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pazvizslaplasmathrower · 4 years

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Father of Hopes and Dreams Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Don’t Go Outside

Read here of on AO3

Series Summary: Your young master is gone, just at the birth of your bond, he has left you for many years, leaving you to survive the galaxy alone. After sustaining an injury from a drunken storm trooper, someone faces the decision to either leave or help you in your moment of need.

Chapter Summary: Very much concerned, Paz Vizsla makes his way back to the ship to ensure your safety.

Word Count: 1372

Paz's vision blurred when he lost focus for a second. That common criminal had just enough luck to catch him off guard for a moment. It had been an easy enough job, just taking care of wanted felon in the area, sought out by New Republic Officials, of course leave it to governing officials to botch an easy operation. But Paz had been their to take things into his own hands, something the officials could not legally do. They had paid him handsomely, enough for at least a couple weeks of fuel and generous meals. A couple more stops before heading back to Y/N and the ship for goods would be needed, given the child hadn't commed, they could wait just a bit longer.

He was mid stride when a sudden swell nearly had Paz falling to the ground. His surroundings swirled viciously, like an unforeseen torrent. Groaning, all the Mandalorian could do was hold his helmet covered head in both hands, trying to focus on something to ground himself. A fervent cry sent the man reeling, the desperation of the voice making his throat clench. When his vision returned, no one else seemed to be bothered, but how had they missed such a shrill scream?

It was so plainly clear!

They're getting closer!

Unable to bear another second, Paz broke into a sprint, his gait quickening despite the weight of his armor. Only a few heads turned at the jarring noise of his movement, the majority of the masses giving way to Paz's massive frame. In only a matter of minutes, the ship was in his sight, though there was a stranger at the front, seemingly trying to look up through the canopy. Clenching his jaw, Paz advanced, squaring his shoulders.

“So this is your ship then?”

The soft quality of the voice nearly caught him off guard.

“I quite like it”

The stranger turned, pulling back the hood of his robe. Locks of warm blonde hair framed gentle features, accentuating the brightness of the man's eyes. There were signs of wear on his tanned skin, worry lines and the like, but if it had not been for those signs, Paz would had easily taken the stranger for a boy.

“It is my ship.” He assured him rather curtly. “May I ask why you have taken such great interest in it? I am not of this planet, but hovering about what is not yours seems like an odd custom.”

“Oh?” The other seemed lost in thought. “I'm sorry, I just thought I saw...someone.” He smiled, “Be safe on your journey. If you don't mind, my sister is waiting for me, so I must go.”

Bewildered by the odd man's behavior, Paz only watched for a few moments as he left. Despite being dressed in a fine fashion, the other gave no indication of a man obsessed with oneself. In fact, Paz felt he was no real threat, but unease was palpable. Before he could turn to enter the ship, the man turned his head slightly, allowing the sun to highlight the beauty of his eyes, those warm rays turning his blonde mane into a halo. That dreamy smile however, vanished, a flat look replacing it.

There was no more time to waste, he could still feel the pang of anxiety piercing his mind; his foundling still had to be accounted for. Hastily, he made his way inside the ship, not taking into account the concerning creak of durasteel that came with the opening.

“Y/N!” Paz called, diminishing his own concern. Their hammock was empty, blankets neatly tucked at one end. On the floor, there was an array of items, all in various degrees of disrepair. From what he could immediately tell someone had been cutting, chewing, and weaving a good deal. The mess tetered out but still left a faint trail that led to the closest corridor, so with a hand on one blaster, Paz silently followed it until he came upon the storage closet. Anyone could have been inside when Paz paused to think about the matter. Someone could have made their way into the ship and stars willing, the young foundling would have escaped in search of his help, but his instincts begged to differ. Instead of taking a stealthier approach, he knocked lightly on the door, thought the weight of his hand made the sound louder than intended.

“Y/N?”

A light shuffling could be heard.

“It's me, A'dika!”

At that sounds, that familiar tone speaking a familiar term, he could hear crated being tossed and shoved aside, a small click followed by the door opening to reveal a rather relieved Y/N. That toothy grin shone as they tackled him in a hug that barely moved the man.

“Stars! I was hoping it was you! If not, kark, I was hoping I wouldn't have to do anything!”

Affectionately, he patted the child's head, still feeling alarmed at the severity of their relief. For a moment he regarded the mess of the storage room and the main hold, but decided there were more pressing matters at hand.

“What scared you so terribly you had to cage yourself in there?” Paz asked as they walked back to the cockpit.

Y/N's shoulders tensed slightly. “There...I saw someone...”

“What? How? Did you let them in?!”

“Of course not!” They protested. “I'm not an idiot!...Most of the time...”

The Mandalorian could have sworn he felt a budding headache. “Okay, well good. But who the hell did you see?”

Reaching his pilot's seat, Paz Vizsla took a seat, the foundling settling into the co-pilot's place. It was odd how they now tended to lean forward a new pack strapped to their back. They shifted uncomfortably in their seat, seeming to never find a comfortable position.

“It was...It was like I knew them or not really actually. I haven't seen their face before but I could feel the presence and it felt familiar! But in a strange way.”

“I did see someone eyeing the ship on my way back. A blond human man kept looking in through the wind shield.” Paz remarked.

“Yes!” Y/N exclaimed. “Blond hair and blue eyes! He wouldn't stop staring and he was so focused like he was looking for something!”

“Oh?”

The child nodded vigorously. “I wasn't using my powers, I promise! But I could feel his feelings in a way. They made feel so scared I ran to hide and dropped my commlink on the way...”

“A'dika, you must keep that on you at all times for times just like this one. It was very fortunate that I felt the need to come back sooner rather than later. That might not always be the case.”

Their ears perked at this. “How did y'know to come back?”

He paused, wondering if the child would laugh at him for thinking of something so preposterous, but reminded of the fact that the young one did possess supernatural abilities once beyond his comprehension.

“I heard your voice.”

“Huh?”

“I think it was your voice.” He added hurriedly. “But it was so loud, I'm surprised no one else could hear it.”

Those curious eyes widened. “I wanted to scream but I didn't want that guy to notice! I just felt really scared, like he was gonna find me or something.”

Paz Vizsla nodded, keeping himself composed. “If you were never afraid, I would seriously think something was wrong. Keep your wits about you, and I'll be there for you as much as I can.”

The foundling smiled, and proceeded to tell him all about what they had figured out so far in regard to their predicament. There was nothing surprising as they could not remember much at all, but that was certainly not what he was paying attention to. It was that shoddily made pack on the child's back which would on occasion, move slightly, like something in there was alive. If it were not for the protection of his mask, the young one would definitely tell where he was looking. The truly peculiar thing was whatever was inside that pack seemed to move with them.

#paz x reader #paz vizsla #paz vizsla x reader #sw #star wars #the mandalorian #parental relationship #the mandalorian fic

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lover-of-skellies · 4 years

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A Way Out

((An OC insert where my girl Adrienne loses everyone she's ever cared for and has to face off with Chara. She would've lost too, if it wasn't for the guardian of negativity himself, deciding to intervene and save her ass. She's healed up and taken back to the castle, and when she wakes up, he has what seems like the best offer she's ever been given. Does she shake his hand and accept the offer, or does she refuse and die?))

***CONTAINS FIGHTING, BLOOD, VIOLENCE, KNIVES, CHARA, AND TEMPORARY EYE LOSS***

Adrienne had felt her heart sink at the unfortunate discovery she'd made; the dust scattered over the snow, pieces of armor, and an all too familiar tattered red scarf. Tears pricked at her eyes and a lump formed in her throat as she reached out, her shaky hands delicately plucking the scarf from the snow. She gently brushed the snow and loose dust off of it, then wrapped the item around her slender neck in the same fashion she'd always seen Papyrus wearing it, briefly glancing down at the ground. At the sight of tracks clearly left by sneakers, her eyes widened, tears now freely rolling down her face.

She knew exactly whose sneakers left the trail, and her heart sank even further. Not wanting to waste another moment, she began to race toward judgement hall; from having visited a few times before, it was fairly easy to find. As she reached the hall, she sucked in a deep breath, placing a hand on the large wooden door and pushing it open.

And she immediately wished she hadn't.

Aside from leftover bone attacks made by Sans and the fallen human's blood, she let out a choked sob; at the far end of the hall, there was an unmistakable pile of dust, and what was clearly her best friend's favorite jacket. Grey eyes widening again, she ran to where the jacket laid, falling to her knees and gently running her fingertips over the fur lined hood. Her heart broke as the realization finally sunk in; she'd lost two of the only people she had ever truly cared for.

