#➤ did i build this ship to wreck? | musing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sirius-archive · 5 years

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Bite Marks (The Mandalorian x Reader) SMUT

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Warnings: Unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap that willy), Dom/Sub, Rough sex, Oral sex (Reader receiving), Swearing. IF YOU’RE A MINOR, KINDLY FUCK OFF

Word Count: 3.6k? I think? Who knows at this point

A/N: Nothing sexier than Jealous!Mando, amirite?

***

The bounty was supposed to be easy.

All five mercenaries were dudebro fuckbois with high prices on their heads and a habit of pissing off the wrong people. They were all expected to be at the same club, too, which meant that you just had to flaunt some skin and purr honeyed promises and they’d be in the palm of your hands.

The bounty was supposed to be fucking easy .

It wasn’t.

***

The Mandalorian is suspicious. He always is.

“What are the chances of all six of our targets being in one place?” He says, “Seems suspicious. Could be a trap.”

“I considered that, too,” you remark from over your shoulder, searching idly for an outfit, “That was before I realised it was a Solastice festival. Literally hundreds of thousands of people rock up to this sleeze fest. No one wants to miss out on the free booze and the orgies,” Your fingers skim across a velvet mermaid dress, “How about this?”

Mando huffs out a grunt, “I should come.”

You toss the dress aside and search for another, “Who’s going to look after the Child?”

The Mandalorian stares long and hard at the Child, who blinks owlishly back at the Mandalorian, his inky eyes filled with adoration, “I know someone.”

“You sure you can trust them?”

“She’s taken care of him before.”

You give a noncommittal hum and hold out a lacy, navy-blue dress, “What about this?”

“That’s it?”

“What? You don’t like a bit of lace—?”

“—you’re not going to argue about me coming on this bounty with you?”

“It’ll be fun,” you smirk, throwing the dress away, “Besides, I like watching you in action. You’re sexy when you fight.”

Mando tilts his head. His expression is impossible to read but you suspect he might be amused, annoyed or confused.

Beaming excitedly, you flatten a sleek, backless dress with a plunging neckline against your body, imagining how the dress will hug your curves and flaunt your cleavage. A long split down the side will give you access to the blasters and daggers strapped to your thigh holster too. It’s classy with just enough sexy to keep the imagination stirring.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything for a long, measured moment. Somehow, perhaps ironically — the silence seems to whisper his approval.

You untie your silk dressing robe, letting it fall to the ground and pool around your feet. The Mandolorian averts his gaze. suddenly taking a keen interest in the small plant you’ve been watering. You wish you could see his face. Is he blushing? Is he horrified? Is he aroused?

Sliding into the dress, you turn and gesture to the zip kissing the small of your back. “Do you mind?”

The Mandalorian hesitates at first. Somehow, you can almost hear the clink of his thoughts colliding, like he’s mentally solving dynamical system calculations and differential equations. Finally, he stalks toward you and you feel the hesitancy begin to thaw as his gloved fingers twitch around the zip and tug.

His ghostly, featherlight touch lingers on your skin, following the line of your spine until he reaches the thin straps sitting elegantly on the knob of your shoulders. Summoning every ounce of your ex-assassin courage, you slowly turn to face him and stare deeply into the slit in his helmet, imagining the colour of his eyes. Are they a dazzling shade of blue? Or a lovely, rare shade of teal green? Perhaps a smokey umber or steely grey? Or were they like yours; a kaleidoscope of colour always shifting and changing and never one distinct shade?

The air thickens, electricity crackles.

Suddenly, the Mandalorian nods stiffly and stumps away, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sigh, realising that there’s more than Beskar armour hiding his thick, prickly layers. Perhaps... , you muse, in that childishly naive way that only deep affection can stir, ... Perhaps I’ll find a way to pry it off.

***

Outside, the festival rages.

The dancing crowd of celebrants are like a splash of vibrant colour against the bland backdrop of the surrounding buildings as they flood the streets, filling the air with hoots and cheer and vivid shades of life .

You perch on the barstool, keeping an eye on both your targets and the festival. The Mandalorian is sitting at a table in the far corner, close to the exit in case the targets are as dumb as they look and decide to make a break for it.

The bartender slides yet another drink your way from a hopeful suitor. You smile and take a sip, winking at the nervous, young man stealing furtive glances at you.

“My, my...” a greasy voice says from over your shoulder, “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing in dump like this?”

You spin in your stool and smirk.

The lead dudebro of the fuckboi boy-band is trying to make a pass at you. He thinks he sounds smooth but his pick up lines are equal parts cliche and cringy and they come off polished and second-hand, like he’d heard it from a grainy, amateur porn movie and decided it was a winner.

“Hoping to find myself a handsome fella,” you purr, flashing him your most alluring smile.

Dudebro leans against the counter, reeking of smoke and sweat and virile fuckboi testosterone. He trails a lewd gaze from your eyes down past your neck, spilling indulgently between your breasts, along the sloping curve of your hips, down to the skin of your thigh peeking out from where you have one leg crossed over the other.

“How is that working out for you?”

Your lips tilt into a cat-like smirk, like a spider watching the squirming wreck of their prey struggle against the sticky fibres of a carefully designed web, “You tell me.”

“Beautiful, clever and single? Seems too good to be true.”

“Yet here we are.”

A dodgy grin hooks around Dudebros chapped lips. He slides a calloused hand along your thigh, his grip bordering on possessive.

“Here we are.”

You pause, stretching out a silence to create tension. Dudebro slides his tongue over his bottom lip.

“You should know that I give generously to women who know how to please a man,” he says, “And you look like you know a thing or two about that...”

You lean over, your lips ghosting over the shell of his ear, “Why don’t we get a room and you can see for yourself.”

Dudebro shudders. You’ve got him.

Suddenly, a blur of grey and silver charges toward dudebro, slamming his head onto the counter. Dudebro crumbles into an unconscious heap by your feet.

The Mandalorian has swooped in to save the day. What a knight in shining fucking armour.

“What the fuck was that about?” You hiss, incensed, “I nearly had him!”

The Mandalorian doesn’t answer. Instead, he’s twirling his blaster between his fingers with well-practiced movements.

The other dudebro’s jump to their feet, steeling themselves for a fight.

Chaos erupts.

***

You’re quiet on your way back to the Razor Crest.

Your blood is boiling, your throat itchy and dry from all the insults you want to scream into the dull, black, bottomless void. The Mandalorian’s anger is an icy contrast to your fire; his broad shoulders steeled and his posture hard, unforgiving, like he’s still hunting down a bounty.

Your temper spikes as you watch him pay Peli Motto, your jaw clenched and your lower belly fluttering with a confusingly irritating concoction of venomous seething and hot, syrupy desire.

“It didn’t have to end in a fucking bar brawl,” you snip, waspishly, as he closes the hatch to his ship, “Thanks to you, though, it did.”

The Mandalorian gives you his usual response: silence.

Your nostrils flare.

“Three dudebros nearly escaped. It was lucky I was able to catch them before they raced off.”

Still no response. He’s too busy scaling the ladder up to the cockpit. You stomp up to the ladder and call up to him.

“You undermined me! And for what, exactly? Because some guy was getting a little touchy feely?”

You hear the engines roar to life and feel the ship rise, hover, then launch into the air.

Fuming, you pace the length of the ship, clutching the daggers in your thigh holster and hurling them in quick procession. They lodge themselves into the bullseye, trembling from the force of your strength.

“You’re making dents in my ship.”

Your jaw clenches, molars grinding as you storm toward the daggers and pull one of them out.

“So now you want to talk!” You snap, scathingly, wheeling around to face him.

Mando’s helmet tilts as though he were evaluating you. He takes three deliberate steps forward, forcing you take a surreptitious step back.

“I’m not exactly a conversationalist,” he states, his voice clipped and tight. He makes no effort to disguise the anger in his tone.

You ball your fingers into a fist, clenching and unclenching, “So you’re not going to explain to me why you nearly let three of our bounty’s escape?”

There is a crackle and whir from the modulator as he speaks again, low and even with an intensity that sends shivers traipsing down your spine.

“You don’t know?”

You squint at him, wondering what he’s playing at. He acted rashly and impulsively; in a way that he’s never done before, betraying his years of careful training and defying all common sense. His timing was peculiar, too, just when you had suggested finding a room...

It hits you like a blaster to the chest, “You were jealous.”

Mando takes another step forward, neatly eliminating any space you had tried to regain. Your back is pressed against the wall as he takes another step closer, closer, closer , his arm reaching out grazing against your cheek, caging you in, closer, closer, closer—

He grips the handle of your dagger and pulls it out of the wall beside your head with a strong tug. The dagger dances between his fingers as he twirls it then parts the split in your dress just enough to slide the dagger back into its holster. His fingers glide along your inner thigh and you gasp, his touch electric.

“Not exactly,” he says, “Just a little protective.”

You exhale slowly, evenly, your chest fluttering with a thousand hummingbirds, “Is there a difference?”

He pulls his gloves off and trails his fingers along the delicate skin of your inner thigh, “I suppose not.”

The tension in the air is almost sentient, alive with a frantic, crackling energy that’s hotter than a heatwave in Tatoonie. Mando’s fingers dig into the spot where dudebro fuckboi had his hand back in the bar. Slowly, slowly, his hand snakes up your thigh, grazing across your hipbone, tickling the sensitive skin...

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” you sneer, your upper lip curled.

“I guess I am,” he admits, his eyes boring holes through the visor of his helmet, “But you’re no angel, either.”

With that, he whirls you around and pushes you up against the wall, your flushed cheeks pressed up against the cool metal of his ship. You moan when he drapes a bandage across your eyes then tugs tightly at your hair. You hear him pull his helmet over his head, dropping it onto the ground with an obnoxious clang. Then he’s behind you, his voice in your ear, sultry and thick.

“You waltz around teasing me with those looks and that body of yours,” he grips your ass through the fabric of your dress, squeezing with bruising strength, “You drive me absolutely fucking crazy.”

He presses a searing kiss to your neck, teeth clamping around the flesh. You moan and arch against him, desire pulsing through your veins like velvety liquid chocolate.

“Then I saw you with our bounty, the way he eyed you, like he was undressing your right then and there,” the Mandalorian grazes his teeth along your neck, biting and nipping hard enough to draw blood, “Only I get to look at you like that. You’re mine.”

With a sudden burst of strength, the Mandalorian grips you by the waist and spins you around, pressing your back against the wall. He crashes his lips onto yours in a searing kiss, teeth scraping and tongues clashing, his mouth ruthless and bruising in the most delicious of ways. He kisses you with the hunger of a starved man, as though he’s deciding whether to savour you or swallow you whole.

The Mandalorian spills his lips down the column of your throat, biting and sucking and bruising, planting blossoming purple roses in your skin. Bite marks swell beneath his lips; a brand you’ll wear proudly for the next few days. It’s ironic how being claimed by the Mandalorian can make you feel so liberated.

He pulls away from you and clutches the zipper to your dress, tearing it from your body. You gasp, the cool air caressing your exposed skin. You feel the prickle of his eyes travelling across your body, capturing and collecting, memorising every detail.

And then he’s on you again, kissing your lips fiercely, stealing the breath from your lungs, swallowing your gasps, your moans, trapping your bottom lip between his teeth and biting. Your hands roam through his hair, tugging the roots, letting it melt between your fingers like honey.

The Mandalorian reaches behind you and rips off your bra followed by your panties, pulling an involuntary gasp from your lips.

“You’re going to have to pay for those,” you pant, “They weren’t cheap—“

You trail off into a moan as you feel the Mandalorian’s hot lips close around one of your nipples, teeth scraping and nibbling. You arch into his mouth, massaging his scalp as you play with his hair. His hand paws at your other breast, rolling the soft flesh in his palm, sending shivers throughout your body.

“Consider it payback for denting my ship,” he counters, and you hear his armour clink against the ships floor as though he were kneeling.

You’re about to ask him what he’s doing when he begins pressing butterfly kisses down your stomach, tasting the salty sweetness of your skin, tongue mapping out the canvas of your body. You moan when he bites your hipbone then travels lower, lower, until his hot breath is hovering over your slick entrance. He slings your leg over his shoulder and inhales your scent as though he were taking mental notes, cataloguing your natural fragrance with everything he knows about you, and then—

He dives in, curling his tongue over your clit, rolling the sensitive pearl of nerves as he drinks you in like sweet nectar. You moan and gasp and whimper his name, your voice hoarse as your lower belly crackles with ethereal-like energy; a nest of frayed, live wires sending currents of azure-blue electricity through your body.

Thick fingers push into you; first the index, then the middle finger, then both. Your back arches and your fingers fly into his hair, gripping hard enough to draw a groan from the back of his throat. It doesn’t take long for you to climax; you cry out his name as you shatter into oblivion, coasting a high that jolts you into hyperspace.

The Mandalorian kisses his way back up your body, and then he kisses you deeply. You slide your tongue over his lips, tasting yourself. Your head spins into a state of euphoric delirium.

“Your pleasure belongs to me,” he snarls, transforming your spine into a quivering live wire, “I’m in charge. Understood?”

“Yes, sir ,” you whisper, light as air, tone teasing.

“Good girl.”

The Mandalorian breaks away, the absence of his warmth leaving a ghosting greyness where he once stood. You shudder as you hear armour clicking and the whirr of zipper teeth being pulled apart. Then you feel his hands tug on the knot behind your head, keeping your bandage together, and the fabric falls away, returning your vision.

You blink, eyes adjusting. The Mandalorian stands before you in his armour, including his helmet. His codpiece is discarded; the lump of metal sits abandoned on the floor near your shredded clothes. You trap your bottom lip between your teeth as your gaze dips to his huge, thick cock.

“Wow,” you gasp, “You’ve been holding out on me, Mando.”

The Mandalorian steps toward you again, hooks his arms around your thighs, and hoists you up against the wall. The cold metal bites into your back, penetrating your skin and crawling down your spine. He presses his cock against your entrance.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a brat...”

Without further ado, He pins you to the wall of the Razor Crest with his long, thick girth, sinking into you with a loud groan and a roll of his hips. You cling onto the pieces of his armour and rest your head on the cool metal of his shoulder as the Mandalorian sets a pace. He rocks his hips slowly at first and you move your own hips against him, for once perfectly in sync.

“Fuck,” you curse, wrapping your thighs around his hips and pulling him further into your warm depths.

The Mandalorian snaps his hips against you, building up a fast, unrelenting pace. His movements are steady and deliberate, his grip plunging into your thighs, shooting sparks of pain and pleasure throughout your entire body. He’s silent for the most part, occasionally grunting and gasping in your ear when the muscles in your pussy contract.

“Yes,” you cry, biting into the fabric of his shoulder, “Just like that, don’t stop.”

A familiar tightness begins to curl inside your lower belly again, sloshing around with the chemical cocktail of champagne,

dopamine and serotonin. The feeling rolls and crashes within you, filling you up like seawater and sunlight and bright, glittering gold.

“Every time a man lays his hands on you, I want to cut them off,” he growls, each word punctuated with a sharp thrust, “Each eye that follows you makes me want to dig them out of the socket.”

“I never — oh — never knew you felt like — Ah, fuck yes — like that.”

“Bullshit. You knew...you’re just such a — fuck — fucking tease .”

“So what are you going to do—do about it?”

The Mandalorian groans and increases his pace, slamming his cock inside of you. He balances you with one, strong arm while the other snakes between the two of you and reaches up, up, up, his fingers wrapping around your neck, flexing gently. The added pressure makes you moan as you crest higher and higher, scaling the wobbling, tipsy-turvey ladder of a crashing crescendo—

Suddenly, the tight coil inside you snaps, spirals, sending pleasure surging through you, fluttering in your chest, pulsing through your arms and legs. Your pussy quivers around him, hugging his cock as the muscles spasm and quake with the force of your climax. The Mandalorian follows you over the edge, gritting his teeth and growling your name as he buries his twitching cock inside of you and comes, pouring his seed deep inside of you.

The air around of you smells like sweat and sex and grease and is filled with your combined pants. After a few lingering moments, the Mandalorian slides out of you and places you gently on the ground, tucking himself back into his pants. Your thighs are sticky with his dribbling cum and your head feels like it’s been crammed with fluffy cotton buds but your entire body tingles like light dancing off the ocean.

“That was—“

“Incredible...” you finish, biting your lip. The Mandalorian’s faceless mask stares down at you, but you have a sneaking suspicion that he’s gazing sheepishly at you, perhaps shy or maybe even aroused. Maybe he’s like you — an amalgamation of conflicting emotions, some old and nostalgic, some surprising and new.

***

Morning light drenches the Mandalorian’s quarters, shimmering like gold dust. You moan gently, consciousness slowly returning to you. You become aware of your surroundings, recognition settling in, delicious memories of being tied up and blindfolded while the Mandalorian worshipped your body...

The gentle caress of a warm kiss tickles your inner thigh.

You moan as the kisses dot along your thigh, climbing higher, teasing around your entrance, licking and nipping like he can’t get enough...

Your fingers fumble then clench around the bed sheets as his tongue finally laps at your clit, swirling and sliding in tantalising rhythms. You gasp and mewl, whispering words of encouragement as the Mandalorian feasts on you, plunging two fingers into your slick entrance. You begin to draw closer and closer to your climax, your toes curling as you throw your head back and moan—

A small whimper suddenly jolts you back into the present.

You sit up on your elbows and gasp, clambering to cover yourself as the Child stares up at you, distressed by the sound of your moans. His bottom lip trembles, his large eyes unusually glassy as he waddles up to you.

Beneath you, the Mandalorian shifts, and you turn away from him as he slides his helmet on.

“Hello baby,” you soothe, reaching down to scoop him up with one arm, “It’s okay, mummy’s here.”

The Child coos in delight as he snuggles into your embrace. You gently turn on your side to face the Mandalorian — who is now wearing his helmet — and place the Child between your bodies. He stares up at both of you and beams; his smile could light up a thousands suns.

When the Child begins to doze, you gaze up at the Mandalorian through your lashes, bracing your head on your hand bent at the elbow.

“I think he was jealous,” you whisper, stifling your giggles.

You hear the amusement in the Mandalorian’s tone, “Of you or of me?”

You shrug, leaning down to press a tiny kiss on the Child’s head, “Who knows?”

#the mandalorian #star wars #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #baby yoda #star wars imagine #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian fluff #fluff #smut #star wars smut #star wars fluff #fluff & smut #jealous #imagines #georgie writes

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defiantones-blog · 7 years

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Descendants Muse

Name: Zoe Fandom: Descendants (Tinkerbell: The Pirate Fairy, Peter Pan) Parentage: Zarina (The Pirate Fairy) and James Hook Home: The Isle of the Lost

Zoe had a turbulent arrival into this world. Zarina the pirate fairy had fallen in love with the charming James Hook, only to have him betray her at the birth of their son. He stole the child away cutting off Zarina’s wings so she couldn’t follow them. What Hook didn’t know was that Zarina was pregnant with twins (Fraternal) Zoe was born shortly after to a broken Zarina, distraught and hysterical at the loss of the boy she had planned for. She barely seemed aware of her daughter until the well intentioned fairies tried to take the child. Zarina went mad.

The fairies put up with her behavior for some time. But before Zoe was one years old Zarina’s behavior had escalated to such a degree, the fairies had no choice but to send Zarina to the isle. Of course the baby girl was so small she could obviously be raised good! But Zarina attacked when they tried to take the girl and so Zoe was sent to the Isle.

