#'so that the nuts & bolts rust to hell and back'

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

WHY IS MY BACON SPICY.

[obey-the-company]

Steel, iron, nuts and bolts

Poor man's gold in rusted vaults

Scrap, tin, wheels and gears

Shift by shift and year by year

Rod, beam, sheet and plate

Ironclad, you sealed your fate

All that shines shall fade in time

Welded put the day you signed

The production line

You better do your best, forget about sunshine

'Cause you won't see it where you're going

And the only thing you know is

You won't get to have your lunch on time

Or ever again, 'Cause every second you spend

That isn't meeting an end that an executive penned

Is another debt that you render that'll let them extend

Upon the length of your tenure where you're ever condemned

Well, would you look at that, life's coming thick and fast

I run and zig and zag amid the tat, pick and pack, bric-a-brac

Click and drag, mix and match, stick a stack in my sack

'Til it could fill a skip of scrap then bring it back quick as a flash

We're scrappy and resilient, we're happy and we're diligent

But that's just if you're listening to marketing transmissions

Contractually itinerant, a dastardly predicament

Entrapped within a system hauling scrap for the omnipotent

Voices in the radio that point us in which way to go

The base we're excavating

What we're paid and then the pay we owe

Uncertain of the purpose to the service that we're slaving over

Purge the lunar surface of its worth to meet the daily quote

Some of us are living to work

Some of us are working to live

Some of us are making while others are just taking

And some of us are dying to give

Whoop! Yay! Hooray! Another day at the office

Slaving away and generating the profits

Heading straight for the pockets of the laziest bosses

If it wasn't for me, then they'd be making a loss

It's a struggle working double shifts, selling my soul

So my landlord doesn't have to do any at all

I'm clearly very important while you're merely a drone

Giving me steady employment just to dwell in a hole

That I can barely afford, belly unfilled like Oliver Twist

Begging for more, I don't want to exist

No longer stomaching it, wanna be somebody different

But I'm stuck as it is, so stuff it, double my shifts

Rub out the family time in your diary, erase it all

They'll only hire me if I'll be reliably available

Yet, I appear, clearly entirely replaceable

The irony's I find it to be kind of inspirational

Anxiety will make you more inclined to reach a greater goal

Until you find me crying quietly against the wall

I miss my wife, I miss my kids, I miss my life, can't live like this

Perhaps for once if salary might rise in line with rent

We'd have the funds to rise and shine, not rise in line, content

To sacrifice our family lives to those on high, hell-bent

On empires founded on the thousands drowned in the cement

I am the very model of a model employee

I never leave my shuttle, can't afford to pay those fees

My overtime does overtime, I work nine days a week

And I never hit that bottle 'til it's time to take a pee

Some of us are making a killing

While some are barely making a living

Is a life worth saving without life savings?

It's a nine-to-five, 25-to-life in prison

Lift off, ticktock, the big clock's a-ticking

Drift in, dropped off at the drop ship's position

Sod tip top condition, a tip's what you live in

Drop shipping top tip - "Tips will not be given"

With this cost of living what do lives cost?

Well, the customer ain't fussed over the lives lost

We're discounted, under the counter, half off

In stocks, at the gallows for the price drop

To rock bottom, ba-da-da-dum

Sing the jingle, give a whistle, here's your lot, plod on

It's official, sacrificial, sing the company song

Before they bop the stop-button on your oxygen

Two guys moonlight on a new moon nightly

Tryna find loot like, "Ooh, that'll do nicely"

Lamp, cookie mold, jar, fish, stop sign

Pan, whoopie, gold bar, gift box, MINE!

No, mine

No, mine

Should you be hurt in our place of employment

It'll be worse than a band-aid and some ointment

There isn't a nurse with whom to make an appointment

There's really just certain doom, painfully poignant

Each day tossed upon the scrapheap

Struggling to meet pay, care to mind the gap, cheap

Labour can be replaced when there are fatalities

Several men a week slayed, tumbling from the gantries

In what kind of dimension is debris so decrepit

Worth more than all the lives amongst the men you send to get it?

The minions paid a pittance from the millions you inherit

And then billed for the equipment

Before they get to spend the credits

Have you had an accident at work that wasn't your fault?

No, you haven't, it absolutely was your fault!

Some of us are living to work

Some of us are working to live

Some of us are making while others are just taking

And some of us are dying to give

We all bought the production line

We all toe the production line

We all march in production line

We all signed the production line

It's a hell of a show, better the devil you know

Just another shift, try to keep a grip

Haven't slept a wink and my vision starts to drift

We're here to sell you your soul, next day and ready to go

Filling up the ship, just another trip

Maddened, on the brink, in no position to resist

The wheels of progress, they turn, so get ahead or go home

I got a quota to meet or else it's over for me

And when my rota's complete then I can hopefully leave

Just never question what burns to run the engines below

We were sold on a dream but now they won't let us sleep

Take a moment to grieve and you'll owe them a fee

My school careers adviser couldn't be any nicer

She was just like, "Might as well give up and die, bruh"

It isn't that likely we'll experience retirement

When staying alive's a minimum requirement

I've trained, I've tried, 'til I'm strained, I'm tired

I'd trade my trade for a train driver's

But I'm afraid that the end of the line

Isn't a place I'll arrive 'til the end of my life

I am the very model of a model employee

Because I'm used to being toyed with by those far bigger than me

Painfully aware my fate to bear's as cog in a machine

Just one more face cast off to space for products on a screen

Production line

Production line

Production line

Production line

Production line

Production line

Production line

Production line

We all bought the production line

We all toe the production line

We all march in production line

We all signed the production line

Some of us are making a killing

While some are barely making a living

Is a life worth saving without life savings

It's a nine-to-five, 25-to-life in prison

Some of us are living to work

Some of us are working to live

Some of us are making while others are just taking

And some of us are dying to give

It's a hell of a show, better the devil you know

We're here to sell you your soul, next day and ready to go

We all signed the production line

*DEATH STARE*

The bloody fuck pal.

[jazz-miester]

Can I have more modern reader with G1 transformers?

Liked where reader just rost the cons to distract them

Oh hell ya you can have this. I friggin love to write these things lol. And I hope I got close to what you wanted!

Reader: *Sitting on Megatron's empty throne after being captured by the cons.*

Also Reader:*Recording on their phone while Starscream rants about how he should be leader of the Deceptions.* A yo Screamer!

Starscream:*Pausing mid rant to glare at the reader.* What could you possibly want Fleashy?

Reader: *Snort laughs.* Deez. *Holds their phone a bit more discreetly.*

Starscream: *Raises a brow* *Mumbling beneath his breath*If this is another human joke. Deez what Fleashy?

Reader: *Grinning like an idiot* Deez Nuts!

Rumble and Frenzy:*Loosing their collective shit because if course reader taught them that.* *Also helping Reader escape Starscreams well, screaming*

Reader: *Cackling as they run down the hallway and out the door. Getting scooped up by Bumblebee as the Autobots fight the Deceptions.*

.

.

.

Reader:*Watching the Deceptions get a trap together for the Autobots from their cage.* Huh.

Reader: *Deep breath in* Hey Lord Buckethead!

Megatron: *Exasperated. Wishing he had snagged Spike instead.* What it it now, human?

Reader: *Laughs.*

Jazz: *Sneaking down the side of the hill unnoticed by the Cons.*

Reader: Didn't your mother ever teach you how to be nice to your guests?

Megatron: Human. We don't have mother's the same way your kind does.

Reader: *Nods.* Uh huh. Uh huh. So where did you learn to be a lil' bitch from then.

Megatron: *Sputters* What?

Reader: Well ya. Since your about to have your aft kicked three ways to Sunday.

Jazz: *Taps Megatron's arm cuz lordy he's shorter than him.*

Megatron:*Turns and gets ready to fight only to get the living slag shocked out of him *

Reader: Thanks Jazz.

Jazz: Yer welcome y/n. But it'd be better if ya didn't get caught all the time.

Reader: *Shrugs* What can I say. They love me.

.

.

.

Skywarp: *Giggling like a maniac as he scoops reader up in the middle of battle.* Look at what I've got Autobrats! *Hoists reader high into the air.*

Reader: *Angry at getting caught once again. Seriously did they have a sign in there back that reads. Capture me! I can be used for bait!* Put me down you sad excuse for a toaster!

Skywarp: I. A what? *Brings reader down to be eye/optic level with them. Holding reader by the scruff of their jacket.*

Reader: *Puffs their cheeks out.* I've seen rock em sock em robots with more brain power than you ya two bit Roomba.

Skywarp:*Utter confused and thoroughly unaware of Ironhide coming up behind him.*

Reader: I swear you run down, rusted out, glitched for brains, if you don't put me down right now. *Reader smacks their hands against Skywarp's digits.*

Skywarp: *Laughs* You'll what fleshbag?

Ironhide: They won't do nothin' Con. *Hits skywarp and manages to knock him out and safely get reader out of the way.*

Reader: Thanks 'Hide.

Ironhide: Think nothin' of it Y/n. Although. Maybe you should spend less time around Ratchet.

Reader: *Snorts* And lose all these colorful insults? Pit no.

.

.

.

Reader: *Running away from Frenzy and Rumble* Whatever happened to us being friends you traitors!

Frenzy:Were just doin' our job squishy!

Rumble: Ya! It's not like we wanna do this!

Soundwave:*Scoops reader up*

Reader: And you! You utter jerk!

Soundwave: Y/n: Anger reasonable. Soundwave:Request y/n calm down.

Reader:*Anger meter bubbles and boils over.* Calm down? You expect me to calm down you bolts for brains!

Frenzy and Rumble:*Snickering quietly*

Soundwave: Y/n: Desist.

Reader:Oh frag no. Either you desist capturing me or I'll take your old aft and turn it into Ironhide's scrap metal.

Soundwave: Y/n: Being difficult.

Reader: Y/n is being difficult because you won't put me down you sad excuse for a computer.

Frenzy and Rumble: *Can't hide their laughing anymore.*

Soundwave: *Not willing to out up with his symbiotes nonsense along with Readers.* Soundwave: Feeling generous. *Puts the reader down and pushes them the way they came.*

Reader: Nah. You just don't wanna listen to me cus you know I'll get those two singing baby shark again.

Soundwave: *Pushes reader a little more firmly*

.

.

.

[weretoad-writer]

Treasure Hunting

Jespar sat on the edge of Yero’s porch, idly whittling a bit of driftwood. Every so often his eyes strayed towards the road. He’d been at the house for several hours and there was still no sign of the boy. 

His blade scraped against the wood, peeling it away in strips. The conversation with Alfrid had been interesting -- the old man was the first person he���d spoken with who hadn’t appeared surprised by Yero’s actions -- but offered little insight into what he’d found here at the house. Cracking that particular nut was going to require a second pair of hands. 

He glanced again towards the empty road and sighed. He’d been clear about where to find him, hadn’t he? He’d given the boy the map with the location marked on it.

It would be sunset in a few hours and he had to face the very real possibility that his mysterious stranger had simply run off. Disappointing, but, in hindsight, perhaps not surprising. He was beginning to debate the merits of spending the night at the Drunken Bee and trying again in the morning. Shouldn’t be too hard to find someone willing to do a couple hours work for a few coins. Maybe--

Back towards the road a pair of jays were raising an alarm and he looked up to see a small, familiar figure picking its way towards him across the yard. Jespar grinned and raised a hand to wave him over.

“You made it!” he called as the boy drew closer. “Any luck?”

Wordlessly the boy relaxed his grip on the bundle of green cloth clutched to the his chest, unfolding it to reveal a small, rusty metal casket. He offered it to Jespar who took it eagerly, curiosity pricking. “Splendid!”

He fished out his lockpicks. The chest appeared to have been sealed with wax, which meant there was a chance the tumblers hadn’t all rusted to hell, but after several minutes of probing it was clear that the wax-gummed mechanism wasn’t much of an improvement. 

Brute force it was, then. 

He flashed an absent half-smile as the boy crouched beside him, watching him wedge his knife into the seam where the lid met the case, twisting the blade to force the lid up and jamming the flat against the latch. It took several tries; wedge and twist, wedge and twist, but the latch finally yielded.

Inside were three letters and a key. He pocketed the key and skimmed the letters, but they more or less confirmed what Alfrid had said.

“Are -- are they what you were looking for?”

Jespar looked up from stuffing the letters into his pack. There was an odd anxiety in the boy’s face that he could not parse. “Oh, ah.. yes. The chest belonged to Yero alright. Don’t know what to make of it, mind, but that’s not what I’m being payed for.”

He snatched up the small pile of driftwood sticks and got to his feet. “Come on, let’s go inside. I want to show you something.” 

The trap door to the cellar was open as he’d left it, his makeshift torch lying nearby. It kindled easily, though from above its light didn’t reach beyond the rungs of the ladder.

“What’s down there?” Jespar glanced up in surprise at the sudden edge in the boy’s voice. He had drawn back -- only a step or two, but his whole body looked primed to bolt. 

“It’s just the old cellar. Why? What’s wrong?” He half turned, casting about for something that would explain the boy’s reaction, before it occurred to him that climbing into a dark hole at the behest of an armed stranger in a remote location did lend itself to less innocent interpretations.  

Oh. 

He laughed, holding up his hands. “Blazes. Sorry. I suppose this does look like the set-up for a horror story, doesn’t it? But I give you my word, it’s nothing nefarious.”

The boy stopped, heavy brows still furrowed uncertainly. “What’s that mean?”

“....I’m not sure I follow?”

“Neh--fay--ris.”

“Oh! Ah... Bad. Or having bad intentions. Though if I’m being completely honest, I don’t know for certain what’s down there. Only got as far as the door Yero had installed, but I need a second pair of hands to work the lock. And that, my friend, is where you come in.”

The boy did not look reassured; he looked scared and exhausted, and Jespar hesitated, impatience vying with his better instincts. “Though if you’d rather not….” 

The door would still be there in th morning. He could survive one night of unsatisfied curiosity. “You know what, it can wait. I can hire someone from the village tomorrow and --“

“I’ll do it!” 

The abrupt change caught him off guard. It was like a flinch, but what he was flinching from, Jespar hadn’t the first idea. “If you’re sure...?”

The boy nodded, all frantic determination now. Jespar couldn’t make him out. But he wasn’t about to turn the offer down; he wasn’t saint. 

The air in the cellar was clammy; the moisture pricking cold against his skin, the smell of mould was so strong he could taste it. Above their heads the sagging joists and floorboards were white with mildew. 

“Mind your step,” Jespar called back as the boy dropped down behind him. “The old man left a few surprises to welcome any would-be intruders. Stick behind me and you should be alright.”

They picked their way through the cellar until the packed earth and fieldstone of its walls changed to unworked stone and it opened into a small cavern, sunlight creeping faintly through a gap high in its wall.

At the far end a large, metal grate blocked the way forward. Jespar gestured towards it with the torch as they drew closer, the firelight glinting dull, but darkly opalescent on the bars.

“Shadowsteel,” he announced, excitement bleeding into his voice. “A thief could spend weeks trying to cut through these bars and have nothing for their pains but a pile of broken tools. But here, look at this -- this is what I wanted to show you. A Starling lock! You almost never see them outside of banks or the vaults of the nobility. Whatever Yero was hiding, he was willing to spend a fortune to protect it.”

He continued eagerly, indicating a solid panel in the grating and the odd, round hole at its center.

“It’s really quite fascinating. It’s designed to function as an arcane circuit. Normally this would have a key, a custom-shaped, metal rod that fits it exactly; once inserted, the rod completes the circuit, which powers the rest of the mechanism. If you were to stick something in there other than the key -- a probe or a pick, for instance -- you’d get one hell of a shock instead. Makes them pretty damn near impossible to pick.”

He grinned. 

“That is unless you’re Jespar, who knows a little trick.”

He motioned the boy closer. 

“See, this--” He tapped the metal plate surrounding the hole, “--isn’t actually the lock. It’s a switch. And switches can be bypassed. At least theoretically.”

Theoretically. According to a very, very drunk Starling tinker who had, so he claimed, once had to break a noble out of his own vault. It was an attractive theory, though. And Jespar had done enough reading to know that the principles behind it were sound.   

He dropped to his knees beside the hole in the floor which had, until a few hours earlier, been neatly covered by a stone-like pressure plate. Coils of heavy, copper wires and crystal diodes surrounded the deceptively small mechanism in the center. 

“See this? That’s the energy source, and these two wires here power the pressure plate -- here -- which, when pressed, completes another circuit which powers the latch, and --”  He caught himself with a laugh at the half glazed, half panicked look on the boy’s face, ”Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. All we need to worry about is this wire that runs to the switch and then loops back --  here --  to the pressure plate. If we can create a shortcut….Here, hang on. It’ll make more sense if I show you.”

Setting the torch upright in a nearby bucket-turned-floor-sconce, he paused to rummage in his pack, withdrawing a handful of copper coins and two of the whittled, driftwood sticks. The boy perked up instantly; he crouched beside Jespar, watching his hands with rapt attention. Jespar smiled; he wasn’t accustomed to having someone to share his excitement with. There was an energy to it, like the buzz of a lively inn. He’d forgotten how good it felt. 

With a little flourish, the sticks held between his thumb and two fingers like pincers, he began to place coins, overlapping them to form a bridge between the two wires. 

“There. Now -- in theory -- all we need to do is trigger the power source. Which is where you come in.” He fished a nail out of his pocket and held it out to the boy together with one of the sticks. 

“Nail goes into the keyhole first. Only part way, mind, or that switch will light you up like Qyranian fireworks. When I give the signal, use the stick to push it the rest of the way. The wood is bone dry, so the energy should have a hard time moving through it, but still -- try not to hold onto it, just shove it in there and let go.” 

He passed him a piece of the stone-like material  that had broken off the pressure plate earlier -- he’d seen it before, in Starling constructs, and protective cases that claimed to be ‘magic proof’, a type of insulation.  “It’s got a bit of a kick to it though, once it gets going, so use this to hold it all in place. If the nail gets pushed back even a little we’ll lose power.”

The boy fingered the objects, brows hunched together in look of almost comical concentration, and then nodded. 

Jespar couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. He felt faintly giddy. He’d always wanted to try something like this. 

“Alright. Whenever you’re ready....”

Gingerly the boy slid the nail halfway into the keyhole, then nudged the stick after it with the stone. There was a crackle of energy -- out of the corner of his eye he saw the boy flinch -- and the web of circuitry in the floor came to life. 

The power supply’s crystal diode glowed bright and steady. In contrast the diode feeding the pressure mechanism only flickered, sometimes flaring for a full second or two before guttering again. But a second was all they needed.

“It worked! I think. Keep holding it there, I just need to--” He pressed down on the plate as the diode blinked then held steady for a moment.

Nothing happened. 

Jespar swore. The smell of burning wood wafted from the keyhole. 

Perhaps he needed to time it correctly? He tried again. And again. On the third attempt he noticed that the diode in the secondary circuit -- the one connecting the pressure plate to the latch -- was dark. The current wasn’t reaching it . He leaned closer to inspect it, then drew back with a noise muddled somewhere between triumph and irritation. 

“Here, leave that for a moment. Come look at this,” he waved the boy over, “See that copper node that those wires feed out of? The pressure plate has this metal tongue -- right there -- which presses down against it. It sort of…makes a bridge that the energy can pass over. Like we did with the coins. At least, that’s how it’s supposed to work. But look, see how it doesn’t go down all the way when I press it? Must have damaged it when I removed the stone plate.”

He frowned. He released the mechanism, then pushed it down again, eyeing the gap. He fished several more pennies out of his purse and, very carefully, placed them in a small stack on the copper node. 

“Go ahead, let’s see if that works.” He watched the boy withdraw the charred stick from the keyhole and relace it with an undamaged one, using the stone to hold it in place. Once more the first two diodes flickered to life, and once more Jespar leaned on the pressure plate, and this time he felt the awkward jar of the tongue hitting the coins. The secondary circuit diode began to blink weakly, in and out, in and out, flaring for the briefest moment --- 

There was a soft, metallic click. And the door creaked open. 

“Well I’ll be a son of a bitch.” Jespar stared in disbelief, a grin lighting up his whole face.

It had worked! It had actually worked.

 “We just cracked a Starling lock, my friend!” he laughed, “Not bad for a few hours work.” He gave the boy a clap on the shoulder and pushed eagerly to his feet.

“Come on, let’s see what it was Yero wanted so badly to keep hidden.” 

Beyond the shadowsteel grate, the space narrowed into a channel, partially lit by sunlight filtering through gaps in the stone above their heads. Jespar took the lead, alert for anything out of place, any hint of the contrived amidst the natural that would signify a trap. They boy followed close behind him, quiet as a shadow.

He slowed his pace as he reached a curve in the tunnel. There were no tripwires, no pressure plates, no sensors that he could see. He took a step forward. 

With a strangled cry the boy lunged at him, seizing his arm, fingers digging in like the the teeth of a steel trap, jerking him off balance. Jespar stumbled into him with a startled curse, his weight and momentum carrying them several steps back.

