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peppermint2d · 3 years

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F#$%ing uh, Calm after the Storm cuz the Storm Thing

It's 2D's birthday today, so enjoy another chapter!

Ch.1 in case you missed it

Chapter 2:

When you come to again, you see that the movie was indeed paused from what you last remember. Since he is in the basement, it was still dark inside 2D's room. You could see his sleeping form on his bed, lightly snoring with each inhale. It was still cold, but you promised to give the jacket back, so you gently lay it on top of him. You leave his room, hearing Noodle giggle far away.

There were no windows in the hallway, so you again relied on the walls for help and tried to follow the noises of Noodle in the kitchen. Climbing two flights of stairs in the dark is easier than it sounds, especially since as you reached the upper floor, the windows helped a little. It was still storming outside, but at least outside was brighter, even if by only a small amount.

As you walk into the kitchen, you hear the hiss of the stove releasing gas and see Noodle with a pack of matches. As she strikes one, you tackle her, and the air above you catches fire, burning your arm that you put up the shield both of you. "Ah fuck!" Tears well up in your eyes.

Noodle quickly squirms out from your grasp and puts a pan on the now lit stove. All that for breakfast? You check your arm and see a blister forming. There is no ice in the fridge since it all melted, so you wet a towel and hold it on the burn. Noodle shoos you away from the sink and fridge, removing butter, potatoes, and pancake mix from the cabinets. "Batā daijōbu? Bīgandesu ka?" She asked, holding up the butter.

"Sure, anything is fine."

She nods and quickly whips up breakfast for both of you and enough extras for the rest of the band. She sits on the island counter next to you. "Thank you for breakfast." You push the food around as you attempt to eat with one hand.

She hums questioningly and points to her left arm, your injured one.

You show her the burn. "It will heal, thanks for asking."

"What will heal?" Russel enters and starts getting his plate of food.

"My arm. Burnt it just now."

He sets a water kettle on the still-lit stove. "How bad?"

"Second degree, I think." You remove the towel to show him.

He grimaces. "Great way to wake up in the morning. Joe?"

"Who's Joe?"

Russel broke out into a sly grin. "Joe Mama. But a cup of joe, coffee?"

"BOO! Russel, boo. I can't believe I fell for that." You accept his consolation prize and he makes coffee for both of you. Noodle reaches for one, but Russel lightly smacks her hand away. "None 'til you're older."

Noodle lets out a quick string of angry Japanese.

"Say all you want but ain't getting none of this 'til you're at least 15."

"I can't believe she is so young. She's the one who made breakfast. Plus, she already is so talented with the guitar!"

"And vocals." As soon as Russel says that, he blushes. "Pretend I never said that."

"She does vocals on the new album? Come on, Russel! You can't just let that slip and not answer my questions!!"

"Can and will. Ey Noodle, Where's your napkin?"

Noodle paused in the middle of wiping her maple syrup on her sleeve. Russel sighed and got her a napkin. "You were saying about her maturity?"

You both share a laugh. "When do you think this storm will end?" You ask Russel.

"Dunno. It's always storming over Kong, at least."

"Do you like it here?"

"Don't hate it. I do enjoy makin music, but the whole kidnapped thing wasn't ideal." You both chuckled again.

"Yeah, I bet. I'm going to be having nightmares of Murdoc kidnapping me now."

"Murdoc doing anything is highly unlikely" Russel's deep laughter boomed throughout the room.

"Oi! I do stuff! I do lots of stuff." Murdoc wiggled his eyebrows. He takes the rest of the food.

"Hey! Leave some for 2D!" You protest.

"If the faceache wanted some, he should have woken up earlier." He sneered back, drenching his plate of pancakes in syrup and fried potatoes with ketchup. He poured the rest of the coffee for himself. There was too much for one cup, so he got out two mugs, filled both, and drank from both. What an asshole.

You looked at your own plate. You were too busy tending to your arm and talking to Russel to really eat anything, aside from a piece of potato. You were starving from not having any dinner. But you were the reason 2D stayed up and therefore didn't get up on time. You sighed and took your plate downstairs. "Thanks again for breakfast, Noodle!" You call behind you.

You set the food on the floor so you could knock on the door. Like a poor replay of last night, you had to knock again louder. Frustrated, you shout "2D!" You hear movement on the other side of the door and pick up the food.

"Ah!" A loud thump proceeds the opening of his door and you see him rubbing his chin as he opens it for you.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, I jus tripped. Can't really see well at night. Although I guess it mornin now innit?" He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and stepped out of the way for you to join him, relighting the candle from last night. "Oh! Yew brought me breakfast? I'm starvin. Wouldda fought that Murdoc ate it all before I got any."

"He kinda did" You admit sheepishly.

"But then how'd yew get dis?" He sat on his bright yellow chair and started to eat vigorously.

"A magician never reveals their secrets."

"YEW DO MAGIC?"

"No D, it's an idiom." He looked confused. "Like raining cats and dogs?"

He swallowed his bite before speaking: "That doesn seem safe."

As you're about to laugh, your stomach starts to growl, causing you to turn bright red.

2D frowns. "This was yours?" You nod. "Well, now yew gotta take some. Yew didn efen 'ave dinna!"

"Nah, 2D it's yours, come on you said you were starving!"

"Eh, don tell 'er I said so, but Noodle's cookin can be off. I don like fese potatoes anyway, would yew-"

"Yes." You sit on the ground by him and he hands you what's left of them. You both sit in companionable silence. Normally, you observe everything as information for your articles, but here, there is nothing to record. Eating is a very intimate act. It's private. It leaves you vulnerable. One does not eat comfortably with strangers. There is an inherent agreement made when eating, a promise of safety and companionship. You don't think 2D values this moment as much as you do, you were waxing poetic while he sticks his tongue out as he struggles to cut a part of his pancake. Even though his struggles may suggest otherwise, he is meticulous while eating, taking extra caution to not allow any syrup to drip while he eats.

"Yew still 'ungry?" He nodded towards your empty plate. "Cuz yew'fe been lookin at me eat, and there's plenty pancake left."

"No, uh, I'll live." You flush, you keep forgetting about his eyes.

"Good! Wouldn't want yew dyin." He grins, showing off his missing teeth. You look around his room while he finishes. It wasn't exactly a mess, but it was not orderly. Clothes littered the floor, but the room felt lived in and as homey as a basement could get.

"Do you like living in the basement?" You ask him as he collects the plates into a stack.

"Didn't 'ave much of a choice. Murdoc put me 'ere before Russ n Noodle showed up. Gets a bit drafty fough."

This would be nice for your article. "Was this even a room initially? Or did Murdoc just put up a wall?"

"I dunno. I fink 'e jus put somefin up since I can see ofer dis wall 'ere if I get up 'igh enough." He opens his door and takes the plates with him. "Can yew blow out the candle? I don wanna bring it upstairs since Murdoc would probably take it for 'imself. Yew can grab onto the back of me shirt if you need 'elp navigatin. Not that I can see where I'm goin eifer."

You do ask he asks and grab onto his yellow tee. "I would offa yew me 'and, but..."

"They're full. Don't worry, this is helping loads."

He just hums in response as he leads you up the stairs, through the carpark, and up more stairs to the kitchen. When you finally reach the kitchen, your hand still holding the warm material of 2D's shirt. Russel hears you two enter and looks above the book he was reading --Wuthering Heights-- to raise an eyebrow at your position which must have looked a lot more suggestive than it actually was. You were in the basement alone with 2D for an hour at least and as an investigative journalist, you could understand better than anyone why it looked suspicious. You deeply flush, feeling the heat reach the tips of your ears. 2D apparently did not catch Russel's expression, leading you to the sink, where he washed the plates while you still held onto him. You didn't need to, you could see just fine now.

Russel sniggered, "I guess your arm's feeling better now, huh?" His sly smile hinting that he thinks he knows, incorrectly as it may be, why you are suddenly so close to 2D.

"Your arm's 'urtin?! Why didn yew say anyfin last night?" 2D turns towards you frantically, grabbing the arm that was holding his shirt, turning it around, trying to find the injury.

"Last night? Damn." Russel is chuckling on the couch, shaking his head. "2D, you have been ploughing through too many girls recently."

This piqued your interest. A new development for your article.

"I'm- I'm- I'm strugglin Russ, yew know dis. Besides, we didn efen do anyfin! We jus watched Dawn of the Dead!" He shakes his head vigorously, waving his arms.

"It starts with Dawn of the Dead..."

"ANYWAY! 'ow did yew 'urt your arm?" 2D harshly changes the subject, Russel fully laughing at this point.

You barely manage to mumble: "Burnt it." Russel's teasing really embarrassed you.

"On the candle?" He still looked so concerned, as if he was the one to hurt you.

"This morning. Not your fault, D." He visibly relaxed at that.

"Plus, it's this arm." You held up your left arm, the angry, sickly yellow blister facing him.

"'ow could I 'ave missed this! Oi, love, why 'aven't yew bandaged this? Does it 'urt still? Did yew put ointment on it?"

"Yo, 2D, chill, let her breathe!" Russel shouted from across the room.

2D flinched in surprise. "Sorry."

You smile and giggle, their concern for you was so cute. "I'm fine. It hurts to move and if anything touches it, it's agony, but really no need to fret."

"We keep a first aid kit in the studio because of, uh, Murdoc. I can patch yew up." He takes your uninjured hand and leads you down to the ground floor and into a cluttered studio. You grimaced at the pelt on the floor.

2D noticed your refusal to step on it. "Yeah, 'm not a big fan of it meself." He digs through a discarded box. "'ere's the kit! Come 'ere, I'll make yew feel be'er."

He rifles through the extensive kit, packed with anything an EMT team may need, including a mini lamp, which he turns on. "Oh! 'ere it is! Alooe Veera soofin cream!" He terribly mispronounces the name. "'ere are some bandages too, I'll wrap yew up afta."

You sat by his side on the floor as he tenderly took your injured arm and inspected it. "I fink dis may scar."

"If it does, then I'll always have something to remember this by. Plus, Noodle would feel so guilty, I'd probably get tickets to all of your concerts." You joke, but 2D's concern didn't seem to waver.

He laid it on his lap while he put some cream on his fingers. "Dis may 'urt a wee bit." He started on the outside of your burn, gently rubbing in the cream, the soothing lotion and soft touches caused you to sigh and relax into 2D's shoulder. Again, he smelled of cigarettes and cedar and his vanilla-scented candle still lingered in his shirt. He was bony so that you could feel his shoulder blade and clavicle, but it was not uncomfortable in the slightest. You could feel his muscles move as he tended to you and if this continued any longer, you would have fallen asleep.

He brushes against the blister unexpectedly and you yelp, yanking back your arm. "I need you to stay still, love." You grumble and tuck your head back into his shoulder, relaxing into him again. He continues with the cream, taking extra care with the blister, pausing when you sharply inhale. "I'll bandage yew up right proper, I will." He whispers, mainly to himself.

As soon as the rough gauze touches your blister, you whimper. "Jus stay good for a few more minutes, yeah?"

"This is hurting more than the actual burn."

"Sorry, love. Uh, lemme know if dis is too tight or loose." He begins to wrap the bandage around your forearm.

"Tighter, please." He pauses and tries again.

"Tighter." He tugs on them even harder.

"Tighter."

"Yew sure? I fink your fingers are turnin red." He was right, they were showing signs of lack of blood flow.

"Please, D? I don't want it to come undone and have to do this again."

He follows your wishes and finishes tieing it up with a bow. "There, all done! If it still 'urts bad, I could give yew some of me painkillers?"

"I could do with some ibuprofen maybe. What do you have?"

"Perscriptions. Nefer wifout em!" His smile didn't quite reach his eyes and you could tell that it was just a cover. You give him a sympathetic smile, you couldn't blame him for being addicted. His smile falls. "Yew won't put that in your article, will yew?"

"Of course not, D! Nothing without your permission gets published, I'll even send you my rough draft for you to OK." You stand up and reach out your good arm to help him up too.

He is lighter than you expected as you yank him up beside you. "Yew don 'ave to do that. I doubt I could efen understand what yew write."

"Oh please, you're very intelligent!"

"Not since I fell on me 'ead, I 'aven't been." He deeply sighs. Then, he shakes his head. "Well, dis is where the magic 'appens! I could give yew a tour?"

You follow his lead and decide to stop talking about his past, but that doesn't mean you have to stop wondering what made this ray of sunshine so sad. He takes you around the space, explaining what each machine does and how it was used on the EP, sometimes complaining how one of them didn't work properly or how it didn't make it into the final versions of the songs. When you reach the keyboards, he practically glows when talking about them, their names (yes, he named his keyboards), which sounds are unique to each, and which ones are the stubborn ones. "Dis one 'as a very stiff F4, could nefer play that note." He pulls down his favourite from the shelf and plays "The Entertainer" beautifully. It would have rude to not applaud.

"And that's the recording boof. I don quite like 'ow claustrophobic it makes me. The sound spikes are scary, too. No good memories in there." He takes the lamp with him as he walks to the door. He holds out his hand for you to take, even though you can see where you are going now. But who are you to say no?

You reach out to take his hand, his being quite a bit bigger than yours. He leads you out the door and through the winding hallways of Kong. Even with his lamp, the place still reminds you a bit of a maze. You hear Russel's deep timbre coming down the kitchen's stairs and you remembered your interaction with him earlier and wondered how it would have been if he'd seen how you still held 2D's hand. 2D led you back down the stairs, through the car park, and down the stairs again. with each step the two of you took down, the darker the space around you got. That was the cons of a basement, you supposed. Once you were both back in his room, he placed the lamp over on a desk.

"Okay, ibuprofen right? I fink I got somethin like tha."

He let go of your hand to open the drawer at his desk, revealing many, many, bottles of pills. You tried to pretend you weren't looking over his shoulder at them all, but you were pretty sure he knew you were. He didn't address it, instead pulling out a specific bottle and pushing the door shut. He held it up close in front of his face, and you watched as he squinted just slightly to read the label.

"'ere we go! Dis should work."

He popped the top of the bottle and dumped quite a large amount on his hand before holding it out to you. You stared for a moment at the pile of pills in his hand before reaching out and grabbing just 2. He blinked, and slowly put the rest of the pills back in the bottle, then dropped it back in the drawer.

"Thanks, 2D. This'll help loads." You smiled up at him. He just smiled back.

You took both pills, faced with the fact you had no water to swallow them down with. It wasn't the biggest deal, but you never were good at swallowing pills, so the bitter medicine dissolved slightly on your tongue before it was gone.

"Blegh." you stuck your tongue out and scrunched your face up, that bitter taste causing you to cringe. You heard 2D laugh at your reaction. "Hey! Rude." You said, but you were smiling too.

"Sorry," he laughed a little again, "Les go get you somfin to drink, yeah?"

"Um, yeah. please."

He starts to lead you back to the kitchen. Your whole time at Kong has been dealing with these blasted stairs. "What yew want to drink?" 2D asks as you reach the car park.

"Got any more soda from last night?"

"No, fresh out, Noodle finished it while yew were asleep."

"Juice?"

"Yeah! We may 'ave some Orange Juice left."

"If it was in the fridge it would have gone bad by now because of the power."

2D sighed. "Then all we gots is water and Murdoc's alcohol supply." You were about to go up the stairs to the kitchen and pause.

"You know any good cocktails, D?" You smiled slyly. Sure, it may only be after lunchtime, but with the clocks out, who really knows what time it is.

"I normally jus drink straight from the bottle." His smile returns your energy, so you turn around and start heading to the Winnebago.

The air starts to turn sour, and you could feel it sticking to your face. When you inhale, it burns your nose and stays in the back of your throat. The stench of death and rot. Of alcohol, sweat, weed, and sex. Of an overuse of Axe bodyspray. You didn't think you would see a grown man cry today, but as you two approached the Winnebago, 2D's eyes watered in a way that could only be described as a constant stream of tears.

"What happened here? Do you think Murdoc's okay?" As you open your mouth to speak, you could feel the stench seep in and can almost taste the putridness.

2D coughed "'e's probably more than okay." He knocked on the flimsy door.

The opening of the door unleashed a plume of stank upon you and 2D. You were expecting Murdoc to greet you, but your eyes lowered until they saw what you could only describe as a zombie in a maid outfit. That was definitely making the article. It gurgled and turned away. A second later, Murdoc appeared, topless. "Hey, Love! Finally come to your sense, eh?" He saw 2D and grumbled, "Ah, why'd you bring dents for eyes? I promised myself I wouldn't make that dream a reality. Besides, my bed's only got room for two." Murdoc leered at you, outlining your body with his eyes. 2D coughed and stood in front of you, causing Murdoc to lean back and cross his arms. "You're blocking her view of all this." He gestured to himself.

"Not to dis one, Murdoc. Not again. We're only 'ere for your booze." His hands balled into fists. You didn't need 2D to speak to Murdoc for you, but you sense something deeper going on here.

Murdoc turned for a sec and grabbed a bottle behind him. "Here you go, Face Ache. It's weak enough for you to stomach, lightweight. And if she," He points at you, "comes to me begging for a shag, later on, then we will both know that you're the issue."

2D takes the bottle and mumbles bastard under his breath. Murdoc leans against the doorframe and grins, cockily, watching you leave. The farther you get away from the Winnebago, the clearer the air looks. "Ah, I can feel my nose again! That stank, right D?"

"Yeah, wha'ever." He didn't look at you, his head tilted down so you guessed he was looking at the floor. He was hunched over and held the alcohol with white knuckles.

"You okay, 2D?" You put your hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged you off. "I jus wanna down dis bottle and forget everyfin 'til tomorrow at least."

You follow him silently back to his room, straying behind so that you were barely within the light from 2D's lamp. He disappeared through the door, leaving you in the dark as you fumbled down the last steps. You find him flopped face down onto the bed, his arms and legs splayed across the whole mattress. You gingerly pick up one of his legs and move it so you can sit on the bed beside him.

"You know I would never sleep with Murdoc, right?"

2D grumbled and opened the bottle, taking a huge swing, not fazed at all. He passed it over to you and you read the label. It was named Satan's Piss and had a cartoon devil on the front. Its main feature was its ABV of 50%, 10% more than vodka. You take a considerably smaller sip and cough, cringing at the strength, causing 2D to snort. At least one of you is getting something out of this.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's left me for 'im." 2D pulled his limbs in a rolled over so that his stomach was touching your back, his legs close to your side. He leaned on one elbow, purposefully not looking at you. You turned slightly so you could watch him. "I don fink I could efer forgive Murdoc for what 'e did. I 'ad a bird and she and I were togefer efen before I lost me eyes, which I also 'ate Murdoc for, but that's a different story. Dis bird 'elped me frough me recovery and efen joined the band after I became the singer. The guitarist before Noodle." He paused and reached out for the bottle, which you handed to him. He took another huge drink and use wiping his mouth as an excuse to rub his eyes as well. "Well, anyway, Russ found 'er one day in the toilets wif Murdoc, givin 'im a blow job. 'e broke Murdoc's nose, that's why it looks so screwed up." He chuckled a little at that and took another drink. "After that, I tried to use other girls as a way of lessenin the pain. It's what Russel was talkin about in the kitchen. I actually 'ad plans wif a bird for this weekend, but well." He sheepishly looked up at you. "I 'ad dated Rachel Stevens for a bit, but Murdoc scared 'er off. Not the first time it's 'appened eifer. 'e's ruined everyfin for me recently." He ended his speech by finishing half of the bottle and handing it back to you.

"Oh, D. I'm so sorry. Paula, she didn't deserve you." You put your uninjured hand on his shoulder and he looked up at you. From the light of the lantern, you could see that his face was wet.

"She said it was me fault she got wif Murdoc. That she was tired of dealin wif me in me comatose state and that I was too fick efen after I came too. And I know I should blame 'er, but I just can't bring meself to 'ating 'er. I loved 'er, you know? Loved 'er proper." As he was speaking, staring at his hands, you drank some of the alcohol, it really starting to affect you.

Your hand started to move up from his shoulder to his hair, slowly running your fingers through the blue. It looked so pointy, you expected it to be brittle with hair gel or something, but his hair was so smooth and soft, albeit a bit messy. When you touched it, he flinched, but as you continued to brush your hand through, he relaxed and moved into the touch. You didn't stop combing through his hair, loving the way the blue fluff would part on your behalf. As you pet his hair, you could feel him begin to cry, his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving, his breathing unsteady. You heard sniffles and choked whimpers, so you made an effort to prevent any stray hairs from falling onto his face, lest it gets wet. You tasted alcohol as you drank some more to distract you from crying too: 2D didn't need that right now. All you saw was a defeated, broken boy who needed so much more love than anyone could give him.

You put the bottle on the floor and lifted 2D by his shoulders with your good arm, pulling him up into a sitting position with you. He didn't complain, only removed his hands from his black eyes, revealing them to be overflowing with tears and had a vague look of confusion. Then you hugged him, pulling his body close, feeling the heat of him through his clothes, hurting when his ribs would expand only to push out the air as a muffled cry. As if you two had done this a thousand times before, he tucked his head into your neck and it fits perfectly. His hair tickled your face and you continued to run your fingers through it. "It's alright. I'm here. I won't let you go." You whispered repeatedly while your friend conveyed every once of his devastation in tears.

After he calmed a little, he lifted his face from your neck. You could feel how wet it was from his tears and snot, but you didn't really mind. You stopped touching his hair, instead you cupped his cheek with your hand, brushing away stray tears with your thumb.

"S-sorry," He hiccuped, "for crying on yew." He looked up at you, his empty eyes rimmed red and you lost some part of yourself to him then.

You continued to stroke his cheek. "Sh, don't apologize, you're perfect."

His arm that used to lay limply over your shoulder while you were comforting him moved slowly, until it rested at the nape of your neck, tangling itself into your hair. He searched your face for any signs of opposition, but upon receiving none, he pulled your lips to his.

You have never had a worse headache or case of cottonmouth. Luckily it was still night, the noises of nocturnal life just outside, so you didn't have to bother with bright lights. You started to stir, but couldn't move half of your body. Looking over, you saw that 2D had wrapped his arms around your unburnt arm and that one of his long legs hooked around you, essentially trapping you. Had you fallen asleep like this? "Please be wearing clothes, please," You whisper. You saw that you were both fully clothed and let out a sigh of relief. You couldn't remember for the life of you what may have caused this. The last thing you could recall was Paula, the bitch.

#2d gorillaz #2d stuart pot #2d x reader #gorillaz #2d fanfiction #gorillaz fanfiction #gorillaz fandom #stuart pot x reader

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kitkat1003 · 3 years

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Everything is Blue

Chapter 1: His pills, his hands, his jeans

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

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

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

Ao3 link

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

Anyway, happy reading!

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

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

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

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

A New Vessel?

A voice curls into his ear, a soft whisper.

Young. Powerful. Weak. Freedom.

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

What is this?

What’s happening?

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

Is this? Wher e it w e n t?

Wha t i s . . . ?

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

New Vessel. Rest.

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

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shivers, but there’s no breeze.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monkey King laughs all the way to the training grounds.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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

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

Frozen.

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

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

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

Wait, what was that last one?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MK’s eyes sparkle.

“Heck yeah!”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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

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

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

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

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you so sure they’ll stay?

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

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

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

What happens when he loses it all?

You can be better.

Can he?

Wouldn’t everyone love you if they were safe?

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

You can make them safe.

How?

Listen to me.

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

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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

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

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

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

You could have anything you wanted.

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

This is how you’ll do it.

MK doesn’t give in. Not yet.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s saying you’re weak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tang makes a face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’s so, so tired.

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

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

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

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

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

Weak little vessel.

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

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

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

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

He’s set on the couch.

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

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

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

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

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

Rest, Vessel.

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

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

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

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s dead,” Tang continues.

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

“You let her die,” Monkey King spits.

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

You have a choice, vessel.

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

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

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

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

You know what to do.

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

He is hers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He reaches the door, and hears a conversation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here they come!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The cave? The old villain hideout?

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

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

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

This will make him far happier in the long run.

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

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

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

“MK?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

Right. Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monkey King’s always had ice powers.

Has he? MK isn’t so sure about that.

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

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

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

I can take care of that.

Really?

Yes. But first, rest.

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

He barely sleeps.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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

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

He meets up with Mei, one afternoon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He needs contact.

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

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

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

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

Maybe more than demons should be frozen.

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

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

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

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

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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

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

He takes a deep breath.

Close your eyes.

He closes his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ice, it turns out, is a great muffler.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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

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

“Hey, bud,” MK jumps at his arrival.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Squints. He doesn’t like it.

Back to the drawing board.

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

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

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

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Noodle boy?” Princess Iron Fan questions.

“Little Thief,” DBK growls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nͥiͩcͥeͦ ͭshot!” He dances around the room.

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

Finally.

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

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

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

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

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

Red Son explodes, and MK burns.

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

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

This is wrong.

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

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

He needs to stop, he needs to—

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

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

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

Good job, vessel.

MK feels warm. It burns.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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

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

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

She purses her lips, and then tries again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” Tang appears, from somewhere.

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

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

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

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

Mei screams.

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

His eyes glow, and Tang pales.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another step forward. MK grips the staff tighter.

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

Don’t let him take it!

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

They’re all lying to you!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, that won’t do.

After them!

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

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

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

Oh no.

“Mei!” he runs to her side.

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

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

Some ice might help with the pain.

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

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

Remember the pause button?

It seems very inviting. MK nods.

Right. A pause button.

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

He slams his staff into the ground.

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

It’s all so pristine. So perfect.

Finally.

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

The task at hand...Mei!

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

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

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

“Sorry, bud,” Monkey King says.

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

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

“NO!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chains drag him to the ground, leaving him stuck.

You are doing everything just right.

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone’s gone.

He’s alone.

This can’t be right.

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

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

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

Of course.

MK stands. The chains vanish, and he smiles.

“Okay then! Let’s get to work!”

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

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

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

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

106 notes · View notes

writer-room · 3 years

Text

Siblings: Chapter Four

AO3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Summary: The Bats reflect on how their thoughts about siblings have changed over the years. Some opinions stayed, others didn't.

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

Tim didn’t know how to feel about being an only child.

He didn’t think about it all that often, there weren’t many kids he talked to at school who mentioned their siblings all that frequently. And, in some parts, he didn’t mind it so much.

The kids who did talk about siblings complained, whether their siblings were older or younger. There were those who said their sibling took up more of their parents attention, which was something Tim was already lacking in. Some said that they never had any time to themselves, something that Tim had an overabundance in, but still cherished. Others said that the accomplishments, and failures, of their siblings reflected onto them, making their parents expect more or less of them. Tim couldn’t afford that either. His parents already didn’t think much of him, he didn’t need it to be any less. And if they wanted more, he worried he wouldn’t be able to meet their expectations.

And yet…

Sometimes he liked the idea of someone else in that empty mansion. Someone to talk to when the rooms felt too large, when the loneliness was suffocating him. He liked the thought of sharing his recent theories, photos, and the like with someone. Wondered if he could go on for as long as he wanted without being interrupted.

Maybe they’d be someone who didn’t call him by a name that wasn’t his, then feign forgetting. Who didn’t treat his binders like they were assaulting their eyes. Who didn’t scrutinize his every movement for faking.

That’d be nice, he thinks.

But there were pros and cons, he reasons. And for all he knows, if he had a sibling, they could’ve been just like his parents. Or they could’ve been kinder. Not like he’d ever know.

He had more important things to worry about than hypotheticals and wishes.

“Before you scold me, know that I took a five hour nap earlier today and I’m only getting a snack.”

Steph and Duke blinked at him from the doorway to the kitchen, their expressions a sharp contrast between exasperated and concerned, respectively.

“Wow, five hours?” Steph snarked. “That’s a new record. Are you dying?”

“Not yet,” Tim said, opening the fridge. “Give it a few weeks and I’m sure you’ll see rumors of my tragic defeat at the hands of, I dunno, Flamingo.”

“There’s a supervillain named Flamingo?” Duke exclaimed, staring at Steph incredulously.

“Oh, yeah, it’s a whole thing.” She nodded. “He had a scuffle with Jay and his kid a while back.”

“Jason has a kid?”

“Why are you up, anyway?” Tim talked right over him. “Duke I understand, he’s the disgraced child of the sun. But you patrol at the same time as every other nocturnal person in this house.”

“Hey-”

“I actually had to pretend to have a normal sleep schedule, my mom was getting worried and I didn’t want her finding me sneaking in with my full Spoiler getup on.” Steph explained tiredly. “I’m still trying to recover.”

“Tragic,” Tim hummed, pulling out a container holding a ham sandwich.

“The only thing that's tragic is your outfit.” Steph snorted, looking him up and down.

Tim blinked, looking down at himself. His outfit consisted of a pair of knockoff Batman shorts, knee-high pastel dinosaur socks, and a long red robe that absolutely did not belong to him hanging loosely off him, exposing countless scars littering his body.

“I look awesome,” Tim said, popping the lid off the container.

“Damian’s gonna start asking what battles you got your scars from again,” Steph tutted, striding further into the kitchen with a confused Duke following her. “Know that I will not be on your side when Dick notices and gets worried.”

“I’m more worried about Dami seeing this one,” He said, brushing the robe back slightly to reveal a poorly stitched surgical scar on his upper abdomen. “Because then he’s going to ask what happened, and then I’m gonna have to tell him that's where my spleen used to be, and then he's going to be reminded that oh, yeah, his brother has a missing spleen, and then he’s going to be treating everything like its diseased-”

“Does...he keep forgetting you lost your spleen?” Duke blinked, concerned. “I feel like that’d be something you were kinda always aware of…”

“Eh, everyone's worried about a different scar whenever they see ‘em.” He shrugged, glancing down as he traced over one of the surgery scars along his chest. “Which is frankly a little rude. I earned this right to be shirt free.”

“Hell yeah you did,” Steph grinned before her eyes dropped to the sandwich Tim was attempting to eat. “Isn’t that Cullen’s?”

“He didn’t label it, therefore it’s mine.” Tim said simply.

“Harper’s gonna kill you,” Duke warned warily.

“Only if she catches me,” He said, taking a bite of the sandwich. “Why’re you guys here, anyway? Grabbing a snack?”

“Lookin’ for Babs,” Steph said, hands in her pockets. “Someone on Twitter started a war about which Batgirl was better, and Babs will probably get a kick out of being remembered as the ‘missing Batgirl.’”

“Oh she’ll be pissed about being remembered that way.” Tim agreed, shoving the rest of the sandwich in his mouth. “Babs will see it in five minutes or less, though. Swear she has a sixth sense for whenever someone mildly associated with the Bats is mentioned.” He mumbled.

“You wanna hijack the thread before she finds it?” He suggested.

“Hijack it?” Duke echoed.

“We’re gonna yell about random stuff that doesn’t contribute to the conversation until all hell breaks loose.” Steph explained, already pulling out her phone. “Tim?”

“How do you feel about discussing why the sun lightens hair, but darkens skin?” Tim suggested, leaving the container on the counter as he brushed by Steph.

“You just want to piss off someone from Metropolis.”

“It’s law as a Bat that I have to torment Superman whenever I possibly can.” Tim shrugged.

“Does that include me?” Duke blinked. “Because I personally think tormenting Superman is a bad idea.”

“Clark wouldn’t hurt a fly,”

“Yeah, but he’ll give me the face of disappointment and I don’t think I can live with that.” Duke protested.

“He can barely even manage--where are you going?” Steph looked up, only now realizing Tim was leaving the kitchen.

“I’m starting the mayhem on the big screens.” Tim grinned, looking back over his shoulder.