Growing up her mother became more and more unhinged slowly falling into madness. Zoe more or less raised herself. Always hearing of the monster that cut off her mother’s wings and the brother she had lost. Zoe spent most of her time away from home, as much as she could. But became her mother’s caretaker.

One day though her mother finally let it slip. “That damn James Hook...”

She had no idea that she had been so close to her father if she could even call him that. But the real revelation was the fact that her brother was on the island with her! And everyone kind of knew each other here.

Facts and details:

Zoe has no last name

She is a fairy and has wings. But due to the horror stories from her mother she tends to keep them hidden in a leather jacket, gently tucked away

She can control pixie dust and fly and her powers are still developing

She has a personality as firey as her hair and it tends to get her in trouble.

She has a strong sense of justice yet wants revenge on James Hook

Doesn’t have as much against the people from Auradon as others from the Isle

Her linage, specifically that of her father, is a well kept secret amongst the fairies.

The fairies still want to bring her to Auradon, thinking she can be saved.

Like her mother she has a talent for manipulating pixie dust

Like her father and her mother she has a love of the sea and more or less ended up with Uma’s crew at the Wharf. Though always on the outskirts and never taking part fully. Distrusting Uma from the start.

There’s a rage that she controls very well likely from Hook but one day she could snap

#descendants muses #Descendants original character #Descendants rp #Muse: Zoe #the one left behind;#Did I build this ship to wreck? (Zoe headcanons)#Like the tide to the shore (ships)#Shouldn't waste your pretty face like me (face)#muses

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jcmorrigan · 3 years

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001 - Tales of Zestiria?

Favorite character: It's a tough call between Maltran and Symonne, and Lunarre is trailing right behind both. I tend to call them the "Heldalf Squad," but make no mistake, Heldalf himself isn't part of it. I just like his swagalicious minions. The dry and sarcastic political manipulator, the sadistic and wordy theater nerd, and the flamboyant cannibal who hates everything. Yes. LOVE. But I have to give a shout to my boy Dezel on the hero side! Angsty/stoic characters are very hit-or-miss with me, but Dezel is the flavor I love - obvious soft spots and quirks, and slowly he builds from being antisocial to showing how big his heart is. When he stops the woman from leaping off the Guinevere tower...that's one of my favorite scenes in the entire game, because you can see when the switch flips, when he realizes that he CANNOT stay aloof any longer when there's a stranger's life on the line. He's still a grump about it but a compassionate grump.

Least Favorite character: Heldalf. His backstory is really clever, and I like the curse on him. But he himself just feels like Ganondorf but more boring. I kinda hate that he's so vanilla when his three lieutenants are in my arsenal of pet villains from the vastness of fiction. Also shout-out to Chancellor BART in the opening Ladylake act, because I distinctly remember liveblogging this to a friend, and I played Zestiria *after* Berseria (I'd loved Berseria and that's why I eventually sought out Zestiria) so here I am just comparing up the corrupt church in Ladylake to the Abbey's suave rogues gallery like "Yeah no BART has nothing on Lady Teresa Linares." Thankfully BART was never seen again.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): DezeRose, SorMik, Symonne x Coco Atarashi (The World Ends With You), Alisha Diphda x Sergei Strelka, and...I swear you have to bear with me here...Zaveid x Anna (Frozen). I also kinda wanna note a couple ships I'm on the fence about for my other favies - those being Maltran x Ebony Maw (Marvel Cinematic Universe or Marvel Ultimate Alliance) and Lunarre x Arkham (Devil May Cry).

Character I find most attractive: Dezel. It is a scientific fact that guys with pointy teeth are just hotter.

Character I would marry: Maybe Dezel, maybe Sergei. I wouldn't want to take them from those I see as their wifeys, but at the same time, they are husband goals, both of them.

Character I would be best friends with: Catch me clinging to Maltran's train and she drags me along annoyedly as I yell "PLEEEEAAASE LET ME HANG OUT WITH YOU GUYS" and Lunarre is losing it laughing while Symonne rolls her eyes

a random thought: So I toyed around with basically every accessory I picked up, and I decided to put the sideburns on Rose because fuck gender roles. Well then I just got used to seeing her with facial hair in every cutscene where her 3D model was used, and now I headcanon that she does get it. Maybe nonclassical CAH intersex? Like, I don't necessarily see her as trans (but I support everyone who hc's her as such) but moreso "a cis woman, but I grow this stupid damn facial hair like a dude and I don't get why." And this is why you shouldn't let me play with customizable accessories on RPG characters because I can and will abuse my privilege to headcanon.

An unpopular opinion: That this is actually a very good game. Listen, I think I get it - the initial marketing promised something far different. And that's disappointing. But coming back to it several years after its release, after the release of its PREQUEL, when I never had that hype building up...it actually exceeded my expectations. I held off from it for a while because I thought Eizen's fate would make me too sad, but that didn't end up the case at all. I actually had just come off playing a more recently-released triple-A game that was hyped up for years, and I completed it to my satisfaction in 20 hours. $80 for 20 hours. Zestiria gave me my money's worth in comparison; it took me about 60, and I loved just how MUCH story it had to offer me. I honestly like Rose better than Alisha anyway (Rose was one of the biggest aspects that interested me about playing it in the first place). I've also seen complaints that the characters weren't well-developed enough? Which I just kinda take to mean "They didn't angst enough." Listen. There are PLENTY of games out there if you want angst and sad stories. I don't really like sad stories in my games. I like adventures where the party is a goofy foundfam that jokes around with each other and helps each other work through shitty situations, and that's EXACTLY what I got. (And Berseria really worked on me too because it kinda started at the bottom of the angst barrel, then worked its way up through "The edgy and tortured protag has gained a party of idiots and oh noooooo she's learning friendship and happiness.") Dezel's death is one of the few game deaths that just made me SATISFIED to watch instead of depressed because of the closure he got and the themes tied into his final moments and sacrifice. I loved going on this adventure, I loved the idiots who I went on it with, and I loved seeing what Glenwood had to offer me in world design the further I explored.

my canon OTP: There's not much for canon romance in this game, come to think of it. Just subtext and some flirting. So I'm blanking on if there actually were any canon couples at all.

Non-canon OTP: DezeRose! Which maybe can be considered almost-canon based on the amount of subtext, but still. It's adorable. (And it's the exact same dynamic as EiRoku except M/F and a thousand years later. I need these four to double date...the dual-wielding goofs with their edgy, grumpy Reapers...)

most badass character: Rose! Not only able to wield the Shepherd's Armatization powers, but also to be a dang good assassin on her own, able to hold her own against Heldalf before she even had her eyes opened to seraphim! Though a shout-out goes to Edna because her armatization was my favorite to play with. There's something just satisfying about bashing the enemy in front of you with a pair of GIANT FISTS

pairing I am not a fan of: RoseAli. To be honest, it was at one point something I kinda enjoyed as a third-tier ship for Rose (Dezel first, then Lailah in second). But then...Alisha's Story. I didn't actually purchase it, thank goodness, just watched it on YouTube, and it was the most grating addition that anyone could've made to this game. First of all, I can sum up the issues with Alisha's Story by reminding everyone that it canonized a secret entrance to Camlann that was much easier to get to and wasn't protected by Muse's sacrifice. But the real thing that hurt to watch was how far down they had to knock Rose and Alisha's friendship to get them to rebuild from scratch. Rose claiming she was never Alisha's friend because she's grieving Sorey? The two of them getting into a PHYSICAL FISTFIGHT over it? Nope nope nope. That's not my Rose. Even less my Rose is that whole scene where she...you know...pounces on Alisha to dress her in the silly noblewoman's dress, and it's framed like...let's just say it's really uncomfortable to watch if you don't know the punchline is just a silly outfit. Even though Alisha's Story isn't canon in my head, it still really killed any buzz I had for RoseAli. I will also say I'm not a big fan of Eizavie - first of all, EiRoku or bust in this house, and second, I have a little bit of a hard time seeing Zaveid as mlm due to how much he goes on and on about The Ladies(TM). (Though I could see Eizen as having a tiny crush on him, though. Just like "Oh no he's hot but he's connected to Aifread's disappearance help")

character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): Mostly just in Alisha's Story. I was mad about the aforementioned Rose stuff, but also...like...they undid Lunarre's original cathartic death, they did so to team him back up with Symonne and then do a whole fakeout that they had Maltran with them too, but Maltran is just an illusion and immediately after this, Lunarre and Symonne just decide "Yeah, we're not gonna work together anymore, have a nice life." Why does Maltran need to stay dead if LUNARRE somehow survived EXPLODING? And just...look to next question for more clarification:

favourite friendship: I just want to imagine that Maltran, Lunarre, and Symonne were weird evil friends. The kind who'd take artistic selfies and caption them "Murder and mayhem with my besties!". Maybe they even had a sibling dynamic. They were all pretty dang jaded, so I like to think they sat around sometimes talking about the things in this world that did them wrong. The reasons they were drawn to Heldalf. Heldalf himself wouldn't have cared, he would've kicked them around like disposable tools, but the three of them were too entrenched in his dogma to see it. Maybe if they met up again after he was off the board...then they'd sing a different tune. Realize they're all three better than this, and now they're gonna do things THEIR way, because remember when they made a three-point attack on Glenwood and Sorey was barely able to keep up with them wrecking Lastonbell AND Pendrago AND Glaivend? Remember when Lunarre and Symonne had each other's backs the night Dezel died? Now they can do what they want on their terms! And I just - I have many MANY feelings about these three.

character I want to adopt or be adopted by: Okay silly self-insert time but the thing is, Archibald Snatcher (The Boxtrolls) and Roman Torchwick (RWBY) are my two favorite parental f/o's (and also my OTP to end all OTPs), and I have this thing about how they'd be PERFECT crime dads to Symonne in particular because she's like a little, more theatrical Neopolitan. So there's a universe in my head where Symonne is basically already my little sister, and I look out for her - well, okay, she's a seraph with powerful Artes and I am a powerless mortal so really she looks out for me because "I suppose SOMEONE has to make sure you don't die" and I am grateful to her for it.

#tales of zestiria

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peepingtoad · 4 years

Text

OKAY SO.

It’s not that often that I talk about what I really think about Jiraiya, and I guess I mean more how I feel about him, since I always try to write my ‘deeper’ headcanons/metas from a more... idk, trying not to get too emotional about it point of view. Basically it’s because I know how controversial he is, and I pretty much ritually avoid a lot of takes because I don’t want to get irritated about something that really doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme, because we’re all entitled to our opinions and I largely get my say through the act of writing and developing him how I see fit.

Which is enough for me, mostly, but for the purpose of reinforcing/building upon how I see my muse’s plight, working through some of my Sannin-feels and also to dip my toes into why I find blindly judgemental/single-faceted takes of him, his priorities and the Sannin’s bond so exasperating, I kinda feel like rambling my thoughts (feelings) anyway!

Politely sticks this stream-of-consciousness mess under a cut.

So sometimes I do think about the fact that Jiraiya kinda, lmao, forgot about Everything Else in the world because of Orochimaru and his (frankly) obsession with him/them. And the fact that a ridiculously significant portion of bad shit that happened is down to his actions/inaction. And the fact that he really did go and leave the likes of Naruto (and maybe to a degree Kakashi, although there’s zero actual evidence he didn’t get involved given the strong indications of a great rapport in the canon), just because he was so hellbent on pursuing Orochimaru, who was not even shown to be affectionate towards him at the best of times. When I think about it in terms of Jiraiya being gone and the main reason we’re given for it, things suck for a number of people, and quite largely because of potentially unrequited/horribly communicated/obsessive JiraOro pursuits, in essence :’)

(And for all it’s still quite the rarepair, Jiraiya does express on accounts that he was destroyed when Oro left. I mean... this is the guy who rarely acknowledges his sadness so... It’s not my bias at all I sware)

Of course JiraTsu is very real in my eyes too, albeit a very different kinda tragic, as is OroTsu. And the messy poly ship? Ohohoho, even better, but... yeah. Tsunade does at least go her own way for a long time, as messed up as that is in itself, for reasons including the fact she seems to pointedly not heal or move on from her grief. And given the absolute debacle that was her and Jiraiya reuniting... and both her and Oro even discussing a possibility of sacrificing him... and just, them in general for that whole arc :’))) yeah. They are without a doubt messy and troubled, but even despite how fraught things become I genuinely think all the furtive expressions and the undercurrents of longing and the evasion of their past exhibits a history much deeper and full of lost love compared to many other team dynamics we get (otherwise the Three Way Divorce wouldn’t have been quite so horrible on them, would it? That and they’d probably have split up after Team Hiruzen was no more, if they really hated each other/just tolerated each other out of familiarity like I sometimes see speculated).

But yeah, back to our main man. Jiraiya’s intense (and frankly very Scorpio of him) love for our first series Big Bad kinda did ruin him and what he was setting out to do in some ways, to the degree that the actual story of Naruto wouldn’t be very much without him in terms of drama. I mean, he always loved a good story, right? So art imitates life, and innit just pathetic poetic.

And in so many ways it is incredibly tragic and pitiable that he’s Just Like That. Idealistic and warping everything terrible, no matter how bad, into adventure in his mind! As growth! As pain that makes you TOUGH and makes you a stronger man! As something to be pushed aside while you just keep on truckin’! Whatever anyone you love throws at you, it’s Totally Fine!

After so long narrating through his personal lens, I’ve come to realise he truly is so convinced that everything bad that happens, is sort of just... something he has to deal with and feel big and guilty and feelsy for while spinning it in ways that enable him to keep going. He just loads it on himself and sorta holds it. The fact he’s so sad and filled with sickly pining grief that he has to try and exorcise it with impulsive bouts of decadence? Fine. And it’s not abnormal at all, how he approaches things with such broad scope and just kinda... thoughtlessly wrecking-balls his way through everything he thinks is a great idea at the time. He experiences the fallout of these things and simultaneously feels the entire ravages of it acutely while compartmentalising it ever so neatly away. The crazy thing, too, is that he’s exceptionally convincing at making everything he does and how he handles things seem so grand and noble and romantic and tragic... but in a humorously self-deprecating and still ultimately very hopeful way, to the degree that I as a mun get caught up in his relentless optimism and forget he actually is a sad and heartbroken guy wrapped up in all this grandiosity.

Sometimes I do step back and look and I just think yeah, fuck, he really is a total disaster! He’s a walking disaster and he’s been so damaging to himself and others in so many ways, all because of acting on emotions and impulses without really thinking about the impact! He really did kinda give up on those who needed him and for what? A love that will never love him or prioritise him back?

A wonderfully tragic theme that I do love with him, don’t get me wrong.

But then at the same time, there’s always more nuance to be had than just ‘he is a disaster and made bad choices, as tragic and romantic as it is, he was actually just selfish and kinda sucked in the end, pathetically whipped by his friends and unable to let go of what they had’. There’s more nuance to be had than reducing him to a purely romantically-inclined character, who just snubs everyone else for a doomed love... because in the end, I think a huge part of JiraOro’s demise in particular was that Oro felt immensely snubbed by Jiraiya when he stayed in Ame, when his loyalty to Konoha (as a place and people, not necessarily a system) and of course loyalty to his own ideals was prioritised over Oro.

To an extent, I feel like Tsunade could have been a similar case, were she not preoccupied with already having lost so much, and besides I really do think she and Jiraiya were quite firmly in best friend zone at that point. With Tsunade not being able to get comfortable around Jiraiya or to pursue any underlying affection for him because of the dumbass way he always behaved (understandably of her tbh), probably until she got with Dan, by which point I reckon Jiraiya started to really come through by showing how he valued her for her, where we see by them having each other’s backs so closely in the second war. Not to mention him generally respecting that his feelings for her have no place by the time he gets her back to Konoha.

In terms of that first split in Ame, Jiraiya, I feel, simply didn’t think him leaving was going to be a big deal, because the three were always fiercely headstrong people who had their own shit going on (simultaneously independent while also being, perhaps not to their knowledge, So Very Codependent). Not only that, but his overly affectionate ways and incessant jolliness were probably considered such a joke that he was basically like ‘they’ll be fine without me’. I certainly don’t think he felt needed by them, which I don’t think is their fault or a point of angst and ‘waaah poor blameless Jiraiya’, because quite honestly, the strain on their relationship was something I fully believe even he didn’t realise he needed out of at the time. His one-track mind was just on ‘save kids, teach kids, this is right, must seize opportunity to be the change I was told I’d be, not continue with this godforsaken war’

Selfish? Maybe. Well-intentioned? Certainly. Intended to hurt anyone or imply he stopped caring? No.

In essence, when it comes to why in the end Jiraiya seemed to be so horrendously bad at being around at the worst of times, at being responsible, whatever else (and I’m not even going to go into scenes intended to be comedic because, they are comedic)... I’ve got to look at it from more than just one view. It’s easy to say ‘he’s ridiculous and terrible because he pretty much flaked on what was important based on his whims/a doomed love/his dick’ (which I have seen said lmao) but there are so many other things at play here.

So I’m thinking, while he was shirking duties (godfatherly mainly)... did he actually consider that his most important duty? Was it anyone’s place to tell him it was? Minato didn’t, as I recall, and when he sacrificed himself he specifically left it to the Third because he (presumably) respected what his teacher was about and knew he wasn’t for staying put. Did Jiraiya not consider his primary duty to be to the prophecy, and in a more general sense fixing the big wrongs and trying to foil big dangers to his home? Were these things not pretty much what he existed for (as much as his faith wavered and went off the rails at times)? Was that not the main source of any real purpose he ever had, being a kid who showed practically no ambition before? Did he not pretty much redesign himself as being ‘from Mt. Myōboku’ rather than Konoha after two devastating wars, and thus is it not understandable for him not to focus solely on Konoha—not outright destroying it, still ultimately loyal to his home and not about to let anyone destroy it, but seeing that the world is in fact so much bigger than just his little town? Is that really something that’s so bad and wrong of him, in a story where the main cast’s country has a pretty fucking nasty system and is established to do so very early on? Is he not pretty revolutionary in his own brand of not blindly serving, but not going on a destroy-it-all frenzy either?

Also, was he not the only one who actually bothered to investigate Akatsuki and the forces that would see Naruto dead, in time? For all he did help bring Akatsuki into existence in ways, it was inevitable from before he even met the orphans that they were going to be groomed/moulded into what they became, regardless of whether Jiraiya came onto the scene. Jiraiya leaving them was just a different kind of suffering to what they were inevitably going to suffer anyway, and hell, with his influence at least there was a time where they might’ve stood a chance of going totally against Madara/Obito’s path, especially while Yahiko was still around. Jiraiya didn’t know that the whole thing with the Ame orphans was, by a design out of his control, doomed to end horribly. So while he felt personally responsible not knowing this, and it’s taken as a given that he was... actually, was he, when there was a master manipulator at play? Was it wrong to want to give some kids a chance?

With regards to all those things I see people say he should have stayed and fixed, that he should have been there, he should have done x y z... Is it not the responsibility of everyone not satisfied with their lot to step up to the plate and make where they live better? Jiraiya wasn’t the only adult. Tsunade, and I absolutely love her, does seem overwhelmingly to be absolved of leaving Konoha because... ??? Kicker is that she too is related to Naruto, of course.