“What the hell---!”

Fire filled the passageway just a head of them, the force of the blast knocking them both to the ground. 

Son of a ---  

Jespar was on his feet, daggers in his hands. He heard the creature an instant before he saw it, the hiss and sputter of a fire elemental. It surged towards them, but his dagger was faster, flying from his hand to bury itself in the twisting core of the creature. The elemental reared back in a convulsive spasm, its color flaring to a superheated white.

Shit.

Jespar tackled the boy to the ground as the elemental exploded, fire rushing like a flash flood in the narrow space. The heat stung the back of his neck and ears and singed his hair, but the worst of it passed over them. 

Quiet settled over the tunnel, the smell of smoke and sulfur hanging in the air. 

‘Blazes…” Jespar breathed out the curse, gingerly pushing himself up until he was sitting. “You alright?”

The boy didn’t respond, he just sat there, shivering, his eyes locked on the smouldering remains.

“Hey. Look at me,” Jespar coaxed, “Come on.” 

With an effort the boy dragged his eyes away, but he did not look at Jespar. He kept his gaze down, one hand nervously picking at the bandage on his arm. “What -- what was it?”

“Fire elemental. And a damned strong one.” Jespar shook his head. “Damned illegal too. That kind of magic has been outlawed for ages. And Yero wasn’t just dabbling with it.” The Order would be thrilled to learn that they’d been harboring a powerful entropist in their ranks for heck knows how long. Bushybeard on the other hand….

Despite his frayed nerves, Jespar’s mouth quirked at the thought of the old mage’s reaction. The man had an academic degree in gloating. 

A little stiffly, new bruises making themselves known, he got to his feet and retrieved his dagger from the ashy remains. The metal was still warm to the touch. 

“Thanks, by the way,” he said, turning back to the boy, “We’d have been kindling if you hadn’t grabbed me when you did.” He eyed him curiously. “How did you know something was there? I didn’t hear a thing.”

The boy’s eyes flinched away from his and he shook his head, “I don’t know.”

Jespar raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh.”

There it was, that same flash of defiance and fear he’d seen at the campsite. “I don’t know,” the boy repeated doggedly. “I just -- I had a -- a bad feeling.”

He was hiding something, that much was clear. But this was neither the place nor the time to pry it out of him. Jespar regarded him for another moment, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Daggers in hand, he took the lead once more. “You just let me know if you get another of these ‘bad feelings’.” 

Their voices had not drawn any further attention which was a good sign, but he still motioned for the boy to hang back while he scouted ahead. He reached the bend in the tunnel and peered around it.

To his surprise, it was a dead end, perhaps thirty paces of empty tunnel and then -- Huh.

Less dead end and more alcove. And in it, so unearthly still he’d almost missed it, stood a figure. 

Jespar’s hackles rose, hands tightening on his daggers.  It was a corpse, still upright, framed by its coffin. Only its arms and head were visible outside of the burial shroud. Shriveled and shrunken and discolored. The face was something out of an old nightmare and for a moment he felt the same familiar rush of horror. Like a shock of cold water. He fought it down, dragging in a slow, deliberate breath.

It was just a corpse.

He approached warily, half expecting the damn thing to jump out at them, but it remained blessedly still. Dust dry remains of dead flowers littered the stone at the corpse’s feet, and pools of wax from candles long since burned down circled outward from it, like some sort of macabre fairy ring. 

A shrine. Of sorts. He shook his head. “You know, with all the trouble Yero went through to protect it, I was expecting something a little more dramatic than an illegal burial.” He couldn’t help feeling a little cheated. 

A book lay in the middle of the circle. He picked it up, quickly thumbing through it. It was the same handwriting as the other letters, the same style, it was clearly Yero’s, but there was something -- ‘familiar’ was the wrong word, ‘reminiscent’ was better -- about this one that made him bristle with another kind of recognition. 

“What is it?” The boy was looking at the book in his hands. 

Jespar snorted. “It’s a final letter to his companion. About how the world has ‘chosen the Void’. Of course, blowing up a room full of kids who’d had their whole lives dictated to them by men just like him and never got the chance to choose a damn thing is a funny way to make his point. But what do I know? I’m just doing this for the money. I don’t have principles like our friend here.”

He realized belatedly that his voice had begun to rise and he broke off, flustered. The damned corpse was getting under his skin, that’s what it was. He needed to get out of this place. “I’ve got what I came for,” he said shortly, stuffing the journal into his pack and withdrawing two scrolls. He thrust one into the boy’s hands and opened the other. “I have to pick up some supplies before the market closes; I’ll meet you at the tavern after.”

The symbols on the page glowed like coals as he traced a glyph in the air. “You remember the Drunken Bee, right?”

And he was gone. 

*************

Several hours and a cup of spiced mead went a long way toward soothing his rattled nerves. He had just finished his first round when the door to the taproom opened and the boy entered.

“I see you went for the scenic route,” Jespar grinned as he collapsed next to him at the bar. There was something limp and bedraggled about him that reminded Jespar of a wet cat. 

“Here,” he slid a drink over to him. “This’ll warm you up. Cora here makes the finest mulled mead you’ll ever taste.”

The woman behind the bar shook her head, a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “Flatterer.”

“I dunno, I think our friend here agrees with me. He -- Woah, slow down... “ He reached over to thump the boy on the back as he doubled over choking from the speed at which he had inhaled the drink. “You alright?”

He nodded weakly, a kneejerk apology springing to his lips, but Jespar waved it away. He retrieved a small bundle from the floor beside his pack. “Here, I almost forgot,” he began, holding it out. “I picked these up while I was at the market.” 

There was a heavy, woolen blanket -- well-used but still serviceable -- which could double for a cloak in a pinch and a pair of old boots, and tucked in among them, a book. 

The boy’s hands twitched towards the items, but he hesitated, eyeing Jespar warily. “What are they for?”

Jespar blinked. “They’re for you. If you want them.”

“But I can’t --” He started to protest, but broke off, his face going very still. “You want something in return.” It wasn’t a question.

“What? No. They’re a gift.” Jespar held up his hands. “No strings. I swear.” 

For once the boy did not snatch at the offering, moving instead with a hesitant sort of care. He pulled the bundle into his lap, his fingers gently caressing the battered leather and wool as if they were expensive finery.

Jespar watched him as he picked up the book, opening it with such awkward reverence, it might have been endearing, except --  Jespar’s eyes narrowed, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

No, he wasn’t imagining it; the book was upside down.

“You, ah… you do know how to read? Don’t you?”

They boy’s eyes snapped up and Jespar could see the painful mixture of embarrassment and defiance in them. 

Oh. 

He put a hand to his brow with a soft curse. “That’s why you didn’t use the teleport scroll. By the wise hermit…. “ He sighed. “You must think I’m an ass.”

He laughed at the little, emphatic shake of the boy’s head. “Well, that’s generous of you. I suppose it’s not a total loss. You can still pawn it for a few coins when we get to Ark.”

The boy’s arms twitched, reflexively hugging the items closer. “No, I – I like it,” he stammered. And then, after another hesitation. “What is – what is it about?”

“Landscapes of Enderal: A Guide by the Golden Sickle for Travelers and Traders,” Jespar quoted dramatically. “It’s at least half propaganda, but it’s written with outsiders in mind, so it covers basic terms and cultural practices, that sort of thing. Thought it might be of some use, this being your first time here.”

One of the servers hurried past with two steaming bowls of food and the boy’s eyes trailed after them. 

“Speaking of travelers -- Riverville’s myrad is sick, so we’ll have to take the road through the mountains on foot. It’ll be dark soon and we can head out then. Less chance of --” Jespar broke off, following the boy’s gaze.  “You, ah…. you haven’t heard a single word I’ve said, have you?”

The boy tore his eyes away from the steaming plates of stew. “What?”

Jespar chuckled, shaking his head. “You want something to eat? Come on, it’s the least I can do after abandoning you at that crypt.” 

He waved the tavernkeep over. “Some bread and stew for my friend here.”

Cora rested a hand on her hip, regarding the boy appraisingly. “When’s the last time you ate, pet?”

“I….”

“And the last time you had fresh meat?”

The boy stared at her as if she’d asked him the last time he’d seen a star ship.

Jespar observed the exchange with mounting incredulity. “What’s with all the questions?”

Cora crossed her arms. “Look at him! Lost Ones got more flesh on their bones. If I give him a plate of stew, he’ll be sick as dog.”

“You must have something he can eat.”

Cora pursed her lips, her expression softening. “Let me see what I can find.”

A few moments later she returned with a bowl of broth and a small piece of bread. The boy watched her set them down with round, hungry eyes; they had scarcely touched the bar when he pounced on the bread, tearing into it like a feral creature, his body hunching around it possessively. 

The bread was gone in two mouthfuls, nearly choking him as he swallowed and grabbed for the bowl.

“You might want to –” Jespar began, but the broth was already half gone as well. “…slow down.”

The boy set down the empty bowl, his hands retreating immediately to the bundle in his lap as he looked at Jespar. “What?”

The question was so dazed and earnest, Jespar couldn’t help smiling. “Nevermind,” he laughed, clapping him gently on the shoulder. “I’ll settle up and we can head out.”

He fished a few coins out of his purse and slid them across the bar. 

“Leaving us already?” Cora tsked. 

“Afraid so. Much as I’ve enjoyed your hospitality.”

Cora raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that, pet?”

Jespar blinked. “What do you mean?”

She inclined her head towards the space beside him, and when Jespar turned to look, the boy was face down on the bar asleep, still hugging the little bundle of goods.

He shook his head, meeting the innkeeper’s I-told-you-so glance with a rueful smile. He glanced at the windows, the dusk shadows gathering outside, and then back at the boy, before settling once more against the bar and ordering another drink. The evening was still young. Their journey could wait a little longer.

[rhysintherain]

Shenanigans continue.

Decided I would spend a nice, relaxing evening mowing the lawn, since my dad left his ride-on here, and it hasn't been done since the brother in law did if for the "definitely not a real baby shower because she invited MEN!" (At least according to grandma), last weekend.

And it was pretty standard that I had to top up the engine oil, but once that was done the blade wouldn't engage.

So I crawl under the thing to find the belt fell off. Needs a new one, but whatever, I can make it work for tonight.

Except in the process of reinstalling the belt I found that one of the blades was loose? What the hell?

So I Jack it up, look underneath, and find... Sheet metal screws. Sandwiched between the blade bolt and the blade.

So rather than try to unravel what the absolute fuck this is, I call dad. This has his fingerprints all over it. And he tells me that the blade loosened off and stripped the splines, and he couldn't get it to tighten back down without them, so he drilled and tapped a hole at each lobe of the spline, put a sheet metal screw in it, and put the blade bolt back in on top of them.

So at the point I was trying to use it, three sheet metal screws were holding the blade on.

They did the whole lawn like this last week.

Anyway, I pulled the (now stripped) screws out, removed the lock nut on the blade bolt (it's rusted enough that it's not coming out without help), and successfully tightened the blade back down.

He basically redesigned the blade retention method, without very successful results, rather than try it without the lock nut.

The man really missed his calling as an engineer.

[insomniamamma]

Liminal: Ezra and Cee

A/N: Contemporary AU in which Ezra becomes his niece, Cee's caretaker after an automobile accident kills his brother, Damon, and costs him his arm. Same AU as "Ferris wheels are for old people." No reader insert character, just Ezra and Cee on the road. Written for @autumnleaves1991-blog​ ‘s Writer’s Wednesday.

Warnings: Mentions of past trauma/injury. Drug references in a song. Some language. I tried to research body powered transhumeral prosthetics to get some idea of how Ezra's prosthetic arm might work, but then I fell into an overthinking morass, any inaccuracies are mine.

"Willin'" is written by Lowell George. The version referenced in the story is recorded by Linda Ronstadt.

lim·i·nal /ˈlimənl/

adjective: liminal

   1.relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process.    2.occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.

--"Willin'"--

          "’... been warped by the rain, driven by the snow,’" Cee sings along with the music rattling through the truck's speakers, "I'm drunk and dirty, don't you know. But I'm still willin'..."

        The road stretches long and straight in front of them, harsh, rust-colored land dotted with scrub under the arc of an impossibly blue sky. Ezra asked Cee to compile the playlist. You are my co-pilot for this mission, he'd told her, and as such your duties include, but are not limited to, navigator, snack supervisor and DJ. DJ? Really? Make us a playlist, Little Bird, every adventure needs some good road music. And she had really delivered.          "’...Out on the road late last night, I'd see my pretty Alice in every headlight, Alice, Dallas Alice...’"  Ezra'd expected hours of auto-tuned pop or loud screamy music where he couldn't understand the words, and while there was some of that, Cee had taken her duties as DJ very seriously, creating a huge genre-bending list that all worked together.

     He knew a lot of it. When he was still weird Uncle Ezra and not Legal Guardian Ezra, Cee made a habit of pawing through his vinyl collection when she and Damon would visit, picking a record to play and then peppering him with questions about it. Still, some of the tracks she picked surprised him, like this one, Linda Ronstadt's version of "Willin'" a road trip anthem if there ever was one, but something he didn't expect Cee to be familiar with.  On their first go through the playlist, he'd asked her, where'd you hear this one, Birdie? You remember that movie, The Abyss? It's in that movie, the director's cut though, not the theatrical cut, the theatrical cut is bullshit--and he'd just listened to her go off about all the things wrong with the theatrical cut, the movie itself he barely remembered, something about divers finding aliens underwater, he'd listened and grinned, Cee could go so quiet sometimes. It was always a relief to hear her sound alive and interested, especially after--          "’And I've been from Tucson to Tucumcari," Cee sings and Ezra joins her, "Tehachapi to Tonopah...’" Cee's voice is sweet. Ezra's voice is not, but that's never stopped him. They've got the windows down. The AC started smelling funny a couple days ago, and, in this part of the world, a breeze to evaporate the sweat is just as good as AC. Cee's hair makes a flyaway halo as they sing--          "’Driven every kind of rig that's ever been made, Driven the backroads so I wouldn't get weighed. And if you give me...’" Ezra and Cee smile at each other, suck in deep breaths for the big chorus, "’...Weed, whites and wine, and you show me a sign...And I'll be willin' to be movin'"

--Petroglyph--

       The rust colored forms on pale stone walls peer out at them. Some loom large in the foreground, others recede into the background as if the weathered rock is a portal a window into some other place that lives just below the skin of the world. The back of Ezra's neck prickles. Sometimes the world is thin. Sometimes he feels as if there is a larger world moving and shifting beneath the surface of this one. Sometimes he feels like things are happening out of order, reality stripping and skipping like a loose bicycle chain--        Cee's warm hand creeps into his, "They're a little scary, aren't they?" She says.        "Indeed they are," says Ezra, "One has to wonder what they were thinking. What they were trying to say. Are these gods in these pictures? Or just regular men?"        "Does it matter?" Asks Cee, and he jerks his head to look at her. She is utterly entranced by the red figures and sigils.        "Of course it does," he says, "You don't think so?"        "I mean, it matters, I guess, but what matters more is that people made these," she says, "People like us. People with hands. Not that Ancient Aliens bullshit." Ezra laughs. Cee squeezes his hand.        "C'mon," she says, "let's see more."

--Rest Stop--

       "Hey MOM!," a child's voice snaps Ezra out of his reverie. Cee is in the truck stop, using the restroom and restocking their snack supply. At these stops he fuels up and then gives her some cash and sets her loose inside. And then they stretch their legs and sit outside for a spell. Ezra sits at a picnic bench letting the sun hit his closed eyelids, "MOM! That guy's got a ROBOT ARM! Like WINTER SOLDIER!" Ezra opens his eyes to a little boy, maybe four with a bunch of curly hair and big eyes, pointing at him.        "Daniel!" His mother hisses, and pinches at his arm, "That's rude. I'm so sorry. Danny, what did I tell you about staring--"        "Ma'am? It's quite alright, Ma'am," says Ezra, and hunkers down so he's eye level with the little boy.        "Hi there," he says, "Daniel, is it? I'm Ezra." He offers his right arm, the double hook at the end open, titanium alloy padded with silicone. Daniel solemnly grips the hooks and shakes.        "You've got stickers!" Says Daniel, and for a second Ezra is confused, and then he grins, looking down at the bedecked black plastic of his prosthesis. He stands.        "My girl decided that I must have a sticker for every state we stop in," says Ezra, he stands and smiles at Daniel's mom, "Like an old steamer trunk. I'm afraid I didn't catch your name--"        Cee steps out of the air-conditioned cavern of the truck stop, slits her eyes against the brightness of midday sun glittering up from the concrete, plastic bags full of crap-snacks and energy drinks threaded over her arms. Ezra handed her a couple twenties and told her to go nuts. Re-supply runs have turned into their own sort of game. She always grabs the usual stuff, chips and Snickers bars and Paydays (Ezra has an absolute weakness for Paydays. They don't taste like they used to, he'd griped, but that didn't stop him from eating them), but somewhere along the line, Cee decided to turn this into a battle of the wills. Her unspoken mission is to find something so utterly weird at one of these stops that Ezra won't eat it. So far, she has been unsuccessful. The closest thing was an aloe juice and cucumber drink that smelled amazing, but felt like swallowing cold snot. That one was a draw. She has high hopes for the dill pickle-sriracha gummy worms nestled in the bottom of the bag. The packaging looked like Christmas in hell. More important than the snacks is the plain, flat paper bag she holds.                                                                                     Ezra's near the picnic benches chattering at some lady with a kid. Menace, she thinks, but smiles. Ezra was always the extrovert before, and it's good to him smiling so big and open in the sunshine, making friends with random people at a truck stop. She sees an echo of her and him before, when she and Dad would visit when she was small and he'd tell her some outrageous tale and she'd say Uncle Ezra, you're so weird, and he'd scoop her up and swing her around, planting a prickly kiss on her cheek and saying oh, little bird, you have no idea, and this always made Dad laugh.

       "Oh, Ez-ra," Cee calls, and when he turns, he sees her devilish grin, holding a small brown paper bag up beside her face like it's contraband, "Look what I found."         "So I get to witness the sacred stickering?" Asks Ezra's new friend.        "Indeed you do," says Ezra, "This is Cee. Cee, meet Jody, and that little man playing in the dirt there is Daniel."        "Nice to meet you," says Cee, "Stick your arm out, old man."        "Don't you want to document this momentous occasion?"        "Oh, right," Cee pulls out her phone, "Hey, uh, miss Jody? Can you take some video? I got it all set up."        "Cee is documenting our adventures for posterity," says Ezra. He extends his prosthetic, already covered in overlapping ovoids, enough that they are starting to resemble dragon scales, "What do you think?" Cee and Daniel circle round.        "How bout here?" asks Daniel, tapping just above the articulated elbow.        "That's a good spot," says Cee and peels the sticker from it's backing with a flourish. She smiles up at her phone recording in a stranger's hand, "We have now infiltrated the state of Nevada," she grins, "Evil-doers beware."        "Yeah!" Says the little boy, pudgy hands planted on his hips for the benefit of the camera, "Or Winter Soldier will KICK YOUR ASS!"        "Daniel!"

--Stars--

       Cee wakes in the dead of night, disoriented, a darkness so thick that for a moment she's not sure where she is, and then she hears Ezra's rhythmic snoring off to her side, reaches out and brushes fabric of the tent and lays back, puzzled, muscles pleasantly sore from a day spent scrabbling up and down eroded granite boulders that looked like they belonged on Mars or Tatooine, walking trails and marveling at the strange ecology of the high-desert, so unlike back home. Bad dream? She wonders, probably. She feels her eyes getting heavy, feels herself lulled by Ezra's sleep sounds, snores punctuated by mumbles. Sometimes full sentences, his side of whatever dream-conversation he's having. Probably has no idea he does it--        Cee sits bolt upright, hands clutched in fists against her chest, a high-pitched wail cuts the cold night, a sound like a woman screaming, and another wail threads through the first, so loud it could be right outside the tent, and then a sound like gruesome laughter. The back of her neck prickles and her heart pounds in her throat. She tells herself that it's just some wild animal making noise, some desert bird maybe, but wasn't the California desert the last known home of the Manson family? Maybe not this desert, but still--        "Ezra," she hisses, and he mumbles something incoherent, "Ezra, wake up!" She reaches and pokes him hard, "Ezra!"        "Whazzit birdie?"        "Listen!" The screams rise and fall again like something from a horror movie.        "s'just coyotes," says Ezra, "probly next county over. They don't hurt people, they're just loud."        "You sure?"        "Go back to sleep, Cee."

       "Ezra," He's dreaming, some place with Joshua trees the size of skyscrapers, spiked limbs under a red sky. Cee's with him somewhere in the bloodlight but he can't see her, just hears her calling--        "Ezra!" He blinks awake, the red sky receding. Cee is shaking him.        "Yuh. M'awake birdie,"        "I gotta pee," she says.        "You know where the outhouses are, just right down the trail,"        "I'm not going by myself! Not with those things out there!" Ezra pushes himself up and shakes his head, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He can just make out Cee's form against the faint light of the sky leaking through the tent.        "Alright, just gimme a second," he says.        "I'll get the light,"        "We don't need it," he says.        "Ez-"        "We got night eyes now," he says, "No light pollution out here. You'll see."

