#the usual lack of actual practice. rust sets in so fast

[shevr]

loreaccurate goat update based on recent material

[kitkat1003]

Who Are You Really?

Just who is Yin Spirit?

Anyway finally made a Spirit fic 

Cover Here

Ao3 link

Chapter 1: Escape

Spirit has been scared for a long, long time.

Not for forever, because there used to be good times.  Good times were the days spent scampering through the forest and eating anything they could off of bushes and trees, finding out what was good and not while hiding from the predators that could never catch them.  Good times were days following Mom around the Inn, helping mix up medicines and salves and watching as she fixed wounds and illnesses as if they were mere inconveniences rather than life threatening.  Good times were scritches behind their ears, nights curled up on a branch or in a soft bed next to someone who cared, where there was nothing to cause nightmares yet.

But the good times are behind them.

They have been for a long, long time.

But Spirit won’t let that get them down!  They’ve been around for...well, they lost count of the years a while back, because Mom was the one who kept count and they didn’t feel like asking.  They wonder if they’re timeless, if they just keep going because no one has told them to stop.

They’ve told themself to stop plenty of times, but it never sticks.

But they have a day job!  Sure, it doesn’t pay anything, but going around and helping spirits move on is something they think their Mom would be proud of.  One of their eyes, the one their mom helped fix, can spot spirits without any trouble and that makes the job easier.  

It’s the one on the left side of their face.  The lonely one.

They’re good with their blades and they can fight off the occasional mean spirit if they happen to pop in.  They’ve been busier, too, since they can’t rely on mortals to fend for themselves in smaller cases anymore.

Mortals wouldn’t know what to do, because the types of mortals who knew how to fend off spirits, who knew the sigils and magic necessary for self-protection, those died off long ago.  Peacetime breeds lack of preparation; those traditions and that vigilance was lost to time.  A lack of consistent danger leads to laziness.

Spirit isn’t lazy.  There’s always danger.

The job is a bit lonely, though.  Spirit doesn’t interact with humans without a disguise, because monkey demons seem to cause more of a stir than others.  Spirit thinks Monkey King is the reason behind it, but then again, Monkey King has been missing for a while.  And everyone blames Monkey King for everything.  Demons and Gods alike hate him.  Spirit’s pretty sure the name Sun Wukong is banned from being said in the heavenly palace, even.

They duck behind a building and through a secret passageway a few miles out from the nearest city.

They do have a second job, after all.

Bull clones greet them, red eyes glancing over them before moving out of the way so Spirit can enter.  They pass through the very, very lavish halls of the building, down towards the basement.  

Or, well, down towards the workshop.

They can tell Red Son is up in a tizzy, because things get hotter and hotter the deeper they go in.  That usually means that Red Son is upset.  He’s been upset more often lately.

Spirit tries not to think about how it’s probably because Princess Iron Fan has become someone who no longer reminds them of their Mom; rather, she’s more like their other parent.

“Hi Red!” they greet, and Red Son really is in a mood, because he scowls at the nickname.

He’s hunched over his desk, hair wild.  It flickers, whipping around like actual flames rather than the controlled shapes Red Son prides himself in styling, and Red Son’s hands burn the metal tools he holds.  When he flips up his welding mask, there are bags under his eyes, his pupils burning with exhaustion.

Spirit winces at the sight.

“I am Red Son!  Address me as such!” he shouts.

Spirit flinches back a little.  Sometimes Red Son’s shouting is easy to handle and other times they want to curl into a ball until the storm passes.  This is more of the latter.

“Sorry,” Spirit mutters, and they mean it.  “I keep forgetting.  You used to be Red Boy, you know?  I get them mixed up, so saying Red makes sure I’m right no matter what!”

Red Son glances over at them and softens.  It’s a secret, but Red Son has always been a little soft.  Soft isn’t what a Princess Iron Fan needs, though, so Red Son has put his heart on the shelf, so to speak.  

It’s admirable.  Spirit knows that as a kid, you have to do a lot to keep your parents happy, or else you won’t be good enough anymore and you’ll have to go.  They hadn’t told Red Son that when they’d met, but they’re glad Red Son learned before anything too drastic happened.  Princess Iron Fan hadn’t seemed like that type of parent when Spirit had first met her, but ever since Demon Bull King was sealed away…

Spirit sees less of Princess Iron Fan every time they visit.  It’s likely for the best.

“You may call me Red in private.  Not in public.  Or around mother,” Red Son acquiesces.

Spirit smiles, warm.

“Thanks Red.” They reach into their pocket, pulling out a mechanical piece.  “And here!  That part you wanted!”

Red Son snatches it from their hands, and they jerk back at the violent motion, a shot of fear jolting up their spine.

“About time!” he snarls, but there’s no heat to it.  Spirit knows Red Son enough to know when the anger is more performative, though they’re still a little wary regardless.

“It took a bit to find, you know.  I was as fast with it as I could be, you know that,” Spirit assures.  They take their favors very seriously, after all.  If they fulfilled it in a less than perfect fashion, it might not count, and if it didn’t count then that would mean that they could get hurt.

“Yes,” Red Son mutters.  “Adequate work.”

“That brings you up to…” Spirit pulls out their nifty favor book, flipping through the pages until they spot Red Son’s name.  “Ten favors!” They tally it down.

Ten favors means Spirit can mess up ten times and not get hurt.  Ten favors means ten degrees of safety, ten layers of protection.  It’s another blanket of relief.

Red Son doesn’t deign that with a reply, setting the part onto the workbench and turning it around.  He measures it out.

“This is more than enough material,” he mutters, glancing over at Spirit questioningly.

Spirit rubs the back of their neck, sheepish.

“Yeah, I know you said a specific size, but finding flame resistant, rust resistance, magically reinforced metal in a specific size isn’t easy!  But, I got this lazer thing,” Spirit reaches into their pocket and pulls it out.  “It’s tuned to the specific enchantment so you can use it to cut the metal!  And you can keep the extra material!”  They hand it over to Red Son.

Red Son rolls the device around in his hand, before glancing up at Spirit, seemingly unimpressed.

“I thought it was nifty…” Spirit mutters.  They would have thought Red Son would like to have extra material.  He’s always got another invention on the backburner, so more stuff is better, right?  And they brought him a new laser cutter thing!  What’s wrong with that?

Then again, Red Son has been a bit more particular about perfection as of late, so that could be the issue.

Spirit chews on the inside of their cheek and tries to not take it personally.  Why bother, when fighting back will lead to nothing but regret and pain?  They’re not strong, and they know that.  If they were strong, they’d still have four eyes and a mom.  So it’s easier to let it slide off their back than make a fuss.

Even if it does hurt a little.  But that’s fine.

“I suppose it’ll do.” Red Son slides down his welding mask and starts cutting the metal down to size.

Spirit watches, rocking back and forth on their feet, because watching Red Son work is always fun.  They used to watch their mom work, whenever there was a patient, and she’d always ask them to grab this herb or that gauze.  From start to end, Spirit would see their mom fix up any health issue with practiced, simple movements.  Always graceful and soft.

In contrast Red Son is very animated, when he’s in the zone, with sharp, harsh motions and dangerous flames that have them stepping back a few times.  Still, Spirit has been getting a lot of parts for whatever it is Red Son is making, so it almost feels the same.  It’s a wonderful feeling, to be able to help in the creation of something, whether it be a healed patient or...

“What’s all this stuff for?” they ask, because now that they think about it, they were never told.

Red Son freezes, and Spirit takes that reaction as reason for why they weren’t told.  They take another step back, out of the immediate blast zone (last time they checked, Red Son’s explosive temper had a thirty foot radius, with the most dangerous flames being within ten feet of the explosion) and tries not to make a mistake that could cost them.  They have their favors, but those only got so far, and they only have ten!  They can’t lose them.

“If-if it’s okay to ask,” Spirit fumbles, fidgeting.  Their tail curls around their leg, an anxious habit.  “I was just curious on how you’re gonna use all this stuff I’ve been bringing.”

Red Son doesn’t turn, but his posture does loosen ever so slightly. “...Mother wouldn’t want me to tell you,” he does seem a bit apologetic at the refusal.

Spirit gets it.  Princess Iron Fan knows them.  Spirit doesn’t betray, but they’ll do anything for a favor.  And if someone wants information they already have, why wouldn’t they give it away?

“Can I know what you’re making?  You don’t have to tell me how you’re using it, I’m just curious.” They kind of like eavesdropping.  Sometimes, when they finish a job around mortals, they’ll lurk around to pick up the town gossip.  Mortals have a lot to talk about, since they don’t have mortal peril to contend with.

“It’s for a gauntlet,” Red Son admits.  “A glove so powerful that the wearing could lift anything with it!”  

His hair flickers wildly in excitement, voice rising in pitch and volume as he continues.

Spirit “oooo”’s in appreciation, clapping their hands.

“Sounds exciting!” They have a few guesses of what said gauntlet could be used for, but no one tells them to think for a favor, so they keep those thoughts to themself.  “Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair.  That stuff burns!”

Red Son does not laugh at their joke.  To be fair, they’ve said it about a hundred times in the past thousand years.  Red Son does smile, for a moment, before turning back to his work.

“See you, Red!” They get a wave as they leave, which means they’ve improved Red’s mood a little.

If Red Son is in a good mood, he’ll actually say goodbye, but a wave is far better than when he just ignores their departure.  

They head up the stairs and then down the hall toward the way they came in, and nearly run into Princess Iron Fan in their haste to leave.  Their vision is a little lopsided, one side of their face having one eye and the other having two, so they can miss things if they aren’t paying attention.  It helps if they close one eye to even things out.

“S-Sorry ma’am!” They quickly bow, standing up straight a moment later.  

They usually try to hunch over when they’re around others, since their height can be seen as an intimidation tactic or even a sign of disrespect, for those with big egos, but Princess Iron Fan could never be intimidated by them and to insinuate such would be the real insult.  After all, Princess Iron Fan is the wife to the Demon Bull King.  Clearly, size means little to her.

“Spirit,” Princess Iron Fan’s voice is colder than it has ever been, and Spirit shivers.  “I see you have delivered your latest favor.”

“Yes ma’am.” Spirit nods with a small, what they hope is respectful, smile.  “Do you have any other favors you need me to do?”

The Demon Bull Family has been Spirit’s greatest...well, ally is a bit strong, but Spirit likes them a lot, out of those that typically call for favors.  While Princess Iron Fan has gotten less maternal over the years, she’s never outright mean to Spirit, and they take what they can get.

“No, we’re fine,” Princess Iron Fan waves a hand, before her gaze turns sharp.

Spirit feels their breath catch in their throat and they clasp their hands tight behind their back.  Their tail goes ramrod straight, the tip brushing the floor.

“I’ll ask you once more,” she starts.  “Align yourself with the Demon Bull Clan.  You will have our protection and will be at our disposal.”

Spirit bites back a sigh, because Princess Iron Fan has asked them a few times to join, and they do appreciate the offer, really, but it just is...too much.  Maybe they would have considered the offer more when Princess Iron Fan was nicer, but Spirit has seen the expectations she’s put on Red Son and they don’t have it in them to disappoint another parent.

They don’t know what she’d do, if Spirit failed her, but they know it would hurt.

“Sorry, ma’am, but I don’t align myself with clans.  I’m a free Spirit, so to speak,” they bite back a giggle at the pun.

Princess Iron Fan’s eyes flicker yellow and Spirit wonders if they’re going to have to run, but then she sighs.

“Very well then.  Stay out of town for the next few months.  For...your own safety.  If things go according to plan, then…” Spirit nearly jumps back at the feral smile that graces Princess Iron Fan’s face.  “Things are going to get messy around here.”

Spirit takes a shaky breath, and nods.

“Yes ma’am.  Farewell.” They bow, and then run off.

Jeez.  This is exactly why they keep away from all this stuff.  The Demon Bull Family is scary, and Spirit just wants to dole out favors in peace.

They don’t have any favors in mind on the backburner, and no one has called for them, so they head to the nearest town outside of the one Princess Iron Fan has told them to leave, and decide to clean up the local spirit activity there.

The next few months are relatively uneventful, if only because there’s no new favors for them to spend their time on.  Sometimes there are dry spells.  They once went two years without a favor, and boy, was that a boring couple of years!

It gets really lonely, some days.  They’ll play as a human for a while, intermingling with the mortals who have no clue what spirits haunt them.  

Spirits don’t have to be people, they just have to be things that were alive.  A dead relationship is just as haunting as a person.  Dead hopes, dead wishes, dead family ties, dead lives you’ve left behind—all weights that cling to auras.  

Spirit knows they have plenty themselves.  They’ve lost a lot. It sticks around.

Being around humans is hard nowadays, though.  They used to hang out around humans a lot.  Helping their Mom out in the Inn with patients acclimated them to seeing humans of all shapes and sizes, but then they had to run.  And they never stopped.

Staying around humans brings an itchy feeling that feels too much like grief.  They don’t like remembering how things used to be, because that only ever hurts.  So, when they get too entrenched in the past, they pull away, hide in the forests around the towns.

But they don’t fit in with the wild either.  Far too used to civilization, they can never find a place to stay.  So they wander.

No one can not notice the carnage that happens.  Spirit recognizes Demon Bull King’s aura from miles away, and as the surrounding areas evacuate, Spirit heads towards the danger to investigate.