So... was she not also needed for the very material ways she could’ve helped at numerous points? Was she not also placing her grief and lost love before everything else? Are some reasons inherently more ok than others to ditch? As Kakashi’s generation grew up, was it not also then up to them to decide whether they’d change the status quo? Were Minato’s own generation, presumably his own peer group, not complicit in Naruto’s ostracisation? We got a slight taste of rebellion with Asuma, Hiruzen’s own son, but the fact is many Konoha-nin were overwhelmingly complacent with how things were. And yet never get demonised at all for it. Because it’s Jiraiya’s fault for... not staying and giving it all up to be a guardian who could well be depressed and unfit to raise a child... or just being a flaky as hell one that’s never there anyway because he has shit to do? (and in doing the former would let too many things go unchecked by a completely tuned-out Hokage, not gathering all that spicy useful intel, y’know... essentially he wouldn’t have ended up largely doing his job along with the personal shit in between).

Basically when I see claims saying that Jiraiya as an individual should have done pretty much everything better, and somehow been there for everyone that needed him at any given time, and that (mostly Naruto’s) suffering was a failing on Just His part because of his selfish whims... I feel like the point of his tragedy is absolutely missed. That tragedy being that barrelling through things alone is definitely a failing and harmful in numerous ways, as we see with Itachi shouldering everything alone too, and we see them both miss out on Naruto and Sasuke as a result... but at the same time, is just settling down and leaving everything else to chance not also a huge failing, when there are so many other circumstances and enemies acting against you, when you do have the power to change tides, and when so many other people refuse to or can’t seize their own agency? Jiraiya does put his faith in a lot of people too, and a lot of people fail. Don’t fail him, but in a general sense many, like Minato, fail to make the change they wanted to. That’s life in this world, it’s tragic, and after losing a lot of loved ones yeah, he retreats and goes at it alone.

But how can he win? How does he do what’s right, other than by chasing what he thinks he can do to actually help the world, which happens to be bigger and not centred on individuals, even those he cares about?

(and remember, nobody knows Naruto is special-reincarnation-prophecy-boi, which is why I tend not to blame-game any characters for him being treated like so many orphans were because... while it’s not morally right or nice at all, it’s tone deaf to how the world is, to the fact all characters having different degrees of knowledge and priorities, and it’s insensitive of the fact most the characters had their own struggles and were just doing their best with a bad lot gdi).

Hell though, Jiraiya even does put Oro, his big obsessive wild goose chase that whisks him away into selfish pining hopelessly devoted land, on the back burner at points. Maybe not in a lasting way, particularly by the last databook where he’s inspired anew by Naruto, but he does prioritise other shit on numerous occasions. And there’s a lot of shit to try and prioritise.

What I’m trying to say is, Jiraiya can’t solely be held responsible for people. Sure, he’s a character whose decisions were pivotal to events, but what of every other character in the story? Why are they not held to the same crazy high standard of doing and protecting and preventing and somehow doing everything ‘right’ that would have also meant him fitting neatly into the Konoha mould? Would other characters really have been that much better in the position of The Big Guide/Martyr/Tragic Hero/Force For Change character? And also is having a tragic Chaotic Good bastard of a hero not a sign of a damn good and interesting character, that at the very least tried where so many others didn’t? Would Naruto not have been a boring as hell story, whose main protag didn’t really have much conflict to make him compelling, without Jiraiya (among others) being a mess with the best intentions? Without so many other characters having failed him, for him to overcome it and still be able to love and inspire change (albeit through sometimes-clumsy talk-no-jutsu)? Was I missing the point of the story?

............. Hmm!

No longer sure where else I’m going with this now, so.... here, I guess, ends my ode to why character hate (especially that reduces them to One Thing) is dumb, why demonising truly well-meaning characters doesn’t feel particularly woke to me in a cast full of flawed characters and horrible circumstance, and why I’ll defend this poor bastard with far too damn much hinging on him to the end I guess :’)

TL;DR HE’S A DUMBASS AND HE TRIED, OKAY?!

#i feel like this is like... about as bold as i'll get with this subject #{ooc}#{memoirs(headcanons)}#not sure about it being a headcanon as such but it does include some of mine so.... for now it can be #{long post}#{meta&analysis}

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ltbroccoli · 3 years

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✩ (Liz)

the ultimate relationship tag ( selectively accepting // @nashforhire )

Disagreements:

WHO IS MORE LIKELY TO RAISE THEIR VOICE? Liz. WHO THREATENS TO LEAVE BUT NEVER ACTUALLY DOES? Liz (but not often). WHO ACTUALLY KEEPS THEIR WORD AND LEAVES? Neither. WHO TRASHES THE HOUSE? Probably Reg. DO EITHER OF THEM GET PHYSICAL? No. HOW OFTEN DO THEY ARGUE/DISAGREE? Not often, but when they do argue it tends to be a bigger deal. WHO IS THE FIRST TO APOLOGISE? Usually Reg.

Sex:

WHO IS ON TOP? Usually Reg, but they switch. WHO IS ON THE BOTTOM? Usually Liz, but they switch. WHO HAS THE STRANGEST DESIRES? Liz, but they’ve both got good imaginations. ANY KINKS? Where to even start? WHO’S DOMINANT IN BED? Once he gets comfortable? Reg. IS HEAD EVER IN THE EQUATION? Often. IF SO, WHO IS BETTER AT PERFORMING IT? They’re both pretty good, but Liz has a unique ability to absolutely wreck Reg with her mouth. EVER HAD SEX IN PUBLIC? The occasional closet. WHO MOANS THE MOST? Reg. WHO LEAVES THE MOST MARKS? Liz. She’s a scratcher. And a biter. WHO SCREAMS THE LOUDEST? Reg. WHO IS THE MORE EXPERIENCED OF THE TWO? Liz. DO THEY ‘FUCK’ OR ‘MAKE LOVE’? Both. ROUGH OR SOFT? Depends on the mood, but tends toward rough. HOW LONG DO THEY USUALLY LAST? Fairly long. IS PROTECTION USED? Whatever futuristic birth control is, they use that. DOES IT EVER GET BORING? Nope! WHERE IS THE STRANGEST PLACE THEY’D HAVE SEX? The ceiling of the Nomad. 0g is great.

Family:

DO YOUR MUSES PLAN ON HAVING CHILDREN/OR HAVE CHILDREN? They weren’t planned, but they happened. IF SO, HOW MANY CHILDREN DO YOUR MUSES WANT/HAVE? Four -- Sofia, Oliver, Charlotte, and Victoria. WHO IS THE FAVORITE PARENT? Depends which kid you ask. Sof is closer with Reg, Ollie is closer with Liz, and the twins will experiment on them both equally. WHO IS THE AUTHORITATIVE PARENT? Liz. WHO IS MORE LIKELY TO ALLOW THE CHILDREN TO HAVE A DAY OFF SCHOOL? Reg. WHO LETS THE CHILDREN INDULGE IN SWEETS AND JUNK FOOD WHEN THE OTHER ISN’T AROUND? Reg. WHO TURNS UP TO EXTRA CURRICULAR ACTIVITIES TO SUPPORT THEIR CHILDREN? Both of them. WHO GOES TO PARENT TEACHER INTERVIEWS? Both of them. WHO CHANGES THE DIAPERS? Both of them. WHO GETS UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT TO FEED THE BABY? They take turns, and grumble at each other that it’s their turn. WHO SPENDS THE MOST TIME WITH THE CHILDREN? About equal, but they spend more time with Liz when they’re very little. WHO PACKS THEIR LUNCH BOXES? Liz. Reg would just give them sweets. WHO GIVES THEIR CHILDREN ‘THE TALK’? Liz gives it to Sof and the twins, while Reg gives it to Ollie. WHO CLEANS UP AFTER THE KIDS? Both. WHO WORRIES THE MOST? Both, but Liz hides it better. WHO ARE THE CHILDREN MORE LIKELY TO LEARN THEIR FIRST SWEAR WORD FROM? Liz.

Affection:

WHO LIKES TO CUDDLE? Both, but Reg is more ridiculous about it. WHO IS THE LITTLE SPOON? Usually Liz, but they can switch. WHO GETS NAUGHTY IN THE MOST INAPPROPRIATE OF PLACES? Liz. WHO STRUGGLES TO KEEP THEIR HANDS TO THEMSELF? Liz. HOW LONG CAN THEY CUDDLE UNTIL ONE BECOMES UNCOMFORTABLE? Forever... WHO GIVES THE MOST KISSES? Liz. WHAT IS THEIR FAVOURITE NON-SEXUAL ACTIVITY? Bat’leth in the holodeck. WHERE IS THEIR FAVOURITE PLACE TO CUDDLE? The couch. If one of them is already seated, the other will come and plop down on top of them. WHO IS MORE LIKELY TO PLAYFULLY GROPE THE OTHER? Liz. HOW OFTEN DO THEY GET TIME TO THEMSELVES? Once Reg transfers to DS9, pretty often. Before that, they had to sneak visits and vacations every few weeks/months.

Sleeping:

WHO SNORES? Reg snores very softly. IF BOTH DO, WHO SNORES THE LOUDEST? Reg. DO THEY SHARE A BED OR SLEEP SEPARATELY? Share. IF THEY SLEEP TOGETHER, DO THEY COZY UP TOGETHER OR LAY FAR APART? Reg is a sleep snuggler. He will snuggle and you cannot stop him. WHO TALKS IN THEIR SLEEP? They both do, every once in a while. WHAT DO THEY WEAR TO BED? Reg wears PJs, Liz wears oversized worn out clothes. Or they just wear nothing. ARE EITHER OF YOUR MUSES INSOMNIACS? Reg. CAN SLEEPING PILLS BE FOUND BY THE BEDSIDE? No. DO THEY WRAP THEIR LIMBS AROUND EACH OTHER OR JUST LAY SIDE BY SIDE? Snuggles. WHO WAKES UP WITH BED HAIR? Both. WHO WAKES UP FIRST? Reg. WHO PREPARES BREAKFAST IN BED FOR THE OTHER? Reg. WHAT IS THEIR FAVOURITE SLEEPING POSITION? Reg’s favorite will always be lying on top of her, using her boobs as a pillow. WHO HOGS THE SHEETS? Liz. DO THEY SET AN ALARM EACH NIGHT? Yes. CAN A TELEVISION BE FOUND IN THEIR BEDROOM? I imagine they have a viewscreen. WHO HAS NIGHTMARES? Both. WHO HAS RIDICULOUS DREAMS? Reg. WHO SPRAWLS OUT AND TAKES UP MOST OF THE BED? Reg. WHO MAKES THE BED? Probably Liz. WHAT TIME IS BED TIME? Whenever Reg eventually nods off, or Liz carries him to bed. ANY ROUTINES/RITUALS BEFORE BED? Not really. WHO’S THE GRUMPIEST WHEN THEY WAKE UP? LIZ.

Work:

WHO IS THE BUSIEST? Reg is busier with day to day duties, while Liz gets a lot of work but spends a lot more time traveling or arranging things. WHO RAKES IN THE HIGHEST INCOME? Liz is doing very well for herself. ARE ANY OF YOUR MUSES UNEMPLOYED? No. WHO TAKES THE MOST SICK DAYS? Reg. WHO IS MORE LIKELY TO TURN UP LATE TO WORK? Reg. WHO SUCKS UP TO THEIR BOSS? Reg. WHAT ARE THEIR JOBS? Reg is a Starfleet engineer, and Liz runs a shipping business. WHO STRESSES THE MOST? Both, but again, Liz is better at hiding it. DO YOUR MUSES ENJOY OR DESPISE THEIR CAREERS/OCCUPATIONS? Reg doesn’t enjoy Starfleet at first, but grows to really enjoy it. Liz is pretty happy in her job. ARE YOUR MUSES FINANCIALLY STABLE? Very. They don’t really need money living on a Federation station, and even if they did, Liz is very well off.

Home:

WHO DOES THE WASHING? Either. WHO TAKES OUT THE TRASH? Either. WHO DOES THE IRONING? Either. WHO DOES THE COOKING? They either replicate things, order things from Quark’s, or Reg cooks. WHO IS MORE LIKELY TO BURN THE HOUSE DOWN JUST TRYING? Liz. WHO IS MESSIER? Reg. WHO LEAVES THE TOILET ROLL EMPTY? Neither. WHO LEAVES THEIR DIRTY CLOTHES ON THE FLOOR? Reg. WHO FORGETS TO FLUSH THE TOILET? Neither. WHO IS THE PRANKSTER AROUND THE HOUSE? Both. Their prank wars are legendary. WHO LOSES THE CAR KEYS WHEN IT COMES TIME TO GO SOMEWHERE? Probably Reg. WHO MOWS THE LAWN? Either. WHO ANSWERS THE TELEPHONE? Liz. WHO DOES THE VACUUMING? Either. WHO DOES THE GROCERIES? Either. WHO TAKES THE LONGEST TO SHOWER? Reg. WHO SPENDS THE MOST TIME IN THE BATHROOM? Reg.

Miscellaneous:

IS MONEY A PROBLEM? Nope. HOW MANY CARS DO THEY OWN? N/A - but Liz has her own ship. DO THEY OWN THEIR HOME OR DO THEY RENT? They live on DS9. Presumably Liz pays rent of some sort? I honestly don’t know how that works. DO THEY LIVE NEAR THE COAST OR DEEP IN THE COUNTRYSIDE? N/A DO THEY LIVE IN THE CITY OR IN THE COUNTRY? N/A DO THEY ENJOY THEIR SURROUNDINGS? Yes. WHAT’S THEIR SONG? You know. WHAT DO THEY DO WHEN THEY’RE AWAY FROM EACH OTHER? Mope. Text constantly. Call often. Send nudes. WHERE DID THEY FIRST MEET? DS9. HOW DID THEY FIRST MEET? Liz needed a distraction to run away from some... friends. She picked Reg. They ran away under fire and Liz took him on a free trip to the Gamma Quadrant. Reg was not very appreciative. WHO SPENDS THE MOST MONEY WHEN OUT SHOPPING? Reg is terrible at managing money, being in Starfleet and not used to it. WHO’S MORE LIKELY TO FLASH THEIR ASSETS? Liz. WHO FINDS IT AMUSING WHEN THE OTHER TRIPS OVER? Liz. Reg still trips over the station doors despite living there for several years, and it’s hilarious. ANY MENTAL ISSUES? Reg has anxiety, Liz has ADHD and I assume PTSD. WHO’S TERRIFIED OF BUGS? Reg. WHO KILLS THE SPIDERS AROUND THE HOUSE? Liz. THEIR FAVOURITE PLACE? The bedroom... WHO PAYS THE BILLS? Liz. DO THEY HAVE ANY FEARS FOR THEIR FUTURE? So many. They just take it all one day at a time. WHO’S MORE LIKELY TO SURPRISE THE OTHER WITH A FANCY DINNER? They’ve both done it. WHO USES UP ALL OF THE HOT WATER? Reg. WHO’S THE TALLEST? Reg. WHO’S MORE LIKELY TO JUST RANDOMLY HOP INTO THE SHOWER WITH THE OTHER? Liz. WHO WANDERS AROUND IN THEIR UNDERWEAR? Liz. WHO SINGS THE LOUDEST WHEN SINGING ALONG TO THE RADIO? Reg. WHAT DO THEY TEASE EACH OTHER ABOUT? Liz teases him for his height and general gangly build. Reg teases her about her tendency to nap in the weirdest places. WHO IS MORE LIKELY TO CRINGE AT THE OTHER’S FASHION SENSE AT TIMES? Liz. DO THEY HAVE MUTUAL FRIENDS? Quite a few -- Data, and most of the DS9 crew. WHO CRUSHED FIRST? Liz, but Reg wasn’t far behind. ANY ALCOHOL OR SUBSTANCE RELATED PROBLEMS? Liz has a previous drug addiction. WHO IS MORE LIKELY TO STUMBLE HOME, DRUNK, AT 3AM? Liz. WHO SWEARS THE MOST? Liz.

#nashforhire #loving someone deeply gives you courage ( .｡.:*☆ Liz. )#transmission received ( .｡.:*☆ Answers. )

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the-delta-42 · 3 years

Text

In Plain Sight Ch. 1

In Plain Sight

Chapter 1: Autobot

Fortune scowled at the Autobots around her, after seeing Starscream execute a ship full of neutrals, she’d been questioning her place amongst the Decepticons. She’d been a gladiator in the pits of Kaon, she’d earnt her name by winning her battles through ‘luck’. It wasn’t luck, she had an advanced battle processor.

She was small, silent, fast and deadly. She was built for war and when tensions died down, she’d been tossed aside, left to rust and perish. Then she’d met Megatron, the revolutionary leader that Cybertron needed, he already had the loyal following of Soundwave, Shockwave and Starscream. Ironhide, Deadlock and Jetfire both deserted to join the Autobots, and Fortune had cursed them to the pit for what she saw a cowardice.

Now she was making that same choice herself, she stood before the gates of Iacon and stared. Megatron was about to interrogate a scout that had been captured, Bumblebee if she remembered correctly, and when he had made his intentions known, Fortune fired on her Lord. Saving the scout but damning herself in the process.

Bumblebee was speaking with a red and blue Mech, while a rose-coloured Femme stood not far away. The Mech approached her and Fortune noticed that she was roughly half his size.

“Fortune,” Said the Mech, his voice deep and rumbling, “Bumblebee has informed me of your wish to defect.”

“It’s not like I have a choice, is it?” Snarked Fortune, “Seeing that I shot my Lord in defence of the bugs skid plates.”

“Bumblebee has also told me that you have been questioning your place amongst the Decepticons for some time.” Continued the Mech, as if Fortune never spoke.

Fortune didn’t say anything, only grasping her right arm with her left hand and looked resolutely at the ground. The Femme that had been talking to Bumblebee had made her way over to the Mech.

“What’s your name, young one?” Asked the Femme, stopping next to the Mech.

“Everyone calls me Fortune.” Said Fortune, locking optics with the Femme.

“But what’s your name?” Said the Femme, stressing the ‘your’.

“LB-14.” Said Fortune, looking down.

“She’s a Warrior, Prime,” Came Ironhide’s voice, “She was in the Pits.”

The Mech, Prime, slowly looked from Ironhide to Fortune, “LB-14, we Autobots are not Soldiers designed for war, anyone with battle experience and training is absolutely necessary to our cause.”

“Why?” Asked Fortune, tilting her helm, “Lord Megatron told everyone about how you stole the Matrix from the Core of Cybertron, Lord Prime.”

“What’s with this whole ‘Lord’ scrap?” Asked a red mech with horns.

“Lord Prime is of Higher station.” Said Fortune, as Prime stiffened.

“Your Spark was forged during the Quintesson War,” Said Prime, his voice light with wonder, “You’ve probably been in stasis until recently.”

“If by ‘recently’ you mean a good couple of thousand stellar cycles before this war kicked off, then yeah, I was.” Snapped Fortune, scowling at Prime.

“Perhaps introductions are in order, LB-14,” Said Prime, looking down at her, “I am Optimus Prime, these are my chief Lieutenants, Ratchet, Ironhide, Jazz, Prowl, Bumblebee, Blaster and Elita-One.”

Fortune looked around, already knowing most of their names from intelligence files she’d snagged from Soundwave, “Where’s Jetfire? Since he’s the only known Autobot that can fly.”

“Jetfire has been sent on a mission at my request.” Said Optimus, starting to turn, “Cliffjumper, could you please find CN-15?”