“Please don’t tell me he’s going to use Twitter on the bat computer,” Duke sighed.

“He’s totally going to use the bat computer,” Steph smiled, following after him. “C’mon! It’s initiation time.”

“Do you guys just call every weird thing you do initiation?” Duke called, hurrying behind them. “Because I’ve been told I’m part of an initiation five times in the last week.”

“You’re stuck in initiation until this becomes the norm,” Steph said cheerfully.

“Of course,” Duke muttered.

Tim’s robe billowed behind him like an amateur cape as he wandered towards the door leading towards the steps into the Batcave. He threw open the door, the sound of it slamming echoing and startling the bats on the ceiling.

“Jesus!”

Harper jumped from the swivel chair in front of the computer, wide-eyed as she blinked up at the trio at the top of the stairs.

“Hey, Harps,” Steph greeted, hopping onto the stairs railing and sliding down. “We’re here to cause problems on Twitter.”

“Oh, well, in that case, by all means.” Harper snarked, getting up and grandly gesturing to the countless screens. “Not like I was using it for actual work.”

“Were you using it?” Tim asked, pointedly glaring at Steph to keep his recent adventure to the kitchen quiet.

“...looking for tasers to modify count as work, right?” She said after a moment.

“Technically,” Tim nodded, ignoring Steph’s smug look that absolutely signified she was going to blackmail him later. “But you can just use Dick’s old escrima sticks. He goes through a pair every two or three weeks, but most still work pretty well, he’s just too lazy to fix them.”

“Sweet,” Harper grinned. She then paused, taking in Tim’s appearance as he slid into the seat she was previously occupying.

“Why do you look like you’re auditioning to be the pretty girl who dies in a low-budget slasher?”

“First of all, how dare you assume I wouldn’t be the first one to die for representation points,” Tim said, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “Second of all, it’s called having fashion, and also being allowed to do whatever I want.”

“You have terrible fashion sense,” Harper snorted, crossing her arms as Steph and Duke came up beside her. “But fair, I can respect that.”

“See?” Tim said, looking at Steph. “Some people can afford to not be rude.”

“Keep talking and I’ll lose more blackmail material,” Steph calmly threatened.

Harper glanced between the two, to which Tim quietly, and quickly, turned back to the screen and ignored the both of them. Harper raised a brow but didn’t comment. Tim made a mental note to sneak into one of Jason’s unused safe houses after this was over. Steph couldn’t keep quiet for the life of her.

“What are you starting, anyway?” Harper asked, crossing her arms and leaning on the back of Tim’s chair. “A sob story about the Opportunity rover?”

“Another day,” Tim promised, opening up Twitter on the countless screens. He opened another one on the other half of the computer, which Steph quickly stood at and got her own Twitter set up. “Right now, we’re questioning how the sun makes hair lighter, but skin darker. And we’re dragging Clark into it.”

“If anyone asks, I had no part in this.” Duke said, watching the two typing with a frown. “Initiation doesn't include learning how to taunt Superman, right?”

“Eh, we can settle for you becoming close with a Kryptonian,” Steph shrugged. “Dick and Bruce share Clark, Jay’s got Bizarro, Cass and I got Kara, Babs I think counts with her, too, Damian’s got Jon, and Tim has Kon.” She listed off. “Harper and Cullen took the ‘bully Superman’ route without befriending any of his family, which is a coward's way out, so you can take, I dunno, does Chris still exist in this timeline?”

“I can call in a favor from Bart to reset the timeline again so he exists.” Tim said with a casual shrug, pulling up the thread arguing about the Batgirls.

“I’m sorry, what--”

“Finding Kryptonians who aren’t already taken is hard!” Harper protested, talking over Duke. “And Clark likes you guys being friends with his family. The only issue he has is Damian getting testy and Tim making heart eyes at Kon every five minutes.”

“I do not!” Tim squawked, whirling around in the chair to glare at the traitors he dared call family. In his head. Family in his head.

“You do,” Steph and Harper chorused.

“I’ve met Kon for less than twenty minutes and even I know.” Harper added. “I’m sure Duke knew.”

“I...yeah…” Duke coughed into his fist and turned away. “But in my defense, the gossip around here is practically shouted down the halls twice a week.”

“You were subjected to Dick having another crisis about Jay dating Kory for two months, weren’t you?” Steph said, trying to hide a snicker.

“There were so many things I didn’t want to know,” Duke whispered, face horror-stricken.

“Eh, at least Jay hasn’t brought up Talia around Dami yet.” Tim shrugged. “At that point, it’s better to just vacate the premises.”

“Wait--”

“Point is, you either befriend the Kryptonian or you torment them. That’s the rules.” Tim talked over him again, scrolling down the thread and boredly looking over the arguments. “You ready, Steph?”

“As I’ll ever be,” She grinned, giving a thumbs up. “How long till Babs notices and takes this whole thing down?”

“Few more minutes, tops.” Tim shrugged, already typing. “You two wanna give any input?” He asked, glancing behind him to Harper and Duke.

“Ask if Kryptonian skin can be used as extreme sunscreen,” Harper suggested. “That’ll rile him up.”

“Now I’m just curious if it can,” Tim said, but obediently began making his comment.

“You could just...ask?” Duke tried, clearly not taking in any of what was happening.

“Nah, Kon’s half human, I don’t think it works the exact same.” Tim shook his head, not looking back. “Kara would destroy me if I tried, Bizarro has the same problem, Jon wouldn’t know, and Clark would start telling Bruce he’s worried I’m deranged again.”

“Aren’t you?” Duke raised a brow.

“Only if I feel like it,”

“And when he forgets to sleep for ninety-eight hours.” Steph spoke up.

Tim rolled his eyes, tuning out his siblings as they continued to talk. He posted his comment before sparing a peek back at them, currently throwing off ideas to their hijacking plan like it was an everyday occurrence. Well, to Steph and Harper at least. But, to Duke’s credit, he appeared to be getting more used to it on prodding from his...sisters? Hard to tell, Steph was her own classification of family member. They were some weird choices for family, at least.

Tim watched them for a moment before turning back to making another comment on the logistics of sunscreen, a smile on his face.

He couldn’t find it in him to complain. Too much, at least.

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thelastspeecher · 3 years

Text

Stanuary ‘21 - Week Four: Future

So, do y’all remember a while back, when I asked for scenes from the Stanley McGucket AU that you wanted to see but I didn’t write? Well, that’s because I had decided to choose that OG AU as my AU for this week, but was struggling to come up with how to handle the prompt.

Luckily, I managed to come up with an idea for it that I hope will bring the feels. The first part takes place at some point in the “Stan Pines, Farmhand” sequel to “Stanley McGucket”, while the second part (which was inspired by the sub-theme of “Epilogue”) takes place immediately after the last chapter.

Enjoy.

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The pickup truck came to a stop.

“I’ve got some chores to finish up,” Pa McGucket said. His voice was thick with emotion. At the airport earlier, he had put on a brave face, but once Angie’s plane took off, he immediately burst into tears.

Can’t really blame him. I felt the same way. Pa McGucket got out of the truck and headed for the barn. Ma McGucket, sniffling softly, exited the truck as well. With a sigh, Stan got out and followed Ma McGucket inside. Ma McGucket promptly disappeared into the kitchen. The clattering of pots and pans soon sounded. Stan had figured out early on that Ma McGucket liked to bake when she was upset or stressed. Hope she’s making cookies this time.

Stan trudged down the hall sadly. He came to the stairs that led to the second floor. After a moment, he began to climb them. The carpeting muffled his footsteps. He walked to Angie’s bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. He pushed it open the rest of the way. The room looked as it normally did. The bed was neatly made, books organized in a particular manner on the bookshelf, tchotchkes artfully placed on the dresser. Even the floor had been recently vacuumed. Despite everything being in place, it felt wrong without Angie, scolding Stan for peeking into her room.

Well, looks like we’re back to the house being empty. While Angie and her siblings had been visiting for winter break, the house had felt full and happy, like when Stan first moved in. But gradually, each sibling went back to school or their home, until Angie, whose spring semester started the latest, was the last one. She’s so energetic and loud, I could barely tell she was the only one here.

Stan stared at the empty room for a few more moments before sighing and closing the door. The sound of Ma McGucket’s new stand mixer – a group Christmas gift from Angie, Lute, and Stan – carried to the second floor. However, the radio kept in the kitchen hadn’t been turned on. Curious, Stan went back downstairs and into the kitchen just as Ma McGucket turned off her stand mixer. Ma McGucket looked up.

“I ain’t even put it in the oven yet, how’d ya know I was bakin’?” she asked. Her eyes shone in a way that suggested she was holding back tears, but other than that, she showed no signs of sadness.

She’s always been better at hiding her emotions than Mearl.

“You bake when yer upset,” Stan said. Sally pointed a wooden spoon at him.

“Watch what ya say, Stanley.”

“I’m just tellin’ the truth.”

“Hmph.” Ma McGucket crossed her arms. “I’m beginnin’ to regret makin’ yer fav’rite.”

“Chocolate chip cookies?”

“Yep. But I could easily change it to be raisins instead,” Ma McGucket said, raising an eyebrow. Stan held up his hands in surrender, eliciting a smile from her. The smile quickly faded, however, as she searched his face. “Is there somethin’ wrong?”

“No, it, uh, it’s just weird havin’ the house be quiet and empty again.”

“Yes, it certainly is,” Ma McGucket said softly. She dumped chocolate chips into the mixing bowl and stirred. “But I don’t think that’s the only reason yer lookin’ down in the dumps.”

“I…” Stan trailed off. Ma McGucket set the wooden spoon down. She walked over to the kitchen table and sat.

“Sit ‘n chat with me, Stan,” she said, patting the chair next to her. Stan sat next to Ma McGucket. She fixed her brilliant blue eyes, the same as Angie’s, on him. “What’s goin’ on, son?” Stan looked down at the table. He idly traced the scratches in the wood, which he had been told Harper made shortly after getting his first pocketknife. “Stanley, talk to me.”

“What am I s’pposed to do, Sally?” Stan asked finally.

“Yer goin’ to need to be more specific.”

“I just-” Stan sighed. “All yer kids went off to college. All the friends I made in school are at college. Ford’s at college. It feels weird bein’ the only one still at home.” His volume dropped sharply. “But, I guess I can’t really do anything else but stay at home.”

“Ah.” Ma McGucket leaned back in her chair. “This isn’t just ‘bout secondary education. This is ‘bout yer future.”

“Well, yeah,” Stan mumbled. He continued to resolutely avoid eye contact. “I don’t know what I’m s’pposed to do now. Can’t have a future if I don’t have a plan fer it.”

“Now, that just ain’t true,” Ma McGucket said sharply. Stan looked up in shock. “I was older ‘n ya when I fin’lly figured out what my future was goin’ to look like. And plannin’ didn’t have anything to do with it. Heck, the day I realized what my future was, that was the day I threw out the plan I’d had since I was a kid.”

“Whattaya mean?”

“To be fair, the plan weren’t really mine. It was my parents’. From birth, they planned on me gettin’ a law degree and then settlin’ down with some high society feller that they would choose fer me. But then the plan went off the tracks when I met Mearl at college. I started thinkin’ that maybe I didn’t want to do what I had always been told I would.

“My relationship with Mearl got serious. Serious enough that I decided to finally tell my folks ‘bout it. They…didn’t take it well. They told me, in no uncertain terms, that they wouldn’t support my relationship with a poor farmer who barely graduated high school. That day, I came to my crossroads.”

“Crossroads?” Stan asked. Ma McGucket leaned in, her eyes warm and wise.

“Everyone walks their own path. Ya come across a lot of opportunities to go a dif’rent direction, but they’re optional, where ya can stay the course instead of go somewhere else. Most of the time, those optional routes ain’t that far from yer original path anyways. But in every path, there’s a crossroads. A moment where the road ‘fore ya fully diverges. Ya can’t keep goin’ the same way anymore. Ya have to make a choice.

“When I came to my crossroads, I saw two futures ahead of me. In one, I did what my parents wanted. I would continue to live a high-society, comfortable life where I didn’t want fer anything. But I wouldn’t be happy. I wouldn’t be fulfilled. In the other, I stayed with Mearl, and let my fam’ly disown me. Money would be tight, I would have to work harder than I ever had just to get by. But I’d be with the person I loved.” Stan nodded.

“Yeah, you told me before that ya gave up yer cushy life to marry Mearl.”

“Only partially,” Ma McGucket said softly. “I didn’t just leave my fam’ly fer Mearl. I left ‘em fer myself. When they told me I couldn’t stay with him, that I would have to be with one of the suitors they already had lined up fer me, everything came crashin’ down. It was like I had been in a fog my whole life, only fer it to suddenly disperse, revealing everything I couldn’t see before. I saw just how much I had been under their thumb, under their control. I saw my future clearer ‘n ever ‘fore. And I saw the crossroads up ahead.

“I knew that if I left my fam’ly fer Mearl, there was a chance Mearl ‘n I wouldn’t stay together anyways. But even if we broke up, I would still be free. I’d say that it weren’t a choice at all, with how easy it was fer me to make it. But that would be minimizing its importance.” Ma McGucket met Stan’s eyes squarely. “I chose my path. I walked down it. I never looked back.”

“Why…why did you tell me that?” Stan asked, feeling slightly numb from the intensity of Ma McGucket’s story.

“Because one day, you’ll come to yer crossroads. You’ll see yer future ‘fore ya and have to make a choice.”

“But what am I s’pposed to do until then?” Stan demanded. He could feel frustration growing.

Just give me a straight answer!

“What do ya want to do?” Ma McGucket asked.

“I don’t know!” Stan raged. “That’s the whole point, it-” Ma McGucket held up a hand, silencing him.

“Are ya happy ‘n healthy now?” she asked. “Are ya content in yer life?” Stan opened his mouth. “Don’t give me whatever answer ya think I want to hear. Give me the truth.” Stan closed his mouth and stared down at the table again, the gears in his head furiously turning. After a moment, he nodded.

“Yeah. I am.”

“Then there’s no reason to change things, is there?” Ma McGucket said simply. “You’ll know what you want someday. You’ll see your future ahead of ya. But until then…” She placed her hand over his, smiling. “Just stay the course until ya come to yer own crossroads.”

-----

Finally, soft snoring sounded from the passenger’s seat. Stan glanced over.

It’s about time Ford fell asleep. Ford’s face was smushed against the window, his glasses askew. His snoring almost harmonized with the snoring coming from the back seat. Speaking of… Stan looked in the rearview mirror. He smiled. The source of the snoring, as he’d expected, was Emily. Even though she was much bigger than Angie now, she still had defaulted to resting her head on her mother’s shoulder while sleeping. To his surprise, Angie was asleep as well. Or is she?

“Ang?” Stan asked quietly.

“Shh, I don’t want yer pomegranates,” Angie mumbled. Stan chuckled.

Yep. She’s asleep. He turned his attention back to the road. With no conversation to hold his focus and the radio stations fading in and out, Stan’s mind wandered. Eventually, it settled onto the day Angie had left for college, decades ago. The conversation he’d had with Ma McGucket about his future.

“Just stay the course until ya come to yer own crossroads.”

“Never did find those crossroads, Sally,” Stan said out loud.

Unless…

Another memory resurfaced. Sitting on the side of the road, his back pressed against a tire, gravel prodding his legs through his worn jeans. A man walking over, crouching down, watching him with an expression so fatherly it felt foreign. An offer.

“We're lookin' fer a new farmhand. We're gettin' on in years, and our kids are gone most of the time. They can't help out as much as they used to.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm sayin' that if ya want a job, a nice bed, and three square meals a day, we can give that to ya.”

“What's the catch?”

“Only that ya work hard.”

“…Okay.”

The beginnings of tears pricked the corners of Stan’s eyes at the memory of Pa McGucket’s kindness and warmth. Ever since he had passed away, remembering Mearl made Stan wistful, no matter how positive the memory was. Stan hurriedly wiped the tears away. He smiled despite the sudden sadness.

The only thing he knew about me was my name, and he still took me in. Stan glanced in the rearview mirror again. More memories bubbled to the surface. First meeting the girl that would eventually become his wife, as well as his future brothers-in-law. Making up with Ford. Graduating high school. Getting married. Becoming a father. None of that woulda happened if I had turned down Mearl’s offer. Stan looked back at the highway, his smile broadening.

Y’know what, Sally? It happened a long time before we talked about it, but I did reach my own crossroads.

And I think I made the right choice.

#Stanuary #Stanley Pines #Ma McGucket #Angie McGucket #McGucket Family #Stanley McGucket AU #my writing #my stuff #I actually came up with this idea while I was at work #and mentally wrote like. the whole thing.#but by the time I got off work I remembered the outline and like none of the great lines I had come up with :/#(btw I did actually get an ask for a Stanley McGucket thing and am working on it)#(and if anyone has any other Stanley McGucket things feel free to shoot them my way #it's nice to go back to the OG AU sometimes y'know?)#speecher speaks

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freshouttaparsnips · 3 years

Photo

Stretch is healing, getting over the hurts of the past. Until they come literally knocking at his front door.

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this is a sad fic ya’ll, no happy endings yet but there will be a continuation! (if anyone wants to fund a chapter or two, it’ll be sooner rather than later XD)

tags: Hurt/Comfort, minor fluff, Angst, relationship angst, this is basically just sad, no happy endings here, at least not yet, fluff in the future!

read it on Ao3

or read it below!

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They were all having fun, for once. Blue had dragged him out of bed a few hours before to get a shower and get dressed, which was a lot easier these days than it had been. It’d only been a few days since his last shower, this time, which made it easier to step inside the little glass box and scrub down until his bones tingled.

Stepping up to his closet, towel around his waist and water droplets shining under the titty light on the ceiling. He could wear the “Bad to the BONE” shirt today, Papyrus would get a kick out of it and it’d make his brother smile, at least a little.

Or the “I make science puns periodically”, that was a favorite, and the texture of the shirt was nice and soft after repeated washes. His decision having been made, his bones were succinctly dried and the shirt was pulled on, as well as a pair of soft boxers and one of his pairs of light blue sweats.

It’d warmed up outside significantly, enough that the sweats might have been a little bit of overkill, but it was a party. He wanted to at least be comfortable in his own home. He hadn’t gotten a lot of that until a month or two ago, so it was a nice sensation to have back.

Blue was waiting downstairs when he tromped down them, holding the handle to the vacuum cleaner and grinning wide as Stretch took it without a word. He’d partially made the mess in the living room over the past week, and it looked like Blue had already taken all the extra dishes and trash out, so the least he could do was clean the floor a little.

The whir of the vacuum was soothing, at least until he hit a few things it didn’t want to suck up, that was always a fun mini heart attack. They were all easily taken care of though, so he let his mind wander as he went about the floor.

Blue must have started cooking that morning, seeing as how there were already a couple cheese trays sitting out on the tables in the living room. Monster cheese, so it wouldn’t spoil being out, but Stretch had almost preferred dairy cheese; he hoped Blue had another tray of it in the fridge or something.

He could smell the rich scents of something chocolate and something fruity coming from where Blue had disappeared in the kitchen, making his stomach grumble. He’d have to get some breakfast after this, maybe some toast with a nice piece of american cheese sandwiched between the bread.

He hoped Red actually came this time. Stretch had taken the whole thing pretty hard, but Red had taken it the hardest. Hadn’t left his house for weeks, hadn’t come to join them for a movie night for at least a year.

He still didn’t come every time, and always had a vague vibe of guilt whenever he looked at Stretch, not that he cared.

What happened, happened. There wasn’t anything anyone could have done differently. And it’d been three years, so it wasn’t like it really mattered that much anymore either way.

The vacuum clicking off, the glorious white noise gone, Stretch noticed a faint hint of sinatra playing in the kitchen, and for a moment more, he was taken back.

Back to warm hands holding his own, the music turned loud as he laughed and swayed with his soon to be husband. Red eyelights staring at him in adoration, a small, secret grin stolen from the music that danced with them both.

Shaking himself out of it, Stretch wiped at his face with his sleeve until the wayward tears were gone. He wasn’t going to ruin today.

Blue smiled softly at him as he walked into the kitchen, taking a large loaf of what looked and smelled like banana bread out of the oven. Stretch went to pinch a piece, laughing as he was smacked away before grabbing the bread and popping two pieces in the toaster.

Blue set about icing the tray of cookies he’d been letting cool, studiously not looking up at Stretch.

“Red said he’d come this time. He’s been busy at the Embassy, but he needed the break.”

Stretch nodded, watching the toaster rather than look at the despondency of his brother. He and Red, at one point, had been thick as thieves. Stretch would have believed it fully if they’d ever gotten serious, but as time went on… well. Things happen, and you lose sight of what used to be important, but wasn’t anymore.

The pop of the toaster startled him, a small laugh forced out as he grabbed a slice and began buttering.

“I just wanted you to know, in case he brings anything with him. I know the last couple times he hid a few bottles of whiskey in his damn coat, so I told him to at least bring a case to share if he was going to bring alcohol.”

Stretch paused, trying not to outwardly wince.

Blue was many things… and frugal with alcohol when he was depressed was not one of them.

“Just…” Stretch started, but closed his mouth. Blue was an adult, older than him even. If he wanted to spend a night getting drunk with his friends, when he’d done so well recently, then Stretch wouldn’t say anything.

He’d worry from the sidelines, but he wouldn’t say anything.

“Just be careful, yeah?” he finally settled on, and Blue chuckled.

“Don’t worry, I will.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent making the actual food they’d be eating; a whole platter of nachos that would do actual restaurants proud, as well as several servings of rice and beans and homemade quesos.

All of it made Stretch’s mouth water; his bro was no slouch when it came to cooking mexican food.

But he waited diligently, snacking on a sandwich just before the first guests were set to arrive.

Blue had told everyone to come around 6, which meant that just about now…

The knock at the door, hard and unrelenting, was almost comically on time, Stretch letting his brother have the option to go answer it. He did, letting Red in with a small smile that Red returned.

There might be something more there, someday. Stretch hoped so, they both deserved it.

“‘Ey Stretch, how’s it shakin’?” Red asked, setting two boxes of beer on the side table Blue had directed him to. Stretch tried not to glare at it all, instead focusing on Red.

“Its been fine. Better.”

Red nodded, seemingly pleased. “Good to hear.” And with that he settled on the floor, pulling an X Box out of his inventory and setting it up to their jacked up TV. Stretch left him to it; he’d get a chance to play something later. Right now he was waiting on their second batch of guests, which… also were the last, but that was okay.

It took another half hour for the customary shake and a haircut to sound at the door, and this time Stretch answered, finishing the song and letting Papyrus and Sans inside. They were both carrying tupperware of what looked and smelled like more food… they were having a real feast that night, huh?

Blue greeted Papyrus warmly, the two of them taking off to the kitchen to unpack, leaving Stretch with Sans.

Sans was giving him that searching look that he honestly hated, but there was also really nothing to do but stand there and bear it. Let the old man get his reassurance that Stretch wasn’t about to fall down… it was worth it so they wouldn’t all worry.

“Lookin’ better today, bro.” Sans finally said, satisfied with whatever he saw, and Stretch grinned, nodding.

“Yeah, and you’re looking old as ever.”

Flopping back on the couch, Sans raised a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded, kiddo, how could you do me this way.”

“He could be a lot worse and call you an old fartin’ bastard, like yer are.” Red piped up, playing some kind of platformer while he waited. Stretch and Sans both snickered, but Sans glanced up at Stretch, looking him up and down before patting the couch cushion he wasn’t taking up.

“Park it, kid, the food’ll be done soon and Paps wanted to say somethin’ before we all ate.”

Stretch glanced to the kitchen, but after looking down at an earnest Sans, he did as told, flopping on the opposite end of the couch so he could stretch (heh) his legs out.

Things were quiet, the only sounds coming from Red’s game, which was turned down, and Blue and Papyrus talking in the kitchen.

At least until they started moving the food into the living room on the fold out table Blue had set up, the smells and sights mouthwatering.

It all looked delicious, Stretch saying so and relishing in the pride it brought on their faces.

But before they all got up, Papyrus stood tall, ready to say whatever it was he needed to say, Stretch waiting with an open mind to listen… when a final knock came at the door.

There wasn’t supposed to be anyone else coming… so Stretch stood, walking past confused and wary guests alike, walking to the door and unlocking it before opening… only to find Edge standing there.

He looked. Tired. Worn down. His thick leather jacket looked like it’d seen better days, and Stretch would know, seeing as how it’d been an anniversary present.

His eyelights were smaller, less bright red. He had a few more scars on the bones that Stretch could see, and all in all, he no longer had any of that pride about him that had bugged Stretch so much.

It threw him back, back to the day that he’d proposed to Edge. They’d both been happy, crying and kissing each other as Edge slipped the ring on his own finger and Stretch had gotten up, to go take a shower.

Just a shower. Just to get clean, so they could go out of their little shared apartment and tell their brothers.

It’d been silent, the whole time he’d been inside, so Stretch had called for Edge a few times, but nothing had been answered.

When he got out, it was like a silent storm had blown through, clothes strewn everywhere, one of their suitcases missing and most of Edge’s favorite clothes gone as well.

He’d left. Without saying a word, without even taking his phone. Without saying goodbye.

And here he stood, three years later, looking like a kicked puppy and if that didn’t piss Stretch off more than nothing else had, he wasn’t sure he would ever be this angry again.

“You left.”

The words hung in the air between them, seeming almost like a physical blow to Edge’s soul, seeing as how his HP dropped a few digits hearing it.

“I know.” was the whispered reply. Not an explanation. Not an apology. Just “I know.”

“Then you know where you belong. And its not here.” Stretch answered, shutting the door with a click.

He knew everyone behind him was waiting, waiting for the answers he needed to give them about who was at the door.

By the way Red was standing, stock still in the middle of the room, Stretch had a feeling he already knew.

But he couldn’t do this. Taking a short cut up to his room, he listened as pandemonium broke out downstairs, his door locked as Blue tried to come up and ask him what the hell was going on, but Stretch just said a simple “Go answer the door.” and left it at that.

He felt… numb. Emotionless would have been incorrect, because on the inside he was furious. Seething, he sat up, wrapping his arms around himself.

Edge didn’t care about him. That was the bottom line. If he had, he never would have left.

And as far as Stretch was concerned? He never came back.

#fresh writes #undertale #papcest #spicyhoney #angst #relationship angst #hurt/comfort

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thepoppypress · 3 years

Text

The Battleline Between Good and Evil (Runs Through the Heart of Every Man)

Chapter 1:

The sounds of hard bone hitting flesh made Peter wince as he furiously scrubbed at the now non-existent stains on the hard, polished wood of the bar. His eyes were down cast as he tried to ignore the massacre in front of him with every fiber of his being. Despite it being early in the afternoon, his shift had already started off quite eventfully, with a barroom brawl. Even now, he found it hard on himself not to intervene. However, he knew he couldn’t draw attention to himself. In this type of environment, attention was either bad or worse with no better or inbetween. It was something he couldn’t afford.

A thump in front of him drew him out of his musings, his Spidey Sense starting to tingle quite annoyingly. Whoever was in front of him was dangerous. A deep voice started to speak.

“Old fashioned,” came the demand. Peter nodded silently, willing his face to be impassive as he concentrated on making the drink for the man. When he was done, he slid the drink over to the bar counter.

“Here you go sir,” he uttered politely, glancing up and taking note of the patron. He was an older man who wore a black, fitted T-shirt that displayed his assets clearly, biceps bulging as he leaned leisurely against the counter. White hair covered his head, cut recently as the smell of fresh shampoo came off of him to reach Peter’s sensitive nose. He could also clearly see little hairs clinging to the black of his shirt. The man had an eye patch over his right eye and was huge as well.

When he finished his drink, he slid it back over to him, and stood up at his full height, towering well over Peter and the rest of the patrons in the bar. The man’s one eye glanced at him, appraising him and Peter couldn’t help but blush a bit. He looked away, but not before noticing the slight twitch of the man’s mouth as he did.

‘Fuck,’ he thought and to avoid more embarrassment, Peter glanced around the large man to look at where the brawl had gotten to now.

“You new here?” Peter’s large eyes came back up to meet the other man’s and he nodded shyly.

“Yeah, a little over a month.” Eye-Patch (as Peter has now affectionately nicknamed him) hummed and stared at Peter for a little while longer, who fidgeted uncomfortably. Even though there was plenty of noise within the mostly empty club, the silence between both men was getting to Peter, which prompted him to ask a question. “Do you come here often?” The man grinned.

“Not before.” That made Peter blink. He tilted his head in confusion. He was obviously missing something here.

“Huh?” Eye-Patch laughed, gaining the attention of several people around them.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” Peter bristled a bit at the nickname, “just that you should probably expect me more.” Reaching into his pocket, Eye-Patch pulled out several hundred dollar bills and threw them towards Peter, whose eyes widened at the sight. “Just for you. Keep the change.” And he walked out the door without another word. Peter gaped at the door for a long while before looking at the neat bills on the counter.

“Weirdos,” he grumbled underneath his breath but not before pocketing the money. Another low thrum sang at the back of his head and he felt a presence sidle up beside him. He knew who it was without even looking.

“Hey Petey Boy!” Peter grabbed the glass that Eye-Patch just drank out of and began washing it.

“Hey Harley. What’s up?” The woman squealed happily, popping the gum in her mouth obnoxiously. Peter found that he quite liked Harleen Quinzel, after he worked past his first impression of her.

“Nothin’ much,” she drawled out teasingly, her blonde pigtails bouncing around her, “just wonderin’ when ya’ became such good friends with Deathstroke over there.” Peter grabbed a rag hanging on the bottom countertop and started to wipe down the glass in his hands.

“Who?” Harley giggled loudly, toying with the hem of Peter’s T-shirt as she grabbed onto one of his arms. He glanced down at her with a soft, curious look and she rolled her eyes playfully.

“Y’know, hunky Eye-Patch guy? Guy who just left?”

“Ah,” Peter realized before questioning, “his name is Deathstroke?” Harley rolled her eyes again.

“No, silly! His real name is Slade Wilson. He’s a mercenary for hire.”

‘Guess that answers that question.’ Harley blew a bubble and popped it again, winking suggestively at him, “and he was so interested in you!” Peter snorted.

“Nah. I’m new here so he was just asking. Besides, he’s a bit too old for me.” The look on Harley’s face was dubious.

“Uh-huh. Sure, honey. I’m just saying, he’s pretty hot. Also,” he felt a squeeze on his bicep, “have you been working out? You’re ripped!” Her smile became mischievous. “Trying to impress someone? Ooh! Ooh! Is it me?” Peter gave a small laugh, his curly hair bouncing as he shook his head.

“I’m always trying to impress you, Harls.” The blonde giggled and leaned over to kiss his cheek before swiping her thumb across it, wiping away the lipstick.

“Aww, you sweetie. If I didn’t have my puddin’, I would be with you in a heartbeat.” Peter forced a smile as Harley made heart eyes at the mention of her on-again-off-again boyfriend. Right now, it was decidedly on. If you asked Peter, he would say he knew the signs of an abusive relationship when he saw them. “Anyway. I just came ta tell ya’ that your shift for this afternoon ends right now and I’ll see you in a few hours!”

“Okay, thanks.” She kissed his cheek once more, not bothering to wipe away the residual lipstick before flouncing out of the bar. Peter wished she could see that she could do so much better than a man nicknamed ‘The Joker.’ Somewhere among the brawl that still had not stopped, the sound of glass shattering grabbed his attention. Peter sighed.