Normally they’d run away, but whenever they were around Demon Bull King, he seemed nice.  Fluffy and kind and ever worried and furious about his son’s imprisonment, demanding Spirit send word to Red and come back with an update on the boy’s condition.  

Usually, Spirit wouldn’t try to go toe to toe with the Guanyin, but Princess Iron Fan was inconsolable and Demon Bull King had nearly begged.

So they snuck in to give Red Son, then Red Boy, a letter, and Red Son had them send one back.  It was an arrangement made simple, Spirit the messenger.  They wonder if the Guanyin knew the whole time and was just letting them sneak around, but regardless, they gained a rapport with the family.

And then Demon Bull King was sealed away, and Princess Iron Fan was despondent.  Nothing Spirit said could get her to stop crying, and when they’d relayed the news to Red Son he’d begged on his knees for them to sneak him out, so he could help his mother grieve and move on.

That favor was a hard one to decide on.  Again, risking the ire of the Guanyin was not something Spirit was interested in.  They knew what the Guanyin could do—she managed to reign in Sun Wukong and she could keep Red Son imprisoned.  What would she be able to do to them, a monkey with less than a quarter of the power she’d dealt with before?

But Red Son pleaded, and Spirit caved.

Their history with the family makes it hard to be worried about their safety around Demon Bull King returns, but that doesn’t stop Spirit from worrying about Demon Bull King himself.  Being imprisoned for so long is likely unpleasant, and who knows what happened to him underneath the mountain? How has it changed him? It’s not like something like that doesn’t hurt.

They could do without the violence, but Spirit doesn’t try to judge other people’s decisions.  If they were locked up for a while, unable to see their family, they might be upset too.

But Spirit doesn’t really get angry, on the regular.  Anger doesn’t do anyone good.  People getting angry at them has only been bad for Spirit, so the idea of them letting that same anger fester in them so that they hurt someone is ludicrous.  And what would their anger accomplish, anyway?

There’s enough pain in the world.  Spirit doesn’t feel like adding to it.

They sneak around the levelled town, watching Demon Bull King raze the ground, wondering if there are any mortals hurt.  Spirit catches a glimpse of a few spirits wisping around in the rubble, a moment later.  They’re of all ages, some even children, and the sight makes them wince.  None of this is right, mortals shouldn’t be getting hurt like this.  

What did they even do, to deserve the ire of the Demon Bull King?  Anything?  Or is this all meaningless rage, directed at someone weaker, someone who can’t fight back?

A hand, reaching down towards them, grasping them by the neck and pulling them up, up, up.  They kick their legs but their feet touch nothing, and the spoon comes in closer, and it digs, down, down, down—

Spirit takes a breath.  There’s no point in letting the past cling.

They would say something, maybe say hello and distract Demon Bull king from adding the to death toll, but that would just get them killed.  And Spirit has never been the one to step in and save someone. They’ve never been a hero, not when it counts.

Demon Bull King looks neither fluffy nor kind.  It seems that, just like with Princess Iron Fan, time has hardened whatever fluffiness he had.  It was as if the mountain had pressure cooked the lid on his temper, letting the anger boil over into the carnage below. And while the rage may have been….justifiable, almost, it still makes Spirit turn tail and run to the memory of stomping feet and angered roars that never were stopped by their mom’s pleads.

They duck away just as a newcomer arrives, weilding a very identifiable staff.  Spirit doesn’t catch who the newcomer is, exactly, but it has to be Monkey King, right?  Who else could wield the staff?

They scamper off to the sounds of a battle they don’t want to be in the middle of, passing by Red Son on the ground.  The sight makes them slow their escape, stopping to kneel besides him for a brief moment. He groans, hardly conscious, and they place a bottle of healing balm in one of his jacket pockets for later, before they finally make it out of the battle range.

They don’t see how the fight ends, but they know Demon Bull King certainly didn’t win.

Town reconstruction is pretty quick.  They haven’t caught up on all the different technological advancements mortals have managed in a thousand years, but last they checked this sort of damage would have taken years to fix, not just a month.

Mortals are pretty crafty in this day and age.  Spirit doesn’t exactly interact with all the new technology because it all seems to change so fast.  They interact with humans every once in a while, maybe a week at a time every few months, but they watch from the sidelines more often than not.  They’ve been called a wallflower before and it seems fitting.  They like watching the world pass by, and every time they think about joining the parade, the procession is moving too fast for them to feel safe jumping in.

It’s after a few days of scaling the rooftops of the newly rebuilt town, finding the lost spirits, and helping them fade into the underworld, that they get a summons.  Being the wanderer they are, most clans who know of them give them a token of sorts, one that they can use to notify Spirit when said clan is in need of their assistance.  They keep them on hand, hidden in their pocket.  

Sometimes they’ll jump around to hear the different tokens clack against each other.  It’s a fun sound.

They pull out their keychain of many, many tokens, and find the glowing one.

Ah.  The Demon Bull Family.  

Spirit considers ignoring it, but that would likely not end well, considering Demon Bull King’s newly-demonstrated-and-somehow-worse-than-before temper.  So, they sigh, and press the glowing red eyes of the bull token, letting the pull of the call teleport them to where they need to be.

They appear beneath the looming figure of the Demon Bull King, and they quickly bow, before looking up with an anxious smile.

“Hello, sir,” they greet with a tiny wave.  “It’s nice to see you again!  I was pretty sad when I heard you were sealed away, so it’s nice that you’re out.”

They bite their lip, hard, to stop themselves from saying anything else.

Princess Iron Fan is sitting on Demon Bull King’s shoulder, and Red Son is at Demon Bull King’s feet, looking...uncomfortable.  Spirit glances at him and smiles.  Red Son remains stoic, silent, and upset.

It makes them wonder, because they remember Demon Bull King being able to tell if Red Son was in a bad mood just by how he wrote in his letters, always sure to tell Spirit to bring an extra something or other if the latest letter had revealed Red Son’s dour mood.  How Demon Bull King can look at Red Son now and ignore the clear signs of sadness that are written in the red lines beneath Red Son’s eyes, the rage that comes from hurt that paints the tight set of Red Son’s shoulders, the frustration that reads in Red Son’s clenched fists, Spirit doesn’t understand. He sees it, right?

Maybe that’s just the eventuality of parents.  The good ones die, or they stop pretending.

Spirit was hoping that Red Son would look happier after his father returned, instead of scared.  They’d hoped things in the family would have gotten better, with Princess Iron Fan being happier and maybe kinder with her husband back at her side.  But, well….being under a mountain and spat back out into the world thousands of years after is probably quite the culture shock. 

Spirit worries.  Red Son only has two eyes.  Losing one won’t be as easy as it was for them, starting with four. If it comes to that, of course.

“Spirit,” Demon Bull King’s voice rumbles, far darker than it used to be. 

It always had a baritone timber, but now everything is said with an undercurrent of a growl, as if he’s angry before anyone has even done anything.

It reminds Spirit of their father way too much.  But that’s...fine.

“We have another favor to ask of you,” Princess Iron Fan continues for her husband.  “We want you to steal Monkey King’s staff.”

Spirit opens their mouth to say yes, of course, as they always do, but then the words sink in, and everything comes to a screeching halt.

“What?” Is what comes out of their mouth, incredulous and terrified.  “No-I can’t-how could I even lift it?  Isn’t it a million pounds?  I thought only Monkey King could wield it!” Their tail wraps so tightly around their leg that it hurts, as they tremble in place and refuse to look Princess Iron Fan nor Demon Bull King in the eye.

Red Son’s face shifts from neutral displeasure to panic, at Spirit’s refusal, before he steps forward.

“The gauntlet you brought materials for will fit you fine,” He holds it out, even as Spirit recoils.  “It gives the wearer the ability to lift Monkey King’s staff.”

Spirit scrambles to argue back, again, because they can’t do this, is everyone here crazy?  Sun Wukong isn’t someone they can sneak around, or talk around, or use a favor around.  He’s a being that has gone up against the Gods, fought them head on, and won.  The only person who could beat him was the Buddha himself, and the Buddha could only seal him away.  Spirit isn’t strong, they’re just crafty and careful, and neither of those things matter when going against the Monkey King.  Even if they managed to grab the staff, Monkey King would catch them before they took two steps away from him.

They’re so dead.  Their hands clutch at their face as they try to control their panicked breathing.  They blink a few times to focus and swing their arms out towards the Demon Bull family as everything bursts out of them.

“I-I can’t fight the Monkey King, though!  He beat you, the Demon Bull King!  I couldn’t even-how could I—” They’re rambling, half terrified they’re going to be killed for saying anything in dissent to the request, but far more paralyzed by the idea of fighting the Monkey King of all people.

Monkey King has not met them and owes them nothing, which is worse than if he hated them and owed them something.  They don’t know what he’d do to them, if they met, but they know that they like being alive.

And fighting Sun Wukong is a good way of making yourself not alive.

“The Monkey King has chosen a successor.  A mortal boy,” Princess Iron Fan explains.  “He’ll be far less skilled, and far easier to overpower.”

Spirit bites back the argument that if that were the case, Demon Bull King would have won when he returned.  Clearly, they’re being used as a pawn, and they don’t mind that usually, because it doesn’t always lead to them being put in the line of fire.  And hey, pawns are pretty useful, right?  They like being useful.  But—

“How old is he?” They have to ask.  It’s important.

“A mortal,” Princess Iron Fan says.  “He could be no older than Red Son, in mortal years.”

Red Son is younger than they are.  Red Son is a kid.

“No.” Their voice is sharp.

Red Son takes a step back, unused to the tone.  Even Princess Iron Fan goes still.  

Spirit doesn’t have a lot of lines in the sand.  They’ll do just about anything for just about anyone.  Just about, though, and they refuse to falter on this.

Ten years old and curled on the ground, clutching their face as their father roared, feeling the emptiness in their skull because he took it, he took it and it hurts—

“I don’t fight kids,” they say.  “I don’t.  The successor has to be a kid, right?  Smaller than Red Son, and Red Son isn’t all adult, right?”

“I am an adult!” Red Son shrieks in outrage, but Spirit has tripped too far into terror to stop talking.

“I’ve been told the mortal brain doesn’t develop until one is twenty five, and Red Son isn’t at that age, right?  Not with the way demons like us age, anyway.  So, I can’t!  I have a rule,” they shrug a little helplessly.

Oh god what are you doing you’re going to get killed shut up stop talking stop stop stop—

“And besides, you think I can beat someone who can go toe to toe with the Demon Bull Family?” they laugh, a little hysterical and shaky.  

Spirit glances up and regret it, because Demon Bull King’s face is dark with rage.  Red Son keeps staring at them like they’re already dead, and Princess Iron Fan’s eyes glow.  They feel very, very small here, shoulders hunched up as they manage something that could be described as a smile if you didn’t know what a smile was.

Useless, Useless.  If you keep messing up, maybe you’ll finally have a normal number of eyes, and wouldn’t that be funny?

“H-hey-I’m not a miracle worker!  But I can give you some information, anyway.  There are a lot of powerful artifacts you could use, I know where they are!” Spirit offers, voice shaking.

They fidget, staring up and waiting for the other shoe to drop.  On them, or in their favor, either way.  They can run anytime.  They wouldn’t get far, they know, but they have to try in that situation, don’t they?

Demon Bull King’s eyes glow, a snarl on his face that curls up his lip to reveal sharp teeth the size of Spirit’s arm.  Spirit trembles, and watches as Princess Iron Fan considers them, eyes glowing as well, before she pats a hand against Demon Bull King’s head and whispers something into his ear.

Spirit expects an axe a moment later, but instead—

“An acceptable proposal,” Princess Iron Fan says, finally.

Spirit manages to stay upright, so relieved they might just pass out.  They won’t be dying today, probably.  That’s good!  Cool.  Nice.  

They’re mad at you.  Can’t you feel it?  You have to run, before they can catch you.  Remember what happened last time?  You can’t expect this to turn out well.  Keep on guard.

They tug on their sleeves, shuffling their feet.  Cool.  

“So, to start, I would suggest the Jade Dragon blade,” they start, without prompting.  “It’s in the manor outside of town.  It’s an ancient blade passed down from the Dragon of the West Sea!  Very powerful.”

They continue to prattle on about any and all artifacts they can think of that would be useful, from the blade all the way up to the weird blue power source locked up in a tomb that no one touches for some reason.

Spirit had gone to check it out, once, but looking at it made their eye, the lonely one without its pair, hurt.  So they left it alone.

They talk for about an hour before they’re relieved, and they nearly trip over themselves in their haste to get out of there.  They run in one direction until their legs burn, and curl into a ball on the ground, trying to breathe.

They said no.  To Demon Bull King.  They can’t just do that, they don’t have that type of power!  That whole fiasco had to have shaved a favor or two of protection off of their tally.  They’ll have to edit that in their book, when their hands stop shaking enough to be able to write.

It’s fine.  It’s fine!  They handled it, like they always do.

They’re going to come after you and take your eyes.  They don’t even need a spoon.  Demon Bull King’s claw will work just fine, it’s large enough.  Or maybe they’ll use one of Red Son’s inventions, to make it more painful.

Spirit fights the urge to scream and buries their face in their knees.  Deep breaths.  