Cliffjumper, the red Mech with horns, nodded and left.

“Why didn’t you just order him to do that?” Asked Fortune, frowning, “You’re the Prime, literally the King or Emperor or whatever our fragging head of state is called.”

“If I do not present my comrades with the respect and kindness, I expect them to show to others, I would not be a good leader.” Said Optimus, as Cliffjumper returned with a black Mech with bright green optics.

“LB!” Yelled CN-15, rushing towards her and pulling her into a crushing hug, “I thought you’d been offlined!”

“Why would you think that?” Asked Fortune, as the spikes on CN’s helm tilted downwards.

“Megatron’s been hunting us all down, one by one, some, Like HM-12 and QB-18, have joined him and those that didn’t, like RR-16 and JT-01 were killed, I only survived because the Autobots found me before the Decepticons did.” Said CN-15, as Fortune’s wings flopped downwards.

“H-how’d you find out?” Asked Fortune, unable to believe that the Lord she’d served faithfully had murdered her brethren.

“A security recording from RR-16 was recovered.” Said CN-15, “I got in contact with the other two and they tricked me into meeting with them. Megatron was there and he demanded I bow down to him. I refused, the only reason I’m still alive is because of Bumblebee.”

Fortune felt a hand on her shoulder, Ratchet started to guide her to the Medical Bay, “I want to run a complete diagnostic on you, Primus knows what those ‘medics’ in the pits did for you.”

Fortune looked down at herself, the black with red splotches looked wrong now.

“Could you, could you also see about changing my colour?” Asked Fortune, making Ratchet freeze for a moment.

“Jazz, we may need your assistance!” Yelled Ratchet, as Jazz rushed to them.

“Sweet!” Cheered Jazz, as he and Ratchet disappeared with the Femme.

IPS

The war had consumed Cybertron, leading to Optimus to order all Autobots to leave Cybertron and search for the All Spark, which had been launched into space at the start of the war. LB-14 and CN-15 joined Optimus and the other members of Team Prime in searching the stars for the cube. LB-14 had struck up a powerful friendship with Elita-One, eventually seeing her as a sister she never had. Elita had been offlined in the wars final days, she’d been expecting a sparkling. LB had met three of the four younglings Optimus and Elita had, the eldest being Skyfyre, she’d taken command of the femme taskforce when her Carrier was offlined, Ultimus, who’d taken command of the Wreckers, and Tempest, who’d taken her carriers place as the commanding officer over the guardian sentinels that were now all destroyed, save for one. The oldest of the four, LB had met back when she was a Decepticon, he’d sided with Megatron, taking to calling himself Nemesis or something along those lines.

Since Optimus and Elita’s eldest had turned his back on his family, Ultimus had been chosen to take his place as the one to replace Optimus when his time came.

LB was drawn from her musing when a light flash from the Earth.

“Bumblebee has found the boy.” Said Ironhide, shifting his weight, as the other Autobots started for the pods, “This better be worth it.”

LB hopped into her pod, CN getting into the one next to her.

“Everyone remember their directives,” Said Optimus, as the Autobots nodded, “LB-14 and CN-15 are to rendezvous with Hot Rod in France, Arcee, Cliffjumper and Bulkhead are to set up a base for us while the rest of us will join up with Bumblebee and retrieve the cube.”

LB and CN nodded and plotted coordinates for Paris.

“Stay safe, Soldiers.” Said Optimus, as they launched towards Earth, “Move out.”

IPS

Alya quietly seethed as Chloe sauntered away to that stupid yellow car her ‘daddy’ bought her. Nino gently guided Alya away from the blonde-haired she-demon that cropped up a few months back. Alya was so busy fuming, she didn’t see the meteor falling to the Earth. Alya suddenly felt Nino grab her and pull her to the side, just as the meteor hit the school.

Everyone stared at the hole in the front of the school, Alya thought she heard a scream and ran inside, Nino calling after her. Another meteor clipped the roof of the school, before impacting on the playing field.

Alya skidded to a stop at the sight of the meteor, and the source of the scream, Alix was crouched near the meteor, curled into a ball. Alya heard Nino slip on the stones behind her, both made their way over to Alix, carefully guiding her out of the small area she’d been hiding in. The three teens froze as they heard a cracking sound, all knowing that it was the ceiling and, as a result, the floor above them. There was a snap, and the three teens were in a pair of giant metal hands. Two bright blue eyes looked down at them.

“Tvg lfg lu sviv!” Yelled the owner of the hands, throwing the teenagers out of the wreck.

It was a giant robot that was red with black dots decorating its armour. The robot carefully made it’s way to the court yard, where it then produced a gun and fire some shots through the ceiling, before climbing out of the hole it made.

IPS

LB was berating herself; her orders were to land somewhere out of sight, not crash into a building and reveal herself to three locals. She carefully lowered herself to the ground and looked around for a vehicle to scan, she froze when she spotted one, a red sports car that had a black and white stripe running from the bonnet to the boot.

LB scanned the car and transformed, before driving off to the agreed coordinates to meet with CN-15 and Hot Rod.

A black sports car with green highlight drew level with her.

“Low profile, huh?” Asked CN-15, getting a growl from LB-14.

“I mis-judged my trajectory when I entered the atmosphere, okay?” Retorted LB-14, as they approached the alley that Hot Rod was waiting for them in.

“What happened?” Asked Hot Rod, ducking behind an abandoned building as fire engines raced past.

“We got our trajectory wrong on entry, we may have made a bit of a scene.” Said LB, joining Hot Rod in robot mode.

CN-15 transformed and looked around, making sure they weren’t spotted.

“We have some humans for you to stay with,” Said Hot Rod, pulling up a map, “LB-14, you’ll be going to the Dupain-Cheng’s, CN-15, you’ll be going to the Agreste’s. Prime didn’t explain your presence to us, but the Order has made accommodations as well as charges.”

LB-14 made note of the Dupain-Cheng’s location, before transforming and driving there. LB internally winced at the sight of the school and the massive hole in the front of it. She activated her holo-form and entered the bakery, looking up as a bell rang.

“Hello, how can we help you today?” Asked a short, kind faced Asian woman, looking at Marinette.

“I’m looking for the Dupain-Chengs,” Said LB, looking around, “A… colleague said that I’d be expected here.”

“I take it you were the one who put that hole in the school.” Said the woman, getting a wince from LB, “I’m Sabine, Hot Rod said you’d be arriving.”

“I’m LB-14.” Said LB, getting a slight frown from Sabine.

“I assume that you’re the sports car out our front.” Said Sabine, making LB turn and look at her vehicle mode, which was surrounded by teenagers taking pictures of it.

“I can move.” Said LB, before Sabine stopped her.

“No, we don’t have self-driving cars here and your hologram is too young to be driving.” Said Sabine, just as one of the teens produced a key and scraped it across the cars paint work.

LB-14 stiffened, before her holoform flickered and the alarm started blaring, making the group of teenagers run away. LB went outside and checked the damage, silently cursing under her breath. Sabine walked out and looked at the scratch mark.

“I’m certain my mother-in-law can fix it without a problem.” Said Sabine, carefully guiding LB back into the shop.

IPS

CN-15 watched as Gabriel and Emilie argued.

“He can’t stay in the house, otherwise people are going to ask where a teenager came from.” Said Gabriel, before CN looked over at Emilie.

“I just don’t think that the garage is warm enough.” Countered Emilie, before CN intervened.

“Mrs. Agreste, I’m not one to complain about temperature, in fact the only time I’d ever feel cold is if I was in this planet’s polar region.” Said CN, making Gabriel look triumphant, “Besides, LB and I are waiting on further orders from Prime.”

“Who?” Asked Gabriel, frowning.

“LB-14 and I are here on orders from our leader, Optimus Prime.” Said CN-15, as a red Ferrari drove up the drive.

The Ferrari got within a few feet of the group, before transforming into robot mode. LB-15 looked at a scratch on her arm, before scowling.

“I’ve already decided, I don’t like this world.” Said LB, her scowl deepening.

“Why, what happened?” Asked CN, looking at his partner.

LB raised her arm to show him the scratch, “Some meat bag scratched me!”

CN was silent, before looking in her optics, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, that was my reaction too!” Exclaimed LB, walking in circles.

“What are we going to do about the humans?” Asked CN, making LB stop.

“They completely slipped my mind.” Confessed the femme, looking embarrassed.

“We need to alert Optimus, perform some semblance of damage control.” Continued CN, making LB wince.

“Really?” Asked LB, looking indignant.

“I’ll deal with the boy; I suggest you handle the girls.” Said CN, his logic circuits already taking control.

“Then what?” Asked LB, frowning, “Prime would want us to report on the children, and if any Decepticons saw us with them.”

“Prime’s rendezvousing with Bumblebee and other members of his team.” Said CN, starting to contact Optimus.

“Prime, we have a little problem.” Said CN-15, as LB-14 winced.

IPS

Alya looked up at the hole in the front of the school, the robot from the day before still on her mind. Alya lurched forwards, as Chloe sauntered past her, smirking. Her bright yellow Lamborghini sticking out like a sore thumb. Two more sports cars pulled up, one a black and green Lamborghini and the other a red and black Ferrari. Alya squinted and spotted the strange face symbol on both of them. The same symbol had been present on the robot’s shoulder. In the blink of an eye, two teenagers were standing in front of the cars, appearing out of thin air.

Alya bit back and gasp, as the girl looked straight at her and mouthed, “Stay there.”

Within a couple of seconds, both teens were standing either side of Alya, the girl frowned and looked around.

“Where are the other two?” Asked the girl, her voice identical to the robots.

Alya didn’t say anything, silently panicking, thinking the two had come to silence her before she could tell anyone.

“Alya?” Asked Ms. Bustier, approaching the three, the boy and girl looking at the teacher, “Oh, I didn’t realise we had some new students today, I’m Ms. Bustier.”

“Adrien.” Said the boy.

“Marinette.” Said the girl.

“Do either of you have surnames, or shall I just call you Marinette and Adrien?” Asked Ms. Bustier, as she guided the three towards her classroom. Alya quickly made her way to her seat, while ‘Marinette’ and ‘Adrien’ were left standing at the front of the classroom, while Ms. Bustier checked the register.

“It seems you two aren’t fully enrolled yet, but” Said Ms. Bustier, as both hidden Autobots groaned, “I’m sure the Principle won’t have a problem with you sitting in on today’s lessons.”

Marinette immediately clocked Alya, as well as the bespectacled boy from yesterday, before spotting the pink haired girl as well. Marinette sat herself next to Alya, while Adrien dropped himself into the seat next the spectacled boy.

“Hey, I’m Nino.” Said the boy, holding his fist out to Adrien.

“Adrien.” Said Adrien, before looking at the fist. After a moment, Adrien wrapped his hand around the fist and shook it.

Marinette leaned towards Alya and whispered, “We need to talk, urgently.”

Alya paled, feeling that whoever, or whatever, Marinette was, she knew she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Marinette twisted in her seat, looking around the classroom, her eyes pausing on a Vietnamese boy who looked familiar, as if she’d seen him on Cybertron.

The day, for Alya, passed far too quickly, why did it have to be Friday?

Adrien and Marinette lead Alya and Nino behind the school, unknowingly having Kim and Alix follow them. Nino stared at the two cars, confused, while Alya had started crying.

“What’s that thing you’re doing with your face-plates?” Asked Marinette, confused.

“W-we won’t tell anyone!” Wept Alya, making Marinette understand what she thought they meant.

“We’re not going to kill you.” Said Marinette, just as she flickered out of existence, Adrien doing the same the next second.

Nino jumped back, while Alya fell backwards, before the two cars started shifting their parts and, a second later, two robots stood before them, one male and one female.

“Whoa.” Said Nino, as the red one knelt down.

“Hey, we aren’t going to harm you,” Said the female robot, “It’s, kinda, against the rules. I’m LB-14, this is my partner, CN-15.”

Alya took several deep breaths, the two robots looking down at her and Nino.

“LB, what, like Ladybug?” Asked Alya, after calming down and climbing to her feet.

“What?” Asked LB, before CN-15 snorted.

“Ladybug, suits you.” Said CN, his laughter starting to shake his frame.

“What does CN stand for?” Asked Nino, making CN-15 look down.

“It’s my designation, my name.” Explained CN, frowning.

“Well, if she gets a new name, you should get one too.” Said Nino, frowning, “You’re black and I think Lamborghini’s purr… Chat Noir!”

Ladybug started laughing, as CN thought it over.

“Chat Noir… I like it!” Said Chat Noir, his optics brightening.

“Whoa, you came back!” Yelled Alix, running forwards, leaving Kim behind.

Ladybug’s optics zeroed on the other human, before he flickered out, “Oh, slag.”

“What?” Asked Chat, looking at the Femme.

“That extra human was a holoform!” Cried Ladybug, starting to run to the mouth of the alley.

Just as she did, a light brown jeep tore into the area, before transforming and tackling both Ladybug and Chat Noir.

“You won’t believe how happy I am to see you guys!” Yelled the mech, laughing.

“RS-17?” Asked Ladybug, tilting her head.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve been going by King Monkey now, you know,” Said King Monkey, grinning, “new start, new me.”

“This is going to be a headache.” Said Ladybug, frowning, before looking up, “I’ll contact Optimus, until then, everyone pick a partner and stay with them.”

King Monkey immediately grabbed Alix, while Chat picked up Nino.

“I guess you’re with me.” Said Ladybug, collapsing into her sports car alt.

Alya nodded, climbing into the passenger seat of the car. The three Autobots drove out of the alley, unknowingly being watched by Chloe Bourgeois.

“Where are we going?” Asked Alya, as she shifted uncomfortably in the seat.

“We’re taking you to our base, where we’ll then receive transport to take you to our leader.” Said Ladybug, as the three Autobots pulled into the driveway of the Agreste home. The driveway lowered its end, creating a ramp for the Autobots to go down into. Alya tried not to gape at the sight of the humans, and some other robots, in an underground base.

“The funny thing is, this isn’t our main base,” Said Ladybug, as Alya rubbed her eyes, “Ratchet, we’re ready for a bridge.”

A swirling green vortex appeared before them and the Autobots drove through.

Ladybug, Chat Noir and King Monkey all stopped, allowing their charges to step put before transforming. Alya looked around, she counted eight more Autobots, all of varying sizes. The tallest, a red a blue male looking robot, stepped forwards.

“Are these the humans that you encountered, LB-14?” Asked the robot, his voice deep and full of wisdom.

“Yes, sir.” Said Ladybug, shifting slightly.

“Ladybug actually saved up.” Said Nino, getting the robot to look at him.

“I’m sorry, ‘Ladybug’?” Asked the robot, as Ladybug shifted uncomfortably.

“Yeah, LB-14 made her sound like some kind of drone, so we started calling her Ladybug, the same with Chat Noir.” Said Alix, as Chat squirmed as well.

“If that is what wish to be called, then you may adopt those designations,” Said the robot, before turning back to the humans, “My name is Optimus Prime, we are Autonomous Robotic Organisms from the Planet Cybertron.”

IPS

Ladybug dropped Alya off outside the block of flats where her home was located. Optimus had introduced each member of the team, before explaining the Autobot’s presence on Earth and what Ladybug and Chat Noir were doing in Paris.

“So, you’re here to hunt for ‘energon’?” Asked Alya, looking at Ladybug’s dashboard.

“Yeah, there’s an unusually large deposit of it underneath the city,” Said Ladybug, the dash lighting up when she spoke, “I’m actually surprised there aren’t any Decepticons nearby, given how much there is.”

Two Cybertronians stood hidden, watching Ladybug speak with the human.

“At lease we know that Shockwave’s cloaks work.” Said a Yellow Femme, her optics a cold blue.

“We just need to find a way of getting the Autobots away from here.” Said a tall purple Mech, his optics the colour of ice.

“I’m sure we’ll get them away, soon enough.” Said the Femme, before pressing her fingers to the side of her head, “Queen Bee, here, tell Lord Megatron that we’ve found a lead to the energon readings, as well as one of our turncoats.”

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my-infp-world · 4 years

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INFP Music Collaboration Project: Complete!

The INFP Collaboration Playlist Project is now complete!

In total we had about 200 songs submitted and that completely blew me away! Thank you all so much for participating, I had no idea that it would get this many responses!

Thank you especially to @rokokokokolores, @stillnotknowing, @anypassingthought, @2nerd4this, @sonsoftie, @aseratreasures, @infp-relatable, @lunagirl0013, @idunno-justpicksomething, and @namhamjoon (please let me know if I accidentally forgot to tag you)

These are just the participants who were okay with being named but also thank you to all of the anonymous participants!

Here’s the final playlist from everyone’s suggestions, including some of mine that I threw in even though some of you beat me to the punch for a few songs.

Here is the INFP Music Collaboration Project!

Spotify Link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2F8xgXYEKiJSBOo7g8IvON

I was thinking of doing another one of these in the future but just make up my own prompts and put them all in one form and leave it open for a while or forever and just update the playlist twice a month or something like that. If you have ideas, just drop a comment or an ask if you want it to be anonymous.