It began with Queen Toriel, and was followed later by King Asgore, Undyne, Alphys, Mettaton, Grillby, and even Flowey. Not even the innocent monster children had been spared, and the fallen human had left everything in ruin. Not a single monster remained.

Scooping up the jacket and hugging it close to her chest, she let out a loud, broken sob, her voice echoing fainting in the vastness of the corridor. Wailing in agony as she mourned her lost friends, she failed to notice the figure approaching behind her.

Hearing the absolutely deep sigh, she found herself scooting away from its source, clinging to Sans' jacket as if it were a lifeline. The figure peered at her through glowing crimson eyes that were partially shrouded by a brown fringe. Once a normal child, it's lips were now curled upward into an amused grin, "And then there was one. Hold still, girlie, and I'll make this quick."

This wasn't a child anymore... whatever it was, it was the physical embodiment of evil itself.

Adrienne loosened her grip on the jacket, her body trembling as she slowly slid the item on and zipped it up, careful not to snag Papyrus' scarf. Rearranging her look of complete brokenness into a weak attempt at defiance, she growled softly, teeth bared, "You.... What have you done?"

Casually shrugging and holding up a knife, the figure smiled again, tilting its head, "I killed them, you dummy. With all the blood and dust, what else could I have done?"

She could hardly believe how casual and relaxed this being was; they admitted to murdering everyone she'd ever loved, and they spoke of it as if it was nothing more than a mundane task. Her stomach churned, and she hissed, "You're the worst... How could you do something like this? What did they ever do to you?.... All... all my friends are gone now, because of you."

Humming softly in confirmation, the figure only grinned proudly, completely devoid of remorse and regret, "I know. I did it because I wanted to... didn't think I really needed a reason."

The teen rose to her feet, balling her hands into fists, "If you keep talking like that, I'm gonna kill you. Unless you have something constructive to say, shut the fuck up." Still totally at ease, the figure raised an eyebrow, "Wow, that wasn't very nice, y'know." It took a step closer to her, and in response, she took a step back, her attention focused entirely on the entity before her. Sighing, the figure made a face, seeming to be contemplating something before speaking, "Something constructive, let's see... well, our buddy Papyrus, for starters. You wouldn't believe how much of a fight he put up. If I was even a little bit careless, he would've had me. And then Sans... well. We know how Sans can be. He saw what was left of his baby brother, and he came at me with all he had. It didn't take long for him to run out of magic. If it helps you feel better though, he was thinking about you when he was turning to dust. He called out to Papyrus, and then he called out to you... you must be pretty special to him, huh?"

Adrienne felt her bottom lip tremble as she stared at the figure, her disbelief fading and giving way to grief. She allowed herself another moment of silence, more tears rolling down her cheeks, before her left eye suddenly flared up, igniting with her magic as her look of sadness shifted into a scowl, her voice calm and unexpectedly even, "...You have until the count of three to get out of my sight. If I reach three, you're dead."

The figure, visibly intrigued by her now glowing eye hummed, lips curling into a devious grin, "Well well, that's a pretty eye you've got there. When I kill you, maybe I'll take it for myself." Adrienne scoffed, choosing not to respond as she began her countdown.

"One."

The figure remained where they stood, still wearing the same stupid, smug, evil grin. Totally unphased by the situation.

"Two."

As a multitude of bone attacks and icicles began to form, the figures grin started to falter and they unconsciously took a step back away from her, suddenly appearing much less confident than before, "Hey... What the hell is all this about?"

Their question went unanswered, and her eye began glowing much brighter, "Three."

All of the attacks shot at the figure at once, several of them managing to impale their small, deceptively fragile form.

Adrienne flipped the hood of the jacket up over her face, her voice shaking as she approached the figure, stuffing her hands into her pockets, "I warned you, brat... don't you ever come back here again." Her moment of silence didn't last, interrupted by the faint sound of buzzing, resembling the whir of a machine somewhere. Summoning more bone shaped ice attacks, she slowly turned to look around, surveying her surroundings.

What she wasn't prepared for though was the figure she'd just killed, standing several meters away and grinning at her, in perfectly good condition again. It must've seen the confusion and disbelief written on her face, laughing softly, "Resetting is such a wonderful little skill I have... sure, you can kill me if you want, but no matter how many times you cut me down, I'll always come back. That's something Sans had to learn the hard way too." She launched her ice attack, but this time, the figure dodged and darted at her with an unforeseeable amount of speed, her eyes widening in fear as she sidestepped the first attack, grabbing the figure by its wrist and trying to turn the blade against it instead of herself. Then to her horror, multiple other knives, all glowing a vibrant shade of red, began to materialize in the air around her. She tried to release her grip on the figures wrist, but to no avail. No matter what she did, she couldn't make her hand let go of the figure.

As the blades all slowly turned to aim at her, the figure grinned, their facial features contorting into what she could only describe as a demonic expression. Her heart began to race, and the figure tilted its head, amused as the first knife came sailing downward and plunging into one of her arms, earning a shrill scream from her. The blade had pierced her arm, and she screamed again as it ripped through the opposite side of her arm as well, blood immediately beginning to seep out of the injury. A second knife flew at her as well, sheathing itself in her back, dangerously close to her spine. Another scream tore out of her again and she sobbed brokenly, in too much shock to move her body.

The figure grinned maliciously, moving closer and resting a hand on her face, gently shushing her. When she became louder instead, she felt a sharp pain in her left eye; the figure scowled at her, their thumb now almost fully lodged in her socket, "I asked you nicely to shut up. No one wants to hear your pathetic whining." Screaming again as they scraped a nail against the back of her socket, a familiar warm, red substance ran down her face, she felt her body twitch, all of her partially materialized ice attacks dropping to the floor.

The figure watched her quietly for a moment before almost purring, refusing to remove their thumb from her socket, "And here I thought you might actually be a challenge. Tch. Shame... I'm disappointed in you. I'm sure your beloved skeletons would be pretty let down too." Squeezing her good eye shut, she whimpered, her tears seeming to multiply as she weakly whispered, her voice trembling, "If you're gonna kill me, then do it already, damnit."

A third knife came sailing down, sinking its blade into one of her thighs and earning another pained scream. The figure scoffed at her, raising an eyebrow, "Since when were you the one in control here?"

Before she was able to form a reply, a black mass appeared, phasing out of the shadows and watching the two of them with a single cyan eye, clearly interested in what was happening. A tendril coated by what looked to be tar shot out from the mass, wrapping tightly around the figures neck and roughly yanking them backward, causing Adrienne to collapse on the ground, yelping in pain and pressing a hand over her empty socket. Hearing the sounds of another battle, she turned her attention away from the figure and the odd black mass, looking toward the pile of dust that used to be her best friend.

She blinked, silently weeping as his form appeared. Though ghostly in appearance, he offered her a warm, sharp-toothed grin, his single gold tooth glinting under the light of the hall. Letting out a soft sigh, the apparition offered her a hand, his gruff voice low, "C'mon kiddo... Let's get your ass back to bed. It's late, y'know."

Her voice shook, only coming out as a whisper as she raised a hand and reached out to the apparition of Sans, "I know, Sans... 'm sorry I left..." As her vision became blurry, the apparition solidified, but she could've sworn she watched it turn black.

Feeling each of the knives be removed from her body, she could only whimper, too weak to fight as the black mass moved closer, the warmth of healing magic surrounding her wounds and sealing them up. Her eye had even been restored, much to her pleasant surprise. She was lifted up by an inky tendril, drifting in and out of consciousness as she was carried out of the hall.

Beginning to awaken later on, she slowly sat up and rubbed her eyes, squinting as she took in her surroundings; she was in a luxurious black and deep purple bed with satin and silk covers, and there was so little lighting that it was nearly impossible to see. Goosebumps prickled at her skin and her heart stopped as she looked down at herself, seeing that her scarf and jacket had vanished. Eyes wide as she began to panic, she pulled the covers back and slid out of bed, taking a single step and yelping as the muscles in her legs convulsed, giving out beneath her. Before she had a chance to hit the thinly carpeted floor, some unknown object looped around her waist, easily catching her.

Though she was relieved, she was also unnerved; who could've caught her? The room was so dark, so how could this mystery person have been able to see where she was?