‘I better clean that up before I leave.’

-----

Peter walked the few blocks that it took to get to the homeless shelter where he stayed. He opened the door that housed the tens of people that wandered the streets, and closed it softly behind him. Setting towards his cot, he noticed that people were bustling around like crazy, and a nice smell was coming from the kitchen. His stomach grumbled but he willed it to stop. He needed the money to get a new place and he was a few hundred away from achieving his goal for the upfront portion. He was lucky that Harley decided to help him out and aid him in forming a bank account here. Peter reached his cot and sat down, noting that, luckily, no one had tried to steal his stuff. Again. Settling back against the pillows, Peter thought about the past couple of months.

He had first come to this world so unfamiliar to him through some sort of magical portal. God, he fucking hated magic sometimes. Mr. Stark had let him go into his lab unsupervised for the first time since the incident involving the toaster, pink glitter, and the flamethrower.

It was nice.

He was sitting at one of the tables, tinkering around with one of his web shooters, Led Zeppelin (“For the sake of America’s Ass™, Peter, it’s ACDC!”) booming in his ears when suddenly, he felt himself being pulled back, a cold feeling settling across the back of his neck and making its way to the rest of his body. Then, a weird expression came over his face as another feeling came over him, like he was being stretched thin, but it didn’t hurt. There’s a quick flash of a blinding light, causing him to shut his eyes (his overly reactive senses are a blessing and a curse) tightly and the next thing he knows, Peter hits the ground hard, his body making a soft thudding noise.

The first thing to register is the sight. It wasn’t overly bright, like the light was. In fact, it was rather dark. Brick walls surrounded him from two sides, indicating that he was in an alleyway of some sort. It wasn’t too spacious and various bags of trash were littered all over the place. Doors were lined along the brick walls, all closed and looking uninviting. Then came the smell. It was horribly pungent, probably even to the regular nose.

To Peter’s nose, however, it was hell. He could practically feel his olfactory glands swelling from the amount of stink he was admitting into his body. Gagging, he tried to stand up to get away from the smell only to stumble and nearly eat the gravel under him.

‘Parker Luck fucking sucks,’ he thinks as he collapses against one of the doors on the brick walls, then thinks groggily, ‘hey, that rhymed.’

He rested his head against the cool metal for a moment before his Spidey Sense, sensitive and overly reactive at the moment, blares a warning, making him shoot backwards. He lays on the ground for less than a second when the door he had previously rested on opened with a bang. His head pounded more than it ever did before, and the added sound of the metal banging against the brick and a high pitched voice screeching didn't help either. Peter squinted at the rather tall female figure standing in the doorway screaming obscenities into the lit room.

She screamed her last words, no response following her, and stepped outside with a huff, slamming the door behind her. Peter closed his eyes again, and laid his head against the concrete sullenly, fully expecting her to leave him. If he was a woman in a city at night, he would do that too.

“Oof, yer’ lookin’ kinda rough there buddy.” Peter’s eyes popped open in surprise. The woman was standing over him, a look of sympathy and concern displayed on her pale face. She crouched down and the closer she got, the more clearly he could see her features. She was pretty, with alabaster skin and platinum blonde hair pulled into pigtails, the ends dyed red and blue. Her bright blue eyes blinked curiously at him as he laid unmoving for a second.

“I fe’l rough’,” he croaked, his hands rubbing at his throat in an effort to ease the pain he felt as he spoke. The woman clicked her tongue and reached for his wrists, bringing them away from his neck.

“Alright, sweetie, I need you to answer every question as best as you can okay? I’m a doctor, I can help you.” Peter groaned and pointed to her, his arm bending at the elbow to raise his finger in the air.

“Wha’s yur’ name?” He managed to slur out. ‘Stranger danger Parker,’ he reminded himself in lieu of Mr. Stark. If he were here, he would be shaking his head in disappointment, Peter was sure of it.

“Ah, how rude of me! Ma names Dr. Harleen, but ya’ can call me Harley!” The hand pointing at her turned into a wave, greeting her.

“Hey,” he replied weakly, “my name’s Peter. Peter Parker.” He could hear the grin in Harley’s voice.

“Well, Peter Parker, tell me. Are ya feeling nauseous or dizzy?”

“Yes.”

“Any ringing in the ears?”

“No.”

“A headache? Are ya feeling really tired?”

“Not that bad of a headache. Tired, yes,” he sighed, fatigue heavy in his voice, “look, Doctor, I don’t have a concussion. Just feeling weird right now.”

“Ya drink before you came here or eat something weird?”

“No, I’m just weird like this.” Harley was silent for a moment.

“Do ya want me to help get you home?” Peter sighed again, pushing his arms up to help himself lift his torso so he was sitting upright.

“I, uh, don’t have a home,” he looked around the alley, his senses starting to clear (though his nose still throbbed at the smell), “where am I, by the way?” Harley leaned into his vision, a slightly incredulous look on her face.

“You don’t know where you are?” Peter shook his head, happy his headache was now subsiding. The disbelieving expression didn’t disappear from Harley’s face. “Well, you, puppy, are in Gotham, the most crime ridden city in the world.” Peter sent Harley a weird glance.

“Gotham? Like Gotham City, Batman’s Gotham City?” The second the sentence went out of his mouth, Harley covered his lips with her hand.

“Never say that name unless you’re looking for a death wish!” She hissed at him, her eyes hard. “Promise me!” Wide eyed, Peter nodded reluctantly and he was let go. It wasn’t like he read the comics or anything. He didn’t really know much about Batman. Just that he had a sidekick named Robin and they fought the Joker on a regular basis. Harley straightened, causing him to look up at her. She extended her hand which he took and he slowly stood up with her help. She dusted him off, her hands sweeping across the back of his jacket and the front of his shirt for him. He nodded in thanks.

“Do ya have your phone on ya?” He reached into his back pocket and felt that, yes, thankfully, his phone was still in his pocket. He tugged it out and unlocked it, tapping on the call icon. He goes straight to Tony’s number. A ring doesn’t even make it onto his phone before the screen says that there’s no service for his phone. He sighs forlornly. There goes trying to contact home.

“Sorry Harley, I don’t have service here.”

“So ya don’t have service, no way to contact home, and ya have no idea where ya are?” Peter shook his head. It was Harley’s turn to sigh. “Alright, puppy, yer' comin’ with me. I know a nicer homeless shelter than any of the ones they got on Grand.” She grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of the alleyway onto the nearly empty street. He should’ve probably been concerned that he was heading somewhere with a random woman, granted one who had tried to help him. There was still a low thrum of danger at the back of his head, but all he could focus on was that ridiculous nickname.

“Puppy?” The blonde haired woman paused, turning back with a teasing smirk on her pretty face.

“‘Cause yer’ so cute like a puppy, with those puppy dog eyes and pouty frown. Yer’ even smaller than me!” At that point, he had taken note that she was, in fact, a full four inches taller than him. He looked at her with somewhat genuine offense.

“Hey! I’m 5’6! You’re only so much taller because you’re wearing heels!” He pointed towards the pumps that adorned her feet. Harley scoffed and took off her heel for a second, showing both of them that, even without the heels, she was still an inch taller than him. He groaned. This night was just getting worse and worse. First, he’s in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar woman who was taller than him. Hearing Harley’s laugh though, as they walked through the streets arguing about who was really taller, made him feel at least a little better. It wasn’t much, but every little bit counts.

All that eventually led to where Peter was now, laying on a cot in the same homeless shelter that Harley had introduced him to. He had gotten a couple of jobs with the help of Harley’s shadier connections. He had realized early on that this dimension was not the same world that the comics had shown. This was somehow different. There was no one with super powers, though the monikers were still real. Batman was real, but Harley (the only person he trusted up to this point) hadn’t told him anything, and by the fifth time that he asked, he realized he wouldn’t be getting anything out of her so he stopped. He had wondered who Batman was here, and if he and Robin were still partn-

The sound of an alarm pulled him out of his thoughts, and Peter hurriedly grabbed his phone and turned it off. He saw the time and sighed.

“Time to head to work,” he muttered.

-----

“Hey Puppy!” Harley squealed as he entered the club that was now flooding with people, the lighting dim save for a few spotlights that roved over the sea of people. Peter straightened his clothes, a white button down paired with some slacks. They had been the Joker’s but, according to Harley, they didn’t fit him anymore. Peter shivered at the thought of taking something of the Joker’s, but he guessed it couldn’t be helped.

“Harley!” He yelled back in greeting and both walked over the bar. Peter quickly clocked in and set off to work, one of his coworkers behind the counter already. From there, it was quite the busy time, people requesting drinks all over the place. Peter and Harley talked from time to time as he prepared other’s drinks. It was a fairly smooth evening so far.

Of course, as soon as he thought that, trouble had to come, brewing in all its toxicity. When he had first started as a bartender for the club, he had been warned to keep an eye out for suspicious activity, just so the club doesn’t get hit with another lawsuit. Harley was fiddling with her phone in one corner of the bar, and at this point, Peter was used to the loud noise of the club, having inconspicuously stuffed his ears with ear plugs earlier. However, it didn’t completely cancel out the noise as his super hearing still noted everything within his vicinity. In the opposite corner of the bar, away from him and Harley, Peter somehow heard the soft sounds of paper being ripped, a drop of something hitting the water, and a soft fizzing noise.

His head imperceptibly turned to watch as a rather handsome man handed a tall glass of something to a beautiful blonde accompanied by a taller, equally beautiful redhead. ‘Taller than me too,’ he thought bitterly. The blonde accepted the drink as it was slid over to her and was about to lift it when Peter quickly rushed over. He leaned over the counter and subtly pressed a finger down onto the base of the glass, which was widened, using his strength to keep the glass down. He made subtle eye contact with one of the bouncers next to the door, and the man got the message pretty quickly. He started toward the bar while Peter distracted the patrons.

“Sir!” His voice still sounded somewhat soft and high pitched over the bass of the music. “I think there’s someone outside looking for you! You match the description I think!” At the odd look given to him, he continued trying to convince him, “what’s your name?!” The man’s glassy eyes roamed over Peter’s face before answering,

“Trevor!” Peter squinted, trying to sell his lie.

“Last name?!”

“McConnelly!” Peter nodded and waved over the bouncer, who lumbered over.

“Is this the Trevor McConnelly the person outside is looking for?!” A quick once over of Trevor told Peter all he needed to know about him. “Wasn’t it his girlfriend?!” Without question, the bouncer nodded. Trevor suddenly paled and rushed past the bouncer, a man named Gus, who followed him. Peter shot him a thankful look and then turned back to the two women, glancing about them awkwardly.

“Sorry, but I wouldn’t drink this if I were you. He slipped something into it.” The women, shockingly, didn’t look surprised. They only glanced at each other before turning to him with twin smiles, an unheard conversion passing between their eyes that Peter didn’t know how to interpret.

“Thanks for the assist. I really appreciate it,” the blonde purred over the music. Peter could’ve sworn the grin on her face turned sharp for a split second before it flitted away and an almost natural smile came over her face once more. Almost being the key word. A shiver crawled up Peter’s back and the thrum of Spidey Sense became nearly haywire as he stared at the expressions of the two women. They were a lot more dangerous than they appeared.

“I don’t mean to condescend, and I’m sure you’re both able to protect yourselves, but please be careful. No one deserves that to happen to them,” he said as earnestly as possible, using his large brown eyes to his advantage. That seemed to soften at least the red head as her smile started to turn a little bit more gentle. The blonde seemed a bit thrown by his honesty, but quickly recovered, and her smile too seemed a little tender.

“I appreciate it! Not a lot of people can make that statement sound nice!” He gave them a small, genuine smile before turning back to the bar and continuing with other orders. Harley was suddenly gone from her spot, and Peter furrowed his brows. ‘I hope she’s okay,’ he thinks as he starts on another drink for another patron. He quickly shoots a text in between requests and then shuts off his phone. At one point, he’s done with all his requested drinks and takes a bit of a break. He turns around again only to see the two women from earlier still at the bar, conversing quietly. They’re quite perceptive, he notes because the instant his attention turns to them, their attention turns to him and they’re locked in a staring contest. He shyly wanders over to their spots, nearly missing the slight amusement that flashed between both of their eyes.

“What’s your name?” The redhead asks as he nears them. Peter smiles innocently, trying to keep posture loose as his Spidey Sense reacts again. His hands pull at each other, something he can’t help, and something that both women definitely notice.

“I’m Peter. Peter Parker. And you?” He’s as polite as possible. Always be polite to a customer, he remembers his manager saying. The redhead speaks again.

“I’m Barbara Gordon, but my friends call me Babs. You can too.” Peter nodded, his curly down hair bouncing as he did so. The women’s eyes crinkled as they smiled, their expressions now a hundred times more genuine than before.

“Stephanie Brown, Steph. But you can call me ‘Mine,’” the blonde winked with a small and suggestive smile. Peter’s cheeks turned red at this, his pale skin flushing. Barbara and Stephanie could tell too, as they chuckled a bit at his face and Peter turned his head away in embarrassment. When he turns back a few moments later, they’re still laughing, and he pouts a bit. ‘I never know how to respond to those comments,’ he thought. As their laughter subsided, they started asking more questions. With the danger at a small vibration at the back of his mind, he felt like he was in an interrogation.

“Have you worked here long?” Stephanie asked, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck and cleavage. Peter made a huge point to himself to look straight into her eyes or over her shoulder under the guise of watching someone else.

“Not really,” he replied, “Just over a month. I work at The Captain’s Bar too.” Both women perked up in interest.

“Really? We frequent but we’ve never seen you.”

“Well, I work in the mornings and afternoons on Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. You guys should come by sometime when I work! It’s quieter then if you guys want to talk!” They smile at him and he feels the vibration of danger slowly slip away until it’s nearly nothing. Peter guesses he won them over.

“Sure thing! We’re free next Wednesday so expect us then!” Peter nods, his fluffy hair bouncing again. Sudden, dual beeps enter his ear canal as he hears both women’s phones go off at the same time. They glance at the texts and curse and Peter suddenly realizes he shouldn’t hear those sounds and he’s staring so he turns away, trying to find interest in something else.

Stephanie talks again, “do you have a napkin and a pen?” He searches around the bar for a pen and he grabs a napkin from the neat stack in the corner. He gives them to her and she quickly writes down two sets of numbers. “These are our numbers! Keep in touch!” With that, they’re gone. Peter takes the napkin delicately into his hand, observing Stephanie’s writing style before pocketing it carefully. He resumes his job, but it’s not five minutes later that he remembers, the thought irking him. Damn pet peeves.

“Fuck,” he curses quietly, “she took the damn pen!”

-----

It was a week later that he encountered Barbara and Stephanie again. In the meanwhile, he was added into a chat between the two women, their conversations ranging from everyday, talking-about-the-weather to absolutely ridiculous. Peter knew not to draw attention to himself but he reasoned that two more friends couldn't hurt. He rather enjoyed having more people to talk to, not that Harley was an unsatisfying friend to be around. Speaking of, he had found that Harley had left because her “puddin’” needed her. When he had called her later that night, concerned, the excuse rushed out of her lips, leaving him less than convinced, but he let it go.

She arrived at the barroom the next day with her usual smile and a bouncing ponytail and everything was back to normal. Eye-Patch came in more often, Peter noticed, leaving more and more hundred dollar bills on the counter. Peter had tried to get him to stop, only to receive a smug smile and a goodbye of ‘sweetheart,’ before he was on his way. He found that Deathstroke, Slade Wilson Peter recalled as his name, was a man of little words, but that didn’t stop him from making small conversation with Peter when he could. Harley thought that he wanted to impress Peter. Peter disagreed completely.

“I think he might be making fun of me.” Harley rolled her eyes.

“Not true. I know guys like him. He’s trying to impress you, Puppy. Don’t doubt me.” Peter, knowing that arguing with her would be fruitless, just shrugged.

“Whatever you say, Harls.”

Wednesday came, and just like they said, Stephanie and Barbara entered The Captain’s Bar near the end of his shift with dazzling smiles on their faces as they shifted the backpacks on their shoulders. Peter greeted them happily.

“Hey Babs! Hey Steph!” They greeted him, waving jovially and walked towards the bar, sitting on seats right in front of him. “How are you guys doing?” Now closer, he had more of a view to observe the two women. They had slight bags under their eyes and their skin was paler than usual. “Are you guys okay? You look tired,” Peter asked with genuine concern. Stephanie leaned forward onto her elbows, which she settled on the counter. Her neck dropped a bit and he could suddenly see the back of her collar, a small, nearly inconspicuous red stain on there. It was freshly made, the texture under the lighting still looking wet. It looked like blood, he realized. With that conclusion, the thrum of danger returned and another shiver was forced down his back. The women noticed.

Stephanie raised her eyebrow, “The question is, are you okay?” Babs’ look was no less concerned. Peter nodded shakily.

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. It’s just, you got a little bit of blood on the back of your shirt. Are you hurt? Do you need first aid?” The blonde’s eyes widened a bit before her small hand clutched the back of her collar, Peter still looking at her in worry. Barbara’s jaw clenched and she plastered a fake smile onto her face.

“Steph’s fine, she just had a bit of a rough night. We’re both okay, so you don’t have to worry Peter.” He nodded reluctantly, still worried but content to take them at their word.

“Then what can I get you guys?” They rattled off their drinks and he rushed to make them, vaguely aware of the door opening to let another customer in. It wasn’t until he slid the girls’ drinks over to them did he realize that Slade had walked in. The one eyed man grinned predatorily at him before sitting down at the nearest end of the bar. Peter muttered a “be right back” to Babs and Steph before wandering over to the mercenary.

“Hey Slade.”

“Sweetheart,” the older man rumbled his greeting.

“The usual?” A short nod from the man sent Peter on his way to making an old fashioned drink for him. As he gave the man his requested beverage, Slade pointed over to the two women who were conversing softly with themselves, his one eye narrowed.

“Those two your friends?” Peter glanced at Babs and Steph and looked back at Slade, confused.

“Yeah? I mean we met like a week ago, but I guess you could call us that. Why?” Another body slumped into the chair next to Slade, slurring an order. Slade took that as a distraction for Peter and stood up.

“Because you have interesting taste in people, sweetheart.” He sauntered towards the women, his shoulders drawn tighter than Peter’s ever seen them. He watches Slade interact with the two women, watches their reactions to each other. He notices that, oddly enough, Slade is the one in the submissive position, while Stephanie and Barbara are dominant, despite their dispositions. Slade was stiff, in a combative stance while the other two were completely open, smirking and tilting their heads up at the older man. A hand snapping in front of his face brought Peter out of his thoughts.

“Hey, twink!” The man who slumped next to Slade sneered up at Peter from his position over the counter, “I told you to get me a fuckin’ drink,” he slurred loudly enough to catch the attention of those nearby. Slade, Steph and Babs turn their attention towards them.

“I’m right on it, Mr. Stanley,” Peter said politely, his hands starting to sweat, “can you repeat your order again?” The man squinted up at him for a moment, straightened up in this seat, lifted his hand and slapped Peter straight across the face. Being Spider Man, he saw it coming straight away, but had the forethought to remember not to draw much attention to himself. He tried to make it seem like the hit actually affected him a bit. So he stumbled off to the side, falling down in the process and watched as Slade stormed over to the man and proceeded to punch the drunk, living daylights out of the man. Steph and Babs went to the side of the bar where the small door separating the bar and the rest of the room was and rushed over to Peter, helping to straighten him up.

“You good Petey?” Babs voice was soft as if afraid he would spook like a cornered animal. He nodded distractedly, focusing on Slade who was now shaking the drunk man. He was knocked out instantly by the punch. He pushed himself up, looking at the other two who stood up with him. Slade noticed movement in his peripheral vision, his gaze snapping over to Peter in an instant.

“You okay, sweetheart?” The look of Peter’s reddened cheek made Slade clench his teeth.

“I’m fine, Slade,” he replied before pointing at the man that was limp in the mercenary’s arms, “let him go.” Slade blinked and looked at the man, sneering and releasing him, letting him hit the floor with a loud thump.

“With pleasure,” he smirked as Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. 'Typical Slade,' Peter thought. Only God knows how many fights that man gets into.

“Just,” Peter leaned over the counter and took note of the unconscious male, his eye well on its way to swelling to the size of a golf ball, “wait here while I go get my manager.” The brown haired boy sighed in suffering as he headed toward the back of the bar to get his manager who would no doubt fire him soon for this.

‘Fucking Parker Luck,’ he thought bitterly.

Unawares to Peter, Stephanie and Barbara joined Slade in watching over the knocked out patron, looking down at him as if he were scum underneath their shoes. Stephanie glanced at Slade, who, even though he wasn’t looking at her, knew that she required his attention. Fully aware that he was listening, Steph said,

“I assume that you won’t struggle to say yes to this mission?” He knew exactly what she was talking about.

“No problems here, blondie. I’ll even take this case pro bono if I get first shot at him.” Slade grinned at the blonde, a ruthless intent behind his expression. Steph, who mirrored this, then turned to Babs to gage her reaction.

“Count me in,” she murmured, her tone soft but firm. She was quite disgusted by the display that negatively affected their new favorite bartender, “but you do know Dick and Tim are gonna want to know why we’re doing this.” Slade stilled at the mention of his ex, and whether or not the two women noticed it, they didn’t comment. Instead, Steph hummed.

“That may be, but I think they’ll quite like Petey.” The blonde sent Babs a knowing smirk, which Babs rolled her eyes at. Secretly, however, she agreed with her friend.

‘Yeah,’ she thought as Peter came back out, his fluffy brown hair bouncing with every step and his doe brown eyes wide, ‘they’ll definitely like him. A lot.’

Previous: Synopsis

Next: Part 2

#Peter Parker #Mafia Batfam #Mob Boss Bruce Wayne #Mob Boss Dick Grayson #Mob Boss Jason Todd #Mob Boss Tim Drake #Mob Boss Damian Wayne #Peter Parker is Spider Man #Reverse Harem #Bruce Wayne #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne

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sweetest-honeybee · 4 years

Text

To Hell and Back

Chapter 23

Summary: Tango goes to have some cake an hot chocolate with Stress.

Characters: Tango, Stress, Xisuma (Doc, Hels, Wels, Keralis, Impulse mentions)

TW: None I don’t think?

————————

They were all in shock at the event.

Xisuma was seething.

Doc was pulling Beef and Wels out of the cage.

Tango had shot the arrow, much to their surprise.

Hels was still stuck in his other state of mind, not showing any signs of returning to his usual sadistic self. Tango’s hands were shaking from shooting his friend for any reason that wasn’t to just mess around. But again, it wasn’t Wels. It was a weird substitute for Wels that apparently had more willpower than he did and that really said something.

Thankfully, the knight was unconscious now. Only one arrow wasn’t enough to kill him and that’s what he hoped for. If Wels died and respawned, while he wouldn’t be too far away, it was safe to assume whatever that thing was had control over him and would have him flying off somewhere else in the opposite direction. Really, at some point it would come out to be a stupid plan. They’d message everyone to capture Wels on sight and given how spread apart everyone was across the map, hiding spots weren’t too evident. A search team of about twenty odd people would find him within an hour at most.

“Tango, are you alright?” Xisuma asked him. His head snapped towards the admin.

The demon exhaled shakily. “I shot him,” was all he said, still staring at the scene in front of him.

“I know, I know, but you did the right thing, Tango.” Xisuma’s voice wavered too much for Tango’s liking. He seemed just as panicked as everyone else was. Yet, his hands were balled right around his sword and his eyes showed none of the usual softness behind his visor.

Tango shook his head, disregarding that statement. “I shot Wels, X.” He gestured vaguely at the knight. In the spur of the moment, he forgot that it was Wels simply being controlled, firing at him instinctively. But after it all, it was still his tiefling friend.

“Yes, you did. But you also just saved Beef from being hurt more than….that.” He gestured vaguely and then put a reassuring hand on Tango’s shoulder. “You can leave if you like. You don’t have to be here.”

Well thanks, Tango wanted to say bitterly. Not quite what he wanted to hear, but Xisuma had a point. A shaking mess of a demon who could now barely hold his bow wasn’t too useful in this situation. Before Tango could accept the invitation to leave, the admin was already typing into his communicator, presumably asking for more help. His hands dropped to his sides defeatedly.

“Okay,” he muttered, taking one last look at the unconscious pair. “Keep me updated?”

“Will do.”

With that and a quick pat on the back, the demon rocketed away from the sandstone building. While he flew, he took out his communicator to see who was coming to help in his place. Preferably more than just one person, he thought. Probably someone fairly close by. Thankfully, he doubted Stress would be accompanying them and her hot chocolate sounded quite good right now.

<Xisuma> We need some backup at Beef’s base

<ImpulseSV> I can lend a hand

<Keralis> Me too

<Keralis> On my way

Well, at least they had people who Wels didn’t just try to kill an hour earlier. Tango was still a bit shaken up by that. So, he decided to visit Stress, seeing as she wasn’t accompanying them. Rather than taking the Nether Hub, he opted to take the long route to think and simultaneously clear his head. He kept thinking about Evil X for some reason, but that was justified quickly when he thought back to Xisuma.

Knowing the admin, he could probably just ask about it later, but he didn’t really want to press into matters that weren’t his, jokingly or not, given what’d happened earlier on from doing so. He also wondered about Evil X and how nervous the guy looked before flying off to his base. Poor dude, maybe Tango should’ve at least tried to understand what happened. After all, Xisuma was rare to anger and when he was, Tango didn’t imagine that it was pretty, be it cold silent glares or outright rage.

Nonetheless, it would probably leave you upset with yourself more often than not.

Slowly, he crept up on the familiar giant butterflies crawling around on the jungle trees and the pink topped buildings. The butterflies glanced at him but continued their activities. He landed on the glass rainbow to get a better view of the surrounding area. The demon looked around, not initially finding Stress, but after a few more seconds his eyes landed on the familiar pink cardigan. Strange, he thought she’d still have the T-shirt on, but who was he to judge when that landed him in a mess on its own.

At the sight of her, he grinned and glided down to the pathway where she was.

“Hey Stress!” He waved.

She turned to him. “Oh, Tango! Fancy seeing you here. I thought you were with Xisuma.” She tilted her head in question. “At least I thought anyways. Saw something goin’ on, I assumed you stayed with him.”

“Uh, yeah, I was. Then things got a little heated so I left,” he answered.

Stress nodded. “I saw they needed some backup. Mind telling me what happened? Nobody really knows what’s going on besides the few of you.”

That’s right, they hadn’t really explained in chat, or to anyone else really, what was happening with Wels and Hels. Tango grimaced at the thought that Wels would probably be waking up soon and lash out again. He didn’t want more people to be hurt, especially not Beef. Beef was such a nice guy and genuinely wanted to help both knights. He didn’t deserve how much he was hurt by it. And Impulse was there too now, and that was an accident waiting to happen. He didn’t want one of his closest friends hurt.

“Tango, you alright there? You’re spacin’ out a bit.”

The demon shook his head, ridding himself of the previous thoughts, and coughed awkwardly.

“Well uh, you know how Beef has that cloning machine, right? And Wels used it?”

“Vaguely, but yes.”

“Well, something’s gone wrong recently. I mean, not that it hadn’t before after he used it but worse this time.”

Stress began leading them inside her brewery, nodding along to him. “What happened the first time?”

“Ah, apparently it made this evil clone, I dunno if he met you yet-“

She perked up happily. “Oh, you mean Hels! Yes, yes, he’s a very interesting fellow. Very cooperative, too, I had to care for him because he came in from HelsCraft lookin’ like a mess.”

Tango raised a brow, suddenly interested in what she had to say instead. “Looking like a mess? Nobody really mentioned anything about that when they came over. Just said Hels wanted to meet me and moved on.”

“Oh yeah, had a dagger in his stomach and everythin’. Looked real painful but he’s a tough cookie.” Stress smiled as she sat the demon down on some stairs near a small kitchen she had built earlier on. Not too great for the overall area and stuck out against the few stands but she apparently recently put one in each of her builds in case of events like these, or just to keep baking convenient. “Care for some cake and hot chocolate? No offense, but you look like a mess, too. Could use some sugar.”

And always prepared with sweets.

Tango snorted. “Sure.” He sighed, continuing his story. “Anyways, so after all that, apparently he and Wels began like….switching places? Hels is becoming nicer and Wels….” he trailed off, grabbing Stress’s attention.

“What about Wels?” She leaned against the counter thoughtfully.

“He….came over because he shut himself off from everyone and I pestered him with some trades. But, after telling him that his offers were crap, he tried to kill me.”

Stress fumbled with the cake knife as he said that, her face twisting into worry. “Kill you?! Why on earth would he try to kill you over a trade?!”

The demon shuddered, the knight’s smirking face burning into that back of his mind. “It wasn’t him, Stress. He keeps being taken over by this….weird dark force or something. You should’ve seen his eyes, Stress, they were as red as mine!”

“Oh, goodness. Are you….alright? I mean, we all saw earlier that Evil X killed you, though. We just assumed he was causing some mischief.”

Tango shook his head. “Wels nicked my wing and I just,” he pushed his hands away from him, conveying a falling motion,”fell right into one of the towers.” He circled his arms around himself. “He didn’t help me. I couldn’t speak ‘cus I was hurt. But, I guess just by coincidence, Evil X came over and just….he said something about just going ahead and killing me and after that I was in my bed.”

Stress had momentarily forgotten about the cake and mugs sitting next to her, invested in his story. She had a hand over her mouth in sad surprise. “Did- did anything else happen?”

“Ah….Evil X came in, said Xisuma needed me to come with them. We go back up and Wels has these nasty red marks on his face but he’s still all evil and whatnot. Doc had him tied up and they just left. Suma wasn’t looking too good though.”

The lady eyed him curiously. “Not looking too good?”

“He was looking like he was gonna pass out. He said something about how he apparently hit Wels, something else about not affording to lose another Hermit.” Tango perked up. “Hey, do you know anything about that? I mean, I’ve been here for a while and the servers changed and stuff. Some people left, but he said it like….someone died or something. Like permadeath.”

Stress shook her head with pursed lips. “No, sorry Tango. Is there more to the story or do you want to eat some cake now.”

Slightly, Tango smiled. “Cake first.”

With a grin, she cut him a slice and moved to get some milk and cocoa beans for the hot chocolate. The two fell silent while she worked, pouring the milk in a small pot and placing it on top of a furnace where some heat began growing. She began to hum absentmindedly and cut herself from cake as well. Within a couple minutes, the milk warmed and she finished up grinding the cocoa beans with sugar.

“You like yours with whip cream and marshmallows, luv?” She looked up at Tango who was busy picking at something on his shirt, probably just to pass the waiting time.

“Hm? Oh yes, that’d be nice. Thanks, Stress!” The smile on his face grew and Stress couldn’t help but to warm at the sight of it. At least she had a knack for cheering up her friends with her recipes.

“Right then, they’re done!” She placed the cake and hot chocolate on a tray and had the demon follow her to a lounge-like area through a painting. Well, he’d never seen this before. Looks like she had a whole bunch of surprises.

“This is my private room to chill out once in a while, don’t tell anyone. I have a bunch of these.” She sat on a pink sofa tucked into one end of the long, thin room. “Given what on earth happened to you, I’m deeming you worthy to see it,” she added with a smile. Tango sat on the sofa as well, feeling how plush the cushions were.

“Guess I’m just that messed up now, apparently,” he chuckled. “Thanks again, Stress.” He took the cocoa happily.

“Anytime! If you need a sit, just come right on over.” She took a sip of her cocoa. “I really do hope Wels gets better though. And Hels too. Can’t imagine being kicked out of your own dimension.”

