, and yelling at him for being so fool-headed he jumped off a balcony, which he doesn’t, his father says something that sticks with him for years.

“What if something had happened to Jeanette while you were stuck down there?” Terrence Rhodes says softly, his anger petering out, too tired to keep it up. Daddy is always tired. “You have to look after her, Jim. She depends on you while we’re away. Sometimes that means sacrificing your own wants.”

Jim feels his eyes go big, and Daddy notices and looks upset. “Ah, no, kiddo. Don’t listen to your old man. I know we’ve put a lot of responsibility on your shoulders and you’ve made us proud, you hear? It was a mistake, son, and you’ll learn from it, won’t you?”

Mama and Daddy work hard. Harder than Jim thinks anybody should, and he knows its to keep the roof over their heads and food on their table, and they would never say that, but Mrs. Turner downstairs would. That’s what she tells them when the Rhodes children have to stay over for the night, Mama too busy at the hospital and Daddy pulling overtime at the plant. “It’s all for you, baby dolls,” she says, wiping away Jeanette’s tears. “Because they love you.”

Sometimes that means sacrificing, Jim thinks. All they ask in return is that he look after Jeanette.

Meals are a little simpler after that, new clothes a little scarce, and Jim finds hospital bills on the table under Daddy’s sleeping cheek one night. Sacrifices, he thinks, and doesn’t go near the balcony again.

He studies hard, he works harder. He learns how to cook dinner and watches after his sister even after she complains she doesn’t need it anymore. He takes care of his family. It’s all for you, baby doll, he remembers, and kisses his tired mother on the cheek every night just to see her smile.

He builds model airplanes in his spare time and hangs them all around the room. For his eleventh birthday, the whole family makes a day of painting his ceiling like the sky. He hides his research on MIT under his bed so his parents don’t see. 

He packs his dreams carefully into little boxes and stows them away. All but one. 

He braves the balcony again. He keeps his head out of the clouds and his feet on the ground, but he keeps his eyes on the horizon. Someday, he dreams, it’ll be mine.

Here’s the thing: years from now presumptuous journalists will assume that he joined ROTC to get out of dead end future. That he seized an opportunity to rise above his ‘situation.’ 

That isn’t it at all. ROTC was always the goal, because Air Force was always the goal. He signs up for it in high school as soon as he could.

He is scrawnier than the other kids, having skipped a year, and the other kids think he’s stuck-up. Rhodes has always got his head in a book. Rhodes is too good to talk to us. Rhodes thinks he’s so smart.

(He is so smart. He’s gonna get smarter. Bring me the horizon, he writes on the edges of his notebook paper in classes that are far behind him.)

They playing at boot-camp, climbing up one of those wooden walls with a rope, trying to beat the other guy. Jim doesn’t, arriving up top later than Roy Williams, a junior, and Williams takes a sneering look at him before simply and easily pushing him off.

He flies for a brief moment, a child all over again, and he is smiling when his body hits the ground with a thud.

“Jesus, Rhodes,” someone says, touching his shoulder. “You ok?”

Jim just laughs. “Again!” he declares, and when he opens his eyes the boys are all staring at him.

Williams, up top, just shakes his head. “You’re crazy, Rhodes. But you’re alright.”

Later on his mother sighs as she rubs numbing cream on his bruises. “What am I gonna do with you, Jim?” His back is killing him, but he can’t keep the smile off his face.

He keeps the MIT acceptance letter tucked up tight under his bed with all his other little hopes and dreams. He quietly applies for scholarship after scholarship and resolutely thinks about other colleges that maybe aren’t as good, maybe not where he wants to be, but are good enough. Cheap enough.

He walks in one day to find his parents sitting at the table, an unopened letter from MIT between them. They never get home this early. That’s how they didn’t know. He didn’t want to get their hopes up.

Hopes, he has discovered, don’t fly. They fall. It’s all they can do. 

“I can explain,” he says, and his mother smiles and it breaks his heart.

But Dad laughs. “There’s no need, son. They called the house to personally congratulate you for the acceptance awhile back, on my day off. We’ve been on the phone with the Office of Admissions for weeks, trying to work out a payment plan for you. They’ve got some really nice scholarships there. We told them we’d talk to you about it but imagine our surprise when they tell us ‘no need, he’s already done it, we should know in about a month.’ Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t want to-” Jim swallows. “I can go to another school.”

“Honey,” his mother shakes her head, pushing the envelope to him. “Open it.”

He takes it. It shakes in his grip - because he’s shaking. “What if they turn me down?”