It takes them a few hours to calm down and they meticulously erase two tallies from Demon Bull King’s count.  There’s still five left, they still have room for error, it’s fine.  Sure, the sight makes their stomach churn and they hate to erase, but they have to.  It’s better to know where you stand than to pretend, no matter how scary the truth is.

Satisfied, they tuck the book away and lay back, staring up at the stars.

They should really check out the town, though.  The idea that Sun Wukong of all people has a successor is near ludicrous, but Princess Iron Fan probably wouldn’t lie to them.  Either way, checking it out is imperative, especially since such a newcomer means a possible new client!

If Monkey King has a successor, maybe Spirit can be of assistance, can offer a favor.  Just like with how a favor for Red puts them in the good graces with his parents, the same may be able to be said for Monkey King and his successor.  And if that’s the case, then they’ll stop at nothing to make it so.

Maybe, if they plan this right, Spirit can finally be safe from everyone.

They have to try, right?

[silverwhiteraven]

Words Most Important - MariBat GarMari Soulmate AU

[Hello~! This is a 7+k word fic written for a MariBat AU fan in need of some Garfield Logan/Marinette Dupain-Cheng content! (They also Beta read this, so thank you to them!!) Content includes an original Akuma, Puns, GarMari crossover pairing, Adrinette platonic pairing, an original take on First-Words Soulmate Tattoos (please credit if you decide to use it), and ends with a first-meeting! Hope you enjoy~!]

[Posted on A03]

This was not how the day was supposed to go. 

No, not at all, not a bit. 

But they're there now.

And here’s what happened.

Beast Boy had been in one of the Titan’s aircrafts heading for Paris, France, on an investigation of an old rumor. The rumor was really just a random, by-chance, overheard conversation heard in passing from someone describing having taken a vacation to France a handful of years back. The highlight of the vacation they had described was a shapeshifter. A beast with bright violet eyes had begun its attack at the city zoo in the form of a panther, and they supposedly witnessed it be defeated while in the form of a Tyrannosaurus-Rex by a pair of local heroes. 

The friends of the teller were skeptical — not because of lack of belief in heroes and villains, but because, as they searched the internet for satisfaction to their curiosity, there seemed to be no evidence whatsoever. The speaker had simply shrugged, stating they had been too panicked to take footage of their own, and the local news had skimmed over it excitedly — but too quickly to record a copy. They added, a little confused themselves, that when they returned home and tried to look it up, they, too, had seemed to be pulling up blanks with their searches.

Their only proof of evidence was their own word and memory.

They claimed to have found a few obscure posters online who shared similar stories of travels to Paris, but they all seemed to have very little luck in getting their stories shared or noticed.

Even the European branch of the Justice League only had a shrug in response to the questions.

Direct conversation seemed to be the only way these tales went heard, yet they never went far, a strange trait for rumors to have. 

So, there he was, on a simple recon mission. No engaging the enemy if seen, ask questions but do no harm. That’s was all it was intended to be. Well, it certainly didn’t go as planned.

Garfield watched as rather suddenly near the heart of Paris, a huge cloud of mixed colors and shades erupted. Perplexed, he began a slow turn to circle it, a mile wide berth between them. He barely got the controls turned before the cloud began to expand outward all round, and a wall of colors was heading for him. With wide eyes, he went to evade, but it was far too fast. 

For a short moment, he took notice as the closing in colors distinguished themselves through the new proximity to be small flower-like petals. They were uneven, non symmetrical, like little ovals cut diagonally through their minor axis. 

Then they struck.

Well, not so much struck as phased through the craft and him like they were nothing. 

Until the petals cleared and one, single, coral red petal struck him solid in his chest. He stumbled back, his seat no longer under him and the straps no longer securing his body to it.

In fact, the entire aircraft was gone. He was newly collapsed on the ground in an open street, a walled-in river to one side of him. In a panic he looked around, down at his chest and then right up into the sky. He spotted it still airborne and far off, with the wall of the cloud of colored petals having left it far behind as it disappeared into the distance. It took him a moment to realize it was now without a pilot.

“Uh-oh.”

He was off the ground in a moment, transforming into a falcon and took off after the craft.

He didn't reach it —definitely not for a lack of trying. 

Rather, barely after he started after it, a pale red glow emitted from his chest where he had been struck, and he found himself teleported once again back towards where he had been dropped the first time. He tried twice more before giving up.

Perched and pouting on top of a chimney, he watched as the craft finally crashed outside the city limits and unceremoniously caught itself on fire, leaving a glaring dark smear of smoke in the air. “Well, that sure went up in flames. What now.” 

A distant crashing sound pulls his attention completely around, and he finds himself staring wide eyed at a collapsing Eiffel Tower. 

“Well, today certainly has room to get better,” he remarked absently as the iconic landmark disappeared under a debris cloud of its own making. The glow from his chest started back up again, and he sighed as he braced himself. 

Beast Boy dropped into a bush, transforming back into his most human form as he jumps back out. He stops when he notices a very out of place rusted beam across his path. A lot of interconnecting beams. 

He looks down the length of the structure and realizes he’s at the Eiffel Tower now, at least, somewhere around where it’s now laying. Likely near what used to be the top, considering the beams were gathered close and the higher up ones sloping upwards and out, while the place where they gathered closer seemed to be supporting a floor, the rest of the structure's top hidden from view by the angle from where he stood.

He barely has time to consider what his first move should be before the glow is back, at the same time he hears another building collapse in the direction of the Tower’s feet, and he’s standing in a different spot.

At the bent and upturned feet of the Eiffel Tower. 

His brows furrowed and arms crossed, “I get the feeling I’m being dragged around now, that’s uncool ya know,” he adds, looking down with a halfhearted glare and frown to his chest. 

Not wanting to take any chances that whatever the coral red petal did to him would respond in kind, he turned back into a bird and took off in the direction he was being teleported, which seemed to correspond a little too well with the latest destruction. He really hoped he wouldn’t end up joining in a fight. He already lost his ride, he didn't want to break one of the mission’s rules, too.

Beast Boy watched the ground from above, and after a moment spotted movement followed by more noise. A giant came jumping out of a collapsing building. Several people, actually, two smaller, normal sized people carrying several others each followed suit.

The first person was huge, twice the average height. Their clothes — a simple androgynous formal suit and domino mask — were colored as though to mimic the cloud of petals as it had first appeared. The entire thing was swirls of blacks, greys, and whites, with an iridescent sheen like oil or mother-of-pearl. Their eyes and short hair matched as well, the entire look one matching theme. 

And they looked as mad as a smacked hornet.

The other two were running away from the first figure and setting down their human loads in safe spaces, people who must have simply been stragglers of an evacuation seeing as how there were no other people around, before heading right back towards the colorful…person. Was it even human? Nothing that tall was usually human. 

One was wearing an all-black, shiny leather bodysuit with matching close-body plates of armor, his eyes flashing green and catlike through his loose pale hair as they glared towards what Garfield now assumed was the enemy of the pair that rescued the people from the collapsed building. 

The other of the two wore an armored-looking bodysuit as well, but this one was red, black, and spotted, and just as shiny as the other. Her midnight hair was up in a braided bun, which was held in place by a pair of red, black-tipped ribbons, leaving her ocean-blue eyes clear below side-swept bangs. 

The two, obviously heroes, barely got close with a charge before they were jumping to retreat and dodge as the colorful villain began blasting them with shots and beams of equally colorful energy. The energy seemed to be dragged from the center of their chest, where two solid, iridescent metal petals, oil-black and mother-of-pearl white, slotted together into a heart, and into their hand’s grasp. 

“Power sources?” he mused as he settled on a roof edge. He was a bit worried, the heroes seemed to be doing just fine on their own for now. They were slowly gaining ground, without one sign of being injured at all. But it didn't seem to be fast enough, seeing the trail of destruction the fight was leaving behind. 

Maybe, he could help, just a bit. 

Yeah. 

Yeah! He could! 

He wasn’t exactly engaging the enemy, just… assisting some heroes! Besides, the enemy he was looking for in Paris obviously wasn't this one, so he was still following instructions, in a rule-dodging way, but still. 

Mind made up and a crooked grin on his beak, Beast Boy transformed once more. He was still a bird, but this time he chose a much smaller, much less noticeable bird. 

A hummingbird, to be exact. 

Zipping through the air, he made his way towards the fight, staying above it and out of the way of wildly-aimed energy shots, whipping yo-yo wire, and metal bo staff swings. He zigzagged through the air as they moved about, following and watching for an opening. The two other heroes communicated wordlessly, clearly teammates well-versed in their dynamic. He could tell though that the black-cat-styled one wanted to speak up a few times like a habit. Garfield could practically see the unsaid quips in his mouth, but he never got a chance, as they were interrupted by attacks every time.

“Mood,” he said to himself, as he was also not one to stay quiet for long. He just couldn't help it! It made the fights so much less tense for him, so less frightening. 

He also made a small note of how the villain didn't talk as well, and guessed that he had simply missed all the typical villain-monologue this one had had in stock.

The two heroes found their own openings before Beast Boy did, and they each struck opposite shoulders of the villain with their weapons, knocking them back into a wall with a crash. They didn't get up from the ground right away, but were quick to raise their hands yet in a counterattack. When the villain finally sat still for just a moment, Beast Boy struck.

Still a hummingbird, he dive-bombed straight down to the villain. He flew past their head on one side, grabbing the petal-heart-object as he pulled back up, then shot off back into the air on their other side.

The energy blasts fizzled out, since their power source — “Yes! I was right!” —had been removed. The villain looked panicked, looking all over the ground frantically for the item Beast Boy just stole and was now holding high in the air. The item, despite being metal, was surprisingly light, and his worry of needing to shift into a new form to hold it was dismissed. 

The hero pair, seeing the defenses of their opponent vanish, closed in. 

The fight was over the moment the wire of the ladybug themed yo-yo secured itself around the villain, unbudging. They took an extra moment to secure them to a tree, just in case they thought to try caterpillaring away as a last ditch effort.

“Pound it!” the two cheered in union, bumping their fists in a clearly traditional fashion. The two then glanced around themselves, looking for the villain’s power source that Beast Boy held. He noticed a purple mask-like butterfly symbol appear before the villain’s eyes as they scowled, fruitlessly struggling. 

The two heroes looked to each other then the villain with questions in their eyes. “Where did your Akumatized object go?” the ladybug-themed hero asked, clearly confused yet wary. 

The villain scoffed. “Like hell if I know. Yes, I don’t know where your stupid Akuma went, Hawkmoth, so leave me alone. We clearly lost this one. You aren't getting your precious Miraculous through me, and clearly I won't be finding my Soulmate through you.”

The colorful person doubled over and fell sideways in pain, held upright by the yo-yo, and Garfield felt alarmed and concerned at the sight. He dropped the Akumatized Object he had stolen, flitted closer to the tied up person, and transformed once more, now into a butterfly, and perching on the bark of the tree near them. 

The object made a light, ringing clatter as it hit the ground, and pulled the defeated villain and hero pair’s attention to it. 

“Oh!” the pair said, grinning to one another. 

“Care to do the honors, Chat Noir?” The ladybug one held out a red-and-black object, halting her partner in walking over to retrieve the heart-looking item.

Garfield saw the gleeful and mischievous smile spread as he took it. “Of course, might as well get some use out of it, don’t you say, Ladybug?” She only laughed and waved at the villain’s power source laying on the ground.

Chat Noir lifted and pulled back his arm, holding the red and black object, before flinging it forward at the Akumatized object.

It struck true, and embedded itself upright into the ground among the now perfectly split remains of the colorful, heart-shaped petals. 

The red and black item stopped quivering in its spot, and, besides the abnormal colors to the usually silver piece of merchandise, Garfield recognized it. 

It was a letter opener, with the handle in a perfectly shaped miniature replica of the Titans Tower. Garfield had one back in his quarters in that very Tower. 

Then, a violet-streaked black butterfly emerged from the shattered metal remains.

“Well, all together that was rather unnerving,” Beast Boy commented quietly, and the villain, who happened to be close enough to catch it, whipped their head around with wide eyes, staring at what used to be a very unassuming Beast Boy in butterfly form. 

“Sup,” he says, just before the enemy is rapidly covered in dark, violet black bubbles, which scared him off his tree perch and almost, almost, making him transform back into his usual form, but manages to hold it off. 

He stared at what is now a normal looking human, with no costume or signs of powers to be seen. The cable around them fell away with the slack. He kept staring, so much so that he missed whatever Ladybug does with her now retrieved yo-yo as she calls out, “No more evildoing for you, little Akuma! Gotcha!”

He did, however, manage to pry his eyes away from the un-transformed person quickly enough to watch Ladybug open her yo-yo to release a pure white butterfly. 

“Bye-bye, little Butterfly.” 

He flew up into the tree as the hero duo approached, ignoring the impromptu dagger Chat Noir had thrown, and shifted into a chipmunk to better perch and look down from the branches.

“Hawkmoth is no longer a threat to you. How are you feeling?” Chat Noir asked, crouching down by his partner. Concern was laced into his soothing tone. Ladybug had gathered up the petals of the broken Akumatized item, revealed to be a set of two half-heart pins, as well as the letter opener, and was now sitting close to the untransformed person.