“Me too, Stress, me too.”

#my fic #to hell and back #tango tek #stressmonster #xisuma #helsknight #evil xisuma #helsknight x evil xisuma #hels x ex #long post

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peterxwade24 · 4 years

Text

BWYD Chapter 36

Dreary Days in Paris

Marinette smiled at her classmate and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. “I know how you feel. Jason, my big brother? He’s my third oldest sibling and I constantly get on his nerves.”

Juleka let out a harsh laugh. “That must be such a hardship.” Juleka’s eyes narrowed and looked at Marinette. “Having so many siblings.”

Marinette nodded. “Single parent household. Nine kids. Ranging in age from thirty to thirteen. My sisters and I are helping our father raise our brothers. That’s four against six.” Marinette’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at the black and purple haired girl. “At least two of my siblings have almost died. Damian hated me when I first moved in after my parents died and I couldn’t look at my oldest sister for nearly two years because she had red hair and the people who burned down my home had red hair. At least two of my brothers’ friends have red hair.” Marinette took a breath and frowned. “I ran away from home when I was younger because I was afraid the only people who had ever welcomed me into their home wouldn’t support my choices.”

Juleka paused to consider Marinette’s words and turned to look at the shorter girl but was stunned to find that the shorter girl had vanished from her side and had reappeared at their brothers' sides.

Marinette tucked herself into her big brother’s side, his arm draping across her shoulders.

“Little sisters,” Jason glanced down at his own before looking back at Luka, “are incredible at looking out for you. I wouldn’t know what to do if not for my three younger sisters.”

Luka smiled and extended his hand to Marinette. “Luka Couffaine. Recently acquainted with your brother.”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng-Wayne. Classmate of your sister.” Marinette shook his hand before looking up at her brother. “Jay-Jay. I would like to leave at our earliest convenience. I have school tomorrow.”

Jason chuckled and nodded. “Think about what I have said. Till our next meeting Monsieur Couffaine.” Jason swept Marinette off of her feet and the two siblings ran from the Couffaine houseboat.

---

Marinette walked into the school the next day, with a scowl on her face to rival that of her brothers. She wore high-waisted dark olive green jeans with horizontal rips which began at the middle of her shin and ended at the middle of her thigh, a black corset top with thin ribbon shoulder straps and delicate black lace trim, dark brown chunky heeled combat boots, a red and black studded leather jacket, and a black leather choker with “Puddin” in gold letters around it.

Damian, ever the overprotective older brother since Marinette had run away from the family, followed his little sister into the school with a scowl on his face. He wore baggy black pants tucked into a pair of black boots, a baggy black hooded shirt and a dark brown belt wrapped around his waist. His green eyes, normally only cold, seemed as though they could freeze any upon whom his gaze reached.

Colin, never one to be left out, walked beside Damian with his mouth set in a firm line. He wore brown pants, a brown hooded orange plaid jacket, black trainers and a black beanie covered all of his red hair. He glanced around at all of their school mates, trying to decide which of them would be allowed in today.

The three siblings stopped walking when Alix Kubdel bounded up to Marinette with a mischievous grin on her face.

“Hey Mari. Lookin’ cute today.” Alix grinned impishly before pecking Marinette’s cheek and running off.

Marinette froze with her eyes wide and her cheeks turning Ladybug red.

Damian simply rolled his eyes, grabbed Marinette and Colin’s bags from them and took up the lead while Colin collected their sister and followed after Damian.

Colin followed Damian to their classroom and waited for him to sit down before he sat Marinette down. “Kubdel had better have been serious. Because if she wasn’t then she isn’t ready for the wrath of the Waynes and the Kents.”

Damian glanced over at Colin before he went back to setting up Marinette’s school things. “Don’t forget ‘Aunt’ Diana.”

Marinette, cheeks less of a Ladybug red, leaned on Damian and grasped Colin’s hand. “Aunt Diana is supposed to be back on land soon. We should visit the Louvre with her soon.”

Juleka walked into the classroom, her eyes searching the room before they landed on the youngest Wayne child. She quickly looked away before she slunk into her spot beside Rose.

Marinette’s face drained of its colour before she afixed a scowl to her face. She pulled up Skype on her laptop before plugging her earbuds into the audio jack on her laptop and Skype calling Cass. She knew it was afternoon in Hong Kong but she needed her silent sister.

Cass picked up the call and waved at her before signing “Little sister”.

Marinette launched into signing to her sister, keeping her hands behind her laptop screen and behind Colin’s body so no one in class would question what she was doing. Marinette got lost in the gentle sounds of Cass’ apartment in Hong Kong, only looking up when one of her brothers tapped on her arms.

Caline Bustier noticed her young student’s preoccupation and frowned. “Ms. Dupain-Cheng? What’s the answer to question number fourteen?” Caline waited before snapping her fingers. “Ms. Dupain-Cheng.”

“It’s Ms. Dupain-Cheng-Wayne, or just Ms. Wayne.” Damian placed a hand on Marinette’s arm before gently tugging out her earbud. “Answer to number fourteen?”

---

Marinette lounged on her bed, Oberon and Houdini curled up with her. She scrolled through her contacts and frowned before clicking on Jocelyne’s contact. She waited a moment before pressing call and held her breath as she waited for it to contect.

“Hello?”

“Jocelyne? It’s me. It’s Marinette. I don’t know if you remember me but I, I stayed in your house when I was younger.”

“Marinette? Is it really you?”

“Yeah. It’s really me,” Marinette paused to collect her courage, “I was wondering if you were still in Paris?”

“Yeah, actually I am. I,” Jocelyne pondered for a moment before continuing, “actually have a small cupcake shop.”

“Would you, would you maybe want to see me, if I was in Paris?”

“Of course I would.” Jocelyne sounded sincere.

“What day works best for you?”

“You’re in school, right? So just, stop by after school. I wanna know what’s been happening in your life lately.”

“Okay.”

@dast218 @amayakans @toodaloo-kangaroo @crazylittlemunchkin @marinettepotterandplagg @duckies16

#maribat #mlb crossover #ml crossover #ml x dc #mlb x dc #bruce wayne's youngest daughter

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ghostly-cabbage · 3 years

Text

Frigid (Chapter 2)

Genre: Horror, Angst

Chapter Rating: M (Language, gore)

Word count: 4,391

AO3 FFN

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Today is really stressful, but hopefully this makes someone out there feel better. Enjoy and tell me what you think!

Danny flew through every room in the school, even the basement, but the unidentified ghost was gone. He pushed a gloved hand through his hair and swore under his breath. Just his damn luck. At least he’d caught the mountain lion ghost in the thermos. At first glance he’d thought it was Bertrand and Spectra, but that theory had been dashed. The big cat had got him good but it didn’t seem to have any intelligence beyond a wild animal.

He’d looked long enough that the ghost alarm had been turned off and people started heading back into the building. It was also long enough that his wound had melded together, and the stains on his gloves were the only evidence he’d sustained an injury in the first place. That too would be gone the next time we went ghost.

He slipped through the wall of the bathroom and dropped down into a stall to transform back. He poked his head out through the door of the bathroom to make sure no one was paying attention. Everyone was too busy trying to figure who’d seen the ghost to care. It was normal for people to hide in the bathrooms during an attack anyway. Right. First things first, he had to put the thermos back in his locker. Classes would resume in a few minutes.

Sam and Tucker were waiting at his locker when he got there. They perked up when they saw him.

“Who was it this time?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know, it was a new ghost,” he said, trying to seem less troubled than he was.

“Ghost Gage readings put it at a level six,” Tucker reported, turning his phone around to show Danny the readout graph that did in fact place its power level around a six.

“What was the reading on the other one?”

“Let’s see…” Tuck fiddled with his phone for a second before finding it. “Four and a half? A five at first.”

“A new ghost, huh? That hasn’t happened in awhile,” Sam pointed out.

“Tell me about it,” Danny unlocked his locker and set the thermos on the top shelf, safe until after school when he could flush the ghost back into the Ghost Zone. “She didn’t seem to know who I was, which is a good thing I guess.”

“Well, hopefully they won’t come back after you send ‘em back into the Ghost Zone.”

“Yeah…” He rubbed at the back of his neck as he closed his locker. “About that. I sorta only caught one. The level six hightailed it before I could get her pinned down.” Danny started to walk towards his next class.

“So what’s her deal?” Sam fell into step on his left, and Tucker on his right.

“I don’t know, I didn’t get much from her. She had one of those stick things that sheep farmers have though.”

“A shepherd's crook?” Sam supplied.

“Yeah, that. She didn’t say anything to me either, just... screamed.” It wasn’t that odd that a ghost wasn’t very talkative, but something about her was rubbing Danny the wrong way.

“Creepy,” Tucker said. “I’ll start a file on the ‘Shepherd’ then.” He tapped on his phone as they walked, not even bothering to watch where he was going. Danny reached out and grabbed Tucker’s elbow to phase him through a trash can just before he toppled into it. “Wait, was the scream anything like your wail?”

Danny shook his head. “No, that’s the thing guys, she didn’t directly attack me. Just her lackee mountain lion.”

“Huh. Well, with any luck, the next encounter will get us some more solid data. Cause right now we’re lookin’ pretty sorry. She wasn’t around long enough to get a read on her core type either.” Tucker's face was wrinkled in concentration.

“We’ll take what we can get, thanks Tuck.”

“I should really start charging you for my services. You know how much work all this is?” He waved his phone at them.

Danny laughed. “You wanna do my job instead?” Tucker was quiet for a second.

“Yeah, not a chance.”

“You sure? I could go find Desiree for old times sake,” Danny suggested with a shit eating grin. Tucker narrowed his eyes at him.

“Dude. Low blow.” His tone was good humored and easy. One of the perks of being friends so long. They shared a smile and Tucker punched his shoulder. “Alright, I got History, see you guys,” he gave them a two finger salute and peeled off.

“Did you do the algebra homework for today?” Sam asked as Tucker left. Danny felt his breath seize in his throat.

“There was algebra homework already?” He squawked.

“Relax, I’m kidding,” she laughed.

He put a hand over his heart and let out a huge breath. “Sam, don’t do that! Gave me a heart attack, are you trying to kill me again?”

________________________________________________________________

After algebra Danny had chemistry. He said goodbye to Sam in the hall and headed to the science lab. When Danny got to class Wesley was already there. He was sitting at their table staring a hole into the white board at the front of the room.

Danny thought back to the last time he’d seen him, cornered against a locker and eyes filled with terror. He dropped his textbook on the table and Wes jumped so violently Danny was surprised he stayed on his stool. His expression morphed from fear to annoyance as he looked at Danny.

“What’s wrong, man? You look like you saw a ghost,” Danny said. A part of him almost felt bad for going for such an obvious jab, but Wes had made it clear on day one that he didn’t like him. So why be nice? Danny used his foot to drag his stool out and he slumped onto his seat.

“Ha ha,” Wes replied, voice brittle. He resumed his staring contest with the whiteboard. Danny shrugged, unbothered. Kids came in and took their seats in small groups. Valerie was in this class too, and came in two minutes to the bell. The two still had an unspoken truce that translated into mutual respect. It was pretty close to a friendship. At least when he was Fenton. She came up to stand next to his desk, books tucked in the crook of her arm.

“Hey, Danny. Did you see the ghost today?” From the corner of his eye he saw Wes glance towards them. Val seemed to notice the attention too. “Just curious, from what I can tell not many saw this one. Which is weird for us.” In his last class all the students had been buzzing about the ghost attack, it was the first one of the new school year after all. Everyone had been speculating on which ghost it was and whether Phantom had shown up.

Danny shook his head. “Sorry, Val. I was on the other end of the building and evacuated with everyone.”

“Hmm. Okay, thanks.” Danny could see the gears turning in her head, probably frustrated she didn’t get her hands on it /or/ him, but she didn’t say anything else, and went to sit down at her table. Danny could feel Wesley’s eyes on him, and he sighed, turning on his stool to look at him. He was probably going to regret this.

“Lemme guess, you have questions.” Wesley looked reluctant but no less pissed.

“Everyone just… Accepts that ghosts are a thing here?” He said it in a low voice, like he was afraid of being overheard by someone.

“Uh. Yeah? Pretty much. Most people anyway. It’s been like this for like two years so… Yeah, people are kinda used to it by now.”

Wes looked confused and conflicted. He was silent for a beat, before he asked his next question. “What can you tell me about this Phantom guy?” If Danny had been drinking something he probably would have choked on it.

“Uh. I don’t know, what do you want to know?”

“Who is he? Why is he here? What’s so special about him?”

Danny blinked at the barrage of questions and struggled to find words. “Well, he’s—” the last bell rang and Mrs. Merriweather stood up from her desk. Danny almost sighed with relief. She pushed her rounded glasses up, and soothed down her pencil skirt.

“Alright kids, find your seats and settle down. We’re going to review lab safety today, and tomorrow we’ll be starting our first lab. Also the scheduled ghost drill will still be taking place, and because I detest the regulations I’m going to go ahead and tell you it'll be around 2:15 during this class.” She walked across the classroom and flicked off the lights. The projector hummed from its place hanging from the ceiling and Mrs. Merriweather wasted no time hopping to her powerpoint presentation on proper lab etiquette. Danny took the opportunity to shoot a text to Sam and Tucker about the ghost drill. At least this way they didn’t need to be on high alert. Besides, Danny had practically grown up in a lab, he knew this stuff backwards and forwards.

Wes glanced sideways at him, but said nothing. Danny shoved his phone back in his pocket and slouched forward onto the table. He stifled a yawn and struggled to keep his eyes open. A nap sounded fantastic at the moment, he’d been up half the night trying to talk Kitty through her recent fight with Johnny. Jazz said he should try and be helpful and build trust so they were less likely to take out their lovers' quarrels on him. Not having to get smacked around was all well and good but he wasn’t a ghost therapist. That was way more Jazz’s wheelhouse. He’d never say it out loud, because he’d never hear the end of it, but he missed her.

“Mr. Fenton.” Mrs. Merriweather had her hands on her hips. Crap.

“Yeah?”

“What did I just go over?”

“Uh… eye protection?”

She sighed. “Danny, what part of this seems unimportant?”

“None of it! Er, I mean, all of it? It is important, but I mean it’s not like I can even use any of this stuff anyways so…”

Mrs. Merriweather pinched the bridge of her nose. “And why do you think that is?” Annoyance squirmed in his stomach. “Not because I don’t know anything about lab safety. I know how to be safe in a lab, it’s not rocket science.”

“Well, since you know everything there is to know, then you’ll be happy to hear that I’ve just decided to give the class a quiz tomorrow on this powerpoint.” There was a satisfied twinkle in her eyes, and Danny swore she loved to torture kids, and being a teacher was the only legal way she could do it. The class broke out into groans.

“Nice going, Fenton!” Someone spat from behind him. He wanted to phase through the floor and just go home.

“Pay attention or get detention everyone!” Mrs. Merriweather warned them. It was her favorite thing to say. She turned back to the slide show and continued her spiel.

The ghost drill was nothing unusual. Despite knowing it was coming, most of the class still jumped when the alarm started, Danny and Wes included. They all evacuated the building and stood outside in the school yard the exact same way they would a fire drill. It was a waste of time, especially since they’d already had a ghost attack today.

Thankfully, Wes had slipped off to stand with a guy that looked like his older brother, if the resemblance meant anything. Wes probably didn’t want to be seen talking to him if there was any other option. Danny had to hand it to him, he caught on fast. What that also meant was he didn’t have to try and fumble his way through an entire conversation answering questions about Phantom. Danny just hoped Wes ended up asking someone who had a more progressive opinion on him, someone like Paulina, or hell, even Dash.

Danny spent the last of the drill hanging with Sam and Tucker. The obnoxious sirens had shut off at least. Danny hated those things, his parents had recommended and got approval for the installation at the start of school last year, along with a state of the art ghost detection gadget. After the third “false alarm”, courtesy of him, they got rid of the ghost detection in favor of the manual alarm buttons. That had been a rough week. Danny hadn’t known a peaceful ghost fight at Casper since.

Eventually the drill was over, and the teachers started ushering kids back into school for the last period.

“So, what’s going on after school?” Sam asked as they were funneled into the entrance.

“I’ll probably swing by my house to drop my stuff off, then I’m gonna look around town, see if I can’t find that new ghost hanging around anywhere.”

“Pizza at my place after?”

“Aw hell yeah, Sam! Wings too?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Yeah sure, Tucker, you can order wings. Just keep them away from me, will ya?”

Danny snorted. “Sounds like a plan, I’ll text when I’m on my way.”

“Or if you need help with that ghost?” she added sternly.

“Yeah yeah, fine. That too.” He waved a hand dismissively at her.

_______________________________________________________________

Tucker and Sam walked home with him like they normally did, exchanging goodbyes and “see you later”’s at his front steps. They continued down the street as Danny pushed into his house. He took a deep breath, relaxing into the familiar smells of home. It was weird, not seeing Jazz on the couch with twelve open textbooks taking up all the space on the coffee table. He headed for the kitchen, his empty stomach not willing to wait for pizza later. He dropped his bag by the banister so he could pick it back up on his way to his room later.

When he walked into the kitchen, his mom looked up and brightened. She had a bunch of papers all laying out on the dining table, some in piles and some splayed out in an order that probably made sense to her at least. She didn’t have her goggles on, instead she had them pushed back like a headband.

“Hi, sweetie! I didn’t even hear you come in. How was your day at school?”

“Fine,” he said with a noncommittal shrug. Danny walked past the table to the fridge. As he passed he noticed that the papers were readouts and raw data sheets. Some looked like her own notes which featured the words “ghosts”, “core”, “ecto-signature” and the like about a dozen times. It wasn’t exactly abnormal for his parents, but it did peak his interest.

He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a can of strawberry soda and an apple, enjoying the feeling of the cool air on his face. He nudged the fridge door closed with his foot and turned towards his mom.

“So,” he took a bite of his apple, “what’re you workin’ on?” Normally his parents kept all the research down in the lab, unless of course they were close to figuring something out, and were running out of counter space down there. He walked back over and pulled out a chair to sit.

Over the years he’d gotten somewhat closer to his parents. Well, he was more confident in his secret keeping ability now, which was what it boiled down to. Plus, it was advantageous to try and keep track of whatever ghost obliterating tech his parents had come up with this time, which was easier to do if he acted interested in their work. Especially now that Jazz was gone.

His mom’s grin got even wider at his question and he could tell she was bursting at the seams to talk about it. She put her pencil down, and swept up her mug to take a quick sip. It was white with Fenton Works plastered across the side.

“Ghost cores!” She set her mug back down, and pulled her goggles off her head. It let loose a few locks of her red hair that she quickly tucked behind her ear. “So, as you know all ghosts have power cores,” she shuffled around in her research, looking for something in particular. “Except, all ghosts have different power core ‘types’.”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded along as if it was all new information. He took another bite of his apple.

“So! Your father and I are working on not only a better method of categorizing ghosts that takes into account their power level but also the type of elemental core they possess. We think if we can find more commonalities and differences it will help find more exploitable weaknesses.” She found the page she was looking for and offered it to him, standing to lean over the table. Danny set his snack down and took the page to skim over it. It looked like a bunch of data on ghost’s with their power measurement, core type, temperature, ectoplasmic density, each a value that was plugged into an algorithm that spat out a number for a final threat level.

“See, before, we would base an ecto-entities power level solely on the output of the ectoplasmic energy, but with this algorithm, we can have a more in depth understanding of the possible damage a ghost could do and how to counter it.”

“Hence the ‘threat level’ rather than just ‘power level’?” he said glancing up at her.

“Exactly sweetie!” Her eyes softened as she looked at him. “Oh, you and your sister, you’re both so smart.” She came around the table to brush his bangs out of his face, and squish him in a one armed hug. “I couldn’t have asked for more perfect kids,” she said and kissed the top of his head before releasing him. He forced a smile. She said that now, but she didn’t know what he was. Who he was.

“Now, the issue is trying to find all the core types.” She leaned a hand on the table to look over his shoulder at the paper he was holding. “So far we know about fire, electricity, ice…” She held her chin thoughtfully. “And despite what the core may be, that doesn’t always mean their powers are a direct derivative, the applications of a core type can be extremely varied with only a thin connecting thread,” she muttered. Danny almost didn’t know if she was still talking to him, or just thinking out loud. “I’m doing research on what determines a ghost's core type. So far the leading theory is based on how they died. We think it’s the main contributing factor but I need more subjects to find anything conclusive.”

If that were true, he’d have an electricity core. The thought made his breath stick in his throat and a cold sweat break on his forehead. Danny went to open his soda— or he would have, had it still been liquid. Instead there was a thick layer of frost on the outside of the aluminum where he’d been holding it, and the contents were frozen solid, bulging the top and bottom of the can. Yikes. He shot his Mom a panicked look, but she was thankfully too absorbed in her thoughts to notice. He handed her back the paper before he froze that too.

“Sounds pretty cool, Mom. Welp, I gotta go do some reading for class so—”

“Danny-boy!” Boomed his dad’s voice. He winced and turned to see his Dad coming up from the lab.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Helpin’ your Mom with some good ol’ fashioned ghost research are we?”

“Actually I was—”

“Maddie, I did what you asked! I tore the whole lab apart, but I still didn’t find the Fenton Ghost Gage anywhere.” Uh-oh. Danny slowly got up from the table and went to make for the door.

“That’s odd, I swear I left it by the control panel a few weeks ago...” It was quiet for a moment. “Danny—” he turned back around, feigning ignorance with every ghostly molecule of himself. “—have you seen the Ghost Gage sitting around anywhere?”

The New and Improved Fenton Ghost Gage was a relatively new invention, which actually worked pretty well. Except of course for the glitch that registered a level ten plus ghost in the house. His Mom had theorized that it was because of the proximity to the Ghost Zone that it was giving the off the charts false reads, and left it sitting in a tub of inventions to be tweaked. It was now safely placed between the drywall and plumbing of Casper High, sending it’s readings directly to Tucker's phone. Of course they’d already made the modifications for it to read core types, thanks to Tucker.

“Nope, sorry. Have you checked the couch cushions? Or the fridge?” he suggested.

“Of course! The couch! Good thinking, Dannio!” His Dad clapped him on the back with so much force the soda can flew from his grasp, and promptly exploded on contact with the tile floor. Right. Frozen soda explodes. Idiot.

The outside had been completely frozen, but apparently on the inside it was slush, which was now all over the floor, the walls, the ceiling, and the three of them. It looked like a sugary crime scene. He quirked a nervous smile.

“Oops?”

________________________________________________________________

Thankfully the soda caused only minimal damage to his parents research papers, but by the time he was done helping clean, the soda on his clothes had dried and gone sticky. Looked like there was no easy phase clean for him. He excused himself upstairs under the false pretense of doing homework and was gone the next minute.

Time to find that ghost.

The wind whipped through his hair and whistled past his ears. It was getting colder by the day and he loved it. The leaves on the trees would start turning soon, turning Amity into a collage of colors. If it weren’t for school, he’d love fall.

He made it to Casper in a minute flat, and started his search there. The weight of the thermos was a constant reassuring weight on his hip as he circled outward. If she was lurking anywhere, his ghost sense would let him know. He flew up and down streets, block after block, but he was getting nothing. Well, unless he counted the people on the street that whooped and pointed at him as he flew past.

He’d just gone by the Nasty Burger when a crackling bolt of energy zipped past him and punched a hole through a billboard. He recoiled and adrenaline flared through him; or whatever the ectoplasmic equivalent was. He flipped around to see a familiar ghost hunter.

“You never learn your lesson, do you, ghost?” Valerie growled.

“I’ve never been the best in school, so I’m gonna say no,” he said with a grin. Another blast shot past him, but he didn’t give her the satisfaction of flinching.

“Shut up, I know you were at Casper today. What can you tell me about the new ghost?” Danny huffed. He and his friends weren’t the only ones that had the school bugged.

“You probably know about as much as I do, Red. She was gone almost as soon as I got there.”

“Like, I’d buy that!” Despite her helmet he could tell she was just as pissed as ever. He splayed his hands in a placating manner.

“Honest, why else would I be out here combing the city?”

“How should I know what you’re planning? You’re probably out here waiting for the opportunity to ruin someone else’s life.”

Danny groaned. “Seriously Red, I said I was sorry like two years ago, you need to learn to let stuff go.” Danny liked to think that deep down she knew he wasn’t there to hurt anyone. She certainly didn’t like him, but she had at least started giving him an opportunity to explain himself before trying to waste him. Baby steps he supposed.

“Back at’cha, ghost.” She lifted her blaster and it whined as it charged. Welp, decorum was over for the day. He went intangible and rocketed through the billboard. Once on the other side he went invisible and tore off in a different direction. He knew she could track him, but it was worth the few seconds it bought him. The sound of her jet sled roared as she gave chase.

Pink charges of ecto-blasts peppered his flight path, near misses and wildly inaccurate alike. He zig-zagged, holding onto his invisibility and intangibility as he slipped through buildings. This was the easiest way to lose her, she had to take the time to skirt around huge objects, or waste the time to go straight up allowing him to widen the gap. Not to mention, while intangible the lack of wind resistance put his speed at around 130 Mph. Last time they’d checked at least.

Once he was sure he was far enough away from Val to have dropped off her radar, he turned and headed for home. He phased through his window and transformed back, flopping onto his bed. He’d been all over town and hadn’t got a single whiff of the new ghost. At least Valerie was on it too. Still, it didn’t make it any less frustrating.

He glanced at the clock on his nightstand which read 5:10. He’d check for the ghost again after dinner with Sam and Tuck, maybe then he’d at least be able to avoid Valerie. For now, he could really use a break.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #fanfic #danny phantom fanfiction #phan phic #phandom #frigid #my writing #wesley weston #wes weston #kyle weston

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iriswc1995 · 3 years

Text

Ash In Ordina

Chapter Two: ‘Church’

The camera scanned the invitation, and the glass doors whisked open. Ash tucked it back in her cloak and stepped inside the Worship Office. Its vast main hall was nearly empty, supported by several marble pillars adorned with artificial torches, contrasting the square, clinical lighting fixtures illuminating the ceiling. Her footsteps echoed through the hollow expanse. She watched the shadows dance beneath the various grotesque furnishings, embellished with colorful trappings and expensive decorations. She wrinkled her nose. The Redeemed were never doing badly for themselves.

At a desk at the end of the hall were two men wearing typical Rapturist attire who seemed to be waiting for her. The smaller figure immediately smiled and stood up, moving around to the front of the desk with a posture of welcome. He had a messy haircut dyed bright pink to match his large eyes. The second man, a few feet behind him, had a darker complexion and grim countenance, towering over both of them, a large cleaver strapped to his back. Ash met his cold gaze for a moment before the smaller one greeted her.

“Ah, you must be Ash! Your appearance is very distinct, in a good way, miss!”

“Thanks.”

“And um, just to double-check, no last name?”

“No. I’m curious why the Redeemed need to hire a freelancer.”

“Hehe, well…” The man scratched the back of his head before clasping his hands together. “I doubt it’s going to be the usual sort of work you do… rather, we need you to find someone. One of our high-ranking members has seemingly gone missing, you see.”

Ash tilted her head, but stayed silent, waiting for more details. But then the man laughed to himself and spread his arms.

“Sorry sorry, where are my manners! My name is Alistar Fey, Redeemed, director third-echelon, fifth mind. And my partner here is…”

The tall man sighed, cracking his neck as he turned his head. “Andre,” he answered coldly.

Alistar smiled and turned back to Ash. “Politeness is what keeps the world spinning, I think. Which is also why this is a strictly above-board, on-record job.”

“Right. So who’s missing, and why do you need me to find them?”

Silently, Alistar took a small binder from the desk and handed it to her. Ash’s breath caught momentarily as she opened it. Real paper? They’re rich enough for paper after everything they did? Swallowing her annoyance, she skimmed through the details. His name was Zachary Kells. A life-long worshipper, decently wealthy thanks to his job at Skyvault as a researcher and engineer. But it seemed he’d recently left his job to fully devote himself to the Church.

“We’ve tried contacting him, of course,” Alistar said, scratching the back of his head. “But no one has seen or heard from him in nearly a week. He wasn’t involved in anything shady, to my knowledge, and was largely a homebody. His residence is on this floor, and we sent someone to check there, but no answer again. And since he lives in one of the Castles, well…”

Ash closed the binder. “You need someone who’s good at getting inside places they aren’t supposed to. And you don’t want the authorities involved, for reasons which I’m sure you won’t tell me.”

Alistar hesitated. Ash nodded and continued.

“It’s fine. I’ll find him... for the amount we agreed on.”

“Wonderful! Then, that should be all for our business here. Part of me hopes you’ll simply find him at home, but I rather doubt it, unfortunately…”

“Freelancer.” Andre said, taking a step forward for the first time. Ash flicked her eyes towards him and stood up straight, hands open at her sides. He raised an eyebrow and simply folded his arms.

“Watch yourself. Unsavory types buzz around these neighborhoods like hungry flies. Zachary is an important man. I trust you’ll do your best to keep him safe.”

Ash hesitated for a long moment, thoughts swimming beneath the man’s cold gaze. Does he know something about me…? Finally, Ash simply nodded and turned to exit the office hall.

-----

Dark streets caked in rolling fog, dimly illuminated by fading streetlamps. One could almost mistake this for outside, if not for the globes of faint light on the ceiling, nearly two-hundred feet above, staring like gray stars. The housing here, the Castles, were essentially buildings unto themselves, like houses stacked on one another. Security systems and relatively safe neighborhoods, on top of this, were what created the floors home to the wealthier-than-most but not nearly of the mega-rich status.

Ash walked to a street corner two blocks away from the Worship Office, where she found Cygnus waiting for her, playing a game on his phone. He brushed his hair out of his eyes as she approached.

“So, is it about what we figured?”

She shrugged. “No assassinations or whatever. They're just missing one of their top guys. I need your help getting into his place.”

Cygnus nodded, and started following behind her. His face wore the same dark look that Ash figured she had made when she entered the Church. Neither of them liked doing work like this, and Cygnus had even more reason than most to despise the Worship Unity and everything they did. Their footsteps echoed along the cracked street. No one else was milling around this late in the evening. But then, someone made themselves known.

Harsh voices clamored from a nearby alleyway. Scattered around the trash-filled crevice like chattering rats were several individuals of varying appearance, though the black, red-trimmed jackets wrapped around each of their waists indicated they were a group. There were six in total, some tall, some muscular, some squatting on dumpsters, others leaning against the wall. Almost all of them had some kind of augmentation or another - metal arms, thousand-eyes implants, studded or scaled flesh. Their weapons were crude, but looked sharp - probably scavenged from the Bone Forest. They turned to look at the pair as they began to pass, and Ash stopped suddenly as their gazes met. She recognized their appearance, their vibe, and this scent. These were Harvesters without a doubt. Before there could be any pretense of just passing through, the group quickly filed out of the alleyway to block their path, their faces grim yet thrilled. Ash sighed and turned to Cygnus.

“Go on ahead. I'll handle this.”

“… you sure?”

She nodded. Cygnus scanned the group with an analytical look before hesitantly stepping forward, whispering to Ash as he passed.

“Don't get in trouble.”

“I'll do my best.”