A deep chuckle could be heard from in front of her and a chill ran down her spine. As a single cyan eye opened and cast it's eerie glow down on her, she froze, immediately remembering the battle in judgement hall. At a loss for words, she could only stare, watching as the goop covered skeleton cocked his head to the side, "If you wanted these so badly, you could've just asked, little one." A tendril snaked out from behind him, her jacket and scarf held loosely in its grasp. Despite the feeling of another tendril still around her waist, she acted on impulse, reaching out to the items of clothing, desperation crossing her expression. The black mass simply tsked and moved her closer to himself with the first tendril, lifting her again so they could be eye level with each other, "Ah ah, not yet. I'll return them to you, but you have to answer some questions first. Do you think you could do that?" Adrienne swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded slowly. Pleased with her compliance, he hummed, "Good... That'll only make things easier. You're in no shape to fight anytime soon, and I really wouldn't want to have to hurt you." Her eyes widened and her pulse quickened, earning another chuckle from him, "You're adorable this way... maybe I'll keep you around. Who knows. Either way, do you have a name?"

The teen nodded again, her voice barely audible, "...Adrienne. My name is Adrienne." "'Dark one', huh?... That's interesting. Now tell me, what were you doing when I found you in that hall?" Memories flickered in her mind and she cleared her throat, hesitating a brief moment, "I was trying to avenge my friends. That human... the one I was fighting. They killed everyone, everyone I had ever cared for. I was alone and upset, and I wanted to make the fallen human pay." The mass made a soft sound of understanding, listening intently before posing another question, "The people you lost... what were they to you? Just friends and acquaintances? No mate, by any chance?" Cheeks flushing a faint shade of pink, she shook her head, "No, I didn't have a mate... they were all my friends, and some of them were even like family to me, though. They cared for me when no one else would."

Tugging her closer to himself, he lowered his voice slightly, "I see. If you could get them back, how much would you be willing to sacrifice?" The teen furrowed her brow, "I'd give anything. If it meant I could get them back and that I wouldn't lose any of them again, I'd even give up parts of myself." A clearly interested, satisfied purr rumbled in his chest as he pressed further, "Would you be willing to sacrifice your humanity?... All your morals and concerns, all your logic and your fear? Your soul, perhaps?" Frown deepening, she nodded slowly, her voice a whisper, "Yes. If I could have back the monsters I love, then I'd give all of it away. I'm nothing without them."

The black mass grinned widely, offering her a bony hand, "My name is Nightmare, and I can make that happen. All you have to do is shake my hand, Adrienne." She stared at his hand for a moment, clearly hesitant to do as he'd asked. Grin faltering, he sighed, "I can feel how sad and lonely you are without them, and I know you're scared. In order to get them back though, you must trust me. As of right now, I mean you no harm. I'm your ally here, and I protect my own. You'll be safe, and you'll be with me, along with others that can understand the pain you're feeling. You won't be alone anymore." Hope blossomed in her chest and she looked back at him, meeting his gaze, "If I agree, you promise you'll get back my friends?" The goop covered skeleton hummed in confirmation, "Of course, little one. It's a promise." Sucking in a deep breath, she reached out and shook his hand.

Tightening his grip on her hand, he pulled her closer, delicately pushing her hair back out of her face to examine her eye, "I'm so glad you agreed... You won't regret this, Adrienne. I'll need to change the mark on your eye though. It'll be my mark instead of the old one, and even though it'll be different, your magic will remain totally unaffected." She hummed softly in understanding, trying her best to hold still as he continued observing her eye. Then to her surprise, his pointer finger and thumb shifted, holding her eye wide open as a third tendril appeared, drifting closer to her face. Feeling her anxiety spike, Nightmare smiled slightly, "Don't move, alright? It may sting and cause your eye to water up, but that's normal and the stinging will eventually go away."

She took a deep breath, doing her best to relax again as she listened quietly, hearing Nightmare begin to chant something unintelligible under his breath. As the tendril moved closer, the very tip of the appendage pressed into her eye just over her iris and pupil, and she hissed, balling her hands into fists. The appendage receded, vanishing behind Nightmare's back, and that's when the stinging began. At first it was tolerable, but as it grew more intense, her eye watered up and she squirmed, whining softly in discomfort. She raised a hand to rub her eye, but a dark, skeletal hand firmly grabbed her wrist, stopping her, "Not a good idea, little one. If you do that, you may just go blind." She whined again and he chuckled, placing his free hand on her head, "It'll be over soon... until then, I think some more rest would benefit you." A wave of sleepiness washed over Adrienne and her body went limp, her eyes slowly drifting shut. Once he was sure that she was fully asleep, Nightmare delicately placed her back down on her bed, laying the scarf and jacket beside her.

Leaning over her, he carefully opened her left eye again, his grin becoming darker and much more malicious as he took note of her eye's condition; the white of her eye was now black, her iris had vanished, and all that remained of her pupil was a small, white crescent moon shape.

It'd be interesting when she woke up again, and he almost couldn't wait to see what would happen.

As she began to stir a while later, she took notice of the scarf and jacket beside her, slowly sitting up in bed and slipping them on. She tried her hardest to remember the events that took place in judgement hall, but all she could think of was finding the ashes of the skeletons brothers scattered everywhere. She remembered fighting, blood, and getting her eye gouged out, and she remembered the apparition of Sans.

Her lips curled into a wide, manic smile, and despite the tears running down her face, she began to laugh.

She laughed and laughed, until her sides ached and her face was stained red from tears, and as she got out of bed, her heart leapt in her chest as the sight of the apparition of Sans passed by her open doorway. Eagerly bounding after him, she called out his name, eyes wide and full of excitement and curiosity. Reaching the end of the corridor and seeing that he was nowhere in sight, she made a face, pausing to glance at herself in a mirror.

Seeing her eye, she burst into another fit of laughter, and her entire world went black.

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bumblebaby · 4 years

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start me up

so this is my gift for @surroundedbythelonely for the secret santa organized by @stoziersecretsanta!! my sincerest apologies for the slight delay, i was a little busier than i expected yesterday so i didn’t get a chance to fix it up and post it. anyway, i wanted to do something with some shit-wrecking teenage boys since my favorite personal hc is that stan lowkey goes through a rebellious phase and richie is totally behind him in it lmao. hope you like it!!

@starboystan created the moodboard and also an AMAZING playlist to go along with the fic!! i highly recommend listening to the playlist while you read because it is so fitting. listen to “my very attractive rebel bf” on spotify

—

stozier / 1.6k words / warnings: both of them smoke weed

“‘Tis the season, motherfucker!” Stan shouts, leaning out the window to gift Henry a middle finger as they skid down the road.

And they cannot stop fucking laughing. It’s almost to the point where it’s getting on Stan’s nerves since his stomach hurts and Richie keeps snorting and Jesus Christ it is so much. But when his head flops to the side and he’s staring at Richie again, when he sees the curve in Richie’s nose and the tiny curls framing his forehead and how his lips look extra full, he presses himself up against the center console, takes Richie’s chin and tries his best to kiss him.

or, richie and stan are stoned, rebellious shit-wrecking boys and hate henry bowers with their entire beings.

read it on ao3

—

Stan is much too dignified to slam his door, but he wouldn’t be lying that it would make him feel a little better.

He’s eighteen now, and he feels like he’s finally at the age where he should be taken a little more seriously in regards to being able to make decisions on his own, though his parents haven’t really understood that. The argument of that night is about his future that continued to crawl near; his father makes sure to emphasize Stan’s “potential” every other sentence when defending his stance about how he should apply to the most prestigious and private universities after graduation and gets particularly pissy when Stan brought up NYU as a first choice. Stan doesn’t know how to tell his father that not everybody in his friend group had an Ivy League-worthy transcript and that he doesn’t want to throw himself into this brand new place all by himself. New York is scary enough even with people you know by your side.

It lasts for all of five minutes before Stan storms off, his father’s voice trailing behind him, and he gently closes his door no matter how violently the desire to scream bubbles in his throat. He leans against the wall, closes his eyes, thinks long and hard about how he should take this night to himself to try and relax, hears something hit his window, and immediately opens his eyes.

He quickly walks over to the other side of the room and slides open the glass, knowing full well who’s standing in his backyard.

“Richie, what the fuck?”

He looks like shit. There’s a joint in between his fingers and despite the snow, he isn’t wearing a jacket. Stan pops out the screen as he usually did, sets it aside, and leans further out to see that Richie’s truck windows were open, which explains the faint music coming from the direction of Stan’s driveway. Stan prays to whatever holy entity is watching over him that his parents don’t hear any of this going on, or if they do that they just don’t think much of it, because the last time Stan came home after sneaking out he was in such deep shit that the smell was burned into his nostrils for weeks to follow.

