#those monkeys are all scrambled its so fucked up

[roadkill-raccoons]

just found out about your peachblood au but can't quite figure out what the story is or what it's about. it looks like some kind of apocalypse AU, but other than that I don't know anything ;-;

By the way, your art is beautiful!

AHH im sorry 😭, im not good at writing down my thoughts into ways that are understandable

I wouldnt say theres much of a story other than the beginning.

This au is heavily inspired by adventure time, a little bit of steven universe, the last of us and some story me and a friend where making but completely forgot about, plus the weird shit that goes on in a my dreams.

Yes its an apocalyptic story, i made it as a massive excuse to draw some weird ass shit when i felt like it.

It mainly starts with Mk traveling alone just trying to live and eventually find peachy (that pink monkey) scrambling around in a peaches box in a old corner store.

Mk and and the monkey travel for a bit before they run into macaque and bai he, where macaque decides to fuck with Mk nearly getting him and peachy killed multiple times.

After they escape macaque they run into a forest that they stay in for a couple weeks, going deeper into the forest where they find monkey kings staff, laid in front of an empty grave for the undead monkey, the six eared macaroni macaque.

Mk did not remember who the monkey king was since he spent most of his life trying to live after tang and pigsy passed, so despite being in a very magical looking place he takes the staff as a form of protection, somehow assuming its just a regular staff that someone lost, he does learn a bit from a comic he found.

Mk and peachy travel for couple months in different cities where each were filled with strange creatures (i have so many failed sketches for these creatures) most of these creature use to be people or animals that were affected by a man made virus that a demon (lbd) took advantage of.

Mk and peachy eventually find boat while running from something and use to it to escape, where they float around in the ocean surviving on backpack food and fish for about a month before washing up on flower fruit mountain, yeah mk somehow slept through sailing through those big ole fiery mountains, peachy didn’t tho.

Once mk woke up he saw the villages at the top of the mountains and wanted to go up the tallest one to ask for help.

He finds monkey kings little hut but not monkey king, since it was empty he fell asleep, where he woke up to wukong poking at him non stop

After that mk spends a month learning who wukong really is and what he did and can do (he learns through the monkey villagers, not wukong hes basically become a lazy dad after being alone for so long) after a few attempts wukong agrees to travel with mk for a while. Peachy didnt totally try to fist fight three baby monkeys

That where the main story ends and rest is just mk and wukong doing whatever. Not much of a story afterwards since then its just kinda open for interpretation, dilly little ideas n shit

Hopefully this is all understandable, im used to describing shit in very strange ways. I actually also keep forgetting about it too :,3

If none of this makes sense you can also go thru the #peachblood au tag

And lastly 🥺🥺thnk you!!!!

[soshinee]

super monkey ball is messed up for a lot of reasons but it’s extra fucked up that they sent baby with the team to go get the bananas back. like aiai, meemee, and gongon are all adult monkeys but baby literally can’t even walk. also i just remembered that baby is aiai and meemee’s child wtf. they’re going to defuse bombs inside volcanoes and getting swallowed by whales and they’re taking their infant child with them wtf. what is he supposed to do, cry? oh my god his skull is still soft these monkeys are horrible parents oh fucking hell

[themrsackerman]

Angel of Paradis

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Warnings: Spoilers from Season 4. Mentions of gun violence, blood, death

A/N: Now I know EP8 is only the beginning of the end but goddamn it hurts!! I love potato girl and losing her just tore me to bits. So here, take this. Its my way of coping I guess..

Levi is pissed off. From the start, he disliked the plan but it wasn't like Eren gave you all much of a choice. So the moment the kid got on the airship, he was welcomed with one of the captain's infamous kicks. The cockpit wall quakes with the impact and Hange sighs, shooting you a look. "I think you need to get out there and make sure Levi doesn't kill Eren, Y/n." She says exasperatedly and you nod, rising from your seat next to Onyankopon.

"I'll be right back." You say and she flashes you a knowing grin, shaking her head slightly. Even the commander knows you're the only one who could reign in the Levi Ackerman.

You see Levi on the corner glaring at Eren as he was being tied up. You sigh heavily, seeing Eren steaming as he heals. Jaw probably unhinged from the captain's kick. You sat beside him on the bench and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping his face clean from dirt and blood.

"Y/n-san." He greets you monotonously and you gave him a kind smile. "Hey, kid." You greet back, tucking loose strands of his now long hair behind his ear.

Your heart aches at the sight. He used to have so much fire, had the same will to fight for humanity that you only ever saw in your mentor, Erwin. Now all you see is ember of pure hatred and cold blooded need for revenge. "I'm glad you're okay." You murmur. Eren's blank stare softens for a second and a small smile hints the corner of his mouth. "Glad to see you too, Lieutenant." He says quietly and out of the corner of your eyes, you see Levi roll his eyes and make a disgruntled sound as he turns around.

You walk up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Levi meets your gaze with his dull gray ones for a second and sighs, his expression softening too. At this you smile a little and say, "We still have a long battle to fight ahead of us, Captain. Things might not have gone smoothly, but we won today." You remind him and as if proving your point, right on the other side of the ship you hear the soldiers celebrate as they reunite.

"You're right." He agrees. Levi then takes a deep breath and grabs the hand you placed on his shoulder so he can bring it to his face. He turns his head and placed a chaste kiss on your palm. Your heart flutters at the gesture. It isn't grand but was still something you couldn't quite get used to. You two never declared your love for one another, never really had the luxury of time or chance to do so, but small acts like this was enough to let you know that your presence provided him the calm he sorely needs. And that was all you want. Be his peace in this war.

"I'm going to check if the rest of the squad made it back up." You tell him, grazing your thumb on his lower lip and he reluctantly lets you go. "Be back as soon as you can. Meeting will start as soon as this fucking monkey heals enough." He says, cold glare flashing at the other Jaeger who is a pile of steam still laying on the ground. "Okay, I'll just check on Lima's squad. They're the last ones to be picked up supposedly." Levi nods again and watches you leave before turning to talk to Yelena.

You smile past Floch and the other soldiers who are weeping, hugging and making their tributes for those whom had fallen in battle. You then saw three of the soldiers you've grown close with through the years. They were huddled in the corner, sharing a hug.

You hear Jean say in protest, "Dont hug people with that lump ass iron gear on.", while shrugging off Connie's arm. You chuckle at this and tackled him back to the embrace. "Shut the hell up, Jean. I would take Connie's armored hugs any day!" To which the trio whines out, " Lieutenant Y/l/n!!" when you squished them tight.

Although the new gear designed by Hange was in deed not made for hugging, you four relaxed in the uncomfortable embrace. Grounded by the fact that you all made it safe despite the battle you had just gone through. Connie and Sasha smile up at you while Jean tries to still look annoyed, although the softness in his eyes says otherwise.

The soldiers left below start coming in and the cheering just grows even louder. You didn't have the heart to stop them because you yourself are quite happy that today was a success despite some casualties. Now, you have the War Hammer titan as well and were able to destroy the fleet. Now, the Eldians' chance stands higher against this damn war.

"Did you hear that just now?"

Sasha asks out of the blue and you turn to her in wonder. Honestly you couldn't hear anything but the soldiers celebrating. But out of the lot of you, you know Sasha's sense of hearing is far superior than all of you combined. So you take a step back from the crowd and actually looked around.

"Hey, quiet down!!"Jean yells over the chanting but Floch shouts, "Make some noise! Victory!!!" And was echoed by the rest as they embraced and pumped their fists in the air.

"Hey!" Jean tries again only to be pulled by Connie to the side to ask, "Isn't Lobov-san still out there?"

"No, I think he came aboard." Jean says thoughtfully and this was when something didn't sit quite right with you. Commander Lobov is a man that is hard to miss. And with his dedication to this mission to make up for his years being a useless garrison, he would be amongst the soldiers cheering the loudest for the said victory.

Your instincts has never failed you before and its the very reason why you are so good at your job and able to survive this long. But sometimes, you wish that your instincts aren't always right because you always perceive danger. And right now, every fiber of your being is telling you something is fucking wrong.

That if you were to look out the airship right now, you'll probably see the commander lifeless.

Or worse, an enemy may have made its way up to the ship.

Your blood runs cold for a split second before you acted purely out of instinct. You shove Sasha to the side, dreading as you head for the airship's side door and at the exact moment.. someone aboards.

Your gaze met the kid's muddy brown ones. It was determined, filled with fury and you saw that there isn't any trace of hesitation as her finger pulls the trigger. You knew you didn't stand a chance judging by look on her face and her sure aim on your torso. The word of warning you want to let out was caught in your throat as she fires.

You remember seeing those crazed brown eyes and then the ceiling of the airship the next. The sensation of what can only be compared to fire piercing your skin spreads through your chest and insides like molten metal. You hear the indistinct noise of the soldiers' voices grow louder yet muffled at the same time around you.

From happy cheers to manic, hysterical screaming.

You couldn't catch your breath at first and you aren't sure from which. Was it from falling flat on your back? Or was it the searing pain that made tears leak from your eyes?

And then above the chaos, you hear your three closest comrades call your name in unison.

"Lieutenant Y/n, hey!!!" Connie's frantic voice shrill through the limited space of the ship. "Hang in there, hey!" You feel him rattle you, placing his rough calloused hand against your cheek. Jean's panic stricken face comes to your field of vision and you whimper,  "A kid." You gasp. "In the airship."

"Bandages! Now! We need to stop the bleeding!" Jean commands shakily and the rest of the soldiers that aren't capturing the two intruders scramble to get the med kit and the captain.

"Y/n-san, please hold on until we make it to the island!!" Connie pleads but hopelessness crawls his veins as he sees your blood flood the wooden floors.

"Keep him safe." You whisper out to nobody. The captain in mind. Your eye lids grow heavy but you didn't want to close them. No. You can't die. You promised him.

"Don't you dare die on me, Y/l/n." His voice echoes in your mind, compelling you to keep breathing despite how excruciating it feels.

Sasha who was frozen at first, snapped out of her shock as she hears Connie's voice call your name out of sheer panic when your eyes fall close. She then runs to meet the soldier carrying the bandages and was at your side in an instant. With trembling hands, Sasha tries with all her might to wrap you up and stop the bleeding.

"No, no, no, no!!" She starts sobbing while watching the bandage turn red, your gushing blood seeping through no matter how tight she puts the wrap around you. "Y/n-san, no, you can't leave us like this." Sasha hiccups, wiping her tears hastily before grabbing your now cold clammy hand and pressing it to her face. "Please!" She cries, eyes falling close.

If you hadn't pushed her, if you didn't step in her place, it would have been her that got shot. Guilt rakes through her as she watches you desperately fight for your life.

You can feel yourself drifting and you felt helpless. You then meet Sasha's, Jean's and then Connie's gaze, muttering with your remaining strength, "Protect him." And it was no request but an order.

Jean stumbles away, his hands going over his ears, unable to stand your labored breaths and Connie and Sasha's whimpering. Jean felt like hurling when Floch turned the kids to him. The other responsible for you being on the brink of death.

But to those two kids, they are the enemies who wreck havoc to their hometown. Floch wanted to kill them and throw them out but what good would that do? Would taking their lives save yours? And knowing you, who practically treat soldiers like them like your kids even though you were just a few years older than them, you would be disappointed in him at the mere thought of hurting these kids.

Jean can almost hear your angelic voice, "They're just children." You would say. So with a vexed expression and heavy turmoil growing within him, he ties them up and led them to where the captain and commander are.

Jean swallows hard when the captain's cold gaze met his and asks, "Who are these kids?"

By the looks of it, he still does not know.

"They killed Lobov-san and used his gear to come aboard." A lump forms in his throat, suddenly can no longer meet the captain's gaze. "A-and this one here, she.. shot Lieutenant Y/l/n."

Levi's eyes widen. Did he just hear Jean correctly? You? Shot? You were with him just minutes ago. No, how is that possible?-

"Captain, I-I don't think she'll make it." He continues, voice faltering. The grievance in Jean's face make Levi's blood run cold. He stumbles forward a bit as Armin and Mikasa run past him but he seemed frozen in his tracks.

No.

You got hurt but you'll pull through this. You always have. You promised him. And you are one of the toughest people he knows.

Levi tries to convince himself as he glared back at Zeke. He tries to distract himself from the cold fear of losing you with the blinding rage he feels for the Beast Titan wielder. But then, the door swings open again and Levi felt something terribly wrong right away.

And when Connie appears with tears sliding down his face and says,

"Y/n-san.. is dead."

Levi's entire world shifts.

Everyone was shellshocked for a moment. Because how could you be gone just like that? When you were just with them just minutes ago providing comfort to all of them? Passing by and giving them a wave of peace and calmness like the angel that you are.

Hange wobbles, her knees growing weak and its as if someone had punched her in the chest. The pain reminiscent as the day she watched Moblit vanish before her eyes. You were her right hand woman. Her confidant.

Eren's head hung in disbelief. His mind clouded by your kind smile just earlier and telling him you're actually glad to see him. Him. The monster who had just devastated a whole town and killed probably thousands of people. He thought that by now, he'd have gotten used to losing the people around him but losing you is gutting him. Its was like losing family. A sister.

"Connie.. did Y/n-san have any last words?" He asks mindlessly, wanting to know what your last thoughts were. Connie blinks through his tears and his eyes drifts to the captain, whose face was undreadable and knuckles threatening to split open at how tightly his balled fists are clenched.

"She said.. 'Protect him.'" Connie mutters and Levi's facade breaks.

The mob of weeping soldiers parted as the captain staggers to the back of the ship where you lay. Armin and Mikasa were still curled up beside you, their faces red and puffy from wailing. Both of them reluctantly stood up and stepped away as he walks closer. His gaze was still trained on the ground as he puts one foot in front of the other.

He shudders and stop midstep as his foot steps on the crimson stained wood. Before he knows it, he falls on his knees with a thud. Your pale hand comes into his field of vision and he takes a deep shakey breath as he reaches for it. His eyes darts everywhere but your face. The bandage on your middle, the boots on your feet that he had his fair share of shinning as his token of appreciation for you making his morning teas, the emblem of the Wings of Freedom embedded on your breast plate.

Your hand felt cold and stiff against his. A stark contast of the warmth it exuded on his cheek just moments ago.

"Y/n?" He croaks.

Suddenly his breathing shallows as the deafening silence stretches on. He can still smell you but can no longer feel you although you're right fucking there. Levi wanted this to some fucked up nightmare. But then, as he steels his nerves and finally looked at your face, his heart shatters.

Your hair is uncharacteristically dishevelled, e/c eyes lifeless, pupils middilated and your mouth parted ever so slightly.

Levi pulls you in his arms frantically, plethora of would have been and should have been anchoring his heart into a sea of regret.

He should have never let you out the damn door.

He should have held you tighter.

He should have you talked to you longer.

He should have told you.. he loves you.

He never even got to tell you.

Levi's face crumples, face reddening before a resentful yell erupts from him. The soldiers wince at the sound. It was pure agony and it pierces through each and everyone of them, bringing the lot of them back to tears if they ever stopped in the first place.

The entire flight back to Paradis, Levi held you the way he wished he did while you were still with him.

[goblin-gardens]

How do you find your found family? With a compass, of course. Hopefully they're always north of you.

EXU, 1611 words, all this is based off of is episode 1 vibes.

He's made it back to the place they're supposed to meet up before anyone else... but as he looks up at the statue he's waiting by, he realizes it looks different than it had this morning. From this angle, the marble statue almost looks bronze. The plaque on the base shares no secrets with him, either. He doesn't remember the name of the mage well enough to look for it among the words.

He sidles politely up to a man selling baked goods from a storefront. "Sorry to bother you," he says. The elf looks friendly enough. "I'm supposed to be meeting my friends by a statue of a mage? Is there one of those nearby?"

"Sure," the elf points first behind Dariax and then to the side. "There's the Vysoren statue at the north end of the Promenade, and there's a few in the park a few streets over. Can I offer you a doughnut for your walk?"

Dariax surveys the choices as the merchant begins to describe each flavor in detail. "I'll take one of each," he says decisively. That's enough to give one to each of his friends and still have a couple for himself.

Armed with fresh supplies, he stops at the crossroads. He can't see any other statues from where he is, so he places his compass in his palm and gives the needle a good spin while he munches on his first doughnut. When it slows, it's pointing off to his left, and as he follows its direction, he sees Opal's shining hair as she turns a corner and heads away from him.

"Hey! Hey Opal!" Dariax almost drops the bag of doughnuts as he scrambles to catch up. "Wait for me! I'm coming too!"

She turns around and waves with a huge smile as soon as she sees him. Dariax triumphantly offers her first choice of the doughnuts.

And they might get lost once or twice more before they find the right statue, but they make it with two doughnuts left. Dariax splits one with Dorian, and Fearne and Ormyn split the other with none left over for the monkey, which Dariax counts as a resounding success.