       Ezra stands transfixed in the chill dark, head cocked upward. The more he looks, the more he can see. More stars than he's ever seen in his life spread across the vast inverted bowl of the sky, no summer haze out here, no light-wash from streetlights. He is dizzy with it, the vast sweep of the sky, and as he stares and his eyes adjust further, he can see the arm of the Milky Way angled across the black, can actually see the dark band of dust threaded through the silver-blue light. He doesn't hear the outhouse door shutting, doesn't notice Cee beside him until she folds his hand into hers.        "Look up, Little Bird," he breathes and it feels like a prayer, his heart suddenly full, squeezing in his chest, Cee small and warm next to him.        "Oh, wow," she says, barely a whisper, "That's the Milky Way isn't it?" Tears blur the stars and fall hot against his cheeks.        "It is." He looks at her, her face upturned, cheeks and hair frosted in star shine, limning her eyes, her smile. They've lost so much, him and Cee, but they've gained each other, and that's not nothing is it?        "We're so small," says Cee, "Us. People. This whole planet. All of us. We're just a little dot." Ezra smiles in the dark, even as tears dry in his lashes. He squeezes her fingers in his.        "C'mon, let's get back in the tent before we freeze."

--Hoodoo--

       Cee sleeps in the passenger's seat. She'd helped break camp and pack everything up even though it was early for her. They had spent an extra night in Joshua Tree and now had to make up the difference. It's time to go home. There are things he wants to do before Cee goes back to school, things they need to take care of. So he woke them early, promising Cee that she could sleep in the car as long as she needed. She'd helped him get ready, half-peeling a couple candy bars and putting them were he could easily reach.        "You want the playlist?" She asked, "I can get it going."        "Not right now. I want some quiet."          “'Kay," and Cee was asleep before they were to the next mile marker.

       Hoodoos rise on either side of the highway, striated red cliffs against the slowly lightening sky, cut into improbable formations by long gone rivers, thin spires topped with boulders, first glints of sun hitting the higher cliffs while everything else still exists in that liminal space between day and night. Ezra glances over at Cee, hair in a messy halo, face slack in sleep, cheeks sun-reddened and newly freckled, closed eyes moving, dreaming. Ezra thinks of those first days, wracked with pain and trying to navigate the new, dark-shrowded territory of her and him, each of them crippled by loss, each willing to lash out at the other. Ezra thinks of how far they've come since then, uncurling like relaxing fists and learning to be with each other. They drive into the dawn and the first bit of light touches her hair, turning it to fire. She shifts in her sleep, turning away from that first hint of sun. He doesn't know if she's awake or not.        "I love you, Cee."        "Love you to, Ez," she murmurs and settles back into sleep. Ezra looks out over hoodoo country spread red tinged and stark against the rising light, the miles of road ahead. We're gonna be ok, he thinks and means it.

[clearcorona]

nuts and bolts // cyborg!bakugou katsuki x fem mechanic!reader

Bakugou pulled his hoodie further over his head as he checked the clock on the wall for the fifth time since he had let the woman with pink hair at the front desk know he had arrived. You were an hour and a half late and he could see that the others waiting around along with him were beginning to grow annoyed as well. He tapped his metal foot against the ground, concealed by the heavy duty boots he wore constantly.

With his prosthetic arm and leg being on the opposite sides of his body, he had long since learned how to properly balance himself with the weight difference, but having them be replaced with newer models was definitely going to take some time to relearn.

He had also several more alterations done internally that didn't exactly bother him, bit you always seemed to fret over those ones the most.

The door slammed open, startling a few of those around him. He lifted his gaze, spotting a petite brunette holding a clipboard, her face flushed. He had seen her a multitude of times from when he began to see you, but still hadn't quite cared enough to learn her name. Round Face, is what he called her, not that he ever really talked to her to begin with.

"I apologize for the delay, everyone! Unfortunately, (Y/N) won't be able to see all of you today. Her schedule is free tomorrow, if you would no longer like to wait out here," she smiled, watching as almost everyone left. Everyone except for Bakugou. There was no way in hell he was waiting until tomorrow. He was already there and the trip to your little hideout was out of his way.

Round Face looked over at Bakugou, looking down at her clipboard. Her eyes widened slightly before she looked up at him. He wasn't quite able to catch the look in her eyes before she masked it, clearing her throat. "She's ready to see you now."

"About fucking time," he grumbled, standing up. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his khaki pants, following the brunette through the free hallways that led to your workspace. She tapped her knuckle against the door, hearing your voice from the opposite side allowing her to enter.

Stepping inside, Bakugou crinkled his nose as he looked around. Your usual clean workplace was absolutely trashed with scraps of metal and tools lying all over the place. The room wasn't the only thing that was a mess, you were, too.

"Just the guy I wanted to see," you chirped, hopping up from your chair. You thanked the brunette, gently taking the clipboard before she left the two of you alone. "You know the drill already. Take a seat."

"What the hell happened here?" he found himself asking, taking a good look at you as he pulled his hood down. He rolled his eyes when he didn't get a response, hearing the slight tinkering of tools as you went over his files. "Oi!"

"Any damages or problems with your current prosthetics?" you asked, lifting your head from the clipboard to look at him. He took notice of the bags under your eyes and the slouch of your shoulders. You definitely weren't getting enough sleep, but you still managed to keep your bubbly demeanor intact.

Bakugou shook his head, pulling off his left boot and hoodie to give you better access to the metal appendages, and sat down on the rusty chair that creaked under his weight. You set his stuff to the side, taking hold of his metal hand as you got straight to business, but he didn't miss the frown on your face at the signs of the scars on his chest and shoulders. You bent the joints, checking to see if anything had rusted or was uncomfortable. "Your new prosthetics are a lot lighter than these, but I can't have you overdo it again."

Bakugou scowled. "Wheelchairs aren't exactly my thing and why the hell did I have to come all the way out here?" He noticed the way you paused, took a breath and stepped away, kneeling to check the condition of his leg.

"They've been on my ass lately. You know what could happen if I slip up," you whispered. Bakugou leaned back in the chair, a groan of protest coming from it. He knew exactly who you were referring to. "Plus, if they found out I've been helping you, I'd be in even more trouble."

"Fucking morons...," he muttered and you smiled, shaking your head.

"You did always tell me you'd be a legend," you stood up, patting his knee, "but I never thought you'd be a fugitive."

He smirked, rolling his eyes. "I'm the best damn fugitive there is!" He flexed his metal fingers, feeling his skin grow hot at the sound of your laugh.

"Yes, you are," you replied, bending his foot every which way. "I just wish that they'd stop..."

"You fucking worried about me or something?"

"No, not at all. I'm well aware that you're able to take care of yourself, especially with my little upgrades," you winked at him before standing straight, stretching. "If our society wasn't so messed up to begin with, this never would've happened. I still can't believe what they did to you..." You reached out, brushing your finger on one of his scars the stretched across his chest and stopped almost directly above where his heart laid in his chest.

Bakugou caught your hand in his, turning your hand gently so your palm was facing upward. He traced a familiar pattern onto your skin with his metal hand, a code the two of you had made as kids. Relax, he had said.

You managed to smile, pulling your hand away slightly. He knew from experience that your own heart couldn't take much stress and he only wished you would worry about yourself more than others.

"You've been overworking yourself again, haven't you?" He raised an eyebrow, watching as you turned your back to him to grab his new prosthetics.

"Maybe a little...," you admitted. "But I'm okay, I swear! I haven't slept in a few days, but that's nothing I can't handle."

The sound of your stomach growling filled his ears. Bakugou rolled his eyes, turning his head to avoid seeing the blush on your cheeks.

"Dumbass... You haven't been eating again, have you?" He stood up, adjusting his weight before he pulled the prosthetics out of your hands and setting them aside. You pouted, about to grab them when Bakugou tossed you over his shoulder.

Your shirt slid up, causing his metal shoulder to come into contact with your bare abdomen. "Bakugou, put me down, that's cold!" you shrieked, squirming in his hold.

"Should've thought about that before you decided to starve yourself!"

"I didn't starve myself! Put me down!" You huffed when Bakugou didn't answer, knowing he had made up his mind already, so there was no way you were getting down until he decided to put you down. "You weren't supposed to come here to take care of me... I'm supposed to take care of you."

"You're only in this mess because you're a dumbass and decided not to take care of yourself."

You knew he had a point, but with everything going on with Bakugou, you figured he was much more important than you were.

"I need to do x-rays when your new prosthetics are on," you muttered, switching topics.

"Whatever." Bakugou set you down in the middle of the kitchen. Your hideout was like a second home, with how often you'd stay late to work on prosthetics and make sure they were made to everyone's liking, even if you could be severely punished if they found out you were helping cyborgs. "What do you want to eat?"

"Ooh, you're gonna cook for me? Maybe I should work like this more-" you cut yourself off once you saw the glare he gave you, a soft laugh leaving your lips. "I'm only joking, relax. You worry about me too much."

"I do not. You're the one who worries about me," Bakugou replied and you shrugged, hopping up onto one of the counters as you watched him open the fridge. "What the hell?! There isn't anything in here!"

You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest. "Yes, there is!" Bakugou slammed the fridge shut, tugging at his hair.

"Nothing edible! Why the hell do you keep your equipment in the fridge?"

"One, because no one would think to look there, and two, because the cold metal keeps me awake." You smiled. Bakugou rolled his eyes.

"Why the hell do I keep coming here again?" he muttered.

"Because I'm the best mechanic in all of Japan!" You threw your hands up in the air, laughing. "And you only accept the best. That's why you're still here. You probably would've left a long time ago if I wasn't. I work so hard because I want to be the best for you."

Bakugou's eyes widened slightly and he looked away, running the back of his neck. Is that what you truly thought? He could never leave you. No when you stole his heart without even realizing it.

Not while your own was so fragile.

"(Y/N), it's time!" he heard someone call out, matching the voice to the pink haired girl at the front desk. You frowned, getting down from the counter.

"Coming!" you called back before looking at him. "How about takeout? There are a bunch of menus inside of that drawer there. Order whatever you think is best. I trust your judgement."

Bakugou opened the drawer as he heard you leave the kitchen, looking through them all. It seemed like you had ordered from every restaurant in a twenty mile radius. He hadn't even heard of half of them.

"She speaks highly of you, you know."

The blonde jumped, whipping his head around and meeting the apologetic brown eyes of Round Face. "Don't do that, you fucking creep!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to. Has she always been like this?" Round Face asked, watching as Bakugou read through the pamphlets.

"Had already been what? Stubborn, immature and cares way too much about others than herself? Yes," he replied bluntly, looking up when he heard her laugh.

"I'm sorry, it's just that you two seem like good friends. She hasn't always been this sick, has she?"

Bakugou wasn't sure why he felt compelled to answer this strange girl, but he couldn't talk about you to anyone else in case they decided to report you, so he decided to do it anyway.

"Not this bad, no, but she's always had a bad immune system. She was in and out of hospitals constantly. It happened even more often when she began tinkering around. She wanted to help people, even if it was illegal. Even if she was putting herself at risk." He clenched and unclenched his metal hand, frustrated. "When I... When I lost my arm and leg, I was told she would visit me every day for hours before she went home to work on prosthetics for me. She even read a lot of medical books so she could install them and take care of me herself."

There was a silence that passed between them and Bakugou looked back at the menus.

"But?" she finally asked.

"But what?"

"I don't know. I feel like you have more to say."

"It's not important..."

"Well, it's obvious that you care about her. I'm glad she has someone like you looking out for her. She won't listen to us when we tell her to take care of herself."

Bakugou sighed, looking over a Chinese takeout menu before looking up at the brunette.

"She never listens. She's too kind, too naive. She tries to help everyone even if she kills herself in the process," he muttered, feeling his heart ache in his chest. Why was he even still talking to her?

"You like her, don't you?"

Bakugou froze for a moment. No, he didn't like you. It was much more than that. His feelings were even stronger than love itself.

"(Y/N), stop running! You're going to get worked up again!" Both him and the brunette turned towards the sound of the other woman's voice. He could hear your footsteps, rolling his eyes as you nearly collided with Round Face.

"Relax! I feel fine, Mina!" you called out, bounding over to Bakugou with the energy of an excited puppy. If he didn't know you so well, he would've never known that you hadn't slept in days all because you wanted to finish his prosthetics. You walked over to your client/childhood friend. "Did you order something?"

"Not yet," he glanced at the two women standing in the doorway. You followed his gaze, smiling at them.

"Are you two hungry?" you asked, completely oblivious to how Bakugou rolled his eyes and turned away, pulling out his phone. He heard Round Face laugh.

"No, it's alright. Thank you, though. I actually think we should get home. You seem to be in good hands," she replied. Bakugou turned to look at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. He only relaxed once they were out of sight. "Well, I guess it's just you and me."

Bakugou pushed the menu over to you as he dialed the number, waiting for you to reply with what you wanted before he called.

Once the food was ordered, Bakugou let out a sigh.

"Do you really think I'll leave you if you aren't the best mechanic?" He looked over at you, noticing how vulnerable you seemed as you tried to wrack your brain for a proper answer.

"Well," you began after a moment of silence had passed, "you always did say you couldn't accept anything less than the best. I couldn't have a little heart condition stop me from being the best for you, Katsu."

The sound of his childhood nickname surprised him, having not heard it in years. He furrowed his eyebrows, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why'd you stop calling me that?"

"Huh?"

"Katsu. You used to call me that all the time when we were kids."

You seemed a bit startled, shifting nervously in your seat. "I didn't mean to call you that. I remember saying how much you hated when I called you Katsu and Deku called you-"

"(Y/N)," he interrupted, eyeing you. Your shoulders sagged, finally letting your exhaustion show. "We're not here to talk about him. Don't change the subject."

There was a bite to his voice and you knew why. He didn't like when you brought him up. Not when he was partially responsible for what happened to Bakugou and your slowly deteriorating health.

"I'm sorry," you whispered and he panicked when he saw tears well up in your eyes. He had never seen you cry in all the years he had known you. You were so strong, much stronger than he was. It seemed almost unreal that you were breaking down right in front of him.

He turned towards you, taking you in his arms. You were so warm, so fragile. He would do anything in his power to protect you. "Please don't cry...," he whispered as he watched you hide your face and hold onto him tightly. "I'm not going anywhere."

He knew you missed Deku. Hell, he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss that bastard. Well, before he decided to abandon the two of you, at least.

Bakugou held you, watching you carefully. You didn't seem to be crying and the small watch on your wrist indicated that your heart rate was normal. You suddenly ripped yourself away from him, startling him. He missed your soft body, your warmth.

"Let's get those prosthetics done," you said, a steady determination in your eyes.

-

Bakugou felt weightless as you disconnected the heavy metal prosthetics from his body, staring up at the ceiling. He was currently waiting for you to run some final tests to see if there were no issues with his new appendages.

"What would you be doing if you decided to not be a mechanic?" he suddenly asked, hearing you laugh from the opposite side of the room.

"That's a bit of an odd question, but I never really thought about it. I just wanted to help you and other people who are in similar situations," you replied and Bakugou clenched his jaw. He sat up and you could feel the heat of his glare from where he sat.

"You should care more about yourself, dammit!" he yelled. You didn't respond, the tinkering of tools stopping as you completed your tests. You stood and crossed the room to stand in front of him, setting the new prosthetics beside where he sat on the small cot.

"My life doesn't matter." The blunt way you said it made his blood boil.

"What the hell are you saying?!"

"I'll say it once and I'll say it again. My life doesn't matter." Your tone was much more firm this time, your eyes narrowing as you spoke.

"And what the hell kind of reason do you have for thinking like that?!"

"I can't make a difference like you can, alright?!" you shouted back at him, startling him. Your body was tense, your face screwing up in irritation. Bakugou wasn't having any of it.

"What the hell have you been doing then, huh? All the other fucking mechanics that were helping cyborgs have been put out of business! You're helping them! You're helping me!"

You didn't seem to be listening to him anymore. How in the hell did you not realize your own worth? It went far beyond just you being a mechanic, it was several other things. "Are you not taking care of yourself on purpose?"

"I just get caught up in work. It's no big deal."

"Are you waiting for this fucking disease to just kill you?! Is that why you aren't taking care of yourself?!"

"Enough, already!" That shut him up easily, letting you connect the wires from the man-made joint in his arm to the prosthetic piece. "There's no need to see me after this. With this, only minor repairs are needed that you can figure out yourself."

"Wait a damn-"

"You have a whole country looking up to you. They only go along with what the government says out of fear. You and I both know the real Deku would never go along with what they say."

"Don't fucking say his name!"

"Or what, Bakugou?!"

Bakugou recoiled, clenching his fists. "Don't you understand? He's the one who did this to us! The fact that you even want him back in our lives is some messed up bullshit."

You didn't answer, connecting the last of the wires. You gave it time to connect to his nerves, noticing the way Bakugou's body tensed up.

"Try it now," you ordered, already getting started on his leg. The sooner he left, the better, in your opinion. Bakugou rolled his eyes, looking over at his new metal arm. It was sleek and definitely much lighter than his last one. Giving himself time to think for a moment, his eyes narrowed.

"You like that fucking traitor, don't you?" he asked, gripping on to the thin sheet that laid beneath him on the cot. He hoped you couldn't hear the disappointment in his voice, the hurt.

"What's it to you?" you replied, your hands moving quickly to attach the wires. Usually you made small talk, joking around with him until you had your next appointment. Your words were clipped this time, an edge to them that could cut him if that was what you wanted.

Turns out, you had already begun, the edge of your words cutting deep in his heart.

"After everything he did? Why?" Bakugou could feel a lump in his throat and an ache in his chest, but he wasn't going to cry.

"Love is complicated. You wouldn't understand." You finished connecting his leg to the rest of his body, turning your back to him.

Your words twisted, hurting him more and more.

He knew what love was. He felt it so deeply for you. It was a lovely, but awful feeling, one that could tear a person apart.

"If there are no issues with the prosthetics, you're free to leave."

"Not gonna get on my ass about overdoing it?" he asked, narrowing his eyes once he didn't get an answer. "Fine, whatever," he snarled, bending his ankle this way and that to see if it calibrated to his nerves correctly. He pulled his hoodie back on over his head and pulled his boot on to cover his mechanical leg.

He spared you one last glance before he left, slamming the door shut behind him.

This was the exact reason why he didn't trust anyone, why he barely ever opened up.

Why would he ever want to get his heart broken?

-

Bakugou tossed his keys onto the rickety wooden table by the front door. He lived in a poorly built apartment complex, but it was all he could afford as a fugitive and the landlady was in her 70s and could barely see.

A sigh left his lips as he collapsed into the couch, still not used to the weight of his new and improved appendages. He brought his forearm to his eyes, smiling softly at your handiwork. Everything was carefully manufactured and put together, not a single screw out of place. Above all, you had always been a bit of a perfectionist.

As he ran his fingers along the smooth metal, his nail caught on a small hatch. He smirked and shook his head. Of course you'd make a hidden compartment. Opening it up, he saw a folded piece of paper. Bakugou sat up, pulling out the note and unfolding it. He immediately recognized your swirly handwriting, leaning back against the couch cushions as he read.

You found it! Pretty neat, huh? Anyway, I hope you like it. I dunno what you fugitives would need to hide other than yourselves, but now you have this really cool hiding spot! Thank you for being patient with me, I wanted it to be perfect. You better not damage my work! >:( - Yours Truly, (Y/N)

Bakugou traced the letters you had written, realizing you probably hated him and these were the last few things he had of you. Just the thought of losing you caused an ache in his chest, but should he go back? Should he leave you be? There was no way in hell he was apologizing, though. He wanted you to know the worth you didn't seem to realize you had.

But would you hate him more if he showed up at your door again? He didn't even have a chance to say the three words that had been on the tip of his tongue for years now.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, opening up your contact in his phone. He rarely ever texted you, but what could he possibly say? His thoughts were all jumbled, so there was no way he'd be able to get it in a text.

After several tries, Bakugou decided to just go for something simple, carefully crafting his words so he wouldn't upset you further.

You're an amazing person, (Y/N). One day, I hope you see yourself the way I see you.

He sighed, getting himself ready for bed. He highly doubted that you'd respond, but he kept his phone close by just in case you did as he showered.

Bakugou let the hot water run off his body, a memory coming back to him that he had almost forgotten, but it came so vividly, as if it had only happened yesterday.

"Deku! Deku, they're burning!" you shouted, alerting the two boys, who came running into the kitchen. Smoke was coming off from the pan on the stove, filling the room. You ran to open a window. How had they not smelled it burning earlier?

"How the hell did you manage to burn eggs? They're not that hard to make!" Bakugou yelled, quickly turning off the stove. They were too late to stop the fire alarm from going off, though.