“Got any big plans tonight?” Richie coos from below him.

Stan turns his gaze downwards and gives a subtle glare. “No. Why?” Richie gestures with his free hand, and after Stan gives a strong exhale, he swings his legs over the edge and carefully slides out, using the small windowsill to support himself as he drops himself into the snow.

The moment Stan is on the ground, Richie envelopes him in his long arms. And holy fuck, he stinks. It’s all weed and beer and Stan is suffocating in it.

Stan places his palms on either side of Richie’s face, concernedly looking into his eyes. “How the hell did you get here?” he laughs.

Richie gives him a dopey smile. “I’m not drunk, only a little baked. I can still drive,” he responds.

“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” Stan says with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, I didn’t crash, did I?”

“Christ, Rich…” Stan mutters. Richie raises the joint in an offering manner, and Stan shakes his head. “I’m good.”

“More for me, then.” Richie shrugs and takes a drag while Stan rolls his eyes. “Anyway,” Richie begins, puffs of smoke accentuating each syllable, “so Henry’s been a dick lately, huh?”

“Henry is a dick all of the time.”

“Okay, yeah, well you get what I mean. But, as both you and I know, it’s the season of giving-”

Stan scrunches his face. “Are we going to give Henry Bowers a gift?”

Richie squints in response. “Something like that, yeah.” Stan doesn’t the chance to question any further before Richie has him by the hand, dragging him to his truck. Stan is in a Journey t-shirt, sweatpants, and the same Vans he’s had since middle school, and he’s hoping that Richie isn’t going to take them anywhere public.

Richie leads him to the passenger side of his truck and opens the door. There’s a plastic shopping bag, which Richie gestures to, and Stan opens.

Egg cartons.

Stan looks over his shoulder at Richie with a questioning smile.

“Season of giving!” Richie exclaims, throwing an arm around Stan’s waist.

“You’re so stupid.” Stan giggles. And, y'know, why not be stupid? He’s got a bunch of built-up tension from having to keep his back straight for his parents, and fucking shit up doesn’t seem awful.

Stan gives the okaying nod and they both climb into their respective seats.

“Buckle up,” Richie tells Stan as he starts the truck.

“What, so when your stoned-ass crashes I won’t die?”

“You could say that.”

As they’re driving, Stan silently questions how Richie knows where Henry lives, but he then remembers the time in middle school when Richie’s mom got so upset over the “dump-in-Richie’s-backpack” fiasco that she drove over to Henry’s house to yell at both him and his dad.

“Did Henry not see you?” Stan had asked the following morning.

Richie shook his head. “I hid in the backseat on the floor.”

Henry still tripped him at lunch later in the day.

The countless numbers of stories regarding Henry Bowers being the world’s largest asshole only fuels Stan’s anger. And of fucking course it should! When Stan looks over at Richie, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel to the drums of a New Order song Stan doesn’t recognize, his head bobbing along, his wide grin when he realizes Stan is staring at him, Stan realizes just how much he would do for him.

There’s still half of a joint in his other hand, and Stan leans over to take it. He’s not a frequent smoker, at least not to Richie’s level, but they’ve hotboxed the truck so many times in empty store parking lots to sloppily make out that Stan is genuinely surprised they haven’t gotten caught. Stan’s treehouse was another typical location, but a lot more risky for the obvious reasons.

He’s only able to get a couple of drags in before they show up, but it’s definitely already starting to kick in. They’re both giggling at each other and clambering out of the truck, parked a little way down the street for cautionary reasons, and Stan grabs the bag with the eggs. They walk up the driveway together hand in hand.

Richie removes the carton from the bag, opens it, and bows. “I’ll let you do the honors.”

Stan takes an egg, chucks it, and completely misses, throwing it into a bush.

“That was fucking terrible, dude.”

“Ok, yeah, whatever,” Stan grumbles, taking another one. This time it hits the front door with a satisfying splat, and Richie lets out a whoop. Stan shushes him, but Richie argues that they are “literally cracking eggs on a house”. Stan rolls his eyes from lack of a response.

Richie runs back to the truck, which confuses Stan until The Rolling Stones starts blasting, and then a smile stretches across his face. Richie dances his way over, pulling his hair back into a small ponytail, and loudly sings, pulling laughter from Stan’s mouth. Everything is so much more prominent now, the combination of music and obnoxious giggling is nearly deafening but in such a good, ecstatic way.

They get a few more throws in until the front door opening catches their eye. They immediately freeze.

“What the fuck?!”

Henry’s voice acts as a shrill alarm for the two of them to start running. They drop the egg carton, link their fingers together, still laughing and laughing and laughing, and thank God Henry’s driveway is long because Stan trips over his own foot and Richie has to pull him up from the pavement, and they just barely make it back to the truck.

“'Tis the season, motherfucker!” Stan shouts, leaning out the window to gift Henry a middle finger as they skid down the road.

“Stan, I’m driving.”

“Okay.”

Richie places a hand on Stan’s arm and his widening smile presses up against Stan’s mouth. “I’m driving while stoned which is illegal enough-”

“Okay well, it’s not illegal to kiss me, so.”

There’s a pause.

“Well…”

“Oh, you know what I meant.”

After another minute of Stan desperately trying to get his tongue in Richie’s mouth, he finally sits back down in his seat and dangles his arm out of the window. The cold air blowing in his face is more refreshing than it is numbing, and when Richie places his hand on Stan’s knee with the guitar of “Start Me Up” filling the cab of the truck, Stan makes a mental note to invite Richie over to the treehouse the next weekend.

They pull up to the front of Stan’s house. Richie turns the music down and finally places a kiss on Stan’s lips. “Goodnight, my very attractive rebel boyfriend.”

Stan snorts. “Yeah, I’m gonna go get my ass beat by my parents.”

Richie’s laughing again.

Even though Stan gets yelled at as soon as he steps foot in the house, all he can think about while he’s laying in bed is how much fun he had and how much he loves Richie.

And also the fact that he was the worst fucking munchies.

#stozier #mae's stuff #my writing #richie tozier #stan uris #stanley uris #it 2017 #it 2019 #it chapter two #it chapter 2

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shewhowantsmouseears · 7 years

Text

Love Like Lava, 2

Notes: As always, big thanks to my editors, Drucilla and BlueShifted! Chapter's late because it thought my fanfic was spam. RUUUUDE.

You might recognize some of the mermaids names as Ariel's sisters! As for the nereids, I just picked out pretty Greek names I liked.

Summary: Who is Hephaestus, the rejected god? And will Minnie ever get close to the answers she seeks?

There were many things that separated gods from mortals, such as not needing to eat or sleep. But for Hephaestus, even though he was not a mortal, he still had several of their weaknesses. This was why early that day he was groggily getting up from bed, rubbing the morning dust out of his eyes with an irritable grunt. He envied those gods that didn't need to sleep and could spend all hours doing what they pleased - although on the extremely long list of things he envied other gods for, this was fairly low. Once his vision was straight, he sat up in his creaky, tattered bed and reached for the walking stick that rested on his metal bed frame.

Hephaestus was an inventor, perhaps lightyears ahead of his time. The mortal world wouldn't conceive his smallest creations for decades to come, but he never shared his gifts with mortals. He once heard of a god who dared to share fire with them and supposedly that hadn't gone over well with Zeus. It was well enough, he figured, since they would take one look at his body and not expect great things of him anyway. Just like Hera.

With the walking stick firmly under his left armpit, Hephaestus hobbled out of his bedroom, his left leg dragging along on the hard floor. He was instantly met with familiar smells and sounds, the dozens of caves in his hefty volcano filled with work. It put his mind at ease, happy to hear his workers doing exactly what they were meant to do. None could ask for a sweeter lullaby than the carving of metal and stone from cave walls, carrying his supplies to and fro, while the smell of sulfur and lava permeated the air. This was home, but the truth was he was the only living soul inside.

“Good-Morning-Morning-Morning, Master-Mickey.”

Mickey was his chosen name, taken from sounds he heard in the caves. The mic-mic-mic of tiny pebbles falling from chipped rocks, the key-key-key from hot metal hissing as it met cool water, these were his favorite noises to hear and so he'd decided to name himself in such a way. Upon being addressed, Mickey glanced up at one of his dozens of mechanical servants, all of them named Axelia. Human by design, they all had the color of purest gold, save for the tiny silver screws keeping them together. They clicked and whirred with every step, and while Mickey supposed he could have worked on a way to make them quieter, he liked the reminder that he had made them.