He's sitting at a bar, enjoying a cup of good ale, Dorian's music from the far side of the room, and the company of the pretty bartender, now that the night is later and the customers have slowed down.

Not all the way down, since it's a big place and she's the only one working. She laughs at Dariax's jokes, but when a trio of well-dressed merchant types sit down at the far end of the bar, she heads off. This time, without any assurance that she'll be back.

It doesn't ruin Dariax's mood any. Without her to talk to, he slips into a quiet, buzzy contentment, happy to savor his ale and the dry warmth after a day slogging through wet mud. He watches the way the firelight flickers on the glass bottles behind the counters for a while, a little drunk and a little hypnotized. When he feels his eyes start to cross, he shakes his head and sits up. He hadn't realized how far he'd slumped over.

The wood of the bar is the same color as parts of his compass rose. He turns the pendant over in his hand and gives the needle an idle spin. It settles pointing to his right, and Dariax is surprised and pleased to find Orym sitting beside him.

He knocks his mug companionably against the halfling's smaller, fuller cup. He doesn't recognize the drink in it. "All right then, Orym? You took some pretty hard hits there earlier."

"All right," Orym agrees. "Thanks to your help."

Dariax fills up to his ears with pride and warmth, and throws an arm around Orym's shoulders, pulling his whole stool closer in. "Of course! That's what friends are for, right?"

The bartender returns, bustling. "Need any refills, lads?"

"I'll have one of what he's having," Dariax tells her, gesturing at Orym's cup.

She raises an eyebrow but turns to grab a bottle from a shelf.

"Wait," Dariax whispers to Orym, "is that very expensive?"

"No," Orym whispers back, smirking. "Just not alcoholic."

But Dariax can't back out now. He only picks up the cup once the bartender has turned away again, and prepares himself to say something polite about whatever it is.

He takes a sip. Then one more. "Hey! That's actually pretty good!"

Orym chuckles into his cup. Dariax grins, so wide his cheeks hurt.

It's moved from late at night to very, very early in the morning. The moons have both set, even the crickets have stopped singing and gone to sleep, and Dariax is concerned that the sounds he's hearing in the woods is a pack of wolves coming to rip their throats out.

Dorian is the one who woke him up, so Dariax shouldn't bother him. Opal screamed and slapped time last time he woke her up, so he doesn't want to do that again. That leaves Fearne or Orym... Orym also hates being woken up, and the fucking monkey is curled up like a furry, smoldering teddy bear in Fearne's arms. No good options.

Dariax hears the noise again, and sees a treetop across the fire shake slightly. Wolves climbing trees? That's very bad. He looks anxiously between Orym and Fearne, hoping one of them will wake up on their own.

No dice. Stumped, Dariax picks up his compass rose and gives the needle one tiny little tap. It quivers and points at Fearne.

Maybe that's a good call. Little Mister can go up the tree and fight the wolves there. Dariax leans over and gingerly shakes Fearne's shoulder.

Her eyes pop open and her ears flicker as he puts his finger to his lips, then points out to where he heard the noise.

"I think there's something out there," he whispers. "Maybe wolves."

Fearne sits up quietly, sliding the monkey down onto her bedroll gently enough that he only mutters and rolls into the warm spot she leaves behind.

"I have a way to see," she whispers back, and casts a spell that Dariax doesn't recognize. Everything around them seems to catch fire for just a moment, then the light settles into a dim, smoldering blue, outlining their sleeping friends around the fire, each leaf of the trees and bushes around them...

and the family of startled raccoons staring down at them from the trees.

Fearne giggles, and Dariax slumps in relief. "Not wolves," she says, and pats him on the shoulder. The light around them fades like an ember dying, and they sit and watch the forest wake up around them.

Dariax is feeling very proud of himself for smooth-talking the smith into a discount. His spear is looking sharp and shiny, and he picked up some new daggers for Opal with the extra cash he'd saved. They're just normal, not as pink as her favorites, but pretty good all the same.

He'd offered to get Dorian's axe sharpened as well, but apparently it doesn't work that way.

He's heading back to their spot, following the sunset down the main road, when he hears a noise from an alleyway to his left. It's soft, but as he listens closer, it resolves into music, an unfamiliar melody that seems to draw him in.

Dariax shakes his head and turns back down the well-lit, populated main road, which has no suspicious music.

He takes a few steps away.

He squeezes his eyes shut and counts to ten, but that doesn't make him move any farther down the main street.

He turns to the alley. He turns away. He takes out his compass rose and shakes it, listening to the music all the while. It has a rhythm, but the single notes feel lonely, like it's supposed to be part of a larger piece.

The needle settles, and points straight down the alley. Dariax follows.

There's a little garden at the end of the alley. It's full of flowers he thinks that Fearne would love, and a fountain gurgling cheerfully in the center.

He doesn't try to move sneakily, but Dorian's eyes are closed when Dariax comes around the corner, flute raised to his lips, a focused expression on his face as he repeats a phrase before moving on.

Dariax stands and watches quietly for a moment, swept up in the music, before he clears his throat. Dorian startles and the music ends in a squeak.

"Sorry," Dariax says into the sudden, awkward quiet. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

Dorian fixes on a blinding smile and gives his cape a little flourish, sliding the flute back onto his belt. "Nonsense, my friend! I was just it was time for me to rejoin the group."

He slides past Dariax and starts back down the alleyway. Confused, Dariax looks regretfully at the little garden and hurries to catch up with his long-legged friend.

"You know, I can't play the flute or sing too well, but I bet I could beat on a drum, or a tambourine or something." He searches for the right words as Dorian keeps moving. "If you wanted some accompaniment someday. That song sounded, I don't know. Lonely?"

"Oh," Dorian says quietly. He stops and turns to Dariax. "I suppose it does."

"I bet Opal can sing alright," Dariax muses.

"And Little Mister can play the piano?"

Dariax scowls. "I don't know about that. I just mean, you don't have to play alone all the time. Just, keep that in mind."

Dorian gives him a real smile now, small but honest. "Thank you, I will."

[secondhand-trash]

Love at First Bite

A/N: we love a man who can cook where can I find myself an osamu (and yes this is an excuse for me to write about food)

Pairing: Miya Osamu x reader

Description: Your story with Miya Osamu began with tears, rain, and really good food.

Word count: 5270

Playlist:

Making Breakfast//Twin Peaks

Sunday Kind of Love//Etta James

Baby I’m Yours//Arctic Monkeys

-

You met Miya Osamu on what felt like the worst day of your life.

“I don’t feel the same about you anymore.”

The words that your boy- no, ex-boyfriend said to you rang in your ear. You could not get it out of your head ever since he uttered those few words in front of you, leaving you dazed and alone on the street as he turned away without even looking back. 

He did not even look back, not even bothering to see the look on your face and hurt in your eyes as the reality sat in.

I don’t feel the same about you anymore.

What the fuck was that even supposed to mean? Your face heated up at the anger that was starting to boil up. It was humiliating how you just stood there and say nothing as he walked away, you could have at least say something smart, or demand an explanation. But instead, you stayed still like a block of wood.

Pathetic, maybe that was why he got tired of you.

It did not work. You tried so hard to shake off the echo in your head of last voice you ever wanted to hear at that moment but the more you tried, the louder it was in the void of your mind. You hated how easy it was for him to walk away and how hard it was on you, you hated how you could barely even think straight as you mindlessly walk along the straight road ahead, taking turns whenever there was one without even having a single thought.

There was a moment when you stared at his figure as he walked away and felt the urge to say something that would make him stay, and that was the worst part of it all.

How sad, how pathetic.

The streets were getting dark and one by one, the shops along the sides dimmed their lights. It was late and you should go home but just the thought of being along made your stomach twisted into knots. 

There would be no one waiting for you when you get back, which you should have gotten used to by now. But being by yourself was one thing, the thought of there being no one you could go to anymore was another.

You had not felt so lonely in a long while, and you weren’t sure how to deal with this foreign hollowness.

You did not want to be surrounded by nothing but four walls. You knew that the voices in your head would be clearer and louder when you were accompanied by nothing but silence. At least when you were out, wandering on the empty streets, you had the eyes of the people walking by to keep you from breaking down completely in fear of the looks you might get, a sad attempt at convincing yourself to stay strong.

But the reality was that the emotions that were boiling up at the depths of your chest were starting to bubble up, and you had never wanted to cry so badly.

You grimaced when you felt the bead of water rolling down your chin, then you realised that it wasn’t you.

It was like the sky could sense your conflict and it decided to cry on your behalf when you were o hellbent that you wouldn’t be vulnerable. It started off as sparse drops of water on your face until the silver strings of water became a downpour. 

You were a mess as you scrambled to find cover, clutching your bag close to your chest as you ran under the rain, barely able to see what was in front of you. Amidst the heavy veil of rain that covered the street, you spotted a distant glow. A warm light from afar, and with your clothes soaked through and your brain tangled by every train of thought that had been bothering you, your feet moved on its own.

You just wanted somewhere you could be, somewhere you could hide for even just a second.

“I’m sorry, we’re closed-”

The man standing by the counter turned around at the sound of the wooden door being slid open. He was holding a cup in hand and a towel in another, clearly in the middle of closing things up. He froze in place when he saw you standing by the door, drenched from top to bottom and your eyes looking down. Your shoulders were drooping down, your lips quivering as your chest rose and fell to the heavy breaths that you were struggling to maintain. You looked like a mess and shame burnt through your face when you realised you were barging into someone getting ready to be finished with their day, unlike you who were just finding a place to escape to.

He paused and stared at you for a while before slowly opening his mouth again, “Welcome, take a seat wherever you like.”

You felt the lump at the back of your throat at this stranger letting you stay even though it was likely that you being there wouldn’t be anything but helpful to his work. Your dignity wanted to say that you wouldn’t want to be a bother and that you would be leaving soon but as the loud crack of thunder made your body shock, you swallowed it down and muttered a soft thank you as you pulled out the tall stool right in front of the bar table.

The crisp sound of rain drops falling onto the ceiling and the occasional thunder filled the empty shop as you sat there. You stared at your crossed hands that were in front of you, your brain completely blank as the wetness of your clothes slowly seeped through. You shuddered at how cold the layers felt, trying to curl up on your seat as a last resort for some warmth. The man, who you assumed to be the owner of this shop, was at the back and you wondered if it was because he took pity at how disheveled you were and decided to give you some space.

You could hear the occasional clank of ceramics and pots from the kitchen. Warm lights, steam that was slipping past the door curtain, the clicks of gas stoves being turned on. It all felt so terribly like home. Not the small apartment that you had to be careful doing anything to in fear of losing your deposit, the one where you could hear the sound of the tv even at the door right as you step in, the one with someone waiting for you to be home, the one where you could smell the sweet scent of rice from the kitchen.

The one where you were not along.

You felt the tear prickling at the corner of your eye and you quickly brought your hand up to press against your forehead, forcing the soreness in your nose to go away. You had been on your own for so long and probably would be for even longer, you could not let your mind wander to places that would crush you down like that. Not now, not when you knew how hard it would hit you.

The click on the table in front of you broke you out of your spiraling thoughts, and your eyes widened as you looked up to see what was placed in front of you.

White streams rose from the black lacquerware, the shine and the patterns on top a sharp contrast to the onigiri placed on the plate by its side. They were rounded, put on a long rectangular plate side by side with a small stripe of nori wrapped around them. You could see each grain of rice clearly, the light made it looked like they were clear enough for you to see through it. You looked into the bowl to see pieces of vegetables and tofu floating in the cloudy liquid, the soft scent of miso filling your senses as you leaned forward.

Tonjiru and onigiri, how long had it been since you had this?

“You need something to warm you up.” the man said with a small smile, brushing the fallen strands of his silver bangs away from his eyes as he turned away from you.

You nodded as you took the bowl from the counter, your lips pursed together into a thin line at the million flavours that were in your heart. You let out a soft sigh at the heat on your finger tips. It had been awfully long since you had anything as homely as this, and your own breath melted in with the steam that was blurring over your vision.

You tasted the warm soup at the tip of your tongue with your first sip, slowly gliding down your throat into your stomach and then the warmth slowly spread across your entire body from your core. The onions were cooked through, melting into the soup and soft against like jelly. slices of potato were nearly mashed up, the sandy texture still permanent in your mouth even after you gulped it down. The pork was cut up into thin pieces, tender and with the flavour of the stock all blended in. You could still taste the vague hints of the stock between your teeth, your breath shaky as you hold the bowl in your hand.

They said life was made up of different flavours, and right now the flavour on the strings of your heart was salty, from the jar of sealed emotions that shattered on the ground at something as simple as a bowl of warm soup made handed to you by a total stranger.

You did not know you were crying until you tasted the saltiness at the corner of your lips, and you lifted the bowl to your mouth before the sobs could even leak out.

You gulped down the soup, despite how you felt like you were having trouble trying to breathe with the ache at the back of your throat. The man had his back towards you, continuing with cleaning up the many dishes piled up as you cried at the far corner away from him. He had never met you and in his head, you were probably just another annoying customer who took up the time he could have had to himself by being a sobbing mess in his shop, but there was a silent gentleness in the way he didn’t flinch or budge even once as your sobs slowly erupted in a bawl, like you were not there at all, like the fact you were there was just another part of his routine.

You had calmed down a little when you saw the bottom of the bowl, your cries now turned into broken whimpers. You took a small bite into the onigiri and smiled amidst your tears at the sweetness from the grain and the hints of vinegar that expanded in your mouth. There was no filling within, but just the taste of rice was enough to make you feel the purest form of joy. The sound it made when you bit down on the seaweed was nothing less than satisfying and as you felt the crunch between your teeth, the tears rolling down you face and making your chest ache stopped. 

The man’s hands slowed down as you stopped crying but he waited for a moment before turning around like he wanted to make sure that he would not interrupt you at a moment of vulnerability. 

“How much is it?” you asked. Your voice coming out much weaker than you wanted it to be, like you were out of breath and with a strong nasal from your earlier sobs. 

“It’s on the house.” the man said and he couldn’t hide the slight amusement behind his eyes as you visibly panicked.

“I really shouldn’t-”

“I can’t charge you for something that isn’t on par with our usual quality,” he said, pushing your hand that was holding your wallet away softly. You wanted to argue that it was the nicest meal that you’ve had in a while but he stopped you before you could even speak, “so please.”

You stared at him. His eyes were fixed on you, not once wavering during this exchange. You sighed, knowing that there was no way he would back down, and a sly grin found its way to his lips.

You thanked the owner again and again before you walked out the door. With a soft swish, you were alone on the street again but somehow you didn’t feel all too bothered by that.

The rain had stopped.

Taking a deep breath, you could smell the distinct smell of rain lingering in the air. Walking away, you took one look at the shop before you left. The door curtain hanging on the upper half of the door was flowing with the wind, the symbol of the shop printed on in white.

“Onigiri Miya”.

-

Onigiri Miya.

You looked up from your phone to the front of the shop and then back at your phone. 

You had deliberately put off coming again after last time for a couple of days, even though there wasn’t a moment when it wasn’t in your mind. Somehow, you were paranoid about if you actually had the face to show up again after the owner had practically seen you at your lowest point. It was embarrassing to be remembered as the person who barged in late at night and cried on someone’s bar table.

And it most definitely didn’t help that even with tears in your eyes and you practically struggling to breathe properly, you still clearly remembered that the owner was likely your age and very attractive.

Maybe you should just leave. Your legs planted firmly on the ground as you thought of everything that could happen if you go in there. But really, you should go in as a proper customer at least for once after the owner practically treated you to a free meal. You gulped at the reminiscence of the warm soup that washed down your system and the crunchiness of the nori, you could feel your stomach rumbling just at the thought of it. How was it that such simple food had such an impact on you that you couldn’t stop thinking about it? 

You would just go in there, eat your food, actually pay this time around and leave. What was the worst that could happen?  

But on a second thought, did you really want to go back in there? Did you really-

“Sorry to interrupt whatever deep thought you might be having,” you jumped at the voice from behind you and was shocked to see that it was the owner standing behind you. 

Wait, no, this wasn’t him. 

“But are you going inside?” the man pointed at the sliding door of the entrance.

“Yeah,” you blurted out and went to grab the door like it was exactly what you were about to do anyways, groaning inside at how your earlier conflict was all for nothing, “yeah, of course.”

“Irassha-” the man behind the counter, the actual owner, looked up as the door was slide open, “ara?”

“Samu...” the man brushed past you as he sat right at the center of the bar table but the owner didn’t look away from you and nodded in greeting which you immediately reciprocated, your eyes glancing between the two subtly. Seeing them side-by-side, you could now see that while their facial features were near identical, the two men had deliberately styled their hair differently and dyed them a different colour. The blond laid on the wooden table the moment he sat down, rambling on about how “people nowadays didn’t know what a good joke was anymore”. 