For those who want to know what the playlist turned out to be, here’s the list of songs with their categories below this break:

PROMPT #01: A SONG YOU LIKE WITH A COLOR IN THE TITLE

Silver Dagger - Live at Cecil Sharp House - The Staves

Today I Sing the Blues - Aretha Franklin

Pink Moon - Nick Drake

White Flag - Joseph

Black Swan - BTS

Indigo - Origa

Everything Black - Unlike Pluto

Red Sun - DREAMCATCHER

Yellow Lights - Harry Hudson

Red Hill Mining Town - U2

PROMPT #02: A SONG YOU LIKE WITH A NUMBER IN THE TITLE

.stage 4 fear of trying. - Frank Iero

Symphony No.5 In B-Flat, Op.100: 2. Allegro marcato - Sergei Prokofiev

One More Time with Feeling - Regina Spektor

100 Bad Days - AJR

R.I.P. 2 My Youth - The Neighbourhood

+THNX190519+ - CL

100 Ways - Jackson Wang

Day 1 â—‘ - HONNE

18 - Anarbor

Two - Sleeping At Last

Three Tree Town - Ben Howard

PROMPT #03: A SONG THAT REMINDS YOU OF SUMMERTIME

Fumes - EDEN

Summertime Sadness - Lana Del Rey

T-Shirt Weather - Circa Waves

ME! (feat. Brendon Urie of Panic! At The Disco) - Taylor Swift

Dream - Priscilla Ahn

Carnival Hearts - Kayla Diamond

Yam Yam - No Vacation

Motivation - Normani

Wake Me Up - Avicii

PROMPT #04: A SONG THAT REMINDS YOU OF SOMEONE YOU'D RATHER FORGET

Alligator Alley - Michael Daugherty

Because of You - Kelly Clarkson

Sincerely, Me - Mike Faist

Cheerleader - OMI

Viva La Vida - Coldplay

Supermassive Black Hole - Muse

Over You - Ingrid Michaelson

PROMPT #05: A SONG THAT NEEDS TO BE PLAYED LOUD

Shine A Little Light - The Black Keys

Dynamite - BTS

Prelude in E-flat minor - Dmitri Shostakovich

Sick of Myself - Matthew Sweet

Salute - Little Mix

Smother - Daughter

Ship To Wreck - Florence + The Machine

I Am The Best - 2NE1

Baba O'Riley - The Who

Mr. Brightside - The Killers

King - Years & Years

I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me) - Whitney Houston

I'm Coming Out - Diana Ross

PROMPT #06: A SONG THAT MAKES YOU WANT TO DANCE

Rain - MIKA

My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark (Light Em Up) - Fall Out Boy

Jump in the Line - Harry Belafonte

We Are the Tide - Blind Pilot

I'm A Believer - Radio Edit - Smash Mouth

PROMPT #07: A SONG TO DRIVE TO

So Much More Than This - Grace VanderWaal

Open Road - Lost & Found Music Studios

Vasoline - Stone Temple Pilots

Walk in the Night - Kaori Kobayashi*

Fáinleog - Live - The Gloaming

I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) - The Proclaimers

Kiss - Prince

Olalla - Blanco White

Sweater Weather - The Neighbourhood

PROMPT #08: A SONG ABOUT DRUGS OR ALCOHOL

Whiskey and Morphine - Alexander Jean

Meds - Placebo

High - Sir Sly

June - Florence + The Machine

Here's to Never Growing Up - Avril Lavigne

Void - The Neighbourhood

Clouds - BøRNS

PROMPT #09: A SONG THAT MAKES YOU HAPPY

Love Wins - Carrie Underwood

Shukumei - Official HIGE DANdism

Boy With Luv (feat. Halsey) - BTS

The Man Who Can't Be Moved - The Script

Love Come Down - Kalafina

Here Comes The Sun - Remastered 2009 - The Beatles

You Are the Best Thing - Ray LaMontagne

Pokemon Theme Song - The Breaking Winds Bassoon Quartet

PROMPT #10: A SONG THAT MAKES YOU SAD

Someday - From "The Hunchback of Notre Dame"/Soundtrack Version - All-4-One

How We Love - Ingrid Michaelson

Everything You Ever - Neil Patrick Harris

Bluebird - Sara Bareilles

The Christmas Shoes - Newsong

Amen - Amber Run

Empty - Ray LaMontagne

In Dreams - Roy Orbison

The Beach - The Neighbourhood

PROMPT #11: A SONG YOU NEVER GET TIRED OF

Kimi Ga Hikari Ni Kaeteiku - Kalafina

Memories - Maroon 5

No Choir - Florence + The Machine

Should I Stay or Should I Go - Remastered - The Clash

Love On Top - Beyonce

Keep Your Head Up - Ben Howard

PROMPT #12: A SONG FROM YOUR PRETEEN YEARS

Fight Song - Rachel Platten

Samson - Regina Spektor

One More Sad Song - The All-American Rejects

No One - Alicia Keys

Poison Prince - Amy Macdonald

Love Story - Taylor Swift

7 Things - Single Version - Miley Cyrus

Rude - MAGIC!

Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen

PROMPT #13: A SONG YOU LIKE FROM 70s

Lean on Me - Bill Withers

Cat's in the Cradle - Harry Chapin

More Than a Feeling - Boston

Killing Me Softly - Frank Sinatra*

PROMPT #14: A SONG YOU'D LOVE TO BE PLAYED AT YOUR WEDDING

How Sweet It Is - Michael Buble

This Will Be (An Everlasting Love) - Natalie Cole

I'm A Believer - Radio Edit - Smash Mouth

Hold You in My Arms - Ray LaMontagne

Never Stop (Wedding Version) - SafetySuit

PROMPT #15: A SONG YOU LIKE THAT'S A COVER BY ANOTHER ARTIST

Skinny Love - Birdy

That's the Way It Is - Cassidy Janson

Angel - Darren Hayes

Titanium - Madilyn Bailey

There Must Be An Angel - ORIGA*

Mr. Tambourine Man - The Helio Sequence

Rude - Scott Bradlee's Postmodern Jukebox

Bad Guy - The Interrupters

PROMPT #16: A SONG THAT'S A CLASSIC FAVORITE

Africa - TOTO

Beautifully - Jay Brannan

Creep - Radiohead

Cupid - Sam Cooke

Your Favorite Thing - Sugar

Livin' On A Prayer - Bon Jovi

I Will Always Love You - Whitney Houston

PROMPT #17: A SONG YOU'D SING A DUET WITH SOMEONE ON KARAOKE

For Good - From "Wicked" Original Broadway Cast Recording/2003 - Kristin Chenoweth

Take Me or Leave Me - Idina Menzel

Something To Believe In - Jeremy Jordan

Dancing with the Devil - Wolf Gang

Holding Out for a Hero - From "Footloose" Soundtrack - Bonnie Tyler

PROMPT #18: A SONG FROM THE YEAR YOU WERE BORN

A Thousand Miles - Vanessa Carlton

Drops of Jupiter (Tell Me) - Train

Waterfalls - TLC

Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) - Green Day

Wannabe - Spice Girls

PROMPT #19: A SONG THAT MAKES YOU THINK ABOUT LIFE

Memories - Maroon 5

Men Of Snow - Ingrid Michaelson

The River - Kyla La Grange

Saturn - Sleeping At Last

Landslide - Fleetwood Mac

The Fear - Ben Howard

Dog Days Are Over - Florence + The Machine

The Good Part - AJR

Build It Up - Ingrid Michaelson

PROMPT #20: A SONG THAT HAS MANY MEANINGS TO YOU

Freckles - Natasha Bedingfield

Happy Home - Lukas Graham

Barely Breathing - Duncan Sheik

The Road - Hurts

Lost in My Mind - The Head and the Heart

Love Like You (feat. Rebecca Sugar) - End Credits - Steven Universe

PROMPT #21: A SONG YOU LIKE WITH A PERSON'S NAME IN THE TITLE

Esmeralda - The Hunchback of Notre Dame Company

West Side Story: Act I: Maria - Leonard Bernstein

Nina Cried Power (feat. Mavis Staples) - Hozier

Sweet Caroline - Neil Diamond

Roxie - Renae Zellweger

Grace - Florence + The Machine

PROMPT #22: A SONG THAT MOVES YOU FORWARD

Sukiyaki - Kyu Sakamoto

Fuckin' Perfect - Melanie La Barrie

Who's Got a Match? - Biffy Clyro

Into The Fire - Thirteen Senses

Bang The Doldrums - Fall Out Boy

I Was Here - Beyonce

PROMPT #23: A SONG YOU THINK EVERYBODY SHOULD LISTEN TO

Neon Gravestones - Twenty One Pilots

Danzon No.2 - Arturo MÃ¡rquez

Most Girls - Hailee Steinfeld

(Finally) A Convenient Truth - Get Well Soon

Stand by Me - Otis Redding

PROMPT #24: A SONG BY A BAND YOU WISH WERE STILL TOGETHER

Such Great Heights - Remastered - The Postal Service

To the Beginning - Kalafina

Here Comes a Regular - 2008 Remaster - The Replacements

Night Rather Than Day - EXID

Wonderwall - Remastered - Oasis

PROMPT #25: A SONG YOU LIKE BY AN ARTIST NO LONGER LIVING

Waiting for the End - Linkin Park

All Along the Watchtower - Jimi Hendrix

Human Nature - Michael Jackson

The Longest Time - Billy Joel

Love, You Didn't Do Right by Me - Rosemary Clooney

Before Our Spring - JONGHYUN

PROMPT #26: A SONG THAT MAKES YOU WANT TO FALL IN LOVE

girls - girl in red

Conversations in the Dark - John Legend

Just like Heaven - The Cure

On The Street Where You Live - Frederick Loewe

Still into You - Paramore

PROMPT #27: A SONG THAT BREAKS YOUR HEART

Five Variants of "Dives and Lazarus" - Ralph Vaughan Williams

Black Woman - Danielle Brooks

Eyes Nose Lips (feat. Taeyang) - Epik High

Empty - Ray LaMontagne

Just a Dream - Carrie Underwood

Landslide - Fleetwood Mac

Requiem - Laura Dreyfuss

PROMPT #28: A SONG BY AN ARTIST WHOSE VOICE YOU LOVE

Hurt - Christina Aguilera

I'M OKAY - SAAY

So Much More Than This - Grace VanderWaal

Pretty Hurts - Beyonce

Just like Heaven - The Cure

i'm lonely - Luz

Skylark - Aretha Franklin

Never Let Me Go - Florence + The Machine

Ship To Wreck - Florence + The Machine

PROMPT #29: A SONG YOU REMEMBER FROM YOUR CHILDHOOD

Going Under - Evanescence

Muddy Hymnal - Iron & Wine

Rush - Aly & AJ

Smooth (feat. Rob Thomas) - Santana

Who Let The Dogs Out - Baha Men

She Looks So Perfect - 5 Seconds of Summer

PROMPT #30: A SONG THAT REMINDS YOU OF YOURSELF

Never Let Me Go - Florence + The Machine

Vienna - Billy Joel

The Pros and Cons of Breathing - Fall Out Boy

In Dreams - Roy Orbison

Car Radio - Twenty One Pilots

Sweet Nothing (feat. Florence Welch) - Calvin Harris

Lonely Dance - Set It Off

*Could not be found on Spotify

#30DayPlaylistCollaborationProject #infp playlist #infp music #30 day song challenge #thoughts from me

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

Note

#3 with Sternclay? If you could, from Stern’s perspective? He’s one of my favorite characters and I love how you write him :)

Thanks, I love writing from his perspective! Prompt 3 was “Song” and went with SFW

Joseph Stern has more house than he knows what to do with. His father has given him this building on the coast of Virginia, no doubt in hopes of hiding his eccentric--and only remaining--son from polite society.

But the house may as well be a cave, a country full of strangers, a vast and cold space that Stern has no idea how to fill beyond the ghosts of the past it already contains. He has no lovers, no children, and the servants, used to his father’s temperament rather than his, give him a wide berth. And so he fills it with his books, his research into the strange and unusual, politely eats the meals the elderly cook prepares even though his eyesight seems to have given him the habit of mistaking one spice for another.

He’s also taken to having a nightly constitutional along the beach. It’s stormy and grey more often than not, but it suits his mood. Usually he’s perfectly alone. But tonight he must not be, because on the wind, he hears someone singing.

While the raging seas did roar

And the stormy winds they did blow,

And we jolly sailor boys was up, up aloft

And the landlubbers lying down below, below, below,

And the landlubbers lying down below.

It’s a rich baritone, longing and sad, and Stern wanders the beach up and down twice before he gives up on finding the singer. He resigns himself to it being a one time occurrence.

But the next night, the voice finds him again.

As we lay musing on our bed,

So early morn at ease,

We thought upon those lodging beds

Poor sailors have at sea.

This time he follows it through the second chorus of the song. And there, in the fading grey light of evening, a man is perched on an outcropping of rocks. He has shaggy hair, and even in the poor light Stern catches sight of copper within it. His beard is messy, and he’s bare-chested, a baffling choice in this weather.

As Stern makes his way across a nearby patch of rising tide, he loses his balance and splashes onto his knees.

By the time he looks up, the song is over and the man is gone, though he sees no sign of him upon the beach.

The third night, Stern is ready. He finds the outcropping, hiding himself down out of view of all but one side of the shore and sea.

Just as he’s starting to shiver and curse his poor judgement, a low, sweet humming begins. It’s the same melody, and he wants to dive into the voice, let it drown him if need be. The man hums a good portion of the song before his voice carries across the windy shore.

I'm sorry for my mother dear,

I'm lost in the salt, salt sea.

For last night, last night, the moon shone bright,

And you know that she had sons five,

Tonight she may look in the salt, salt waves

And find but one alive, alive,

And find but one alive.

The singing ceases, and in it’s place he hears a sigh. Cautiously, he sits so that the man can see him.

“That was wonderful.”

The man starts, turns to leave and Stern, in a moment of unusual impulsiveness, grabs his arm, “Wait, please, I just wanted...to..say…” He stares at the silver and blue tail that starts at the mans waist.

“Please let go.” The man says with the air of someone trying very hard to mask their panic with calm.

Stern drops his arm at once.

“I, I didn’t mean to alarm you. I’ve heard you singing the last few nights and I wanted to see who you were, I meant to show myself right away but I got caught up in the song.”

Brown eyes narrow, “Is that all you want?”

“Yes. I’ll admit I also have a multitude of questions based on this new development.” He gestures to the tail, “but-”

A wave crests, drenching them both.

“Damn it.” He shivers.

The merman chuckles, “yeah, that’s why all sensible humans stay off these rocks.”

“I’m plenty sensible.” Stern mutters, shivers again. The merman seems to reach for a coat that isn’t there, then sets his hands on the stones.

“Come back at midday tomorrow if you really do want to talk.”

“Should I bring anything? Something for your trouble.?”

Calloused fingers drum on the rocks, “Cake? Or even just bread?”

“I can manage that.” He holds out his hand and the merman shakes it, then dives into the rolling sea without another word.

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

“Uh, I don’t mean to be rude but where the hell did you get this bread?” The merman, who introduced himself as Barclay when they met at the edge of the waves, looks down at the chunk of bread skeptically.

“My cook made it. I, um, am trying my hand at it as well. For perhaps obvious reasons.”

“I could teach you. Or at least tell you what to do so you could write it down.”

“How on--are there ovens underwater?”

“No” Barclay tosses the remaining bread to a waiting gull, “I remember from, well, from before.”

“You became merman rather than being born one?” He wants to press further, but the sorrow darting across Barclay’s face suggests that is unwise.

“The ship I was one went down. I...well, I tried to save people. According to one of the few other mers I know, if someone dies at sea while trying to do a selfless act, sometimes that’s enough for them to turn into mer. Not really clear on the mechanics beyond that.”

“Incredible.”

“Glad you think so.” Barclay’s expression is turning glum, and so Stern tries a different line of conversation.

“Are sea monsters real?”

Barclay chuckles, “Gonna ask about those instead of sunken wrecks laden with gold?”

“Those are far less interesting.”

“Kraken is real, sort of. There are some very large squid down there. Fish bigger than you can imagine, sharks too.”

“Say more.” Stern offers him the flash of tea he brought and Barclay eagerly accepts it.

“Well, some of them are harmless--are you writing this down?”

“Just for my own records. Please, keep going.”

And so pass their first few meetings, Stern electing to bring Barclay food from town after the first time, reveling in his delight at the meals. They eat and talk, Barclay eventually comfortable enough with Stern to come fully ashore. On warmer, sunny days they even lay side by side on their backs, and sometimes Barclay’s tail will brush or tap Sterns leg.

He doesn’t mind at all.

One day, after Barclay bemoans his inability to trim his beard to his liking (“water and sharp metal aren’t friends), Stern comes down to the water with his razor, soap, hand mirror, and brush, swearing that if he can successful keep himself clean shaven in the terrible mirrors in the house, he can trim Barclay’s beard without disaster. And so Barclay lays, tail in the surf and head in Sterns lap, as the man meticulously sets about his task.

When he’s done, Barclay sits up and looks into the hand mirror.

“That’s much better. You got some clever hands there, Joseph.” He grins and Stern tries to distract himself from the double meaning by brushing stray sand from his beard.

This backfires harder than a mis-built canon. Barclay rests his hand atop Sterns own, rubbing his cheek against his palm with a sigh.

“You take such good care of me, Joseph. God, if I weren’t as I am, I’d take such good care of you right back.” His free hand traces the line of Stern’s cheekbone, dips down to caress his jaw.

“You, you’ve been wonderful as well, I’ve learned so much, and it’s so nice to pass the time with you, even if you cannot follow me home or takeover the kitchen.”

“I could be even better to you, if you’d let me.”

“I will let you do whatever you want.” Stern shuts his eyes to better feel the touch of Barclay’s hands, “I will follow you like a beacon.”

The hands leave his skin. When he opens his eyes to search for the reason, Barclay’s tanned face has gone pale.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no it’s, I, just, you reminded me of something.” He pulls away from Stern, turning to face the sea. Stern doesn’t follow, although he aches to.

“Would you feel better if I left?” He asks softly.

Barclay shakes his head, “No, but I’ll feel better, in a way, if I say this. I told you I was in a shipwreck. That much is true. I told you I was a cook before, that was true as well. But what I didn’t tell you was that I was a cook one town over, for a family who was, well, they had more than enough money but that didn’t stop them from wanting more. So once a month, at the new moon, they’d go to the cliffs by the rockiest, most dangerous part of the coastline and hold up lanterns.”

“They were wreckers.”

A solemn nod, “When the ship was sunk, they’d go down the next morning and plunder the wreck. I never helped them, but I knew what they were doing long before I tried to stop it. Then one night, I couldn’t take it anymore. I rowed out to the target, tried to tell them not to go towards those lights. They wouldn’t listen, held me prisoner thinking it was a trap. When she went down, just as the water covered my head, my legs twisted and changes into a tail and I could breathe beneath the waves. Making me the only man to make it off the Golden Willow alive.”

Stern gasps, covers his mouth in shock.

“The Golden Willow was the ship my brother was on when he died. A merchant, traveling with his stock.”

“I’m sorry.” Barclay’s eyes are wet, and Sterns turn that way as well as the mer dives into the sea, shame etched in his face.

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

Call for boats, call for boats, my fair Plymouth boys,

Do you hear how the trumpets sound?

For the want of a long-boat in the ocean we're lost

And most of our merry men drowned.

“I don’t blame you, you know?” Stern stands in the sand, several books clutched to his chest.

Barclay doesn’t reply, but does turn to look at him.

“And, if I’m right, you think your being a merman is as much a curse for your inaction as it is a blessing for your attempt to save the ship and her men.”

A nod, accompanied by Barclay wiping a palm beneath his eye, “God, I miss so much. I, I’m glad I’m not dead, but I miss my kitchen, I miss the markets on summer mornings, food that isn’t fish.” He flicks his tail in frustration, “I miss sleeping in featherbed, not that I ever really got to being a cook and all, I miss my friends, my little sister, everyone.”

As he speaks, Stern hurries up the rocks to join him, guides him into his arms. He doesn’t cry, but he breathes heavily, holds tightly to the front of Stern’s coat.

“I looked through my library, did hours of research,” he inclines his head towards the books, “I found a few supposed means of transforming a merman into a human. I have no idea what is myth or anecdote and what, if anything, will work. But if you want to be human again, I’ll help you.”

“Thank you.” Barclay whispers, and Stern continues holding him, face stinging with salt spray, and stroking the planes of his tail soothingly until the other man is ready to let go.

Over the next several weeks, they try every potion, prayer, and process Stern was able to find, all to no avail. They’re sitting, dejected, side by side on the sand, when Stern spots one recommendation he dismissed as the stuff of fairy-tales.

“I have something to try. Um, please close your eyes, because I have a feeling I’m about to look very silly.”

Barclay obliges. Stern cups his cheeks, kisses him soundly, certain this will be the only time he gets to do so, no matter how much he longs to do it each day.

Barclay chuckles, eyes still shut, “Was that really a suggestion, or just an excuse to-”

Then he groans, head falling forward to rest on Stern’s shoulder, his whole body convulsing. Stern watches in awe as his tail slowly shimmers and dissolves, leaving feet and legs in it’s place.

“Really? Really? That was the solution?” Stern giggles, “of all the nonsense I read, I didn’t think ‘kiss of a lover true’ was worth a second look.”

“Kiss of what now?” Barclay shakes his head to clear it with a woozy, yet knowing, smile.

“I, um, I-” Stern blushes, both from his admission and from spying that Barclay is now completely naked.

“Joseph” Barclay kisses his cheek and he melts into the sand, “you think that after all that talk of wanting to treat you well, I wouldn’t want you kissing me?”