“Good mornin',” he replied after a stretched yawn. “How's the copper collection comin' along?”

“We-We-We-Are-Currently-At-78%.”

“That's good. Very good.” Mickey closed his eyes, mulling this over, but he knew if he stayed like that for too long, he'd fall right back asleep. He needed strength to get through the hours and breakfast was the most important meal of the day. “Y'know, I feel like havin' fish today. Get the basket and a few empty scrolls. The girls probably have a million ideas already.”

“Yes Master-Mickey-Mickey-Mickey.”

As this Axelia prepared what she'd been ordered, Mickey headed for the cave's entrance. As he passed along the other chambers, filled with exactly similar servants who didn't stop to wish him well, he tried to keep his spirits up. There was no reason today had to be a bad day – although there was no reason it had to be a good one either. There were times he couldn't even tell a whole day had passed, as he shut himself up in the caves to work on his latest creations. Morning had been a lucky guess, and he squinted from the harsh sunlight once he stepped out. Now that he had real light instead of the dozens of candles that lined his cave, he could see that his normally black fur was tinted brown due to specks of rust and grime. He contemplated going back inside and taking a bath, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. The girls didn't care how he smelled, and his own personal hygiene rarely mattered to him. He walked on.

The volcano sat quietly along an ocean shoreline, on an island that no mortal had yet to discover. Dozens of sharp rocks along the coast prevented sailors from getting too close, along with the occasional whirlpool and unfriendly shark. Mickey had often wondered if Hera planned to throw him in this exact spot so that no one would find him, but then he'd have to remember her rage and her tears and her screaming and he didn't want to focus on that memory. Besides, he liked his island just the way it was. He had plenty of food from the small forest nearby, and all the peace and quiet anybody could ask for. He told himself this every day – I don't need nobody and nobody needs me.

Axelia walked out shortly behind him, carrying a wicker basket that held several empty scrolls and one jar of ink. Walking around the rocks was easy for her because she couldn't feel pain. Mickey visibly winced here and there was some particularly jagged stones scratched his skin, but as long as he didn't bleed, he didn't stop. His robe had once been white, but now was as grimy and gross as his fur and he only washed it when he started to feel ill. He'd outgrown it by now, and there were rips and tears here and there, but he never saw the point of getting anything else. It did its job, as far as he was concerned – he was covered from knees to shoulder. Well, one shoulder at this point. Only his sandals were kept to pristine perfection, inspected every day to see if they needed to be fixed.

Mickey found his usual spot on the shore, sitting atop a flat brown rock that allowed his feet to dangle near the water. He sat down, placed his stick aside, and once Axelia had caught up to him, stuck two fingers in his mouth to whistle. All he had to do now was wait.

One minute passed, then two – but before minute three, bubbles began to form at the water's surface. Mickey braced himself as the splash happened, splattering him with cold ocean water, but he smiled – his unusual friends didn't know how to make an entrance otherwise. Dozens of pretty heads poked out of the water, with shrilling cries of his name and giddy clapping in the air. “Mickeymickeymickeymickeeeeey!” They clamored back and forth, his own audience of airheads.

Nothing lived on the island save for Mickey, but this particular point in the ocean was filled with mermaids and nereids. While mermaids were famous for their half human-half fish appearance, nereids could have been mistaken for your average mortal were it not for the red coral they wore around their heads and the gills on their necks. But they were equally flighty and flirty, gorgeous from head to toe and the only family Mickey had ever known until he built himself one. They tugged on his robes and his legs, each one wanting attention, but Mickey casually pushed them away.

“All right, ladies, you know the deal,” he ordered gently with a wag of his finger. “Get me some good eatin', and I'll get to work on your next request.”

Mickey received a choir of giggles and excited squeals. “I want a tiara!” “Earrings!” “I need a matching necklace!” “I want anklets!” “You're a mermaid, you don't even have ankles!”

“Fish first, you ninnies.” Mickey flicked a finger to the forehead of the nearest girl, making her whine for half a second before she plunged downward. Others copied the action while many still shouted out what jewelry they wanted on his next visit. Axelia placed the basket down, and held up an empty scroll, using her finger to dip into the ink and begin writing. Within seconds, fresh fish were tossed into the basket, more than enough to keep him fed for many days.

Mickey grabbed a silvery fish and bit into it, chewing casually as he heard each girl give their request. It was business as usual, and once they ran out of things to demand from him, they dissolved into idle gossip. On occasion, a very young girl would rest her head in his lap, and he'd stroke her tangled hair with the affection any father would give a daughter. He supposed that was ironic, as they were the ones who raised him instead of the other way around. Yet he couldn't exactly call them mothers either.

“Ooh, ooh, you won't believe this!” One mermaid – Aquata – splashed the water with her hands. “Poseidon says that the new goddess got her own throne and everything!”

“All gods and goddesses get thrones, dummy!” A nereid - Calista – Mickey had memorized each and every single name, able to identify them by only hearing a single vowel from their primped lips – blew a raspberry after saying so.

“I'm not a dummy! You're the dummy! Mickey's a god and he doesn't get one! And Aphrodite got a really pretty throne!”

“You're the dummy!” Calista began to tug on Aquata's hair, pulling out bits of seaweed.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Mickey grabbed his walking stick and tried to pry the squabbling sirens apart. “None of that. Good girls don't get gifts, remember?”

“I'm a good girl!” Aquata and Calista sing-sang together, which in turn got the others to compete and play. “I'm the best girl!” “I'm the prettiest girl!” “I can do a flip in the air!” “I can swim backwards with my eyes closed!”

Mickey nodded along, quietly amused and resumed his meal. The girls were nice enough, but often couldn't hold a thought together for more than a minute. It wasn't their fault, it was just what they were, and Mickey didn't hold it against them. At times, they were his only link to the outside world and the only way he could learn about things off the island. Speaking of which, for all their petty banter something had caught his attention. “Who's Aphrodite?”

Andria the mermaid took this up as she placed a green fish in the pile. “She's the newest goddess. She's all about beauty and love, and she's very pretty, and everyone loves her.”

Mickey blinked, but he supposed he'd heard of stranger things to rule over. He wiped a scale off of his lips. “All right, and where did she come from?”

“I don't know.”

He should have expected that, and rolled his eyes. “Okay, who does know where she came from?” Now he expected at least one decent answer, but more “I don't know”s followed, one after the other, accompanied by shrugs and asking each other even if they already answered. He began to get annoyed, though he reminded himself that these girls didn't mean to be this way. “Come on, someone has to know! Goddesses don't just appear out of nowhere!” All living things had to be born, and while some gods and goddesses had strange ways of entering the world, they still came from somewhere.

Rydia was the eldest of the nereids, and the most knowledgeable – although, at times, that just meant she could just remember the topic of conversation for more than five minutes. “I was there, Mickey! I was in the water, and this gigantic, big, huge, massive pink seashell washed up on shore. And it opened, and there she was, and then they took her to Mount Olympus.” She mimicked the shell opening, and the girls tried to find other words to use for “big” since it seemed like fun.

But Mickey didn't find it fun, his eyes widening in disbelief. “That's it?” He asked, his hands beginning to shake. It couldn't be that simple for Aphrodite, that easy, and yet the sea creatures didn't lie because they didn't see the purpose of it. “She just pops out of nowhere, and they give her a title, and a throne, and...” He trailed off, his fingers curling up so tight into his palms that he felt his broken fingernails stab into his skin.

I don't need nobody and nobody needs me.

Mickey repeated the mantra over and over in his head in a desperate attempt to calm down, but his teeth were grinding and his eyes began to sting. All Aphrodite had to do was show up and she was loved by everyone? He was the son of Zeus and Hera, and he – and he – and then he was back in the past as a mewling babe, hearing his mother's first words -

“This is my child?! This – this weak, scrawny, ugly thing? You were supposed to make everything right! You were supposed to be my champion! I can't use you! I don't need you!”

And he didn't understand, how could he understand, and she grabbed his leg and it hurt and he screamed and she screamed and he was plummeting and he wanted to know what did he do, why was this his fault -

“Mickey! You're crying!”