You gingerly picked the seat that was the furthest away from him, carefully pulling the stool and had your back straight as you looked around the store. You were too deep in thought that you didn’t even pay much attention to your surroundings the last time you were here. There was nothing fancy about the humble interior, the earthy tones of the wooden structure of the building and the warm lights that were used a very good compliment to the food it served. Down to earth and simple, but sometimes it was the simplicity that draws out the best flavour.

“What can I get you?”

Your back tensed up at the sudden attention that was put on you. The owner of the shop stood in front of you with his arms crossed and you tried your hardest to save yourself the embarrassment that your eyes immediately picked up on the way his biceps flexed under the black t-shirt that fit his form perfectly. You had already broken down in front of this man, the last thing you would want is for him to notice that you were subtly not-so-subtly checking him out.

“Oh,” you snapped out of your trance, your nerves returning as you felt him waiting for you to say something. “um...”

Leaning back, you looked around at the many items that were written on thin wooden boards hung right above the counter. Salmon roe, tuna with scallion, marinated plum, stewed pork... the list went on and on, and that was only for the onigiri. How were you supposed to make a decision when there were so many to choose from? 

Miya Osamu felt a foreign swell in his chest as your eyes racked over the menu. Your tongue slightly poking out as you were lost in your thoughts and it was like he could see you debating with yourself as your glance jumped back and forth. He did not get to talk to you when you first walked in but he immediately remembered you as the one who came in that night with the particularly heavy rain. Even as his twin’s blabbering held a tight grip on his attention, he could not help himself but stealing glances at your direction. He could see the way you sat with your back straight and your shoulders stiffed at the corner of his eye but right now, the previous density was all gone.

He would have to admit that he had been wondering if you would come back after your initial encounter. He was not keen on acknowledging that he had been waiting for you to show up again even though judging by the look on your face as you took that first bite, he was almost certain you would.

You were still not able to decide on what you want which normally would be quite an annoyance (especially if it was Atsumu being indecisive because seriously dude, why are you being conflicted? You would get the exact same thing in the end anyways) but he just found how serious you were to be oddly endearing. He was tempted to tease you a little, to see you flustered and panic a little but bite his tongue at the potential of you tensing up again.

“Do you want to try a new product?” and there it was, the subtle glint of excitement in your eyes that you immediately tried to hide, “It’s not out on the menu yet and I’ve been hoping to find someone to try it out.”

The blonde at the other side perked up, his cheeks puffed out as he chewed on the onigiri he had in hand. His voice was muffled as he spoke, “Wait, samu-”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” the owner snapped around before turning back to you with a smile, ignoring the look of discontent on his brother’s face. “So?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you were quick to nod, smelling the lingering smell of gunpowder in the air, “sure.”

The owner hummed and went to the back of the kitchen. You shuddered when you suddenly met the gaze of the man sitting opposite to you. Were you roped into some sort weird sibling rivalry? You wanted to look away but didn’t have the guts as he stared at you. His eyes pursed into thin lines as he chewed slowly before glancing at the kitchen and then back to you. His eyebrows quirked up as his eyes widened, his lips curling up like he had gotten something figured out. You let out a heavy breath as he finally turned his eyes back to his meal.

Ok, what was that supposed to mean?

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” 

You gleamed at the plate that was placed in front of you. Unlike the small rice balls from last time, this one was nearly the size of your fist and you could feel your mouth watering just at the smell of freshly cooked rice. 

Clasping your hands together and giving a quick nod, you picked it up and took a bite. You could not stop yourself from humming in delight when you bite straight into the filling, the flavour immediately filling your cavity. The distinct taste of toro hit you in full force, but the fishiness was not too overwhelming as the saltiness from the soy sauce balanced it out. The tuna was well marinated with the sauce soaking through each piece, small dots of roasted sesame seeds making it look extra enticing. You could taste the hint of sesame oil that followed as the fish melted on your tongue, the mix of flavours still left between your teeth after you swallowed. The sauce seeped into the rice surrounding the filling and you could taste the careful balance of saltiness and the aftertaste of the vinegar with each bite. 

Everything was just right, not one flavour outshining the other.

“How is it?” Osamu asked and chuckled as you frantically nodded.

He liked eating, but watching other people eat was a whole other kind of enjoyment.

He watched as you licked away the drop of sauce at the corner of your lips before taking a large gulp of the warm cup of tea in front of you, letting out a satisfied sigh as you held the rim of the cup by your lips.

“It’s so good,” you said, your voice muffled as you pressed the tissue against your mouth, “it’s marinated tuna right?”

You could see the blonde’s behind the owner shook when you mentioned the word “tuna”.

Osamu nodded, his chest puffing out in pride. “Tuna toro marinated in special soy sauce overnight.”

“You had something with a toro filling but you-”

Osamu turned around to give his twin a sharp glare, and Atsumu muttered about how this was the utter betrayal.

“It’s gonna be a hit if you put it on the menu,” you dipped your hand in your bag to search for your wallet, “how much is it?”

“Well, I can’t charge you for something that isn’t actually on sell.”

Your eyes widened. No, you were not going to let him give you free food again. “But-”

“Just get more food when you come back next time,” he said nonchalantly like it made total sense, taking the empty plate in hand and didn’t allow you the time the object, “ok, and that’s settled.”

You wanted to argue that it was not settled, but he didn’t look back as he disappeared into the kitchen again. 

Atsumu looked between his brother and you as you thanked him once again for the meal before leaving. He tilted his head as he watched Osamu smiled at the door even after you were gone. He looked at his twin, and then back at the door, tilting his head as he recalled your exchange earlier.

Next time? Next time???

Atsumu smirked, “You sly, sly bastard.”

“Shut up, tsumu.”

-

“Irasshaimase-” Osamu said, a small smirk gracing his features as he spotted that it was you pushing the door open, “arara?”

“I came to get my daily fix of Onigiri Miya onigiri.” you said in a sing song voice, plopping on your regular seat at the corner of the bar table. The store was bustling with people but somehow, the seat at the corner was always empty when you arrive no matter how many people there was. You greeted several of the other regulars that you recognised, leaning your chin on your palm as Osamu put down the cup of tea in front of you.

“What do you want today?”

“Hm... I don’t know...” your brows furrowed together. No matter how many times you had come here, there was still no way that you could decide on what to get at the spot. It felt like you were missing out on something no matter what you settled on. “What is the owner recommending today?”

Osamu laughed and you couldn’t help but grin. You weren’t sure if it was that he got you so hooked on his cooking that you were mistaking it as attachment or was it genuine attraction, but there was no denying that part of the reason you came back was for the young owner who managed to make the simplest of food tasted like something fit for a king.

“I think I have just the thing for you.” he said, filled with confidence as he turned around.

“Are you not going to tell me what it is?” you leaned forward as you yelled, snorting in amusement as a distant “nope” passed through your ears from behind the curtain. 

You closed your heads, tilting your head as you listened to the soft sound of ceramics clinking, the ticking of the stove and the sound of water boiling. This was nice, you thought to yourself, like home.

“There you go.”

You couldn’t help but laugh when you saw what he put in front of you, attracting the stare of several other customers but you didn’t care. Your cheeks were hurting from how wide your smile was as you took the black lacquerware in hand, humming as you smelt the delicious scent of miso with the stream.

“You are not reminding me of very happy times here,” you pretended to glare at him, your eyebrows quirking up as you sent him a look of judgment but your features softened when you took a sip of the soup. Same old taste, still brought the exact amount of warmth to your heart. Looking back, you were glad that things happened the way it was. There was no more pain left inside your heart when you were reminded of that night, only the simple gratitude that everything turned out alright.

You were doing better now than you were before, and with something to look forward to whenever you walked past the wooden doors that you now know so well.

You finished the soup in gulps, letting out a satisfied sigh as you closed your eyes to take in the flavour. 

It was a good thing that you had your eyes closed, or else Osamu couldn’t stare at you as shamelessly as he was. The way you hold each dish in hand and took each bite with so much joy never failed to give him a rush. 

Osamu liked eating, and he liked watching people eat too but nothing could compare to the thrill he felt when it was you munching down on his cooking like you had been starving until you came to him.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love everything you make,” you said, wiping the corner of your lips with your thumb as you took a bite at the plain onigiri, “but I can never get tired of this.”

“I can keep making it for you," he blurted out. You looked up, watching as his eyes widened when he realised what exactly he just said, “if you want...”

And there it was, the same feeling that he felt when you first came into this place drenched from head to toe and your eyes swollen. The same ache at the back of his throat and the weight in his chest that gave him the impulse that he had to cook you something, that he had to make sure you left this place with no more tears in your eyes. 

You smiled, and at that moment he was certain that if it meant he could see that every day, then he wouldn’t mind cooking for you for the rest of his life.

“Of course.”

-

The sharp buzz of your alarm rudely interrupted you from your sleep and you groaned as you rolled to your side.

The other end of the mattress was empty, as always. You laid on the bed, facing the ceiling as you struggle to keep your eyes open. God, you pressed your palm to your forehead, why couldn’t you just spare me five more minutes?

It was the sweet smell floating down the corridor into your nostrils that gave you the motivation to stay awake. You sighed as your stomach rumbled, pushing the blanket off of you as you sat up straight against the back board.

Pulling the first shirt you could find on the floor, you yawned as the black t-shirt that was far too big for you draped over your body. You rubbed your eyes as you made your way down to the kitchen, the sizzling getting louder and louder as you got close.

You leaned on the frame of the door, smiling as you watched your boyfriend stirring at the frying pan with a pair of long chopsticks and the other hand at his waist. You had a deep appreciation for him at all times, but you always swoon for Miya Osamu the hardest when he was in the small kitchen of your apartment.

How could you not fall in love again and again with a man who wakes up early every morning to make breakfast for you?

His back tensed up when he felt you wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and you leaned your face against him pressing a small kiss at the blade of his shoulder. You chuckled as he relaxed again, feeling each flex of his body as you silently admired his built.

“Morning, samu.”

“Morning,” his hand didn’t stop, curling the egg in the long rectangular pan up until it was a nicely formed roll, “breakfast will be ready soon, can you get the bowls out?” 

You hummed, your hands lingering just a little as you let go of him. You took a whiff of the steam as the lid of the rice cooker sprung up, taking the rice spoon in hand and give it a quick fold before filling the bowls up.

Sitting down in front of the table, you leaned back to stare at Osamu who was still busying himself in the kitchen. He was always so concentrated when he cooks, his brows pressed together and lips pursed. The scent of food filled the air as you waited for him at the table, the sound of morning news playing in the background.

Home was knowing that each dish on the table was cooked by someone that has you in their mind and to the person who did the cooking, that no matter what you bring out, there was someone waiting for you by the table.

You looked at the plates lined up on the table with a smile on your face. Today’s breakfast was rice with miso soup, tamagoyaki, pan-fried salmon and salad made with last night’s leftovers. 

“So,” Osamu took his chopsticks in hand after sitting down in front of you and you did the same. 

It was not about what you were eating, it was about who you were eating with.

You grinned as your voices overlapped.

“Itadakimasu.”

[hobin-gnoblin]

Welcome to R.A.D!

The First Encounter

Starring: My Mc, PJ.

This will be 18+, this is solely based on IRL things that would definetly happen if I was actually summoned at R.A.D.

Read at your own risk⚠️

I am very "quirky"

-------

Nothing but super sexy and cool classic rock music blared from the speakers in my bedroom as I danced around in nothing but underwear and a tank top. I was feeling myself, my groove, and my sexy dance skills. Yo, I'm PJ. I'm loud, crazy, and I got a good head on my shoulders. As a 18 year old, life can be pretty crazy, but from my experience from the depths of Hell, I can assure you, my life is stranger than fiction....

This is the story of my expiring at R.A.D, my big life changer, my joker arc. Etc.

-----

My back felt cold, my ass was freezing. I was suprised as my body slowly became awoke that it felt as if I was no longer in my bed. I know that because my ass would be drenched in sweat imported from the Nile River.

I slowly opened my eyes, wiped my eye boogies, and took in my surroundings. I was in a huge ass conference room, and it was fancy as hell, I thought to myself, holy shit, are those tables mahogany?

"No, in fact they're not, they're a special type of tree native to Devildom." A loud voice echoed through the room. I shot up from the floor in a panic, "Who said that?" I screamed as I prepared my body for battle. My feet planted to the ground in a wide stance, my knees bent, and my back hunched over like Dobby with my claws ready to pounce. "Um, what are you doing human?" A voice said. "I'm in my fighting stance! Reveal yourselves otherwise I'm gonna Ju Jitsu your ass back to where you came from!" I screamed. There was silence, then footsteps approaching me. And yes, I pissed my panties a little bit, you would too. My face immediately went red as I saw a whole cluster fuck of handsome men. "Oh." Was all I could muster. Here I was, my dumb ass wearing nothing but my tank top and underwear, which I hope they didn't smell anything due to the stench of my chronic night sweats. My face still adjusting to the light, and my hair still a mess because of the sleep paralysis demon that keeps fucking with it. (Fuck you Kyle, if your reading this you need to stop messing with my dreams!).

To sum it up, I looked like Lindsey Lohan's mugshot in front of these uber handsome men. And oh my god my face was as red as a tomato. Or a beet, you choose.

"Hello PJ, My name is Diavolo, Lord of Devildom, We welcome you with open arms to our newest exchange program!" The sexy beast of a man bellowed. I couldn't help but stare at his fat tits while he laughed, they were so perfect, they definitely made mine look like, idk boobs? (Self love, dont hate yourself.) (Says the bitch who compared herself to Lindsey Lohans mugshot lmao.)#Pissingmyself).

"PJ, its a pleasure to meet you," An absolute stud muffin of a man with ravenette hair and a bitch ass face said. I could tell he was pulling my dick due to the uninterested look on his face. My dude was not amused with my current physical form. I thought to myself, he obviously cannot handle all of this.. I smirked to myself in thought, my personality is just too much for him to face already, hehe. My thoughts were soon interuppted by a cough. "Let me introduce you to my younger brothers, Lucifer wove his arm to gesture to the motley crew of hunky meat muffins. My jaw dropped as I witnessed the men scrambling in front of me. Holy shit, were they ever hunky monkeys. Lucifer quickly pulled out a small whistle and blew sharply. The rest followed suit assembling into a straight line. Suddenly music came out of fucking now where and the boys began to march rhythmically in unison. Each brother taking one step forward front, and back as they each said their name.

"Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, and REDACTED." The boys said as they swiftly went back into their normal positions in the conference room. I'm pretty sure something like that I've witnessed before back at home.

-----

^ The whistle scene from Sound of Music in case you didn't get the reference.

------

I smiled awkwardly at the men. Lucifer and Diavolo both exchanged a few words and nodded to eachother "Mammon shall be your guide for the rest of the exchange program. " Fuck what?" Mammon yelped as Lucifer pinched his neck. "Hurry now Mammon, chop, chop." Lucifer clapped. Mammom immediately rushed to me like a panicked schoolboy. "Sup weirdo, I'm gonna be a absolute dick to you." He said. I nodded and mutually agreed. I was plotting on totally fucking with this dude. "Sounds cool." I replied. "Fuck you." He said. "Fuck you too." I responded. I already knew this was going to be the start of a great friendship.

This was gonna be the craziest year of my life.

----end---

Should I make another part? Let me know! ;)

[starsfic]

The Ghosts of Fiery Cloud Manor, Chapter 5: The Creature of Fiery Cloud Manor

Summary: There are no ghosts in the manor. There's something worse.

-_-

There was a staff here.

Why was there a staff, gold capping red, in the basement?

Music a dull buzz in his ears now, Xiaotian approached it. Stepping fully onto the grass made him feel warm, like it was one of those perfect summer days. He reached out and gently gripped the staff, not noticing crackles of golden energy sliding down the staff and to the earth as he lifted.

The staff slid free.

It was warm in his hands as he used the flashlight to examine it. It was an actually rather simplistic design, the only decoration he could being the cloud pattern on the gold caps. It was a weird thing to leave behind, especially standing upright in the basement. But this was a weird house.

“A good place to get lost in, though,” he mumbled to himself.

Then something was wrapping around his collar and he was being yanked back. Panic ran through his systems and he threw his hand back, hitting something warm. He hit the floor with a grunt, dropping his phone. Xiaotian scrambled to turn around, staring wide-eyed at what the dim light of the flashlight gave from its position.

Brown fur. Horns. Fangs .

He realized he was hyperventilating but it was nothing compared to the terror rampaging through his systems. All Xiaotian could find himself doing was scrambling back, trying to put some distance between him and the creature and dropping the staff in his terror. Amber eyes stared through the darkness, right at him.

He needed to run. He needed to run, needed to go, needed to get out of this house-

A warm hum ran through the air. “Xiaotian,” it said and suddenly, the fear was gone. Warmth ran through his systems at that voice, the scent of cloves and woodsmoke filling his senses. Why did he need to go so soon? All he wanted to do was lie back down.