"I lost track of time!" Deku called back, trying to assure you that the house wouldn't burn down.

Bakugou tossed the pan into the sink, running water over it. He then cursed as the sprinklers went off, soaking the three of you. "Damn it, Deku!"

"I'm sorry!"

They both froze when they heard your laughter, not expecting you to be laughing when Deku had almost burned your whole house down. They exchanged glances before they found themselves laughing along with you.

"Let's leave the cooking to Katsu next time, okay?" you had suggested, earning a nod in response.

Bakugou tugged at his hair, wondering why he suddenly remembered such a thing. Was it because that was the night that he realized he had feelings for you? Or was it because that was the day Deku simply vanished into thin air?

He stood under the water long enough for it to grow cold, and even then, he stayed there. He shut off the water and got out, drying himself off before throwing on a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt. He checked his phone to see if you had responded, frowning when he saw you hadn't even read it yet.

His whole body tensed once he heard someone banging on the door, quickly checking the time.

10:43 p.m.

Who the hell would be at his door at that hour?

"Katsu," he heard a familiar voice cry out. It was strained and hoarse, but he would recognize it anywhere. He rushed to the door, his eyes widening as he took in your appearance.

"What the hell happened?" he asked, his heart pounding in his chest. Blood stained your clothes along your abdomen, nasty bruises along your cheek and arms. He also noticed a deep gash on your left calf. He scooped you up in his arms as he noticed how unsteady you were on your own feet, closing the door behind him as he brought you to his bedroom.

You clung to him and Bakugou didn't care about the blood. He cared about you being safe.

"They found out...," you whispered, your voice shaking. "H-He came and-"

"Damn it..." Bakugou sat you down on the bed, quickly reaching for the first aid kit. He wiped away your tears gently, tracing figures along your palm to help calm you down. He wasn't sure how you made it all the way to his place in that state, but he was going to do everything he could to protect you. "Look at me. I'm going to fix you up, okay?"

Bakugou didn't wait for an answer before he got to work, cutting away your clothes from your abdomen. There was so much blood that he was surprised you hadn't passed out yet, but he could always blame that on your stubbornness.

"Get it off!" you suddenly screeched, startling him. You thrashed about, nearly causing Bakugou to stab you with the pair of scissors.

"(Y/N)! (Y/N), I need you to calm down!" He cradled your face in his hands after quickly setting down the scissors, making you look into his eyes. He could see sheer terror in your own eyes, tears welling up again, but your body stilled. He could tell how exhausted you were, yet you still fought the urge the close your eyes. "That's my girl."

He got to work on patching you up, talking to you every so often to keep you awake. He wasn't a great doctor, but he sure as hell wasn't going to lose you.

He began pulling your clothes off gently once he had finished, washing his hands before grabbing extra clothes for him and a shirt of his for you to wear. He quickly covered your body, moving out of the room to change his own clothes.

Stepping back into the room, Bakugou noticed two things. You had finally allowed yourself to rest, making Bakugou check to see if you were still breathing, and a small slip of paper on the floor. He clenched his jaw as he read what was written on there.

Turn yourself in before it gets worse, Kacchan.

[writingbakery]

“an andorian, a bezoid, & a tessian walk into a bar”

another one of my favorite works is here! i originally wrote this for a different fandom, & rewrote it to fit here. i’m in love with this story, it’s one of my absolute favorites; please leave me feedback about it! a second part is in the works ✨ taglist; @secondhand-trash @redbeanteax @togasknifes

[some notes: denki is an andorian, a very tall race of aliens who are very nimble, skilled silent warriors when needed. hitoshi is a bezoid, from a mining planet, broad, tough, good with any sort of weapon but mainly guns, & you are a rare species called tessian, lil shapeshifting aliens that were often sold as slaves way back in the day on illegal black markets due to their skill! ULC means universal language chip, & the fleet is my version of the interspace police! ]

[pairing; poly!shinkami x reader]

[warnings; space jokes, cussing, dangerous scenarios, extremely Buff Aliens, violence, angst, fluff]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

if you asked hitoshi shinsou what he would describe as a perfect day, he would tell you this: waking up in his quarters on the isla bella, the smooth glide of their ship through space flowing uninterrupted. there are no parts that need replacing, no angry merchants on their tail for undelivered merchandise, nothing but the clean quiet of the stars & the faint glow of space flitting through the small window by his bed, denki fast asleep against his chest. he’d card his fingers through the andorian’s glimmering gold hair, kiss along the slope of his nose & bask in his quiet beauty. that would be a perfect day for him; lounging in bed with his freakishly tall, giggly lover without a care in the world.

the last thing he’d consider to be a perfect day is running across the burning - literally in flames burning - sand of a deserted planet with two grogorians firing photon lasers at his skinny ass, skidding between the roaring flames of the ground beneath him & the sting of the lasers with denki screaming unintelligible commands & curses in his ear via comm. he’d consider that a bottom of the barrel kind of day.

you can probably guess which kind of day he’s having.

cursing under his breath as he slips between the burning flames, he does a cursory peek around the open desert, eyes searching for the opening that denki was furiously insisting “was right there, hitoshi shinsou for the love of god open those damn sultry bezoid eyes and LOOK” - he refuses to acknowledge the compliment, focused on the seven million fucking grains of sand & his boyfriends panicked voice in his ear when he finally spots it. a haze in the heavy heated air, almost like a mirage, a split in the vast landscape that led down somewhere dark, hidden. he lets out a sigh of relief loud enough for denki to hear, a sign that he’d found the entrance, before a photon blast skims just past his ear, leaving a three inch skidded burn across his cheek.

oh right. the grogorians.

stealing from the grogorians was the stupidest goddamn idea denki had ever come up with, which was saying a lot; once, he’d thought the seven suns on Naboor all rose & fell at the same time, shrieking in hitoshi’s ear about “planetary instability” & “socio-economic collapse” for a full ten minutes before he saw the suns rising & falling one after the other, in turns. that had been a field day, not one hitoshi was eager to repeat. the grogorians were fiercely territorial, completely tucked away from modern civilization & technology, & were at least seven feet tall. you could fit two shinsous in one of their chests; he wasn’t quite ready to see that up close.

ducking & weaving across the barren landscape, he slides through the slit in the ground with practiced ease; he’s run for his miserable life far too many times at this point. he can hear the grogorians shouting above the hole in the ground, too big for them to pass through, & he winces as his ULC - universal language chip, something kaminari had insisted he get implanted- deciphers the strangled words into curses he can understand. he’s really glad his parents are dead, because whatever blood curses the grogorians are spitting at his family tree sound awful.

the cavernous tunnels he’s slid down into are cool, spacious; coned lights illuminate the rocky path deeper & deeper into the planet. its all but deserted, the only inhabitants the two grogorian guards he’d narrowly escaped from. denki’s voice filters in through the comm again, calmer now that hitoshi was safely inside.

“we’ve got twenty minutes max before their distress signal goes through,” the andorian warns him, tracking the surrounding space around the planet from the isla bella. “follow the main tunnel straight through. the crown should be there. ten minutes to get there, i phase you straight out, we fucking book it into warp drive & we’ll be seven million credits richer by tomorrow morning. and you can finally treat me to dajang.”

hitoshi rolls his eyes despite the fact that denki can’t actually see him, trudging through the tunnels a little wearily. “remind me again why i always have to be the one getting shot to hell & back?” he grumbles as he walks, no real heat to his voice.

“you love my ass too much to risk it getting shot at, baby you know that,” denki laughs through the comm, ever poking fun at hitoshi’s expense & he’s sure to give the andorian a long, drawn out sigh before switching off the comm & pushing further into the darkness.

denki’s right though, hitoshi muses as he moves, his eyes glinting violet in the lamplight. the bezoid would rather die than see denki in any veritable danger, keeps him up on the ship to guide him & yank his ass out at the first inkling of a problem.

he’d been protecting the stupidly tall, wildly cheery andorian from the first day they’d met, cooped up in some stuffy bar off V-7. he’d had absolutely zero self-preservation skills even then, picking a fight with a damned Dervisian of all people, just because the man had insulted his shirt. hitoshi, not overly fond of watching handsome morons get punched in the face by meatsacks twice their size - & maybe he appreciates the long, toned legs & pretty face a little more than he lets on - steps in with ease, no matter how short he feels between the two of them. the dervisian cracks a height joke, because he’s an asshole, denki stabs him in the shoulder with a four inch dagger he pulls out of his too tight pants - & of course hitoshi spends far too long wondering just how he managed to fit it in the first place, mind all fuzzy - & they somehow manage to kick off an interspace bar fight. wonderful.

once the dust has settled & the chaos calmed, hitoshi finds himself with three new bruises, a cut cheek, & an armful of very grateful andorian.

“i hear the fleets coming. wanna get married?” denki wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, & hitoshi chokes on his own spit.

“what for? they’re keepers of the peace, not wedding officials,” he manages, glaring up at the - stupidly tall, stupidly pretty - andorian that’s managed to wrap himself into his arms.

“if you’re married they can’t deport you. i’d really like to avoid interspace jail,” denki winces, & hitoshi snorts.

“or we could run, like normal deviants of the law,” he points out, much to denki’s chagrin.

“and where is the fun in that?” the andorian pouts, & hitoshi knows he’s screwed.

four years, seven interspace incidents, four run ins with the fleet, & one rusting junktrap of nuts & bolts they called a ship later, they were inseparable. one complete idiot with a penchant for charming the pants off everyone around them & simultaneously launching them into trouble, & his over exasperated, eternally exhausted boyfriend, who was consistently saving his ass. they were an unlikely duo, but they worked like magic, & despite the fact that he had to risk his ass every damn day, hitoshi was pretty happy. him & denki made a little solar system all their own, a shining sun & its orbiting planet, & he likes that. he’s happy.

as happy as a thief for hire could be, really.

the problem with their particular profession, however, is that denki is basically one big ass radar for trouble. if something can go wrong, it will go wrong, disastrously so, & hitoshi is always caught in the middle of it, fleeing for his life with someone shooting at his ass (it’s always his ass, & he can never understand why. )

it’s for that reason, & that reason only, that hitoshi is the one creeping down the dark, deep tunnel, his nerves frayed as he keeps his eyes trained on every nook & cranny surrounding him. he can see the faint glow of an upcoming room ahead & hurries his pace, eager to grab the crown & escape, maybe finally treat denki to that dajang he’d been whining about - he’d never been fond of the strangely shimmery, horned fish, but if it made denki happy, he wasn’t going to complain.

the tunnel opens up into a small, brightly lit room, warm & pulsing with energy. the grogorians kept the crown here for good reason, the sheer amount of dead souls crafted into the metal & jewels enough to make anyone’s skin crawl. hitoshi gingerly steps closer, hands twitching at his sides as he moves into the light and - wait a minute.

wait a goddamn minute.

there’s a person on the raised pillar, small & decidedly not threatening. your little body is curled loosely around the crown, shivering gently, & hitoshi realizes several things all at once:

one, the tiny body is a tessian, and a young one at that, a couple years younger than himself.

two, the grogorians have definitely arrived earlier than scheduled. fuck. he clicks on his comm to hear denki screaming incoherently about danger, & winces heavily.

great.

third, the booming, heavy rumbles of the grogorian ship - & denki’s frantic yelling - has woken you up, the little tessian, arms still caging the crown close to your chest as though seeking out its warmth.

up close, hitoshi can see a smattering of pink freckles dusted across your honey gold cheeks, bright, messy hair falling into big, bright eyes. you yawn, then blink, eyes flashing & settling into a light, rosy pink at the same time your little fluffy ears twitch atop your head, a matching color to your eyes. your tail twitches slightly, four light gold rings wrapped around it, & it’s obvious you’re about young adult age. you yawn again, a tiny, unfiltered squeak escaping you at the sight of hitoshi in front of you.

you’re absolutely adorable. hitoshi is absolutely fucked.

dimly, he registers denki’s panicked shouts & the shaking of the tunnel walls, can feel the ground trembling beneath him, & he snaps out of his reverie to glance at the crown again. said crown is tucked up against your torn shirt, tessian hands - so delicate, so cute - keeping it close.

“hey, hey! don’t touch that! there’s like, eight thousand dead people in there,” hitoshi scolds before he can think, & you simply cock your head, confusion written all over your face.

“no, don’t squeeze it tighter - stop it! hey! are you even listening?” he seethes, reaching out a hand to snatch the crown away. you shift back quickly, frowning just as deep as hitoshi as you hug the crown even closer. it’s clear you can’t understand a word hitoshi is saying, & the grogorians have started some sort of blasting contest right outside the caverns.

great.

hitoshi swears under his breath, racking his brain for any sort of solution. “hitoshi shinsou, you are ASKING to die, they’re blowing the fucking cave open! can i phase you out yet? you too busy admiring that handsome face of yours in the stupid crown’s fucking reflection?” denki sounds hysterical, voice on the verge of near meltdown & hitoshi knows he’s out of time.

he’s got two options: stay & deal with the grogorians, or run.

he runs.

leaning forward, he tucks both hands under your armpits & yanks you forward, tosses you over his shoulder, & books it out of the tunnel.

he can barely hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears, your tessian wails, & one denki kaminari screeching like the world’s ending.

“phase me out phase me out PHASE ME OUT-“ he’s shouting above the din, phaser blasts surrounding him on all sides, & he doesn’t stop running until he feels the familiar pins & needles of the transporter, turning them into a mess of glittering gold dots that wink out just as a grogorian fires right where hitoshi’s head had been.

he slams into the floor of the isla bella with a groan, denki immediately in front of him. he sits up slow, careful not to shift too abruptly & disrupt the reanimation process, when denki snatches you right out of his arms.

“hitoshi what the fuck, you were only supposed to grab the crown, not adorable little tessians! and what were you doing down there, young alien?” denki has gone into full andorian mode, pinching your little tessian cheeks as he sits you in his lap - hitoshi’s just glad he’s got the sense not to do that to him.

you still can’t seem to understand, tilting your fluffy bright head of hair as you stare up at denki. you chirp, then hum, one hand reaching up to pet denki’s head, before smiling brightly.

denki coos. hitoshi snorts.

“i found them sleeping on the crown. they can’t understand us, they don’t have a ULC, so i just grabbed ‘em & ran,” hitoshi explains, getting up to ensure that they were in hyperspace, blasting millions of lightyears away from the grogorians. he chances another glance at the tessian sat comfortably in denki’s lap; you’re a little dirty, clearly having been stranded in the caverns a few days.

denki frowns at hitoshi’s back, brushing over the phaser burn on the ass of his pants with one hand as he speaks.

“the poor thing must be terrified, being surrounded by all that. switch your ULC to interpret mode, at least we’ll be able to understand them, & talk to them,” denki says quietly; looking down at the fluffy bundle of tessian in his arms. hitoshi can already see the gears turning in his head.

once they’ve switched settings, denki speaks.

“what’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks softly, clearly trying to make you comfortable.

the series of chirps & coos you let out shift almost in midair, turning themselves into words that hitoshi can actually understand.

“[y/n]? [y/n l/n]? oh that’s so cute! tell us, [y/n], why were you down there all by yourself?” denki prods, voice still soothing & calm. you, the tessian - [y/n], hitoshi thinks, too precious - sit up a bit, animatedly speaking now that they can understand you better. the squeaks & chirps are downright adorable, & hitoshi has to look away from flailing hands & a sunbeam smile to center himself again.

“and what were the lot of you thinking, sneaking down there? your whole little tribe, just gone, huh? i’m so sorry, sweetheart,” denki winces, & hitoshi can sympathize - tessian tribes were tight-knit little groups, & losing them meant a death sentence for whoever was left behind. they were pack creatures, always in need of others. hitoshi can see the gears turning, & he speaks before the andorian can.

“no, denki.”

“toshi! look at them, aren’t they the cutest thing you’ve ever seen! we have to keep them!” denki all but wails, pulling you so close to his chest that your cheeks squish together. you don’t seem concerned in the slightest, just giggle against denki’s face. hitoshi’s resolve weakens a little.

“we’ve got no space, denks, not to mention we’re not exactly the safest group for them to latch onto,” hitoshi protests weakly, even as the andorian pouts at him.

“we can’t just leave them alone, they’re so small, & no one will protect them!” denki is dangerously close to tears, & hitoshi never does well with a crying denki. he opens his mouth to protest again, try & make his point, but just then you yawn again, slow & long, the tiniest of squeaks escaping you & when you open your eyes again, they’re gold just like denki’s hair, your ears matching.

hitoshi’s determination evaporates.

“fine, fine, we can keep them. but if anything happens to them, it's your fault,” he grumbles, settling into the pilot's chair to monitor their progress.

denki cheers. you chirp happily.

hitoshi bangs his head on the control panel.

what have i gotten myself into this time, he thinks dully, but deep down, he knows he doesn’t mind. not too much.

───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────

after finally managing to pry the crown out of your hands & delivering it to the client - hitoshi doesn’t even wanna know what the creepy old Lavastian wanted with it, he’d had to take three showers under the hydrospray to get the itch off his skin - they’ve set a course for the driard system, to rest before their next assignment. being that their work schedule is so…flexible, it gives the trio a little time to get adjusted. and by adjusted, hitoshi means getting used to having you, a fluffy little alien, hanging off him at all hours of the day.

he’d thought that denki was clingy, the andorian typically seeking out hitoshi’s hands to hold or shoulders to rest his head. his people were affectionate that way, much different than hitoshi’s bezoid counterparts. he’d adjusted though, sacrificed personal space & eventually, had grown both used to & comfortable with having denki draped over him like a blanket at all times.

[y/n l/n] is an entirely different species - literally & figuratively.

firstly, you’re a clinger. where denki lounges, you squeeze with - surprisingly - strong arms & legs, wrapped around hitoshi’s frame like a verealis vine.

you’re so touchy you’ve got denki beat, & the pair of you seem stuck in some sort of exceedingly needy, relentless cuddle war. hitoshi’s got his money on you, even if he doesn’t admit it.

secondly, you’re scarily helpful. you seem to turn up right when hitoshi needs something adjusted deep in the ship, or when denki can’t seem to locate something correctly on their navigational screen. you’ll shapeshift into a teeny, tiny ragran rat to scurry through chambers & fix a wire, or tap on the control panel just so to show the correct star system, & its quite frankly impressive.

hitoshi’s starting to think you were made for them, just a little.

normally he leaves the sappy shit to denki, the andorian’s well flowered language easily explaining all his emotions & thoughts. but there’s something about the little tessian that shakes him up a little, changes the dynamic. denki doesn’t mind one bit.

he relishes in hitoshi’s newfound sweetness, even if it’s just a “that wasn’t completely awful, great job, babe,” or “you know, that shirt isn’t as hideous as i thought. brings out your eyes.” he knows hitoshi is simply trying his best, knows that words never got very far on his home planet.

you like that he’s quiet though, for some reason. you chirp & chatter enough for the both of you whenever you’re together, silly stories of whatever disasters you & denki had gotten into on the ship - hitoshi’s suspicious you’re both responsible for the six broken panels along the corridors, impromptu games of touch & go be damned - or telling him memories of your time on Tessero, your home planet. you’ve got an easy way of speaking, soft & languid & it calms him down like no other, settling into his bones & dimming the chaos in his mind for a little while.

your cuddliness extends even to when you’re asleep, tucked up neatly between denki & hitoshi in the big bed of their quarters. you’re a calm sleeper, curl up tight into a little ball with the pair of them draped over you, like a tiny tessian heater. it’s sweet & soft & so fucking domestic that hitoshi has a hard time believing it sometimes. he’d even started pressing kisses into the top of your head as he moved along the ship, much like the gentle ones he presses to denki’s lips. he’s not scared by it, per say, but he is a little surprised; he’d always been a little closed off, reserved. you had snuck up on him swiftly, without him even realizing. he finds he rather likes it.

the few days of travel before you reach the driard system are calm, simple evenings of dinner & talking together as you all soak up the simplicity of space. somehow, it’s comforting. you’re a twinkling, bright little star amidst their solar system, & hitoshi likes that. a shining sun, its orbiting planet, & the brightest little star.