“I…” They paused, looking down at their now-exposed arm. Two lines of text flowed parallel up their forearm. The bottom one had faded into a sickly grey. Some of the words he could read of it were not very pretty. Tears built and fell from their eyes and they sobbed. 

“She said something to me, it- it was bad, really bad… I never knew that words that ‘mean the most’ can sometimes be so… so mean. I...” They sniffled. “I wanted to find my other soulmate, I really needed them…”

Ladybug gave them a sympathetic smile and rested a hand on theirs in comfort. It became apparent to him that this person must have been a victim to this Hawkmoth person and that dark butterfly he had seen. 

“Words have a lot of weight on us,” Ladybug said to them, “The people behind them and their meanings can be a lot to have sometimes. I want you to remember something,” she requests, and wiped away a tear from the civilian’s face. 

“Remember that if these aren't the words you want on you, to make an effort to change them. Make sure she puts in the effort, too. You know why? Because they are her words to write, not just yours to bear. You don't have to accept these words if you don't want them to be the ones that have the most meaning.”

Ladybug gently tapped the faded words with an encouraging smile. “See? Even now, you’re making sure they don't stay. You can bring them back, if you still want to keep your connection and strengthen it. Just make sure the words that are there are the ones you truly want to value most.

“And them?” She tapped once more on their arm, now on the other set of words, and finally dropped the two heart halves into their palm, then closed their fingers around it. “You'll meet them when it's time. Not even I could make mine come sooner than they're meant to. Don’t worry, you’ll meet yours and hear their words, I’m sure of it, when it's right.”

“Never heard words so wise, Bug,” Chat Noir added with a soft and proud grin. He helped the victim stand, after making sure they were steady, before letting them head off. Lingering sorrow and pain were still clear in their tense shoulders, but hope and determination powered their steps.

Ladybug stood with a sigh and a content smile, before she pulled the Titan Tower letter opener back out and gave it a last glance before tossing it into the air.

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

Garfield watched in stunned awe as the world was momentarily filled with glittering ladybugs, and as they swept past him, all damage was turned right back to what it had been before. He even watches the sparkling trail as it brought back the city’s iconic Eiffel Tower. 

When they were gone, he turned his gaze and attention back to the heroes and their enemy-turned-civilian. 

But they weren't there.

In fact, as he stumbled back once more, “Oh snaps,” and popped back into his regular form, he’s pretty sure he was the one who now wasn't where the two heroes are, wherever that was. He spun around, and there was the aircraft that was nothing more than a hot mess in the distance barely over an hour before. 

Surprisingly, he was right where he and it were originally supposed to be: parked in a clearing outside the city.

“Huh. Weird.” Garfield heads into the aircraft, going straight for the communications station. He finds it blown up with notifications of warnings and concerns from his team. 

He read over it all, making sure to record and send a quick report of what he experienced on his end.

Turns out, that cloud of petals had expanded out at a seemingly impossible rate over the surface of the Earth and even out towards space. The petals seemed to be physically unstoppable, except for the single petals that would break from the main wall and were apparently attracted to individuals. Every individual to be precise, like there was a petal or even more assigned for every person in the universe. 

One of the speedsters had even tried to outrun his own and failed at it. He had coincidentally ended up in Paris, too, though he had been rather disappointed he didn't get to see the Eiffel Tower —it just wasn't there. 

Beast Boy figured he just got there some time after it had collapsed and couldn't see it from where he was.

Also it turned out that everyone experienced the same thing he had when they stuck: they were teleported somewhere they didn't know, or didn’t intend to go, or hadn't expected to get to so soon. 

At least, that was the experience of those who hadn't met their soulmates yet.

Those who knew their soulmates were simply teleported to each other: either to the location one was already in, or somewhere random in between. 

And when the magic ladybugs came to the rescue, everyone was put where they had been.

He thought it was over, then started one more recording to message out. 

“Hey guys. So, I think I know what happened. I don’t think whatever put everyone back actually put people back, exactly. See, I mentioned how I was brought back to the aircraft, right? Well, this isn't where it crashed, it's where my landing zone was. It's where I was supposed to be, not where I had been, especially considering I was hit while still flying this thing. 

“That lady hero, Ladybug? She said something about not being able to force a meeting between soulmates before its time. And the Akuma — that’s what that villain was, by the way, just now found out — turns out I can find all the stuff I need on the Internet while in Paris. I bet it's either a magic or cyber firewall that keeps it in check outside of Paris’ networks. 

“I even found stuff on that shapeshifter! He was an Akuma, too, Animan, so he’s long gone. Anyway, the Akuma wanted to find their other soulmate after being hurt by the first one. Bet you five that their power was to transport soulmates closer to each other. Bet again the fact that I haven't met mine yet kept it from transporting me all the way, but the Akuma also kept me from getting too far away.”

His face lit up in a wide, dopey grin with realization. “I bet mine is here, I wasn't able to get very far away from all the fighting after all, maybe they were one of the people who got caught up in the fight.” His smile softened, and he rubbed the nape of his neck, where he knew his soulmate’s words spanned over it, starting from one shoulder and ended on the other. 

“Even if I met them while the fight was still going, I bet another five that not once, through even a whole convo, they would have said the words. After all, you can't force a first meeting. It has to be a surprise.

“Besides,” he laughed, “with the adventure I was on, that would have been one big terrible circumstance for a first meet, yeah? So let's see where this goes. Beast Boy, out!”

He sent out the new update message before he stood and stretched, then dressed out of his hero uniform and into casual clothes. Beast Boy finally booked it out of the aircraft with a holler powered by a previously-suppressed excitement finally coming to the surface. 