The amber was gentle and he could look at it forever.

“Xiaotian,” the voice whispered in his ear, like a lover’s caress. “Do you not want to stay forever?” He did, he really did, this place was like home. The figure stopped over his still body, relaxing even further into the ground. “You know you’ll only be happy here.”

That was right. He wanted to stay, he needed to stay. He would only be happy here and he’d known it since he was born. His breathing evened out and why the fear? Why the terror and the fight? He laid there, where he belonged, like he was meant to.

“I want you to stay.” It did? That was sweet. He thought he smiled and thought he saw a smile back. “You have to stay.”

Have to…For some reason, those words... have to…

And then the anger and fear broke through the warmth.

He needed to get out of there. Right fucking now.

Xiaotian had seconds to react and even less than that to react. He kicked out, feeling his foot hit the creature in what he assumed was the stomach. He scrambled to his feet and ran, barely managing to grab the staff. He ran up the stairs before feeling something grab his ankle and yank. His forehead slammed against a step but he managed, through the pain, to kick back and heard an audible snap. There was a howl of pain and he was free to scramble the rest of the way.

The glass shards still outside the basement cut his hands when he finally made it, but Xiaotian ignored the blood welling up to slam and lock the door. There was a slam against it. Then the voice said something that made him freeze.

“ Get him .”

No, no, no, that meant there was more- Xiaotian finally got to his feet and booked it down the hallway, hearing footsteps and snarls and other animal noises surround him. The front doors were closed and when he tried to open them, they were locked. “No!” he whispered, pounding against them. The door, despite him not having the key earlier, had opened!

He couldn’t stay to try and deal with the doors. Instead, Xiaotian ran.

Despite the fear crawling through his systems as he was chased for gods knew how long, he was still too fond of the manor. He couldn’t bring himself to shatter a window unless he couldn't get out somewhere else. So, instead, he ran. He nearly tripped on the third floor when he heard a roar from the stairwell to the second, along with a rush of fiery heat. The creature was free from the basement.

“GET BACK HERE!”

“Never!” he yelled back, slamming the nearest servants’ passage’s door open and running down those steps so fast he nearly broke his neck.

Finally, Xiaotian entered the ballroom. He slammed the doors shut behind him and locked them. There was no sound besides his frantic breathing. He tried to get his breathing and heart under control, not wanting to pass out. Xiaotian finally sighed, feeling much calmer. He turned and headed through the ballroom, intent on reaching the other door and trying to head for the kitchen. Despite the backyard being an overgrown mess, it was his best bet. If he couldn’t, then he would resort to breaking a window.

...and the other door was locked.

He ran back. Before he could reach the main doors, the room filled with heat. Xiaotian froze, watching in the mirror as a tower of flames formed in the center of the ballroom. The creature stepped out, the firelight revealing loose red hair and red and gold finery as well as blood leaking from a snout. "There you are."

A whimper leaked out as he turned, flattening himself against the cool surface of the mirror. The creature reached for him. "Now, be a good-" Something made it freeze.

Xiaotian heard it too.

A motorcycle.

Said motorcycle slammed through the doors, glowing green. Xiaojiao zoomed straight for them, the creature barely managing "You have to be joking-" before it was thrown back. She zoomed by, grabbing Xiaotian and yanking him on behind her.

Grabbing her by the waist to steady himself, he came face to face with the inn monkey, clinging to Xiaojiao's helmet. "Thanks!" he said, getting a feeling the little guy was responsible for this rescue. The monkey cooed before looking behind him and letting out an alarmed screech.

Xiaotian glanced back and immediately felt like screeching himself.

The creature was speeding after them in a whirlwind of flames, eyes and hair flaming. Before he could tell Xiaojiao to speed up, they were going down the railing of the grand staircase, their bodies jolting as they hit the front and zoomed through the doors, the tire tracks showing how Xiaojiao had entered.

Then they were turning and zooming through the gates. A frightened screech made him look back once again.

Caught on momentum, the creature was zooming straight for the fence. Then it hit the fence and a sound like a bug zapper and a pained scream echoed.

Xiaotian couldn't help his chuckle as he and Xiaojiao drove away.

"See ya!"

[bbrandy2002]

The Getaway

Part Two

A/N: This is obviously a continuation of a birthday fic I wrote for @ao719 that is now 2 weeks late 🙈 I was dealing with stuff, dont judge lol The writers block and doubts were for real yo! But thanks to my Tumblr bestie, who wouldnt let me quit, encouraged me, talked me through this thing and gave me ideas, it finally all came together.

Anitah, I apologize for being so late and the silliness of this fic and if it's terrible. I still hope you had a wonderful birthday and are blessed with so many more 💜

A/N/N: Thanks to @burnsoslow for beta reading and literally a thousand other things.

Warning: A lot of bad language, a miserable Drake Walker and violence involving tasers, fires, animals and car accidents ... No one dies people!

**Drake and Liam belong to Pixelberry, Nikolas belongs to me, the driver and mailroom guy belong to @burnsoslow​ and Liam's secretary belongs to @ao719​

Drake stepped out of the truck in a furor, cursing under his breath, to check on his damages. The front driver tire had fallen into a deep ditch, and it was evident by the thick mud it sunk into that it would be next to impossible to get unstuck without some assistance.

He shook his head, gritted his teeth, and the veins in his neck enlarged and throbbed. As he knelt down to assess the damages further, Nik hopped out of the truck and stood over Drake. With one glance, Nikolas clutched his belly and let out a loud continuous cackle that soon sent a storm of hot blood that seemed to collect in Drake's crimson-colored face.

And the laughter just got louder and louder.

And the laughter didn't stop.

In Drake's head, it sounded like a thousand Niks laughing simultaneously, each one with two horns, a pointy tail, and a pitchfork in hand. 

His anxiety took over.

He stood up, and in an attempt to let some of his anger out, he kicked the tire with an enraged shout that echoed beyond the heavily-forested valley and sent flocks of birds in a frenzy.

The tire's air must have been over-pressurized by the drop's force and popped as soon as Drake's foot made contact. He fell back onto his ass with a heavy thud causing Nikolas to screech out in more laughter. Drake sat up into time to see the front bumper and side panel fall to the ground.

"I think your truck is broken, Uncle Drake," the prince chortled.

Drake's head whipped around and glared at the boy. "No shit! What the fuck are you even doing here? You're supposed to be on a plane to Paris."

Nikolas shrugged. "This sounded more fun." 

"This isn't fun, you little asshole!" Drake jumped up and attempted to lunge at the boy, but slipped in the mud, caught his balance for a split second by grabbing onto a tree limb, then slipped again, before wiping out completely. "Son-of-a-monkey-fucker!"

Drake laid on his back, staring up at a large tree branch that hung overhead, praying to God the damn thing would just fall on him. 

Nikolas walked over to him and looked down on the face of fury. "Is it time for dinner yet? I'm staaaaaaaving!"

"Nikolas," Drake groaned then took a deep breath, his back mud-soaked and achy. "How? How in the hell did you pull this off?"

Nik plopped down on Drake's stomach, causing him to grunt loudly. "Easy. I told my dad you invited me, and he let me go. He was happy you wanted to spend time with me." The Prince smirked.

Drake gritted his teeth. "And he just believed you? Fucking Liam."

Nikolas shook his head. "No. I got Neal in the mailroom to pretend he was you on the phone."

Drake lifted his head and glared. "You mean that grease trap that lives in the ambulance down by the river?"

The young prince nodded. "Yeah. Except he doesn't live by the river anymore. He moved behind the elementary school .. said it had a better view."

There was dead silence for a moment as Drake grimaced at what he just heard before jerking his hips upward. "Get the fuck off me."

Nikolas stumbled to the ground with an uproarious laugh.

Drake reached into his front pocket and pulled out his cell as he rose to his feet. He was dead set on getting someone from the palace to retrieve this little menace to Drake Walker society before he found himself tied up to a cinder block at the bottom of Lake Boogaloo. The issue with his truck could wait.

Liam and Riley would already be on the plane with Bastien in tow, so calling them right now would be useless. He pressed the contact for the palace operator, hoping to be directed to the mailroom; if Neal was part of helping get Nik into this, his shady punk ass could come pick him up in the renovated ambulance that served as his home and part-time blood mobile. 

Pacing back and forth, Drake raised the phone to his ear, waiting impatiently for a ring. 

"Trish! Put me through to the mailroom." 

While he was distracted taking care of that, Nikolas was somewhat disappointed the trip was already over -- he had so many plans for his favorite uncle. With his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips, he leaned up against the truck in a huff. "This sucks!"

The sounds of leaves crunching and brush moving around nearby caught his attention. Nik's eyes widened in fear when the black furry coat of a creature with a white stripe down its middle could be seen scampering around searching for food. The boy gasped and pinched his nose as the animal's foul scent started to become thick in the air and made his eyes water. "Uncle Drake," he called out in a nasally voice, "there's a skunk."

With a scowl, Drake lowered the phone and scrunched up his own nose. He took one glance at the animal, who didn't appear to be a threat, then glanced back at the kid. "It's probably more scared of your evil ass than you are of it. Just keep your mouth shut and don't move." The call with Neal resumed.

"But, Drake ..." Nikolas whined, trying to plead for him to listen but could tell his uncle would have none of it.

Frantic to scare the smelly animal away, the young boy searched the ground for something to throw at it: a large stick, a rock, Drake's Air Bud soundtrack. Those things might scare the skunk off, but they posed a risk of it spraying before doing so. Memories of the smell of Madeleine's office when he had one shipped to her came flooding back. It took a month for the palace to lose that scent. The prank was hilarious until it affected his comfort.

 A devilish smirk took shape as an idea popped into his head. “I need my backpack.”

Nik grabbed the top of the truck bed and stepped up on the rear tire and swung one leg over, then the other. He found his backpack and quickly unzipped it, pulling out night-vision goggles and a rope, then placed them beside his feet. He proceeded to move aside a bottle of industrial-strength super glue and the glass jar holding his tarantula, Barf. Finally, at the bottom of the bag, was the taser he “borrowed” from Bastien’s desk, and he quickly took it out. Holding the electrical gun in front of his face and twisting it around menacingly, he said, “Okay, Mr. Skunk. Get ready for a shocking experience.”

“No!” Drake yelled into the phone at Neal, “You can’t borrow my binoculars. What the fuck are you gonna use those things for at a children’s museum anyway?”

“The … the …” the man scrambled for an answer, “those dinosaurs … yeah … the dinosaurs. They’re, like, really tall, ya know? I want to be able … to, uh … see their faces and stuff.”

“I call bullshit,” Drake bit back, “I won’t be an accomplice in your bone watching … dinosaur or small boy.” He resumed his pacing, wanting to get the conversation moving along. “Now listen, my sister and brother-in-law are in Texas, Lord Beaumont is on a book tour, and the guards are off duty until the royal family returns. You are going to come pick up this kid.”

“Oh! I would love to come pick him up. He’s under 10, correct?”

Drake could practically hear the creepy mirth oozing from the man's gruff voice and spat back, "I'll be with him the whole time, you oily ass, ambulance-driving …  è piccola cagna!"

"What does that mean?"

Drake knitted his brows; he didn't really know, just that Nikolas called him that from time to time, and the word just kind of stuck with him. "Just ... just get here now!"

"Okay, okay! I'm coming."

The call ended. "God, I hope he meant that literally, and I didn't just get that fucko off." He slipped the phone into his pocket and turned to Nik. "Alright, listen up, assh ..." Drake stopped dead in his tracks and stood, stunned, at the first glimpse of a taser-wielding Nikolas with the gun aimed almost directly at him, with a tiny finger wrapped around the trigger.

"Wwwhatcha got there, boy?" Drake's voice sounded calm and friendly. He even managed to fake a genuine-looking smile. Inside, however, he was close to shitting his pants.

Nikolas licked his lips and closed one eye to find the perfect aim. "I'm about to fry that skunk with extreme vengeance. One ..."

"Nikolas, no! Give me the taser." Drake cautiously approached him with his hand held out.

"Two," the small but menacing voice continued the count.

"Nik, don't do it! Give it to me now!"

"Three.”

"Noooo!"

The piercing sound of Drake's shout startled the skunk, and it scurried out from the thick brush.

Nik jumped up with the taser. "Hey! Get back here, asshole." He aimed at the fleeing creature and pressed the trigger.

___________

The instant Drake's mocha-colored eyes fluttered open, an acrid mixture of what smelled like ass, sweat, rotten eggs, and his mother's hairy feet had bubbled up inside his nostrils. The aroma was slightly overshadowed by the 1200-volt prongs that had pierced just below the protruding vein in his neck, causing him to seize up and then drop like a rag doll to the dirt, and muck that littered the ground.

Close by, he could make out the discernible sound of footsteps crunching through foliage and bark and sloshing over wet earth.

Drake's cheek rested against the cold, soggy ground, even as the silhouette of the young prince crouched next to him with his little head tilted sideways and blinking owlishly. He saw the child's lips moving but blocked out the little shit until the feeling of electrocution and muscle spasms had waned.

Drake looked at the small face next to him that resembled his best friend at that age. Liam is a good man, Drake thought; he was a considerate child, too. We had fun together. We always had each other's backs and would do anything to protect the other, no matter the consequences.  Liam wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s just the best all around.  So …  how in the actual ass fuck did he produce the spawn of Satan? 

Is there any chance he’s ... Neal’s kid? 

Maybe Riley ... No, fuck, no. She wouldn’t.

The sky transformed from a brilliant blue to one streaked with gold and orange hues before Drake shook himself of the aftershocks that sparked through his body. 

The metal prongs left behind two bright red spots, resembling a large spider bite and stinging like hell when he pulled them out.  A thick layer of mud had dried and clung to his back, while a fresh layer adhered to his front. The numbness in his limbs had dissipated somewhat, but the pins-and-needles feeling remained. He was grateful the back spray from the skunk missed him, but the remnants it left on the nearby trees were stifling.

At this point, the only thing Drake wanted was a hot shower, a clean change of clothes, and to get stupidly drunk to the point he would pass out in bed and sleep for days. He scanned the perimeter and could make out the crystal-blue lake through a small clearing in the trees about 100 yards away.

Removing his filthy shirt and tossing it in the back of the truck, he eyed Nikolas, who was surprisingly quiet and subdued. The child was sitting on the lowered tailgate, swinging his legs, and trying to force his tarantula to eat a dead cricket. Drake rolled his eyes but was relieved the kid was staying out of his hair for now. He just needed to take a quick dip in the water, change his clothes, and hurry back in time for their ride home. Nik would be fine by himself for 10 minutes.

Drake let out a sharp tongue whistle that caught Nikolas' attention. "Listen up, kid. I'm going down to the lake real quick to clean up and change into some clean clothes." He opened the driver's side door and reached across the seat to toss his cell phone and wallet in the glove box while he continued, "You and your spider get in here and lock the door until I come back."

Nik dropped Barf in the jar and slapped the holed lid on it. "It's not a spider, Drake. It's a tarantula. A tarantula," he corrected with emphasis as he slid down from the tailgate.

"I don't care if it's your grandma's bladder control protection, get your ass in the truck, and don't move until I get back."

Stepping up in front of Drake, Nikolas sneered at an annoyed Drake towering above him. "I'm telling her you said that. And why can't I go with you? I wanna go to the lake, too," he whined.

Drake nearly doubled over in fake laughter. "There ain't no damn way I'm taking you. For one, you've ruined my entire trip. The one good thing I had in my life to look forward to, and you ruined it! And two, I don't know what the rules are about grownups, and nakedness, and with kids around, and all that shit. So the answer is no." 

Drake could tell by the beady little eyes glaring back at him that Nikolas would not give up on this. He let out a heavy sigh. "Look. Do what I tell you right now, and when I come back, I'll build a campfire, and we can make up some s’mores. How's that sound?"

“Okay.”

“Really?” Drake shook his head in astonishment that he actually won that argument. Without another word, he watched as His Royal Highness happily climbed into the cab of the truck and gave a thumbs up.

Did that taser kill me? I’m dead, right? He did it. Do you smell that, Cordonia? No, not that fucking rank ass skunk. It’s the smell of victory! Drake Walker is a god! I have the power back.

Grabbing his duffle bag from the back, Drake hurriedly made his way toward the lake. He felt a little on edge, leaving Nik by himself for even just ten minutes, maybe even somewhat guilty. But he was caked in mud from head to toe, and the grime was starting to seep and burrow around certain parts of his anatomy. Nothing was worse than having monkey ass.

Within minutes, Nikolas sat on his haunches and looked out the back glass. He hadn’t wanted to show it, but he did feel a little bad for shooting Drake to the point it drew blood. Also for causing him to crash his truck. And even though it was funny as hell to watch, the second slip in the mud was kind of brutal. Perhaps a little remorse was starting to set in as the words of his Uncle Drake telling him that he ruined the one thing he was looking forward to repeated in his head. Tomorrow he would return to normal, but Nik was determined to do something nice for a change for the rest of the evening.