“I didn’t want to presume.”

“You can presume whatever you want. Fuck, Joseph, I’m in love with you and you just gave me the one thing I thought I’d lost, you could ask anything and I’ll give it.”

“In that case, would you come home with me? Though we may want to get you some clothes first.”

“What? Not enjoying the view?” He rolls onto his back, and Stern gets a full glimpse of just how good a view it is before shielding his eyes.

“I didn’t say that.” He smiles, laughs when Barclays beard tickles his throat and his teeth nip his ear, “but I think it would be enjoyed even more in my nice, feather bed. Don’t you?”

#mermay fills #sternclay #agent stern/barclay

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orangeoctopi7 · 4 years

Text

A Nostalgia Trip

: Chapter 1 : Chapter 2 : Chapter 3 :

The end of the school day finally rolled around, and the twins met up at the STNLYMBL. Stan's bag was noticeably heavier and bulkier than it had been this morning.

“Take a look through there and make sure I got everything you need.” Stan said as he handed his pack over to Ford.

The scientist pulled out three different sized spools of copper/nickel solder, and a thin, almost needle-like soldering iron.

“And these are the smallest spools they had?”

“Smallest I could find.”

Ford sighed. “I shouldn’t be surprised, it’s an auto-shop in a high school. I’ll make it work.”

It was an unusually warm day for January, and they drove home in the melting slush. “Wait, stop here!” Ford commanded as they passed the beach. “I’m going to need fine sand for molding.”

Stan pulled into a nearby parking lot. Luckily he had a shovel in the trunk of his car, although he couldn’t remember why, and they found an empty paint can in a nearby dumpster they could use as a bucket.

Ford strode purposefully down to the edge of the surf, where the finest sand would be, when a dark shape at the corner of his eye caught his attention.

"Oh…" he breathed when he turned and saw several tarps that concealed what they were protecting from the wind and snow. He knew exactly what was underneath.

Stan came to a stop beside him, eyes locked on the same tarp-covered shape sitting just far enough up the beach that no waves reached it. They stood there in silence for a solid minute, their errand to collect sand completely forgotten.

"Great…" Stan finally spoke, reaching up and wiping his eyes with the back of his coat sleeve. "Guess it's my turn to get hijacked by hormones."

"Do… do you want to go give her a look over?" Ford asked hesitantly, "For old time's sake?"

Stan just nodded mutely.

They two of them strode solemnly to the tarp and gently removed the layers, revealing the almost-completed Stan’o’war underneath. It was so much smaller than either of them remembered, not even half the size of the repurposed tugboat they’d turned into the Stan’o’war II. The little schooner was just big enough to hold two teenage boys who had reached their full height, but not their full girth.

Stan reached down and picked up the neatly folded sail sitting at the base of the mast. They’d originally just used some old bedsheets they had ‘rescued’ from the trash, but after doing some research and tests, Ford had found the soft, thin fabric wouldn’t hold up under the strain of a sail. So, over the past three years, they had been hunting down and saving every scrap of sturdy canvas they could find. Stan’d had to carefully stitch them together. That was when he’d first learned how to sew, a skill that had come in handy when he was living on the road, and when cobbling things together for the Mystery Shack.

Ford was appreciating the worn wood of the mast. When they’d first found the wrecked hull as children, most of the structure had rotted out, and they’d had to find a way to replace and attach new wood to the old planks and boards. He had researched old ship-building techniques, and learned a lot about woodworking along the way. He remembered using those woodworking techniques a lot later in life, to make repairs to his research cabin that would later become the Mystery Shack, and to build shelter, transportation, and weapons as he traveled the multiverse.

“D-d’you know what happened to her?” Stan eventually asked, pulling them out of their thoughts.

“...I’m not quite sure.” Ford admitted. “I know mom kept it because Shermie liked to play on it when he was little, but I didn’t ever go home after I got my degree, so… I don’t know what happened after he grew up.”

“Hmm.” Stan grunted in reply. He wasn’t sure what to feel about that. Should they call Shermie once they were out of this, and ask him what happened to it? Or was Stan better off not knowing?

The two of them stood in a pensive silence, taking in this unexpected opportunity to see their old childhood project one more time. They probably could have stayed there all evening, reminiscing and appreciating the hard work they’d put into the schooner, but it was winter, and the sun went down early in the afternoon. As the sun dropped, so did the temperatures.

“Come on, we’d better get that fine sand before we completely lose the light.” Ford finally said, pulling himself away.

* * *

Once they returned home, Ford traced out tiny circuit lines in the sand with a toothpick he'd filed to a fine point. He then melted the solder spool into the miniscule mold.

"Ok, that will need to set all night, then I'll have to pick out all the sand grains and file down all the points and areas where it's leaked out of the mold."

"And how long will that take?" Stan asked.

"As long as I don't break it while I'm filing, another day."

"And if you do break it while filing?"

"Then I'll have to start over again and melt a new circuit into the mold. If I had a smaller soldering iron, I could just piece it back together, but this one is too big and clumsy."

"So what I'm hearing is we're not gettin' back to our own time before my boxing match with Crampelter tomorrow."

"Probably not."

"Heh, looks like I get to pound that bully's face in one more time."

Ford turned away from his work desk. "I almost wish we could switch places for that."

"It's not worth the hassle." Stan shook his head. "Besides, I dunno if I have the heart to do that again after… y'know, last time."

"I did say almost."

They shared a small chuckle, and Ford started climbing up to the top bunk.

“Kinda early for bed. Especially for you.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Yeah, me either.”

“And I didn’t bounce back from it nearly as well as I thought I would.”

“Guess all that junk they say about teenagers needin’ more sleep is true.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

* * *

Going to bed earlier seemed to have helped Ford’s mood, come morning. He wasn’t nearly as groggy and grumpy as he had been yesterday. He still insisted that Stan stop by the doughnut shop on the boardwalk for coffee on the way to school, but he at least had the good sense to swipe enough coins out of the change jar at home to pay for it himself.

Stan, for his part, seemed a little more confident going into school today. Perhaps it was because he was looking forward to the boxing match tonight. It was something familiar, something he and everyone else knew he was good at.

It was another day of trying to lay low. Another day of coasting through classes. No one seemed suspicious of them. No one seemed to notice how Stan was actually answering questions in their math and science classes. No one seemed to notice that Ford actually managed to climb all the way to the top of the rope in PE. Stan wondered about it out loud to his brother at lunch.

“I believe it’s the timeline resisting change.” Ford mused quietly. “We know changing the greater flow of time is difficult, even when someone is actively attempting to change the past. So far, we’ve been going out of our way to keep things more-or-less the same, so perhaps the time stream just… diverts their attention elsewhere. It makes me wonder: what kind of enormous act would it take to make people notice? To actually alter the flow of time?”

“Ford, we’re not gonna test that theory.”

“No, of course not. Not on this trip at least.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “I’d prefer not on any trip, but honestly I’d be worried there was something wrong with you if you didn’t say something like that.”

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #My Writing

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hellishmoth · 4 years

Note

🎵

zick makes playlists for your muses

nothing but thieves - broken machine

take a human heart add some vanity authenticity and put them all together do whatever to your broken machine

florence + the machine - ship to wreck

and oh my love remind me, what was it that I said? I can't help but pull the earth around me, to make my bed and oh my love remind me, what was it that I did? did I drink too much? am I losing touch? did I build this ship to wreck?

mindless self indulgence - prescription

well I don't need nothin' before the show I don't need nothin', well that's not so I need something before the show just a little something to make me go!

#letters for mun. ♡#sluttyspiderpolkacock #i have too many songs that fit angel istg

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 4 years

Text

Another self-indulgent fan-fic, this time with Blob and Pyro drinking, fighting, talking, and bonding over bullying a teenager.

This was an attempt to give Blob a little more depth beyond just the crass asshole of the Brotherhood, and show that he’s got some feelings, too. I also wanted to deal with some stuff with Pyro that Marauders hasn’t really gotten into, especially his death and relationship with the rest of the Brotherhood. There’s also some discussion of Pyro/Avalanche. I will forever headcanon original Pyro as a closeted gay man, who had a kind of undefined friends with benefits thing going on with Avalanche (I don’t care how many fantasy Jean Greys he kisses in Marauders), and who still feels uncomfortable being open about it, even if attitudes have changed somewhat.

Warnings for - Very nasty language, some body-shaming from Pyro, some discussion of homophobia. Blob says some things that maybe aren’t quite homophobic, but kind of insensitive. Behind a read-more, because it wound up being long.

Pyro was absolutely not nervous when he knocked on the door of the small habitat building nestled just at the edge of the Krakoan jungle. It was a nice spot, with one window offering a view of the beach, but the trees providing a bit of protection from tropical storms. There was a little garden plot to one side, so neatly and delicately arranged that he wondered if the man he was there to see had a tidier room-mate.

He wasn’t nervous. And he hadn’t been putting this off, he’d just been busy. He’d fallen in with a whole new team, after all, who had accepted him with a surprising amount of tolerance, and he was spending most of his time having high-seas adventures. Not much time on Krakoa itself, to drop in on an old….friend? Acquaintance? Former team-mate who could snap his spine in half if he happened to be in a foul mood? Pyro wasn’t sure exactly where he stood with any of them now. But he wasn’t nervous. Sod that.

The door swung open, the view inside immediately blocked by the massive fleshy mountain that was Frederick J. Dukes, the immovable object.

“Hey Fred. I brought booze.” Pyro held up the wine bottle like a peace offering between them. It was entirely possible he was about to get his face bashed in, or possibly smother to death under Blob’s sizable buttocks. And sure, he’d get resurrected, but he wasn’t keen to go through all that unpleasantness.

“Aww, hey matchstick! Get in here!” Blob grinned and swung an arm around him, practically clobbering him forward into the living room. “Where ya been?”

“Um….dead, mostly. Yah know,” Pyro quipped, not willing to admit to the relief that was flooding into his chest. Because he hadn’t been nervous. He had just been…curious….to see where he stood with the mutants who had been his team-mates for years. Just wanted to catch up and see how they were.

(To see if they all hated him.)

“Haw, haw, yeah, don’t I know it. You shoulda seen Avalanche cryin’ into his beer over that,” Blob guffawed, pulling him in close and hugging him against his side. Pyro could smell body odor and coconut oil.

“He cried, huh?” He murmured, his mouth muffled against pillowy flesh.

“Blubbered like a damn baby.” Fred released him so that he could step back and gasp air.

“What’d you do to your face, man? You going emo on me, now? C’mon, buck up. You only died the one time. Not like those X-Men, they got a whole revolving door thing going.”

“It’s not emo,” Pyro protested, running his hand over the skull tattoo covering most of his face. “It’s ‘cause I’m a pirate. I’m runnin’ round with the Marauders. We’re wrecking ships and stealing supplies, it’s a blast.”

Blob scoffed. “You’re running around with X-Men, matchstick. You’re basically an X-Man, now.”

“The hell I am!” Now Pyro really felt insulted. “I’m not wearing an X anywhere. We’re the Marauders, not the X-Marauders or whatever. We’re pirates, doin’ pirate things! Like fighting the military and helping mutant kids get to Krakoa – “ Except that wasn’t exactly what pirates did, was it? That was more of a hero-type deal. “-and sinking ships –“ and delivering medicine to people that needed it around that globe, but Pyro wasn’t going to mention that. Even if it did give him a bit of a warm glow in his chest to be helping the sick and desperate. He knew what it was like to be sick and desperate.

“Everyone on that ship is a goody-two shoes X-Man!” Blob sneered. “Storm, that phasing girl, Ice-nerd.”

“Bishop’s pretty cool,” Pyro felt the need to interject. The man could fight, and he respected that. He was also extremely good looking, something Pyro tried to not notice.

“Still an X-Man. You’re one a them now. I shoulda expected it after the way you died.” Blob stepped back from him, shaking his head. And oh, there it was.

It didn’t seem quite fair. Pyro couldn’t even remember what he’d done. What he’d been thinking at the time.

“I mean….does it really matter?” He tried. “We’re all one big happy mutant family on Krakoa now. Xavier and Magneto getting all chummy. Seems like the X-Men and the Brotherhood don’t even exist anymore.”

“Seems ta me like there’s a bunch of X-Teams and no Brotherhood. They split up all us nasty “bad” mutants and stuck them on teams with the wussy good guys ta keep us in line. Except when they need their dirty work done, then they’ll send out those of us with criminal records. I dunno who’s really running the show on Krakoa, but it ain’t the Brotherhood.” Blob slumped down on his sofa, but gestured to Pyro to sit in one of the chairs. At least he wasn’t being thrown out.

“Guess you might be right there,” he mused, tossing himself down sideways across the chair, both legs hanging over one arm. The X-Men were in an awful lot of positions of power, even with the attempts to balance the Council. And they seemed to dominate most of the island’s strike teams.

“I guess there are more of them than there are of us.”

“Guess running a school for mutant kids is better recruitment strategy than a creepy dude in a metal helmet that’ll throw his own people under the bus in a heartbeat. Did I ever tell ya about how he chucked an explosive at me? And that was back he was tryin’ to recruit me!”

“Many times, Freddie,” Pyro was a little relieved that the conversation was meandering away from his own status – X-Man, Brotherhood member, Krakoan or whatever the hell he now was. He wasn’t sure himself.

“Wine?” He held out the bottle again. Blob swiped it and held it up between two fingers with another guffaw.

“What is this, matchstick, booze for ants? That ain’t gonna be thimbleful for me.”

“Oh, but this is a very special bottle, Freddie.” Pyro took the bottle back. “Have ya got a bucket? I’m gonna be like Christ with the loaves and fishes here.”

“Doncha mean water into wine? That was one of the miracles, right?” Blob came back with a massive stew pot.

“Yeah, but there’s no water involved here. Watch and marvel!” He upended the bottle with a dramatic flourish. Moments later, Blob’s mouth dropped open as the stew pot was half-way filled, and the bottle showed no signs of emptying.

“Ain’t that a hell of a trick. What’s the deal, Aussie? Some kind of mystical Outback dream-time thing?”

“Nah, just a bribe from a wizard. Bottomless bottle. Never runs out.” Technically, Dr. Strange had offered the gift as a gesture to the entire island. But technically didn’t matter, because Strange had given the bottle directly to him, which meant it was basically his. He certainly wasn’t going to hand it over to the Council to use in their fancy-pants secret meetings. Better to keep it among the people, right? Pyro was willing to share. A bit.

“Well, tell Harry Potter thanks. That’s one hell of a gift.”

“Who?”

“C’mon, don’t fuck with me. You haven’t been dead that long.”

“True,” Pyro grinned. But being dead was certainly a convenient excuse for bowing out of whatever must-see pop culture phenomenon he was supposed to be familiar with. “Sorry mate, I was dead at the time,” usually shut people up.

Blob took the full bucket, downed half in one gulp, and held it out again for more. Pyro took a moment to fill his own glass to the brim before pouring again.

“Damn, that’s good stuff. Usually bulk wine is pretty crappy.” Fred licked his lips in appreciation.

“I wouldn’t know the difference,” Pyro shrugged. He’d gotten invited to a few fancy parties, way back in the day when he was journalist/writer St. John Allerdyce and “Pyro” didn’t exist. But it hadn’t exactly refined his palate. He’d rather have a full goon bag to himself than a dainty little glass of something aged and expensive.

“Well, we can’t all be sophisticated gourmets,” Blob said airily, swirling the wine around and giving it a sniff. “French grapes, I’d say. Black currant, acai, cherry, and just a hint of chocolate. Probably a ’78 or ’79.” He proceeded to down half the stew-pot again.

“Freddie me lad, you are absolutely full of shit.” Pyro obligingly poured a refill. Maybe he should get some kind of stand for the bottle, or he’d be doing this all night.

“I aim to be full of wine, so keep pouring, toothpick,” Blob laughed. They lapsed into a moment of comfortable silence while Pyro finally had a chance to drain his own glass.

“So how’s it feel to be back in the land of the living?” Blob ventured. “Ya know they cured that Virus just a few months after you croaked. Ain’t that a kick in the teeth?”

“I wasn’t gonna last a few months at that point. I wasn’t gonna last even a few days, so…whatever.” Pyro shrugged. He still couldn’t remember the moment of his death, but he remembered some of the time leading up to it, feeling incredibly frail, and wondering every night if he would wake up in the morning. Is it gonna be tonight? Today? Will I just drop dead trying to walk down the street? Even if some miracle cure had appeared, he suspected he would have been too far gone at that point.

“It’s just good to be healthy again,” he added. And wasn’t that the truth. Just walking around, breathing the ocean air freely and without pain had been heavenly. He’d made it a point to get laid the first time the Marauders spent the night in Taipei – hadn’t seen any of that action for months before his death. He didn’t want to touch anyone after the diagnosis (he was a selfish bastard, but not so selfish as to potentially spread the disease), and pretty soon pain and fatigue had meant his cock was the furthest thing from his mind.

“Yeah, I bet. Ya made a real spectacular flame-out at the end, there,” Blob said, and there was something left hanging in the air at the end of that sentence. What Pyro might have called a “pregnant pause,” in one of his novels. He gulped down another large swallow of wine.

“Yeah that was….I dunno. I dunno what I was thinking, exactly.” He hadn’t been able to believe it when Mystique showed him the headlines. Sure he’d tried to help her save her shitty racist spawn Graydon Creed (a spectacular failure, thanks to X-Factor), but it had still been him playing Follow the Leader, trusting Mystique to know the right thing to do. Apparently he’d made that final decision completely on his own – turning on his comrades to save the man they’d once tried to assassinate. He didn’t like to look at the articles – all splashed with that one famous picture of Kelly cradling his dead body. It made him feel sick to look at it.

Blob just grunted in response, and the silence became uncomfortable. Pyro sighed.

“All right, you want me to say it? I’m sorry. I’m sorry for turning on you guys. I can’t say I’m sorry for protecting Kelly. I guess I thought it was the right thing to do at the time, and I’ll stand by that. But I’m sorry for going against you guys. And especially for killing Post.” Blob snorted, but held the stewpot out for more wine.

“You were gettin’ real soft near the end there, toothpick. Can’t completely blame ya, I guess. You were starin’ death right in the face, and Legacy was probably eating away at your brain. Avalanche said you seemed half-delirious near the end, whenever he went to see ya.”

“Maybe I was.” Time had gotten fuzzy back then – long patches of confused dream-like haze, punctuated by sharp, painful clarity. Dominic would be there one moment and gone the next, conversations evaporating mid-sentence. He’d lay down for a moment in the morning and wake up in the evening two days later.

“It was just all starting to seem a bit pointless, ya know?” He continued after another swig of wine. “All that violence….well, I won’t deny it was fun. I don’t need an excuse to start a fight. But it was also for a cause, right? And things just kept getting worse no matter what we did. I guess I just thought….if I could change the guy’s mind, maybe things would be different.”

“Well, ya did change his mind, I’ll give you that. Too bad he got himself killed right after that,” Fred smirked.

“Yeah. That’s the real kick in the teeth. More than dying before the cure, really. Bloody pointless.” Pyro poured again.

“I reckon everyone was pissed at me, yeah?” At least the wine was giving him the courage to ask certain questions.

“Heh, yer lucky you croaked when ya did, really.” Blob grinned. It was not a nice grin. “I woulda snapped you in half for Post, invalid or no. Lady Mastermind wasn’t real pleased, either. But you ain’t really here to ask about how I felt, are ya? You wanna know whether yer boyfriend is pissed at ya.”