“You’ll never know until you try,” Mama says. “Take a leap of faith, Jim.” And well. He’s always been good at that.

He does. The envelope is thick, filled with many papers. He flips through them one after the other. Two scholarships, then three, then five. A full ride to MIT. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry so he does both, and his parents hug him tight. 

That night lying in his bed he takes all his hopes and dreams out and unpacks them. He looks them over, notices dents and dings and changes. He thinks for one night only about having it all. When the sun spills over the horizon he puts them all back and pins his acceptance letter onto the ceiling, up in the clouds. This one is enough.

Here’s the thing: other, nicer reporters like to say that James Rhodes and Tony Stark have been friends since the moment they met. Jim likes those reporters, likes the harmless fairy tales they try to spin. There are other, nastier ones that like to think they’re commiserating with Jim when they talk about the man being Tony’s ‘caretaker’ or ‘babysitter.’ On his darker days, Jim has actually done so. But those are few and far between, and usually involve Tony dying for stupid reasons.

The larger point is: nobody gets it right. For the first two month Jim knows Tony Stark, he hates him.

Stark is his lab partner in CHEM 316. He’s two years younger than him, smarter than him, richer than him, and he never shuts up.

Stark has this habit of fixing Jim’s measurements after he’s already done them. Stark is fond of double-checking Jim’s math. Never mind that he compliments Jim on nearly always being right, he always delivers these compliments like they’re a surprise to him, like its amazing that Jim is even halfway-intelligent.

Stark does his homework five minutes before class, the same homework Jim spent all last night doing and then double-checking, and still gets straight-As. The boy has come in drunk to more than one class. He has a fucking butler who visited once, dropping off some tools at the dorms, who Tony talks a mile a minute at and never once says thank you.

But the worst thing about him, the thing that Jim can’t stand, is that Stark is a dreamer. He scribbles on every spare sheet of paper he can, some of it even Jim’s, and Jim takes it home at night and marvels at the ideas there. He talks about artificial intelligence, he talks about the Arc Reactor Stark Industries built in California, he babbles incessantly about the next manned space voyage. 

He talks about it all as if its entirely possible. As if there’s no conceivable way he couldn’t make it happen. 

Tony Stark has never had a dream he’s had to lock away, and Jim can’t stand that.

He has one goal, one purpose that he works towards relentlessly, and even that sometimes seems out of reach. Stark has a million at any given moment, and holds them all in the palm of his hand.

Stark knows Jim doesn’t like him, but he just keeps chattering away every time they meet like they’re friends. As far as Jim knows, Stark doesn’t have any friends, and maybe that twinges something in his chest sometimes, but MITs the first time Jim hasn’t had to responsible for anybody but himself and he’s damn sure not picking up the habit for some mouthy rich-boy know it all.

“We should work on this,” Stark says as they watch their midterm project go up in flames - again. “This weekend?” He looks up at Jim hopefully, but he just shakes his head.

“I’ve got an English project due,” he says. An English project that is kicking his ass. Jim’s never been good at English, preferring hard sciences and math, and Professor Brubaker is a tyrant. A study on ten poems of a subject of your choice. Jim’s been putting it off and its due on Monday. “Some other time.”

But on Saturday night, his dorm phone rings and its Stark, sounding wasted and afraid. Jim grits his teeth and goes and picks him up. “You can take me back to my room,” Stark slurs, but Jim refuses to have the Stark heir’s death of asphyxiation hanging over his head and takes him to his room. Stark whimpers next to the toilet all night and Jim watches him to make sure he doesn’t die. The essay only barely gets done.

“I don’t even have a topic,” he snaps in Stark’s general direction. He hates this, hates being a caretaker again with a strength that frightens him. The mantle he wore so well in his childhood feels like a noose now. “I was supposed to work on that tonight, but of course Tony Stark has to go to the frathouses by himself to get drunk. Now I have to-” Stark throws up.

Reluctantly Jim rubs his back, trying to keep his anger when he feels the skin trembling under his hand.

In the morning Stark emerges looking only halfway dead, and Jim hands him a glass of water before picking up his backpack. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Stark says, and Jim nods jerkily.

“Don’t call me again.”

Stark finds him the library, five books stacked precariously in his hands. “Hi,” he says cautiously. Jim keeps his head down, trying to scratch out some semblance of an outline.

“I’m sorry,” Stark says. “I shouldn’t have called but I - well. You’re the only person I thought might pick up.”

Jim feels his shoulders tense up at the lonely, resigned tone of that voice. Jesus, what is Stark, fifteen? Besides, it is his fault for putting the essay off so long. “It’s alright,” he says gruffly.