With the quick snap of his little fingers, an idea formed, and it would be the perfect thing to make Drake feel better. Nik unlocked the door, grabbed his spider, and jumped out of the truck. He headed to the back and rummaged through the bags of camping items laid in piles until he found what he was looking for: a lighter and lighter fluid.

“I’ll make the bestest s'mores ever for Uncle Drake. That’ll make him happy.”

Nikolas had never built a campfire before, but he’d seen it done in a movie once, and that was good enough in his mind to practically make him an expert.

Feeling clean and refreshed, Drake dried off from his dip in the lake and put fresh clothes on. Making his way back to the site, he caught a glimpse of thick, black smoke protruding above the trees and the smell of burning rubber that traveled with the approaching evening breeze.

“Nikolas,” he muttered as his heart crashed into his stomach. He raced back as fast as he could, fearing the absolute worst thing had happened to the Prince of Cordonia. “I knew I shouldn’t have left him alone. Liam and Riley are going to kill me, and I would deserve it. I just hope he’s not …” he trailed off when the site came into full view. It was worse than he imagined.

His eyes searched frantically until relief washed over him when he caught his first glimpse of Nikolas sitting under a tree, eating, and seemingly unconcerned by the inferno that had lit up the dusky sky.

Drake rushed over to him and lifted him into his arms and held onto him tightly.  “Are you okay, buddy?”  

Nikolas chuckled, “I’m fine, Uncle Drake.”

He lowered him back on the ground and started patting him down, looking for burns or injuries. 

Drake let out a sigh of relief. “How? How did this …” he turned to look at the fire, then raised his voice. “Wait! You caught my goddamn truck on fire?”

Nik followed his uncle's gaped-mouth stare to the truck engulfed in flames, then screwed up his face. "Yeah ... about that. I think I used too much of that lighter fluid stuff building a campfire. But I made you something." He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a s'more, licked the melted chocolate off the side, then proudly held it up to Drake. "The marshmallow is exactly the way you like it, too: completely charred."

Drake dropped his head into his palms and repeated a slew of curse words and sounds that were not even human. As badly as he wanted to destroy everything around him at that moment, to release a fit of anger the likes of which no one had ever seen in him before, it appeared Nikolas had beat him to it: There was nothing left around there to destroy. 

He dropped his arms to his sides in defeat and looked to the heavens before surmising, “This is my punishment, isn’t it? I stole that taser from the guard as a kid and let Liam take the blame for it. I insisted Liam come with me in that boat during a storm, and he nearly drowned when it overturned. He got lost in the woods on my time. I pushed him too hard once during maze tag. I got stuck in that laundry chute all night, and Constantine took hide-and-seek away from him. This …” he motioned to Nikolas, who was smiling back at him with a big cheesy grin, “this is how he got me back for all of it. Well, you win, Liam! You win!  I hope you are having one hell of a time in Paris, schmoozing and laughing your ass off, because I have nothing left in this world but this …  hairy, lint-filled s’more with your son’s saliva all over it …  and it’s not even toasted right!”

“I didn’t make it right?” Nikolas asked thoughtfully. “Hang on. I can make you another one.” He bent down, pulled out a marshmallow from the bag and rammed a mud-covered stick entirely through its center. Drake watched as Nik skipped over and held it next to the flames shooting out the window of his truck.

For several seconds, Drake contemplated whether he should just leave the child there and let nature take its course. Glaring back to the star-filled sky, he groaned, “You owe me big for this.”

Tugging Nik by his jacket hood to pull him away from the hot blaze, he startled the boy who then whipped around with the burning marshmallow and accidentally got it stuck to Drake’s shirt. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

Ten minutes passed, and the two were on the dirt road heading back to the highway’s main stretch. After patting out the fire on his shirt, Drake planned to call the fire department to report the inferno taking place in the woods. He laughed wryly when he realized the phone was still in the glove box of his burning vehicle. And it appeared Neal’s skank ass wasn’t coming after all, so the pair would have to flag down someone and hope they actually stopped. Thankfully, Nikolas had his backpack on, and Drake used the night vision goggles to direct his way along the darkened path.

Hand in hand and approaching the main thoroughfare, Nik’s legs were starting to tire, and his droopy eyes looked up. “Uncle Drake, will you carry me?”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Pleeeeeeease,” Nikolas begged in a high-pitched squeal that grated Drake’s teeth.

Drake stopped with a huff and crouched down. “Get the fuck on my back,” he commanded, “you’ve burned and shot the front part of me, so your ass is gonna have to hold onto the back. And I swear to God, Nik, if you so much as drool on me, you can sleep in the woods with the wolves and bears and poodles. Understood?”

With a tired nod, Nik wrapped his little arms around Drake’s neck and held on. As they proceeded ahead, the prince asked, “Would you tell me a bedtime story?”

Drake grunted, “You wanna bedtime story? I’ll tell you a bedtime story. It’s an ol’ Bianca Walker original that she used to tell me every night called ‘Go the fuck to sleep!’ The end.”

Nikolas sleepily chuckled. “I already have that book, Uncle Drake. My dad’s secretary, Charlotte, gave it to me and told me to put it in my room. She said if my mom or dad found it, just to tell them you gave it to me.”

“Of course she did,” Drake scoffed, thinking about the other person who found pure delight in annoying him.

Through the night-vision goggles, the headlights of a random car could be seen driving by, and Drake let out a relieved breath, knowing they were so close.

The night couldn’t end that easily, though. A sudden sense of unease enveloped Drake, telling him that everything was not as it seemed. His steps quickened, and his heart pounded away in his chest.

Feeling like he was being followed, he turned on his heels, then widened his eyes. 

A large brown bear let out a roar that echoed past them.

Drake shrugged his shoulders and muttered, “Yep. That’s about right.”

The survival training he’d learned from his Campers Anonymous group about bear encounters kicked in, and he completely stilled his body. That was until he heard, “BEEEEAAAR!” screamed over his shoulder and felt Nik’s body drop to the ground.

“Don’t move, Nikolas,” Drake ordered through a whisper.

It was too late; he was gone and headed toward the road.

Drake whirled around to see the bear on its hind legs, drumming its chest and licking its lips. “Shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Wait for me, Nik!” He took off running.

--------- 

Alyssa was headed back to Cordonia earlier in the night than she expected. With her hands firmly gripped on the steering wheel, she complained to her friend through the car's Bluetooth, “The guy showed up one hour late to our meeting spot, then drove through a McDonalds, asked if I wanted anything, proceeded to park behind a church and tell me he has condoms before the cops picked him up on a warrant! Worst. Date. Ever.”

Driving around a bend in the road, Alyssa slammed on the brakes when her headlights reflected off a small child darting into the road. As her tires screeched, she let out a deafening scream when a man came out of nowhere, followed immediately by a bear. The frantic man shoved the kid out of the way.

Though  the brake pedal was pressed to the floor, the car collided with Drake, and his body flew onto the hood before falling feebly to the road.

The bear sniffed at Drake and batted him around a couple of times before taking off into the woods.

When Alyssa was sure it was safe to do so, she and a crying Nik both crouched around a moaning Drake.

_________

The following morning, Drake's eyes fluttered open. His vision was a little fuzzy, but he could make out a doctor hovering over him and a worried Liam standing with Nikolas at the foot of his bed. He tried to speak, wanting to know what happened, but was unable to open his mouth.

"Don't try to speak, Mr. Walker. Your jaw was wired shut to protect the small fracture you suffered from the car accident. You also broke both legs and sprained your neck. You have a long recovery ahead of you, but shouldn't need to spend any more time in the hospital. You’re a very lucky man. Now if you’ll excuse me, I will get the discharge papers and check to see if the ambulance transporting you to the palace has arrived. His Majesty has offered to allow you to recover in his home." 

Drake took one look at a gleeful, bouncing Nikolas and shook his head as best as he could with a neck brace on and emphatically mumbled his indiscernible objections.

Liam chuckled, "Quit being so modest, Drake. I assure you it’s no trouble at all. Besides, it's the least I could do after you saved my son's life. And Nik here even offered to let you stay in his room to keep you company."

Nik nodded with a grin. “Yep. For the next eight to 12 weeks, it's just me and my Uncle Drake hanging out all day and night.”

Drake tried to escape from his bed but couldn’t move without use of his legs.

Liam walked around to the side of the bed and put his hand on Drake’s shoulder. “Look at you trying to protest. You never were one to accept charity. I told you, I’m more than happy to help. You deserve this and more.”

A knock at the door diverted their attention and a head popped in. “I’m here to transport Mr. Walker back to the palace, Your Majesty.”

“Perfect! And on such short notice too. So glad my secretary could arrange this ride,” Liam exclaimed. He glanced down at his injured friend in the bed and smiled. “You ready to go home, my friend?”

No! No! That’s fucking, Neal. He doesn’t even have a real ambulance. I’m not going. Somebody, anybody, heeeelp!

[vegalocity]

11/41 from 76 Kisses for Spicynoodleshipping? (Love that secret relationship trope!)

Prompt meme

11. “I almost lost you” Kiss // 41. Forbidden Kiss   

Ya love to see it! 

--

They had rules. They had precautions. Stipulations and regulations and all the damn words that Red Son had thought up when they'd discussed how they decided their arrangement should go. And those rules, precautions, stipulations and regulations, Xiaotian was fine with. It wouldn't be ideal if his friends found out about them, of course, but it would be downright dangerous if Red Son's family found out. So it was okay. No matter how any times he'd called himself a fucking idiot for wanting to grab hold of Red Son's sleeve and ask him to stay when he began to get dressed again, it was okay. Because that soft sincere smile that only showed up in the dark of the night—only when the barriers of 'heroes and villains' fell away and the two of them were allowed to simply breathe together—never ceased to make his insides feel like goop and his head light and dizzy.

They had to be extremely careful with any and all physical evidence of their escapades, Xiaotian had to hide the dozen doodles he'd unconciously scribbled into his sketchbook in a shoebox haphazardly wedged between his bed and the wall. Red Son had presented him with a burner phone for proper coordination some time ago, and that stayed wrapped in a T-Shirt he didn't really wear anymore except when in use. They were careful, they were subtle, outside of the quiet of the nights, they were enemies. And sometimes sure, it felt like a lot, the secrets and the hiding, it made him want to do something very stupid, like beg Red Son to leave his parents, they don't treat him right anyway.  To essentially run away with him. But that was stupid. To ask Red Son to give up his everything when Xiaotian wasn't willing to do the same would be terribly selfish.

But all of that didn't matter anymore. No not anymore. Because Red Son had made his choice. The demon clan that his parents had decided to make allies with for access to their magical artifacts, in exchange for access to their (Red Son's) Technology, had been a topic of idle pillow chatter for a time during their meetups, Xiaotian had turned out to be the only person Red Son could speak to about it without being reprimanded for questioning his parent's choice in allies. And Red Son had NOT liked these guys from day one. Words like 'slimy' and 'scheming' were common as he'd paced about the messy apartment, still full of frustration that wasn't ready to turn to lust just yet as he'd insist that he knew this clan wouldn't be easy to handle. And he'd been right. His Parents had chosen poorly in their growing desperation for power and their allies, now armed with tech Red Son had not wanted to make for them, had decided to test it out by laying waste to the city.

And these guys were POWERFUL. It was probably the most advanced tech that he'd ever seen Red Son's handiwork on. He'd been in the middle of taking stock of himself, wondering if he could pull off the monkey mech with how drained he already was when the leader of the clan—big enough to be able to crush Xiaotian's ribcase with one hand—had went to strike.

And there was a hard shove to his side and a flash of fire, and Xiaotian had found himself on the edge of the crater he'd been thrown into instead of where he'd been in the center. Wisps of smoke clinging to his jacket and the thick smell of clove in his shirt, and Xiaotian realized that Red must have used his teleportation power on him. But if that was true then were was he-

He saw a flash of red in the demon's grasp. Red Son gripped in the demon's hand, and Xiaotian... couldn't see if he was breathing from here. He looked like a doll, hanging limp, even his hair was without its usual volume, swinging with the motions of the Demon as he sneered that he'd 'gotten in the way'.

At least when Xiaotian raced forward, he was not the only one, nor was he the most dangerous. Iron Fan and DBK were on the other side of the crater and he doubted they even saw him as they both rushed the demon. Xiaotian still didn't think they treated Red Son right, but at least he was comforted that family really did come first for them.

The two demon royals made quick work of their former ally, but it was Xiaotian that was positioned right beneath him to catch Red Son as he was shaken loose from the grip. And he knew they had to be careful, he knew this was the worst time to let stupid selfish emotions rule, his parents were RIGHT THERE. Though their attention seemed to be on having the demon pay back his crime of hurting Red Son in a pound of flesh. Princess Iron Fan spared him exactly one glance, narrowed eyes and suspicions high, but she didn't stop Xiaotian from taking Red out of the crater and onto more stable ground.

“Red! Red, come on...” He was breathing, the relief almost knocked him over. “Red come on man, wake up, let me know you're not in a demon coma or something!” he gently patted Red Son's cheek, and for once for once it seemed like he was lucky because Red Son let out a thin groan, face scrunching up as he no doubt came to with a wicked headache.

“Did... Did I fall asleep here again?” his voice was hazy with sleep and absolutely gorgeous to Xiaotian's ears. And yes, this was the worst time, and if either of his parents even glanced slightly to the side this whole thing would be up in smoke-

But he didn't care. He kissed Red Son.  Red Son's confused noises trailed quickly into a surprised yelp, and he felt those hands scramble up his arms before gripping hold of his shoulders. They parted only for a moment, and he heard Red Son's voice, barely above a whisper. “Xiaotian...?”

“How can someone so smart be so fucking stupid?!” Xiaotian found his voice rising a pitch as he pulled away from Red Son. “You could have just grabbed me and teleported both of us you didn't need to take that! You didn't even need to save me I could have tanked that hit!”

Red Son blinked twice before glancing to the side and apparently only now realizing where they were. Face paling before turning scarlet and weakly scrambling to try and escape his grip.

“Let go of me Noodle Boy! I didn't do that for you! I never trusted these men and I was going to prove to my family that they never meant us well! D-Don't think yourself special that would be Ludicrous let me go!” There was real anger there and if his parents didn't find out about them tonight Red Son would rake him over the coals for this, but...

But he didn't fucking care.

“Shut up, You almost died, and you almost died saving me.” Red Son's face softened just a bit, the mostly forced fury still in place but there wasn't an ounce of regret hidden in the mask. In fact everything about him beneath the veneer of fury read 'And I'd do it again' And Xiaotian held him as tight as he dared to without possibly hurting him further. He glanced into the crater and Princess Iron Fan was staring at them again, too far away to read.

“I don't care if it wasn't because you wanted to save me, you did save me, and you nearly died doing it, so you're gonna get this damn hug even if we're enemies!” he stated it as loud as he possibly could. He was being stupid, but he wasn't gonna ruin this for Red Son if he could. They must have missed the kiss or they would have reacted, the secret was still theirs to keep.

“I'd do it a million times over.” Red Son's voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.

“Please don't.”

--

Send me stuff!

[deniigi]

I WOULD LOVE A DAVE FIC !!!

Excellent. Here’s for you and  @dudewhereismy-tardis

I am putting most of it under the cut because it is LONG

Dave (Daredevil copycat from Inimitable Verse) POV. Reminder that Dave is not his real name, but one given to him disdainfully by Wade in this verse.

Title: rises in the east

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

“Dad.”

What?

“Dad.”

What time was it?

“Your phone’s ringing,” Charlie said. “It’s the boss.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Give it here,” Dave rasped, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Mom said you’re gonna hurt your back sleepin’ on the couch,” Charlie reported as she shoved his phone into his palm.

“My couch, my rules,” Dave said. He crammed the phone to his ear. “Ansel here,” he said.

Charlie wanted to stay home and if she was a year older, Dave would have let her. But alas. The last time he’d let her stay home, she’d texted her friend Jesse who had become unspeakably jealous and had appealed to her own parents for such freedoms, and now the whole block thought that Dave recklessly abandoned his daughter when he went to the goddamn grocery store.

All that for a can of Sprite, man.

This neighborhood was off the fuckin’ charts sometimes.

Case in point: Dani standing in front of him in the lobby with her hands on her hips, telling him that he needed to wear a tighter t-shirt or to start flexing because they were losing business.

“Dani, I’m an instructor,” he reminded her. “I’m hired to do classes.”

“It’s two hours,” Dani said. “Take the damn fliers.”

But he didn’t want to?

Dani blinked at him slowly from under her headband.

 --

 Charlie was having a great time and Dave was glad for that because he was not. He was being stared at by every person in the street as if they’d never seen a dude with muscles before.