───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────

everything goes to shit once they step foot on Ovalia 7.

the leisure planet is tucked at the edge of the star system, a quiet haven for those always on the move. it’s denki’s favorite place to go after a successful deal, & they serve the best dajang this side of the galaxy. hitoshi likes that no one ever speaks to them there, everyone wrapped up in their own little vacations.

denki books them a room at their usual spot, ignoring the innkeepers curious glance at the request - one big bed, a nice tub, window view, & hitoshi’s certain he thinks you’re all a couple. the thought doesn’t bother him, & he realizes with a jolt that they act like one, all three of them. they cuddle & hug & kiss, & hitoshi sits on that a moment before shrugging it away. if denki didn’t mind it, neither did he, & he focuses once more on relaxing.

they’ve just settled into a local restaurant, plates full of dajang & ocuro & everything else that tickle their fancy when hitoshi hears it. heavy steps, familiar ones, although he can’t quite place it in the haze of relaxation. he ignores it in favor of feeding you some of his mulrag, the spiced meat a clear favorite with your tessian palate & he can’t help his grin. he lets denki feed him a warm bite of dajang, rolling his eyes at the andorian’s little smile & affectionate pinch of hitoshi’s cheek. everything is nice, sweet & lazy in the warm air.

and then all hell breaks loose.

eight of the biggest fucking grogorians hitoshi’s ever seen in his life burst through the door, weapons armed & faces set in such hostile expressions that everyone is scattering. denki hauls you up & to his side, dragging hitoshi by the collar until you’re all crouched behind the bar, hidden from view. “i should’ve known they’d track us,” he all but whines, peeking over the wooden edge of the bar. a photon shot quickly makes him duck down again, cursing lightly. “plan?” he asks behind clenched teeth, tugging you closer.

hitoshi pauses, weighs his options.

“the two of you book it to the ship. i’m going to distract them,” he says quickly, thinking back to the conversations he’d been eavesdropping on earlier - thieves never took a real vacation, always on the lookout for something new to snatch.

two very drunk, loud Avarians had been seated just behind them, rambling on about the very expensive, very valuable statue hidden deep in the recesses of the abandoned temple just off the main road. many had tried to steal it, but had always gotten stuck deep in the underground channels trying to escape. the elders guarding it weren’t exactly friendly either.

a plan starts to form in his head, one that would both enrich them & save their asses from this absolute mess. he’s quite proud of himself, if he’s honest.

then a bottle explodes just above his head, & he jolts into action.

he fires a few warning shots at the wall behind the grogorians, turning & racing out the door in a clear attempt to lead them out. the grogorians take the bait easily, & he races down the road towards the temple as you and denki sneak out the back of the restaurant.

the temple is huge, dusty & a little worn around the edges. the priests guarding the door take one look at hitoshi shinsou, panting & shooting over his shoulder at several grogorians & lose it, screeching & running for cover just as he’d expected. he pushes through the open door with the hostile aliens right at his footsteps, racing through the dark corridors deeper & deeper into the bowels of the temple. halfway down denki clicks onto the comm, hastily spitting directions & instructions as the grogorians start shooting again. “this is all your fucking fault! i told you stealing from them was an awful idea!” hitoshi shrieks as a laser just misses his shoulder, ducking as he runs.

“oh sure, blame me for making sure we stay employed!” denki shrieks right back, your chirping frantically frantically filling the background.

hitoshi feels the heat of another photon bullet just barely graze against his ass as he books it down the narrow hallway, cursing every single god & denki kaminari for the absolute mess he’s been roped into. over the comm link he can hear the andorian yelling muted commands as he leads hitoshi through the vast hallways, the relic just within arms reach.

“i’ll phase you out once you have it!” denki starts, before hitoshi starts shouting again.

“i’m not gonna PHASE through solid rock, denki! just hold off, i’m coming!” he yells through the comm, feet skidding across the rough terrain as he snatches the little gold statue right off the podium. concerned little chirps & squeaks flood the comm, & hitoshi halts all his movements to swear loudly.

“[y/n l/n], you keep your adorable little ass on the ship, you hear me? don't even THINK about it-“ the ground shakes with another blast, the heavy yelling creeping from the farthest corridor.

hitoshi curses every single god & denki kaminari twice. and then he runs.

the maze of corridors gets more & more confusing as he bolts through them, solely relying on denki’s guidance in his ear & the gunfire right on his heels. finally, finally he can see sunlight again, pushing through the open door & stumbling into the street again - right into the waiting trap of about ten grogorian soldiers.

great.

they’d cornered him on both ends, trapping him in their space. denki’s shouting frantically, something about shield interference & blocking & hitoshi’s stomach sinks; they’ve got him.

“go to warp drive.” his voice is so sharp it shocks denki right out of his panicked rambling, the comm quiet.

then a furious “what the fuck did you just say hitoshi shinsou? we’re not leaving you-“

“take [y/n], & go to warp, denki! go, i can hold them off for a little while! the verlo sector, it’s rural enough that they can’t track you!” he bites out, eternally grateful that the grogorians don’t have ULC’s. he eyes them for a moment, takes a breath.

“i love you, denki kaminari, you crazy motherfucker. i love you. i love you too, [y/n]. take care of him for me,” he says softly, lets himself choke up a little, grants himself that one weakness. then he clicks his comm off, draws both his guns, & snarls. “let’s go, assholes! i don’t have damn day!” he shouts, keeps his voice level & confident.

and then he starts firing.

left, right, over his shoulder, he’s never shot so many times in his life, & its still not enough. there’s grogorians on every side, dodging every blast & hitoshi’s resigned himself to dying on this shithole lesiure planet, never seeing denki’s stupid bright smile again, or hearing your laugh.

and then he hears it, loud & wild & it makes both his heart soar & stomach sink.

“STOP SHOOTING MY BOYFRIEND YOU FUCKING JACKASSES!”

there stands denki kaminari in all his andorian glory, six foot six of anger & pent up chaotic energy standing just off the side of the gunfire. he gives hitoshi one big, blinding smile before he’s shooting right alongside him, the pair of them back to back as they fire.

“where’s [y/n]?” hitoshi calls over the sounds of the blasters, too emotional & charged up to address the fact that denki came to save him, denki who always, always stayed on the ship.

“i told them to monitor us from up there! once we take out these shields i can phase us up, i brought the control sleeve!” denki yells back, twisting & ducking as the grogorians rain fire on them.

the pair of them are deadly, lethal even, taking down one hostile alien after another until their guns run out. hitoshi curses at the dead weapon, tossing it to the side as he prepares to fight the remaining six grogorians hand to hand. beside him, denki gets into a similar stance, eyes narrowed sharply in defense.

“enough!” a voice bellows, harsh & loud, ringing out across the entirety of the street. hitoshi pauses, dread building up in the pit of his stomach. the grogorians part, & he hears denki gasp beside him.

the grogorian leader steps out slowly, every step sending a thundering rumble across the land. “you steal from us, fight us at every turn. your intolerance is shameful,” the alien snarls, fury written all over his face. hitoshi doesn’t point out that the grogorians stole that particular relic from the Astonians, & the fact that they’d been chased, not chasing. he has a feeling the man wouldn’t appreciate his sentiments.

“i will kill you myself ! your arrogance knows no bounds!” the alien thunders, hands reaching for the sword tucked into his belt. its easily the size of hitoshi’s entire body, & his blood runs cold.

“since we’re about to die, it’s time i fess up. i’m the one who broke your music box,” denki whispers behind him, hands clinging tight to the back of hitoshi’s shirt.

“oh for god's sake you idiot, we’re about to die & that’s what you tell me?”

“i’ve always loved your ass in these pants. skinny or not, they give you shape,” denki says tearily, & hitoshi nearly screams.

“denki shut up, for the love of space - stop fondling my ass, we’re about to die-“

a set of angry, loud chirps interrupt them all, the grogorian leader turning & snarling. hitoshi stops breathing.

there, in all your tiny tessian glory, stands you, [y/n l/n], clad in hitoshi’s favorite leather pants & denki’s too big sweater. your eyes are narrowed, an expression of pure fury on your face that hitoshi’s never seen before.

it’s a little hot. denki seems to agree, if the gasp he lets out is any indication.

the alien laughs, staring down at you almost in amusement. “come to watch them die, little one? i could probably get a hefty price for you, couldnt i? maybe pleasure slave, the markets always up for those.” you chirp angrily. hitoshi sees red.

“don’t you fucking touch them-“ he snarls, all traces of fear gone as he shoves the grogorian back, fists clenched. behind him, denki spits, eyes lit up with that special kind of rage hitoshi only sees when he's really caught up, the anger boiling in his blood. the grogorian shoves the pair of them back so hard they go sprawling in the dirt, his voice a growl as he steps towards them. “you dare touch me?” he bellows.

behind him, you let out a sound somewhere between a screech & a growl. and then you start shifting.

hitoshi knows that you can shift into any number of things, he’s not stupid. but they’d all been limited to small, cute things, adorable & easy to hold.

the form you take on is neither adorable or small.

a sixteen foot, scaly dragon stands before them, with the face & claws of a lion & the fiery rage of a bat out of hell.

hitoshi screams. denki nearly pisses himself.

the grogorians scatter, shouting & running & you pick them off easily, picking one up between your claws & tearing him clean in half. the rest die in a similar fashion, tossed against buildings & burned alive when they get too close to your flaming breath. the leader dies last, your sharp fangs tearing him limb from limb until he’s a tattered pile of mush at their feet. its singlehandedly the most horrifying, yet gratifying thing hitoshi’s seen in his life.

you shift back to your original form easily, small hands & cheeks covered in blood. there’s a bit of grogorian in your hair. you smile up at them like nothing happened, let out little chirps & squeaks & hitoshi is stunned, really.

denki pulls the bit of grogorian away from your fluffy ears, before wiping the blood off your cheeks & tugging you into a kiss. it’d be cute, if there wasn’t so much carnage around them. you smile up at hitoshi, chirps out something about love and tribe and home.

hitoshi pulls you into a hug, kisses the faintly bloody fluffy hair, & laughs.

“let’s go home,” he agrees easily, takes denki’s hand & thinks, for a moment, that he’s complete.

denki smiles so bright it puts the sun to shame, & you giggle into his chest, cheery as a star.

all the bits align just right, he thinks, & leads his little solar system home.

[crossxskulled]

Mailing chocolates, it seemed, was too impersonal. The Japanese tradition was to give them in person, was it not? And as a surprise, at that. That left Sonia with only one option. She would have to give Ryuji the Valentine’s Day treats she’d arranged herself and with little explanation as to why she needed to meet him that day. Hopefully, he wouldn’t ask too many questions about why she wanted to meet in one of Shibuya’s parks, as opposed to the usual convenience stores and inexpensive restaurants they often visited. She didn’t think it was right to bring such gifts to a dining establishment and she certainly couldn’t visit his home. Thankfully, Haru had been a wonderful help correcting the Princess of Novoselic some of the cultural implications that, at home, would have been a non-issue.

“I hope this wasn’t too terribly inconvenient for you, and I’m not sure if you even like these really,” Sonia began, surprising herself by dancing around the point she was trying to make. At least she spoke clearly and smiled through it all. “But I hope you accept these Valentine’s Day chocolates. Happy Valentine’s Day, Ryuji-san!”

Inside the golden yellow box and coordinating bow, rows of pyramid-shaped dark chocolate candies and round milk chocolate truffles were neatly arranged. The dark chocolates were filled with dark chocolate ganache and liquid fondant to be tiny lava chocolates that would ooze upon biting past the outer shell. But the milk chocolates were filled with chocolate-hazelnut filling, far less messy, and rolled in crushed macadamia nuts. “I remember you telling me about your class trip to Hawaii, the one you seemed to quite enjoy with your friends! I’ve never been myself, but I thought a chocolate volcano and macadamia nuts might remind you of a wonderful time.”

___________________________

☠ - Time managed to bleed through his hands despite a shift of a holiday, hardly slowing, rather, keeping that same pace of trickling sands while he pushed through his training on this day. Motivation and a return to old form blew the blonde’s mind in ways he could’ve of perceived. So what better day to productively blow all that energy than at the gym? Through the help of his old coach and upperclassmen by the name of Ikeda, a regimen that remains rigorous, reward and perfect for warding off the rust across his body’s specifics was the goal for this Valentine’s day.

Gaining a small bounty of friendship chocolate had been a unforeseen boon that only made him double down. Seeing the smiling faces of those knuckleheads had been too much of a damn treat not to do anything less. (Taking Yusuke out to get a good meal as a miniature get-together had also fit into that equation.)

If only he could’ve known why Haru kept such a doting voice of knowing in her town. Ryuji simply brushed it off as a means of her being jovial in the atmosphere, enjoying the time no different than he had.

One text message however completely altered the route of his plans like a fork in the river. Business was business and his partners at the gym kindled a brand of training related friendship. So of course knowing the season, there he was being tacked on out with a number of teases, especially seeing how February serves as the season for some to shoot their shot, couples to get more couple-y, while some managed to romanticize facets of romance to make the world look a touch more sunshine and rainbows.

‘Too bad’ that with a huff and a laugh, he’d call them all some bastards after he freshened up, changed, and rolled out back to the busy streets. Like a bolt amidst a mass of sky,. he’s nimble and dedicated to his beeline, wading his way through the day filled with either saturated hopes or the jaded atmosphere as Inokashira Park remains the place to meet with a girl who’s pleasantly been in his thoughts. Just thinking of a touch of their previous ventures makes a chuckle rumble in his chest.

Oh yeah. There sure as hell was a good deal of memories they’ve made since their arrangement while having a blooming friendship.

“Yo, Sonia!” His cheerful voice would soon call as the scenery of an opened sky is replaced with the natural roofing of branches and trees. That had caught her attention, leading to them catching eyes and suddenly having her.. look a touch bashful?  Or maybe that skittered in his imagination. Just being met with a soft nod while she balanced something in her hands was a little weird? Here he was much more adjusted to a upbeat prestige or the excitable questions to explore a world that cast refined inclination to the side.

”My bad it took me a lil longer than usual to hop on the scene here.” He begins, grunting in distaste at his tardiness. “The short notice caught me att middle up at the gymmmm-- ah ah, not that it’s a big deal or anything!” That definitely had to be set once she made mentions of inconvenience! Heading out for someone he cares for always had a priority even if there were routine plans for a day. ...And now that he’s getting a better look at this whole situation. Wasn’t that introduction of her’s a touch too kind while she swayed a bit in her spot? Once their eyes met with a gentle glare of sunlight remaining in between, the answer soon arrives, dressed up in an ornate box that makes his eyes pop open a deal wider while unceremoniously dropping that duffel bag of his to the ground.

Unexpected? Unexpected. Somehow that mind of his couldn’t translate the moment at hand while his eyes shoot open like saucers at the ornate box she presents between them both! Seeing that particular design as if she plucked this from the lap of luxury... That made the ticker within his chest speed on up, for real. ‘Wha wha wha.. Whoa! Hold on! Am I seein’ this right!? I.. She had plans of hauling some of these to me?! People usually just roll these out in the hand bags! But this.. I-’ Any other thoughts failed to meet the mark of coherency as he could only stop, stare, and just drink in the view of that familiar smile and the presented box set before him.

Soon a pair of mildly shaky hands would come to take it. No longer was it the aftermath of a good workout that supplied such heat, nor the hot shower taken before making his way on down here. The act in offering this gift itself had burned a fuzzy brand of energy through him while his fingers braced upon the box and drew it a touch closer. Naturally too curious for his own good, this led him to a world of intricate design, for chocolate of all the damn things! Being a more modest and moderate fan had left him ignorant to the designs outside of chocolate bars to bats and eyes on the Halloween days.

Seeing the spread while hearing the story began to tack so many of the pieces together. Antsy thoughts were quelled by the truth of her intentions, the inspiration as to why they’re designed this way and kindness shuffled into each and every one. Had she really been thinking that deeply over one of their past times while getting this fixed up?

So to see Sonia place that much care into him causes a soft sensation to well up as the dominate point of feeling. Settled upon his face was a genuine look of contentment swirled together with a touch of gratitude. “You.. Really went through a damn lot, huh? I mean.. Look at these! So frickin’ cool and designed like people draw with chocolate!” His enthusiasm instantly takes the charge while he glosses over them, taking a touch longer to notice how the play of positioning also added to that! This for sure got a ‘Yoooooooooooo!’ strained from his lips as his eyes instantly sparkled with joy.

”Almost doesn’t make me wanna eat ‘em.. Almost! Maybe I can keep a few for a touch longer and..” Noticing that his delight might’ve had him going on a small tangent made him a touch self-conscious, causing him to seize up while a soft laughter escapes from him. If it wasn’t clear from his expression alone within their momentary getaway of the park’s atmosphere, Ryuji here was really pleased with the gift. ..To the point that somehow the whole Valentine aspect hadn’t reigned as the highest mark of importance.

Spending some more time with her instinctively feels like the best bet in his eye. Taking good care in the way he closes the box, the dropped bag is quickly swiped up before he makes a charged point to one of the sites of scenery appreciating seating off to the side.

“In that case! You sure as hell unlocked a route to some more funny stories! C’mon- how about we try some of these together while we kick back for a while?”

....

“Oh and uh.” This much would be said as they pressed off to the selected spot. “Happy Valentines Day to ya too, Sonia. Thanks for this..”

Today would be another one filled with fun promise.

[carnoshin]

Slashers cloud watching with there s/o instead of happy things they see dark sinister clouds, I hope this makes sense..

Idk why I ended up practically writing fics for these, but I did. So I only ended up doing Jason and Bubba for them, sorry;;;

(I assume you mean the s/o is the one who sees the. Grimdark stuff?)

Note: I legit haven’t thought of anything grimdark in years, so please excuse my. Lack of knowledge on it.;;;

Jason

It’s rare that you two are outside on clear days. That’s when people are most likely to visit the lake, but it seems today is lucky– no visitors, not even the rumble of a single car down the road.

That said, the lack of bad weather and visitors makes it easier to finish all the chores a bit into the afternoon, as opposed to clocking out after dark.

He finds you lying in the grass– just past the giant dirt patch that stretches for a fourth of an acre, behind the cabin and into the woods. He immediately begins trying to mother you: your clothes are getting dirty, it’s not clear enough to hang up another load of clothes.

You just pat the space next to you– the grass, not the dirt, of course– and he takes a silent second before he sits down and looks up at the sky with you.

On account of him being… Well, mute. He isn’t able to verbalize his thought as he tilts his head and points at the sky. 

Of course, you try your best to figure it out for him– neither of you had been studying up on your ASL and had summarily forgotten a decent portion of words, despite being so adept at them earlier in the relationship when words were still necessary to communicate.

“A log?” No. “A board?” No. “A machete?” Nnno, but he could see where you were coming from. “Well, it’s dissapating now, so it looks like a machete. Specifically covered in blood– dripping off the blade and all.”

He’s not particularly surprised, though his thought was in the opposite direction of the road you were going down. He rolls over and drags his knees through the grass to head to the dirt patch, writing his thought out. You sit up to read it.

“… Oh, yeah. A canoe does make more sense.” He tilts his head, motioning at the machete sheathe on his belt. “I don’t know; it just looked like one! Hey, don’t blame me: you’re the one putting that imagery into my mind in the first place!”

Bubba

You’re out by the shed, fixing up the second generator that’s been down for a few days. It was rusted all to hell, but it’s not like anyone in the family was making enough money to buy a new one– especially not Nubbins, literally burning through half of his film on most days.

Usually Chop-Top is the one who fixes the generator, but how loud it is can really throw him off, what with having been active duty. The heat doesn’t help much either.

And with Bubba having broken a glass on accident, Drayton was more than happy to shove you two out of the house– he couldn’t deal with watching Bubba run to your side, all cowardly, you holding him close and scolding Drayton for scaring your “husband.” And he didn’t feel like getting in a one-sided yelling match where you would calmly come out on top. If you were gonna spoil that boy rotten, you wouldn’t be doing it inside his house!

So there you were, out in the sweltering heat with Bubba watching close by. Or he would have been watching, had you not figured the generator out within twenty minutes of arriving at the shed.

At this rate, the heat was starting to annoy you the most. Even with gloves on, your hands’ sweat had soaked through the joints of the black material and wetted every other tiniest piece. Being behind the shed and the tens of burning-hot cars, the occasional pleasant breeze would only barely reach you. Course, those occasional pleasant breezes would never hit you just right-- on the back of your elbow or your side where you hadn’t known your shirt had ridden up or anywhere else that wasn’t remotely pleasing.

Bubba, lovely boy he is, would take notice between his glances to the sky. You’d been outside for about an hour and a half, trying to de-rust and reverse engineer the generator. And he, clumsy as he could be, couldn’t help at all: his large hands had lost too many nuts and bolts on previous attempts to fix it himself-- always a bigger mess than it was worth. You were way past “starting” to get annoyed and he didn’t know what he would do if you turned that annoyance towards him-- besides cry and beg your forgiveness, of course.

As you bent down to rest, practically folding up into yourself, he found his opportunity: as gently as he could muster, he tapped your shoulder with his fingers. Used to this kind of attention getting, you turn around with an exhausted sigh, taking a big breath in before asking him what he needed of you. “What is it, Bubba, baby?”

He slowly extends his hand down to you, almost kneeling. When you take it, he pulls you up, almost hurting your shoulder in the process. And then he’s dragging you along just past the property line, into the open field and pulling you down with him to lay down in the tall grass.

The wind is nice, just barely avoiding giving you the cool air you need-- just barely not enough. But it’s sure as shit nicer than sitting out by the shed all day. That annoyance still sticks at the back of your head, though.