“It’s not,” Stark replies. “And I owe you. You said you didn’t have a topic, so I brought you these.” He puts the books down, turns to bookmarked pages. Ten poems, all about flight. “That essay is pretty hard, huh? I didn’t know what to write about either, but Mom said to pick something that interested me.”

“You’re in Brubaker’s class?” Jim frowns, glancing over the first poem. The way the poet describes the bird flying stirs something familiar in him. “I’ve never seen you.”

Stark grins, a little strained. “I sit in the back; I don’t talk much. What is there to say? I wouldn’t even be in there except English is my mom’s major and I wanted to be able to talk to her about stuff she likes. She helped me pick these out, too. She said to thank you for giving me a reason to call home, by the way. Moms, you know?”

Jim feels his brow crinkle at that, then he looks down at the poems again. “…how did you know?” he asks quietly.

“The times when I talked about rockets and planes were the only times you actually looked like you were listening,” Stark says with a practiced shrug. “And then we read that Icarus poem in class. I think that’s the only time I’ve actually seen you pay attention. I picked that one, too.”

Its in him to bristle at that, but Jim is too busy looking through the poems. There’s a lot he could do with this. He picks up his pen, itching to get started, and Stark turns away. “Hey,” he says. “You already done yours?”

“Yeah.”

“What was it about?”

“Creation myths,” Stark says, looking embarrassed.

Jim points at his paper. “You want to help? I’ve got exactly 28 hours to write 5000 words.”

Stark’s smile looks just like the sun coming over the edge of the earth. “No stress, then?”

(”I don’t dream,” Tony scoffs one time when they’re both a little tipsy. “I think, and then I make it happen.”

Here is a list of dreams that Tony keeps locked away: that his father will love him. That his parents will be proud. That he hasn’t inherited an predisposition for addiction. That he will fall in love. 

Most of those wither and die. There is one though, that he keeps deep, and Rhodey never manages to get him to look at ever again: that he will be loved in return.)

They graduate with honors, Tony with three degrees and Rhodey with his one aerospace engineering. (”You don’t just want to fly,” Tony accused him with a laugh. “You want to own the sky!”) His parents hug Tony after the ceremony and Jim laughs at his face just so he won’t feel sad about it. (”Oh my God, Rhodey, I’m not deprived, just a WASP. We don’t hug.”)

He enters the Air Force. He goes through training, and finds himself growing a bit terrified. Not of what happens once he finally gets in the air, but what happens when he touches down. When he lands, back on the Earth again, dream realized. What does he do, then?

He flies.

It is the most glorious thing to ever happen to him. The clouds hanging shelter over his head, close enough to touch, the horizon always there to guide him, the earth far below. He can see everything. He can do anything.

I am invincible.

When he lands, the feeling stays, and he isn’t afraid. This dream never dies. He goes up again, and again, until he’s the best flier in his squadron, on the base, on the ship, in the entire Air Force. He soars through skies and ranks. He never wants it to end.

(”But what if you fall?” Tony frets over the phone. 

“I won’t.”

“But how can you be sure?” Tony presses. “You know what? Easy way to solve this. I’ll build some planes to go with that new weapon shipment. Then we’ll be sure.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Okay, Tones.” 

But really, the Stark jet line is fantastic.)

Being away from Tony and his family is hard, but not as hard as the moments he finds himself in when he’s with them, moments when he is uncomfortably aware of the solidity of the ground beneath him, and how far away the sky is. He becomes hyperaware of his body, how his lungs wouldn’t handle the thin air, how his body wouldn’t handle the pressure, how he isn’t Icarus with his wax wings soaring through the sky, and anyway Icarus fell to his death. 

To be honest, he is incredibly jealous of the Iron Man suit.

It feels dishonest to do so, when its power comes from Tony’s three month sojourn into malnutrition, torture, and three decades of guilt landing all at once, but watching Iron Man soar alongside his jet and hearing how happy Tony is - well, he doesn’t always smile back.

He wonders, as he flies his new suit away from Iron Man’s fallen form, as the sheer joy of flinging himself through the air overwhelms the worry that has been a hum at the back of his mind since Obadiah died, what kind of man he is.

Because the entire world congratulates him on taking the suit like Tony couldn’t lock him out at any moment, using it responsibly as a force for good like Iron Man hasn’t been flying around the world putting out fires for two years, and that is part of the reason why he took Iron Patriot - because he wanted to help.

But in his selfish thoughts, he doesn’t care about the world, a billion nameless faces. He just wants to protect Tony, even if its from himself.