It was the shirt.

He knew it was the shirt.

And possibly his nipples. Smashing the brochures high enough against his chest to cover them wasn’t going well and the highlighter teal underarmor Dani had forced upon him left very little to the imagination here.

There wasn’t anything else to do but let the poor things live their best lives.

“Dad, gimme more,” Charlie said.

She tugged at the brochures covering what was left of his dignity.

Blessed child, who hurt you?

“Where did the others go?” he asked her.

Charlie pointed across the road to a gaggle of ladies leaning out from their stoop, smiling.

Ah.

Yes.

Them.

“Let’s try for someone who looks more like a bro,” he told his offspring.

Charlie blinked up at him.

“Why?” she asked.

Oh, baby.

“Because they’re an easy mark,” he said. “Go up and say ‘my dad can take you’ and send ‘em my way, okay?”

Charlie’s face went from confused to ready to kill instantly.

This was her game face. This was her ‘I’m gonna wreck this goalee’s teeth’ face.

Dave shouldn’t have been proud of her, really; her teachers said that she was becoming argumentative and obstinate in the classroom. But there was just something there in the fact that his kid sure as shit wasn’t no sheep that made his chest feel big, wide, and full of hot air.

“I’m on it,” Charlie said.

He gave her three brochures and let her scramble off to the other side of the sidewalk and then turned to meet the eye of a family with a father with neat hair and the beginnings of triceps peeking out from under his sleeves.

“You lookin’ for a gym, sir?” he asked.

The guy looked his way and eyed him up.

He took a flier on his way past.

 --

 “Excuse me?”

“One second, man,” Dave said, doing the rock-shuffle to keep all the fliers on the table from blowing away.

“Excuse me.”

“Hey, I said just a sec,” Dave snapped.

He turned back and found himself staring into the dark eyes of a bald man with olive skin and deep wrinkles in his forehead.

And Dave knew him.

Holy shit.

Dave knew him.

Fuck.

God.

Jesus, Lord.

“I am so sorry,” he started.

“DAD.”

Ch—Charlie?

He looked down and sure enough, holding Rudolph ‘Diamond’ De Luca’s massive bearpaw was his very own daughter. De Luca made her wiry, suntanned limbs seem like unbaked pretzels.

He was so much bigger than he’d seemed on TV all those years ago.

“This your kid?” De Luca asked.

Jesus.

“She is. I’m so sorry,” Dave said, “Did she—she didn’t bite you or anything, did she?”

“Dad,” Charlie whined. “Don’t tell ‘im that.”

“I’ll pay for whatever damage—” Dave continued.

De Luca blinked at him impossibly slowly with long dark eye lashes. He turned his face slowly back down towards Charlie.

“You sure this is your old man?” he asked.

Wh—

Wait.

What the hell did that mean?

“That’s him,” Charlie moaned. “He’s just bein’ dumb. Dad. Stop bein’ dumb. This dude’s the real deal. He’ll fight you in a heartbeat.”

Dave grabbed his child before she could cause any more damage. She made a fuss, but let go of De Luca’s mitt. Dave shoved her behind him, just in case this situation got any more tense than it needed to be.

De Luca lifted an eyebrow at that and then brought his face back up to Dave’s.

“Who’s gym?” he asked.

What?

Oh.

“Spitfire,” Dave said. “We’re, uh, just about there, on the—”

“I know where you’re about,” De Luca said.

Dave didn’t know what to say. De Luca held his eye.

Oh, god.

This wasn’t going well.

“How old are you, son?” De Luca asked.

FFFFFFFFFFFffffffffffffuck.

“38,” Dave said.

“And your baby girl?” De Luca asked, gesturing with his chin down at Charlie.

“I’m 12,” Charlie told him brightly.

“Hm,” De Luca said.

He shifted his weight back and wrapped a few fingers around his chin, surveying Dave’s whole body like he was the statue of David with a knee injury.

Dave became intimately aware of his nipples again.

“Not bad,” De Luca said.

Oh, thank god.

“Thank you, sir,” Dave said. “Is there, uh, somethin’ I could help you with?”

“You got an accent,” De Luca noted.

Uh?

“A good accent,” De Luca said. “Whereabouts did you grow up?”

Oh.

Well.

Dave could actually just point to it from here. The condo was still standing, despite all building codes and actual alien invasions. At this point, the only thing that was gonna take it down were the rampant, rapidly mutating, borderline feral gangs of chickens that roamed its halls.

Not that anyone spoke about them.

No, that was inviting trouble to your doorstep.

“The chicken coop?” De Luca said.

The one and only.

“Bless you, you poor fuck.”

Yeah, that tended to be the usual reaction.

De Luca laughed.

“You’re a funny guy, uh,” he squinted at Dave’s nametag, “Ansel?”

How could a word sound so wrong in someone’s mouth?

Where had Dave’s life gone wrong that his own name sounded so foreign and distant to his ears?

“Actually,” he said, swallowing, “My uh, my friends call me ‘Dave.’”

De Luca’s head snapped right up and slowly, a grin spread across his face.

“Oh, now, that’s a good name for ya,” he said. “You look like a Davy.”

Hng.

Diamond De Luca thought he looked like a ‘Davy.’

Diamond De Luca thought he looked like a ‘Davy.’

Welp.

Time to get that birth certificate changed.

“Listen, Davy,” De Luca said casually, “Your baby girl there was tellin’ me that your boss has you out here like dancin’ monkey; is that true?”

Fffffffffff.

Technically yes?

“It’s even his day off,” Charlie whispered.

Dave wrapped a hand over her face.

“It’s fine,” he said. “It happens. Folks’ve been sick lately. I don’t normally do this kinda thing.”

De Luca’s face said that that was real cute. Real, real cute, honey.

“Well,” he said, “Let’s just say it like this. Where you work don’t gotta be where you train.”

Oh.

Was he offering--?

“If you decide to drop by, tell the guy at the desk Rudy sent you,” De Luca said. “Your kid’s real sweet, Davy. She can come too, lord knows the damn place is a daycare at this point.”

“Thank? You?” Dave stuttered.

“Don’t mention it,” De Luca said.

He left. Dave watched him waltz down the block and wave at the gals collected on the stoop at the end of it and felt a little lightheaded.

“Dad?”

Not right now, champ.

“Dad? Is he famous or somethin’?”

HHHHHHHHHHNG.

 --

 Back when Dave had been 14 and scraping the tips of his fingers into callouses on the old guitar he’d found tossed into a dumpster in the Upper West Side, he’d had to compete with the sound of the couple fighting in the apartment next door and with the radio the old man downstairs always had playing on his fire-escape window.

The old man downstairs was a real hard-ass. Always slammed a broom into the ceiling, scaring the shit out of Mom and Dad and sister and auntie. Dave had never seen him not smoking, nor had he ever seen him without suspenders.

The man was a retired plumber, apparently. And while Jim Beam was his main vice, his passion was boxing.

To the tune of chords picked out of an out-of-tune guitar, Dave had listened to tinny commentators oohing and awing over match after match, until finally, when sleep wouldn’t come one night, Dave had snuck out of the room he’d shared with Flora. He’d settled down on the living room couch, next to his old man splayed out in the recliner.

Dad had lifted his eyes slowly his way and told him that he should have been in bed.

Dave had told him that he couldn’t sleep because the couple next door was makin’ up from their daily afternoon argument and Dad had just sighed.

He’d let Dave stay up with him and the TV in the living room had fuzzed and rattled away, making sounds really familiar to Dave at that point.

Boxing was a sport that he had, up until that night, left to his father. But for the lack of anything else to talk about that wouldn’t make his dad look at him with disappointment in his eyes for all that damn music-playin’ and eyeliner, he’d asked who the guy on the screen was.

And that was how he’d learned about Diamond De Luca.

About Kenny Varga. Bert ‘The Albatross’ Kleinfeld.

But there was one guy who Dad had mentioned was his favorite rookie and, now it felt both kind of silly and surreal that the name had been spoken so casually in Dave’s home growing up.

Dad had been puttin’ money on Battlin’ Jack Murdock back when Dave had been a little kid.

He told Dave, disappointedly, after a few weeks of Dave getting up at 12:30 to come out and watch boxing with him that he’d really thought that Murdock was gonna be the next big thing.

Guy was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Dad had said, shaking his head. But wolves that got too wily got put down and Battlin’ Jack had been found in an alley, bled out in the arms of his reason for fighting.

Dad said it was a fuckin’ shame that Murdock had gone out with a slug in his head.

A fuckin’ shame, he said.

Dave didn’t remember him every saying that Murdock’s reason for fighting was a blind ten-year-old, but the thought was now merged with that memory.

That, in itself, was merged with the memory of Dave’s phone ringing one night was Addie’s name on the Caller ID. Her voice was shaking when she told Dave that the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had just called her from an unknown number.

He had their baby.

He’d snatched her and Jesse out of the arms of two men looking for girls to be used in businesses Dave didn’t want to think about.

He’d saved them.

The devil had heard their screams when no one else had and he’d come flying out of the dark.

He’d held the girls in the light of a bodega and he’d coached Charlie through typing Addie’s number into his phone and then he’d taken it from there.

Addie was too scared to go meet the devil on her own. Mason hadn’t been around yet and so Dave had thrown on his shoes and had meet her on 46th.

The devil was on 48th, swinging his boots with both girls in his lap.

They were all singing. The devil had pretended like he didn’t know the words to Britney Spears’s ‘Toxic.’

Matt Murdock was under that mask.

Knowing that this whole time, he’d been the one dragging a stick against the fences and bricks of Hell’s Kitchen was almost impossible to digest.

And Dave had worked with him now.

He’d seen that smirk and that notorious jaw unwrapped from its red armor and that didn’t make reconciling the murdered boxer’s son with the man who’d saved his daughter any easier.

Charlie hadn’t remembered him.

She thought that Matt Murdock was a weird fuckin’ dude, and granted, he was a weird fuckin’ dude, but Dave had to say: he was grateful.

Matt Murdock not only brought home his baby, but he’d given Dave purpose in a life that had become consumed by the daily grind.

Matt Murdock had smiled in his direction, never quite into his eyes, and he’d passed along the baton with next to no fight.

Dave wasn’t him.

Dave would never be him.

Matt Murdock wasn’t just some poor murdered boxer’s blind son. He was the product of some serious poverty. Some serious violence. A whole fuckin’ cult induction, if he was to be believed. And Dave wasn’t so sure if he was always to be believed.

But he still appreciated Matt Murdock for what he’d done and what he’d made for this part of the city.

He’d made Daredevil.

And he shared that with Dave.

Dave’s own dad’s approval hadn’t felt like the honor that had come with Matt Murdock’s covered eyes and curled lip slowly relaxing as he’d lifted his face up from Dave’s knees.

He hadn’t been inspecting.

He’d been listening. Dipping his fingers into the blood in Dave’s heart and deciding if he was worth his salt.

Matt Murdock, son of Battlin’ Jack Murdock, was a product of Fogwell’s Gym in the Kitchen.

Diamond De Luca, retired heavyweight, was a product of Fogwell’s Gym.

The stars had aligned. And Dave had stood in their path.

And he wasn’t wasting the chance that they offered him.

--

Charlie was stoked to be allowed to come to the gym with him. She usually went to Jesse’s house, where Rubes would look after both girls for a few hours.

But De Luca had said that it was okay for her to come along, and so he figured, why not?

Fogwell’s was an institution in the Kitchen. All kids deserved to know their own history.

“I’m gonna fight Fogwell himself,” Charlie announced halfway down the block.

“You will not,” Dave told her. “Because I’m not tryin’ to get thrown out before we even get started here, alright?”

Charlie whined.

He ignored it.

 --

 This wasn’t the first time he’d been to the gym. Matt Murdock slipped in and out of it when he was in the city and he’d taken the whole team there once or twice. But it was different to be there in the presence of the daytime crew.

Dave felt very small in their presence.

The whole place was full of people pounding bags and swearing and shouting at kids who were tumbling all over the rows of benches set off to the side of the bags.

It was not what Dave had been expecting.

He told the guy at the front that ‘Rudy’ had recommended that he stop by and got a nod and a wave.

“He’s probably upstairs,” the receptionist said. “Go pick a bag, I’ll give him a buzz.”

 --

 Charlie refused to join the kids on the benches because apparently that was ‘only for babies, Dad.’ She wanted to hold the bag.

She was not, in one thousand years, holding the bag.

Dave wrapped her hands and let her go at it first to ‘soften it up’ for him.

De Luca caught him adjusting the demon-child’s thumbs before they ended up at the hospital again and laughed.

“Davy-boy, you made it,” he said.

Dave snapped up straight to attention.

“I did,” he said.

De Luca laughed again.

“Relax, kid,” he said. “Damn, you’re tight wound. Don’t worry, we won’t tell no one you’re sleepin’ with the enemy.”

Ahahahaha.

Please don’t.

These people were jacked. Dave was but a kickboxing instructor.

“Here, bub, lemme see what your pops has got,” De Luca said, shooing Charlie out of the way.

And this was the moment of truth.

 --

 De Luca seemed surprised when Dave finally laid off the bag. And Dave couldn’t read his expression for a million bucks.

“Uh?” he tried. “Not good?”

De Luca blinked himself back to earth.

“Oh, no,” he said. “It’s just uh, you fight a little like someone I know.”

Please don’t say a mobster.

Please don’t say a mobster.

“Kid used to live around here; name’s Matt Murdock,” De Luca said. “You know him?”

Did—

Did he know him?

QUICK. Answer the question.

You’re takin’ too long.

He’s gonna—

“S’alright if you don’t,” De Luca said. “I was just sayin’. Kid was like one of my own.”

He—

What?

“Yeah, boy fought like the devil like his daddy before ‘im,” De Luca said. “He’s the only one Fogwell lets call him ‘Grandpa.’ He’s about your age, actually. God, I’m old.”

AHAHAHAHAHA.

Please change the subject.

“You’re not that old,” Dave said. “I think I might have heard the name.”

Charlie looked up at him, baffled at the hedging.

He pleaded with her with his eyes not to say a damn word.

“Yeah, he’s somethin’, left here for San Francisco. Didn’t even say good-bye, the little shit,” De Luca sniffed. “Came back last year all ‘I’m gettin’ married’ and I swear to god, he’s picked up some kid. Just between you and me, pal, the old guard here have been talkin’, and we think that someone missed out on the sex ed talk, if you know what I’m sayin’.”

Oh.

Poor Sam.

He wasn’t even there to scream from the mountaintops that Red was a last resort for him at best.

“I’m just sayin’,” De Luca said with a shrug that spoke far more of supreme irritation than nonchalance, “He coulda just told us. I’m just sayin’.”

Any more ‘just sayin’s’ and Diamond De Luca was gonna go find a wall to bury them in.

“Did you, uh, have any feedback?” Dave blurted out as the guy started mumbling.

“Hm?”

“Feedback,” Dave repeated, waving a gloved hand at the bag.

“Oh. Yeah, loads, kid. You got all the muscles and not a damn lick of memory, here, lemme show you.”

Crisis averted.

Thank god.

 --

 D2: hey uh, DD?

SM: DAVE

S2: DAVEEEE

S3: DAVE

SM: what’s up man?

D2: nothing I was just trying to get ahold of DD?

BT: He’s trying to get Kirsten to give up her dreams of an indoor office pond rn. Can I help?

SM: I want an indoor office pond

S3: omg same

D2: uh yeah actually could you just tell him I met a guy named De Luca the other day and he might want to give him a call?

BT: de Luca?

D2: yeah

BT: okay sure thing

D2: thanks

BT: I’ll go see if I can get a word in edgewise.

SM: good fucking luck

S2: I hate fish

S3: leave this place and never return

S2: I HATE FISH

DD: WHAT

SM: oh shit that was quick

D2: oh. I was just saying that I met Diamond De Luca the other day?

SM: ?? Who’s that?

DD: oh no

S2: ??????????????

DP (´｡✪ω✪｡´): who the fuck is that?

DD: are you still with him?

D2: no?

D2: he caught me out fliering and invited me to Fogwell’s

D2: and when I got there he mentioned my stance was like yours and he uh

D2: got a little distracted

DD: what kind of distracted?

D2: He thinks Sam’s your bastard kid

BT: GODDAMNIT

DD: FOR FUCKS SAKE

BT: First Mrs. Jones, now this guy?? TEACH.

DD: These people have zero faith in me I swear to god.

DD: like come ON man. I did sex ed in the same class as Angie he knows I’m too catholic for that shit

DP (´｡✪ω✪｡´): I looked this man up and he looks like an Italian nate with less hair

SM: wh

DP (´｡✪ω✪｡´): okay you’re right he looks nothing like nate

SM: that

SM: that’s not even slightly helpful, wade, thanks not at all. Hey who’s angie?