Indeed he was. Mickey breathed heavily, touching his now wet cheeks. The girls fluttered around him, trying to find his injury because they couldn't understand wounds that scarred the heart. They asked him what was wrong, tried to pet and kiss him, but Mickey wouldn't have any of it. “Must be nice,” he growled deep from his throat, snatching up his walking stick and trying to stand up, shoving off the girl in his lap. “Must be nice for everyone to like you right away, and not have to do a darn thing. Must be nice to get everything you want just by lookin' nice! Must be nice! Must be really nice!”

They called after him, still confused and bewildered, but they'd forget his woes soon enough. Axelia picked up the basket and followed him. She wasn't made to ask questions. Mickey's chest heaved as he made his way through the maze of sharp pricks, trying to remember his mantra while cleaning his embarrassing face. But his grief offset his balance, and he fell on the ground, his twisted leg throbbing in pain. Axelia stood perfectly still. She wasn't supposed to help him up. She wasn't supposed to give him pity. Mickey had made that clear on the day he first made his servants.

Deep down Mickey knew it was wrong to hate someone he'd never met before. But as he lay there, trying not to cry, his envy continued to flow like a festering wound. He choked, “I d-don't need nobody... and n-nobody needs me.”

Only one part of that was true.

~*~

Of course Minnie had no idea how much Mickey was suffering, as there were a great many things Minnie had yet to learn. As much as she wanted to return to the mortal plane and see Daisy, she decided that perhaps she hadn't been fair to the gods she knew on Mount Olympus. Maybe if she tried hard enough, they could teach her things – if she could get them to shut up about her beauty for a couple of seconds.

Mount Olympus had thousands of rooms for its eternal dwellers and their guests. They were constantly changing to suit the needs and wants of those who occupied it, and so you could often tell who was inside within a single glance. That's how she knew from a gigantic room that was fitted with spears and shields and smelled of sweat that this probably belonged to Ares, god of war. He was the one that hung around her the most, although it was more fair to say that he was the one who hogged up most of her time and attacked anyone who got near. Sure, he was a brute, but maybe if she came to him instead of him coming to her, he'd ease up on... everything he did ever.

Ares was rubbing his stubbly chin, focusing on an odd mirror that didn't cast his reflection. The framework was made out of swords and hilts, and the glass showed a mortal farmer happily waving to his neighbor and wishing him well. Ares grunted, somehow displeased by this display of camaraderie. He snapped his fingers, and now the image changed to a pair of mortal sailors docking on new land. They were embraced by the natives with open arms. He groaned, and tried one more time, snapping again. Two mortal kings were working on a peace treaty, and shook hands after signing. “Aw, come on!” Ares roared, slamming a fist into the wall.

Despite having every reason not to do this, Minnie delicately called out, “Ares? Is everything all right?”

Ares quickly spun around, his helmet almost falling off. “Why, if it ain't Aphrodite! Comin' down to see me? Of course everything's all right! Everything's always all right when you're around!” As he approached her, he tried to tickle her chin, and Minnie leaned back.

“Well, if I may say so, you seemed a little upset about something.” Minnie tried to poke in the direction of the mirror that wasn't a mirror. “What is that?”

“Aw, it's nothin' you need to worry your pretty little head about!” Ares slammed an arm around Minnie's shoulders, and if he hadn't grabbed onto her in the same action she would have fallen over. “Awful sweet of you to think about me!”

“I would really like to know what that is,” Minnie tried again, constantly poking the air. She had to be patient, had to persevere but there was something nagging in the back of her head that was beginning to get hot. “Please.”

“She's even lovely when she's begging!” Ares squeezed her in close, rubbing her arm over and over. “Ain't you somethin'!”

The hot feeling got warmer and warmer. Minnie didn't know yet that this was called 'losing your cool', 'raising one's ire', or as Daisy would later tell her, 'getting really pissed off.' “Ares. Would you please tell me what that is?” Maybe she could have gotten an answer faster if she batted her eyelashes or stroked him in turn, but not only did that risk the chance of him getting distracted even further, she also knew that she shouldn't have to do that just to get a single answer. Minnie was a newborn and understood this quite clearly. As one of the oldest gods around, why didn't Ares?

Ares smiled down at her with big yellow teeth, eyebrows wiggling. “You know, you can call me by my chosen name. It's Pete! Nabbed it after a mortal who killed a hundred soldiers in a single battle. Can you believe it? One hundred! You can't get good wars like that anymore. It's a real shame.” With a heavy sigh, he pulled away, lamenting his woes while Minnie's fingers twitched. “Everywhere I look, there's peace, peace, and more peace! No one feels like having a good, bloody battle anymore!”

Minnie blinked slowly, trying to process why Ares – Pete – sounded so distraught over the best situation possible. “Isn't... that... a good thing?”

“Aw, don't worry about that big cry-baby.” From 'next door', a grape was tossed and it bounced off Pete's helmet. Minnie recognized this lazy party-goer from her gaggle of worshippers, constantly drinking and eyeing her in disgusting ways. A lanky rat, he was only a head shorter than Pete yet on his own he seemed tall enough to cast a shadow over anyone he spoke to. His imperial white robes were laced with green grape vines, dropping the fruit all over the floor wherever he walked. His hand always held a goblet of wine that never seemed to empty. This was Dionysus, god of wine, parties, and getting sloshed. “He's always whining whenever there isn't a war going on. He gets bored way too easily.”

Minnie scooted over to Dionysus, hoping maybe she'd finally get a decent answer. “Dionysus, right? Do you know what that is?” she asked, pointing again to the mirror, trying to fight off the heat in her brain. “I really would like to know, so, if you could, pretty please...?”

“Please, babe, call me Mortimer!” He took her hand, leaving a wet and purple stained kiss on her fur. “Got it after a really good bottle of wine back home.” A pause, his eyes rolling about. “Or maybe it was the guy who made the wine. Or something like that. Whatever. Point is, I'm choosing you to know my chosen name!” Mortimer seemed to find this hilarious, slapping Minnie on the back as his drink spilled onto the floor. “Makes us closer!”

“You closer?” Pete snarled, stomping over and using his large stomach to push Mortimer away. “I gave her my chosen name first! We're closer than anyone else! The gal clearly likes me way more than she likes you!”

“Girls don't like war,” Mortimer scoffed, popping a grape into his mouth. “Girls like parties. Ergo, girls like me, which means Aphrodite digs me way more than she digs you. Why don't you go back to your Viewing Mirror and watch grass grow?”

“Viewing Mirror?” Minnie piped up, waving her hands around so they could focus. “Is that what it's called? So you use it to watch mortals? Can I do that? How do I do that?”

“Girls like war plenty!” Pete towered over Mortimer, trying to intimidate him by size alone. “Ain't you ever heard of the Amazons? Just you wait, when the next war pops up, me and Aphrodite are gunna watch it together!”

Mortimer pushed his large honker of a nose into Pete's face, ready to give as good as he got. “She's the goddess of beauty, there's nothing beautiful about war. Now parties, parties are beautiful! Next one we throw, Aphrodite and I will dance all night long!”

Minnie absolutely did not want to do either of those things with either of these men, but just as she was about to tell them this, she felt a soft hand on her shoulders, turning her away from the shouting match. A male duck with golden curls of hair, his blue and green uniform was fit to perfection, with a four-leaf-clover sticking out of his left breast pocket. “I don't think you'll get anything out of them except for a headache, my dear girl.” Apollo, if Minnie recalled correctly, god of archery, poetry, and annoyingly good luck.

Minnie supposed he was right, and nodded as he led her away. Had she finally found someone willing to help her? “I guess so. I think they like hearing themselves talk more than they like actually having a conversation.” She missed having actual conversations like she did with Daisy, with equal take and give. “Do you know what a Viewing Mirror is?”

“Why Aphrodite, I know everything about anything.” Apollo kept his arm around her shoulders, and it was then Minnie realized he never looked actually at her. “Ask me anything, and I already know the answer. And if somehow I don't know the answer, it'll come to me anyway. When it comes to me, things always end in my favor.”

“But... But I did ask you something.”

“For example!” Apollo took a deep breath, puffing out his chest. “My chosen name, Gladstone! Did you know there actually is no stone named Gladstone? Stones can't be glad. Stones can't feel anything! Isn't that fascinating? Then why did I choose the name, you ask? Well, it's a long, elaborate story that's going to require several hours of your time-” Gladstone paused, Minnie's fur feeling airy – mostly because he was no longer feeling her fur. Minnie had given up, storming off and feeling that hot sensation in her head again. “What's wrong?” he called after her. “Need to do your make-up?”