He walked past the Harvesters, not meeting any of their sharp looks, and while a couple of them spit in his direction, none of them made a move to attack. The tallest one, most certainly the leader judging by her demeanor, stepped forward. Her arms were muscular and heavily scarred, the sleeves of her jacket were ringed with iron spikes, and she wore a mask that covered the top half of her face, adorned with chaotic black and red designs. Her wild, black-haired ponytail nearly reached her waist. She leaned into Ash's face and laughed.

“How's it going, killer? Where ya heading to? Gonna chop off some more heads with that shitty sword of yours?”

Ash stared back, coldly. Her stomach was tied in a knot, but she didn't let herself panic. She knew this type.

“I don't see how that's your business, bitch.”

The group laughed again, and the woman smiled. Ash knew better than to use honorifics like ‘miss’ around Harvesters. The leader leaned back, walking around Ash as she replied.

“But it IS my business, motherfucker! Our group here, we protect these streets from killers like you!”

She stood in front of her again, folding her arms.

“God damn, are you edgy-lookin’ or what? I would have thought you were some gutless nobody if not for this scent… the scent of blood, so unmistakable… it clings to you like a haze~ and if I had to guess, you can smell it just like us, can’t you…?”

Ash rolled her eyes.

“Maybe.”

“Hahahaha~! So if I had to guess, you’re trying to turn over a new leaf or something? Blood doesn’t dry that easy, kid. A muzzled wolf is still a wolf.”

“You’re right,” Ash said, and flicked an inch of her sword from its sheathe. Its red glow captivated the group for a moment, and several of them brandished their own weapons. “So get out of my way or see the wolf for yourself. I’m not better than any of you. Except in terms of skill.”

Silence filled the street. Strapped across the lead woman’s back was a massive saw-cleaver that made Ash’s katana look like a knife. She sniffed a few times, then smirked. Behind her lips, her teeth had been replaced with sharper ones modeled after a shark’s. She stepped forward, and offered a hand.

“Name’s Tesla. Any chance you’d wanna join us…? We make serious dough off the rich idiots on this floor~”

Ash didn’t take her hand.

“Those days are behind me. I hunt different prey now.”

She made sure to phrase her words correctly, sweat forming on her clenched palms. To most gangs, you're either a threat, or nothing to worry about. To Harvesters, you're either a threat, or a walking pay-out. And either option makes them liable to kill you. But mercifully, Tesla shrugged and finally backed out of her personal space.

“Fair enough, I guess… but don't go thinking you're done being a Harvester. Everyone who's alive has to take from others to keep living. At least the lives we take are put to good use when we sell off their lungs and heart!

“Save the preaching for the church.”

The other Harvesters laughed and playfully punched Tesla, yelling ‘she got you good!’ as Ash continued down the street, her cloak wandering in the breeze.

#horror cyberpunk writing writersontumblr

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dragonstoravens · 4 years

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Babylon Book 1, Chapter 1: Meetings

Azure looked at the comm line as it lit up and made a soft buzz. She wiped her hands on her pants and turned off the tool she was using, confused. "Ma's not supposed to call me this early in the month..." she muttered, donning a headset and tapping the answer key. "Ma? It’s a couple weeks early, isn't it?"

There was a long pause, before someone cleared their throat and an uncertain, yet extremely professional sounding male voice said, “...Dr. Zaraya? Is that you?”

“Been a while since someone’s called me Doctor, but no, I don’t think I’m the one you’re lookin’ for." She scratched her head, also confused. "This is Ma’s line.” She thought for a moment and added, “If you compromise her comfort I'll personally fling you into a star."

“...Her daughter?”

“Use child, kid, or spawn if you would. Not exactly a daughter.”

“My apologies,” he amended swiftly. “And your pronouns?”

“She and her, still. They’s too mushy in the mouth for me.” She smiled a little. It never got old to have someone ask and correct themselves that quickly.

Trinity made a soft noise of assent. “At least you know the Doctor. She’s been exceedingly difficult to find so far. My name is Trinity Jericho, and your mother built something for me some time ago. I need her to repair it.”

"Oh boy. I got some awful news for you, pal." She transferred the line to a more secure one, a soft beep in the background as she did. "She doesn't really have the time to make fixes these days, she's under lock and key. She can't play mechanic for you, even if she wanted to."

Trinity let out a long, hissing breath. “She’s still under house arrest? I suppose they must have changed their security sometime in the past three years…” He sounded genuinely frustrated, even through that calm, professional voice. “Well... thank you for your time. I apologize about the wrong number.”

On the other end of the line, Azzy frowned. Of course her Ma was still under house arrest, she She would normally have let him hang up, but she hated the idea of something her mom made going obsolete. "Well now hold on a minute-” she blurted. ”I said she can't do it. If it's a fix you need, I can handle it." She shifted in her seat and set her feet on her desk with a heavy clunk. "Jericho, is it? What am I working with, and what was the year of installation? If it's Ma's custom work, you're not gonna find a single soul that can figure those connections out faster than I can, and you sound like the busy sort."

“...Hm.” He paused, considering. “Well, with anyone else I’d say it’s impossible, since the model is one of a kind, but it seems as if you’re the best chance I have. It’s a right eyeball, basic internal connection to the brain for sight, along with some extra capabilities. Installed in 30XX. Something went wrong about a week ago, and I lost all movement in that eye and most of my sight. I’d like to have depth perception again.”

She rubbed her temple. "An eyeball in 30XX..." Another hum. "I think I remember her mentionin’ somethin’ like that. Here." A ping sounded to the device. "Head to those coordinates, I'll get you cleared with my cap’n to come aboard, and we'll get you seein' right faster’n a warp speed jump to your next door neighbor."

There was another chime sound from his end as he received the coordinates, and he hummed slightly, checking them over. They were a bit too high on the Z axis to be planetside, but otherwise not too terribly far from his location. “I can be there in an hour. Is your workshop on a space station, then?”

"Of a sort. Ping when you arrive, don't get too smart no matter how saucy the helmsman gets with you. Good luck." She leaned back in her chair and hit a button. "Indigo, I have a personal request, and I need it approved fast."

When the ship landed, the airlock door opened to reveal a handsome young man with sandy colored hair swept back away from his forehead. Behind one ear was a longer piece of hair braided neatly with a black glass bead, and tiny black studs glinted in his earlobes. He had a black cap pulled low over his face, a casual touch that looked completely out of place next to the rest of his clothes-- a dark green button down, black slacks, and dress shoes. He stood with his hands loose at his sides, a posture of practiced calm.

Azure, hands clean for once in her life, greeted him at the lock, cybernetics quietly crackling. Her beanie was slouching precariously towards the back of her head, her brassy red dyed hair braided neatly to the side. She carried herself with an easy slouch. One look and you could just tell this person did not ever sit in chairs properly if they could help it. "Azure. Pleasure to meet you, welcome to the ship. Hope Smalls didn't get too touchy with ya."

“The pleasure is mine.” In person, his voice was quiet, smooth, and just expressive enough to sound friendly. As he approached to shake her hand, she caught a glimpse of his right eye from under the brim of his cap. It was the same deep emerald green as the left one and looked perfectly normal, except for the fact that it was completely motionless, creating a somewhat unsettling effect that he was always staring directly at her. Unlike some visitors they had, he didn’t look like he’d been too put off by the ship’s snarky AI pilot. “He was fine, but I get the impression that your ship doesn’t typically get many visitors.” He looked around- with one eye, at least. The other stayed locked in place. “I… can’t say I’m too surprised. Forgive me, but this place looks more like a cargo carrier than a passenger ship or station.”

She was entirely unphased, peering into the motionless eye with a thoughtful look that softened the hard set of her jaw. "That's because it is. Handled the retrofittin’ myself." She turned and started walking, the crackling subsiding as it became clear he was actually here for maintenance and not to ransack the ship. "I hope you don't mind, I'm not great at pleasantries so I'm just gonna take you straight to the med for the standard exam. I’m a doctor in cybernetics, not you know...doctorin’."

“Of course. As long as you can fix my eye I don’t particularly care what your conversational skills are.” He put his hands in his pockets-- again, casual in a way that seemed like an affectation. He was a little too careful not to shove or ruin the line of the slacks. “Speaking of eyes, do you truly need me to close mine? Your pilot kept cracking jokes about security.”

She rolled her eyes. "Nah, Smalls is just fuckin’ with you. There’s enough firepower aboard the ship that you’d likely die on sight if you tried anythin’, and half the place is still storage anyway so it really ain’t worth much to get into." It didn’t seem like a real threat or warning, but a casual observation. She led him to an elevator and pressed a button. "As far as business goes, you might be interested to know I worked on your eye durin’ the initial blueprintin’ phases."

“Oh, is that so?” He sounded vaguely impressed. “I suppose more people knew about it than I thought. Up until now— well, up until recently, I assumed only I and your mother knew about it.” He didn’t seem too upset about the revelation, but perhaps it was just the unshakable calm that he seemed to carry with him. Neither his voice or his face betrayed much emotion beyond the words he spoke-- at best, the sort of interest one might have in talking about the weather.

"Oh, it’s just you me and Ma, unless you're a blabbermouth. And I didn’t know who it was for at all until you called." The elevator door slid open and she stepped inside, pressing another button and leaning leisurely against the wall. "She called your eye the Babylon Project. Joke about your name, I'm assumin'. I helped design some of the attachments and recordin’ implements."

He chuckled. “That’s a decent pseudonym, though I don’t think those two cities have any real biblical connection. Perhaps I’ll use it sometime.” He pursed his lips. “My work tends to require that I keep my mouth shut, so most of the details are under lock and key. Mistakes happen, but I intend to keep it that way as much as I can. I’m sure you can see how some of the functions work best if they stay unknown.” Unbidden, the memory of one time he hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut sprung to mind, and he frowned. He still hoped that particular interaction wouldn’t come back to bite him. He certainly wouldn’t be the one to seek it out.

"I'm nothin' if not able to keep a secret. Talkin’ makes me nervous." It could have been a joke, maybe. The elevator doors slid closed, and then opened a few long moments later. "You're about to meet Pthalo. She conducts all her business on paper so you can burn evidence if you wish. It's standard protocol to have an uninvolved medic test for health, I'm sure you're aware."

“Yes, I understand the need for doctors. There was a similar procedure when I got it.” He smiled. “The eye itself isn’t the secret, just the functions. Thanks to your mother, it looks like a high tech prosthetic unless you know better.”

"Unfortunately, more and more people know better lately." She grumbled, and it was clear she was mulling something over as she stepped out of the elevator. They were both greeted by a blue alien with a gentle yellow glow beneath her skin in a pristine white lab coat. Her voice was just barely noticeably dual-layered, harmonizing with itself under her breath.

"Good evening, my name is Pthalo. Azure's going to let me take it from here, and I'll lead you to her workshop after the appointment." She gestured to the room behind her and to the right, windows looking into a pristine medical bay, a pitbull posted just outside the door.

“Hello, Pthalo, I’m Trinity Jericho.” He glanced down at Payne, his expression changing to make him look younger, somehow. “May I pet her?”

Pthalo gave a sunny smile. She oozed sunshine. "Oh you're more than welcome. Her name is Payne, she's the ship-wide emotional support animal." Payne's tail began a steady rhythmic thumping against the floor as he approached, eyes closing as soon as his hand touched her head. This was a very good dog.

Despite his earlier actions-- cooly professional posture, minute care for his fancy clothing-- Trinity now knelt down right next to the dog without a care for the dusty floor. He scratched industriously behind the ears, using both hands, and the first real smile Azure had seen from him came to his face. It was...cute. “Who’s a good girl? You are, yes you are!” After a while of similar whispered baby talk and petting he finally stood, almost reluctantly. The smile remained a moment longer, fading back into obscurity as he moved towards the med bay door. “Sorry for the delay. That’s a very good dog you have, ma’am. I’ve never seen a ship with an emotional support dog, but it’s actually quite a good idea. Maybe I’ll suggest it to my company.”

"It's no problem, being pet all day is her entire job." Pthalo gently closed the door behind them, and Azure could be seen making her way down the hall, presumably to her lab. "The ship takes all types, dogs couldn't judge if they wanted to. We have a few members that make use of her presence daily, she's become quite spoiled. I'd say anything that's good for low level employee morale and health is good for the company, but that's not news I'm sure." She gestured to an examination table. "Hop up, shirt off. Please point out where the prosthetic is."

“No, I understand that concept well enough. I’m sure it’s just as good for you as it is for everyone else, huh girl?” He took off his hat, carefully fixing his hair that had been trapped beneath, and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a tattoo across his left collarbone showing three small but beautifully detailed birds in flight, just over his heart. Each one’s pattern and shape was unique. The opposite collarbone was decorated with something that looked like a half-destroyed tower. The tattoo seemed to continue onto his back, out of sight. He got onto the table, and looked back up and over at Pthalo. “Right here.” He pointed to the motionless eye.

Pthalo startled but recomposed herself almost instantaneously. "You know, I probably could have guessed that, eh?" A gentle smile. "Do you wash it regularly? Was this a loss of operation due to trauma or defect?" She was walking around to collect tools as she glanced at a clipboard. "Azure gave me a quick rundown, but these checkpoints are odd, even for a standard prosthesis upgrade...." She glanced over him once, then moved in to look closer at his eye.

“The nerves were damaged in an accident. I was legally blind for a while. The other eye was salvageable, but the right optic nerve kept deteriorating so I eventually just gave in and replaced it. It’s very high tech, for a prosthetic,” he explained. “I wash it regularly, and follow all the care instructions, so it should move freely but it started locking up about a week ago. That’s why I’m getting it fixed- or upgraded, I suppose,” he corrected. That would likely make more sense with Azure’s position as a cybernetic engineer. Cybernetic upgrades to an existing prosthetic weren’t uncommon.

"I have to wonder...." She continued to look him over quietly, clearly contemplating something as she checked his vitals. Now that she was doing work, she became much more serious. Her movements flowed like water, seamlessly transitioning from one test to another, until eventually the medically-minded dance ended, and she made a few marks on her clipboard. "Well, Mister Jericho," she smiled, "it would seem you're healthy as a clam. Happy as a horse? Oh, what's the saying? Terran idioms are difficult." She passed his shirt to him. "You may just want to keep that off, if I know anything about Azure's process, it may get dirty if you keep it on."

“To be honest, I prefer your versions of the idiom.” He carefully folded the shirt over his arm and slid off the table, giving Pthalo a professional smile. “Thank you.” He turned to head towards the door, just as the clunk of a pair of boots and the soft snuffling of two dogs greeting each other heralded someone in the hall outside. A woman poked her head through the door, a different pit bull in a red harness pressed up against her shin.

“Hey, Pthalo, I—“ her eyes fell on Trinity and widened. Silence reigned for a brief moment, and then the woman shook her head as if to clear it. “Hold that thought.” The door shut again and heavy bootfalls clattered off down the hall again. Faster, this time, like she was running.

"Cadet! Cadet you can't just-" Someday, Pthalo thought, people would tell her what was going on. She sighed and rubbed her temple before turning to Trinity. "I'm sorry, could you stay here a moment?" She opened the door and gestured Payne in, who plopped down at his feet with her tongue out. "I've not been given enough information and I've an awful feeling I'm going to need to get Azure." With that, she quietly stepped outside to place some kind of call. Things didn’t ever stop moving on this ship.

Trinity frowned. Something had been strange about that woman, beyond just her reaction to seeing him. If he’d met her before, he certainly couldn’t place her. With not much else to work with, he sighed softly, sat back down, and started petting Payne. His good eye scanned the room for any possible exits— he hoped this wasn’t turning into a trap, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

In the hall outside, Pthalo breathed a sigh of relief as the call was answered, Azure’s voice on the other end confused. "Azure, who is Mr. Jericho? I feel like maybe you've lied to me given Cadet bolted at the sight."

At the sound of her name, Cadet halted and turned to walk back towards the med bay. She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Shit, ok. Pthalo, I don’t think she knows either.” She leaned over to speak into the receiver as well, addressing Azure. “I mean, unless you do know him, in which case that’s a whole different ball game.”

Azure's voice over the comm came through with thinly veiled annoyance. "At most, he's a family client, and that's really stretchin' the definition. I'm on my way up, hold on a minute."

Pthalo looked at Cadet. "What's the issue? He's here for cybernetic treatment, we're sending him on his way after."

“Well, hopefully that’s all he’s here for. I’ve only met the guy once, and his intentions were fine that time, if a bit misguided, but...” she lowered her voice a bit. “He works for Fate. I never got his name, but I recognize that face. It could be a coincidence he’s here now, but I don’t like it. We can’t take chances when that bastard’s involved.”

It was at that moment Azure stepped out of the elevator to join them, hanging up the call as the doors opened. "He never mentioned anything about his work. He needs his eye fixed, it isn’t movin’." Her left hand fiddled with a set of goggles in her pocket.

Pthalo rubbed her temple again. Someday she’d have an aneurysm, and then they’d all be sorry. "Let's take care of him first and you can question him after. The man's shirtless in my med bay and I'd like him out so I can focus on some more important matters."

Cadet sighed. “Alright, fair enough. But we have a decision to make.” She looked around at the other two. “Are we telling Perry? Either he already knows she’s here, or he’s actually totally clueless again, and I don’t know how to tell. Plus, Perry basically told the guy they’d kill him if they saw him again. We might be looking at a tussle if things don’t go well.”

Azure glared up at the ceiling, trying her best to figure out how not to out who her mother was in the process. "He isn't here because he was specifically lookin’ for me, even. I really don't think he knows Perry is here. It seems he’s just real unlucky, not everyone can be God’s favorite."

Pthalo's gaze bored into them both, but she said nothing.

Inside, Payne took to licking Trinity's face.

Cadet stared Azure down for a bit, as if she could somehow pull more details out of her with nothing but a steely gaze, then sighed. “Ok. I believe you. We just have to hope Perry stays away from the lab while you work, then, and best case scenario he leaves without ever knowing they’re here.”

"I'll take him straight down." Azzy wasted no time, stepping into the med bay with her hands in her pockets. Payne immediately ceased her licking and barked once. "Sorry Payne, you'll have to end your bath for now." She shifted her gaze to Trinity. "C'mon, we've got work to do. Doc cleared you so we're set."

Trinity smiled slightly as he got up, with one last pat to Payne and a quick backwards glance at Cadet as he followed Azure down the hall. He still couldn’t quite place her. Maybe it was the voice that was familiar, but she’d barely spoken directly to him so he didn’t have a lot to go on. His best bet was to do as he was asked without asking questions or protesting. Acting like something was wrong was never a good idea in a situation like this. Better to ride it out as quickly as possible.

Azzy led Trinity to the elevator and hit another button, much more alert and tense than when she first greeted him. As soon as the door was closed, she turned on him. She didn’t mince words, tone dry and calculated. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she hoped against all hope he wouldn’t try and call her bluff. Perry’s safety depended on it.

"Who are you, and why are you here, and how did you get that number?"

Trinity took half a step back in the tight confines of the elevator, feeling a strange sense of deja vu. A knife-sharp British accent echoed in his mind-- ‘I know why you’re here. Do you?’ He kept his voice as steady as possible, easily slipping into the icily calm tone drilled into him through years of practice. He didn’t want to give her a reason to jump. “I’m Trinity Jericho, I’m here because my right eye doesn’t work, and I found the number after weeks of digging trying to get ahold of your mother so she could fix it.” He held his hands out, palms up, though despite the gesture of surrender his expression never wavered. “I swear on the Jericho name.”

Azure stepped towards Trinity, her diminutive height the only thing stopping her from truly towering as she searched his gaze. Static filled the elevator, making the hair on his neck stand on end. After a moment, she seemed satisfied, and the elevator doors opened. She shook her hands a little, and the crackling coming from them ceased. Her slouch returned. "I believe you, you don't seem the overtly underhanded sort. I'm sure I'll find out I’m wrong once I’m dead, though." She walked out and led him to a workshop with a single long glass wall, and one wall covered in plans and blueprints and molecular structures and anatomy drawings, some printed and some by hand. She gestured to a seat in the middle of the room. "How's your pain tolerance?"

Trinity frowned at Azure’s back as they headed into the room. She was certainly one to watch. That static was highly unusual, even among the most powerful cybernetics he’d worked with. “High. Especially around the eye, since the nerve’s completely cybernetic.” He sat, crossing his arms. “I don’t particularly enjoy being out of the loop,” he said, conversationally. “Would you care to explain any of that?”

Azure considered Trinity’s comment as she rummaged in a drawer. "I sure would love to, but that seems like it would invoke the ire of someone best left alone." She glanced at a screen and filled a syringe. "I will tell you one thing though; no one on this ship knows who my mother is, and it's best that it stay that way. The illustrious Dr. Zaraya is understandably tough to reach, and if every cred-hoarder with an itch for a bionic-dick knew I was out here and capable of practice, not one of us on this ship would get any of the privacy or quiet we need, least of all me." She turned and gestured to his arm while she continued. "I'm no good at lyin, it's usually better that I just don't say a damn thing, but this ship with all it's colorful backgrounds make that a little tough, and so on occasion I’m called to do some talkin’ I’m not suited for."

Trinity let out a long breath. “Alright, give me a moment to run that through my southern drawl translator.” There was a surprising level of joking sarcasm in the comment, despite the situation. Maybe because of the situation-- it seemed like his ability to keep that calm exterior was waning a tad. The sarcasm seemed more natural for him, somehow. He paused, then continued. “First of all, no one will get this number from me. I didn’t intend to find it in the first place, although I’m glad I did. And yes, the other people I’ve met so far do seem… colorful. Who is it you don’t wish to make angry, the woman with the... metal arm?” He frowned as he said it, a memory tickling the back of his mind.

"Cadet's just fine." She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and held the syringe next to his arm. "One, two, three." She poked him, pressing in the plunger as she spoke. True to his word, he didn’t flinch. "It would seem you're just the ladder climbin' sort, which isn't the worst thing to be, truth be told. That just tends to not sit well with certain members of our little crew here is all. Bein' well connected is dangerous, and it's why I'm gonna have to be the only one you let touch this eye of yours. Anyone catches the signature on it, you're in for tinkerin'." She walked back over to her desk after removing the needle and started digging through drawers filled with various tools. "The problem with your eye can be handled without taking it out. It's not infected, and it looks like you take care of it exactly as you were told, so it oughta be a case of replacing a coupla nodes and maybe beefin up the temp control to preserve 'em for longer."

“Perfect. I don’t plan to let anyone see it, anyway. That’s why I was looking for your mother to do this in the first place. It’s best to keep it among people who already know how it works.” He smirked slightly. “On that note, since you know how it works, you can be confident I’m not bugging this ship.” He nodded slightly at her explanation. “That sounds good. Improvements should make it less likely I have to impose on you again for a while.”

"It's every cybernetics engineer's dream to make an installation and never see the person again, while somehow knowin' nobody else touched it." She passed him an eye patch. The front of it was embroidered with a skull and crossbones. "This is for your good eye. I'm turning this one off, so you can't watch me mess around. Tends to freak the brain out."

He pulled the eyepatch over his good eye. “I’ve been walking around with this one not moving or processing depth for over a week, and seeing at maybe half capacity. I think my vertigo has vertigo.”

Azure allowed herself a little giggle of amusement. It came out somewhere between a laugh and a snort. "Tell me about it. One little thing goes haywire and the whole thing stops workin'." There was the quiet buzz of a tool he couldn't see. "I'm a…” She searched for the term that preserved her identity best. “...fully integrated user, and sometimes, if I don't do maintenance at the exact right time, my ankle shuts off. I trip and drop whatever I’m holdin’ and it’s just a damn mess."

“Yes, I noticed the sparking. Unique, although that’s not surprising considering who your mother is. I’m no expert, but I’ve done a lot of research to make sure I use and care for mine properly. This is the first time it’s broken in a way I can’t fix since I got it, which is a testament to quality if I’ve ever heard one.”

"Flatterin’." It was said with amusement, but she was hard at work, her hands occasionally brushing against his face, a gentle sureness in her movement. "You're one of the smart ones, although that's because you don't treat 'em like a science set the way I do." She took an audible step back and hummed, the toe of her heavy boot tapping against the floor. "Remind me of the finer points of this thing. I recall the Babylon project well enough for my part in it, but I'm sure the good doctor put somethin’ else in this sucker for you."

“Right. I have found that the best ways to learn are observation and experimentation. I imagine you’re a bit of a climber yourself.” He smirked. “You probably know most of this, but I’ll give the rundown. The eye’s really just the center of the implant, there’s a cybernetic nervous system in place spreading from the optic nerve to the brain stem. The biggest feature she added besides the basic eye functions is the sensor. If I can get a clear line of sight to anything tech based, my eye can communicate with it and set up a one way sensor. Video and audio, streamed directly into my brain’s image processing centers. I can only have one up at a time unless I want to make my brain bleed, according to her. I’ve never tried. It’s extremely difficult to find even if you know exactly what you’re looking for. If it does get found, it’s one way so it doesn’t trace back, and it's programmed to decode itself if you dig too deep. Nothing’s infallible, though, so I prefer it if people don’t know I can do it at all. People tend to be suspicious of you if they know you have a nearly undetectable way to spy on them, and I prefer that people trust me.” He gave her a sardonic smile, seeming to recognize the irony of that statement, before continuing.

“In terms of other cybernetics, there are a few implants I have that aren’t directly connected to the eye.” He patted his thigh. “Leg taser, installed separately by a different engineer. It’s basic tech, off the shelf. The other one’s connected to the same neural network as the eye, but it’s kind of a filter function, like an extremely fast-working cybernetic liver. I can drink all day and never feel it if I so desire, and it’s extremely useful if I think someone’s trying to poison me.” The bitter twist to his lips made her wonder how often that kind of situation came up in his daily life.

Azure looked him up and down, clearly thinking. Not that he could see, anyway. She didn’t say anything for a good little bit. "Who put in the liver filter? Cybernetics take up a lot of energy, alcohol is a great fuel for short bursts of speed or even to power the taser...." She was mumbling now and a few sparks flew from the eye before he heard her set the tool down and grabbed another one. "Wouldn't be hard to add something to give you a digital readout to an outside device to track things filtered, the filter itself could probably use an analyser update depending on when you got it, and if they're hooked to the same network but the thigh isn't, you're running at half energy efficiency and that's a cryin’ shame."

There was a soft click and his eye turned back on. She held a board in front of him with a few lines on it. "Here, calibrate a minute before you take the eye patch off."

He nodded, taking note of the changes she’d made as he waited for the eye to calibrate. It felt slightly cooler than it used to, a little less noticeable and more comfortable. His sight was mostly back to the same, but there was the suggestion of a zoom function tickling at the back of his head. She didn't mention that part, and it wasn’t immediately obvious how to activate it. Rather than try to figure it out immediately, he returned his attention to the question she’d asked him.

“Your mother did most of the installation on the neural network, including the liver. I was a bit worried about poisoning at the time so I asked if cybernetics could do something about that. She went a bit above and beyond with it, but I won’t complain.” He blinked the eye a couple times, lining it up and getting used to the returned sight again. “Honestly, those updates sound helpful. I’ve taken to externally charging the taser so it doesn’t drain me so much, but I’ve got some burns to show for it when the external charges overheat or don’t line up right with the implant.”

“Lord mercy, do not ever charge that externally.” She frowned in his periphery, a cringe at the mention of the burns. “That’s how you wreck your actually organic nerves until they’re crispy. We're fixin' that today, shouldn't be hard. Where'd you have your main port installed?" She started circling and looked him over, eyes narrowed as the gears began turning in her head.

“What’s a little more nerve damage?” He quipped, but it seemed offhand. He was too busy ‘searching’ the eye for any further functions, squinting and experimenting as he looked around the room. There was an almost hungry look of excitement on his face as he did so, as well as evident relief at the more comfortable feeling. Somewhere in his brain, he found a "camera" function, complete with what felt like an output...idea? The suggestion of a way to export something. After a moment he seemed to process her question. He tapped the back of his neck, between the tops of his shoulder blades, easily concealed by almost any clothing. Just above it was a large, elaborate tattoo in the shape of a Celtic trinity knot, and another tattoo of a crumbling wall stretched across his toned back, curving over his spine and around his shoulder blades. It seemed meant to join up with the half-destroyed tower inked on his collarbone opposite the birds. The birds were flying towards it, she realized. Towards the wreckage-- or maybe away from the crumbling wall? As with all his tattoos, the placement and detail must have been painful. No wonder his pain tolerance was high.“Here. Direct to the spine.”

She walked around him once more and pulled a triple ended cord seemingly from nowhere. She handed a screen to him, one already set aside for herself. A few taps of her screen, and his lit up with a mapping of his nervous system and the cybernetics attached to it. "Oh man, you see that jumble there?" She points to what looked like a tangle of cables in his neck. "I'm going to move those."

“Go right ahead.” He watched the screen, entranced. “Did you make this? What a useful way to interface. I usually just end up poking around till I find what I need. It’s nice to see it all laid out like this.”

She kept tapping and then suddenly, he could not feel his liver or taser. But he could feel, as if through a fog, something sliding beneath his skin. On the screen, tendrils of nodes and wiring pulled away from nerves and muscles.

"Yeah, made it myself. Diagnostic tools're incredibly helpful, do you not have one?" She wasn’t looking at him, looking intently at her screen. "The extra screen you're holding I programmed myself, I figured it was useful for those of us who're a little on the paranoid side when it comes to physical interactions. I'm tryin to find a way to adapt it to standard medicine but my expertise isn't in temporary cybernetics, so I'm still doin’ research on how to make that work."

“I have a simple one, but it really only works for the taser because that’s standard. It gets confused trying to diagnose anything your mother did, and sets off all kinds of alarms when nothing’s wrong.” He grinned as he watched the wiring pull away on the screen. “That’s… very cool, though. I’ve dabbled in temp cybernetics, just a part of my business, but I’m not the company expert. Maybe it could work like a cybernetic endoscope, where you swallow a camera and get to see the live feed? Only for your nerves instead of your throat or digestive system.”

"That's an interestin’ idea, I'll look into it." She sounded genuine enough, for how distracted she looked. More tapping, and the wiring changed direction, beginning to spread along the length of the spine and daisy-chaining itself along the vertebrae. "As for the diagnostic tool, it makes sense that the consumer basic one wouldn't work with Ma's design. I'll get you one that works, I got plenty, and upkeep's important enough to your health that it's gonna be necessary anyway." She laughed a little to herself. "Not to mention I feel annoyed FOR you with the false alarms."

He chuckled too, nearly too quietly to hear. “Yes, I’ll admit it is frustrating. Thank you... Azure.” It took him a minute to remember her name, having only heard it a few times since boarding the ship, but as soon as he did, his brow furrowed, like he was remembering something. “...What was it you called that other woman, before?”

She glanced up at him, confused, but returned to her work amomet later. "Pthalo? The doctor?" After a moment, her brow also furrowed, and she squinted at him. If he was putting pieces together, then she really needed to get him out of here, for his own safety. "...or are you talking about Cadet?"

His fingers dug into his thigh. She winced, visualizing the newly placed wiring there, but he didn’t flinch. “Cadet, that was it. Now where do I...” he paused again, thinking.

His liver reconnected, and so did his taser. She continued tapping on her screen, and slowly but surely, a couple more function concepts entered his brain. "You should feel a little less tired at the end of the day now, and you shouldn't need to eat nearly as often."

He shook his head, looking back at her. “That’s going to be quite helpful, thank you. And how do I activate the other functions you added? I can tell it’s there, but I don’t know your signature.”

She looked up at him, almost confused for a moment, and then it looked like something clicked in her head, and for the first time since he'd met her, she looked bashful. "Oh, my bad. I always forget about new people." She scratched her head. "It uh.... requires some attuning. I don't like telling people how to live their lives so-" she waved vaguely at the air, "you'll need to assign a thought pattern or physical movement to each of them, and it'll write to the main core."