Pyro was suddenly sitting up very straight, tension running up and down his spine.

“The fuck did you say?” he snapped.

“Oh, come off it, man. Don’t act like I’m stupid! I know you had this whole ‘don’t ask, don’t tell thing’ going on back in the day, but I figured it out. We all did.”

“I don’t know what you’re blathering on about, mate,” Pyro said, each word coldly annunciated. The tension from his spine was spooling tight in his mid-section. “You’ve been watching too many soap operas.”

“You’re the one that watches that crap, matchstick. I gotta listen to you talk about ‘Home and Away’ every time you get smashed. But don’t change the fucking subject.”

“What subject? Some made-up bullshit you imagined in your head?” Pyro’s hands were clenched tight around the glass. Some logical part of his mind wondered why he was even making a fuss about this. Times had changed a great deal in the years that he’d been floating in a void of nonexistence. Iceman was openly gay, Mystique referred to Destiny as her wife, and no one batted an eye.

But still. When Pyro was growing up, you didn’t say it. You didn’t dare say it, because it would it ruin you, at best, and possibly get you killed, at worst. It had been something he’d kept locked up tight in his chest, even when he was boldly and proudly “coming out” as a mutant. And what he’d shared with Dominic over the years, secret little intimate moments slipped under the surface of their public friendship, had always rested on a foundation of silence. They didn’t talk about what they did. Didn’t even really acknowledge it to each other or try to define it. It was their own special, private thing, and it was meant to remain unspoken.

And now, here was Fred J. Dukes putting his fat, clumsy, grubby hands all over it, like a toddler smearing chocolate on a cashmere sweater.

“Quit bein’ so stubborn about it,” Blob continued. “Ya think I’m stupid, that I couldn’t figure it out? You guys were always slipping off together, locking your door. Fuck man, I heard you two dumbshits in the shower together a couple of times when we were doing that Freedom Force thing. My room was right next door, you know. Haw!” His laughter was an ugly sound.

“What, were you getting off on it?” Pyro snarled. “Were you alone in your room jerking it to us, you fat fuck? Probably the only action you ever see, ain’t it? Assuming you can even find your dick.” He paused, suddenly wishing he could hook the words back into his mouth, because he’d basically just admitted to it, hadn’t he? But he didn’t think he could stop now if he tried, with the anger burning in his chest, a familiar, almost comforting heat.

“No, I was just sick of you both lying about it. Pretending it wasn’t happening, and making the rest of us pretend, too! Acting like we’re all idiots!” Blob was on his feet now, red-faced.

“Well, you never made that very hard, did ya, Freddie?”

“Ya know what?” And Blob had suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder with one meaty hand. “I’m tired of your bullshit!” Then Pyro found himself flung across the room, smashing into the wall and knocking crockery down to shatter on the floor. Maybe he was going to get his spine snapped after all – but the way he felt at the moment he didn’t much care.

“You always act so superior, like you’re sooooo much smarter than me. What, just ‘cause you wrote some crappy books to help lonely women get their panties all moist?! ”

“At least I know how to write. Least I can get a woman wet,” Pyro quipped, while trying to climb to his feet. Hell, Blob had just handed him that one, hadn’t he? There was a blur at the edge of his vision, and suddenly Blob had grabbed the front of his shirt and tossed him again.

“You ain’t smarter than me!” Pyro could hear Blob bellowing through the ringing in his ears. “You and Avalanche always acted like you were better than ol’ Fred Dukes, gangin’ up on me all the time. Well, I danced on both of your graves, didn’t I? I’m glad you died like you did. Mr. Smart Fancy-pants, wasting away to nothing. It was funny!” Blob was towering over him, fists clenched. Pyro raised his wrist and sent a jet of flame up at the man, mentally intensifying it enough to hurt as he darted for the door.

“Augh! Pyro, you asshole,” Blob roared, slapping at the flames on his clothing. They’d keep right on burning if Pyro wanted them to, and he had half a mind to let them. Why not have a pig roast right there on the beach? But in another moment he shook his head and let the fire gutter out. Perhaps a mistake, as Fred charged out through the door.

“Don’t think you’re getting away, you skinny little fucker.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Freddie, just getting myself a little more room,” Pyro said through clenched teeth. “Go ahead and come at me if ya wanna get burned again.”

Apparently Blob did wanna get burned again, because he ran at Pyro, arm raised to swing. Pyro shot out another blast of fire at Dukes as he dove out of his path. Blob tried to duck, but it was hard dodge fire that Pyro could mentally send wherever he pleased. That was one advantage he’d always enjoyed over the fire-producing mutants. This time it singed Blob’s eyebrows and licked at his shoulders. Blob howled.

“Cut that shit out!”

“What, so you can hit me again? Ya know, this is why no one likes you, Blob! You’re always flying off the handle. Gotta turn everything into some big fight. I was tryin’ ta be friendly, coming here- “

“Bullshit! You didn’t come here for me, you came here for news. You wanted to know if your boyfriend hated ya after what you did. You only came to me because I’m the only one here who was with the group when it all went down. The only one let alive, anyway.”

“I came to you ‘cause I wanted to drink with ya, Blob. And you started acting like a dick, like ya always do!” Pyro protested, although he couldn’t quite suppress a guilty twinge. Blob wasn’t entirely wrong…and if Avalanche was alive again, it probably would have taken him even longer to get around to visiting Dukes.

“You’re the one who started getting all hot under the collar when I was just tryin’ ta talk to ya! But I ain’t surprised, I know where I rate! None of you assholes give a shit about me!” Blob charged again. Pyro sent more fire swirling towards him.

“You wanna keep getting singed, Freddie, I could do this all da – oof!” Pyro grunted as Blob ran right through the fire and slammed into him, shoulder first, knocking him back into the well-tended vegetable garden.

“Pyro, you jerk, I worked on that for weeks!”

“Ya knocked me right into it, ya stupid wanker!” Pyro jumped to his feet, brushing ruined squash and pumpkin off his uniform. “I’ve been pulling punches, but if you come at me again, I will absolutely barbeque you, you fat piece of shit. Then you can wait in line for resurrection behind all the people that actually deserve to be alive and breathing right now!”

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me gone, and you all alone with your precious Dominic and your new X-Men friends. I know you wouldn’t miss me. Nobody would! Ya know I tried to kill myself, back when I lost my powers? And who was there for me? No one, that’s who!”

“….ya tried to kill yourself?” Pyro paused for a moment. Dropping his guard was a mistake, as Blob charged again and belly-slammed him several feet away. It might have done some damage if he hit a tree, but luckily he just rolled on the soft sand.

“Freddie, wait, what’s this about – “

“It was a fucking nightmare. I had huge folds of skin hanging off my body. I looked like….like melted wax or something. Couldn’t go out. Couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. It hurt just to move. I tried…tried to cut my own throat, and I couldn’t even get through the skin. And none of the Brotherhood lifted a goddamn finger to help me! You had Dominic holdin’ your hand and cryin’ over ya, ya think anyone spared a thought for me?!”

Pyro clambered to his feet, feeling uncomfortable. Angry Blob he was used to. People called Pyro a hothead (and maybe it was just a little bit true), but anger seemed to constantly run under the surface with Fred, coloring every interaction – snide remarks during briefings, playful banter quickly turning into explosive outbursts, laughter that always had a cruel undertone, always at someone else’s expense. But this was new. Fred’s voice was shaky, threatening to crack.

“Freddie, are ya serious? Look mate, I didn’t know. I was – “ Dead, he was about to say. But they were interrupted as a sudden telekinetic force lifted Pyro off his feet, leaving him flailing uselessly in the air.

“The fuck?” Blob slurred. Something was tugging at him, a psychic force attempting to lift him skyward. Attempting, and failing, as he remained solidly on the ground.

“Haw! Who’s tryin’ ta lift me?” he laughed, digging his feet into the sand for good measure. “Ya must be really stupid, whoever you are!”

The pressure around Blob increased, and the sand at his feet flattened as Blob pushed down with his personal gravity field.

“Keep tryin’, Chuckles! That tickles!” Blob yelled.

“Hey, whoever you are? You wanna put me the hell down?” Pyro called out, from a good six feet in the air. “Unless you wanna see me blow chunks all over this beautiful beach.” He’d been tipped partially upside-down, which was really not helping his drunken nausea.

“All right, that’s enough, lad. We’re just here to break it up, and it’s broken up.” Banshee stepped out of the jungle, accompanied by a scowling boy with pink hair that Pyro didn’t recognize.

“Aww, are you the one tryin’ ta lift me off the ground?” Blob cooed nastily. “That’s cute. Nice effort, kiddo, but ya obviously didn’t do your homework. Nothing moves the Blob!”

“I could telekinetically hurl you into the sun, you simple-minded tub of lard,” the boy snapped. “I’m only holding back because of Krakoan rules. But by all means, feel free to try my patience.”

“Try my patience?” Pyro repeated incredulously. “Hey Freddie, this kid thinks he’s Magneto or something. Simmer down, junior.” Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to be mocking the mutant who was telekinetically holding him suspended in the air, but booze had ruined Pyro’s already less-than-stellar decision making skills.

“It’s Kid Omega,” the boy corrected, and whatever he wanted to say next was drowned out by Pyro and Blob’s obnoxious, jeering laughter.

“Kid Omega, you’ve gotta be bloody kidding me! That’s so adorable!” Pyro stopped laughing as the boy bounced him up and down in the air a few times. “Seriously, ya don’t wanna do that. I’m gonna – “ he interrupted himself by spewing wine and stomach fluids all over the ground below him.

“Gross, dude,” Blob said casually.

“Listen, we’re here because you boys are causing a public disturbance,” Banshee said, hands on his hips. “Remember, you’re expected to follow certain rules and keep the peace if you wanna stay on Krakoa. Pyro, I thought you might be better than this since you joined Kate’s crew, but I guess you’re still just as dumb and violent as always. I don’t think Storm’ll be pleased to hear about this.”

“Aww, c’mon mate, “ Pyro sputtered, still trying to spit the taste of bile and sour grapes out of his mouth. The wine wasn’t nearly as good coming back up, and his stomach was roiling. “It was just a little scuffle that got outta hand. We weren’t hurting anyone. ‘Cept each other.”

“Oooooh, you’re in trouble now, Pyro! Banshee’s gonna tell on you,” Blob drawled. “Then they might kick you out of their little heroes club.”

“Piss off, Freddie.” Pyro would never, ever admit to that particular fear, buried deep under a shit-ton of apathy and forced bravado. He honestly kind of liked the Marauder crew, despite having tangled with most of them in the past (although in some respects, he really liked them more because of that.) He knew he had the reputation of being the loose cannon of the group, given how frequently he was reminded not to kill (as if Sabretooth’s horrific fate wasn’t enough of a deterrent), but he was following all their bloody rules, wasn’t he? He wasn’t keen on getting thrown out. He’d go stir crazy on the island without a way to burn off all his energy with “a bit of the old ultraviolence.”

“Don’t think you’re off the hook either, Blob,” Banshee said sternly.

“Awww, whattaya gonna do? Use Lady Mastermind to force me to be a good boy?” This apparently struck a nerve, as Banshee blanched for a moment. He’d have to ask Blob about that later.

“Maybe we should, if that’s what it takes for morons like you to behave yourselves,” said the kid snidely. “No wonder the cause of mutant rights never got anywhere before if it was championed by you two losers.”

“Hey, I ain’t gonna listen to any lip from some brat that hasn’t even grown pubes yet,” Blob snarled. “I was out busting my ass for mutant rights while you were getting conceived behind a bowling alley at 3 AM!”

Pyro was about to chime in with something equally nasty, when suddenly his entire world shifted. The beach disappeared, and he was floating with the vastness of space stretched out before him. Stars and planets that he had never seen, that he couldn’t even conceive of, glittered in impossible colors against the darkness, and it would have been extremely cool, if not for two unfortunate facts. One – he couldn’t breathe, and his lungs spasmed and choked in a horribly familiar way when he tried. Two – it was cold. It soaked through his skin, into his bones, seeming to devour him from the inside.

And then, just as suddenly, he was back on the island, still shivering in the tropical heat, taking deep breaths of the moist air scented with the ocean, the faint perfume of nearby flowers, and the strong scent of sour wine. He’d been dropped onto the sand, and was lying in his own vomit. Well, he’d always said it wasn’t a good night if you didn’t puke on yourself at some point.

“Whoa, that was a hell of a thing,” Blob stammered, still shaking as Pyro sat up.

“All right, boyo, that’s enough. I’m not sure what you did, but I’m sure they deserved it,” Banshee said briskly, putting a hand on Kid Omega’s shoulder.

“I made a universe in my own mind, you know. And I can put people there anytime. So don’t piss me off,” the boy said, staring daggers at Blob.

“Yeah, yeah, nice tricks, pink hair,” Blob waved his hand dismissively, quickly recovered from the ordeal. “I used to work with a guy who can do illusions. You’re nothing I ain’t seen before.”

“I’m Omega level!” the boy snapped, as Banshee just shook his head.

“i’M oMeGa LeVeL!” Blob mocked, and Pyro couldn’t stop himself from snickering.

“Forget it, lad, they’re not worth it. They’re just drunk and stupid. Very, very stupid, “ Banshee said. “I’m giving you idiots your one warning, got it? If I have to come back out here, you’re gonna spend the night in the drunk tank – which is NOT built for comfort – and spend all day doin’ community service tomorrow. There’s bathrooms to be cleaned, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, message received. We’ll be good,” Pyro said. He almost wanted to apologize, it was right on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words in front of that posturing little brat. Banshee he could respect, but not this pissant half his age that thought he was the next Big Thing for mutantkind. There was always one of them running around.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t wanna keep junior here up past his bedtime,” Blob added. “He’s obviously already cranky.”

“Shut it, or I’ll let him put your minds through a telepathic blender,” Banshee snapped, but he grabbed the boy by the arm, and walked off into the jungle. There was a quiet moment, while Pyro staggered none too steadily around, gathering up the wine bottle and their respective glasses (or pots), then collapsed against Blob’s side. He needed something to wash the taste of stomach acid out of his mouth. And besides, throwing up meant he was entitled to more – it was like hitting the reset button on intoxication, right? He could feel Blob quivering against him, and realized after a moment that the man was shaking with laughter.

“Can….can you believe that little twerp,” Blob gasped. “Strutting around with his boots and leather jacket like he’s hot shit. Oooo, look at me, I’m Kid Omega!”

“I think pink hair is a substitute for having a personality!” Pyro chimed in. “Probably jerks off to…..I dunno, what are kids into these days? Is it still Harry Potter? NSYNC?”

“Fortnite? I think?”

“What the fuck is Fortnite?” Blob shrugged in response.

“Christ, Freddie, we really are over the hill.” Pyro shook his head and filled Blob’s stew-pot to the brim.

“Well, you ain’t. You missed some years an’ I’m pretty sure they brought you back younger. You’re missing some lines there.”

“Missing scars, too.” Pyro stretched his arms out in front of him, as if he could see through the spandex. Underneath, they were disturbingly smooth, no trace of the marks life had left on him. Like Blob’s skin, which was almost impossible to pierce. But he probably had scars hidden somewhere.

“Hey, Freddie.”

“Yeah, string bean?”

“About that whole….suicide thing. What you said earlier. You wanna talk about it?” Blob shifted against him.

“Nah, it…it wasn’t really such a big thing. Just went through a rough patch, is all. You know me, I can bounce back from anything. That’s why I made it so long. I was kicking up shit way back in the day, and I’m still kicking now. No need to resurrect the Blob,” he finished proudly.

“Yeah, you got me there. Me, and a lot of others.”

“Too many.” Blob shook his head. “I been waiting forever for Unus to come back, but seems like he’s low on the list. Most of us are. Same old story.”

“Yeah.” Pyro had asked Mystique when Avalanche’s turn would come, but she couldn’t give him a clear answer – given that Destiny hadn’t been resurrected yet, it seemed like she didn’t have a huge amount of power over those decisions, despite her position on the Council. Would former terrorist criminals come before or after the millions of mutants that had died at Genosha? Meanwhile other Council members’ family and friends got pushed to the front of the line, and Magneto couldn’t be bothered to stand up for people like Avalanche and Unus and the old Mastermind – but he’d still brought back several of his Acolytes (even Fabian Cortez, who, according to what Frezny had told him over a couple of drinks, was the absolute worst.) Of course Magneto would bring back fanatics that worshiped the ground he walked on. He couldn’t completely quiet the fear that lingered in the back of his mind – that this whole thing would eventually fall apart, before certain people came back.

“I guess I was lucky to be a guinea pig after all, otherwise I’d probably be at the back of the line somewhere.”

“Fuck it, man, it’s all political. They just bring back their people, or the ones they think’ll be useful. I’m lucky I ain’t croaked,” Blob sighed.

“They’d bring ya back, Freddie. You’re one of a kind. Look, mate, I’m sorry about what I said. That no one likes ya. It’s not true. I like ya. Toad likes ya. Dom liked ya, even though you picked fights all the time. I’m glad you’re here and not dead.” Pyro wasn’t sure why he was being so generous after some of the crap that Fred had said, but to hell with it. He was probably feeling soft ‘cause of the whole “suicide” thing. And when it came down to it, he didn’t have that many friends – and his very closest one was still dead. May as well appreciate the ones that weren’t six feet under.

“Only picked fights ‘cause you guys were always looking down on me, acting like your powers were so much better,” Blob grumbled.

“We only did that because you were always throwing your weight around, pretendin’ you were too good to follow Mystique’s orders, bein’ nasty to everyone – “ Pyro abruptly stopped, biting his tongue. This wasn’t where he wanted this conversation to go, and he was still just sober enough to remember Banshee’s threat if another fight broke out. He sighed deeply, then poured Fred another generous serving of wine.

“Fuck, Fred, let’s not do this. We’ve been through some shit together, yeah? We all acted like dicks sometimes back in the day, but it doesn’t really matter now. I’m sorry I said you were a fat piece of shit.”

“Well, I kinda am, ain’t I?”

“If you’re a fat piece of shit, I’m a skinny piece of shit. None of us are exactly saints in the Brotherhood.”

“You’re a saint. It’s right in your name.” Blob poked at him clumsily.

“Yeah, real ironic, that. Gran wanted a good Christian name so I’d be good Christian lad. Buckley’s chance of that.”

“You get real Aussie when you’re drunk, ya know that. Can’t barely understand ya.” Blob was starting to slur now, having gone through the equivalent of several vats of wine at this point. “But hey man, I’m sorry I said that I was glad you died. I mean, I was glad right when it happened. I was mad at you ‘cause of Post. But it was a shitty way to go, wasting away like that. You didn’t deserve that. Gettin’ eaten up inside by your own power. I remember when that happened to Unus. He…he died right in my arms, man.” Blob’s voice sounded shaky again. Pyro reached up and patted his side – somewhere below the armpit, since he couldn’t reach huge man’s shoulder.

“Sorry, Freddie. I’m sure Unus didn’t deserve that, either.” Pyro had never met the force-field wielding mutant, but he’d heard stories when Blob was feeling especially drunk and sentimental. But he didn’t think he’d ever seen this kind of raw vulnerability from Fred J Dukes before. He’d blame the wine – stupid wizard probably cursed it with a sadness spell or something. Get the mutants to drop their guard by making them all soppy.