The goddess whipped around, her dress beginning to curl up around her feet. “I am going to see Persephone!” she snapped, and by this time Pete and Mortimer had also noticed the prize of their affections had gone missing and jogged to catch up. She was quite fine declaring her intentions to all of them, if they were finally going to listen to what she had to say. “If none of you are going to answer my questions, she will!”

The three blanched, with Gladstone asking the important question. “Why in the world would you want to see her?”

“I just told you why!” The hot feeling shot out of Minnie's mouth, making her scream – had she ever screamed before? Is this what people did when they were faced with constant aggravation? Was a simple question and answer routine too much to ask for? Was this going to be her life forever? She'd never felt this way before, and she didn't want to feel it again. It hurt her head, and made her face feel like it was on fire, blood pumping throughout her body, her limbs shaking with a fury unheard of, and then -

And then the floor shook. Let it be stated again that Mount Olympus was in a place that time and space couldn't touch, and while it was a mountain in shape it was not like the mountains on the mortal world. Therefore it had no reason or logic to why it could shake. It lasted for three seconds, but it was enough to silence everyone on the mountain, with some thinking it'd been their imagination. Minnie, of course, didn't realize how bizarre this was, but as she saw the wild confusion on the faces of her three suitors, she began to settle down. What was wrong now?

“I'm not that drunk yet, right?” Mortimer eventually asked, checking his goblet to see how much he had in the past couple of minutes.

Gladstone made the choice to defeat the problem by pretending it never happened at all. “Like...Like I was saying!” he cleared his throat, taking out his four-leaf-clover and rubbing it in his fingers as if it would make sure the shaking would never happen again. “You don't want to see Persephone. If Hades sees you with her, he could kidnap you too! We wouldn't want that.”

Pete slammed a fist into an open palm. “If he pulls that trick again, I'd make him wish he could die!”

Well, if they were going to tell her things, she may as well stick to it. Minnie breathed through her nose slowly. “Who is Hades?”

“Oooh, the worst, he is the worst!” Mortimer waved his hand about, splashing Pete with wine but missing Gladstone by mere inches. “Lord of the Underworld, land of the dead! He's the one who kills mortals and takes away their souls! Real creepy stuff, babe. He's not allowed up here, thank goodness. Luck of the draw and all that.”

“I'll say!” Gladstone agreed for once, nodding in tune with Mortimer's wine splashing so he could keep avoiding it. “And I know all there is to know about luck. But Persephone, was she ever unlucky! Hades kidnapped her to be his bride! Can't think of a worse fate for any lady. Because of him, she's stuck in that gloomy, depressing place for half a year! If I were her, I wouldn't know how to get out of bed in the morning.”

“But don't you worry about a thing, Aphrodite!” Pete put his hands on his hips, standing tall and proud, jutting out his chin. “As long as I'm around, Hades won't lay a finger on you! You'll only have to feel my fingers.” He grinned, hoping she'd catch his drift, unaware one would have to be as dull as an unlit candle to have missed the implication.

Minnie was not as dull as an unlit candle, and in that second she decided she had enough company for one day. “Ummm. This has been. Nice. I guess.” With as much speed as she could muster, she willed the clouds beneath her to separate. “But I really must get going so I'll see you later, bye!” She smashed her words together, not caring if anyone could even hear her at that point, and jumped down to the mortal world below.

The trio of men watched her go, and then preened to themselves. “Poor girl must be shy,” Gladstone mused, chuckling at what he'd seen as a demure act. “I do hope I didn't frighten her off with my advice. Girls are fragile, you know.”

“When I see her again, I'll calm her down with a cool drink,” Mortimer said before gulping down a hefty amount of wine, letting his mind get dizzy. “Say, why don't we throw another party for her? I bet she'd love it! I'll go tell everyone we're ready for another round! All hail Aphrodite!”

Gladstone followed Mortimer, happily chanting the same ridiculous words, but for once Pete didn't follow. As much as he wanted to bask in Aphrodite's beauty, there was still the problem of peace waiting for him. It didn't weaken his powers, or honestly affect him in any physical way. But Pete enjoyed war, and he believed he would've even if he wasn't the god of war. It was fun to see men and women tearing each other to pieces over anything, be it other people, land or even just a disagreement. But peace...peace was boring! Mortals were only good for entertainment, and if they couldn't even do that right, why should they live?

But he knew as he sat down on his throne that this was unfortunately the nature of things. Wars couldn't last forever, just as mortals couldn't last forever. No matter how enjoyable a bloody feud was, eventually one side would win and they'd move on. There was no such thing as a war that lasted forever. He tapped his fingers as he looked at his Viewing Mirror, having to settle for a bunch of grade school boys bullying a smaller child.

What he wouldn't give for a war that lasted until the end of time!

~*~

The boys would eventually gang up on the smaller child, calling him names and giving him a black eye for the mere sin of being poor and tiny. But as the little boy made his way home, debating if he should bother his beloved mother with his problems, he found a ripe peach being placed in his hands. He looked up, and saw a tall black dog that would've been taller if he stood up straight instead of slouching. The boy knew him right away, as did everyone in town. “Thank you, Pugma...Pigmoo...Pygma...”

“Aw, shoot, Goofy's just fine.” No one really called him his birth name anymore, and Goofy wore his supposed insult like a medal of honor. He was carrying a crate of peaches and had set it down to hand over a spare. “Looked like you could use a pick-me-up!”

The boy smiled in appreciation, but his eyes drifted to the crate. “Where are you going with all those peaches? You don't use them in sculptures, do you?”

Goofy laughed at such a ridiculous notion, bending over to pick up the crate. “Naw! Art doesn't starve! Starving artists is a whole other matter. This here's for that new goddess that they built the temple for. Figured I'd go and give her a welcome offering.” The town soothsayer had declared that a goddess of love and beauty had joined Mount Olympus, and what was a soothsayer for if not to declare such important things? Goofy always automatically believed these things, and so he'd been one of the few able hands who built the small, modest temple near the edge of town.

Being a new goddess, Minnie had no claims to fame and no stories to tell about her except that she was pretty. As such, not many bothered to pray to her or give her any offerings since they didn't know what she'd help them with. But it'd disrespectful not to build her something, and so the marble temple stood, empty on the inside save for a single altar. Goofy would be the first person to give her an offering, but truth be told, he had nothing he wanted. Nothing, he thought, any god could grant, anyway.

He hummed a pleasant tune as he carried the peaches to the temple, tripping over his own loose sandals and making them spill all over the ground. He hummed as he brushed himself down, hummed as he picked up the bruised peaches, and hummed as the villagers laughed and mocked his clumsiness. It was what he was used to, and if nothing ever changes, why bother to complain? He had more important things on his mind.

Goofy made it to the temple, and began stacking the peaches on the solitary altar. No, he didn't have a wish to make, but he did have a thought in mind. “Meetin' new folks, livin' in a new place, might be real scary,” he said out loud, wondering if she could hear him, and content if she couldn't. “But I bet you'll do just fine. I hope you'll be happy. Welcome to the world, Aphrodite.”

With a simple bow, Pygmalion went home to work on his favorite sculpture.

#disney #fanfic #love like lava #mickey mouse #minnie mouse

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pazvizslaplasmathrower · 4 years

Text

Father of Hopes and Dreams -Chapter 10

Read here or on AO3!

Summary: Your young master is gone, just at the birth of your bond, he has left you for many years, leaving you to survive the galaxy alone. After sustaining an injury from a drunken storm trooper, someone faces the decision to either leave or help you in your moment of need.

Chapter Summary: A stranger finds you in someplace you do not belong and offers their help. The stranger seems to find the encounter a little unusual, not one to be forgotten. Unexpectedly, Paz runs into the infuriating Din Djarin.

A/N: Hope y’all like it! I love Paz so much asdfghjukl

Also my ask box is open for requests and prompts and all that

Word Count: 1896

The atmospheric duality of the planet was truly something, the sweltering heat of the day vanishing completely, the nearly frigid cold taking hold. Somehow the Armorer had crafted your clothing and armor, in such a fashion, neither heat or cold was a death sentence, the ill-prepared layman had no chance of survival. You had been that way not long ago. Perched atop a building in the center of the port city, you had a fantastic view of life down below. Speeders flew by, thieves laying in wait for the occasional, unsuspecting victim, crowds shifted by one another, not one seeming at comfort.