“Smart.” He smiled. “I’ll have to take some time to do that later. I like the way you have it set up, though, where I know it’s there without being told. It feels natural.” He still sounded a tiny bit distracted, like he was lost in thought, but genuinely happy about the developments.

"I don't like being overly aware of mine, so I assume non obtrusive is the way to go for others as well." She detached her cords and handed him his shirt, and started rummaging through her things, head in cupboards. "Let me know if things start actin’ strange, I'll send you my regular ping address so I don't confuse you for Ma again. That line isn’t really supposed to ring unless it’s her, you can imagine how confused I was."

“I appreciate it. Thank you for the tune-up, as well as the other updates.” He stood up and pulled his shirt on, buttoning it all the way up once more. “How much do I owe—“ he froze suddenly as he finally put the pieces together, eyes wide. For some reason, even as his face grew more expressive, his voice became less so. “Oh. I should really leave.”

"Oh it’s only a few-" She squinted at him, and then sighed. God damn it, she’d REALLY hoped to avoid a freakout. She kept her voice level and closed the cupboard. "You frequent a very specific bar, do you not?”

He nodded with a tight little smile, and began to move towards the door. “If I recall, you owed someone 10 credits from that little situation.” She almost had to strain to hear him, even from just a few feet away. “They asked you if having an eye like mine was possible, to verify my story. That’s where I heard your name. And you knew from before we got in the elevator.” He faced her, expression deadly serious. “I will swear to you again that I didn’t track anyone down to get here except your mother. But I’d prefer not to be found here, just in case someone else doesn’t believe me.”

She sighed again, hands crackling once more as she shook them. Sparks flew to the ground and petered out. “That bet ended in a draw, thanks to Ma. Follow me, move quiet, get your hat on and don't talk." She looked at a nearby screen for a moment, thinking, nodes at her joints beneath her skin glowing a pale purple. "I believe you, there's no way for you to have found that number without knowing who my ma is. You're not gonna die, I can talk them down, but that's not something I WANT to do because I’m shit at talkin’, so let's just go." She brushed past him and began her trek down the hall.

He did as she said, pulling the cap down over his face and following behind her. “I know I’ve already been recognized, so I assume the only reason I’m still onboard is that you and the others who saw me agreed not to share that information.”

Azure sighed as she entered the elevator, bouncing nervously on the balls of her feet. "Cadet recognized you, but I don't think she or Pthalo really want to bother you at this point." She glanced over. "One hell of an impression you must have made, your neck wasn't snapped on sight." She curled her hand into a fist and then shot her fingers out over and over, little static pulses emanating through the room each time. "I don't think I need to tell you that you can probably find a much better role model than the one you've got. Partially because you can probably tell by now, and partially because my opinion ain't gonna matter to you much."

He shook his head incredulously, and backed up just slightly from her crackling hands to lean against the elevator wall. “You know, I think this is a first for me. The only other people I’ve met who treat me like a criminal over who I work for are business competitors.” He sighed, still watching her hands carefully. “I appreciate the opinion, but no one’s perfect. He’s a great leader and a great businessman, and at the very least I can learn from that. I don’t appreciate his advances towards your friend, and I understand the danger he poses, but considering how well defended everyone on this ship seems to be, is it truly this much of a problem?”

Azure looked at him, her voice measured. The accent seemed to disappear with how carefully she spoke. Each word dripped with weight. "Did you ever think about why he tries to find her, when she so clearly doesn't want to be found? Did you really think about the fact he does this so often, so routinely, the same way every time, to the point where if it had been anyone else that had made that eye, you'd have been doing the same goddamned thing? You don't know what he did before he got to be the cutthroat he is, and why he's that way to begin with." She glared at the elevator doors as they opened. "You're a climber, and that's all well and dandy, so you probably don't really care all that much because it's none of your business, therefore it shouldn’t have anythin’ to do with you. But it is OUR business. And we don't like him because he's maybe the lowest life form we're aware of, and they’re...important to us."

He watched her as she spoke, expression impassive. He allowed silence to reign for a few moments after she finished, taking the time to process her words before responding, slow and calm. “I understand. I have accepted that I am a criminal to some, and I’m sure it’s justified in many cases. At least I can appreciate your loyalty. I have some of my own.” He looked over at her, meeting her eyes with a directness that seemed to cut through all the tension between them. “Here is what I can promise you. No one will be getting that number, and no one will learn anything about this ship or who’s on it from me. I’ll pay you for the fix and improvements, and hopefully stay well out of your way from now on. But if the eye breaks again... I’d rather have you fix it than anyone else. I’ll understand if that isn’t an option.”

Azure looked up at him and something behind her eyes softened, though her hands continued crackling. She looked almost concerned, even after her diatribe, and stepped out of the elevator to beeline for the docking bay. "I'll always fix somethin' Ma made when it breaks. Hopefully it doesn't break often though. Bill will reach you later. Won't be much, I made some easy adjustments." She looked back at him. "And I never said I thought you were a criminal. I said your boss sucked ass. I think you've got lofty goals and an eye for progress, and for some people the ends to that progress justify the means, and I’m not really one to act like I know what’s right or wrong in that situation."

“Fair enough.” He watched her hands with just a touch of apprehension, and adopted a slightly more casual tone. “If anyone here could be considered a criminal, I wouldn’t be too surprised if it was you and your friends. Not that I have room to judge.”

She laughed. "Hey, I'm just the mechanic, unregistered custom implants notwithstanding. You'd be behind on your paperwork too if you tinkered as often as I do."

“I realize those implants are absolutely not industry standard… but neither are mine. I doubt anything your family makes is. You realize you could easily rip me apart using those, yes?”

Her brows shot up into her beanie, then quickly lowered themselves as she ran numbers in her head. She looked down at her hands, crackling with nervous energy, like they were an interesting puzzle. "...I hadn't thought about it. I wouldn't know where to start to get the accuracy high enough to accomplish dismemberment." She looked at him, expression far away and distracted. "...SHOULD I be able to rip you apart?"

He huffed out a quiet breath, on the edge of becoming an anxious laugh. “I’d very much rather you didn’t. I’m just saying I’ve never seen anything like your cybernetics before. You’re telling me you’re that powerful of an integrated user and you’ve never realized what you could do?”

She looked down at her arms, and her brow furrowed. "I'm always tinkerin’ with 'em, I knew they were good but I figured the market for 'em was high enough someone else would've had 'em figured out as well eventually. I guess throwin' trains isn't a common necessity. Technically it's not necessary for me either but....I need them to be like this to accomplish the goals that I’ve got for later. I’m on a steppin’ stone right now." Her face was almost bewildered. "...I could kick Crim's ass."

“You shouldn’t be directly fighting anyone, with that kind of power!” His volume rose a degree, and he clamped his lips back over the sound before anything else could escape. Logically, he knew she was probably joking, but the idea of what she could do to another human being with those tiny, sparking hands was genuinely unsettling. He removed his hat to run a hand anxiously through his hair, replacing it immediately afterwards, and muttered something to himself that sounded a bit like the beginning of a Hail Mary with a touch more swearing. This was certainly a different side of him than the buttoned up businessman that had presented himself in the ship’s airlock a few hours ago. “Trains. God. I’m damned glad you haven’t decided I’m your enemy, Azure.”

"Shit, me too." She would have giggled if she didn’t feel sort of foolish for not having the realization herself. "It's not that hard, I just eat a lot. It only gets tough when I'm nervous." The airlock was within sight now. She gestured ahead. "Your ride is waiting."

He shook his head, letting out a long breath. “I feel like I’ve dodged at least three bullets and I’ve barely been here an hour.” He held out a hand to her with a crooked smile. “Nice to meet you, Azure. It’s been bad for my blood pressure.”

She shook off the static again and shook his hand. "Pleasure's mine, Trinity. See a doctor about that." She gave a little wave and hollered to no one in particular, "Disembarking personnel bay five, open the airlock!"

And with that, the doors slid open.

Trinity gave her a final wave before that cool businesslike persona reasserted itself over the person Azure had somehow caught a glimpse of-- someone who smiled, baby-talked dogs, and bastardized Catholic prayers if you caught him off guard. Shoulders back, he turned and strode down the gangplank to where his own pod waited to return him home.

---

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plutojones · 3 years

Text

Chapter Eleven: Trinity Restored

Riften. It felt like it had been ages since she’d been home. Heh. Home. It’d only been a couple months since she’d come to Skryim. The cold air of winter was beginning to set in, and she could feel the chill deep in her bones as she made her way down to the Ratway. Opening the door to the Ragged Flagon she felt a mixture of emotions. Comfort, Peace, Anxiety, Fear. Keeping her hood up she made her way past the merchants towards the tavern. Karliah was sitting at one of the tables, looking towards Andie as she approached. She stands up and walks over, keeping her voice low so only Andie can hear.

“I'm glad you're here. I think some of these people are beginning to suspect who I am. Are you ready to face the Guild?”

“Ha. No. What if Mercer is there?” “Then we show them Gallus's journal and hope for the best. Remember, we have proof and all he's got is his word.” She pulls out the journal and shows it to Andie. “Let’s go.”

The two make their way into the back, through the false wardrobe, past the two guards on duty, and into the Ragged Flagon’s cistern.

Immediately standing between them and the rest of the cistern is Brynjolf, Delvin, and Vex.

“You better have a damn good reason to be here with that murderer.” There’s a quiver to Brynjolf’s voice. An expression Andie was all too familiar with. The need to take care of his family torn with his desire to help her.

“Bryn-”

“Please, lower your weapons so we can speak. I have proof that you've all been misled!”

“No tricks, Karliah or I'll cut you down where you stand. Now what's this so-called proof you speak of?”

Karliah holds out the journal to Brynjolf. “I have Gallus' journal. I think you'll find its contents disturbing.”

“Let me see. No, it... it can't be. This can't be true. I've known Mercer too long…”

“It's true, Brynjolf. Every word. Mercer's been stealing from the Guild for years, right under your noses.” Andie looks between Brynjolf, Delvin, and Vex, hesitantly waiting to say something.

“There's only one way to find out if what the lass says is true. Delvin, I'll need you to open the Vault.” Brynjolf turns to begin walking across the bridge to the vault on the opposite side.

“Wait just a blessed moment, Bryn. What's in that book? What did it say?” Delvin and Vex turn after Brynjolf, following him. Staying behind a good bit, Andie and Karliah follow as well.

“It says Mercer's been stealing from our vault for years. Gallus was looking into it before he was murdered.” Brynjolf holds out the journal before taking it back and skimming through it again.

Delvin crosses his arms. “How can Mercer open up a vault that needs two keys? It's impossible. Could he pick his way in?”

Vex stands next to Delvin. “No way. That door has the best puzzle locks money can buy. There's no way it can be picked open.”

“He didn't need to pick the lock.” Karliah pipes up from behind Andie.

“What's she on about?” Delvin turns to look at Karliah.

“Use your key on the vault, Delvin. We'll open it up and find out the truth.” Brynjolf motions for him to step forward towards the pair of double doors. While he does, Andie’s mind races back to the ruins, to the impossible doors that Mercer seemed to pick effortlessly. What did Karliah know? If he didn’t pick the lock, how did he do it?

“I've used my key, but the vault's still locked up tighter than a drum. Now use yours.”

Brynjolf approached the door, inserted his key, and together the two men pushed the doors open to reveal a chamber filled with empty chests, shelves, crates, everything.

“By the Eight! It's gone, everything's gone! Get in here, all of you!” Brynjolf runs inside.

“The gold, the jewels... it's all gone.”

Vex slams her hand against one of the doors. “That son-of-a-bitch! I'll kill him!”

“Vex! Put it away... right now. We can't afford to lose our heads... we need to calm down and focus.” Brynjolf turns to look at her, Andie, and Karliah.

“Do what he says, Vex. This isn't helpin' right now.” Delvin moves to calm her down.

“Fine. We do it your way. For now.”

“Delvin, Vex... watch the Flagon. If you see Mercer, come tell me right away.”

The pair nod and begin to head out. Karliah follows after them shortly, leaving Andie and Brynjolf alone in the vault. The ginger is currently running both hands through his hair, looking around in disbelief. His eyes eventually fall to Andie and his hands fall to his sides. “I swear to the gods, Andie, I didn’t know. He-he told us Karliah killed you.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” She moves forward to put a hand on his arm. “I’m here, I’m alive. It’s okay.”

“Fuck.” He looks down at her, his stone cold demeanour from before cracking. “And when he heard reports of you in Markarth, Mercer told us you had betrayed us and were working with Karliah. I didn’t want to believe him… I’m so sorry, lass.”

She gives him an understanding nod. “I forgive you. You were protecting your family-” “You’re my family, Andie. You were looking out for a group of people you just met, whereas Mercer has been stealing from us for years. I should have seen it, I should have…” His gaze falls to the ground between them. “I should have come lookin’ for you. Spoke to you.”

Andie nods again and then offers a solemn smile. “I can only forgive you so many times. Eventually you’re going to need to accept it.”

He offers a half-hearted chuckle. “Smart lass. That’s what I like about you.” He looks back up at her. “I want to help you track Mercer down, but before that I need to know everything you do.”

Andie lets out a large, long puff of air. “Woof. That’s a tall order.”

“Start where you can.”

“Mercer killed Gallus, not Karliah.”

“Aye. I feared that was the case. From that last entry in Gallus' diary, it looks like he was getting close to exposing Mercer to the Guild. Anything else?”

“Gallus, Karliah and Mercer were Nightingales.”

“What? Nightingales? But, I always assumed they were just a tale... a way to keep the young footpads in line. Was there anything else she told you?”

“Karliah was behind Goldenglow and Honningbrew.”

“Trying to make Mercer look bad in front of Maven, eh? Clever lass. Was there anything else?”

“No, that’s it really. Everything else is just speculation on my end.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I-I’ve heard of Nightingales before. From my Grandfather. I think maybe he used to be one.”

“Huh, well, maybe we’ll find out as we delve deeper. First though, I have an important task for you. I need you to break into Mercer's home and search for anything that could tell us where he's gone.”

“He has a house here?” “Aye. A gift from the Black-Briars after they kicked the previous family out... place called Riftweald Manor. He never stays there, just pays for the upkeep on it. Hired some lout by the name of Vald to guard the place.”

“I’ll handle it.”

“Be careful, lass. This is the last place in Skyrim I'd ever want to send you. Just find a way in, get the information and leave. And you have permission to kill anyone that stands in your way.”

“Understood. What’s my best way in?”

“Good question. I've only set foot inside a few times myself and that was in Mercer's company. If you can get past his trained watchdog, I think your best bet might be the ramp to the second floor balcony in his backyard.”

Andie crosses her arms. “I don't suppose the ramp is easy to access.”

“No. It's some sort of crazy contraption Mercer commissioned for quick escapes. I'd wager a well-placed shot at the ramp's mechanism would lower it in a hurry.”

“And the watchdog?”

“That'd be Vald. A real piece of work, that one. Mercer's holding something over his head, keeping him loyal. Talk to Vex. She used to know him very well... if you catch my meaning.”

Andie nods and begins looking around the vault. “Is there anything left?”

“Mercer took everything. Even all of our plans are gone.”

“Plans?”

“Before Mercer took over, Gallus started collecting every bit of material he could on locations the Guild could heist. Museums, keeps, estates... you name it. By the time Mercer took over the Guild we must have had a few dozen.”

“Do you know how he could have gotten in?”

“I don't have a clue. That door is impenetrable. Without two keys, it's impossible to open. I have a key, Delvin has a key, and Mercer has a key. That's it. There are no other copies. I get the feeling Karliah knows something though.”

Andie gives one final nod before turning to go. “Right. I’ll be back.”

“Wait, lass.” Brynjolf reaches out and grabs her arm. “Careful at Mercer’s place. I don’t want to lose anyone else to that madman.”

She gives him a soft smile and a nod. “I’m not planning on dying anytime soon.”

She slips out of his now loosened grip and makes her way to the surface.

Entering the Ragged Flagon, Andie makes her way over to Vex before leaving.

“Hey-”

“If I see Frey, I’ll pluck his eyes from his skull with my bare hands!”

Andie blinks twice before speaking again. “Anyway, I need to know about Vald.”

“That pig? Oh, I have info on him. More than you care to know.”

“Oh?” “The only thing Vald understands is gold. A man after my own heart.”

“So, I should buy him off?”

“Sure, but he'll ask for a whole lot. I mean, you are asking him to betray Mercer Frey. Your best bet would be to erase his debt with Maven Black-Briar. If you talk to her, she might be able to give you the details. Of course, you could just run him through and take what you need off of his corpse... I could care less.”

Andie nods slowly. “Yeah, I’ll just talk to Maven first real quick.”

“While you’re there help yourself to anything in Frey’s manor. I would.”

Andie goes to the Black-Briar Manor and asks to speak with Maven. Annoyed as usual, she agrees to speak with her anyway. On the subject of Vald, she speaks in an incredibly frustrated tone. Apparently he messed up a job for her recently and was paying it off by working for Mercer on her orders. If Andie can retrieve the enchanted pen he lost in the lake, she’d be willing to let his debt go. The things she’s willing to do to avoid killing someone…

Meanwhile while Mercer is who knows where, Andie spends the entirety of her afternoon and evening searching for this strongbox at the bottom of the lake. Once she finds it there’s a loud, underwater “fucking finally” before she picks the lock, grabs the pen, and swims to the shore. Upon returning to Maven, she presents the pen.

“I found the Quill of Gemen-Gemin-I found the fucking pen.”

“Really? I wrote that off a long time ago. Well, I suppose I need to fulfill my end of the bargain. Give this document to Vald. It frees him from the debt, but I never want to see him in Riften again.” She pulls a document from out of her desk and hands it to Andie. “Thanks. See you around.”

She rushes out of the manor and makes her way to the alley behind all the houses. Finding the gate to Mercer’s house she shouts to the man pacing in the backyard.

“Hey. Hey you. Fuckface. Get over here.”

“This is Mercer Frey's place and he don't like visitors. Now go away.” “I paid off your debt with Maven. Let me in, bitch.” She holds out the paper Maven had given her to prove his freedom. “I can't believe it! How did ya' talk her into this? Never mind, I don't care. I'm just glad I don't gotta' work for Maven anymore. Here, ya' did me a favor, I guess I owe you one.” He hands her a key and then steps away to stare at the paper. “Wh-you could just, fine.” She uses the key on the gate, swiftly pulls out her bow, shoots at the ramp’s mechanism, and then makes her way to the upper floor of Mercer’s home.

Once inside, she could hear voices. Mercenaries. Great. Pulling her bow back out, she slinks down to the floor, keeping to the shadows and dimly lit areas. One by one she strikes them in the head, making her way through his house. Eventually she spots a strange looking wardrobe that sits slightly above the floor - barely noticeable to the naked eye. She opens it up and pushes out the false backing, finding the secret passage down. Despite that however, she triggers every trap he had set down there. Unsure how she was still alive, she eventually finds his secret planning room and steals Everything. His gems, the Chillrend sword that was locked away, even a random pair of boots in one corner. Of most interest, however, is a map on the desk, and a bust of the Grey Fox. Another gift for Delvin. Boy was getting spoiled.

Bag and arms full, she continued down the tunnel, only to find it connected to the Ratway catacombs. Quickly finding the door to the Ragged Flagon, she moves to regroup with the guild.

She finds Brynjolf, Delvin, Vex, and Karliah all seated at a table. She interrupts their conversation by setting the bust on the table and then pulling out the cube she stole from the wizard. “Happy Birthday, Delvin.”

The man’s face lights up. “Well I’ll be. These will go nicely in our little collection - the one thing Mercer decided to leave. Probably because we don’t keep it in the vault.” He was, of course, referring to the shelves behind Mercer’s desk. Every time she got something interesting for him, he’d put it up on the shelves to display to the whole guild.

“You find anything, lass?” Brynjolf interrupts. “We've scoured the town and I've spoken to every contact we have left. No sign of Mercer.”

“He wasn’t there, but I did find this.” She pulls out the map and plans she found. Brynjolf takes it and immediately begins looking over it.

“Shor's beard! He's going after the Eyes of the Falmer? That was Gallus's pet project. If he gets his hands on them, you can be certain he'll be gone for good and set up for life.”

“Then we need to stop him.”

“Agreed. He's taken everything the Guild has left, and to go after one of the last greatest heists is just an insult. I've spoken to Karliah, and made amends for how the Guild's treated her. Now she wishes to speak with both of us.” Andie looks over at the Dunmer.

“Somewhere more private.” Karliah stands up and walks over to one of the corners of the tavern. The pair follow, both crossing their arms as they approach.

“Brynjolf, the time has come to decide Mercer's fate. Until a new Guild Master is chosen, the decision falls to you.”

“Aye, lass... and I've come to a decision. Mercer Frey tried to kill both of you, he betrayed the Guild, murdered Gallus and made us question our future. He needs to die.”

“We have to be very careful, Brynjolf. Mercer is a Nightingale, an Agent of Nocturnal.”

“Then it's all true... everything I heard in the stories. The Nightingales, their allegiance to Nocturnal and the Twilight Sepulcher.”

“Yes. That's why we need to prepare ourselves and meet Mercer on equal footing. Just outside of Riften, beyond the Southeast Gate is a small path cut up the mountainside. At the end of that path is a clearing and an old standing stone. I'd ask you both meet me there.” Andie and Brynjolf look at each other and then at Karliah, giving her a nod. “Good. I’ll see you there.”

As she leaves, Andie watches her but speaks to Brynjolf. “Since when do you speak Falmer?”

He looks down at her with a raised eyebrow.

“You read his journal with no issue.”

He gives her a smirk and looks away. “I have my secrets.”

She looks up at him and squints. “Uh huh. Well, we should get going.”

“Aye. I’ll be there shortly. Just need to talk to the others briefly.”

Arriving at the standing stone outside of Riften, Andie gives Karliah a wave as she approaches.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

A few moments later, Brynjolf arrives and takes his place next to Andie. Exchanging a glance, with him first, Andie then looks to Karliah. “What's the significance of this place?”

“This is the headquarters of the Nightingales, cut into the mountainside by the first of our kind. We've come to seek the edge we need to defeat Mercer Frey.”

“What kind of edge?” Brynjolf raises an eyebrow.

“If you'll follow me, I'll try to explain on the way” She motions to a set of doors behind the stone that Andie swears wasn’t there a moment ago. Following Karliah in, Andie thinks for a moment before speaking again.

“Tell me about the Nightingales.”

Karliah speaks as they head down a dirt tunnel. “Gallus, Mercer Frey and I were once members of what's known as the Nightingale Trinity. The Trinity disbanded twenty-five years ago when Mercer Frey betrayed us by slaying Gallus and dumping his body in the ruins of Snow Veil Sanctum.”

“Were they always a part of the Thieves Guild?”

“Indirectly. The Trinity is usually selected from the ranks of the Guild although its existence is a closely-guarded secret.”

“What is their purpose? Sorry, I just… I have a lot of questions.”

“It’s alright. The Nightingales protect the temple of Nocturnal, a place known as the Twilight Sepulcher.” “Who exactly is Nocturnal? I’ve heard the name before, but never with context.”

“She's the mistress of night and darkness and the patron of every thief in Tamriel. She isn't one for worship and reverence. There are no priests and no sermons, no services and no alms. She influences our luck and in return demands payment.”

“Like a guild contract?”

“You're closer to understanding than you realize. The only difference is she doesn't demand payment in the traditional sense and sometimes the cost can be quite high. Whether you know it or not, Nocturnal dictates how well we perform as rogues.”

“But I have my own skills.”

“Again, you have to think differently. Haven't you ever noticed how our luck behaves? Like a novice picking an impossible lock or a blind man suddenly turning to face you as you reach for his pocket? It's through these subtle means that Nocturnal influences us.” Andie is silent, contemplating the words, thinking of all the times she’s survived traps or blows when she shouldn’t have.

“Nocturnal's whim is the greatest mystery to everyone. There have been volumes written on the subject. Does she expect payment when we die? When we suffer does she revel in our misery? No one knows. The return certainly seems worth the risk though.”

After a few moments she speaks again. “What happened to wanting Mercer alive?”

“From the moment you were struck with my poisoned arrow at Snow Veil Sanctum, my path changed its course. Perhaps I couldn't bring Mercer back alive, but together, we were able to clear my name and to put Gallus's memory to rest. I'd always intended Mercer's fate to ultimately be decided by the Guild, and it seems they've spoken.”

“Karliah-” Andie stops her by grabbing her arm. “-Am I to become a Nightingale?”

“It’s my hope that you will.”

As they reach the end of the tunnel into an open space, Brynjolf lets out a low whistle.

“So, this is Nightingale Hall. I heard about this place when I joined the Guild, but I never believed it existed.”

“The assumption that the Nightingales were just a myth was seeded within the Guild on purpose. It helped avert attention from our true nature. What's wrong, Brynjolf? I can almost hear your brow furrowing.”

“I'm trying to understand why I'm here, lass. I'm no priest, and I'm certainly not religious. Why pick me?”

“This isn't about religion, Brynjolf... This is nothing more than a business transaction between yourself and Nocturnal. Consider this an extremely risky job but with a massive potential for profit, and you'll do fine. Now, this is Nightingale Hall. You're the first of the uninitiated to set foot inside in over a century. Now, if you'll both proceed to the armory to don your Nightingale Armor, we can begin the Oath.”

She motions ahead to a platform with three pedestals, each with the symbol of Nocturnal. Andie goes first, standing in front of one of the pedestals. In a flash of smoke, her clothes change to one of grey, tightly fit leather. In a similar flash, both Karliah and Brynjolf’s clothes change as well. Andie gives a slow nod, though her expression is hidden behind the mask

“Damn. We look good.”

“Okay, lass. We've got these getups on... now what?”

“Beyond this gate is the first step in becoming a Nightingale.” She motions to a gate on the other end of the armory.

“Woah there, lass. I appreciate the armor, but becoming a Nightingale? That was never discussed.”

“To hold any hope of defeating Mercer, we must have Nocturnal at our backs. If she's to accept you as one of her own, an arrangement must be struck.”

“What sort of arrangement? I need to know the terms.”

“The terms are quite simple, Brynjolf. Nocturnal will allow you to become a Nightingale and use your abilities for whatever you wish. And in return, both in life and in death, you must serve as a guardian of the Twilight Sepulcher.”

“Aye, there's always a catch. But at this point, I suppose there isn't much to lose. If it means the end of Mercer Frey, you can count me in.”

“What about you? Are you ready to transact the Oath with Nocturnal?” She turns to Andie. “I'm not sure I understand the terms.”

“By transacting the Oath with Nocturnal, you're entering into a business deal. You'll be provided all of the power and knowledge befitting a Nightingale. You're free to use those powers as you see fit to further your own goals or the goals of the Thieves Guild.”

“And in return?”

“In return, you'll be required to defend the Twilight Sepulcher and everything within when the need arises. More importantly, upon your death, your spirit will be bound to the Twilight Sepulcher as one of its guardians.”

“And there’s no going back either, is there?”

“Once the Oath has been struck, the terms are binding. Knowing this, are you ready to undergo the ceremony?”

Andie takes a deep breath, looking down at the armor and then to Brynjolf, and finally back to Karliah. “I’m ready.”

“Then let’s continue.” She leads them to the gate which she opens by the pulling of a chain and then leads them into an inner sanctum with three platforms. “Stand on one of the platforms.”

Andie moves to the left-most one, while Karliah takes the middle, and Brynjolf the right.

With a deep breath, Karliah raises her arms in the air and begins to speak to the platform all three of theirs was connected to.

“I call upon you, Lady Nocturnal. Queen of Murk and Empress of Shadow… hear my voice!”

A swirl of energy filled the space in the chamber before them as an unfamiliar voice speaks out.

“Ah, Karliah. I was wondering when I’d hear from you again. Lose something did we?”

“My Lady, I’ve come to throw myself upon your mercy and accept responsibility for my failure.”

“You’re already mine, Karliah. Your terms were struck long ago. What could you possibly offer me now?” The voice was cold, like a scolding mother.

“I have two others that wish to transact the Oath; to serve you both in life and in death.”

“You surprise me, Karliah. This offer is definitely weighted in my favor.”

“My appetite for Mercer’s demise exceeds my craving for wealth, Your Grace.”

“Revenge, how interesting…Very well, the conditions are acceptable. Continue.”

“Lady Nocturnal, we accept your terms. We dedicate ourselves to you as both your avengers and your sentinels. We will honor our agreement in this life and the next until your conditions have been met.”

“Very well. I name your initiates Nightingale and restore your status to the same, Karliah. And in the future, I’d suggest you frain from disappointing me again.” With that the energy dissipates and Karliah begins to step off her platform towards the center of the chamber where the voice came from.

“Now that you've transacted the Oath, it's time to reveal the final piece of the puzzle to you; Mercer's true crime.”

Andie stands there dazed for a moment before snapping out of it and walking down from her platform. “There’s more?”

“Mercer was able to unlock the Guild's vault without two keys because of what he stole from the Twilight Sepulcher... the Skeleton Key. By doing this, he's compromised our ties to Nocturnal and in essence, caused our luck to run dry.”

“So the Key unlocks any door? That explains…” “Well, yes. But the Key isn't only restricted to physical barriers. All of us possess untapped abilities; the potential to wield great power, securely sealed within our minds. Once you realize the Key can access these traits, the potential becomes limitless.”

Andie is quiet for a moment, looking at Brynjolf, but unable to read his face in their new uniforms. She looks back to Karliah. “Sounds like no one should possess it.”

“Good, then you understand why this is about more than just Mercer's lust for power."

"If the Key isn't returned to its lock in the Twilight Sepulcher, things will never be the same for the Guild. As time passed, our luck would diminish to the point of non-existence. And whether you know it or not, our uncanny luck defines our trade.”

“Let’s go then. It’s time to teach Mercer a lesson.”

“Before we depart, Brynjolf has some business to discuss. I suggest you listen to him. I’ll be waiting out front.” Karliah continues on ahead as Andie turns to face Brynjolf.

“What’s up?”

“There's one last piece of business we need to settle before we go after Mercer... the leadership of the Guild.”

“Okay…?”

“Karliah and I had a long discussion while you were at Mercer’s house. Thanks to your efforts, Mercer's treachery has been exposed. After we deal with him, all that remains is restoring the Guild to its full strength. As a result, we both feel that you have the potential of replacing Mercer as leader of the Thieves Guild.”

“Me? What about you?”

He gives a long, tired sigh. “I've been at this game a long time, my friend. A long time. I've stolen trinkets from nobles and framed priests for murder. I'm good at what I do, maybe even one of the best. But it's all I know. I've never been one to lead. Never desired it, never cared for it. Don't want it.”

Andie is quiet for a moment. “But...I don’t…”

“Look. Everyone in the Guild admires what you've done. Maybe they won't come out and simply tell you, but I promise you it's true. And now they know Mercer never genuinely cared about the Guild. He lacked the loyalty you obviously possess. I can't think of anyone better.” He placed a hand on his shoulder, and while she can’t see it, she knows he’s smiling beneath the mask.

“Alright. I accept.”

“Then it's decided. When this is all over and Delvin's contacts assure me that we've regained our footing in Skyrim, we'll handle the details. Until then, we have quite the task ahead.”

“Indeed we do. We should get going.”