“MY SOULMATE’S IN PARIS!! But first,” he added with a sly grin to himself, “food!”

~~~

Ladybug watched as the magic ladybugs clear away the damages before turning back to Chat. “Well, this was an eventful day. Glad we didn’t get teleported halfway across the world or something,” she added as the two make their way onto a high roof. 

Chat follows her up and laughs, giving a lighthearted shrug, “True, but I bet we can thank Kaalki for that — at least, on my end.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of silver sunglasses that he slid on with a wink. A Kwami followed the glasses out and hovered at his shoulder.

The Horse Kwami spoke up with a huff as she accepted a macaroon from Ladybug. “You absolutely can thank me, and should. You, M. Chat Noir, almost got transported to the Americas. I had to cancel out Split-Soul's power until your other Soulmate was struck with their own Soul-Petal, thus bringing them here. It took longer than expected; whoever they are, they must have found some way to avoid the Soul-Petals, at least temporarily.” 

“And Ladybug?”

Kaalki gave him an odd look. “You are my current wielder, and I can only use my transportation ability once at a time, in this case, on you, in a non-stop reverse-teleportation. I had no time or energy afterwards to attempt the same for Mlle. Ladybug. However, it seems she had no need for my power. My guess is her Luck held and her other Soulmate is either already in Paris or was brought here, instead of her to them. Or the Soulmate Bond between you two assisted in keeping her here, any of these options are plausible.”

The two heroes looked at each other with dumbfounded expressions as the information sank in. 

“Ladybug…”

“Chat… They could be here. Right now. I- I might meet my Soulmate soon.” She became overwhelmed with nerves, excited and nervous all at once. 

Her partner grinned at her as he saw what was about to happen coming, and opened his arms to her. She slammed into him with a crushing hug, laughing as her overflow of emotions comes out as tears.

“I don't even know if I’ll meet them yet,” she added, hugging her best friend closer for a bit of extra support. “But that's okay, just knowing they were so close, even for a little bit, it’s… amazing. I just can't wait. I hope we meet soon.”

“I look forward to you telling me all about them, Bug. Good Luck.” They both laughed at that, knowing full well her luck was always out of whack outside the suit, and he never could avoid a fitting yet sincere pun. 

She breathed deeply for a moment then stepped back and wiped away her tears; Chat made sure to catch the ones she missed. 

“You good?”

“Good.” She nodded, and gave him a beaming smile that he returned. “Now, let’s head home! Maman and Papa made a huge order today and you know there's always extras left over.”

“Yes!” He cheered, pulling out his baton, “Dupain-Cheng sweets, here I come!”

Together the two headed to Marinette’s home, and dropped in through her open skylight that they had exited through and left open earlier when the first Akuma struck, then latched it shut with an added sense of finality to their day. They de-transformed and toss their respective Kwamis their treats before following each other down the multiple flights of stairs, then burst into the back of the bakery with big smiles. 

“Marinette! Adrien!” Sabine Cheng smiled back at the two as they made their appearance. “You're just in time, we have some reject meringues left over for you to take upstairs for snacks if you want them. Would you mind helping us in the bakery later before closing? We expect a small rush for all the end-of-day goods.”

“Of course, Sabine!” Adrien nods enthusiastically, grabbing the tray of proffered meringues. “Did the Akuma earlier cause any troubles here? That one was a doozy, almost gave me a heart-attack.” He emphasized his private pun with a wink towards Marinette, who smirked and rolled her eyes.

Sabine laughed, though remained oblivious to the secret behind the pun. “Other than Tom appearing in front of me on top of the counter without warning? No, all was well here. Though, he did grab one of the shelves when he almost fell — turns out it's a bit loose, ‘cause it fell right off the wall with the baskets of bread. Lucky us, Ladybug’s cure cleaned it all right up, and we can fix the shelves tomorrow.”

“Oh! I can do it when we come back down. It’s safest to get it done as soon as possible, right? I’ll even do it before the rush, promise.” He saluted, emphasizing the promise like a scout.

Sabine nodded, no longer shocked by his eagerness to help out. Sometimes, she just wanted to adopt the boy, and she knew she could without a doubt. “Alright, dear, just be careful when you do.”

“Yes Ma’am! Let's go, Marinette!” He grabbed her hand, the one where his words were etched into her wrist, balanced the tray on his other, and dragged her back up the stairs. 

“Slow down, you’ll make me trip!” she exclaimed, and followed him up with only a slight stumble. 

They headed right back up to her room, and passed a meringue each to the three Kwami, then proceeding up the steps to her loft and out into the open air of her shaded balcony. He set the tray down on her spool table. The two settled down into matching lounge chairs on either side of it and finally took treats of their own.

“So…” Adrien started, looking at her expectantly, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

“Hm?” Marinette looks back at him as she bit her meringue, tilting her head curiously, though wary at his look.

“Your other Soulmate, huh?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes at him once more. “Haven't met them yet, like you already know. Yeah, they might be in Paris, but we don't know for sure. And like I told the Akuma victim, we won't meet until it's time.”

“But you're still hopeful, right?”

“Yeah, like I said earlier, I hope I meet them soon, but, I’m okay if not. I know they're out there, and that still counts.”

He sighs and laid back. “Yeah, me, too. Though, knowing they were so close? It’s a little hard to not be disappointed that not even an Akuma’s desire-fulfilling powers could bring them around quicker. Just wish they would get here faster. Like come on, pick up your feet!” He threw out his arms dramatically before slumping back in a pout.

She laughed and reached across the table to pat his hair. “They're coming as fast as they can, promise.”

He looked back at her in mock skepticism before his grin returned in full force. “Speaking of picking up feet, can I see you other Soulmate’s words again? They make me crack up every time.”

“Oh come on! They're not that ironic,” she protested, but obliges anyways as she lifts her right leg and settles the ankle to rest on the edge of the table. 

“Are you kidding me?” he questioned, leaning forward to look at the words, laughter in his eyes. “This is being ironic at full power. I would swear with you being, well, her, and these words, you would have met them by now.”

Words wrapped around her ankle like a decorative piece of jewelry. 

“Oh wow, my hero, thanks!”

“Yeah, well, you’ve seen yours, too, right?” She reached over and tugged up his shirt, revealing the words running along the front of his left hip.

“Since when did the cat lady have a son?”

He laughed, and she added, “If your dad knew why it said that, he would faint on the spot and then lock you up permanently when he comes to.” He only laughed harder at the thought and she sat back again with an exasperated grin of her own. 

As he quieted again, he looked at her with a question. “Kaalki said the Americas, right? Do you think it might have been the United States?”

“We can ask later, but yeah, maybe. Why?”

“Well, it does say ‘cat lady’, so clearly we’re bound to meet while I’m being him. Do you think this ‘cat lady’ is, maybe, another hero?” He looked nervous to ask, but open to the idea. 

“Maybe? We can check.” She waved her phone at him, the search engine already open. She took a moment to search ‘cat themed american heroes’ while Adrien leaned closer, biting into a meringue as he did so. 

She shook her head at the broad list of results, humming to herself in thought. “Maybe…” She tried again, changing the search to ‘black cat themed american vigilantes’. Her eyes went wide at the top results, and pulled up an image, showed it to him, and his expression followed suit to her own.

“Is that…” 

“Yep. You know, with the familiarity that ‘cat lady’ sounds like, maybe you should be thinking about if your Soulmate is the one who’s also a hero.” She finished off her meringue with a pointed look, and he munched the last of his with a thoughtful look.

“What if,” he swallows before continuing, pointing at her, “both of us have hero Soulmates?”

She took a moment to process that then looked out over her balcony railing, tapping her chin. “Yeah, maybe. I mean, it would make a whole lot of sense. I don't see us stopping being heroes even after Hawkmoth is defeated. Even if someone else takes up his mantle like Timetagger suggested, there will always be other villains out there, new and old, big and small. I want to help fight them, so maybe we’ll be helping other heroes, too, and not just us on our own.”

The soft smile he gave her in response relaxed her, and she smiled back just as softly.

“You're right, Buginette. I wouldn't want to stop and give that up, not ever. I plan to go full Daredevil!” Adrien cheered — a bit too enthusiastically, because he wound up knocking the empty tray off the table with his arm, and it fell to the deck, bounced with a clang, and went right through the bars of the railing — falling to the ground below. 

They both rushed over and leaned out, checking to see if it fell on anyone. The sidewalk and street was clear, and the tray was resting rather casually against the curb. Marinette raises a brow at him. “I thought Daredevil was aware of his surroundings at all times.” 

Adrien chuckled sheepishly and rubbed his neck guiltily, but bumped her side in retaliation to her jibe. “I meant fighting crime both in and out of the mask, you know? Become a lawyer or something.”

Marinette nodded and gave an encouraging smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I can see it. I’ll help you out any way I can.”

He gives a sly smile, “Any way? Even show up in court as her and then reveal yourself?”

Without hesitation, she nodded once with a sense of finality. “Yes, even that. You’re my partner, my friend, and practically my brother, if my parents have say anyways. I support you, all the way.”

His grin is wide and bright as he turned to her fully and pulled down his shirt, revealing her words written over his heart. She has no time to read them as she watched them rewrite themselves before her eyes, sparkling silver before fading back to black.

“You’re my partner, my friend, and practically my brother. I support you, all the way.”

She laughed and looked him in the eyes as he grinned back, her heart feeling loved, and she loved knowing her words meant so much to him. “You missed a part.” 

He laughed, too, and then they're both giggling against each other's sides as they looked back at the ground, unconcerned for the moment about the tray. 

“Remember our first words to each other?” Adrien asked quietly, soft and content.

“Mhm, you said “Well, hey there, nice of you to drop in,” right after I fell on you that first day.” They both giggled again and he nodded.

“Yep, and you said, “Sorry, I didn't do it on purpose.” Who would have known what those lines would mean to us, let alone why they were said. I’m glad they happened. You're the best person out there, Marinette, thanks for dropping in on me.”

“Yeah.”She nodded back to him with a held back laugh. “You're welcome I'm such a klutz.”

They sat in comfortable silence after that, just basking in the renewed calmness of the day, and casually kept an eye on the fallen tray to make sure no one saw it and took off with it. 

A slight disturbance down on the far side of the park drew Marinette's eyes and she nudged Adrien, gesturing toward it. “See that?”

He looked, and a moment later made a face like he bit something distasteful. “We’ve both seen enough fan-made crowds to know what that is, and how to avoid them. I wonder who the poor famous soul is.”

“Let’s find out,” she said, and whipped her phone out once more, opening the camera function. He raised a brow at that. 

“Your camera’s that good?” 

She nodded with a grin, “Yep! Lucked out with this one,” she stated with a wink.

He rolled his eyes but grinned in appreciation. “Good for you, mine stinks like cheese.”

“Get new cheeses then,” she quipped, and ignored his plaintive “I wish…” as she leaned closer to her screen as she zoomed in. 

It takes a minute, but she finally got a good image and a clear view, and snapped a picture, sitting back with wide eyes as she looked it over. “No way.”

“What? Let me see, who is it?” She let him take the phone as she looked back over the balcony and down towards the relatively small and far-off gathering of people.

“Pretty sure that's a foreign superhero, Adrien.”

“No way,” he parroted as he stared between the phone and the small group. “That's definitely a hero —. one of the Titans, too; I recognize him from one of Alya’s other hero blogs. That’s so cool, we don’t actually get to see other heroes that often, do we?”

Marinette shook her head, looking back to him. “Nope. We’re way too busy all the time, even with one so close we probably shouldn't try going over, even in costume.” Adrien deflates a bit at that, but nods in understanding, knowing full well what she means. “Besides, like you said, Alya has her side blogs, and nothing hero-related ever gets past her. I bet she'll have something up on one of the blogs by tomorrow.”

Adrien brightened back up with a chuckle. “Yeah, Paris gets a lot of visiting heroes. Alya won't rest whenever one is spotted. Still, I don't think we've ever had one visit so close to an Akuma attack before, I wonder if he saw it…”

“At the very least he experienced it,” she stated “That Heart-Petal blast Split-Soul did went worldwide, if not off-world, too.”

“True. Not a lot of Akumas pull attention from outside of Paris, though. So, here’s to hoping none of it is negative.” He held up a split meringue he had previously stashed away, offering her a half. 

She took it and tapped it against his as they call out in unison, “Hear hear!”

Together, they finished off their last treat and headed back down into the building once more. They joined Marinette’s parents in the bakery, and Marinette went to get the fallen tray from outside, then brought it to the back. She found Tom and asked if he needed help with the cleaning in the back, including the shutting off and clean-out of the ovens. Adrien found Sabine and asked about the shelf. 

Sabine helped Adrien bring out a ladder for him to use, as well as a couple tools and screws that he set aside. Marinette joined the two up front, as her father had claimed he would get her assistance later and sent her to help with the shelf.

“We need to get all the bread off the shelves first. Here, I’ll pass them to you, okay?” He went up the ladder and grabbed the first bundle. 

Unfortunately, he seemed to be rather unused to the use of ladders, and had  trouble turning or stepping back down without his arms. 

In what Marinette assumed was an accurate rendition of what happened earlier with Tom Dupain, Adrien stumbled on his perch and, after dropping half the bread, shot out an arm to grab the very shelf they were trying to get fixed.

Just as that was happening, Marinette saw the flash of movement at the door as it opened with a little ring from its bell. After so many years of practice predicting chain effects and their results, her movements came instinctively. 

She jumped forward, grabbed an empty display tray, and held it above their heads as a makeshift shield against all the catapulted bread and the shelf itself as she dove for the newcomer to unceremoniously tackle him out of the way. 

The shelf had scraped the bottom of the tray as she had gotten in its way, shoving it off course, and as the two people went down, one end of the shelf thudded hard into the ground just to the side of where it had previously been headed, the place the newcomer had been about to be, before falling to the floor with a bang.

Marinette and the other both sat up on the floor and looked over to the shelf and the surrounding mess of bread. Adrien and Sabine are both momentarily stunned into a still silence.

“Oh wow, my hero, thanks!” The other boy breaks it, and Marinette tinted with a gentle blush alongside her nervous laugh. She hadn't heard that phrase as often outside of Ladybug’s mask, and it had always felt different, a bit more embarrassing. 

This time it had felt a little extra different in another way and she turned to him.

She blinked owlishly as she recognized Beast Boy beside her, already realizing the words that next tumbled from her mouth were full of both irony and coincidence, considering she really was a hero, and so too was he, but at the same time being protection from baked goods and a shelf wasn't much of a heroic feat.

 “I’m not much of a hero, I just do what needs to be done, the best I can. Anyone can do it.” His expression lights up at her words, and she realizes in that moment why him having called her a hero felt so different: Her Soulmate Mark was reacting to the words he spoke, and she felt them for the first time as though they were a solid thing around her ankle, right where it belonged.

Beast Boy was quick to reply, “I’ve never heard words more true.” 

His grin widened and his eyes seemed to glimmer. 

“Well, I’ve certainly read such true words,” he adds. “But it’s nice to finally hear you say it. Hi, I’m Garfield, Gar for short, and, I think you’re my Soulmate. I really hope I'm not wrong.”

Adrien and Sabine, who had both broken from their stupor sometime during the floorbound conversation and had moved closer to check on the two, both froze for a second time at Garfield’s words.

They all watched as Marinette felt Garfield’s words react once more and she stuck out her right ankle for all to see as the words there shimmered a golden iridescent. It felt like she had put her ankle directly into a beam of sunlight through a window, before it faded back to black and the feeling left.