Your long ears perked up at the sound of vivacious music, ringing throughout the streets. The melody unlike anything you had heard before. Your master had sang many songs about Jedi and great Force authorities of old, great tales of discovery and reverence. In your opinion the best one were that of grand adventure, but your youthful master admonished you for that, saying that while those ballads may be wonderful, they were a bit less than humble.

This sound was unlike anything else, making you want to stand up and dance around like a fool. Instead, you stealthily snaked your way down the building, weaving in between civilians and visitors alike until you were standing outside the entrance of the massive cantina, debating if this was going to be worth the potential trouble. The last on you had been in was on Stewjon where that kriffing trooper decided to slash you open with a vibroblade.

Deciding the risks were minimal, you crouched behind a group entering, slipping past the guard unnoticed. Once inside, the music became drastically more erratic than sonorous, lights of numerous colors flashing, making your eyes sting. Patrons of many cultures danced around to the strong beat of the music, crashing into you without care. Overwhelmed by the assault on all your senses, it was only made worse when you felt a hot sensation against the shell of your ear.

“OoOOoH. What do we have here? I don't think I've s-”

When the perpetrator's hand laid on your arm, you sprang into action. At once, you seized the fiend's arm, dragging them forward with all your might, still hanging on, you bared your teeth and bit down hard. The drunk quarren let out a strangled scream, and you let go, allowing him to draw back his bleeding arm and clutch it to his chest.

“Ugh!” You retched. “That was foul!”

Noticing the stares starting to moved your way, you moved away, heading towards the bar which offered a decent spot to watch the musicians on stage. A small section of stools were unoccupied, so you knelt down to hide under the edge of the counter. Truthfully, it was difficult to focus on the music when the environment was so grossly overwhelming. Each note sent a wave through your body, making your head pound. The incessant chatter and screaming was so shrill, it took all the self control you had not to do something about it.

“Hey, kiddo. You alright there?”

Eyes that were once glued shut flew open, nervously seeing a pair of boots. Following them led to a stern man, hands settled on his hips. He was quite becoming for a human man, subtly sculpted features, a voice that had the potential to be friendly, and warm brown hair.

“What's a young kid like you doing in a place like this, huh?” He asked.

Too stunned to answer, you wondered if you would be able to make it through the dense crowds swiftly.

“Hey!” The man stated sharply. “Don't get any funny ideas, okay? Do you have a parent or guardian or something?”

The question threw you. A master who was missing? Yes. A Mandalorian warrior who was helping you find said master? Yes. Parent? No?

“Um. I-I don't know.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose a second before offering you his hand. “I think I saw one like you outside, looked pretty worried. C'mon.”

You didn't want to. Only a fool would take the hand of a man they didn't know. At any moment he could try and attack. At this point in time, you were stronger and more focused than you had been in a long while. This was simply one human man, he could put up a fight, but surely you would be victorious if need be.

Nodding, you let the man help you to your feet and pull you through the dancers and those reveling in the sweet madness.

“The name's Solo.” He huffed, keeping his grip tight. “This ain't no place for a kid y'know?”

“Tch, Mr. Solo, you're not my father.”

Without warning, he turned on his heel, jerking you suddenly. “I know I'm not your father and don't call me that!”

Scowling, you fixed the man with a harsh glare. “I'll think about it, Mr. Solo.”

***___***___***

Clenching his fists, Paz regarded the man before him with begrudging respect.

“What brings you here, Din Djarin?” He asked coolly, softening a bit at seeing the baby sleeping in its carrier.

“I could ask you the same thing.” There was an abundant pause. “But I don't care.”

He had hardly said a thing and Djarin was already being such a kriffing bastard, if it were not for the baby, he would have walked over in two strides and given Din a piece of his mind. He was of course overly tense because the child in his care had run off. Maker, it better have been of their own volition or else Paz would start to lose his mind.

“I don't have time for your blatant disrespect. Answer me this, have you seen a young child running about? Mandalorian clothing....Humanoid...”

Din Djarin shifted uneasily. “What. Since when do you have a child?”

“That is not for you to know, I only asked if you had seen such a child.” Paz snapped, annoyed by the hint of venom in the other's voice.

The tiny, green baby wheezed awkwardly as his father took a few steps forward, moving into Paz Vizsla's personal space. At least he had the pleasure of being able to look down on Din, he having to crane his neck upwards.

“If it's my help you are trying to get my help, you're going about it the wrong kriffing way.”

By simply flexing his fingers, one could hear the small chorus of crackling coming through his gloves. Somewhere in this port, Y/N could be in danger and here he was being insulted by this son of a-

“There! There! That's him!”

“Hey! Calm down kid! You're gonna rip off my arm!”

Pushing Din Djarin aside, Paz could see from far off, young Y/N tugging the arm of a handsome, disgruntled looking man. He went forward to meet the child who excitedly jumped up and hugged him tightly.

“Found you!” They laughed, sharp teeth flashing.

The stranger sighed. “You didn't find em'. I did. You were the one hiding under the bar in the Cantina.”

“What?” Vizsla plucked the kid off of him, holding them up in the air. “You went inside a Cantina?! I thought I told you to hide someplace close and stay there until I was finished?”

From behind he could hear Din laugh quietly to himself, that kriffing idiot was probably jeering under his shiny, little helmet.

“Uh, well, I guess there are your fathers. I'll let you guys be.” The handsome man turned to leave.

“We're not'-!” It was no use, the stranger didn't care and kept walking until he vanished into the sea of people.

“Bye, Mr. Solo!” Y/N yelled.

Gently, Paz placed the kid on the ground, looking them over for any injuries, no matter how minimal they might be. Only a couple of scuffs here and there and tired eyes. He took a small med kit from a pouch, cleaning the scrapes making sure they would not get infected.

“What the hell were you thinking, A'dika?”

“You took forever!” They whined, their eyes distracted by something else. “I thought I'd just look around y'know?”

“No. I don't know” Paz pocketed the kit. “Maker, Y/N, would you look at me?”

The child blinked a few times before fixing their gaze on him. “You never told me there were even more!”

They gestured to Din who had the audacity to still be standing, observing something that did not involve him in the slightest...

“I didn't think you would be meeting him...much less so soon.” He growled.

Y/N shook their head, moving closer to Din against Paz's wishes. The other Mandalorian tensed, not liking them in his space, but he remained calm.

“That is Din Djarin, young one. He is a Mandalorian like me.”

They smiled, showing once again, those razor sharp teeth. “Kinda figured!” They shrugged. “Whoa, cool baby, mister.”

Din watched stiffly as Y/N offered the baby a finger which his son took. The eyes of Paz's child grew wide, what sort of strange greeting was this?

“Kark...” The older child breathed.

“Y/N, watch your tongue.” Paz stated flatly.

“Hey, he's like me!”

Both Mandalorians looked at one another, though neither of them could see the other's face, both could feel the same chilling anticipation.

***___***___***

Your guardian and his friend had made it safely back to the hangar of the ghoulish man, who luckily was fast asleep. Though no one could see him, you could definitely hear him. The uneasiness he gave you was greatly overshadowed by the excitement coursing through your body. Not only had you met a very unusual yet adorable baby, that baby happened to have a strong connection to the living Force. Not to mention you had met the third Mandalorian in your life. The man wasn't much for talking. The whole walk back you tried asking him questions about his little boy, to which he would simply grunt in reply. Not entirely useful, but perhaps he was just shy.

“So, Mr. Djarin, what kind of things can your baby do? Can he lift stuff? Without touching it of course. Can he levitate? Or make people-”

“Alright, A'dika.” Paz laid his hands on your shoulders moving you in front of him and away from his friend. “That's enough for one night. Go board the ship, I set up sleeping arrangements for you. Alright?”

“But I wanna talk to the baby!” You protested.

Hand on his hips, Paz stood between you and the little one who was pulling at one of the straps of his carrier. Your guardian moved to the closest wall, throwing a switch upwards, bringing dozens of fluorescent lights alive, but they were perhaps less than dim, casting only a soft glow. Under the light was a fair looking star ship, certainly not anything lavish, but not scrap metal either. A flagship of sorts, rather flat in design was parked with its bay door wide open, the thick outer durasteel, gray with a marks of deep, dark purple. You looked back at the others, locking eyes with the baby. You would see each other again. And if fate didn't allow for that to happen, you would make it so.

#sw #star wars #star wars series #star wars saga #the mandalorian #the mandolorian #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian fic #mando fic #fiction #fanfic #fic #paz fic #paz vizsla fic #paz vizla #paz vizsla #y/n #reader insert

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