DD: long story. Rudy’s daughter

S2: RED YOU FUCKED A BOXERS DAUGHTER?? That’s a million dollar baby man

DD: I

DD: what?

DD: no? Why would I fuck angie she’s like my sister?

S2: oh nvm

SM: 😬😬😬

S3: I am confused ❤

D2: you should probably call him, friend

DD: on it. thanks for the notice

DD: hey what’s your fuckin name again?

S2: f

S3: f

SM: f

D2: It’s Ansel

DD: Adams?

D2: not the photographer. Ansel West.

SM: WEST

S2: OMG

S3: guys don’t

SM: I BET YOURE A SUNSET DAVE

S2: YOU EVER FEEL CALLED TO THE PRAIRIE DAVE???

SM: YOU’RE A&W, DAVE!!

S2: ROOT BEER ROOT BEER

D2: ah yes. Middle school. I remember this feeling.

--

Dave laid his phone on his chest and stared back up at the ceiling.

It was never dull, this new life he’d settled into.

He said a prayer for Murdock and rolled onto his side.

It was still his goddamn couch.

 --

[homebody-nobody]

#8 jiara ✨

hi nonny!! told you I’d get to them eventually lmao

8) the floor is lava 

Rating: T (for language) Word Count: 608 

The game started as the usual childhood playground pastime. Every kid knows ‘the floor is lava,’ and nobody wants to be the lava monster confined to the woodchips, jumping with arms outstretched to try and tag one of your friends and get back in the game. Most kids outgrow it by middle school, and look back on it with joy and nostalgia, and maybe daydream about what it might be to play it with their own children.

The pogues, however, are not most kids.

For years, JJ was the undisputed champ. He was fast and nimble, able to scale playground equipment like some sort of spider monkey, and sneaky enough to get Kiara even when she sat at the top of the slide with a view of the entire park. Then Pope was the first to hit his growth spurt, and his unfair wingspan led the group to believe that it might be time to move the game away from playground equipment built for those five feet and under.

So, they changed the rules. If the phrase ‘the floor is lava’ is uttered within your hearing -- even if it was not said by another player -- you must find a way to remove both your feet from the floor as quickly as possible. Setting, function, and audience notwithstanding. Whoever is last to get both feet off the ground must wear a bandana somewhere on their person until the completion of the next round. It used to be more, but as they grew up, abject humiliation became slightly less hilarious, and so it became just the one -- a symbol of shame immediately recognizable to those in the know.

After a while, it became a nearly permanent staple of John B’s outfits. He had always been the worst at it and had certainly not improved with age. Then came Kiara’s kook year, and with it, the death of the game. John B, either absurdly loyal or just unhealthily attached, kept the bandana, and, supposedly, they all moved on.

But one day, after Kiara’s return but before they discovered a shipwreck that ruined just as many lives as one hundreds of years ago, the game begins again.

Kiara is reclining in the captain’s chair of the HMS Pogue, one leg tucked under her and the other bent, her foot propped on the wheel as she paints her toenails a soft lavender. Pope is leaning on his elbow by the engine, reading Vonnegut, JJ is half-asleep with his cap pulled over his eyes, and John B is leaned over a knotted fishing line, his tongue poking out from between his lips in concentration. The old bandana, now tattered and dishwater-gray, is still knotted around his neck. The sight of it swinging slightly as John B picks at the fishing line reminds her of its original purpose, and she gets an idea.

“Hey, JJ,” she says, and he picks his head up slightly, lifting the bill of his cap to look her in the eye.

“Eh?”

She grins. “The floor is lava.”

The reactions are immediate . Without a second thought, JJ digs in his pocket, tosses his phone across the deck, and rolls into the water. Pope drops his book and scrambles on top of the propellor, perching like fucking gollum. John B doesn’t even look up.

Kiara throws her head back, laughing, and JJ takes a mouthful of water and spouts it into John B’s face. John B straightens, abruptly jerked back into the world, and casts confused looks over his friends. “What --” he starts.

“You lose,” Kiara sings, and John B looks down at his feet, firmly planted on the deck.

“Goddamnit.”

cross-posted to ao3

[olivyh]

Into Wonderland Chapter Two: Savanaclaw Part Two

They wake up in a jungle, sputtering and coughing water.

"Are you okay?" A soft voice asks them, shaking their shoulder lightly as they cough out more water. The boy pats their back soothingly as they catch their breath, leaping to their feet and searching the area.

"Ruggie?! Jack?!" They panic, no sign of their friends.

"Wait..." The boy asks, slowly approaching them. "Jack? Ruggie? Are you..." The teenage boy's expression lightens and he pulls them in for a hug. The human, shocked, awkwardly pats the boy's back.

They pull away, scanning the boy's features- Messy, orange and yellow hair, wide brown eyes, large lion ears poking out of the top of his head.

"Cheka?!" They yell. The boy winces. There was no doubt about it- aside from now being taller than the human and a lot sharper- the teenager was still the same little boy who ran away all those years ago. "We were looking everywhere for you!"

"...Really?" The boy goes quiet and slouches down, tears welling in his eyes. "'m sorry..."

"No no no!" The human reassures, now bring the one to pat the boy on the back. "It's okay! You went through a lot... I'm sure Leona will be happy to see you back!"

"Really?!" The boy's ears perk up, and the human can hear his tail thudding against the dirt. "I'm just so worried that-"

"Who in the fresh fuck are you?" A voice yelps from the bushes behind them. Mc turns, eyes widening when they see a familiar pair of ruby red eyes, a pair of bright green ones next to them. They still have their rabbit ears, despite being messy and larger than before.

"Ace! Deuce!" They exclaim, standing from their spot.

"...How do you know our names?" Deuce asks, looking at the human curiously.

"I-" Mc stammers. "You don't remember? From Wonderland? The queen of hearts almost killed us!"

"Oh!" Cheka stands between the human and the confused hares. "They're not from the Savanna!"He turns to Mc. "You're probably confusing them- it's a funny coincidence though!"

"...yeah..." The human murmurs. "Anyways- we need you back home! Everyone is really upset at Leona right now and-"

"Why?" Cheka asks.

"Because he can't get laid!" Mc exclaims, frustratedly throwing their hands in the air. "And there's no heir to the throne and-"

"Wait- throne?" Deuce gasps. "Are you seriously a prince?!" He exclaims, backing away from Cheka.

"Was!" Chela sighs. "I don't belong there any more..."

"Yes you do!" Mc stomps. "Listen, everyone back at home was upset that you went missing- Leona most of all, even if he doesn't show it-" They mutter that last part. "Either way, the stability of the pride is in danger, and so is Leona and Ruggie!"

"What do you mean?" Cheka's ears perk up. Mc explains Leona's plan to pass on his power to whoever he sees fit- and being closest to beastmen who aren't lions, how people see them, especially Ruggie, as he's the closest, as threats to their pride. They explain how if Cheka went back, he could avoid all of that and save them from anyone who could try to overthrow Leona, or worse- kill him and take the power for themselves.

Cheka goes silent for a moment, staring into the lake that sits in the middle of the jungle.

"Nobody's upset at you Cheka," The whisper softly. "None of what happened was your fault. It was just bad timing-"

"But how can I look at them the same? I ran away- even Jack would call me a coward if he saw me again. Everyone knows it-"

"Okay listen kid-" Ace steps forward, planting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "First of all, you were four. Second, you managed to survive all the way out here until you found us!"

Deuce steps forward too, ears twitching. "Yeah! And even though we'll be sad to see you go, you can still help everyone!"

"You two can come with us!" Mc suggests. They stare at them in shock.

"We're hares-" Deuce starts.

"And he's too stupid to be around others without being considered a threat-" Ace points his thumb at the navy haired boy, who jumps.

"No! Thats not it at all!"

"So? There are tons of other animals back in the pride lands. Were you not listening? We literally have a hyena in one of the highest positions! And a wolf from the North!"

"Okay, okay- we get it," Ace sighs, standing and stretching. "Let's go there, put the kid on the throne, save everyone's asses, and live happily ever after!"

"I feel like you're being sarcastic-" Mc deadpans.

"Eh, not as much as you think I am."

"Lets go!" Cheka, with a newfound burst of energy, cheers. Everyone then goes on the journey back to the pridelands, only getting lost a little bit along the way. Cheka tells Mc of all the times he'd shared with Ace and Deuce, between them finding him half dead outside of the jungle, to how he'd eaten bugs the whole time he'd been living there, to joking with Ace and Deuce about dumb stuff they'd done while raising him.

Mc smiles, watching the trio get along. Finally, they spot pride rock in the distance. Cheka slows a bit but, with a little bit of persuading from the three around him, he runs up towards the rock.

"Jack!" The boy yells, launching himself at the wolf man.

"Wow, you really weren't joking-" Ace whispers to Mc.

"Cheka?! How did you..." He looks to the side, grinning widely when he sees Mc and he rushes over to them. "Are you okay? I'm sorry, I should have noticed the flood earlier and-"

Mc quiets him with a pat to the head, something he let them do only after years of being friends. "It's okay big guy. Besides, I found Cheka!"

"Ruggie! Leona!" They yell, leading the group up the side of the rock.

"Mc?!" Ruggie yelps, dropping the basket he was holding and running at them. He holds their face, forcibly moving their head from side to side, searching for injuries, as they groan.

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" The swat him away. "You're like a mom..."

"I would be less worried if you weren't just taken away by a flood!" He groans, looking over to the side to see the two hares and Cheka.

"Hi Ruggie!" Cheka chirps.

"How in the-"

"Ruggie? What's taking so lo-" Leona steps out from the cave, followed by a group of other lions that lived nearby. His jaw drops as he strides over to the teenage boy, pulling at his ears as the boy laughs, wrapping his arms around the man's torso.

"Uncle Leona! I'm home! I'm home!" He cheers. Leona chuckles, bringing a calloused hand to pat the boy's head.

"Welcome home, kid-"

"What is this?" One of the lionesses steps forward. "I thought you said he was dead-"

"I'm not dead! I'm home now!" The boy laughs.

"Your Highness, what is the meaning of this?" Another man steps forward. Anxiety pools in the human's gut as Ruggie pulls them behind him, with Jack moving to stand closer to Leona.

"I never said he died!" Leona defends himself. "He went missing the day of the stampede. We all saw it. We told you he was missing, not dead."

"You're telling me we could have had an actual king this entire time!" One of the other women snarls.

"An actual-"

"We could have had someone with Farena's disposition, then everything would have been normal! We needed someone like him-" She motions towards Cheka. "The most. Not someone who makes a hyena do his bidding." She spits out the word hyena, and Ruggie shrinks down a bit, ears flattening against his head.

"Just listen to what-" Leona starts.

"We did not have to suffer- the food shortages, the humiliation! None of it had to happen if we had just gone out and found our true king!"

"Hey!" Cheka yells, only to be drowned out by the angry lions.

"I can't believe this!" The lioness charges at Leona, roaring. Mc sprints past Ruggie, who yelps and tries to grab onto their tunic. They push Leona out of the way, the man tripping off to the side. The lioness rams into Mc, sending them sliding until they slip off the edge of pride rock.

They fall downwards, screaming as Ruggie, Leona, and Jack scramble to the edge and try to grab a hold of them.

The last thing they see is Ruggie, Jack, and Leona's panicked expressions as they plummet to the ground, all three beastmen reaching their claws out at the falling human.

I feel like I've seen this before- They think, closing their eyes and preparing to slam against the ground.

They finally land, sand exploding in every direction around them.

I DID NOT EXPECT TO WRITE THIS MUCH FOR THIS ONE I'M SORRY

I also genuinely don't know how ti spell Savanna/ Savanah bc I knew a girl named Savanah and google tells me that its Savanna so idek whats happening at this point

I'm just now realizing that i forgot to add the monkey in the lion king i hate it here

[aethelar]

For @evening-rose-309 who sent a prompt about a dog

“Would you stop?” Newt hisses, tugging his sleeve out of his soul’s mouth.

“Newt?” Leta asks, hesitating and cocking her head at him curiously. Newt can - just - see the shadowy outline of her own soul, something small and inquisitive peering over her shoulder. It’s a mark of how well he knows her, how close they are as friends, and the fact that she’s never seen so much as a stray tail-wag of his own soul is something he tries not to think about.

“He’s worrying again,” he says, frowning down at the dog. “Which he doesn’t need to do, because nothing’s going to go wrong.”

The dog - his soul - raises an unimpressed eyebrow and snags his other sleeve to try again.

“Oh,” Leta says. “We can go back, if you’re worried. Sorry, I didn’t realise.”

“What - no, I’m not worried. He is. It’s fine. C’mon Leta, we’ve been planning this for weeks.”

She’s already leaving though and he scowls in ungracious defeat. “If your soul’s worried then you’re worried,” she calls back to him. “The mooncalves will be there next full moon.”

The dog, black and white with a luxuriously silky coat, trots smugly after her and barks when Newt is too slow to follow. “Heel,” Newt snarks as he obeys. “Sit, stay. Roll over. I thought dogs were meant to be loyal and obedient, but no. I got the overprotective worrywart. Do I look like an overprotective worrywart? No. Clearly, you’re someone else’s soul, or just some random dog ghost that appeared in the night and stole mine. I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Newt, you’re muttering again.”

He pulls a face at Leta. Then another at his soul, who is looking immeasurably happier now that they’re headed back in the castle instead of out to the forest at night, and is carefully scouting round corners for prefects.

Newt rolls his eyes, but dutifully hides behind a tapestry when he’s told. It’s his soul doing the telling, after all. You can’t argue with yourself.

Except, apparently for when you can. Newt’s expelled, his brother’s gone to war, he’s going to follow him - and his soul won’t let him go. “He’s Theseus,” Newt hisses, yanking his sleeve back and continuing to shrink his stuff into the battered suitcase he found. “We’re not going to leave him.”

The dog dances in place, as frustrated as he is, then tries to steal his registration forms. “Give those - hey! Do not chew that up, that’s the only ID I’ve got and I need - hey!” Newt salvages the soggy scrap, then throws it down in disgust. The charm’s bust; it displays his real age, too young to sign up.

“Listen,” he says, then levitates his case out of reach. “Listen damnit. We can’t stay here. What else are we meant to do? It won’t be that bad. We’re not backing out, so could we please just - could you do what a soul is meant to do and back me up for once?”

The dog whines, ears back, tail curled down. He crowds closer to Newt, butting his head against Newt’s lanky, unmuscled form and growling softly at the fake ID. “It won’t be that bad,” Newt repeats quietly, reaching out to stroke behind his ears. “We’ll be fine. Are you going to help me fix the charm?”

His soul does. It’s better than it was before.

War is not better. War is worse. The dog curls round him at night and leaps between him and enemy spells and once when Newt falls unconscious he feels his soul pulling him out the mud before he drowns. War is worse, and on his worst days he hides with the dragons and admits to his dog that he was right and they should never have come, and his dog rests his head on Newt’s knee and licks his face to comfort him.

“Hush,” he mumbles. “It’s not illegal, it’s heroic. We’re saving lives.”

He gets a flat stare in response, followed by a deafeningly loud bark. Thank god he’s the only one who can hear it, because there’s at least four guards that he can see. “You are entirely far too concerned with the law,” he says. “Where did I go wrong with you. Do you think I should use a shield charm, or go invisible and rely on stealth?”

In answer, the dog huffs, then grabs his sleeve and tows him round to the circus’ back entrance. Newt hadn’t even known high-top tents had a back entrance. “See?” he says. “We’ll make a hufflepuff of you yet. Let’s go free some unicorns.”

In Egypt, they fall ill. That’s the only way Newt can explain it. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, or what’s causing it, but he feels - tight. Too tight. Constrained. He wakes up gasping for breath with his fingers clawing at his throat, but there’s nothing there. The dog flinches at things neither of them can see, hackles raised and backing Newt into defensible corners when the shadows come too close.

There’s nothing there. Newt knows there’s nothing, he’s checked, but the dog is on such high alert and being so overprotective that they barely make it out of Cairo alive. The thunderbird is safe, though, and when Newt stumbles his way through a splinching his soul hauls him over the sand to a sheltered place to hide.

“Oh fuck,” Newt says, staring at his leg with wide, shocky eyes. “Oh fuck, it’s, what do I do, I never - I got expelled half way through that course, I don’t know what to do, it’s bleeding oh my fuck.”

The dog noses at his hands, teeth catching on the end of his sleeve, and Newt curls his fingers instinctively around the bottle. “Dittany?” He reads. “What do I do - hey, wait what are you - ow.” The dittany burns, but it does its job, and Newt’s leg slowly reforms into something he can walk on.

“Huh,” he says, as the dog inspects the scar. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

The illness doesn’t go away. By the time Newt gets to New York he feels like he can barely breathe every time he wakes up, and he spends the first morning throwing up in the toilet and cursing the fact that it wasn’t just sea sickness like he thought. The dog sticks close, too close, so much that it’s almost hard to walk through the crowded city streets.