“I've been pouring over the plans you brought us, and I'm convinced the Eyes of the Falmer are in the dwarven ruins at Irkngthand. Karliah and I will meet you there. Prepare yourself, lass. This will be a fight to remember.” He lowers his hand from her shoulder and motions for her to continue after Karliah.

Andie is quiet for most of the way out of the Hall, but as they reach the end she stops and turns to look at him once more. “So...Nightingales.” “Aye, and some of what Karliah said is starting to make sense. Mercer may have damaged our reputation and raided our coffers, but this goes well beyond even his twisted form of larceny. Old Delvin kept calling it a curse and we all laughed at him. Looks like the joke's on us.”

“Do you think we stand a chance against Mercer?”

“If you would've asked me that yesterday, I'd have said no. But now I think our chances have improved. Look, call me crazy if you like, but I trust Karliah. I don't think she'd lead us down a suicidal path. Besides, I'd rather die with some of Mercer's blood on my blade than spend the rest of my life regretting that I ran the other way.” And with that the pair exit the Hall.

Outside Karliah waits for them, her mask currently pulled down. “Shall we get going then?”

“Sure...but…”

“Yes?”

Andie shrugs. “I don’t feel stronger.”

“With the Skeleton Key missing from the Twilight Sepulcher, I'm afraid Mercer's seen to it that none of us can benefit from Nocturnal's gifts.”

“But she spoke to us.”

“You merely transacted the Oath; signed the unwritten contract with Nocturnal. In order for us to receive our abilities... our end of the bargain, I'm afraid the Key must be returned.”

“Then Nocturnal's angry at us?”

“If Nocturnal was truly displeased with me... with any of us, she wouldn't have answered my call. I have no doubt that we still hold her favor and I believe it gives us enough of an edge to defeat Mercer Frey.”

“I see… and… May I ever come back here?”

“Yes. Now that you're a Nightingale, you may consider this your home. You'll find that this place offers many things that will help you in your endeavors as well as a wealth of information for you to learn. Once the Skeleton Key has been restored to the Twilight Sepulcher, I'll make this place my home as well.” She offers Andie a short smile before turning to walk back to Riften.

Andie looks once more to Brynjolf before sighing and taking a step forward. Neither of them really planned for all of this to happen, yet here they were. Who would have thought that their first real mission together would involve killing their former Guild Master...

#company in shadows #skyrim fanfic #Andie Blackthorn #brynjolf #nightingale #Karliah #i love this armor so much you guys #its so good

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years

Text

🔥Hot Seat🔥

4.6k, T, Peter Parker/Johnny Storm (ao3)

Spiderman likes Johnny. Like likes him. And he thought Johnny felt the same. He wasn't wrong, but Johnny like liked someone else, too. Someone he actually wanted to pursue, over Spiderman.

Unfortunately that someone is Peter Parker.

However, after a terrible misunderstanding, Johny isn't too keen on seeing either Peter or Spiderman; the longer this confusion left unresolved, the more Johnny's hurt would fester. Can Peter find a way to make Johnny listen?

Peter stares at his phone, hoping that Johnny will reply to one of the many, many messages he sent over the past few days before Peter continues with his latest and most idiotic plan. Seeing the most recent one – Torch, please, the cold shoulder is ridiculous – still left on read, no sign of typing dots appearing, Peter forfeits any intervention from the other man. Squaring his shoulders, Peter drops from the building’s ledge.

Thwack!

He swings, climbing higher and higher, towards the most intimidating and heavily fortified building on 42nd street.

The Baxter Building never felt less welcoming. And Peter could blame Johnny, but deep down he knew whose fault it was. Who could have prevented such a Galactus-level misunderstanding. Could have deterred this crisis if he were braver.

Like any normal night, Peter traipsed through the air space above horrendous New York City traffic. The lights blurring underfoot with each completed arc. Peter journeyed uptown, nearing Central Park. And as he decided between left and right, a fiery bullet sped past and swept the board for a third answer. Peter followed Johnny’s trail, crawling up the brickwork of a nearby building that overlooks the park.

“Torch!” he crowed, watching as his friend touched onto the roof. Flames extinguished like a rolling wave, from the tips of his toes until sparks flew off his bleached curls. Brown eyes, warm like hot cocoa, lit up at hearing his nickname; a wide grin cracked his face like an egg. The yolk pouring out and sizzling on Peter’s frying pan heart. Each added beat like an extra click on a stove, turning up the heat.

“Spidey,” Johnny said, gripping his hand for a quick shake, then dragging him into a one-armed hug, “Just the bug I’m lookin’ for.”

“Not a bug…” he mumbled, too aware of how in such a loose hold their chests were flushed together. He broke the embrace, sidestepping the other hero. Giving Johnny a wide berth for Peter’s sanity. “So… what do you need? Interdimensional incident? Rescue mission? …Prank?”

Johnny, in a rare show, adopted a more bashful pose. His smile shrunk to half its size, teeth hiding as his lips fell over them like a curtain. Head bowed, he focused on the embers dancing out of his fingertips. A nervous habit Ben mentioned in passing once that Peter never saw until then. “Well… it’s nothing that serious,” he started, not looking at him anymore. “But it’s still important and I’d – excuse me,” he cleared his throat, voice scratchy suddenly, “I’d appreciate if you and I could… talk?”

At least three different quips flit through his mind. He swallowed them all. Peter didn’t need a Spider-Sense to know that his ribbing wouldn’t be appreciated. Instead, he reached forward. Clapped Johnny on the shoulder, startling him so brown eyes looked into white lenses. He mirrored Johnny’s expression, even if it was pointless. “You know I’m always here for you Johnny,” he said, “whatever it is…” Then, since he couldn’t help himself. “Even if you decided to give up superheroing for a quiet, boring life on a farm far away from your favorite webslinger… I’m sure I’d understand. Somewhat.”

Snickering, Johnny whacked his hand off. “I can’t believe you…”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Peter huffed, “I’d probably make sure you weren’t a Skrull first.” Mood lightened, Peter plopped onto a nearby air vent. “So? Spill it hot stuff!”

Johnny stiffened at the nickname, a sign Peter should have taken for what it was. Like deer fleeing the woods, the smell of smoke not reaching your nose yet. Or being on a boat, sky clear and blue, although there’s a charge in the air. Disaster was at hand.

“What?”

“Spidey…” He turned, facing the park. His shoulders drooped with a deep breath, tension leaking out as he looked off into the distance. “You can’t call me that anymore.”

“Johnny,” Peter stood, “What’s –“

“You can’t call me hot stuff, and you… you can’t flirt with me. Not anymore.” Heavy ultimatums that hurt worse than a lashing from Doc Oc or ten-thousand volts from Electro. “I just… I can’t take it.”

Peter stumbled, at a loss for words. In time, he strung together a few. “I… I’m sorry,” he said, shame coiling tight and cold in his stomach. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable… if I overstepped boundaries or – or read things wrong –“

“No, that’s just it,” Johnny said, finally facing him again. Laughing, bittersweet and beautiful. Church bells during a funeral. “It’s not because I’m uncomfortable… far from it, actually.”

“Then…” Peter’s tongue felt useless, hanging on by a thread. “Then… why?”

“I want something more,” he confessed, “More than… than what this is. This – this confusing partnership-slash-friendship-slash… whatever.” Johnny dragged a hand across his face, steam twisting around his fingers. “Fuck, I want a relationship. And I think I found someone who can give that to me?”

�� “Really,” Peter asked, defiant. Banging his fists on the subway car as it lingered in the station. “Johnny if you want that… all you had to do was say so! What could they give you that I can’t?”

“A name, for starters.”

Peter visibly flinched, fight crumbling into sand.

“A face,” he continued, “friends I can meet… family he can introduce me to. Co-workers who, when I show up and surprise him for lunch, can go ‘is that Johnny Storm, the Human Torch’ he can say ‘no that’s Johnny Storm, my boyfriend’.” Johnny’s knees shook, but he remained standing. “We’ve known each other for years, and you still haven’t shown me your face. Don’t you… don’t you trust me? How can you like me, but not trust me?”

There’s no answer he can give that would make Johnny happy. Peter crashed into the air vent, mindful of the newly formed dent. Glad for the mask in such a moment. Johnny can’t see his face. He can’t see his pain. But he can definitely hear it. “Well… good for you, I guess,” he sniffed, leaning on his knees, “this lucky guy gave you a name? What is it?”

Johnny, softening into another timid display, shifted on his feet. “You actually know him,” he said. Bouncing, like he would rather fly off than tell Peter who he lost to. Who Spiderman lost to. “I… I don’t want to make it awkward.”

“It won’t be awkward.” A rushed promise he cannot necessarily keep. Pettiness flowed through his body like blood, and if given a name Peter will devote time on his already busy schedule to messing with whoever cut in on the funny little dance between him and Johnny. “I swear,” he lied.

Johnny arched a doubtful brow. “Okay,” he relented, sighing, “it’s… you know that guy?”

“I know tons of guys.”

“No, this one – he works for the Bugle,” Johnny lifted his hands, holding onto air in front of his face. He closed one eye, and a finger twitched. He imitated a click and shutter with his lips, capturing Peter’s utter disbelief in a fake photograph. “The one who gets all your good sides, who made that book about you? Peter Parker?”

“Oh,” he said, “…him?”

Of course.

Peter quietly traipses the Baxter Building, sticking within the shadows. Reflecting on the sheer coincidence and misfortune that Peter wound up on opposite ends of a love triangle. Johnny Storm dead smack in the center of a one-sided tug-of-war.

He should have noticed, though. How Johnny warmed up to Peter recently, after they reconnected. Not necessarily running in the same circles during high school – Johnny home-schooled and a celebrity, Peter barely given a second glance when out of costume – they crossed paths every now and then. On assignment for the Bugle at a swanky function or in the streets, coincidentally. Peter, by virtue of being himself, immediately irked the teenage Wicker Man. Every conversation between them, in the past, filled with sniping comments and waxy fakeness.

Not like Spiderman and the Human Torch got along then, either. Hormones, insecurity, and superpowers did not mix well. Both of them caught in the resulting explosion meant awkward and difficult team-ups.

But time went on. Peter and Johnny barely saw each other, and Spiderman and the Human Torch learned how to set aside their differences. They actually became friends. Best friends. And something more he couldn’t speak aloud.

Then Johnny entered Peter’s life again. “Wow,” he muttered, gaze scrolling down his body, “you… look bigger.”

Not really. He stopped wearing baggy sweaters, bottle-coke glasses he didn’t need, and cut the mop on his head. But Johnny never saw Peter in a shirt that actually fit him.

Still, even with the chapter on puberty closed, Peter figured first impressions were made and set in stone. As himself, Johnny considered Peter a friendly but often annoying fly that buzzed around. Entertained because who would harm a fly besides a sociopath. Jokes laughed at because it was better than letting an awkward silence linger. Or passionate rants suffered through because Johnny blocked whatever Peter said, mind thinking about a million other things. When Peter slipped, flirting in a way only Spiderman did with Johnny, he figured Johnny’s response more a reflex.

It was all intentional. That never occurred to him. Stunned, Peter strategically retreated from the rooftop conversation with Johnny. Stuttering through an excuse, he tripped over the building’s ledge and nearly splat onto the sidewalk if he hadn’t shot a web at the last second. He ignored Johnny’s calls as he fled through the night.

Now Johnny ignores his calls. Peter’s. Spiderman’s. Both men having pissed off the fiery hero in a horrible, but foreseeable, misunderstanding.

“Johnny…” Peter reaches his window, peering inside, “where are you my little firefly…” Nothing moves. He tries pushing on the glass, finding it uncharacteristically locked. “Dammit…”

There’s no getting in that way.

Peter abandons Johnny’s window, hurrying. Sprinting, building speed, so when he jumps, he rolls his landing on the roof.

Johnny may have blocked his usual entrance, but Peter doubts he remembers this one. Used in the beginning, when Peter and the Fantastic Four were still strangers. If there was an emergency and Peter needed help, he would sneak in through this exhaust tunnel. Security minimal given the tight squeeze.

While a fifteen-year old Spiderman could easily slip in like Santa, with his current, adult body, Peter barely manages. Except he doesn’t exit where he usually does. While wiggling through the musty, ashen chute, Peter hears the metal creak and groan. Something pops and pings. His Spider Sense fritzes a second too late.

He drops down. Not into Reed’s lab, like he expected. The ceiling breaks, Peter landing on his stomach while a cloud of foul dust trails behind him. “Gah…” he whines, checking for any broken bones, “this totally won’t help with my apology…”

“You don’t know the half’a it, bug.”

Seizing, Peter follows the noise. He spots Ben Grimm standing in front of a door frame, nearly eclipsing it with his orange, rocky frame. Flanked by Sue and Reed, the three other members of the Fantastic Four glare at him as if he were Doctor Doom.

“Hey,” he croaks, speaking around the lump of fear lodged in his throat, “nice seeing you all… Sue, did you do something with your hair? It’s been forever since you’ve braided it.” She folds her arms over her chest, flicking the tightly woven coils over her shoulder. “Johnny told you what happened, didn’t he?”

Reed’s arm shoots forward, trapping him. Squeezes bruised ribs while dangling him over the shattered remains of a coffee table he hadn’t noticed during his fall. A pinata with three-very candy crazed children circling like sharks.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Peter curses, checking off another box on his bingo card of bad luck. One more and he’ll have five in a row.

He’d been avoiding Johnny. As Peter and Spiderman. Mainly by spending every moment of free time in costume, swinging through the streets. Never stopping for too long, only when an emergency struck. Sometimes not even then. Once, he spotted a few robbers pounding pavement by Hudson Yards. He swung in with a kick, knocking a bad guy into the water; flicked his wrist two more times and stuck the accomplices to nearby posting. Peter carried on with his patrol.

All that time as Spiderman meant a few things. He barely slept, staying at his apartment for a few short hours since Johnny knew where he lived. The costume became a second-skin, too. Lines became blurred, and there were moments where Peter thought he wore his mask when he wasn’t. Making faces that were visible and embarrassing. Miming, lifting imaginary fabric before he ate. Almost firing a web off without changing.

But when he wore the costume, he forgot it was even there.

Like the miserable morning Johnny caught him.

Peter woke up in bed, cold. The blanket fell off him in the night, and his tattered suit lain over his desk chair. Damaged after a fight with the Vulture. Overwhelmed by the criminal because his thoughts were elsewhere, taking damage normally avoided. Battle longer than he expected, Peter slumped into his apartment late at night. Stripping with the little energy he had left and collapsing on the bed in his Spiderman boxer-briefs.

And his mask.

Yawning, Peter shuffled out of his bedroom and into his kitchen. He checked his phone, delighted at the rare peacefulness that came from his schedule being clear. With only an appointment late in the afternoon, Peter decided he should treat himself with a nice breakfast. A big breakfast.

Or eggs, as they were the only items in his fridge not expired.

Peter grabbed a pan and started cooking.

Although it took seconds for his mind to wander, Peter still a little sleepy. Turning the burner on low, he groped behind for his phone again. Peter opened his Spotify app and hit shuffle, smiling when the first song came on. “The classics…” he sighed, hips shaking with the beat. Wyclef John started his intro, Peter mouthing along. Never missing a single lyric. Body awkwardly following behind, embarrassingly so. An insult to Shakira.

He shuffled through a few more songs while in his kitchen, enjoying himself. Forgetting about his past worries. Nothing mattered except his breakfast, the music, and him.

While the eggs cooled on a plate, Peter freed himself from the stove and began dancing around the apartment. Hopping, throwing his arms up, and singing wildly off-key as Patrick Stump transitioned into the ending for ‘What a Catch, Donnie’.

As all the layered vocals crescendo, Peter sensed movement out the corner of his eye. He looked, and immediately tensed.

Johnny, de-flamed and holding a bouquet of Amaryllis, gaped through the open window by his fire escape. They stared for an obscene amount of time, enough for Peter to realize he was practically naked save for his underwear and mask.

His mask.

“Johnny,” Peter started, wincing as his phone continued playing. Britney’s voice echoing in the apartment. “I can explain…”

The trance broke. Johnny screwed his mouth shut in an ugly frown, eyes blazing. Skin smoking. The flowers he carried were immolated in his grasp. Peter mournfully watched ashen petals fall; they were his favorites.

“I… I can’t believe you, Spidey.” Johnny stormed into the apartment, blonde afro enflamed. “You… you fucking asshole.”

“What?”

“You fucking prick!” He shoved Peter, tipping him over and onto the couch. Floating above, Peter could only stare as the other hero spiraled in front of him. “You are the worst fucking friend – you… you… you couldn’t let me have this? Not if it wasn’t you? You promised.” His voice cracked, the shards stabbing Peter’s heart. Tears boiled, droplets becoming steam on his cheeks. “But you fucked me over you selfish asshole.”

“What?” Peter asked, gasping for breath. His chest was too tight, no air getting in. Squashed under a heavy boot of regret, watching Johnny breakdown because of him. “I… whatever you’re thinking, it’s –“

“No, I don’t want to hear it,” he growled, fists flaming. “You can’t spin yourself out of this web, not after catching you here. Catching you post-fuck with Peter. Making him breakfast while he… while he what? Sleeps? Because you’re an awesome lay?” Johnny glared at the closed bedroom door, yelling. “Fuck you Peter Parker!” Then, at Spiderman. “And fuck you, too. Friendship over.”

He flew, Peter numbly calling after him. Stopping at the window’s edge, fear keeping him from thwapping out. Chasing Johnny so he can explain. Johnny’s exit must have drawn someone’s eye. If they saw Peter leaving in his Spiderman costume, the puzzle would complete itself.

Which is why he’s here. Hoping he could trap Johnny in the Baxter Building, surprise him with an explanation. Of how Peter, being Spiderman’s friend, let him crash in his apartment while he visited his aunt. Besides the truth, it’s the best excuse he can create.

And he can’t say the truth, obviously.

“Listen,” Peter struggles in Reed’s grasp, “I’m here in good faith.”

“Somehow I don’t believe that…” Ben says, grinding his fist in an open palm. The sound grates on Peter’s nerves.

“No, really,” he says, “I – I came to apologize to Johnny. Explain what he saw –“

“He saw enough,” Sue says, stepping forward. Like her brother, a fire burned in her eyes. Except without the actual pyrotechnics, her quiet anger scared Peter more. “You should leave, Spiderman. Only contact us if there’s an emergency – even then… we better be the last heroes you try.�� She sighs, pinching her brow. Like he gave Sue a migraine by existing. “Y’know, Johnny really liked Peter.”

“I know, I know –“

“And yet you still went behind his back?” Ben scoffed, “What a friendly neighborhood spider…”

Peter groaned, head thrown back. “I didn’t sleep with Peter!” he shouts, swinging, “I couldn’t sleep with Peter!” Choking, he bites his lip. The latter half of his statement spoken in complete exasperation, afterthought barging in only when his teeth clacked on the ‘r’.

Three doubtful sets of eyes stare at him. “Sure,” Ben says, “You couldn’t. So… you still wanted to?”

“No!” he says, trembling, “No, I – it’s like you said, Johnny liked him. What kind of friend would I have been if I had… Peter’s not my type, anyway. Too much of a nerd and – and God, he has the worst taste in everything. Such a scaredy cat, too, never takes a risk…” Cramming more of his foot in mouth, Peter switches tactics seeing the heroes grow angrier at his self-deprecation. “Peter wasn’t even in the apartment when Johnny was there?” he tries, weakly. Unconvincingly. “He was at his aunt’s?”

“Can I hit him?” Ben asks the others, “Please? No one’ll even see the bruise!”

“No, Ben,” Reed tells him, releasing Peter. Dropping him onto the broken table pieces again. He arches a judgmental brow at Peter, “We’re better than cheap shots.”

Panic sets in. Peter rushes forward, slamming against an invisible barrier. Sue’s mouth thins as she pushes, Peter digging his heels in. “No,” he says, straining, “no I can’t leave without talking to him.”

“You have no right,” Sue says, using both hands as she fights with him. He slides backwards, losing. “He doesn’t want to see you. Not tonight, not ever again. You ruined any chance he has with Peter.”

“I’m… not…” he says, “he’s… ruining his chance –“

“Oh yeah!” Ben snickered, “And how’s that?”

“Because I’m Peter!”

Peter slams onto his face, the invisible wall disappearing. Pain barely registers over the shock at revealing his identity to the others. They all gape at Peter, feeling the same cocktail of emotions that stir inside him. “W-what,” Sue whispers, “you – you can’t…”

A thought surfaces. He could leave, and Johnny’s family could reason Peter’s response as the throes of desperation taking hold. Crazed response carrying little weight.

But this might be his only chance. Johnny would hear the others’ recount, and then nothing he'll ever say could fix their issues. Another misunderstanding tearing at frayed cord.

In the space between blinks, Peter decides one secret he spent so hard protecting was worth nothing if it meant an eternity suffering in icy solitude.

Swallowing his fear, he scrambles up. Tears off his mask in one swoop, dropping it in the wreckage. “I’m Peter Parker,” he says. Puffs his chest with false bravado, when every logical bone in his body tells him to deflate. “I’ve always been Peter Parker, from the very beginning.” Before they could respond, he shuffles close. With wide eyes, he works through his nerves and says, “Please, let me see Johnny. Let me explain to the hotheaded idiot that I’m kinda in love with.”

“…You’re only kinda in love with me?”

Johnny stands in the doorway once blocked by Ben. He’s dressed sloppily, in sweatpants and a hoodie Peter never saw before. Stained with an innumerable amount of foods Peter bets they could stock a fridge with. “Peter,” he drifts forward, “you’re… wow.” Giggling, Johnny scratches at his neck. “Only kinda in love, huh?” he repeats.

“Well,” Peter says, “I – uh… it might’ve been more. The whole way. But then you chose some other guy –“

“You were the other guy.”

“And you ran off, before I could offer you some of my eggs.” He blanches, the ruddiness on his cheeks obvious without fabric covering them. “My breakfast,” he amends, “My… yeah.” Peter fiddles his thumbs, wincing. “I’m really sorry you had to see that. And for making you think – by not telling you –“

“About your secret identity,” Johnny finishes for him. Irritation creeps onto his face, hardening the soft glow in his eyes. “You realize all this could have been avoided if you told me on that rooftop, right?”

“I am aware, yes.”

“Okay.” He frowns, hand hovering between them. Like he wants to reach out but can’t. Not yet. “You came here then, to clear this all up?” Johnny asks, “Tell me the truth?”

The lies bubble up easily. Practiced in dancing around reality, Peter can give Johnny exactly what he wants to hear. Brush this entire evening under a rug and move on.

But that’s not how they should begin this. Johnny knows his secret – should have known it much earlier than this. Brought in on Peter’s terms when the other hero wasn’t furious with him. If he chose the easy road paved with falsehoods, they won’t go far.

“No,” he confesses, studying his feet. Unworthy of Johnny’s beautiful face. “I wasn’t. I was gonna sell you on an awful lie, hoping you’d buy it, and then find you as Peter and… turn you down.” Johnny splutters from nearby, Peter continuing despite it. “Suggest you try Spiderman, because he really likes you – I really like you. And being with you as Spiderman than as… as regular ol’ Peter was… it’s all I thought I could have.”

“It didn’t have to be,” Johnny finally crosses the divide. Grabs Peter’s hand, squeezing it. His gaze trails up, finding Johnny’s warm face shining with a sunny expression. “I’d gladly have all of you… if you trust me.”

“Johnny…” Peter figures he’ll be spilling more than one secret tonight. “It was never about trust. I trust you with – well, with everything.”

“Except –“

“Except I was so scared!” he blurts out, squeezing Johnny’s hand. “I’d think about what it’d be like, letting you in on my double life. But then my brain would always focus on what could go wrong. You date me – the world will know about us. Whether it’s Peter and you or Spidey and you… What if we kiss while in costume, and someone snags a picture? People will think I’m a homewrecker and you’re a no-good cheat. Or they’d figure things out, put two and two and you and me and me together. And if that doesn’t miraculously happen… well, you know how villains love kidnapping loved ones. They could surprise me midway through a costume change and my secret’d be everywhere. I… your family can protect themselves, but mine can’t. If I didn’t have to worry about my friends, my aunt… you understand, don’t you?”

Johnny smiles, using their joined hands to drag Peter into a hug. Lips brush against his ear, chuckling. “Yeah… I understand. I always did speak Spider better than every other hero…” Peter nuzzles at Johnny’s neck, wondering at how fantastic it feels standing together like this. “Man,” he continues, mumbling, “can’t believe I never realized. It’s so obvious.”

“Imagine how obvious it’d be if we were on every magazine, trending on Twitter.”

“Then what does that mean for us? Are you still scared?”

Peter clears his throat. “Terrified. Of what being in a relationship with you will mean, and how things will change… but, somehow, the idea that you’d never be in my life again scares me even more. Given the options… I’d always pick you.”

Johnny collapses in his arms, Peter grateful for his super strength. “That’s a relief,” Johnny tells him, “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you told me all this and still rejected me.” He stiffens, leaning out of the embrace. “I wouldn’t expose you, of course. Never. Not even if Jameson held me captive, threatening me with a bad dye job and an eternity of bad press – your secret’s safe with me, Peter.”

“With all of us,” Sue adds, reminding them of her presence. She, Reed, and Ben watched them from the sidelines. Ben hides behind his hand, shoulders trembling. “I hope you can forgive how we acted, Peter –“

“It’s all good,” he says, “you were looking out for Johnny. I get it.”

“Family looks out for each other,” Johnny says. He shifts, arm sliding as he tucks Peter into his side. “And since you’re practically family, that means we’ll keep an eye on everyone you’re worried about and make sure they stay safe, too.”

A smile forces itself onto his face, “You really mean it?”

“You trust me right?”

“Of course.”

“Then what else do you need?”

For the first time, Peter happily acts on his first instinct. His hand snakes around the hoodie’s collar, bunching it in his grip. “This.” He pulls Johnny down, slotting their mouths together.

Fire slowly burns over his skin from where they meet, Peter delighting in the burn. He sometimes wondered what it felt like using Johnny’s powers. Body tingling, lighter than air, and hotter than ever, Peter thinks this is the closest he’ll get without flying through cosmic rays.

They part, foreheads pressed. Johnny flutters his eyes open, the light shining there changing. Regarding Peter differently, combining two halves and seeing the entirety of his being. Knowing him, truly.

“Wow,” he gasps, “if that’s all you need, feel free to do that whenever.”

Peter will hold Johnny to that.

There are other things that need attending, first. Ben groans, drawing them from their little cocoon. “Great,” he says, slapping his forehead, “I thought the pining was bad, but this? We’ll never get anything done now!”

Johnny hisses, glaring past Peter at the others. “Can we get a little privacy, please?”

“We’ll get out of your hair hot shot,” Sue says, corralling Reed and Ben through a different exit. “Remember though,” she sings, “if you plan on going to your room, keep your door open!”

“Sue!”

She snuffs the fireball with a simple thought, arching a stern brow. “Try that again and I’m taking away your Spiderman privileges.”

Johnny knocks their heads together, whistling a low, sad tune. “Sue, please…” Sue leaves without any further teasing, only Johnny and Peter in the living room now.

They don’t move. Content standing, loosely embracing, in a moment Peter wishes could last forever. It won’t. Peter’s exhaustion bears down, no longer shielded from it by adrenaline. He’ll leave soon and fall asleep in an empty bed. Wake the next morning doubting if this actually happened. Only believing when Johnny texts him something stupid yet charming, stoking the fires within his heart. Keeping it lit, chasing off any shadows that might hang over their future.

Because right now, they’re Spiderman and the Human Torch. Peter Parker and Johnny Storm. Amazing and Fantastic.

And together. Finally, blessedly together.

#peter parker #spiderman #johnny storm #the human torch #spideytorch #spideytorch fanfic #black johnny storm #black sue storm #mistaken identity

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twoidiotwriters1 · 4 years

Text

Written In The Stars XLIV (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I’m posting this cause the other chapter was too short and I felt bad about it lmao so three chapters in a week, lucky you!! -Danny

Words: 3,370

Warnings: None!

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Three: Mel and Matthew.

"Go for him," Her mother told her, "I'll fix the rest, but bring him back!"

Mel obliged without paying attention to Mr. Dursley's screams.

"Harry!" She ran down the street, chasing the figure ahead of her. "Stop! You can stay with us while–!"

"I won't go back to them!"

She came into a halt, panting.

"You're leaving for real?"

It was Harry's time to stop and turn to look at her. His eyes drifted to some point in the distance and he sat right there, in the middle of Magnolia St. He was breathing heavily, still pretty mad, and she approached with caution.

"You promised-"

"I know," He snapped.

"It doesn't look like it," She frowned.

Mel sat next to him, knowing it would be better to wait until Harry calmed down. It was getting late, and soon enough the street would be freezing cold and abandoned, she had to take him home. She watched him quietly as Harry's face changed from anger to worry until his features settled on the worst: Determination.

He was looking at his wand, his free hand slowly moving towards his trunk.

"I know what you're thinking," Mel said. "It's not a good idea."

"You don't know what I'm thinking," He replied defensively, though he'd blushed, "it's the only option I have-"

"That's not true!" She replied in exasperation, "Running away? My house is right there! My mum and I could keep you safe!"

She reached for the hand that was holding the wand and held it tightly, pleading that he'd listen to her, trying to ignore the shivers that ran up her spine by their contact.

"Please," Mel insisted, "come back..."

"I want to stay... but..."

He was really close to her face –Or was it her the one getting closer? She couldn't tell, she'd even forgotten what she wanted to say. His eyes were so close, Mel liked his eyes, they were green, not boring brown like hers; Harry was so pretty, so... him.

A noise similar to branches being stepped on distracted her from her daydream, Harry must have heard it too, since he'd stiffened in his place.

The noise came back, louder this time. Both kids stood up and look at the same narrow and dark corner, Harry had his wand ready.

"Lumos! " He whispered.

Mel gasped, taken aback by the sudden sight of a large, black dog standing there just... staring.

Harry stepped back in surprise, tripping on his trunk and falling backward, his wand flew out of his hand. It all happened too fast, one moment she was looking at the dog and the other a loud explosion made close her eyes as she tried to cover her body from... whatever that was.

When she looked up, she found herself standing a few feet away from a large, purple bus. A boy, a few years older than them, walked out of it and started speaking in a monotone voice.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this eve —"

He stopped, his eyes fixed on Harry's figure still on the ground.

"What were you doin' down there?" He asked.

"Fell over," said Harry.

" 'Choo fall over for?" Stan frowned.

"I didn't do it on purpose," Harry said defensively.

Mel got closer and helped him stand up, noticing the scratches on his hand and knee. As soon as he was back up, Harry turned to look at the corner where the dog had been, but there was nothing.

" 'Choo lookin' at?" said Stan.

"There was a big black thing," said Harry frowning. "Like a dog... but massive..."

"Woss that on your 'ead?" said Stan abruptly.

Mel realized he'd been staring at Harry's scar, much like every other person ever.

"Nothing," Harry moved his hair so it'd fall further down his forehead, it wasn't really discrete, but Stan seemed dumb enough to not notice.

"Woss your name?" The boy insisted.

"Neville Longbottom," said Harry. "So — so this bus- did you say it goes anywhere?"

"Yep," He said proudly, "anywhere you like, long's it's on land. Can't do nuffink underwater. 'Ere, you did flag us down, dincha? Stuck out your wand 'and, dincha?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Listen, how much would it be to get to London?"

"What?" Mel's eyes widened.

"Eleven Sickles," said Stan, "but for firteen you get 'ot chocolate, and for fifteen you get an 'ot water bottle an' a toofbrush in the color of your choice."