And even deeper, even darker: he just wants to fly.

But when he and Tony forgive each other, fight together, fly together, he figures out the man he is. It’s like Tony always says, and nobody else has understood. He is the suit, and the suit is him. He is these missiles and this armor and the minigun perched on his shoulders. He is the people he saves and the bad guys he takes out and the collateral damage he regrets. 

He is War Machine, and he is flight. The sky is his, and sometimes he even shares it with Tony.

(”Is it everything you dreamed of?” Tony asks as they coast lazily over the water. Rhodey turns his faceplate towards Iron Man’s, imagining the shit-eating grin on Tony’s face.

“Yes,” he says, and maybe that surprises Tony or, more likely, it doesn’t, and they fly towards the edge of the earth nearly hand-in-gauntleted-hand.)

Tony flies into a wormhole and saves the world. Tony falls back out. 

Rhodey sees it on the back of his eyelids every time he closes them: the suit, falling end over end. No control. No flight. Just the fall.

Thank God he didn’t land, Rhodey thinks. The noise. The thud. His arm pulses out an old ache. Rhodey opens his eyes and doesn’t think about it anymore.

unsignificantlyoff the coastthere was

a splash quite unnoticedthis wasIcarus drowning

What was it he wrote in his paper about that poem? He’d thought it be neat to juxtapose all those flight poems with a crash. Brubaker had liked it too. It had made Tony sad, though, he remembered. Something about how-

He flips again, feet pointing up. He doesn’t throw up in his helmet, even though all the systems are knocked out and nothing’s keeping pressure on his body. 

-it made Icarus’ fall seem so normal, so commonplace. Like a bright young boy hadn’t just died. Tony said “It’s a tragedy!” and Jim had replied-

He has to close his eyes, he has to stop calling for Tony, for anyone. He has to stay calm. 

-”I think that’s the point.”

The last thing Jim remembers is falling.

Tony isn’t there when he gets out of the hospital, too busy in surgery of his own. Rhodey wants to stay, but Pepper insists he gets rest, and he can’t exactly stop her from wheeling him away.

He can’t walk. No head in the clouds, no ground on the feet anymore. Just hanging, in between. Like a ghost between realms. He wishes he could feel his legs. He wishes he could feel anything.

And then the hospital ships them the mangled Mark III and Rhodey doesn’t wish at all.

Tony doesn’t dream anymore. He has nightmares.

Rhodey takes care of him, like he always has, but here’s the thing those reporters have never understood, alongside everything else: Tony takes care of him, too.

The braces are iffy at best for the first few editions. They get better and better. 

Rogers sends a letter that Tony reads once and a phone that is shoved into a drawer and they make a home out of that cold, abandoned compound.

Tony and Jim get better, too. 

“138 combat missions,” he tells Tony. He doesn’t regret it, he finds. Misses it, but can’t bring himself to feel sorry for himself any longer. He’d do it again, every bit of it. “It was the right thing to do.”

Mark IV is born alongside Tony’s new black and gold armor. They strap themselves in and don’t think about how this part used to be the most exciting as they launch up into the air.

“Higher?” Tony asks, and they both cautiously rise a few dozen feet. The ground is so far away, Rhodey notes. The HUD gives off a warning about his heart rate.

“Higher,” he grits, and hesitantly Tony follows him up.

They rise. Tony’s new triggers are not the same as his, and he is content to watch and wait at every level for Jim’s heart beat to slow down again.

“Higher,” Rhodey whispers, and they climb.

The horizon appears, ever there to guide him forward, and for the first time on this little trip Rhodey doesn’t feel like he’s still falling. His body stops waiting for impact. He watches the sun set inch by inch, Tony by his side.

Night falls, and the delineating line disappears. “I don’t know,” Rhodey breathes. “If I can go back down.”

“I’m always here,” Iron Man says softly. There’s a whir, and Rhodey knows that there’s a gauntlet extended towards him. He thinks at the suit to move, and feels it respond, turning towards Tony, hovering so close, always ready to catch him now.

I know you were coming for me, he doesn’t say. I know you tried as hard as you could. But Tony will never be ready to hear that.

He takes the offered hand, and War Machine is grappled onto Iron Man’s back as Tony takes them in a slow, circling descent. Rhodey watches to sky get further and further away. 

They land impossibly gently. “You okay?” Tony asks, and Rhodey nods. It’s not even a lie.

He knows now, what it is to land, to crash. He knows how to treasure the ground under his feet. He’s different, but the dream is the same. He’ll fly. He’ll crash. He’ll fly again.

He is invincible.