“I think you’re my soulmate. I really hope I’m not wrong.”

She flushed a darker shade as she covered it back up, embarrassed to have everyone see just how important those specific words had been to her, and so soon after meeting him, too! At least one of her fears was eased: she hadn't met her Soulmate while being Ladybug.

“Hi, I’m Marinette, and we’re definitely soulmates. It’s nice to finally meet you. Sorry about the bread.” She quickly stood up from the ground and held out her hand to her Soulmate. He grasped it lightly and they steadied each other as he pulled himself up, a bit of a dopey grin on his face. 

“Nice to meet you too, Mari, and don't worry about it, I've been through far worse than almost being turned into bread pudding.” Adrien laughs at that, breaking from his second shock, and was joined by an overhearing Tom who had finally joined the group in the front to investigate the original commotion. Even though her mother turned a sympathetic yet encouraging look to her, Marinette didn't feel at all disappointed that a third jokester had added himself into her life.

“Garfield, meet my mother Sabine, my father Tom, and my Platonic Soulmate Adrien. My family. Family, welcome Garfield, my Soulmate.”

And welcome him they did, with open arms and several hugs, one of which he pointedly compared to Cyborg’s in strength with a touch of amused surprise. 

Honestly, this was not how the day was supposed to go for either of them.

No, not at all, not a bit.

At least, from their expectations it wasn't.

In actuality, it went exactly as it was Destined.

And they're here now.

That’s what matters.

[End!! Thank y’all so much~!!]

Tag List: @the-navistar-carol @persephonebutkore @freshbark @ethelphantom @soulmate-game 

[maxolotl67]

children of dust and ashes

Triple H x Reader (gender-nonspecific)

Summary: Set in a Mad Max-esque future, a scrapper enters the court and good graces of a mysterious king.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: The following is VERY not safe for work. There is swearing and sex. Please read responsibly.

Notes: So, uh. This ended up being way too long. And porny. Oops. This is directly inspired by Triple H’s WM35 entrance, which I loved far more than is probably healthy. Title comes from a song in Natasha, Pierre, & the Great Comet of 1812, a highly underrated musical.

Coughing weakly as a breeze kicked up a dust cloud, you shielded a hand over your eyes and scanned the horizon. Nothing for miles save desert and rock.

No one knew you were gone yet, but it wasn’t likely to stay that way for long. With any luck, maybe they would forget about you and drive off in the other direction. But that would still leave you stranded.

Shade. Water. Options. Three very important things that you currently lacked. Still, it was better than staying and risking death. Or worse. You resolved to keep walking, quickly and quietly and as far away as possible.

Minutes stretched out into hours. Maybe even days. Your feet hurt, there was dirt in your eyes, and you’d long since lost track of which tire tracks were the ones to avoid following. Had the sun moved at all? You couldn’t remember. The horizon stayed the same no matter which way you turned your head. Was this hell? Had you died in that ramshackle camp and this was your punishment? That distant growl was probably the devil’s hound out for your blood.

Wait. Growl?

Far off to the south, the horizon had suddenly changed. You were no longer alone. Over the crest of a dune came a single solitary wagon, its engine baying like an angry predator. It seemed to be heading north - that was, until it made a sudden turn straight for you.

You wanted to flee, but every part of your body screamed in protest at the idea. It seemed unlikely that you could even get away or think to hide. You fell to your knees, exhausted. Hopefully this one would at least think to kill you quickly.

The car was clearly built for speed, exchanging size and practical armor for mobility and acceleration, yet the iron chains and barbed wire wrapped erratically around its sturdy frame suggested its builder was familiar with combat. There was only one rider. They wore a mask and hood, obscuring their face. You closed your eyes, resigned to your fate.

The engine fell silent. Two heavy boots hit the ground.

“Your reverence is appreciated,” a deep voice said, with more than a hint of amusement. “Though in your case, it isn’t necessary.”

Looking up and blinking against the light, you saw the rider had removed his hood and mask. He was a tall man, bald and muscular, with loose-fitting leather clothing, rust-colored eyes, and a commanding bearing. Your immediate reaction was one of awe - he was at once the most intimidating and the most intriguing person you’d ever seen. Perhaps this wouldn’t end in your death after all.

You shakily rose to your feet, politely refusing his outstretched hand when he offered it. “Why’s that? Are you a king?”

He smiled mysteriously. “The king of kings, baby.”

You groaned inwardly. Men. “If that’s the case, why are you out here alone? Don’t kings usually travel with an entourage?”

“Heard scattered reports of raiders traveling through our lands. Wanted to check for myself.” He squinted back in the direction you’d come from. “Small time, by the looks of it. Not worth bothering with just yet. You see them?”

“Came from their camp, actually. Bastards stole my wagon.”

He looked you over, raising an eyebrow. “Must not be a smart bunch, letting you out of sight. Why don’t you come with me and we can discuss it?”

Discuss? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Could this kingly stranger be trusted? Was this another cage waiting to happen? You sighed. Even if this man was a tyrant, riding with him back to wherever he came from sounded better than dying of thirst out here. “Fine,” you said after a moment. “Though I doubt I could tell you anything you don’t already know, your highness.”

That earned you a laugh. “Please, call me Hunter.” He gestured for you to take the gunner post. You did so with a satisfied smile.

Hunter threw the wagon in gear, and it set off back south with a mighty roar. Yours had barely held together even at the best of times, so it was a refreshing change of pace to ride on a rig built for speed. If you played your cards right, maybe you could score yourself a setup like this.

Over a number of dunes and through a maze of stones the wagon flew, until you came to the edge of a dried lake bed. Or was it a crater? At the center lay a massive fortress adorned with flags. You didn’t recognize the emblem from any of the groups you’d come across in the wasteland - black fabric with a big yellow X.

So, an insular society ruled by a reasonable king, with fast rigs, a presumably large force, and a willingness to talk with strangers? This would be interesting.

The garage was cool and dark, an instant relief from the hellscape you’d left behind. Again Hunter offered you his hand, but you climbed off the wagon yourself without a word. King’s guest or not, you wouldn’t be patronized to today. 

“What’s the word, boss?” A voice called from a high catwalk. You couldn’t see their face clearly, though you did see an impossibly long braid dangling over the edge of the railing.

“Trouble brewing in the southwest,” Hunter called back. “Get Lorcan and Burch out there. I need numbers, I need defenses. No engagement, got it? Purely an assessment.”

The person with the braid gave him a lazy salute and skipped off. Hunter gave you a smile that left a fluttering feeling in your stomach. “One of my kids. Not literally, of course. You’ll get to know them.”

Of course. A large group like this would need a familial bond to stay strong. As you followed Hunter through a series of hallways, you took note of the dormitory-like rooms, a few small armories, even a communal kitchen. Maybe an extended stay here wouldn’t be completely awful.

The two of you came to a large space, clearly meant for group gatherings. The high ceilings and second floor walkway around the room you understood, but what you found most notable and most perplexing about the room was the raised square platform in the center, surrounded by ropes attached to posts. A combat arena? A space for the king to address his subjects? Both?

On this platform, two men were exchanging blows. Not hard-hitting ones, though. It looked like they were training, though to what end you couldn’t guess. Hand-to-hand fighting wasn’t common in the wastes, or at least that was the case with the raiding groups you’d met.

“We have a guest,” Hunter boomed, stopping them in their tracks. “Johnny, stay here. Tommaso, I need Dream and Shayna in here now. See if Hanson and Rowe are back, we’ll need them too.” His tone was a lot different with his followers than it was with you. His authority definitely wasn’t to be challenged here.

The man with the grizzled beard nodded and ran from the room. The other jumped down from the ring with a smile. You saw then that his belt buckle was exceptionally large and made of what looked to be gold. It was marked with the same emblem you’d seen on the flags outside. “Johnny Wrestling,” he said, extending his hand to you. “Good to have you on board.”

“Don’t get excited,” Hunter corrected as he ascended the stairs on one corner of the ring. “They’re not signed just yet. Let’s hear their story before we decide anything.” You appreciated Johnny’s welcoming nature nonetheless, so you shook his hand politely.

A tough-looking woman entered the room, followed by a man draped in black linens. Both of them had belt buckles similar to Johnny’s, but otherwise their contrasting styles and demeanors almost made you laugh. If the people here were all this diverse, you’d fit right in.

“The Era’s been looking for you again, your highness,” the man drawled. “Always on and on about their rematches. Frankly, the Dream is tired of it.”

Hunter groaned, a long-suffering kind of sound. “Thank you, I’ll deal with them later. Everyone in the ring, now.” The three with the belts climbed between the ropes, until all the eyes in the room were on you and you realized that he had meant you too. Oh right, this was supposed to be about you. You scrambled in and stood awkwardly next to Hunter, who cleared his throat.

“As you know, since we’ve decreased the number of border teams there’s been a bigger need to keep an eye on movement outside our territory. Now, the last thing I want is to weaken our force by sending those teams back out there. What we need is to look into the possibility of more long-range recognizance. Outposts, checkpoints, whatever’s necessary to keep outsiders out of our territory. I want each of you to talk to your friends, have them talk to their friends, and start drafting plans. No idea is too small or too dumb. Have it on my desk as soon as you’re able.”

You were so caught up by Hunter’s expert calculations and contagious confidence that it took a moment to realize he’d turned to smile at you. “In the meantime, I’ve brought in someone you might call an expert. Our new friend here can give us a better idea about what goes on in just one enemy camp. Care to start from the beginning?”

Clearing your throat, you told them everything that you remembered about the raiders and their camp, from the details of your capture, guesses at their defenses and social structure, identifying markers and symbols, to numbers and potential weak points and how you’d escaped. You weren’t exactly a tactician, and it was hard to tell from their faces if they were impressed, but hopefully your information would be helpful to them in some way.

“And, uh. That was where your king found me,” you finished with a sideways glance to Hunter. “I’m glad he did. Without my wagon, my chances out there weren’t great.”

The corner of Hunter’s mouth formed part of that mysterious smile you were starting to like. “Well, you did well to make it as far as you did. Flying solo takes guts.” He turned to the others. “Let that be a lesson to everyone. You were once independents just like our friend here. You’re here now because you’re strong. Clever. Resourceful. The best at what you do. We will endure because of you. What’s our name?”

“N-X-T!” they shouted back, chests puffed and faces flush with pride.

“I can’t hear you,” he roared at them, beaming.

“N-X-T!”

“WHAT’S OUR NAME?”

“N-X-T!”

“Dismissed.”

Their determination was utterly infectious. As they filed out of the room, leaving you and Hunter alone, you were grinning. “Interesting bunch. Are all your kids like this?”

“Most of them. If they aren’t yet, they’ll get there with time.” Hunter stood opposite you in the ring and gestured to the walls around you. “That’s why I built this place. To shape the future. You know as well as I do that the wasteland doesn’t make warriors. It breaks them. Only by standing together do we have a chance to change the world.”

You hummed in careful consideration. “That’s quite a goal. You think you’re the one to make that possible?”

He smiled again. Damn that smile. How could a simple smile transform a face so completely? “I know that I am. And I know that everyone in this place believes it too. And I want you to help me make it happen.”

You blinked slowly. “Beg your pardon?”

As if impassioned by the mere utterance of his mission, Hunter stepped forward and took both your hands. “Stay,” he implored. “Train with us. I see in your eyes the same spark that laid the cornerstones of this place. The same spark that will ignite the flames of the future. You could be safe here. Food, water, a family to watch your back and help you grow into a champion. You could stand by my side as we build a better tomorrow.”

This was too good to be true. There was no way it could really be that simple. You were just a scrappy-looking scavenger, not a champion, and certainly not someone who could change the future. What was Hunter seeing in you that you somehow missed?

You exhaled shakily. “I don’t know. I...I don’t think I’m good enough for this place.”

The look in Hunter’s eyes was warm and reassuring. No one had ever looked at you like that before. “That’s alright. Give it a few days. If it’s not the right fit, you’ll know. For now, get down to the mess and get some dinner in you. Find Shawn. He’s my second-in-command, he’ll get you set up with your own bunk and a schedule.”

You’d only just arrived here, and already you were allowed to go places on your own? What a strange family. Hunter sent you off, saying something about royal duties awaiting him in his office, and you were eventually able to find your way through the narrow hallways to the expansive kitchen.

Shawn proved to be easy to locate. His laughter was uproarious and jovial, and the small crowd of young drivers behind him spoke to his respectability and experience. He knew you were Hunter’s guest before you said a thing - he waved it off as fast-traveling gossip - and after sitting down with you and a hearty bowl of stew, he peered over a pair of dusty glasses at a long list of names.

“Let’s put you in with Kushida for right now,” he said, scribbling a note. “He’s a newer face. Confident, experienced in the ring, and he needs a driver. You two can learn from each other.” Looking up, he flashed you a wry smile. “Boss must like you. He normally doesn’t bring in new blood unless he knows what they can do in the ring. You get a name yet?”

You frowned in confusion. “Name?”

“Yeah, your ring name! Or your family name, if you like. People who come here, or who are running away from what’s out there, they get a chance to start over.” Shawn gave you a roguish grin. “You think the king lets just anyone call him Hunter? That’s just for people he likes. His ring name is Triple H. Last poor sucker that called him Hunter without permission got two months kitchen duty. A name for you just means you’re part of the team now.”

Huh. You’d never considered the possibility of using any other name but your own before. But then, you’d never been a part of anything quite this meaningful before. Maybe this would be a good place to start over. To have a family.

You must have looked lost in thought, because Shawn then nudged you with an elbow. “Don’t stress about it too much. If you’ve got ideas, he’ll hear you out. He’s our king, sure, but he’s not a complete asshole, y’know?”

You nodded. That made sense. Just as you were about to ask more about Hunter, the doors to the kitchen swung open with a loud bang. Four men entered, looking very angry, and marched toward the front table where the gargantuan stew pot rested. One of them stopped and glared at you, his eyes a startling blue. You wondered what you’d done to earn his ire.

“You the new stray?” he asked. “His majesty wanted to see you after dinner.”

“Watch it, Cole,” Shawn warned. “Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

Cole, or whatever his name was, scoffed and sauntered away. You kept your head down, staring at the dregs of your dinner. Men like him didn’t scare you. There were more important things to think about. Like what your new name could be.

-

You stood outside the massive wooden door longer than was probably necessary. Every time you thought about raising your hand to knock, your stomach did a couple backflips. There would be no going back from this. Hunter was accepting you into his fold, more or less agreeing to care for you and train you to be a fighter. Someone who could stand with him without fear and face the future. Nothing you’d ever done before carried this much finality. Once you accepted your new name, this place would become your home, and Hunter would be your king.

A fleeting worry crossed your mind - what if he was disappointed in you, what if you failed to please him, what if he never spoke to you again after today - but you did your best to push it away. Unable to bear the waiting anymore, you knocked three times.

“Enter.”

You did, and the luxury that you beheld was instantly overwhelming. There was a cushy rug under your feet, the walls were lined with carefully crafted portraits and well-worn golden buckles, and the heady scent of incense hung in the air. So not only was this Hunter’s office, this had to be his personal room. Only a king would go out of his way to make his space as befitting of his station as possible.