Bubba points at a cloud, babbles something you don’t quite hear, then looks to you for your opinion. You’re hardly even looking at it, just being edgy for the sake of being edgy. “Kinda looks like a knife to me.” He doesn’t see it, but points to another one. “Chalk-outline.” And another. “Gravestone.” Each time, he shakes his head before carefully choosing out another one. It’s a bit mean, but you know he won’t register it as being aimed towards him.

Five minutes of this and he’s crawling over you, forcing your eyes open and doing his closest approximation of an eye exam. Of course, this just ends in you being giggly and giving in. “Yeah, I do s’pose that one looks like a rabbit.”

[no6secretsanta]

TO: @cruria FROM: @glorifiedscapegoat

Happy Holidays, Cruria! Here’s your Secret Santa gift! I hope you enjoyed it! You mentioned wanting an AU of some kind, either fantasy or steampunk. I tried to combine the two, so I hope you enjoy what I came up with! It was a lot of fun to work on. I haven’t written a lot of stuff with Inukashi in it, so this was a fun little challenge to include them in it! I hope you like it!

***

Nezumi set the brass ball-and-socket joint on the counter. His fingers ached from twisting the wrench and securing the hex nut in place. He’d spent the better part of his morning assembling the pieces necessary to repair his client’s mechanical arm; the socket joint for the shoulder attachment had been the simplest part.

Copper sunlight spilled through the holes and patches in the cloth covering the roof of Nezumi’s little corner shop. He was stationed in the middle of the labor district, the market comprising the eastern part of West Block.

Unlike the floating city of Kronos—glowing such a beautiful silver that, in the darkness, it closely resembled a moon—West Block’s citizens were horrendously poor. Their shops, booths, and homes had fallen into an irreparable state of disarray. Finding a curtain large enough to cover the entire roof of Nezumi’s shop had been a hassle. Finding one that hadn’t been completely devoured by moths had been another adventure.

His client’s mechanical arm was like the rest of West Block: old, decrepit, and covered in rust. It had barely uncurled when Nezumi worked a screwdriver in the bolts around the elbow.

Nezumi had access to other parts—ceramic, heavy plastic, and even silver—thanks to a few favors and connections he’d accumulated over the years, but the men and women of West Block couldn’t afford such luxury. His client could sell her entire house, all the clothes in her possession, and any scrap of jewelry she owned, and still not afford the mechanical limbs the royals possessed.

Accidents and illnesses were not limited to the lower quarter. The citizens of Kronos simply had better access to resources, and they often flaunted it.

Nezumi set the wrench down and flexed his fingers. Sensa Paz, the Disposer’s wife who’d requested the repair of her right arm, would return at sundown for her limb. With the sun approaching the center of the sky, Nezumi knew he had less than eight hours to complete the limb enough for Sensa Paz to be satisfied with his handiwork.

I can afford a break. Nezumi slumped back against the counter with a relieved groan.

Inukashi had gone to the market to procure a few long screws, as Nezumi’s more recent jobs had depleted their supply. Nezumi figured it would take them at least another ten minutes to shove their way through the heavy crowd and stomp back to the shop.

He could afford to rest until Inukashi came barging around the corner and sniped at him for being lazy.

Nezumi and Inukashi had been West Block’s only mechanics for over four years. At twelve years old, little Nezumi had earned a place for himself among the citizens of West Block by taking no shit and producing the best products for the best price. Inukashi’s arrival and eventual hire granted Nezumi access to better materials.

His business had grown profitable enough, granting him access to at least a comfortable way of life. Nezumi couldn’t afford pointless luxury, but he preferred it that way. He never wanted to become as pompous as the royals gorging themselves to death in the floating city.

Nezumi’s shop was small, and his services were mostly limited to mechanical limbs. West Block had a fair assortment of folks in need of new limbs after workplace accidents. The old man who ran a clothes shop on the other end of West Block had traded Nezumi several new pairs of pants in exchange for a new foot after a gas leak, and eventual explosion, had left him minus one appendage.

West Block was busy in the morning hours. Sunlight meant life, and life meant warmth. The nights were cool in West Block. Folks did their shopping in the daylight, bundling themselves in their drafty homes at night and praying to whatever gods listening that the morning wouldn’t bring illness into their lives.

A few rusted droids rolled through the crowded market. Decommissioned soldiers from deep in the floating city whose memory drives had been completely wiped. Without a purpose, the royals dumped them in West Block’s junkyard. Some of the soldiers had reactivated, and roamed the streets with no purpose. Nezumi had once powered one down with a knife to the control panel, in hopes that tinkering with it might provide an insight into Kronos’s secrets. To his disappointment, the royals had thoroughly erased the droid’s memory. It had no sentience and no intelligence. Just a big, lumbering machine rolling on for eternity until rust and decay consumed it.

Nezumi dragged his fingers through his long, dark hair. He kept it tied back, lest it get tangled in the gaps and wheels comprising his equipment. Nezumi had often considered chopping it short, but his appearance sold his services almost as well as his skills. People in West Block thought he was “beautiful” and “charming”, and Nezumi’s appearance continued to convince them. If keeping his hair long brought in more business, then Nezumi would allow it.

“Hey! Hey!”

Nezumi looked up. He spotted one of the Disposers, a gargantuan man with a glowing red eye surrounded by a metal panel, charging through the crowd on the heels of a child clutching a loaf of bread in her little fist.

“You thief,” the Disposer snarled. His single red eye locked on his target, his other human blue one wild with fury. “Get back here!”

Nezumi frowned. The Disposers were men tasked with getting rid of junk (and on occasion, corpses) from the streets. Most of them had lost arms and legs and eyes in mining accidents, hired by the royals for construction projects, only to be tossed aside when damage and injuries made them unable to continue work.

Most of the Disposers stuck to their assigned tasks, but a few considered themselves enforcers of the unspoken laws of West Block. There were no officers or guards to keep the peace. No protections for folks aside from weapons and those who were paid to provide their services.

Nezumi narrowed his eyes at the Disposer’s retreating back as he chased the girl into the crowd. There was nothing to be done about it. Thieves were common in West Block, and if it wasn’t coming from his shop, it had nothing to do with Nezumi.

He stretched his arms above his head. The tension in his spine traveled down each limb as he rolled his shoulders. He had a long day of work ahead of him.

Inukashi should be back any moment now. Nezumi glared into the crowd. There were plenty of dark-haired folks shoving people aside, but none of them were short enough or angry enough to be Nezumi’s oh-so-wonderful assistant. Where in the three hells are they?

Nezumi picked up the ball-and-socket joint, admiring his handiwork. It was a bit pricier than his client could afford, but anything cheaper would prevent the arm from moving at all. Sometimes it was worth it to sacrifice a little extra. Nezumi was proud of his handiwork. His services were the best in West Block, and no one would tell him otherwise.

Nezumi looked over his shoulder. His client’s arm lay on top of his workbench, a dim light illuminating the rust around the wrist joint and three of the long, thin fingers. An android’s arm. Not his client’s original, and certainly not one crafted for her. The poor woman had most likely been forced to steal one from a less-than-fortunate android in the junkyards.

BANG.

Nezumi turned with a scowl. Inukashi edged around the counter, ducking into the shade of the shop, clutching a burlap bag in one fist and a metal can in the other.

Condensation dripped down the side of the metal can, and Nezumi’s quick eyes caught the flash of a white logo.

He shot Inukashi a blank look. “Let me guess, you didn’t get me anything.”

“You didn’t ask me to, now did you?” Inukashi’s brown eyes narrowed, and they dropped the burlap sack onto the counter, jarring the ball-and-socket joint. “Here’s the stuff you actually asked for.”

Nezumi caught the part before it rolled onto the ground, and set it off to the side. He undid the bit of rope holding the burlap closed and peered inside. “That’s it?” He glared at Inukashi. “I gave you ten bronze pieces.”

“Caro raised her prices.” Inukashi set the can on the counter and ran their fingers through their long, black hair. They’d tied it into a high ponytail to combat the morning heat. “That’s what six bronze pieces gets you these days.”

“I gave you ten.”

“Forty percent delivery fee. You’re welcome.” Inukashi picked up their drink and took a long sip.

Nezumi snatched it away from them, ignoring their startled cry and following “Hey!” He took a long drink, and wrinkled his nose. Citrus flavored and carbonated.

“Solar berry,” Nezumi said. “Gross.”

Inukashi grabbed it back from him. “Well, it’s not yours, jerk!” They moved just far enough away from Nezumi to be out of reach. “You got spit all over it!” They grumbled and wiped the rim with the edge of their threadbare red shirt.

“You’re lucky I didn’t pour it out,” Nezumi said.

“Screw you,” Inukashi said. “It’s a thousand degrees out here!”

Nezumi opened his mouth to say that if Inukashi had such a problem with it then they could spend the money to get an air conditioning unit installed—and he noticed a figure in a dark gray cloak slowly approaching the shop.

The figure was shorter than Nezumi expected, and much younger. Beneath the hood of the cloaked robe, he could make out youthful, round cheeks and vibrant eyes. The stranger had an idle smile on his lips, and Nezumi immediately knew he didn’t belong.

“Customer,” Inukashi said, taking another sip of their drink.

Nezumi watched the stranger approach. As he drew nearer, Nezumi began to recognize the shape of his face. The familiar curve of his jaw, the slender slope of his nose, and the shape of his big, warm eyes. Nezumi had seen that face countless times on the hovering screens lingering outside the floating city of Kronos.

“Good morning,” said the young man as he finally reached the counter. He gave Inukashi a big smile, and then turned to address Nezumi. “I was hoping you could help me.”

Inukashi snorted and took a sip of their drink. The can was almost empty.

Nezumi drummed his fingers on the counter top. The coloration was all wrong, but there was no mistaking it. Nezumi had seen this boy’s face before. Everyone in West Block had.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” Nezumi said. He swooped into a theatrical bow. “To what do we owe the honor of Your Highness’s presence at our humble shop?”

Inukashi choked on their drink.

The young man’s dark brown eyes widened in shock. There was a distinct rim of crimson around the inky blackness of his pupils—a tell-tale sign that the pigmentation of his irises was the result of colored contacts.

The Prince of Stars was as famous in West Block as the floating city. Not born to the royal family, he’d been deemed special from birth due to his unnatural coloration. His silver hair and scarlet eyes were rumored to be signs of the gods’ blessings. The strange child and his mother had been taken into the royal family, dumped into the lap of luxury and treated like gods themselves, all due to the pigmentation of the child’s features.

“Ah, stars,” the prince said, defeated. His shoulders slumped. “How could you tell?”

Nezumi raised an eyebrow. “Your face is well-known, Your Highness.”

The prince glanced over his shoulder, and then back to Nezumi. “Ah, well, maybe we can keep this just between the three of us?”

Inukashi put the empty can on the counter. They stared at the prince as if he’d come to them flanked by a legion of guards.

“All right, then,” Nezumi said, the corner of his lips quirking up in a bemused smile. If the prince insisted on acting like a customer, then Nezumi would treat him like any other customer. “What can we do for you?”

“Shion,” the prince said.

“Excuse me?”

“Instead of the Highness stuff. You can call me Shion.”

The prince offered his hand out, and Nezumi didn’t take it. The prince wore gloves, most likely to conceal the scarlet scar wrapped around his body. Another blessing from the gods. The mark went all the way to the prince’s face, and Nezumi could see the blended marks of concealer painted on the prince’s face. His disguise had been thorough, at least.

“Is that your real name?” Nezumi asked.

“Real enough,” Shion replied with a pleasant smile. “How about you?”

“Nezumi.” He jerked his head to Inukashi, whose face had turned an amusing shade of green. “And that’s Inukashi.”

Inukashi quickly glanced at him.

Shion blinked. “Are those your real names?”

“Real enough,” Nezumi echoed.

Instead of being offended, Shion laughed. “All right. But my name actually is Shion.”

“And as far as we’re concerned, my name is actually Nezumi.” Nezumi folded his arms across his chest. “Now, what can we help you with?”

“Oh, right.” Shion reached up and lowered his hood. His silver hair had been dyed a dark shade of brown. Whoever had applied the color had paid special attention to the roots. It looked odd to see the mythical prince look so… normal, but Nezumi felt more comfortable with it than if the prince had come before him in his typical coloring. Whether people believed the rumors or not, Shion’s strange coloring was otherworldly. Alluring, Nezumi might say, even though the sight of it made his stomach twist with anxiety.

“I need your assistance,” the prince said.

Nezumi raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“My friend,” Shion said. “She lost her leg when she was little. She has a mechanical one. It’s made of porcelain. It breaks, all the time. She’s had all the mechanics in Kronos look at it, and every single time, it stops moving or it falls apart.”

“That’ll happen with cheap parts,” Nezumi said. “Or when the mechanic putting it together has no idea what they’re doing.”

“The parts aren’t cheap. That’s the problem. Safu keeps paying them everything they ask for, and nothing works.” Shion’s brow furrowed. Even his eyebrows had been dyed to match the shade of his disguised hair. “It’s almost like… Well, it’s almost as if they’re—”

“As if they’re building them to fall apart.”

The prince pressed his lips into a thin line.

“It’s possible,” Nezumi said. “It’s not surprising, given how you royals are willing to pay through the nose for their services.”

The royal family and elites privileged enough to live in the floating city had no idea what the citizens of West Block would give to have access to the resources Kronos took for granted. How many men and women in West Block starved every day because they couldn’t afford medicine? How many folks gave everything they had for a chance to survive?

“It’s still not right,” Shion objected. “If someone’s paying for your services, you should do your best work. Not design them to fall apart just to keep making money.”

Nezumi’s lips drew back over his teeth. “What a charmingly delusional world you live in, Your Highness.”

Inukashi’s eyes shot to Nezumi. They looked ready to snap back at him, but their lips remained stubbornly closed. Inukashi had no love for the royal family. To have the prince himself right in front of them, however, seemed to have knocked the fire right out of them. Inukashi was an angry person, but they valued survival above all else.

Speaking back to a member of the royal family was one thing.

Speaking back to the Prince of the Stars was a death wish.

Nezumi expected Shion to glare at him. He expected Shion to square his shoulders and raise his voice. To demand to know who exactly Nezumi thought he was talking to.

Nezumi valued his life. He could charm his way out of trouble with a pleasant smile and a feigned apology. He doubted he would be able to do the same to the Prince of the Stars.

Rather than look offended, Shion’s lips pressed into a pensive frown. His brow furrowed. He looked thoughtful, rather than furious. The sunlight cast a strange glimmer on the strands of his dyed hair, and Nezumi caught a quick imitation of the infamous silver beneath.

“I came to ask for your help,” Shion said. His voice was gentle and soft. “I know things have been… difficult for the citizens of West Block.”

Nezumi’s eyebrows shot up.

“I am the prince,” Shion said, lowering his voice on the word. His eyes darted around, doing a quick sweep of the crowd. No one had drifted close to Nezumi’s booth, and none of them seemed to notice the royal family member in their midst. “But my power is limited. The King and Queen of the Stars like to keep me… away from politics.”

Nezumi cocked his hip. “I tend to stay away from politics myself. Too confusing. It’s all just corruption and nonsense.”

Shion winced, but didn’t object. “I was young when they brought me in. My mother told me stories about what it was like when she grew up. She said things were bad, but this…” He looked over his shoulder at the patchwork booths and dilapidated buildings surrounding him.

“You came here for a reason,” Nezumi said, no longer interested in listening to the prince’s obvious attempt at an apology. Nezumi had no need for them. It wouldn’t change anything. “I do have other jobs to finish, so if you don’t need anything from us, then maybe you should be on your way.”

“I wanted to commission you,” Shion said.

“Commission me?”

“To build a leg for my friend. A better one.”

Nezumi raised an eyebrow.

“I asked around,” Shion went on. “Rumor has it you’re the best mechanic in West Block. Your handiwork is impressive. People talk in Kronos, you know. I’ve heard about you.”

“The elites in Kronos talk about me?” Nezumi pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m honored.”

Shion narrowed his eyes. “You’re quite sarcastic, aren’t you?”

Nezumi snorted.

“I wanted to seek your help,” Shion said. “Safu helps her grandmother a lot. It’s difficult for her to assist when her leg keeps breaking down.”

“There aren’t servants she could get to help her?” Nezumi asked, spitting the word at Shion like poison.

Shion squared his shoulders. “Safu prefers to help her grandmother herself. She doesn’t like taking advantage of people. Neither of us does.”

Nezumi barked out a laugh. “So you mean to tell me that you—the Prince of the Stars, the boy blessed by the gods—don’t use servants?”

“I prefer not to take advantage of people,” Shion replied.

Nezumi shook his head. He hadn’t been expecting the Prince of the Stars to be like this. The few times he’d glimpsed Shion’s face on the jumbo screens and holonets, he’d looked monotone and distant. Nothing at all like the boy standing before him. Shion stood before him, arms folded, his thin lips slowly quirking up at the edges as if he couldn’t help but be in a good mood. Happiness seemed to roll off Shion in waves. It was almost infectious.

“Commissioning an entire leg is a big task, Your Highness,” Nezumi said after a moment. “It isn’t as simple as repairing a limb.”

Shion’s eyes widened. “You’ll do it?”

“We’ll do it?” Inukashi sputtered.

“For the right price,” Nezumi replied. At Shion’s confused look, Nezumi went on, “Procuring the supplies needed to make a mechanical limb suitable for royalty demands a hefty price.”

“I have coins.” Shion reached into his pocket. Beneath his cloak, Nezumi caught sight of a plain gray shirt and a pair of black slacks. Shion had dressed down from the fine clothes Nezumi had glimpsed in the holonets, but his clothes were still nicer than anything in West Block. Shion dropped three silver pieces on the table. “I didn’t bring a lot with me.”

“A wise decision,” Nezumi remarked. “Someone might’ve mugged you.”

“But they didn’t.” Shion put his hands on his hips and grinned.

“It’s a difficult assignment you’ve tasked me with,” Nezumi said. “A time-consuming one, at that.”

Shion folded his hands on the counter and cocked his head to the side. “I understand if you’re busy. You have other jobs. And if you’re not up for the task, then I suppose I can seek out another mechanic.”

Nezumi’s eyes flashed.

“Of course,” Shion went on, “I was excited to commission the best mechanic in West Block.”

Oh, you little brat. “Well,” Nezumi said, pretending to give it some thought. “I would hate to have had you come all this way just to be disappointed.” He swept the three coins off the counter and into his closed fist.

Shion’s lips drew back in a smile.

“Three weeks,” Nezumi said. “Getting the things together will take some time. I also have other clients, and I operate on a first-come, first-serve basis.”

“I understand,” Shion said. “I don’t expect special treatment.”

“The limb I make won’t fall apart easily, but it will still require maintenance. Three months is the typical wear-and-tear limit on porcelain limbs.”

“The ones she’s been getting break down after three weeks.”

Nezumi whistled and cast a glance at the floating city. “The mechs up there must be scamming you big time.”

“Will you require payment before you finish working,” Shion asked, “or after?”

“The three silvers count as your deposit. I’ll need fifty percent after I get the materials, and the rest when you come to pick it up.”

“How long will it take you to get the materials?” Shion glanced over his shoulder again. He drew the hood up, settling it on top of his dyed hair. “It might be easier for me to sneak out again and bring you the payment.”

Sneak out, huh? Nezumi was almost impressed. “A week to get the materials,” Nezumi said. “The whole job will require eight gold coins.”

Shion barely blinked at the price. “Four gold coins in a week, then,” Shion said. “Is that with or without the tip?”

Inukashi dropped the empty can on the counter. They’d been standing silently during the course of Shion and Nezumi’s conversation, but the mention of tipping spurred them into action.

“Without,” Nezumi replied with a smile. “Tips are appreciated, but not expected.”

“Of course.” Shion returned his smile, and Nezumi couldn’t help the surge of excitement and terror that bubbled through him. It had been so long since he’d felt engaged in a conversation, it made him nervous but eager for more. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“So next week, then,” Shion said.

“Next week.”

“All right.” Shion’s brilliant white teeth glimmered in the sunlight. “Thank you, Nezumi. I look forward to working with you.” He turned to Inukashi and nodded. “And you as well, Inukashi.”

Inukashi’s teeth clacked together. Their wild eyes flickered over the prince’s face, searching for signs of mistrust and betrayal. When they didn’t spot any, their lips turned down in a frown, but they said, “Yeah. You, too.”

With one last look at Nezumi, Shion turned and marched into the crowd. He slowly eased his way through the gaps between people traveling between various shops and booths, offering soft apologies when people bumped into him. He stopped for no one and nothing. He simply kept moving forward, bleeding into the crowd until he was nothing more than a gray smear retreating into the distance.

The moment Shion was out of sight, Inukashi turned and landed a solid punch on Nezumi’s shoulder.

“Ow!” Nezumi reeled back. “What’s your problem?”

“What’s yours?” Inukashi snarled. Their face was pale. “You’re going to get us both arrested!”

“He didn’t want to be treated like a prince, so I didn’t treat him like one. Why are you so pissed off?”

“Gah, I can’t believe you!” Inukashi spun around and stomped into the back of the shop. “I’m not here! If the guards come and lock you up for running your mouth to the prince, it has nothing to do with me!”