"Hold on a moment," She spoke, dragging Harry to the side, "let me try to talk some sense into my friend here..."

Stan didn't look happy about it, but he didn't argue.

"Are-you-out-of-your-mind?!" She whispered angrily, "London?!"

"I can go to Diagon Alley and get money," Harry explained quickly, "then I'll leave-"

"Don't be stupid!" She exclaimed. "Go where?! You're a child, Glasses!"

"Anywhere's better than here," The boy said stubbornly, opening his trunk and grabbing his money, shoving a few coins in Stan's hand. "Listen, tell Emily not to worry. I'll stay in the leaky cauldron tonight and then... then I'll see."

"You're so bloody dumb," Mel said in exasperation, running both hands through her hair, "you know I can't let you go!"

"Out of us, I've nothing to lose now- I can do magic, you can't" He raised a brow. "You can't stop me."

"I..." Harry and Stan took his trunk inside the bus without waiting for her response, "Ugh! You're not even listening!"

"I won't let them take my wand," Harry argued, "and I don't see the point in waiting to get expelled."

Mel was so upset that she was speechless, she couldn't believe Harry was escaping.

"Well," She breathed, "well- I see... you're not staying and now you're threatening to use magic against me. Alright, go to the leaky cauldron you thoughtless worm– Ruin your life, I don't care!"

"Fine!" Harry said roughly. "Good luck in Hogwarts!"

"Sodd off!" She yelled back, turning away from the bus.

"Harry what?!"

"Left..." Mel repeated slowly and in a terrible mood, "on a massive, purple bus."

"The Knight bus," Her mother put a hand on her forehead, closing her eyes tightly. "Oh, Harry..."

"I told him not to go," Mel was sitting still, her arms crossed and brows knitted together. "Did he care? No! He insisted that he had to run for it- that idiot... Now what?"

"Wait here," Her mother replied, leaving their home and walking up to the house next door.

When Mel'd gone back to their house she'd seen two people that looked a lot like the wizard-kind entering the Dursleys' front door. Soon enough the yelling stopped, they were fixing Aunt Marge's memory for all she knew.

Her mother came back a minutes later, the color returning to her face.

"I told them to look in the leaky cauldron, and the bus can be trusted," She sat next to her daughter, "he'll get there in a few minutes... He's safe, don't worry."

"I'm not worried," Mel scoffed, "in fact, I hope they punish him for being so stupidly impulsive. Leaving just like that, without a care about us? What a twat!"

"You don't really mean that, Mel..."

"I don't," She grabbed a cushion from beside her and hid her face under it, "Why is he such a headache?"

"See the positive side!" Her mother placed the cushion away from her face. "He won't get expelled!"

Mel peered one eye open.

"How do you know that?"

"I..." The woman hesitated. "Let's just say that some recent events had caught the Minister's attention. I'm certain they'll move the rules around so Harry can stay in school- it's safer."

"You know, everyone complains about me not knowing how to handle my emotions, but that boy is exactly like me, if not worse," Mel continued her rambling. "but that's alright, it's not my problem, I know. Bad for him I suppose, but I'm fine. You're right, I need a break from his annoying face."

She wasn't expecting to hear her mother's laughter, but she sat there, watching as her mum cackled.

"Oh, Mel- I'm so... sorry- I'm not laughing at you..." Her mother said, struggling to breathe, "you sound so much like your father! Poor Matt, always rambling about how our friends kept doing all kinds of stupid things, always threatening to end the friendship because they drove him crazy... you want to know the truth, Love?"

"Yes?" Mel inquired.

"He cared too much about them," The woman smiled. "It drove him mad whenever they risked their stay at Hogwarts. He loved them deeply... you say many unflattering things about Harry right now but I knew your father long enough to see right through it, and all I see is how much you care, and how angry you are because he rejected your help."

There was something about listening to her mother talk about her and her dad like they were the same person that eased her. Even after two years, Mel still wondered if she really was even remotely similar to her father, even if it embarrassed her to know her mother knew how she really felt about Harry, it calmed her spirit.

"I tried," Mel sank in her seat, pouting. "Harry refused, it didn't matter how much I insisted..."

"I believe now you'll be happy to spend the next week in the countryside," Her mother smiled knowingly. "To clear your head?"

"I do love my uncle's house," Mel admitted.

"Okay," Her mother stood up, "nothing left to say. I trust that Harry will be found tonight, they'll bring him back by tomorrow, you'll see..."

She received a letter from Harry the next day, he was going to stay at the Leaky cauldron for the rest of the summer, which was only three more weeks. He also apologized for the way he acted the night before, and let her know that there was no risk of getting expelled and that the Minister himself had received him.

"I don't understand," Mel said to her mother as both of them got in the car, "why would the Minister do that?"

"Times are difficult. Perhaps it was a coincidence," The woman shrugged.

"Remind me to write back once we're with uncle Lu. I guess he's expecting a reply..."

Emily smirked.

"Are you still mad at him?"

"Not as much," She shrugged, "but I'm not going to forgive him that easily. He was rude and senseless. I guess he understood that what he did was wrong, but I want him to know that he can't treat me like that whenever he pleases."

"I think he knows that already," Her mother chuckled.

Two days later and half-way through helping her uncle packing up his things, Mel was starting to feel emotional. Ever since she was a baby that house had represented a big part of her life, all the Christmas dinners were done there, the winters were beautiful, the trees were high and easy to climb... She'd spend her afternoons there, listening to the branches moving together, the birds...

The girl was currently hiding up in her favorite tree, near her uncle's house. She'd brought a notebook and a pen with her, taking her time to write a letter when a voice called her back for dinner.

She jumped to the ground falling a bit harshly, her uncle winced.

"Your poor knees, Mel..."

"They're fine," She brushed off the dirt of her jeans, "What's for dinner?"

"Food," He said with a smile, "come to wash your hands."

She followed him back to the house, her mother was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Mum?"

"She's getting more boxes and tape," He replied, "won't take long."

She saw this as an opportunity to talk freely with her uncle.

"I need to talk," She said simply, in a very formal tone.

"By all means, take a seat," Her uncle replied amused by her sudden change of demeanor.

"It's about some... thing. It's been bothering me since my first year at Hogwarts and I'm afraid to tell my mum cause I... I don't want to upset her."

The man raised his eyebrows with a newfound interest, encouraging her to keep going.

"I have this friend..." She started, "and he's nice... He's also older than me... and he's– His name's Erick, and..."

Her uncle cleared his throat, "Are you... crushing? On this boy?"

Mel dropped the notebook she was holding, "No! That's not what I– No! That's not the reason why– He's a Slytherin!"

"Oh!" Her uncle sighed. "I see... You believe your mother will be angry at you for being friends with him?"

"They're not exactly popular, the Slytherins... I know that you and my mum were in Gryffindor, and my friends don't like Slytherins either, especially after what happened last year... but he's different."

She told him how Erick reached out to her in order to learn about muggles because he was to be interested in a girl, how much he'd helped her last year (she even dared to tell him about the Polyjuice potion) and that now she considered him a good friend, and how guilty she felt for many reasons.

"I shouldn't feel bad about this," She concluded. At that point, the food was already cold, but none of them cared. "I don't like hiding things, I wish I could just tell them, and my mum..."

"Your mother won't react badly," He shook his head, "she knows a thing or two about befriending outcasts... she even married one!"

"My dad?" Mel frowned. "An outcast? When people talk about him they always sound so... fond of him, they admire him!"

"That was after he graduated," Her uncle raised a brow. "Before? He wasn't popular, people would take a look at him and think he was either stupid or incredibly smart, and none of those things helped him with the rest of the students. He was lucky to meet us. I guess that, in a way, we were all outcasts, and we were all lucky."

"So..." Mel tilted her head, "I'm doing the right thing?"

"Making friends is not a mistake, Mel. Judging only what's outside for everyone to see? That's what's wrong."

"I see," She lowered her head, still thinking. "You think I should tell my friends?"

"Maybe, but prepare the room first. Shock can bring out the worst in some people... and ask Erick if he wants to be seen, if not, then you're not hiding anything, you're respecting your friend's decision."

"I see," She repeated, "thank you."

"It's the least I can do," He smiled, "you've grown. I still remember the lousy toddler running around my garden and now you're sitting here, almost as tall as your mother... You make us proud, Little Em."

Mel smiled. She stood up and hugged him tightly.

"Thank you," She mumbled, "I needed to hear that..."

"Is she asleep?"

"I don't know how she manages to have all that energy bottled up inside her," Emily groaned, rubbing her own back. "My shoulders are killing me! And that little girl has been climbing up trees for two days in a row and still runs around the house, packing things and making a fuss..."

"She's not that little now," The man reminded her, "thirteen is a big number, soon she'll be the same height as you-"

"Don't get me started," Emily warned. "I never got to be taller than my mother!"

"The Dumbledores have always been tall," He chuckled. "Remember fifth-year when Matt was taller than all of us? James couldn't handle it. He kept teasing him for ages, but we all knew he was just jealous."

"They refused to speak to each other for a week because Lily complimented Matt's coat!" Emily laughed. "James was so insulted! He was sure Matt was trying to win her over..."

"James was so blinded by his own feelings that he couldn't see Matt was terribly in love with you..."

"I can't comment on that, I didn't realize either."

"Yeah, well," He smirked, "you had your own little crush going on."

"Love," Emily rolled her eyes, then sat on the couch and sighed, "it really shouldn't be a thing when you're young and stupid."

"I think you're wrong."

"Well, of course," She laughed, "you didn't have a crush then, and if you did you hid it well- We never got to tease you!"

"Maybe it was the only thing I knew how to hide," He smiled absentmindedly, "did Mel tell you about her friend?"

A small smile appeared on the woman's lips.

"Erick Flint. Never heard that lastname so I'm hoping his family's not so bad. But judging by the things she's told me, they probably are..."

"Looks like you did a good job, she doesn't judge by looks, doesn't feel superior to others... Who knows? That friendship could save that boy's life."

"Yes," Emily sighed, "I know..."

"Is it a bad time to tell you I need to pee?"

"Peter, please tell me you're joking," Emily groaned.

"Yes, it's late. You should've said something before."

"I didn't want to go earlier!"

"James, do me a favor and step on Pete's toes if you can..." Sirius whispered.

"Gladly..."

"Ouch! That was my foot, idiot!"

"Sorry, Mily!"

"Don't call me Mily!"

"Shut up! I heard something..." Matthew stopped, causing the whole group to stay still under the cloak, listening carefully to the sounds around them.

"What?" James asked, "What're you hearing?"

"Steps..."

"Are you sure they're not ours?" Emily grinned.

"Don't be silly..."

Then they heard them again, moving across the hall in front of them along with hurried whispers. McGonagall's figure next to Pomfrey, who was holding a student that both women seemed to be taking outside. The kids moved slowly, trying to distinguish the face of the young kid.

"It's getting late," The teacher said worryingly, "it's about to happen, Poppy. We need to get him out..."

The women rushed out the door, not giving them time to watch.

"Well," Matt sighed, "that was close..."

"Get him out?" James inquired. "Why would they need to get a student out in the middle of the night? You think that maybe..?"

He didn't finish his sentence, instead, he dragged the whole group to the main entrance without giving them time to react. They complained and huffed, but none of them tried to stop him. It was James, after all. When they arrived at the front door, the silhouettes were clearer, finally illuminated by the moonlight. Only then they managed to recognize the student.

"Remus!" Matthew said, eyes widening.

"Shut up! They'll hear us!" Sirius hissed, pinching his friend's arm.

"I knew it!" Emily exclaimed in a low whisper, "I told you there was something strange about Remus! He disappears too often, that's not normal..."

"But what is it?" Peter asked anxiously.

"Why don't we find out?" Matt replied. It was now his turn to drag the kids outside.

"What're they doing?" James squinted.

"They're taking him further away... to the trees..." Sirius tilted his head.

"We can't follow them!" Emily grabbed James and Matt's arms.

"Is the great Emily Sultens afraid?" James teased.

"No," She frowned. "But I have the feeling that if we keep going nothing good will happen. You know what they say, 'When bad feelings arrive, fly your broomstick and hide your cat'..."

"That's not a real thing," Sirius rolled his eyes.

"You're not sure," She insisted, pulling them back, "can we please go back?"

"I still think you're a pansy- Ouch!" James hissed, Emily had elbowed his ribs.

"Let's go," She demanded.

"Okay," Matt agreed, trying to avoid getting punched, "but we'll have to confront Remus about this."

"Agree," Sirius nodded.

"Fine."

"Sure..."

"Can we go to the boy's toilets now?"

"Emily?"

"Hmm?"

"I asked if you'd like some tea," The man raised a brow, "but I think it'd be better if you go directly to bed."

"I think so," She smiled tiredly, "sorry, got caught up with some memories. Nothing important. I'll see you in the morning..."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@tiphareth2018 @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @celestialhayi @mikariell95 @omiwashere @kylosleftbuttcheek @steve-thotgers @tomshollandz @reverse-hxlland @thesuitelifeofafangirl

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

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cherryrogers · 4 years

Text

Falling For You.

— Chapter 11

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

(Modern High School AU)

Warnings: Swearing, some angst, finally some real Fluff between these two!!

Synopsis: Unlike most teenagers, you had your life completely mapped out. You’d graduate high school, go off to the university of your dreams, and live the life that your parents always wanted you to. That was always the plan.

Falling for Bucky Barnes, however, was never part of that plan.

Being ‘just friends’ isn’t enough. Becoming anything more is too much. But suppressed feelings can’t stay ignored forever, and you were about to learn that a lot sooner than you thought.

A/N: ok so i haven’t been writing as much recently so this has took me so frickin long to finish and i’m sorry!! i think this fic is gonna finish at around 15 chapters?? i’m not so sure yet but there’s still some story to happen after they finally mf kissed so we’ll be exploring that as we go! anyways, please enjoy :)

Series Masterlist

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

The boy was sat on the wooden chair next to you, chin resting in his palm against the table in your dining room. An array of papers spread in front of him, dozens of questions and chemical equations scattered across the sheets, yet his dazed blue eyes were looking at anything but them.

School soon came back around after Val’s party on New Year’s Eve, which was unfortunate for you and Bucky, who had been joint at the hip since that night. Yes, you’d agreed to take things slow, but you’d finally gotten to a point where you didn’t feel the need to pull away from each other, where you could spend all of the time that you wanted together because your feelings were now out in the open, and you didn’t want to end the blissful honeymoon phase any time soon.

The two of you had yet to tell your friends about everything that’d happened; you’d barely even picked up your phone since spending so much time with Bucky. It was comforting in a way, nobody but you and him knowing about it, not feeling any pressure to answer the million questions you knew that Wanda would have, and Bucky not having to deal with all the teasing he’d get from his group of friends. They’d probably figure it out in time, considering you weren’t exactly hiding it at school. Until then, however, you were going to savour the last bit of peace you and Bucky had before the questions rolled in.

The new year had began, the cool January weather making it difficult to leave your home in the morning to get to school, and the dreaded last few weeks before the application deadline for universities had came around too. That was a topic you kept pushing out of your head, though you knew you’d have to face it soon. At the moment, you were focusing on helping Bucky with chemistry, after the teacher had informed him of his low performance in the subject over the first half of the year. Though the boy frankly couldn’t care less, the teacher had told him that if he didn’t pass the next test in class, he’d have compulsory tutoring after school for three days a week, which he definitely did not want to endure. So, who better to ask for help in passing the class than you?

“It’s too hard.” Bucky groaned, slumping in his seat. “This is pointless; I’m never gonna understand this shit.”

You rolled your eyes at his pessimism, nudging him with your foot under the table. “You’re not even looking at the sheet, or listening to me, for that matter. C’mon, Buck, I’m trying here. Can you at least try the first question?”

The boy felt a little bad, you were trying, and he was letting himself daydream like an idiot.

It didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun with it, though.

“You know,” He started, the smirk pulling at his lips indicating for you to prepare for whatever sarcastic comment was about to leave his mouth. “I think I’d feel a lot more motivated if we made out a little first. Might get my brain workin’ some more.”

The boy had the nerve to lean in, expecting you to follow along with his attempt to try and distract you from tutoring him. Poor kid, he was going to have to try a bit harder than that.

You let his lips get within a couple of inches of yours before you placed your hand flat on his chest, his disappointed pout making your chuckle against his lips. “You’re not smooth, James. Sit your ass back down.”

Plonking back in his seat, Bucky let out a dramatic sigh. “Tease.” He mumbled under his breath, reluctantly picking back up his pen.

“Idiot.” You mimicked his tone.

Not that you’d admit it aloud, but making out with Bucky was something you were definitely missing out on while denying your feelings for him. You’d never kissed someone so passionately before, and it wasn’t long after your first kiss before the two of you had to fully restrain yourselves from taking the making out any further, not wanting to rush into things just yet.

He was a good kisser, you had to hand it to him. Obviously he’d had more experience than you in the past, which made you a little self conscious initially, but Bucky somehow managed to make you feel anything but insecure when he kissed you.

“How am I meant to know what the structure of a diamond is?” His voice brought you from your thoughts.

“You use the textbook that’s an inch away from your hand on the table, that’s how.”

“Sweets, can’t you just tell me the answer?”

“That literally defeats the whole point of me trying to tutor you.”

“Like I said! It’s all pointless.”

“Bucky Barnes, you’re the most frustrating person I’ve ever known.” You stated, narrowing your eyes as the boy laughed.

He took your hands in his, pulling you closer to him. “I think what you meant to say was ‘Bucky Barnes, you’re the hottest person I’ve ever known... and I really wanna make out with you right now’.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

You shook your head, biting back a smile. “You don’t give up easily, do you, Buck?”

“Never gave up on you, did I?”

God, he was so annoyingly perfect. With his stupid sarcastic comments and his stubbornness that drove you up the wall, with his fluffy hair and his ‘carved by Lord himself’ bone structure, with his soft lips that you really wanted to kiss. Fuck.

Maybe he gave up way too easily on the chemistry work, but that was beside the point. He never gave up on the things he cared about, and you were lucky enough to be one of them.

“Fucking hell,” You murmured, making Bucky smirk. “Just... just kiss me, Bucky.”

The boy didn’t have to think twice before putting his lips on yours, the euphoric sensation from being so close to him one that you’d never get tired of.

It was safe to say that those chemistry questions weren’t completed that day, but it didn’t matter in that moment. You were savouring every second that you spent with Bucky; you both owed the time to yourselves and each other after hiding your feelings for over a year.

Things with Bucky really seemed to be looking up, and you couldn’t imagine that anything could get in the way of the two of you, not after everything you’d been through to get to where you were now.

Unfortunately, things weren’t going to be such smooth-sailing for much longer.

* * *

The revving outside of your front door caused you to audibly groan. That damn fucking bike.

You didn’t even have to open the door to know that Bucky was sitting outside on his motorcycle, waiting for you to come outside and plant a kiss on his lips, not having a single care in the world.

Apparently, he didn’t seem to care that you hated the bike. Hated.

The last time you’d ridden on the back of his bike was when you visited him at the auto-shop after your mild dispute, and he drove you home where he ended up having dinner and watching Grease with you.

Oh, how times had changed.

Bucky would never put you in a dangerous situation, you knew that, but riding on the back of his bike was basically asking to leave God’s earth early in your eyes.

With a sigh, you tugged on a pair of ankle boots and hiked your bag on your shoulders, before making your way out of the front door.

Bucky had hopped off the bike as you walked towards him, the evident reluctance in your expression causing him to scoff. The idiot knew you hated the bike, but that didn’t stop him from trying to help you get over your irrational fear. Well, he thought it was irrational, you thought it was perfectly normal.

“You’re hurting her feelings, you know.” The boy stroked the seat of the bike, a mocking frown on his lips. “Lookin’ at her like that every time I pull up on her.”

So the bike was a her now. “If you’re so concerned about her feelings, then why don’t you date her instead?”

Bucky smirked, stepping towards you. “Do I sense some jealously, sweets?”

“No.” You answered firmly. “I’m sensing something, though. I think it’s... someone being an asshole.”

“Jesus Christ.” He let out a breathy laugh, slinging an arm over your shoulder and directing you over to the bike. He grabbed his helmet off the handles and passed it to you. “As long as you’re wearing this, you’ll be fine.”

You raised your brow, eyeing the bike for a second helmet, which didn’t seem to be around. “Okay, well where’s your helmet?”

Before he could even finish the sheepish shrug he was giving you, your hands began gripping your helmet in frustration. This guy still hadn’t bought another stupid helmet for when he made you ride his bike with him. “James Buchanan, if we crash and you die-”

“Sweets.” He warned, a stupid smile on his lips. What did he find funny about this? You’re were shitting yourself thinking about getting on his bike and he was smiling. Reassuringly, he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Stop freaking yourself out and get on the bike, please.”

“Promise you’ll get a helmet for next time?” You uttered, beginning to slide the helmet on your head. He was lucky that he was undeniably cute, otherwise he’d be having a lonesome ride to school that morning.

“Cross my heart.” Bucky grinned in satisfaction, fastening the strap under your chin and then holding your hand to help you swing your leg over the bike.

Once Bucky had sat in front of you and started up the engine again, you circled your arms tightly around his waist and pressed your cheek against the cool leather of his jacket.

Again, Bucky Barnes was the most frustrating person you’d ever known, but you wouldn’t have him any other way.

* * *

“Miss (Y/L/N), can I speak with you for a moment?”

A pit began to build in your stomach as you approached your teacher’s desk, eventually being the only student left in the room after everyone had left to head home.

Mr Pym looked up from his computer as you stood awkwardly a few feet away from him, knowing what he wanted to talk to you about.

College.

The word alone caused goosebumps to rise on your arms and your smile to drop. Not because you didn’t want to go to college, of course you did, that’s why you’d worked so hard in high school. However, which college you were going to was a whole other story.

Your application was ready to be sent off, but you hadn’t had the courage to actually send it anywhere before the new year.

“The deadline for submitting college applications is in three days, and it’s come to my attention that you haven’t submitted yours yet.” The chemistry teacher stated, a furrow in his brows. “You are planning on applying, aren’t you? You have a lot of potential, (Y/N), I wouldn’t want to see it go to waste.”

“Yes, of course I am.” You nodded nervously. “I’m just not sure where to apply, that’s all.”

You weren’t sure how your parents would react if you didn’t apply to Harvard, that was the issue.

Sure, you could submit an application to Harvard to make them happy, because you didn’t have to go if you didn’t want to. But if they found out you sent out applications to places other than their previous Harvard University? Well, that just wouldn’t go down smoothly.

Your father wasn’t even the issue here - he didn’t mind which college you went to. Your mother on the other hand... you’d already heard her opinion on the situation enough times.

Mr Pym continued speaking, suggesting a few places he thought would fit you for your subject choice, and while you appreciated his concern, your mind couldn’t help but drift off to your mother. You had to talk to her, at least once more about college. It had to be made firm to her that you weren’t applying to Harvard, and that you wouldn’t be working for their company after you graduated. She couldn’t have that control over you anymore, and you had to at least try and make her understand that. She was still your mom, you still cared about her, even if she didn’t exactly reciprocate the feeling.

You just wanted her to be proud of you, but at this rate, it didn’t seem like that was ever going to happen.

The teacher eventually let you go, and with a weak smile, you thanked him and proceeded to leave the room, and then proceeded to almost crap yourself as you walked directly into Bucky standing outside of the classroom.

A low chuckle left his lips as you placed a hand over your chest; he definitely enjoyed scaring the shit out of you like that.

“You’re an ass.” You murmured, but still leaned into him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder.

“I was just waitin’ for you.” He rolled his eyes, but the amused expression faded from his face as the smile you gave him didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Is everything okay? What’d Mr Pym want?”

“He was asking about my plans for college.” Your gaze dropped to the ground. “I haven’t submitted an application anywhere yet.”

“You’ve still got time though, right? Are you still thinking about going to Colombia?”

You had mentioned to Bucky about applying to Colombia. It was an Ivy League school in Manhattan, only a short distance away from your home in Brooklyn. Really, there was no reason for you not to apply to go there. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Bucky was hoping you’d apply to Colombia too, because if you moving to a new state for college could possible put a strain on your relationship, then that was the last thing he wanted.

“Yeah, it’s the only place I can really see myself at. I, uh... I think I need to call my mom today though. Tell her once and for all that I’m not going to Harvard.”

Unease flashed in the boy’s eyes. He’d only ever had one experience of your mother’s wrath, but it was something that even he was afraid to witness again. “D’you want me to be there with you? Just for moral support?”

You shook your head, heart warming at his concern as you eventually approached the school gates. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine, Buck. You should get home, and for the love of God, please do some studying.”

The grin creeping back onto Bucky’s lips eased your anxiety slightly. “I’m not going to college, I don’t need to worry about studying.”

“Bucky,” You sighed, shrugging his arm off your shoulder with an eye roll. “That’s a terrible mindset to have.”

Bucky had never planned on continuing his education, the thought of doing so alone made his brain ache. It wasn’t that he wasn’t smart, because you knew that he was, he frankly just didn’t care. Working full-time at the auto-shop, living in a small place in Brooklyn, and being around the people he loved was all that he wanted for the future.

And now that he had you, his future was looking pretty promising.

“Just let me know how it goes with your mom, alright? Then I might consider whipping up some flash cards.”

“But I literally bought you your own set of highlighters to try and motivate you! And coloured pens, and-”

“Alright, alright.” Bucky let out a laugh. He’d found it cute when he entered your dining room one day to see three new packets of pens sprawled out across the table, an excited smile on your lips as you watched him use them for the first time when making notes on organic chemistry. He had to admit, the colours did make studying more bearable. “I’ll make the prettiest flash cards you’ll have ever seen, I promise.”

“They won’t be as pretty as mine, but I’ll appreciate the effort.” You smirked as the boy scoffed before tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and kissing your forehead, a gesture you’d gotten so used to from him over the past couple of weeks that you weren’t sure how you went for over a year without it.

With a reluctant goodbye, you watched Bucky head towards the parking lot over to his bike, and you hesitantly picked your phone out of your pocket. There was no point in wasting time worrying about the inevitable; if you were going to call your mother, you had to do it as soon as possible.

Your thumb hovered over the ‘call’ button next to your mother’s contact, and with a deep exhale, you hit it and pressed the phone to your ear, beginning what might’ve been the worst walk home of your life.

“(Y/N)?” Your mom’s voice sounded through the speak monotonously.

“Mom.” You swallowed. “Look, I know we haven’t spoken since the last time we saw each other-”

“Since you accused me of not caring for my own daughter.” She interrupted bitterly. You had to admit, you were harsh during your argument back before Christmas, but could she really blame you for feeling that way? “I’m surprised you even called again, I thought you wanted nothing to do with us.”

“Well, I thought the same of you. Were you planning on calling me?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” The woman stated. However, she didn’t exactly sound like she wanted to make amends, so you weren’t quite sure what she actually wanted to talk about. “You wouldn’t talk about it then, but we are discussing it now whether you want to or not. College, (Y/N).”

“That’s... what I was calling to talk about.” Well, here goes nothing... “I want to go to Colombia, Mom, and I know you’re not going to like that but... you don’t have to. You don’t have to pay my tuition, I’ll get a loan and I can keep living at home and you don’t have to have anything to do with me if you don’t want to. I’m not calling to ask for your permission to not go to Harvard; I’m just asking for you to be happy for me, or to at least accept that this is my decision to make.”

There was a few moments of silence, before you heard a deep sigh through the speaker. “We’re selling the house, (Y/N).”

“...what?”

“The plan has always been for you to go to Harvard, and when you did, your father and I were going to sell the house in Brooklyn and move across the country to expand the company’s clientele.”

You stopped in your tracks, clutching your phone so tightly in frustration that your knuckles ached. “Y-you can’t just sell our home, Mom.”

“We already have a buyer, they’re ready to take the house as soon as possible. There’s no point in keeping it if it won’t be if use-”

“But it will be, I can still live there if I go to Colombia-”

“You’re not going to Colombia.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Every time you talked to your mother about college, you swore you lost a thousand brain cells. Well, if she was selling the house, then that was fine. You could live on campus, and then your parents wouldn’t have to worry about you at all, which is clearly what they wanted.

“If I want to apply there, then you can’t stop me.” You bit down on your cheek, awaiting her response.

“And then what are your plans? To graduate with a business degree? To work for the company?”

“That’s not what I want.”

“Then what do you want?”

You bit down even harder, your voice coming out in a timid manner. “...I don’t know.”

“Exactly.” You could tell by your mother’s voice that she was speaking through gritted teeth. “(Y/N), I know what’s best for you. I wouldn’t be so adamant on you going to Harvard and working for us if I didn’t think it was the best plan for you. You have a secure place working at one of the most lucrative companies in the country, do you know how many people would kill to be in your position?

Listen, if you choose to go to Colombia, then we’re... we are done with you, because we have not worked this hard to give you the promise of a successful life for you to selfishly cut us off and do your own thing. You’re right, this is your decision to make, and you’re choosing between making your parents proud of you, or being a disappointment.”

Before you could even begin to come up with a response, the line went dead.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt your eyes gloss over, blurring your vision of passing by cars and pedestrians walking towards and away from you.

You shoved your phone back into your pocket, wrapping your hands around the straps of your bag tightly as you continued your walk home, your pace considerably faster than before. Head lowered, eyes blinking away some of the tears and prompting the release of others down your cheeks, hands never moving from your bag straps to wipe them away as you continued pace quickly to the home you wouldn’t have for much longer.

Yes, your parents were selfish. From a young age, you’d known that your education and future contribution to their company was their priority over anything else concerning you. But you thought when it came down to it, when the time came that you had the power to choose the future that you wanted, that perhaps they’d support you, their daughter. Instead, they were selling your childhood home for money to put towards a new house in God knows where, forcing you to have to find a new place to live, ideally the student accomadation of the university you desperately didn’t want to go to.

It hurt - you couldn’t lie to yourself and say that it didn’t. You thought the constant suppression of your emotions had made you numb to the feeling, but hearing your own mother call you a disappointment for only wanting to choose a path that made you happy... it really fucking stung.

As soon as the front door clicked shut, you let out a heavy sob, throwing your school bag to the ground next to the bottom of the staircase.

You hated that it hurt so much. All your life, you just wanted your parents to be proud of you. To get good grades, go to the university of your dreams, and allow them to feel accomplished knowing that their daughter was successful in the life that she wanted.

Before Bucky, before Wanda, before high school completely, you only really had your parents. Making friends in middle school was hard when you were a certified nerd in the eyes of your peers. While those of your age put you down for being smart, your parents praised you for it, and that was more important to you than the occasional crap you got from your classmates.

If going to Harvard meant you could feel that again, the praise, if it meant your could see the pride in your mom and dad’s eyes at your graduation ceremony, if it meant that you had your family back, would it really be so terrible to go there?

But Brooklyn was your home. Bucky was your home. After everything you’d been through to finally be able to feel freely for each other, you couldn’t just jet off to Massachusetts and risk it all.

Another choked out sob slipped from your lips as you climbed the stars, and hot tears dampened the fresh sheets as you fell on top of your bed with a strained sigh.

Everything was supposed to be better after you opened up to Bucky, everything was supposed to start working.

It seemed that luck just wasn’t on your side when you needed it most.

* * *

Taglist:

@americas-ass-assins @stevieboyharrington @itz-kira @broco8 @bxrnsfeyson @lovvliies @peterparkerbabyyy

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky #high school au #bucky barnes reader insert

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