Hunter sat in a massive chair behind a polish metal desk, bent over a stack of papers. He looked up when the door shut behind you and smiled. That was enough to get your heart pounding. “Settling in alright?”

“I’ll find my feet soon enough,” you replied with a huffed laugh. “What are you working on?”

He raised an eyebrow, and right away you felt sheepish, realizing he probably wasn’t used to being questioned so openly. It must not have bothered him too much, though, since he didn’t react beyond that. “Keeping records. Every driver, every match, every result needs to be kept for posterity. We don’t have much from the old world, so it’s important that we leave what we can for future kings.” He made another few scribbles before he set down his charcoal and smoothed his fingers over the immaculate surface of his desk. “That includes what you bring to us. Did Shawn explain our naming tradition to you?”

You nodded and swallowed. “I, uh. I did have a few ideas. But I’ll trust whatever judgement you make.”

Hunter rose to his feet, circling around the desk to stand in front of you. He was close enough to smell the incense on his skin. You tried not to think about it. “I always have time for new ideas. Let’s hear it.”

“Sparks.” Even now, it sounded like the most natural sound in the world. “Ty Sparks. If I am to spark the fires of the future, my name should inspire that.”

Hunter seemed to consider this for a moment, then smiled. “We sort of already have a Ty, but you’re on the right track. Sparks. I like that. What about Cadence Sparks?”

“Cadence. Cadence.” You rolled the sound around a few times in your mouth. It had a heroic feel to it. You beamed. “It’s perfect.”

“Then kneel.” You did so hurriedly, as Hunter placed a warm, heavy hand on the crown of your head. “Cadence Sparks, there are many warriors in this world, but none like you. Do you wish to stand with us and prove your worth?”

“I do.” Your heart hammered with excitement somewhere in your throat.

“And will you protect this family with your life just as we will protect you with ours?”

“I will.”

“And should you stand out among our ranks and become a champion, do you swear to defend your title with dignity and honor, setting the best example you can for the champions of tomorrow?”

“I swear.”

Hunter’s hand moved down, his fingertips skimming oh so gently over your cheek to cup your chin and tilt it up. It was like looking at him for the first time, the handsome king that came out of the horizon to save your life and change your world forever. “Rise, Cadence Sparks. And welcome to NXT.”

Suddenly overcome with emotion, you leapt to your feet and threw your arms around his neck. You panicked for a split second - this was most certainly not how you showed a king his due respect - but to your surprise, he embraced you back and chuckled into your hair. You felt your face flush a deep red. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“It’s alright,” Hunter murmured, as if he could hear your thoughts. “This is a big moment. It’s okay if you need to cry.”

You laughed. You knew you should probably have let go by now, but every second you held on, it got harder and harder to consider pulling away. Something about Hunter’s arms around you felt so safe, so warm, so much like home. “I just...I’ve never had a family before. Not like this.”

“Mmm. That’s what I love most about this place. The bonds that are forged here last forever.” You inhaled sharply, realizing that he had begun stroking the small of your back. “Some go deeper than others. Some may only exist in passing. But all are equally unbreakable.”

You swallowed, daring to hide your face in his neck. “Like...like this one?”

“Indeed.” Hunter pulled back a little, though he was still smiling, still holding you close. “Though, uh...I should warn you, there is an informal tradition for my personal recruits. Once they’re named and sworn in, I make the effort to personally make them feel welcome.”

Something about his words, combined with the gentleness and intention in his touch, set a deep heat stirring in your belly. Feeling emboldened, you moved even closer, your lips barely an inch apart. “I’m feeling pretty welcome already.”

“Then allow me to seal the deal.” Before you could blink, Hunter closed the distance between you, kissing you with a fierceness you’d never experienced before. His hands dropped to your hips, holding you in place. Not that you would even dream of pulling away now.

Pressing impossibly closer with a soft moan, you allowed your hands to wander, learning the defined slope of his shoulders, the smoothness of his chest, the hard strength of his biceps. Maybe this had been what you were looking for all along - not just a family, but even just one person you could place your whole trust into. Whatever Hunter asked for now, you knew you would do anything to make it happen.

Hunter’s mouth moved to claim other parts of your face and neck, all pretense of gentleness gone, his hands busy with removing both your clothes. It proved difficult to blindly shift over toward his bed with both of you unwilling to separate for longer than necessary, but he more than made up for it with his confident and knowing touch. Every inch of your skin that he covered felt electrified.

His fingers found the spot between your legs that made you cry out just as the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. But he didn’t let you fall back just yet. He pressed on that spot over and over, rough and desperate and everything you wanted. “You like that, baby?” he whispered hotly, briefly sucking the shell of your ear between his teeth. “Gonna let me do whatever I want, isn’t that right?”

“Yes!” you keened, too flushed with desire to think of how wanton you must have sounded. “Please, God, don’t stop!”

He released you when out of desperation you started to buck at his hand, standing over you for far too long, just looking, just taking the sight of you in. “God, look at you,” he said, lost in thought, a hand reaching down to palm his cock. “My perfect prize, all spread out for me. Gonna give it to you so good, baby.”

You whimpered, straining with the effort to keep your legs spread, shamelessly putting yourself on display. “Please,” you begged again. “I’m all yours. Whenever you want me. However you want me. Please, Hunter, touch me.”

“Careful. ‘M gonna want to keep you in my bed forever with talk like that.” At this point, you were very willing to consider that. He spat in his palm, and it was only a little disgusting, but he did at last put a hand on your hip. When at last he finally pushed in, all the breath seemed to leave your body at once. You had to close your eyes then, as the sight of Hunter inside of you, all around you, on top of you, was overwhelming.

He appeared to steady himself as well, just for a moment, before he began to thrust. Both his hands were on your hips now, holding you in place on the edge of the bed. You almost wanted to tell him to grip harder, to leave bruises, but at that point forming words was impossible.

You felt his mouth on your chest then, learning with his tongue what his fingers had mapped out only moments ago. You gasped when he hit a nipple, opening your eyes just in time to see his grin. “So fucking hot,” he murmured, thrusting hard enough to make you groan. “Say my name again.”

“Hunter,” you gasped. You reached down with one hand, unable to help yourself. “God, Hunter, that feels so good.”

“Yeah, that’s it, baby, touch yourself.” His thrusts were brutal now, almost boneshaking. You wouldn’t even have to ask for bruises this time. “Who’s your king, Cadence?”

“Fuck — you! It’s you, Hunter, you’re my king.” God, your name sounded so good in his voice. With your free hand you gripped the sheets, desperate to ground yourself, desperate to finish with him.

“You need to come, don’t you? Gonna come on your king’s cock? Show me, baby, show me how good you take it.” His breathing came sharply, but he didn’t take his eyes off of you. You’d never seen anything so beautiful in your life.

“Oh God, Hunter, I — “ But you couldn’t even finish your warning. You came with the force of an oncoming storm, hard and fast and forever stuffed into a few seconds. And just as the world seemed to right itself again, Hunter came inside of you with a guttural moan.

You both laid there for a while, just breathing, just memorizing each other’s warmth, the feel of each other’s skin. He arranged both of you under his blankets, which was a good thing, as you were still too boneless to be of much help. Thankfully he didn’t seem to mind. There were a few more words, a few more lingering and lazy kisses, but you fell asleep in his arms soon after, confident and assured that you were exactly where you belonged. 

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

Game #5: Kiss with a Fist

It was good to be home. The lackadaisical adventure that was Mike and John’s cross-country drive to Los Angeles was not so leisurely on the way back- as a matter of fact, their route from LA to Pittsburgh was as direct and, daresay, boring as Mike could manage. They didn’t really have time to take in the road like before, after all, and the lack of interesting sights served as a good deterrent for unnecessary stops. The plan had worked- they made it home in three days’ time. The first day back was spent falling back into their regular routine- sleeping off road fatigue, airing out the house that’d been shut up for two weeks, shopping for groceries to refill the fridge after emptying it of perishables before they left, and collecting their mail from their friendly neighbor, Todd. Mike liked Todd. The other nearby residents of the block were polite but curious about the pair of wrestling housemates living on their street, but Todd was an accepting sort and didn’t like to judge. After that, though? They spent every possible moment they could either in the garage or in the ring. They had something unusual to train for, after all- not only did John have a title defense this week, but Mike had their first EWC singles match. It was something that they found both indescribably thrilling and somewhat nerve wracking. They weren’t afraid of a fight, of course, but they had to admit that when it came to one on one ring combat, they were awfully rusty. They’d asked John to come at them more aggressively than usual. They’d been studying their opponent, Nick James, carefully, from watching what they could find on EWC TV of his matches to poring over their partner’s notes (he’d had the foresight to make notations on him the week prior, as James had been a potential contender). But there was only so far observation could go, and Mike needed to practice against an aggressive fighter. John, however, was a bit apprehensive. He knew what he was capable of, and Mike knew he knew. They’d done ring work together nearly every day since John first came to live and get settled in here, and Mike was well aware of the raw power that her best friend could exude. Yet, they’d always honed their skills as a team, and though they’d certainly sparred it was never terribly heavy. James was a fighter, though. Like Mike, he was a two fisted brawler with a broad streak of old school in his style who ate and drank combat. Still, familiarity wasn’t going to be enough. They couldn’t go in against a young, fresh fighter with any kind of ring rust: that would be just asking for an ass whooping of monumental proportions. Something more practical was required. I need to do this, they said. I need to win this. I win this and I make it crystal clear that I ain’t being held back, or stifled, or any other fucking ridiculous thing. I shut people like that up, put the whole fucking matter to bed like a swaddled-up baby. Come at me. I’m not scared. I trust you. So he came at them. He adapted on the fly, swapping out some of his holds in favor of strikes, mimicking their opponent’s style based on what he’d seen. They took some knocks but got back up, learning. Counter, dodge. Keep your footwork tight. You got a killer right, put it to use. Remember everything you learned from the old man. He was still holding back, Mike could tell. But he was holding back far less than normal. They were just fine with that- compromise was the soul of coexistence, after all. Besides, it just wasn’t in John’s nature to do them any kind of serious harm if he could help it. If by some fucked up circumstance they were ever to meet in the ring, they doubted he would lay a hand on Mike. Mike doubted if they could do a thing to hurt John, either. They’d said as much, after all, and had meant it with all their heart. They kept at it on and off for a few hours, despite the stubborn rain that kept dropping various levels of drizzle on their heads. The canopy of maple leaves helped, but not much. It was alright, though. By Mike’s logic, if they could fight on soaked canvas in the rain, than anything else should be cake. Finally, they decided to stop, reaching for a bottle of Gatorade and trying to catch their breath and make their heart stop racing so fast. They could feel a buzz through their whole body, a hum of adrenaline even though the rest of them was sore. Good, that sort of thing would keep them going later. Drinking deeply, they wiped their mouth on the back of their hand and grinned widely at the man across the ring from her. “Okay. I think I’m ready. Might wanna do that a couple more times before Monday, but yeah. I feel a lot fuckin’ better about this now. Thanks, bud. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Leaning back against the ropes, they looked up skyward, only to get a few fat raindrops smacking into their face. “Remember. Don’t overlook him. Having that opportunity snatched away from him will either make him hungry or worse. Desperate.” “Oh, trust me, I’m not. If I didn’t think there was somethin’ to this guy I wouldn’t be workin’ this hard. Nuh-uh. Like I told you before, I got somethin’ to fuckin’ prove here. But I’m a goddamn fighter. Nothin’ better than proving my point against another smashmouth scrapper like me.” They shook their head, scattering rainwater. “Hey. I know I’ve already asked a lot outta you today, and trust me, I appreciate it. But… heh. Since you know how to work the camera on my phone, would you mind runnin’ it for me for a bit?” John smiled warmly at them. “Sure.” “Say hey, EWC Faithful! It’s ya boy, Mike McGuire. If you’re missin’ my partner in mayhem, Bishop Church, don’t you worry- he’s a lot closer than you think.” A familiar, gentle voice piped up seemingly out of nowhere. “I’m filming.” Mike chuckled, flashing a huge grin. “So don’t you get any misconceptions, Faithful. NSFW ain’t going nowhere. Unlike, seemingly, the rest of the fucking tag division.” That grin faded off, being replaced by an incredibly annoyed expression. A finger tapped against a rope that’d been taped and re-taped heaven knows how many times. “Seriously, guys. What the hell. You all get kidnapped or something? I mean, me an’ Church are relegated to facing off against makeshift teams, or this week, not even teaming at ALL, because all’a y’all have decided to go fuckin’ AWOL! I mean, as much as I fuckin’ hate Collateral Damage… ugh, I just say their goddamn name and I throw up in my mouth a little bit… I at least have to give them a tiny crumb of kudos because they ACTUALLY FUCKING SHOW UP. Oh. And you know who else decided to appear out of the pit of humiliation they were tossed into? Fuckin’ Bulletproof! Enjoy your participation trophy, you fucking amassment of shitheads. It’s more than the rest of the division gets.” She huffed. “Garcia. How about taking that newly lit fire under your ass and taking us on? If Mucho Grande! wants to take a powder, hey, we’re here chomping at the bit. Get a partner. Don’t get a partner. Fuck, get Noon in there with you, see if that little butterball can throw a punch or two. Yank fucking Bennett off commentary and have him try to fuckin’ bore me to death. Just. Somebody. Freaking DO something.” She closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths, trying to bring herself down a bit. “But this week ain’t about the tag division. This is about me. Now, I don’t know if you knew this about me, Faithful, but this here is gonna be my first single in a looooong time. Like, literally years. I’ve spent my whole run here tagging. This is by choice. I love tagging. It’s fucking fun. But by doing nothing but tagging, I seem to have set the field up for certain… accusations. But not towards me- towards my partner. Now, Church can speak for himself, and has a couple times now on this subject. But since it involves me, I’m going to say my piece. I fight how I want, with or without who I want. I’m nobody’s ‘second option’. I’m nobody’s fucking hanger-on. And anybody who thinks I’m some seething ball of repressed fucking jealousy can come tell me that to my goddamn face.” A fist slammed hard into the opposite open palm. “I don’t single because that’s not what I’m interested in right now. I didn’t ask for this match. But fucking hell, I am going to fight in it. Not just because it’s my job, but because these naysayers need shut the hell up weeks ago. And for that matter? So do whoever’s out there being a patronizing little bitch, wringing their hands and going ‘poor Mike’. I am not being held back. Nothing or no one can do that to me because I wouldn’t fucking allow it. I am not being told to stand to the side, because my partner and best friend would never ask that of me. I am going to prove all of you fucking wrong and I’m going to do it by beating the living jimmies out of Nick James.” Mike looked thoughtful all the sudden, rubbing her chin and looking slightly upward. “So let’s talk about Nick James for a second. I like your style, pal. You love this business almost as much as I do, I can tell. You just love to get in there and fucking fight, and that? That’s awesome. And you know what? You ain’t half bad either. I saw your match with K2 last week, and sure, you lost, but you made a hell of a showing. I ain’t being fuckin’ facetious neither. Real recognizes real, bro.” There was a small nod, a slight sign of respect from one brawler to another. “Problem is, though, you’re an