“You’re an accomplice,” Nezumi called over his shoulder. “You watched the whole thing and didn’t say anything.”

“I was never here!”

Nezumi clicked his tongue. The weight of the silver coins in his hand was unsettling. He’d never been offered so much money for a job before. A single silver for his best work. To take a job worth eight gold pieces was insanity.

Shion’s smile flashed before his eyes, sending an unfamiliar bolt of warmth through Nezumi’s chest. He scowled and dropped the silver coins into his pocket. There was no point in worrying about it now. He had a job to finish, and then he would begin his task. There was plenty of time to sort his emotions out later.

He’ll be back in a week.

Nezumi felt a pang of disappointment that it was so far away.

…Dammit. Better get to work, then.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

The Winchester House

Sam Winchester x Reader

Words: 1629

Summary: The Winchester brothers meet their match in this house filled with vengeful spirits. When the three of you get separated in it’s twisting corridors it would be a wonder for you to make it out alive.

Notes: Here’s the main Halloween Special for you guys! I figured Supernatural was perfect for Halloween, so I hope you enjoy! (Taking some creative liberty with the house, so it isn't going to necessarily be accurate) I also kind of ran out of time for this one, so excuse any mistakes or anything. 

You stared out the Impala window, laughing at the irony of the song. Sam looked at through the rearview mirror.

“What?” He asked, smiling at your amusement.

“Thriller? Really?”  You snorted. Sam shrugged.

“I thought it was fitting.”

“I hate Halloween.” Dean groaned from the passenger seat, trying to sleep. The three of you had been driving for hours to the location Dean had been dreading ever since you’d gotten the call from the caretaker. Apparently, the hauntings at the well known Winchester House had gone from the occasional ghostly whisper to dismembered patrons in the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” You muttered, looking up at the massive house as Sam parked. The three of you got out of the car and were greeted by a frantic caretaker.

“Thank god you’re all here.” He sighed, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. He pulled you and Sam into an awkward hug and you shot each other a look. “This way.” He ushered you up to the front door. “Nothing usually happens until nightfall, but I thought you guys would want to look around.”

“That sounds great,” Sam said, noticing the man’s wariness to open the door. “If you want, we can just head in on our own and settle in.” The man shook Sam’s hand vigorously.

“Thank you. Thank you.” He rushed back down the stairs to his own car and sped off without another word.

“He seemed nice.” Dean scoffed, stepping inside. All of your jaws dropped. The Winchester House. Everywhere you looked there was another passage, another door, or another set of stairs. “This place must be ghost central,” Dean said, looking through the bag of weapons that he had brought in. Sam pulled the map he'd printed off out of his pocket.

“Okay, so he said that the seance room is the most active so we should probably set up there.” It took the three of you nearly ten minutes to find the room, getting lost in the twists and turn.

“This place is gonna be a bitch to get around at night.” You muttered.

“No kidding.” Sam agreed, ducking to have to fit through the door. The room was empty and cold, all of you immediately feeling uneasy. You shivered and Sam grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. Dean took a deep breath.

“Let’s get to work.”

After nearly two hours of gathering iron weapons and laying down salt in every crevice, the sun began to set. The house was deadly silent. The floor started to shake, the three of you holding onto each other.

“What the hell was that?” Dean boomed. You grabbed a salt-filled shotgun.

“There’s only one way to find out.” You stepped toward the door, but Sam grabbed your arm.

“Are you crazy? We don’t know how many spirits are even out there.” His eyes were sincerely worried. “The legend is that this place is haunted by the people that the Winchester rifles killed. Which means this place is crawling with vengeful spirits.”

“Are you guys sure you’re not related to these people?” You teased, hiding the fear behind your eyes with humor. Sam sighed, seeing right through you. He’d always been able to tell how you were really feeling and it drove you nuts. “Look, we’re not going to do anything just hiding out in here. If we want to catch some of this bastards, we have to go to them.”

“She’s got a point.” Dean sighed, grabbing his own gun. Sam glared at him.

“Fine!” He exclaimed. “But if we’re going out there we are going together.”

“That was the plan.” You smirked. You knew if you pushed, he would have to come with you. There was no way in hell you were going by yourself. You stepped out into the hallway and felt the floor start to shake again. You looked up at Sam, this time letting the fear show. “Sam?”

You screamed as the floor shot upwards, Sam’s shouts getting lost in the sound of stone and wood rubbing against each other. The hallway jolted this way and that and you felt your head spinning as it finally stopped.

“Sam!” You called out into the darkness. “Dean!” There was a laugh behind you and you whirled around, firing a round into the large man dressed in pioneer clothing. With an ear-splitting shriek, he vanished. You checked how many rounds you had, finding that there were barely enough to even get to another hallway if what Sam said was right. “Shit.”

Dean had grabbed Sam just in time before his leg was sheared off by the moving wood.

“Y/N!” Sam cried out, but you were already gone.

“This is not good.” Dean watched as other rooms and hallways flew by. As soon as everything was stable again, Sam bolted out of the room, looking down every hall he could see, but it was no use. You could be anywhere.

“Y/N!” He shouted again into the empty halls. Dean followed him, watching the shadows carefully. Sam turned around and saw a Native American woman lifting a knife behind Dean. “Look out!” He shot her in the head and she disappeared.

Meanwhile, you were tiptoeing to the nearest room. Inside, the walls were lined with frames with stained-glass windows. You grabbed your phone out of your pocket and hit Sam’s number.

“Y/N?” He answered frantically. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m not sure…” You shined a light on the glass, reds, blues, and greens reflecting back at you. “There’s just a bunch of stained-glass.” He started up a flight of stairs.

“Okay, don’t go anywhere. We’ll try and find you.” You moved your light and saw a face staring back at you.

“That might be harder than you think.” The first wall of glass shattered, pieces of glass flying everywhere. You screamed.

“Y/N!” Sam said, hearing the sounds and screams from the other end. He looked at Dean with panicked eyes and they started running.

You ducked, covering your face as shards flew over your head and pierced your arms and legs. You sprinted as fast as you could out of the room and the door swung closed behind you. The ground shook and this time you braced yourself, holding out your arms to the walls as you were jerked to the side. Sam and Dean held onto the railing as the stairs moved down.

A figure flickered in front of you. A little girl, her black hair hanging down in front of her face. You stepped backward, trying to ignore the stinging wounds from the glass. She flickered again, this time appearing right in front of you, her hands gripping your arms. A searing pain shot through your body and you fought against her, punching her hard, the iron ring on your finger causing her to cry out, letting you go just long enough for you to break free.

That’s when you heard him. Sam.

“Sam!” You yelled. He sprinted towards the sound of your voice.

“Y/N!” Dean shouted back. He and Sam ran through the endless dark halls, listening to the sound of your screams. You turned to see the girl getting closer to you.

You opened another door, stepping into the night air. You looked down at the ground as you fell, a hand latching onto yours, catching you just in time. Sam held onto you while Dean shot at the ghost. Sam pulled you up and wrapped his arms around you as soon as your feet returned to the ground.

“I may have forgotten to mention the Door to Nowhere.” He chuckled breathlessly and you couldn't help but laugh. He pulled away. “Are you okay?” You nodded.

“I hate to break up the happy couple, but we don’t have time for chick flick moments.” Dean motioned for the two of you to follow him. “Come on, Research Boy, what could these all be connected to?” Sam didn’t even get the chance to think before you were surrounded by spirits, all ready for the kill. You positioned yourselves back to back to back and started firing. You cleared a path just long enough to run, Sam holding onto your hand to make sure you didn’t get separated again.

There was only one room that the ghosts seemed to be protecting. Of course, you had to go in there. With another shot from Dean, you all stumbled into the room, greeted by a jarring silence compared to the commotion of the past few hours.

“This must be Sarah Winchester’s room,” Sam noted, looking around. “That must be why they were all guarding it. If there’s anything these spirits are attached to, it’s in here.” You all started searching the room until Sam gasped. A woman appeared in front of him, her hands wrapped around his neck. Dean raised his shotgun, but he had no rounds left. The closer you looked at her, you realized that she was the woman in the picture sitting on the dresser. Sarah Winchester.

“Sam!” You cried.

“Find.... the…. Object….” He barely managed to say. You kept searching until you found a rusted and chipped gun. Sarah turned to you and let go of Sam.

“Start a fire!” You ordered and Sam and Dean obeyed, lighting a fire in a small metal bucket they had found. You tossed the gun to Sam and he threw it into the flames. Sarah started to scream and she burst into flames. You heard a chorus of other screams from throughout the house and the floor started to shake violently. You, Sam, and Dean huddled around each other as pieces of brick and wood fell around you. And finally, there was quiet. Dean was the first to break away.

“I hate Halloween!”

[vael]

Fixing Your Riding Lawn Mower’s Rear Wheel (millennial edition)

My coworker left our three-person company, making it two: me and the boss. It’s one of those situations where someone need not be fired, but if someone left, the position wouldn’t be filled. Recognizing that my new 2.13 acres of land would be best mowed by riding lawn mower, and now being my coworker’s salary to the good, my boss gifted the Craftsman T210 to me. And so it went, our “lawn” done in under ten minutes of joyous riding, but the untamed wilds behind-and-beyond the house needing considerable attention. And attention they got, with me, as usual, pushing my luck and the limits of the machinery I use; well on the very last day of clearing, I got a flat tire. The adventure began.

Prelude

Park the mower with a big, satisfied smile on your face. Give it a single glance as you turn the light off in the garage, punctuating all the hours of clearing you’ve put your lawn mower through.

Proceed to use the garage as normal -- mostly for your recyclables -- within the coming days, oblivious to the state of your mower’s deflating rear tire. Finally when it is time to mow the lawn, discover it has a flat. But that’s fine: after all, it’s only been a week, the lawn hardly needs a mowing.

“To Amazon!”

The first solution to every problem is Amazon. Whatever the problem may be, there’s always some product to resolve it. Open up and just type in “riding mower tire.” Well that’s a lot of results, so make your way out to the garage to get the model number and behold: the solution will only cost $44 and it’s even Prime. Leave that tab up in your browser for a day or two to age it like a fine wine, then read through the reviews and discover the $44 only buys the tire. Not the rim. There are some troublesome mentions about compression rates and the season it’s being delivered in.

Okay, this may be a little more problematic than you thought, and there’s no AAA for riding mowers. Let’s first remove the damn thing, which you admit sounds a little scary, being that some reviewer said it would take the average homeowner 2+ hours to change this sucker out. It won’t help that the owner’s manual is more concerned with detailing ten different ways to watch out for your children over how to change the tire.

Removing The Damn Thing

You’ll need a jack. You probably don’t have one, so it’s back to Amazon, ready to drop $90 on a jack that can handle the mower. Ask a question on the product just to be sure. Helpful responders inform that you just need a regular old $20 jack. Amazon that shit, unbox it and let’s start cranking.

Chances are you don’t have every tool you’ll need to remove it, but hell if you knew that when you started prying at the unreasonably resilient plastic bolt cover. Ah, a bolt! Open the toolbag your uncle bought you eight years ago and whip out that wrench. Start working at it. Well you aren’t very strong after all, are you? Really give it your best. Really strain your wrist. It seems that’s not how this is meant to be done.

Wikihow some potential solutions: tools your ancestors would know when to use. Aha! The socket wrench, the tool that makes those crnt-crnnch sounds in shows and movies. I was feeling ambitious, so I drove to Home Depot to buy a kit. You can just Amazon any kit that has a lateral extension, which most should.

Finally you have it! You socket-wrench the sucker off, and now you can take the tire to get repaired.

The Repair

Find a place. Not hard, even if you’re rural. Worried for the expense? I got two mower tires inflated and my car’s tire pressure stabilized for $5. But why are we inflating two mower tires? Ho ho.

The next day, before you go to work, drop the tire off at the place you found. They might fix you up immediately, but I had to leave mine. Regardless of the state of your removed tire, it’s very important that the first thing you do is return home and have a look at the mower. Unbelievably, it has another flat. The front tire!

The rear tire you removed the day before was distributing the mower’s weight. Without it, pressure leans toward the front now, on the mower’s puny tire. The air has escaped and there’s nothing else for it: it’s gonna need some pumping. Well you’re a pro now, this is just a minor inconvenience. Jack up the front and get that socket wrench ready.

Unscrew the protective cap and you’ll discover a unique fastener known as a slotted nut. It’s held in place by a cotter pin. It’s a good thing you have me, because if you didn’t, you’d have to:

Try picking at it in various ways. It can spin, and it even looks like it could be pried. You gonna risk that? Best go to YouTube and find the one guy who knows how to change the front tire but not how to hold a camera. He pulls it off with ease -- wait a moment, this looks similar to what you have but not quite. It’s hard to tell. You know what? Help line. Sit back and relax as you endure the Craftsman support line, finally being transferred to a rep who can help. And he knows exactly what you need. Use your white-collar worker grip to twist the pin, grunting into the speaker as you pull it out. Tire slides right off. Could things get any more difficult from here?

Conclusion

It would appear not. Prop your mower up on a jack stand, or in my case a can of rust olium you’re pretty sure won’t explode if you do this, and head back to the tire place for the final repair.

Slide the tires back on. Tighten as best you can. And... that’s it? Stare incredulously at the mower in its restored state, start it up, and return to mowing! I recommend wearing long pants and a shirt because the bugs have made the long grass their home in the intervening weeks, and won’t take too kindly to your thundering death machine destroying it.

[monomas-a-smug-bih]

Apocalyptic Chaos VII: Sacrifices

Part 7

..:::::..

Everyone went silent, horrified gazes burning into the pale boy’s bloodied arm. He huffed.

“I already told you... there’s nothing-“ I watched Jirou shove passed Kirishima, the pained look in his eyes made my mind swirl. My brain just couldn’t keep up.

This, this was really happening?

Jirou’s voice cut through my jumbled thoughts.

“SHUT UP!” She kneeled down and picked up the cloth I’d dropped to the ground. The blonde boy winced as she hastily wiped the rest of the blood away.

“H-he barely got you Kaminari, see?! So get up already so we can go!” The unusually solemn boy looked her in the eyes, giving a sympathetic smile.

“Come on, Jirou. You’re beyond cool enough to have read comic books before, a-and according to those-“

“Don’t be stupid you idiot! Those aren’t real- This isn’t-“ she paused, seeming to recognize how bad his arm had really gotten, how pale his face had gone. “This isn’t...” It was so quiet I heard the desperate squeak of her leather jacket for every unsure move she made. Her crooked purple bangs swishing as she looked up from the ground and snapped out of her daze. Everyone’s silence was soon invaded by hammering steps up the stairs, they were coming. The golden haired boy wiped Jirou’s bangs from her eyes.

“I can’t let you guys stay here Kyouka... according to- I- this isn’t going to end well...”

Izuku’s hush voice cut in, “Kaminari...”

I watched her grit her teeth, her hand gripping firmly to his shaky wrist and ripping it from her forehead.

“You can’t expect us to just- we can’t just leave you here!” She looked to me, then to the others behind us, desperately looking for someone to back her up, someone to say everything would be fine, but...

Soon enough I could hear the few that’d reached our floor, stomping and whaling madly. I looked over my shoulder, spotting Bakugou’s hard ruby eyes, he gulped and stared into the frantic girl with a dark look on his face. Jirou met his gaze and stood up, she looked to be trying to stop herself from lunging at him out of frustration.

“You’ve- you all gotta be kidding me!?”

“J-Jirou don’t, it’s not-“ Kaminari coughed harshly, standing up halfway incredibly unsteadily. My heart pumped vigorously, my throat going dry. My thoughts swarming with ‘is this really happening?’s and ‘what do we do?’s and more panicked questions that wouldn’t be answered in time. I could hear the blood pump in my ears, up until the moans and banging outside seemed to grow overbearingly louder and louder and-

My heart couldn’t take this. I watched Kaminari pull Jirou into an exhausted hug, watching her trembling form latch onto his taller one...

“Promise me you’ll get out of here...” Jirou’s protests faded into struggling mumbles. I watched Kaminari pet her chopped indigo hair. “P-Please Jirou, please just get out of here...” he pulled away, looking her deep in the eyes before walking backwards to shift his weight onto a dusty nightstand. He held his stomach, groaning but letting out a helpless chuckle. He looked up with his drained golden eyes. “You guys too... it won’t be long now, this is really starting to hurt like a-“ his voice cut off into a groan, he winced and tried to catch his breath. I didn’t want to decide whether he was referring to the zombies outside or himself... I frowned, speechless.

I couldn’t believe this was all really happening.

Obviously nobody could, Bakugou looked as distant as ever, packing up and heaving his bag onto his shaky shoulders.

Kirishima’s hand came up from his pocket and glinted against the sun, the metal of a small gun shining in the light pouring from the window. He handed it to Kaminari, who sent a sad smile. Kirishima smiled back, pulling him into a manly hug once he handed it off. Everyone’s goodbye’s were interrupted, the door suddenly leaning in, creaking and about to fly from it’s rusted hinges. I hastily opened up the window, looking down into the far down dead streets below. I panicked and scanned the area. Bittersweet relief shocked through my system. A staircase. A super rusty and skinny metal staircase hooked out of the apartment looking part of the building beside ours. If we could just make it over-

I tried to organize my scrambled thoughts among the gun shots. Kaminari shouted at us to go, doing his best to fend off whatever was about to break through the door. Everyone looked to me, standing with my head halfway out of our only escape. I had to think, fast.

I spotted a piece below the window that stuck out slightly. The worn down white trim that wrapped around the walls below each row of windows. It only stuck maybe five or six centimetres out, not even, but if it was your only chance...

“Kirishima!” He came to my side. I needed reassurance. “Do you think we could go along there and get to that staircase?” He shook his head and readied himself, already climbing out of the window.

“It’s our only shot!” I turned away from him, looking for something to do in the mean time.

“That crazy motherfucker...” Bakugou swore under his breath, taking his eyes off of Kirishima to look back to Kaminari with a subtly admiring yet pitying look on his features. Him and Izuku hurried out the window next, I tried to avoid eye-contact at all costs.

..:::::..

I readied myself to go too, but...

Jirou stood frozen like a statue, her form small compared to the persistent teen in front of her. His lightning bolt bangs stuck to his hot face, his frail looking form had retreated to holding the cracking door back with all of his might. I knew it’d burst open, and we’d be drowning in merciless monsters within seconds. I panicked, meeting Denki’s desperate honey eyes one last time. They practically screamed at me to do something, anything, to save her. Jirou’s legs shook, her body stiff. I shouted.

“We have to go!” She didn’t budge, she didn’t even blink. I reached out to her, only to have her yank away from me. I grabbed her arm again, not even waiting for a reaction. I concentrated, my quirk activating at the sudden contact. I turned away and missed a creamy white light flash across her glassy eyes. I dragged her to the window, the hungry cries and fists pummelling the door starting to drive me nuts. I lifted myself to step out of the window, finding the tiny space of footing and got ready to flatten myself against the beige wall. I watched Denki shut his tired eyes and sigh in relief peacefully. I felt terrible leaving him like this, sick even. I swallowed my emotions and begged myself to keep a level head. I can’t think about him right now... not now. I tried to ignore the guilt swirling in my stomach as I helped the emotionally-muted girl through the window.

We’d made it to the end of the line.

The corner of the building, where the small space for my feet ended, cut off by the humongous drop from the ledge into the streets below. The breeze taunted and terrified me, whipping across my cheeks and running through my hair. Practically screaming how close I was to being swallowed up by the empty streets of Musutafu. The staircase was way further away then it looked. Fear replaced my remorse, I felt a nervous sweat coming on. But a messy head of ash blonde hair in the corner of my eye surprised me. He must’ve stayed behind, because Kirishima nor Izuku were anywhere in sight. I looked over carefully to the blank expression on Jirou’s face beside me, wondering how she would handle this, not having any emotions to worry her at the moment. I looked back to Bakugou, my throat felt tight, my eyes watered at the merciless breeze, my breath picked up immensely. I froze, my vision feeling like it’d been clouded and faded to nothing. I felt fear, nothing but fear. The unpleasant feeling running all the way to my shaky fingertips pressed desperately against the chalky feeling wall. A familiar loud voice interrupted my thoughts.

“HEY! THE HELL ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!”

I blinked, the fear clouding my senses suddenly flying away with the afternoon breeze. Then all of the sudden I remembered who’d been standing on the skinny rusted steps across the huge gap ahead. Bakugou gripped the railing and leaned forward, the wind swishing through his crazy hair and his crimson eyes sharp against the washed out building.

“HURRY UP AND GET YOU’RE ASSES DOWN HERE!” I felt a random smile climb to my face, staring at him determined, shuffling just a little bit further to the edge. I bent my knees shakily but carefully, doing my best to assess how far I was from him, calculating my jump. I exhaled, trying to swallow my fears. He hung on to the railing cautiously.

I took a hopeful leap.