“He sure as hell didn’t.” Blob actually reached up and rubbed his forearm over his eyes, and Pryo diplomatically pretended not to notice. “I miss him, man. He was a real stand-up guy, you know, for a criminal piece of garbage, and he didn’t let anyone push him around. Don’t think I’ve ever clicked with anyone like him. And now they’re danglin’ this resurrection thing in front of us, and who knows if they’ll ever get around to him? Must be worse for you, with Dominic, right man?”

“I sure as fuck miss him,” Pyro admitted, downing another glass. “He’s my best mate.”

“Hey look, man, what I said earlier, I wasn’t tryin’ ta –“

“Freddie, I really don’t wanna talk about it.” Pyro abruptly found himself pinned as Blob swung an arm down around him, holding him pressed against his side. “What the hell, Freddie, are you tryin’ ta flirt, now?”

“No man, just listen. Listen, listen man, shhh, listen,” Blob said in what he probably thought was a soothing whisper, while Pyro pushed uselessly against him. “I don’t wanna start another fight, but I got stuff I wanna say. I wasn’t tryin’ ta be a jerk before, okay? When I brought it up. I just wanted to say that, you know….we knew. We ain’t that dumb, and you guys weren’t that slick. We figured out you were – “

“Don’t say it, okay?” Pyro snapped.

“Fine, but dude. Listen. We don’t care. That’s the important thing here. I mean, we probably cared a little back in the day. I admit I made some pretty shitty jokes, but, you know, times were different. I mean, ‘homo’ was the worst thing you could be back when I was growin’ up. Until mutants started becoming a thing, of course.”

“Yeah, same here,” Pyro muttered. Apparently this conversation was happening whether he liked it or not. He downed more wine to try to stop his insides from twisting up.

“But everything’s like, different now. Most people don’t give a shit anymore. Including most of us in the Brotherhood. I mean, it was stupid to ever care in the first place. We’re already a group of outcast criminals, and we’re gonna judge you guys for wanting to bang each other? It’s cool if you don’t wanna make out in public or get married or anything, but you don’t haveta sneak around anymore. I’m cool with it, Toad’s cool with it. I think ‘Tazia had you figured for gay even before Avalanche came back. ‘Cause you weren’t drooling over her like Toad an me.”

“She was a perceptive one.” Pyro wondered for a moment whatever had happened to Eileen. She had been close-mouthed about her past – and Pyro could respect that – but extremely intelligent, and fun to talk to.

“The point is, it’s a brave new world and all that. Dudes are marrying each other, chicks are marrying each other. There’s a whole show starring drag queens that’s run for like, 10 years or something. It’s all mainstream now. I mean, I still don’t get it. Making out with another dude sounds gross to me. But I ain’t got no problem with other people doing it.”

“That’s real decent of you, Fred,” Pyro said, and he wasn’t totally sure if he was being sarcastic. This was a surprisingly heartfelt comment coming from Dukes. “You spend a lot of time writin’ that speech up?”

“I’m tryin’ ta be nice here, okay, matchstick? And I’m just sick of you pretendin’ ta be straight, an’ me havin’ to pretend I don’t know.” He trailed off, and gulped down his pot of wine, finally releasing Pyro from his grip.

“Fair ‘nuff,” Pryo conceded. Even though actually dragging all this out into the open felt horribly uncomfortable. Exposed. “Don’t expect me to do some big ‘coming out,’ thing or wear a rainbow or any of that crap, though. I’m not into that. My private life is my private life, right? I’ll just….stop trying so hard to hide it, you know?”

He’d already started to relax his guard a little in front of the Marauders, even picking up a guy at one of the bars that Iceman always dragged them to – although he’d waited until Storm and Bishop had left for the night, and Kate and Iceman seemed too drunk to notice. Iceman seemed to think Pyro was straight, as he’d asked him, with a mix of nervousness and defiance, if he “minded” the first night they went to a gay bar. That probably would have been the time to say it, if Pyro was a little braver, but instead he’d just shrugged and said, “No worries,” like a good tolerant fellow. Of course they wouldn’t care. For all he knew, maybe none of them were straight. He’d seen Kate give sideways glances to girls, Storm and Calisto seemed to have some chemistry between them, Bishop never seemed to mind men hitting on him at clubs. But still. A literal lifetime ago, he’d been afraid of getting his teeth kicked in, or worse. Things were different now, but actually coming out and saying it….it was not so much baring his chest, more like stripping completely naked and handing the other person a knife.

“Hey, fine. Do what ya want. But I’m still gonna make fun of you and Dom if you get all lovey-dovey in front of us. Not because it’s gay, just because I hate that hearts and flowers crap.”

“I would expect nothing less, Blobbo.” Pryo took another long drink of wine, refilled his glass and downed it again, until the tension eased out of his spine.

He supposed it had been stupid to assume that no one noticed. Everyone living in close quarters, both in Brotherhood safehouses and government facilities (not to mention prison). They’d all known. Had they gossiped about him? Laughed behind his back? Been disgusted?

But then, Toad and Phantazia had both hovered over him protectively in the first stages of his illness, when they were all on Empyrean’s private island together. Toad had even talked about how glad he was that Avalanche could be “there for him,” and wow, there was probably a coded message that Pyro had been too dense at the time to pick up on. Mystique was certainly not one to judge, and she’d figured him out ages ago. And if Fred Dukes, of all people, was accepting, then…well, it was probably okay, wasn’t it?

“Hey, matchstick.”

“Yeah, Freddie?”

“You and Dom. Who tops? Be honest, ‘cause I got money riding on this.”

“Shit, Freddie, I gotta be way drunker for this conversation.” And he poured again. The bottle continued to oblige.

When he opened his eyes a crack, the sun pierced right through to stab into his brain. Pyro groaned and squeezed his eyes shut again, bringing one arm up clumsily to better block out the light. He felt like utter shit, and that realization caused a sharp spike of alarm in his chest.

Sick. I’m sick again.

Or maybe he’d always been sick. Because it was all too good to be true, wasn’t it? Dying like a hero, coming back to life on this magical island where mutants from all sides of the political divide were having nonstop raves and orgies, getting to sail around and play pirate with the X-Men, who accepted him as a team-mate without question. How could that possibly be real? Wasn’t it more likely that this was all just the fever dream of a dying man, still lingering comatose in a hospital somewhere?

Except Pyro realized in a moment that he was lying on sand, with ocean waves creating a comforting rhythm just at the edge of his hearing. And the pain he was feeling wasn’t quite the same as what the Legacy Virus had done to him. His head was pounding like a drum, he ached all over, and he was fairly certain he wouldn’t get through the morning without barfing at least once – but he could breathe without pain. He sucked in a deep, cool breath and slowly let it out again. No coughing, no burning in his lungs, no constricting weight on his chest.

This wasn’t Legacy, it was a very familiar kind of suffering. One he’d inflicted on himself many times before.

“Heya, toothpick!” Blob’s voice boomed cheerfully in his ear. “Had a little too much last night, huh?”

“Uggghhhhh…..fuck off, Fred,” Pyro mumbled, trying to roll away from the sound of his voice. Moving made his stomach flip-flop, and he stopped for a moment.

“Haw, haw, ya shouldna tried to keep with me, ya scrawny little light-weight,” Blob guffawed, but he didn’t sound as mean as usual. Pyro feel something cool being pressed against his face.

“Here man, drink this and come back to life.” He opened his eyes again, wincing, and accepted the water bottle that Blob was holding out to him.

“Probably gonna take a few of these, Fred,” Pyro said, carefully sitting up, pausing for a moment to swallow saliva and wait for his stomach to hopefully quiet itself. Then he began sipping the water cautiously.

“You’ll probably need a couple of these, too,” Blob offered, slipping him some aspirin.

“Thanks, mate, right neighborly of ya. You’re in a good mood this mornin’ aint ya?” He swallowed the aspirin and gulped down more water.

“Well, I actually was smart enough to drink water last night, so I didn’t totally wreck myself. Plus I never get hit too hard with hang-overs. Got all this extra body mass cushioning me.” He laughed again, slapping at his belly. “Besides, it was hilarious watching you last night. You were trashed, man.”

“Well, I had good company, didn’t I?” Pyro looked around, squinting in the bright morning light. He’d wound up sleeping sprawled out on the sand at the edge of the jungle, just a few feet away from Blob’s hut, thankfully some distance away from the puddle of vomit he’d left the previous night. He remembered that part clearly – the fight, the encounter with Banshee and that little pink-haired shit acting as Krakoa’s rent-a-cops, some of the heartfelt conversation that had followed. And then, the night dissolved into a dream-like haze. Well, they weren’t locked up in the drunk tank, so they must not have gotten in any more trouble.

“Least I know how to handle my liquor,” Blob chuckled. “You wanna shower, toothpick? You smell like something Wolverine rolled in.” Pyro grimaced as he realized that the sour aroma of dried puke and smashed pumpkin was wafting up around him.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

He spent a good twenty minutes in the shower, using Blob’s surprisingly luxurious bath products, then gave his uniform a thorough scrubbing, and fire-dried it. He’d get a clean one from the Marauder later, but he didn’t feel like sitting around smelling like garbage in the meantime.

Vague images kept floating up out of the haze while he washed, little snippets of memories dissolved in wine.

…..Blob putting the stew pot over his head and fastening a curtain around his shoulders, staggering around shouting, “To me, my Brotherhood! Throw yourself under the bus for mutant rights! I’m a self-important jackass and I don’t actually care about any of you, my loyal soldiers!” while Pyro rolled around in the sand laughing hysterically…….

……Pyro splashing into the waves, yelling back at Blob, “I’m gonna do it, you’ll see! I’m gonna fight one a’ them sharks with my bare hands, then fry up it for dinner! We’re gonna have a barbeque right on the beach, yeah.” Blob was bellowing laughter while pulling him back with one hand, so that he was helplessly flailing around, swimming in place. “C’mon mate, I can do it! Aussies aren’t scared of sharks! We’ll kick the shit out of any animal!” “C’mon dumbass, this won’t be nearly so funny if you drown,” and then he was being hauled back up onto the beach……

…..then he was draped across the stomach of a maudlin Blob, who wasn’t even bothering to hide the tears that dripped down his cheeks. “It’s just….what am I if I’m not the Blob, right? You’ve got those stupid books, but what have I got? I mean, I’m nothing without my powers. I tried to make it work back then, I really did. Got my own reality show, got real popular in Japan, but it just wasn’t enough. I was miserable not bein’ the Blob.” Pyro was patting at Blob’s stomach, almost kneading it like a cat, in what he probably had thought was a comforting manner at the time, muttering encouraging nonsense,” Nah, Freddie, c’mon mate, you’ve got lots to offer, you got a big heart and a big personality……”

….then the two of them were chucking the last of Blob’s squash and pumpkins at the trees. For some reason they were both singing “Highway to the Danger Zone” at the top of their lungs……

Pyro just sighed and tried to blink it all away. It wasn’t actually the worst drunk memories he had. At least neither of them had gotten naked. He hoped.

“Hey man, you took your sweet time. You jerking off in there?” Blob said as he emerged, piling eggs and bacon onto a plate and passing it to him. Luckily his stomach had settled a great deal by then.

“Nah, I wouldn’t be so crass, Freddy. I only jerk off in my own shower.”

“Guess it’s not as much fun without Avalanche, huh?” And Blob actually winked at him.

Pyro opened his mouth to snap back at Dukes, to tell him to shut up and mind his own damn business. Then closed it again, because he couldn’t actually detect any malice in the other man’s tone. Not needling him, just…playful joking, in Blob’s own crass way.

Instead, he just shrugged and grinned. “Guess so. Thanks heaps for the food, Freddie. And the bloody aspirin, I really needed that.”

“Well, what can I say, I know my manners. I’m a hospitable guy,” Blob chuckled, sitting down to his own breakfast. “Besides, it’s the least I can do after what you gave me.”

Pyro paused with the fork mid-way up to his mouth, thinking back. What had he given him, besides a whole fuckton of wine?

“’Fraid I don’t quite remember what you’re referring to there,” he said cautiously. Had he promised his services or something? Given up some of the booty he’d stashed from raids with the Marauders? (He didn’t feel at all bad about that, as the captain herself was actively encouraging them to take as much booze and money as they pleased.)

“The wine.” Blob jerked a thumb over to the shelf on the wall, where the bottle sat surrounded by little ornaments, as if occupying a place of honor.

“Oh yeah, well I’m always glad to share – “

“No man, the whole bottle. You gave me the bottle.”

Pyro’s fork slipped out of his hand. Fuck. Fuck! He hadn’t. Surely he hadn’t been so stupid as to give up a priceless treasure like that, just because ol’ Blob had gotten a little weepy last night. Surely not.

“Oh hell, I didn’t really, did I?”

“You did! You insisted.”

And much as he wanted to deny it, there was a memory creeping back into his mind. Himself, holding the bottle up to Fred with a grandiose air, waxing poetic about how he would be Krakoa’s Dionysus, Life of the Party, Keeper of the Mysteries, and the other mutants would frolic around him like the Maenads. Christ, he really was a pretentious sot when he got drunk, wasn’t he? (But hey, he couldn’t help that he’d gone through a pretty heavy Greek mythology phase as a kid. It was just so interesting!)

“I….guess I might remember something like that,” he conceded hesitantly. “But that doesn’t count, does it? You can’t hold me to that! I was trashed out of my mind!”

“Not so trashed that you couldn’t blather on about a bunch of Classical bullshit!” Blob declared. “It was damned funny. And if you think I’m givin’ this bottle back to you, you’ve got another thing coming.” His tone stayed light, but a sharp gleam in his eye suggested the promise of another fight.

“C’mon Freddie, you’ve gotta be kidding me!”

“Look man, I thought this might happen. So I got video evidence. I got a message from Drunk Pyro to Sober Pyro.” He held out his cell phone.

“Fuuuuuck,” Pyro moaned, not even wanting to see. He took a side glance at the bottle, so inviting out in the open. He should just grab it and run. Instead, he heard the sound of his own voice, slurred with wine, Australian accent even thicker than usual so that he was running his words against the backs of one another.

“I, St. John Allerdyce,” the figure on the video stopped to belch, “bein’ of sound mind an’ body, do hereby bequeath this bottle of never-endin’ wine to Frederick J. Dukes, the Blob, forever an’ ever, no take backs! Be’cause…..’cause….he’s my good mate, an’ he needs somethin’ for himself, an’ I’m fulla good will tonight.” The figure was bleary-eyed and staggering, but at least he seemed to be happy, judging by the wide grin stretching his face.

“Fuckin’ hell, Drunk Pyro,” Sober Pyro groaned, laying his head in his hands. That bastard had gotten him into more scrapes than he could count.

“But!” Drunk Pyro continued on the video. “There’s….conditions. One….no….two! Two…two conditions.” He swayed for a moment, seeming to look up at the stars before pulling himself back together. “Condition the first! You gotta share the wine, Freddie. Share it like, like I’ve been…been sharing it. Bring it to all the parties. Pour for….for eeeeveryone.” He made a sweeping gesture and nearly fell over. “Condition the two! You gotta….gotta give me special access, right? I get ta come over and drink as much as I want, any time I want, yeah? No matter what!”

“I accept your conditions,” came Blob’s voice from behind the camera. Drunk Pyro grinned again.

“Then I now pronounce you man and bottle!” He crowed, holding it aloft. “You may kiss the …wait, no, don’t put your mouth directly on it. Everyone’s gotta drink that.”

“Now make it official by singing Waltzing Matilda. That’s Australia’s national anthem, right?” Blob’s voice suggested on the video.

“No, it isn’t, “ said Sober Pyro.

“Yes, mate, you’re exactly right!” exclaimed Drunk Pyro. He made it through one off-key verse and chorus before fumbling the words and collapsing to his knees, laughing.

“Hey man, thanks for this,” said Blob’s voice on the video, as a hand reached out to take the bottle from Drunk Pyro. And Blob actually sounded a bit sincere. “I really appreciate it, ya doing something like this for me.”

“Well, you’re my special mate, right? We’ve been through loads together. And I feel sooo wonderful tonight. I’m fulla…..fulla love for everybody!” Drunk Pyro spread his arms out to the stars. “The world is so bloody beautiful, yeah?”

“Who do you love, Pyro?” Blob asked from behind the camera.

“Everybody! All the little mutants, and even the humans, too! The ones that aren’t too shitty, anyway.”

“Who do you really love?” Blob asked pointedly.

For a moment, Drunk Pyro looked up at the camera in confusion, then he lit up with the nicest smile Pyro had seen on his own face in a long time. It wasn’t cruel or sarcastic, not sloppy drunk or wild with adrenaline. It was the kind of genuine, soft smile he’d described in many novels over the years.

“I love Dominic!” Pyro exclaimed, hugging arms around himself and slumping down against the sand. “I love Dom.”

“Oy, you fucker!” The video switched off abruptly as Sober Pyro made a grab at the cell-phone in Blob’s hand. “How dare you, how fucking dare you pull that shit! Fucking shit-cunt!”

“Hey man, chill out! You gave me the bottle fair and square!” Blob held the phone over his head, while Pyro began trying to clamber up him.

“Forget the bottle, I don’t care! Why would you make me say that! On video, for fucks sake? You lookin’ to blackmail me?”

“No man, no!” Blob plucked Pyro off with his other hand, and deposited him back in his chair. “That’s not what that was about! I ain’t gonna show it to anyone. Here, look, I’m deleting it. Geez.” Blob pushed a couple of buttons in his phone.

“You were tryin’ to make me say it, though, weren’t you? Why would you want me to say that?!” Pyro glowered at him over the table.

“I dunno man, I was loaded, too! I just….thought it would be nice, I guess. I thought maybe….maybe you’d feel a little better if you said it.” Blob looked confused, and again oddly vulnerable. Not mocking or mean.

“You thought I’d feel better? Seriously?” Pyro gave a breathless laugh.

“I mean….yeah, man. It’s like what we talked about last night. You’re so uptight about this shit, but no one cares anymore.”

“Fucking hell, Fred,” Pyro sighed, putting his head in his hands again. Fucking Blob. Fucking Drunk Pyro, spewing everything out into the open.

But….it probably had felt kind of good to say it in the moment, hadn’t it? All open like that? He couldn’t deny, Drunk Pyro had looked beatifically happy when he said those words, his eyes soft and gentle. Perfect for a scene in a romance, even if he was absolutely humiliated to see that expression on his own face. He supposed there was no sense in denying it. He’d said it, after all.

“Don’t spread it around about Dom, okay? I mean, I know what I am. I’ve known for a long time, and I guess I don’t mind people knowing, now that we’re all enlightened these days. But I think Dom’s still working some things out. Or at least he was.”

“Yeah, sure, man, my lips are sealed,” Blob agreed. “So, are we cool?”

“You deleted that video, right?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re gonna give me free wine whenever I want, just like you promised, yeah?”

“Of course! I’m a generous fellow, and I don’t go back on an agreement!” Blob pressed a hand against his chest, proudly.

“Then, yeah. Freddie. We’re cool.”

Notes: Apologies to poor Quentin Quire, he didn’t deserve the crap Blob and Pyro were throwing at him. I have nothing against the character, he just seemed like the kind of arrogant young hot-shot mutant that Pyro and Blob would have no respect for (even if he could absolutely destroy them).

#pyro #st. john allerdyce #blob #fred dukes

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