asshole. Which wouldn’t be that remarkable as assholes are a dime a dozen around here lately. But you’re a LAZY fuckin’ asshole. You know why Kross beat you? Because you know how goddamn good you are, and because you know you’re good you think you can fuckin’ coast. You don’t just want to win, you EXPECT to win because you’re so much fuckin’ smarter and better than everybody else. That kind of attitude drives me up the fucking wall like you wouldn’t believe, and I’ll tell you why.” She leaned forward. “Because I had that same rotten fucking attitude once upon a time. I was trained by a fucking literal legend in this business, so I thought I was hot shit. And you know what that got me? A win here and there, and otherwise, fuck all. And you, Mr. Mad Legend or whatever cockimaney bullshit you call yourself, have a wealth of raw talent any member of this roster would kill for, so you think YOU’RE hot shit. And that’s gotten you wins. Against Emma Louise and Grizzly Motherfucking Duggan.” Golf clap. Oh, the sarcasm, you can cut into it with a fork. “Yep. You beat a girl who can’t even be assed to do the tiniest basic fucking research on who she’s facing, and a guy who’s blown more shots than Draco Lazarus blows crackheads in back alleys. Good for you. But a guy like K2, you couldn’t get past that wall on skill alone. Maybe if you’d bothered to work a little harder. I mean, look around you.” Mike gave a small gesture, and the camera swept from left to right before settling back on her. “This ring? Yeah, I know it’s a goddamn eyesore. But it’s mine. It’s sitting in my fucking backyard. I’ve spent all afternoon in this ring, fighting, training, preparing. Preparing to step in those ropes and kick your ass. I’m going to keep doing this as much as I can spare between now and when we have to leave for Hotlanta. And if you’re not working as hard as me, I can promise you, that 1-2 is gonna turn into a 1-3 in a damn hurry.” She nodded. “So you better not fucking dissapoint me, James. You better give me the fight I’m working so hard to prep for. And if you lose? You’ll know why. Cuz I’m Not Slacking on the Fucking Work.” After they finished and cleaned up any Gatorade bottles they had laying around outside, Mike and John went in, cleaned up, and spent the rest of the evening chilling out, eating teriyaki noodles and fried tofu for dinner and then hanging out in the living room. John, naturally, had his nose stuck in a book (he seemed rather happy to have print and paper in his hands again), and Mike was idly flipping through the channels, staying on each a minute or two before clicking past. They rolled their eyes at the sight of a clean-shaven, wizened old man with a quavering, high pitched voice. “Oh. This fucking guy. NEXT.” They’re about to click onward when they catch what the old man is saying. “...a young man who, by turning to Jesus, escaped an unhealthy relationship and an unfulfilling life, despite being on one of the best football teams in America.” The picture did a soft cut to someone Mike thought, and hoped, they would never see again in their entire life. An airy voiced woman was saying things about a troubled past, rowdy college student, abusive relationship, landed in front of a jury. And then something changed his life forever. “You know, I thought I had it all.” He was sitting in a leather recliner, golden retriever at his feet. A nameplate designated him as ‘Steve Archer’, but Mike already knew that. He looked almost exactly as they remembered, the handsome son of a bitch, save some signs of age and his once perfect physique gone slightly to seed. But they’d know him anywhere. Everything else blurred, they could feel color starting to drain from their face, heart pounding damn near into their throat. “Think about it. I was professional football player. Championship caliber team. Believe me, I was making good money. Real good money. And you know what? I thought I was with someone real special. That all fell apart. You think you know someone, right? And then lies get in the way and they just tore me apart. There I was. Fired from a career I’d worked my whole life for. In front of a jury of my peers. I’d let a bad person influence me in ways that got me to that point. My lowest point.” Blurry stock footage of a jury, general courtroom scenes. Somewhere at the edges of Mike’s consciousness they thought they heard John asking them if they were alright, but they couldn’t even move, much less say anything. The narrator explained that Archer had got involved in one volatile relationship after another until it culminated one horrific night where Archer says he had to defend himself against an assault by his girlfriend at the time. The police at the time said otherwise and he was arrested and put on trial for aggravated battery. “I felt I was just seconds away from the end. So at that table, right next to my lawyer, I bowed my head. I clasped my hands. And I gave myself to Jesus. I asked for his forgiveness. I knew … I knew that He died for my sins. All of our sins. I prayed to God. Please help me, Lord. I can be better. I can change. I looked up and opened my eyes. The jury foreman read the verdict. Acquitted of all charges.” Steve wiped a tear from his baby blue eyes, and flashed that winning smile. The narrator resumed speaking, saying that after his pro football career ended, Steve went on to become a youth counselor in his hometown of Boston, advising trouble teens and dispensing advice on how to keep their relationships healthy, both with God and family. “If I could talk to myself from nearly fourteen years ago, I would. He was just drafted. Had the money. The fancy car. Even thought he had the girl. But I would tell him, he didn’t have anything without the grace of God. He was a pretty angry young man despite all of that wealth. So what advice would I give him? Forgiveness. Jesus forgave all those who transgressed upon Him. And I’d say forgive her, too-” Suddenly, the television exploded. The screen shattered and the set sputtered sparks before dying entirely, the victim of a heavy glass ashtray thrown directly into its center. Its flight had been accompanied by a horrible scream, something that was a blend of rage and utter terror. Mike’s eyes were wide, lips parted, breath panting, face ashen. They felt like they were freezing to death and burning alive all at once. Then Mike ran. They ran, yanking something out of the kitchen island junk drawer on their way out the sliding back doors, planting themselves by the backyard shed. The rain fell on relentlessly, patches of mud squishing under their bare feet. Despite the rainfall, they managed to get their lighter ignited, and one by one, smoked their way through the entire remainder of the cigarette pack that’d been untouched for months. They didn’t even realize that they were sobbing harder than they had in as long as they could remember. Once every last cigarette had been smoked down to ash, Mike’s terror and anger was joined by something else just as strong- shame. This wasn’t supposed to hurt anymore. This wasn’t supposed to scare them, HE wasn’t supposed to scare them. Numbly, they slipped into the shed and curled onto the dusty concrete slab beside the lawnmower. It had to have been over an hour before the door opened. Instinctively, they whimpered and pulled back as a large, masculine shadow fell over them, balling up even tighter. They didn’t speak a word, but the message was clear- don’t hurt me. There was a pause, and the figure crouched down to their level. In the dim light, they could see him clearly now. Eyes of a far prettier and gentler blue, an expression of soft concern. Their voice was very small, almost a mouse’s squeak. “...i’m s-sorry i b-broke the tv…” “I didn’t like it much anyway.” They didn’t laugh when they normally might have, but there was a tiny, momentary upward flick at the corner of their mouth, and they sat up, slowly. They kept quiet, though, save for the odd sniffle. “You knew him?” They nodded. There was so much she wanted to tell him. About who Steve was. What he’d done. But it wouldn’t come out of their mouth properly right now. They would have to spit it all out later, they knew. Just not right at this moment. “He was lying. On the show, I mean.” Another nod. “...he was always real f-fuckin’ good at that.” “I know how you feel. I hope you can understand that.” He paused as if he were carefully choosing his words. “I can leave if you would like.” “Please don’t.” Mike said it very quickly, as if, rightly, that was the absolute last thing that they wanted. John, in turn, looked them in the eyes. It was, to Mike’s recollection, the first time he’d ever done so: his gaze to her always seemed to land at their forehead, or just past their shoulder. Anywhere but in their eyes, a direct meeting of sky and emerald. The moment held in silence for a beat or two. He opened his arms and Mike all but collapsed into them, wrapped in the safest warmth they’d ever felt. 

[jmuwrtc-blog]

My Leather Throne- Profile of a Place

Being away at school really makes me miss driving. I feel so helpless not being able to drive myself to CVS or a supermarket, and figuring out how to get the shopper bus back home is somehow always difficult. I miss driving to the beach every week in the summer. I even miss the traffic through town. It makes me realize how much I took driving and my car for granted. The CRV helps me escape from any circumstance, even if that circumstance is, ironically enough, being completely lost on the road.

I got my license a few months before my junior year ended. I started off driving my dad’s old car because it was the oldest one we had. My parents figured that if I got in an accident, we could just get a new car since  it  was the most low-risk car price-wise. My dad drove a shiny, light blue Nissan Scion xB, the color similar to the blue text bubble of imessages. If you don’t know what kind of car that is, picture a toaster on wheels. With a license plate frame that reads “I’m Tuned Into NPR.” Now, picture a teenager driving that toaster on wheels. Of course,  I was thankful that I had a car to drive whenever and wherever I needed, but this  mode of transportation wasn’t exactly ideal for a teenage girl in a small town. Especially in a small town where everyone knows everything about you and can recognize your car by the bumper stickers on it.

Fast forward in time a little bit. My dad gets a new car. A brand new silver Honda CRV, but of course, with my family, he got it at a really good price. My parents sat me down on the couch in a very serious way. I knew a talk was coming, I just couldn’t think of anything I had done wrong recently. They ended up giving me a letter that said that they realized how unsafe the Toaster was for me to drive. I hadn’t really thought about that -- I mean besides the shuddering sound it made sometimes -- but it was alright for me. They said that after a lot of deliberation, they decided to let me drive the CRV because it was the safest of our cars. I had driven the CRV once or twice and it drove a lot more smoothly  than the Toaster. I remember being so happy and thankful that I started crying, in typical teenage girl fashion. I felt so incredibly spoiled by my parents, but thankful nonetheless, and to this day I still feel the same way.

In a parking lot full of other gray CRV’s I could describe mine exactly. Look inside the front windows- 90% chance there will be at least one old Dunkin Donuts cup and napkins all over. Check the back too; there is a water volleyball ball that I bought two summers ago and used for a whole ten minutes until the wind made it impossible to play. There are a total of five bumper stickers: a circular red and black one for my high school lacrosse team on the left side of my license plate, and another circular one on the other side for JMU. Another black and red one for my high school is on the left side of the back window. There is a set of three little red Hawaiian hibiscus flowers on the farthest back window on the right side, and a sticker that says ‘Pennsylvania’ instead  of “Patagonia” in the Patagonia logo and font. My parents got me a flip flop key chain when we went to Jamaica a few years ago. It says “one love” and hangs from my rearview mirror. It’s there in an attempt to remind me to keep my cool while driving, but I’m from New Jersey so it doesn’t really help all that much with the road rage. There are a few deep scratches on the roof  from last winter. I went to dig the car out of the snow and accidentally scraped the corner of the shovel on the roof  leaving really noticeable marks. I can’t even describe how heated my parents got, especially when I screamed back at them, “why is it such a big deal?” Since I scratched the paint off, if it rusts over it’ll compromise the roof  itself. Kind of is a big deal!

My car somehow makes music sound better. One of my favorite playlists that I’ve curated is designed for singing in the car. Aptly named, “Concert Car” assists me in the most difficult of South Jersey traffic. I always have music playing when I drive, even if I’m just driving down the street. My music choice is pretty much always perfect for wherever I am headed, except for the time I got so lost driving home from the PHL airport. What should have been a 15 minute drive turned into an hour of confusion and crying. I drove around the Philadelphia stadium district for about half an hour while my 2000’s playlist blasted Sean Kingston on full volume. Not ideal driving music for the moment, to say the least.

The amount of times that car has saved my life is almost comical. I (knock on wood) haven’t actually gotten in a car accident, but I’d attribute that fact to the brakes on my car. Driving is one of the things I miss most about being away from home: the freedom to drive, to escape, or get lost. That is why my beloved, smelly, homey Honda CRV is my favorite place to escape; it lets me escape to wherever I want to. Other than near death experiences, my car and I have had some pretty solid times. I remember the countless fights I had in it with the guy I dated my junior year. I can even recall the drive I took after we broke up. But one of the most memorable arguments my car has been part of was one that I had with my dad. I couldn’t even tell you what it was about, but I remember my mom was away and couldn’t be the mediator for us, which she usually is. I don’t fight with my parents often, but when I do, its bad. Tears, yelling, our dogs barking at us because they don’t understand what is going on. It got to the point to where my dad had to take my keys away, but I had left my car unlocked in the driveway. I went to my room and my dad kept coming in to have a conversation, while that was probably the last thing I wanted to do in the moment. My next move was to storm out of the house to sit in my car and lock it from the inside out. I sat there for a while wishing that whole day could just end. My parents know it's bad when I just sit in my car contemplating things, but it is where I can escape to at times where my own room does not suffice.

Since I love driving so much, I’m usually the driver for day trips to the beach with my friends. I could easily give you a detailed timetable of how those beach days go. Get up at 7, leave around 8 to get to the beach by 10 or 11, with time to get gas and Dunkin as we head out. The amount of sand that has made its way in and out of the CRV could build a new beach. Absolutely nothing makes me happier than driving down the residential back roads adjacent to route 73 with all the windows down and the sunroof open. That is my euphoria. Sitting in my leather throne with my friends surrounding me, screaming the lyrics to whatever song is playing into the salty air. When I first started driving it, the CRV only took $20 to fill up completely- I even used to say “Twenty buck fills ‘er up!” Driving to and from the beach took less than a full gallon, and although gas prices have gone up since Christie decided to tax us NJ residents on gas, putting  gas in my car is still never a pain.

Driving isn’t always fun and games, though. Last summer I got a job nannying for a family in town. They had a beautiful, huge house with a pool in the backyard. It was just three kids; the two girls were pretty easy to handle, but the youngest -- a boy -- was impossible. I hadn’t really driven kids around before nannying, so I made sure to be 10000% cautious whenever driving them. Of course they knew every song on the radio. Their favorite songs were “One Dance” by Drake and “Can’t Stop the Feeling” by Justin Timberlake. The latter was from one of their favorite movies: “Trolls.” They knew all the words, and I felt like we were little family every time that came on. I can still hear them singing the words, “I got that sunshine in my pocket, got that good soul in my feet.” It was like we became the Partridge Family for a few minutes every time their songs came on. Whenever I pass that house I think back to singing with the kids all sitting in the back like little ducks in a row. At times, they tested my patience, but in the end I enjoyed my drives with them.

Driving around my hometown is almost comical because of how small it is. There’s almost no need to drive anywhere at all! I did soccer in high school but it became such a political game that I quit and joined tennis -- a sport I’d never done. I was one of the only seniors on the team so, of course, I got stuck with carpool duty the whole season. Since we had so few girls who could drive to practice, I was stuck with an overflowing car every other day. The most I fit into my car was seven other people, when my car can only fit four others. A passenger, two in the trunk and four in the back. One of my parents’ only rules was  “everybody in that car has to have a seat belt,” I can still hear them reminding me. Sorry mom! Sorry dad! A lot of the girls I drove were freshmen. They looked up to me because I would always give them advice. They thought I was funny and a savage when in reality, I  just had Senioritis (what we called that lack of caring that hits you senior year of high school). A few of the girls clung onto me and we ended up becoming really close and we actually still are. Who knew a car could help me make friends!!