I reached for the railing, my legs desperately flailing for some footing midair. The railing came closer and closer, I prepared to latch on, it’s now or never. My feet scraped hastily against the side of the thing, my hand grappling onto the rusty metal for dear life. Then my heart stopped, I heard the metal railing let out a terrible sound, bending towards me like it’d throw me off. My body started to fall back. I lost my grip and panicked, but the moment the grainy rusted texture had left my desperate fingers, I felt something new replace it.

I only dangled for a second until I was yanked up. Bakugou pulled me up and I got over the railing. I sighed in relief, squeezing his hand and sending him a grateful grin. That was close. He looked at me and rose a brow, shaking me off and crossing his arms.

“Man y/n, do you really have to suck at everything?!”

Jeez, it’s not like he had to wait there.

But I was sure glad he did.

“Thanks Bakugou.” He rolled his ruby eyes and let his arms flop to his sides. I followed his perplexed gaze, looking up at the purple-haired girl, her leather jacket swaying in the breeze. She was still flat to the side of the hotel.

“The fuck is up with her?”

“It’s my fault, gimme a sec...” Her blank hollow stare was starting to get to me. Her dark eyes looking like a pair of marbles. I concentrated, squeezing my eyes shut. If I want this to work, I have to think of what I want her to feel, I have to think of...

-when I was in the Sports Festival, an intense competition that mattered a lot to me. I’d felt extremely competitive and determined, excited even.

When I opened my eyes, they were blank and took on a creamy glow, like there was a couple of weak flash lights in my head. I ignored Bakugou’s intrigued expression and looked up to Jirou. I need to make her feel like she can make this jump. Confidence, I thought.

Jirou shuffled closer, bending her knees and launching herself off the wall fearlessly. She made it, my eyes fluttered and the glow was gone. I grabbed Jirou’s hand and ran down the creaky steps, Bakugou lead the way.

..:::::..

We met up with Kirishima and Izuku. Bakugou yelled at them for waiting, even though he’d waited for us on the stairs.

I felt what should’ve been Jirou’s tears roll down my cheeks, since I’d grabbed her hand and stolen her emotions like I did. Reminding me of how we’d left Kaminari. Her ocean of sadness and waves of shock and frustration washed over me as we jogged. Jirou’s feelings of longing slowly sinking into me made turning around and running back to Kaminari all too tempting. It made me feel terrible, but I didn’t have a choice. Refusing to come with us would’ve put everyone in danger, and we couldn’t leave her there. She might resent me for it, but that’s not what he would’ve wanted. Kirishima came to a stop at a safe enough distance from the hotel, but Bakugou yanked at him to keep going, steering us in the direction of the drugstore where our car was parked. I tried my best not to look back at Jirou as we ran.

We went in, the bell hanging from the door crying out as Bakugou slammed it shut. His face creased with angry devastation hiding under his ash blonde locks. Everyone huffed and puffed, then went silent, making the room feel uneasy. I squeezed Jirou’s hand, a little hesitant to loosen my grip and let her feel again after we... after that. I had to do it. To keep the rest of us safe. She didn’t give me a choice! It was the right thing to do, I tried to convince myself, eventually letting go and shakily watching her wide and cloudy dark eyes flash blue then to her natural dark orbs. She looked at her fingerless gloved hands, flexing her fingers, then up at me with a worried yet confused expression. She backed away from me, into a wall. Sliding down and letting her head sink into her arms laying across her knees. It felt like someone had pierced a hole in my heart, it ached. I tried to ignore the pins and needles running up and down my tired calves and ankles and wiped my face, looking behind me. Kirishima was sitting on the floor by the counter, Izuku and Bakugou were still standing. The only difference between them being Bakugou was hiding his face in the space of a corner, his elbows by his head leaning against the wall. Izuku just looked distant and regretful. I looked around a little lost, eventually sinking down onto the floor leaning against the wall beside the door. I couldn’t believe this was happening. We’d found friends, only to have one of them taken away from us immediately. I pressed my hands to my forehead.

What kind of sick game is this?

..:::::..

Everyone stayed silent for a bit, until Izuku spoke up.

“We... should probably gather our things and move. It’s already gotten a little darker out...” he kept his eyes on the dirt speckled white floor. I heard the others shuffle up to their feet, then glanced to the side, Jirou didn’t move. I reluctantly walked over, keeping a careful distance from her. I crouched down a little, keeping a soft, hush voice.

“Jirou? H-how are you holding up?” I asked honestly, expecting her to either mope or whimper at me. But then again she didn’t look like that type of girl, I knew she was stronger than that. So the possibility she lashed out at me didn’t seem so crazy either. I watched her heave her head from her arms, eventually standing up. I straightened up too, trying to meet her hurt eyes. I watched her shoulders and jaw tense, her fists curling up with her eyes squeezed shut. I watched her one shoulder raise up slightly. And then-

Everything happened so fast. And when it did, it left an empty feeling in my stomach, a stinging and sore sensation on my burning cheek.

My head was whipped to the side, my body weight had retreated to the counter behind me, I gripped it tightly. The curled fist she’d used to hit me was hung up by her side defensively, ready to strike again. Her breath was heavy. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding all this time, daring to bring my eyes to Jirou’s blazing and anger-filled obsidian one’s. I heard who I’d guessed was Kirishima walk towards us.

“Jirou please-“

“How could you do that to me!?” Here it comes. I feared this would happen. She stomped up to me, shoving me back out of frustration. The pain and resentment in her voice showed through its cracks when she’d raised it even louder. “HOW COULD YOU MESS WITH ME LIKE THAT!” She took an aggressive step forward.

“I-I didn’t know what else to do...” I gave her the best reason I could, I couldn’t bring him up at a time like this. That’d only make matters worse. I looked at her empathetically, keeping my mouth shut. Let her snap at you, she deserves that at least. She grabbed handfuls of my t-shirt, bringing me closer to scream her heart out.

“You should’ve left me there...” She swallowed a whimper. “That was my choice to make! NOT YOURS! You made me leave him there you-“ her voice grew shaky and high, her death grip on my tee shirt loosened. “-you...” she stared into the ground in frustration. Looking at her like this made my heart ache, Kaminari must’ve really been important to her. Her weak grip slipped off and hung at her sides, her indigo bangs trying to shield her vulnerable state. I felt my eyes burn a little, pushing me to cry more, but I didn’t. Jirou didn’t make any more moves, her deadly demeanour vanished and was replaced with a broken-hearted looking girl. I gulped, leaning forward reluctantly and pushing her head into my shoulder lightly. She didn’t refuse, shaky arms soon clawing at my back as I tried to comfort her with a hug. I heard her let out a restrained sob, she cried into my shoulder. She squeezed me desperately, whimpering and pressing her forehead further in retaliation.

“D-dammit Denki...” it came out as a sad whisper, but I heard it. I gulped down my emotions for Jirou, trying to be strong for her. My eyes narrowed, burning into the cheap white flooring. The others watched in silence, we all held a moment in our hearts for Denki Kaminari... the energetic, stupidly blunt and humorous boy that Jirou, Kirishima, and Bakugou had all grown incredibly close to.

..:::::..

Eventually, we gathered supplies and retreated to the car. I was planning on asking where Jirou and Kirishima had come from, but left them alone to mourn instead. I’d tried to do the same with Bakugou, but I couldn’t help but feel his red eyes burning into the back of my skull. Finally, I leaned off of the hood of the car and turned to him expectantly. I met his blood red eyes, only to find him heading over after a second or two of glaring at me. He suddenly grabbed my wrist, ripping my arm away from hiding at my side.

“Hey!-“

“Aren’t you fucking forgetting something?”

I blinked, then glanced down, finding the arm of my restrained wrist looking just as bad as before. It still held a rainbow of reds, and yellows blooming from the swollen and sloppy stitches along my forearm. I hadn’t really forgotten, I’d just tried not to think about it as much as I could.

“No, not really.” I said casually.

He sent a glare my way, sharp mean eyes questioning me. I tried to shake him off, only to have his grip and tighten and his eyes narrow. “It’s the least of our problems right now,” I looked to the side with only my eyes. “it’s fine.”

I heard a growl rumble in his chest.

“Ugh. You’re worse than a fucking toddler...” I rose a brow, he started dragging me away from the car. “Sit.” He said sternly. I sat down leaned against the wall of the drugstore, a little confused. Bakugou was handling what had happened surprisingly well. Then again I don’t really know how else he would react to something like this.

I sat awkwardly, my arm flipped up and lengthy wound out in the open. I hated how vulnerable it made me feel. I looked up to Bakugou, who’d been digging through his bag. He pulled out a small tube of something, flicking the cap open. I waved my hands up in front of me, feeling a little protective.

“I-It’s okay, I can do that myself...“

“Tch. Just shut up.”

I sighed, it’s not like he had much else to do, I thought. So I didn’t refuse a second time. He put his empty hand out and looked me in the eye like I was some frightened disobedient kid. I narrowed my eyes and laid the back of my wrist into his hand reluctantly. The weird jelly substance felt extremely cold against my hot swollen skin, making me tense a bit. He looked up to my e/c orbs, then back to my injury.

“Jus’ stay fuckin’ still..” He mumbled. I huffed, trying my best. Surprisingly careful fingers spread the stuff from the tube across my burning raw feeling forearm, I’d guessed this was one way to get my mind off of things. I relaxed and eased into the wall behind me. My eyes read the shiny tube rolled onto the ground,

Petroleum Jelly

Bakugou picked it up to hide it away in his backpack, reaching inside for something else. I watched Bakugou groan at his backpack frustrated. He swore under his breath.

“Oi, Deku!” The moss-green haired boy had been looking at the dented locker door he’d kept from the school, probably thinking of what he could do with it. Izuku Midoriya whipped his head up in fear.

“Uh, y-yeah Kacchan?”

“Get over here.”

Izuku walked over, he seemed troubled. Bakugou rose my arm up a little, looking to the freckled boy.

“The fuck should I do with this?” Izuku examined my forearm, he sent me a sympathetic look and then grabbed his chin to focus.

“Hm... W-we should probably wrap it up with something. Actually... Now that I think of it...” He slid his backpack off of his shoulders, reaching inside. He took out a petite half torn up box. It’s white color faded and more on the beige-er side. A roll of gauze tumbled out onto Izuku’s scarred hand. “Here, this should help.” Bakugou glared unreasonably at the gentle boy, swiping it from his hand and looking back to me.

“Tch... Whatever, nerd.” He lifted my arm and wrapped it up. I felt more protected now that it was covered, regaining some of my confidence. I felt less vulnerable now that I had one less thing to worry about too. I looked over his shoulder, finding the emerald-eyed boy sending me an oddly curious smile as he rose a brow at the blonde. He handed Bakugou some sports tape he’d found too to finish it off.

I looked at my arm, it felt much cooler and secure now. My gaze shifted to the irritated eyes in front of me.

“Thank you.” I said. He looked away, filled his cheeks with air and blew out forcibly.

“Whatever, ‘s not my fault your so damn hopeless. Learn to take care of yourself will you?” His harsh bluntness brought a smile to my face. I’m the hopeless one? You can’t even accept a simple thank you.

I glanced over his shoulder, a pretty fiery sunset stretching out across the horizon. He stood up, I followed suit. The display of beautiful oranges and pinks and purples still grabbing my attention. I stared into the sunset, thinking about all that happened today. All we’d gone through. Bakugou walked away toward the car, Kirishima meeting up with him halfway. Izuku sat nearby with his supplies spread across the ground. Jirou was no where to be seen, but couldn’t have gone far. I looked back to the setting sun.

No matter this cruel world had left to throw at us, we’d fight on. We’d do it for Kaminari and whoever else we might lose along the way. I knew we’d move on and pull through. When though it didn’t seem like it right now, I knew we could do this.

..:::::..

——

Writing this hurt me :,(

NEXT

[aquawolfgirl]

Would you ever do a Ficklet with resistance Ben and him meeting rey when they’re on the same side?

Oooo now this prompt I love… I don’t usually write prompts that didn’t come from a list I reblogged, but I’ll make an exception for this one.

-

“Yeah, Chewie, I know it’s smoking! You don’t need to tell me!”

His uncle roars from above him, shoving a wrench beneath the X-wing Ben’s working on. 

“No, not that one, I need the y-wrench!”

Another roar.

“What the kriff do you mean you don’t have it, I just handed it back to you!”

Ben Solo-Organa rolls back out from under the X-wing, looking up at his uncle and frowning deeply, grease and grime all over his face. “I could’ve sworn I just handed it back to you,” he mutters, sitting up and rummaging through the toolbox.

“Ben!” 

“Little busy, Poe!”

“There’s someone the General wants you to meet!” 

“What part of ‘little busy’ don’t you understand, Poe?”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out so gruff, he really doesn’t. It’s just been a very long day, made even longer by this damn ship that refuses to work properly. And when they’re as low-budget as they are, they need every ship to work. 

“I just handed it back to you,” Ben mutters, running a greasy hand through his damp hair and frowning as he pushes nuts and bolts and tape and wrenches aside in search for the one he swears he just handed back to Chewie.

“Looking for this?”

It’s not a voice he recognizes. He’s been a part of the Resistance for as long as his mother has, which is to say since the very beginning. He knows everyone who’s on this base. And so the new voice startles him into looking up. 

His gaze lands on a slender, freckled hand, offering him the y-wrench. 

Well, kriff.

Figures he’d meet an angel while he’s covered in grease and grime and oil.

“Ben, this is Rey.”

“Hi.” Her smile is like sunshine. Her freckled nose crinkles with it. He’s going to blast Poe, seriously, for introducing this beautiful woman to him while he smells like sweat and engine oil and rusted metal-

PING!!

Something pops on the X-wing, the sound almost deafening. Whatever the hell it is hits the wall of the hangar with a metallic clang as gas shoots from the now open vent. 

“It’s the coolant vent!” Rey says immediately

“Yeah, I got that!” Ben snaps. He shouldn’t have snapped, no, that wasn’t nice, but the coolant vent is very important, and it really should not be leaking gas right now. “Chewie, I need-”

A wrench is pressed into his hand. 

“Thanks!” 

A roar comes from below and to the right. That wasn’t me.

He doesn’t get a chance to look, doesn’t get a chance to really register that it was the newcomer before Rey’s climbing up the side of the X-wing beside him, his toolbox underneath one slender arm. “The screws on the panel are rusted, it’s going to need new ones.”

Angel with an x-wrench. 

He’ll take it.

[recentanimenews]

Two Heads Are Better Than One: Anime's Best Mecha Co-Pilots

Ah, mecha. There’s nothing quite like watching giant robots beat the not-so-living nuts and bolts out of each other, or protect the world from some kind of impending onslaught of giant monsters. It’s impossible not to be teetering on the edge of your seat when the pilot suits up and hops into the cockpit. Maybe your brand of mecha is more realistic, with the pilot following proper protocol to launch. Perhaps your favourite flavour of mecha is all in the showmanship, where all it takes to boot it up is passion and an over-the-top transformation sequence.

  In some cases, piloting a mecha takes more than a pilot’s instinct or skill. Hell, it even takes more than courage, heart, or even destiny. When piloting a mecha, sometimes two heads is better than one.

    Quite literally.

  DARLING in the FRANXX's Hiro & Zero Two

  The most recent pilots to join the ranks of dual-piloted mecha are Darling in the Franxx’s Hiro and Zero Two. In place of any sort of petrol or fuel, the Strelizia seems to run purely on their devotion to one another.

    Well, maybe not just devotion, but it certainly starts there. Since the Franxx need both a pistil and a stamen to function properly, their love for each other only serves as a positive force against the Klaxosaur, and later VIRM. Despite warnings from every which way, Hiro and Zero Two revel in the fact that their union will bring about the change the world needs.

  With the show soon coming to a close, the bond between Hiro and Zero Two will either prove to be a catalyst in rejuvenating the world, or quite possibly the opposite. Only time will tell.

  Eureka Seven's Renton & Eureka

  Renton and Eureka might just be one of the most well-known of all dual-piloted mecha. After crashing at Renton’s granddad’s garage, Renton fell head over heels for her, even going as far as to risk his life to give her the Amita Drive.

    While his confession of love was completely foreign to her, she at least found it impossible not to note his bravery. She also found herself particularly impressed by his skill in co-piloting the Nirvash as if it just came naturally. She felt like she really found the right partner for the Nirvash.

  Eventually some jealousy over who their Nirvash preferred led Eureka to distrust and pull away from Renton. Though she soon enough finds that she misses him greatly - as does the Nirvash - and the two reconcile and confess their feelings. From there, the two fight their way against anything that gets in the Gekkostate’s way.

  Gurren Lagann's Simon & Kamina

  Sometimes, piloting a mecha requires going beyond the impossible and kicking reason to the curb. While the titular Gurren Lagann was initially two smaller Gunmen, it wasn’t until their fight with Viral that Kamina came to the conclusion that the key to victory wasn’t power or strategy. It's not even manly spirit, confidence or brotherhood. It was two heads. 

    Without hesitation, Kamina jams the Lagann into the Gurren - to initially hilarious results. However, the mass of spiral energy between these two brothers brought the two stolen mecha together to form one Beastman ass-kicking machine.

  After a certain even that some of us like to pretend never happened, Simon piloted the Gurren Lagann with a number of other characters, such as Rossiu, Yoko, and even their arch-nemesis Viral to defeat the Anti-Spiral’s Granzeboma. Suffice to say, if any anime could prove two heads are better than one, it’s it’s Gurren Lagann.

  Marriage of God & Soul Godannar!!’s Goh & Anna

  Questionable age difference aside, Goh and Anna’s relationship is one plagued by alien invasions. They initially met while battling the Mimesis, and had their wedding completely ruined when the Mimesis came to strike again. Fortunately, Anna’s wifely devotion lead her to find the Neo-Okusaer - a top secret robot she uses to save her beloved.

      Fortunately, the “two become one” allegory of marriage seems to extend to fighting aliens with giant robots. Anna merges her Neo-Okusaer with Goh’s Dannar, activating it’s Twin Drive to form the mighty Godannar!

  Despite the gratuitous fanservice, Goh never seems to have eyes for anyone but Anna. I guess the key to a good marriage (or good mecha) isn’t attraction. It’s gattai.

  Groizer X’s Joe & Rita

  The concept of dual-piloted mecha dates as far back as the 1970s with Groizer X. This old school mecha anime follows Joe and Rita as they pilot the titular Groizer X in an effort to fight off the Gaira invasion.

    After Dr. Yan was captured by the Gaira, who bided their time in the Arctic before enacting their invasion, he created Groizer X, and entrusted it to his daughter Rita. When Groizer X escapes the grasp of the Gaira, it makes a beeline for Japan, where Rita meets Joe. Without hesitation, Joe agrees to help her fight off the Gaira, and the two become an unstoppable force.

  Groizer X was created by Go Nagai, and received a 36-episode anime despite Nagai being busy with Mazinger. Brazilian anime fans might be familiar with Groizer X under the name O Pirata do Espaço, while Latin American fanatics might know it as El Justiciero.

  Gunbuster’s Noriko & Kazumi

  You can always count on Gainax for their ability to gather around the meeting room and say “you know what this mecha anime needs? Mecha that combine with other mecha!” This 1980s fan favourite paved the way for over the top mecha badassery we’ve come to love and expect from them.

    Gunbuster follows Noriko’s journey to follow in her father’s footsteps to become a space pilot. She’s eventually handpicked as someone with the potential for greatness, and must prove to everyone that she can be the pilot she yearns to be even if she’s just an ordinary girl. Along the way, she meets Kazumi, an upperclassman with whom she becomes enamoured with. Fortunately, Kazumi is one of many who believes in Noriko, which aides in their fight against the space monsters.

  Fun bit of trivia: Gunbuster was Evangelion auteur Hideaki Anno’s directorial debut. You can certainly see some of his directorial flair in it.

BONUS: Pacific Rim’s Raleigh & Mako

    You go ahead and tell me Pacific Rim isn't just a real life anime. Go ahead. I'll wait. This 2013 Guillermo del Toro picture featured a number of nods to various Japanese media such as anime, mecha, and kaiju films. There's no better director that could pay homage to these genres than del Toro. The man himself has some of the greatest taste in anime and manga, recently showing off his own collection, much of which included manga from the likes of Junji Ito and Osamu Tezuka. 

  Pacific Rim takes us through a world ravaged by Kaiju, the likes of which are fought off by Earth's last hope: the Jaegers. The Jaegers require two pilots, joined through a mental link known as a drift. The stronger the sync between the two pilots, the better chance humanity has at saving the world.

  While Raleigh and Mako's first drift in their Gypsy Danger saw the destruction of the Shatterdome, they eventually rose to becoming the last ditch effort humanity could depend on.

  What do you think? Are mecha with two pilots better than one? Are mecha with more than two pilots better than those with two? Sound off in the comments below!

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Zach Godin writes about the manga he reads and collects over at his website, Rusted Culture. Feel free to say hi on Twitter: @zachjgodin

By: news+feed@crunchyroll.com