“Is it a wizard thing?” Jacob asks, the fourth time Newt’s had to stop and wait for his soul to stop blocking the way. Jacob’s own soul is a monkey, Newt thinks, maybe one of the primates - he caught a glimpse of it when Jacob was staring in wonder at the creatures in his case. Not for the first time, Newt wishes he could share his dog with someone else. Not everyone. But. It would be nice, he thinks, for some people to see him the way they sometimes let him see them.

“No,” is what he says out loud. “Wizard souls aren’t any different from muggle ones, as far as I know. Mine just disagrees with me a lot.”

“Oh,” Jacob says, taken aback. “I’m... sorry?”

Newt would laugh, except his dog is curled miserably around his knees, staring out at the world as though it would hurt him. “Don’t be,” he says, dropping a hand to bury in the silky fur. “He’s just looking out for me. I wouldn’t have him any other way.”

In MACUSA’s holding cells they’re interrogated by a man called Percival Graves. Newt’s dog tries to rip his throat out. When they’re sent to be executed, the dog bites through the cuffs before Pickett can even crawl down to them, and barely gives Newt time to rescue Tina before he drags them away. They run through secret passages and disused access tunnels and Tina looks at him funny and asks how he knew they were there, and Newt waves the tattered ends of his sleeve at her in answer.

After, when Graves turned out to be Grindelwald and Picquery threw him in a cell, when Tina’s reinstated and Jacob’s forgotten and Frank is flying hurricane-high and riding the wind to Arizona, Newt stands on the dock and watches his boat pull out of the harbour.

“We were meant to be on that,” he says, but it sounds distant even to him. The dog gives him a muffled bork in reply, teeth clamped around his wrist, tail tucked low between his legs.

He’s started looking raggedy. His silky fur is going bald in patches. There’s a red welt developing around Newt’s neck from where he wakes up in the morning and has to remember how to breathe.

“Ok,” Newt says, letting his soul pull him insistently back to the city. “I’m coming. It’ll be ok.”

“Oh,” he says when he finds the man. He’s in chains, rough iron that suppresses his magic and has rubbed his skin raw and bleeding. It matches where the dog is losing fur.

“The fuck are you,” Graves rasps, shifting to hunch protectively over the little sugar-glider in his hands. It too is chained, one spelled iron-link that closes around its throat like a collar.

“Um,” Newt says, trusting his dog to keep watch while he works on undoing the wards. “I’m Newt. I think I have your soul.”

Graves freezes. His gaze darts between Newt and the dog, and there’s something undeniably vulnerable about realising that he can see him. The dog steps between them, hackles raised, and growls a warning, and that, of all things, makes Graves relax.

“Yeah,” he says, a vaguely hysterical note to his voice that suggests he thinks he’s dreaming. “Mangy mutt that likes to fight. Sounds like me.”

“You should see him when he’s had a bath,” Newt says mildly. “He’s very handsome.”

The wards fall, and Newt busies himself with releasing the chains and misses Graves reaction. When the last iron link cracks open he feels it like a weight lifted off his neck, and the sugar glider squeaks and scrambles up to sit on Graves’ head.

“You’re going to drag me on an adventure, aren’t you?” Graves asks, sounding resigned. “And then you’re going to get in trouble and I’m going to have to rescue you.”

“Well,” Newt says. “You’re going to make a fuss about breaking the law, and then you’re going to worry too much about everything that could go wrong. But you’re also going to be there to make sure it doesn’t go badly wrong, so that’s ok.”

Graves barks out a laugh, and chokes through the coughing fit that follows. Both Newt and the sugar glider hover awkwardly over him, Newt with a spell to ease his airways, the sugar glider with a tiny hand tugging comfortingly on his ear. “Sounds like me,” Graves says when he can speak again.

“Good. But first, you’re going to come home and get better and I’m going to fuss over you until you’re well again.”

“And that,” Graves says, and raises a finger to stroke the sugar glider with a fond smile, “That sounds a lot like you.”

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Face Heel Turn || Morgan & Ben

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: UMWC

PARTIES: @professorbcampbell & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Ben face an unpleasant problem on campus and make a run for their lives.

(art credit @professorbcampbell)

With a sigh, Ben removed his glasses and slipped them into the soft travel case that he then tucked away into his attache case. Meetings. While he was sure that many of his colleagues despised such events, Ben had always thrived in them. There was nothing quite like watching the interdepartmental politics at work and he enjoyed giving the invisible strings that wrapped around his peers a gentle nudge from time to time. One of the other professors approached him, asking if he wanted to go for drinks with the others. “Ah, no thank you,” He said with a polite shake of his head, “I was hoping to talk to David- chair duties and all.” Ben gave a regretful smile before stepping to the side. To his great annoyance, Ben caught sight of David making a quick exit from the room, escaping one Morgan Beck. Of course it was her. She was the mousy looking thorn in his otherwise pristine working life. “Morgan!” He said with a hearty smile, “Wonderful to see you.”

Morgan didn’t need to have real magic to work her will. Lots of pagans didn’t have a mainline to the universe and did just fine. She could too. She could. And if her will was getting a real contract with real responsibilities, something worthy of settling into for a few years, maybe until she stopped being able to convince people about her age, then she would take any opportunity the universe presented to her to make it happen. Sometimes that opportunity was cornering the dean of the liberal arts and social sciences college after a meeting.

Unfortunately, the dean wasn’t having any of it.

“Not now,” he mumbled, sliding past her.

“I just noticed three deceased faculty from my department in the obituaries, sir, and rather than waste university resources looking across the country, it be to everyone’s credit to promote from within and--”

“Not now, girl.” He shook his head. “Building codes.”

It took Morgan several seconds to process what she’d heard, and another to decide that, no, she was not going to respond politely. But that time was more than enough for the dean to get away. Worse, it was time enough for Ben Campbell to get in her way. She fought herself not to sneer openly at him. “Hi, Ben,” she managed, her cheer thin and shrill. “Great seminar today, right? Just love those PD review sessions. Keeps it fresh!” She shouldered him out of her way, scampering out the room and toward the dean’s office as she said, “Woops! So sorry, Ben. But I really need to catch David for something.” And maybe consider reversing her new policy on violence. “So sorry! Tootles!” Surely, she thought, Ben would hate her enough to not try and follow.

It had been amusing, at the very least, to see the Dean completely brush of Beck. Ben didn’t let any emotion show on his face, pretending instead to be focused on trying to see where David went. But on the inside, he couldn’t help the smug, triumphant gloating wash over him. Served her right, for getting ideas beyond her position. She should keep her nose down, like any good adjunct would. Work hard, don’t bother people who clearly couldn’t give a shit about you, and make relationships. And the only relationships she’d made, as far as Ben could tell, were negative ones. Pathetic. “Oh yes, PD review, absolutely riveting.” He said with a good natured nod. Grunting as she shouldered him with more force than he would have expected out of such a tiny woman, Ben’s eyes followed her as she headed for the door. “Ah, you’re trying to talk to David as well? Wonderful, so am I. Co-chair duties. Quite a lot of work, but at the end of the day, it’s all worth it.” Ben said with a warm smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “What,” Exactly, “are you asking him about?”

Politeness kept Morgan from sprinting down the hall to the dean’s office, but determination kept her pace brisk and steady. “Oh, co-chair duties, of course. I bet you have lots to discuss and get approved. But so much of our paperwork is digital, right? I’m sure David would appreciate it so much more if you sent him a solid email with bullet points.” She walked a little faster. “I just need a few minutes with him alone to make a proposal for the english department. Plans for next semester, staffing, the usual problems this university seems to be facing. I’m sure you’ve got a hot date or somewhere else you’d rather be.” She skidded to the door and grabbed the handle. “But it was so nice running into you!” If she said it loud enough, he’d get the idea and leave, right?

Eyes narrowing as Morgan moved past him, Ben sucked in a breath and forced his face into a smile. Walking after her, his own long strides more than keeping up with her shorter ones, Ben shook his head. “I wish it was so simple. We’re meeting about recruitment for the prospective graduate students to the college. I need to hammer out some of the finer details with him that an email simply wouldn’t cover.” He said with a long suffering sigh. As Morgan explained what she was going after, Ben’s eyebrow arched. What exactly was Bitchy Beck up to? Staffing… they’d had quite a few deaths in the department-- nothing related to him, of course. But there had been some unexpected openings. With a laugh, Ben shook his head, “No dates for me, I’m a bit too busy for that.” As she pulled open the door, he followed quickly behind her. There was no way he was letting Morgan monopolize David’s time. “I’m sure Dave can pencil both of us in.”

“Aw, no someone special?” Morgan said, barely bothering to put on a guise of sympathy on her words. “That’s so sad. You should really do something about that, Ben. I mean, unless you’re aro in which case, friend dates are still a thing! In a place like this, you could die alone tomorrow.” And sometimes she wished he would. “And that would just be kinda sad and tragic, right?” She twisted the handle and swung open the door onto the dean, or who she thought was the dean, fumbling to open the window, not realizing it was sealed. This would have been enough to make her freeze in the doorway on its own, but by the desk, another dean writhed on the floor and clawed at the smooth fleshy plane that was once his face. The secretary was next to him, the skin around her sealed, lipless mouth already turning blue.

“Uh…” Morgan edged back until she stepped on Ben’s toes.

The dean who was not the dean whipped his head around to look at them. He opened his mouth.

The corner of his lips quirking with barely concealed irritation, Ben hurried after the woman. How could such a tiny thing be so quick? “No, no, not aromantic. Or asexual. I’m a very average American man, just with a busier than average work schedule. But, I might try to see someone, who knows.” He said, remembering that the Nichol’s woman had mentioned knowing Beck when she’d dropped by for that post lecture disaster. Just as he was about to mention that he was very interested in getting to know Erin better and, oh, did she happen to know her? What a coincidence, what a wonderful coincidence indeed--Morgan had already pulled open the door to the dean’s office without even the slightest decency to knock. And he was startled to see a pair of bodies writhing on the floor, their faces smooth, fleshy masks.

“Good Lord!” Ben swore, raising his arms instinctively to defend himself as the decidedly not-dean stood and screamed at them. The human lips split like seams and Ben could have sworn he saw circular rows of teeth lining the thing’s throat as it bellowed. His hands clasped over his ears at the harsh shriek and he stumbled backwards, not in fear but in pain. He’d seen demons do far worse than this, he’d done far worse than this himself. But, he was only human, after all. And without a weapon at his disposal, he could hardly do anything to protect himself. And, as irritating as Beck was, it wouldn’t do to explain how she’d been murdered as well. “Let’s get out of here!” He said, grabbing her by the shoulder and tugging her to the door as the dean moved with jerky, alien movements across the office towards them.

Several things happened at once before Morgan’s eyes: a very bright dangerous-looking something spewed out of Not-the-dean’s mouth and landed on the door next to her head, Ben pulled her away, and her confusion and panic erupted into a scream. She didn’t fight Ben. Not-the-dean had leapt to an open chair, landing on all fours and his toothy, four lipped mouth spread open again.

She started to run with Ben, but from the galloping thumps behind them, she could tell it was gaining. “Fucking fuck,” she hissed. She pulled back on Ben’s arm and made a sharp turn down the nearest hall. “You’re too slow!” Then again, so were her pumps. Morgan stopped long enough to kick them off, which so happened to be enough time for Not-the-dean to come bounding down the hall. He stopped just shy of the turn Morgan made and swiveled his head.

“If I carry you, are you gonna be a baby about it?” She asked.

The dean leapt for them, apparently determined. No time to find out. “Hold on tight, spider monkey,” she said. Then she swept her arm under his legs and went off with him.

The way the imposter’s face opened into a disgusting, peeling-apart mouth was enough to convince Ben that they needed to go post-haste, immediately, now. Scrambling out of the room, he sprinted down the hallway as quickly as he could and was startled to see Morgan was keeping pace with him? What? How could she possibly do that-- he wasn’t that old. But this tiny little thing was running alongside him, barely even winded from the effort. Turning an unexpectedly tight corner, the combination of his momentum and his considerable frame had him smacking into the side of the wall. Meanwhile, he could hear the loping sound of the creature echoing behind them.

“Carry me? I’m nearly 200--” Ben started but before he could finish his sentence, Morgan had already grabbed hold of him and was lifting him off the ground. And then, she began to run. Instinctively, Ben clung to her shoulders tightly, not wanting to fall off the woman’s thin frame. Gritting his teeth in irritation, he muttered, “Twilight? Really?” under his breath as Morgan sprinted his way through the hallways. As thoroughly emasculating as it was, to be packmuled out of danger by Beck of all people, there was a silver lining. Morgan had revealed herself to him. She was distinctly not human-- what breed of that, he had no idea-- but she was… unfortunately, a part of the true world.

Morgan managed to laugh wryly as she ran. “Got a problem with that, Bella?” Just a few more feet. It would be easier out in the open, right? Not-the-Dean thundered behind them, galloping the way no person should be able to. The air hissed, and Morgan heard something sizzling on her back and bubbling splatter on the wall beside her.

“Was that acid?” She wasn’t sure why she was alarmed. It wouldn’t do anything to her that couldn’t immediately be undone. But who liked getting acid thrown at them anyway? And there was still Ben in her arms, even if wiping away his face might be an improvement to his character. “Maybe duck your head!” They were almost out the hall. “And brace for impact!” If he was so tough, he shouldn’t mind her blasting through the double doors. Once outside they could split up, or double back and have it lose their trail that way.

Morgan barreled through the doors and into the purple evening, still running, until she crashed into the bike rack and fell over, dropping Ben and sprawling onto the ground.

“Yes.” Ben grunted emphatically, as he was jostled on the woman’s back rather roughly as they ran through the corridors. What the ever loving fuck was happening? What the hell was Morgan? Definitively not human, not human in the slightest. Unless she was moonlighting as some kind of bodybuilder or pro wrestler or something, but that seemed doubtful. But, he couldn’t dwell on this for very long as something hot, wet, and bubbling splashed against the wall next to them. Chancing a glance over, his face went pale as he saw bits of exposed concrete peeking through spots where acid had already begun to chew through the structure.

“Acid. Yes, yes, that was acid-- run faster, Beck!” He yelled, holding on tightly to the small woman’s shoulders. Twisting his head, he watched as the thing behind them was still hot in pursuit, barrelling after them on all fours. “What?” He asked, before turning back just in time to duck, though the crossbar of the door still caught the back of his head. He was seeing stars as Morgan barrelled out into the quad and spilled out on the ground when she slammed into the bike rack. Stunned, barely able to see, and head splitting with pain, Ben blindly scrambled backwards, wanting to put as much distance between him and the creature as possible.

For one terrible second, Morgan stayed on the ground. Too fast and she might be seen, identified for what she was, or else frighten Ben into telling enough people about her that she found herself hunted in her office one day. Too slow and it wouldn’t matter because Not-the-Dean and his acid was going to eat her. Ben was already moving beside her, getting up and far the fuck away. That was as good enough of a cue as any. Morgan jumped to her feet and kept running, past Ben and toward the nearest building. As she passed him she called, “You’re welcome! Don’t die!” Then she kept running, into the music building, then architecture, in and out praying that just this once the universe would bend her way and that she hadn’t been seen and she wasn’t a good enough target to be worth pursuing anyway. When she finally made it inside her car, she let herself take a beat and scan the horizon for signs of...whatever the hell she’d just seen. But it could look like anything, couldn’t it? One of the teenagers ambling toward the parking lot, the janitor pushing their cart into the next building, the MBAs strolling out in their suits. And she hadn’t even looked back, had she? Was Ben still alive? And what about the students, playing frisbee in the sunset and coming in for their late night classes and-- Morgan let her head hit the steering wheel and sighed. Too late to tie up loose ends now. She needed to go home, be grateful, and not think too hard about how bad she didn’t feel about Ben Campbell maybe losing his face.

Blinking the spots from his vision, Ben picked himself up to run from the creature that was still pursuing them-- him, he realized. Because as he was turning to dash away, he watched as Morgan scrambled past him, shouting such incredibly insightful advice as she left. Bitchy fucking Beck was going to leave him to die-- or worse, have his face ripped off and masqueraded around on some disgusting creature. “Lord!” He swore as he ran across the quad, his tie whipping behind him as he sprinted away. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yanking open the nearest building’s door, he fumbled to pull his lanyard from his pocket, his staff keycard in hand. The top floors here were barred to relevant staff and he had access, he could go up there. Running towards the staircase, Ben chanced a glance behind him and saw that the creature had shoved open the doors of the building. A fresh spray of acid was shot his direction and he let out a yelp before slipping into the staircase.

Taking the steps three at a time, Ben hurried up the spiraling staircase and waved his keycard frantically at the heavy metal door. Green lights flashed over the electronic lock and he threw himself inside, slamming the door behind him. Sore, tired, and breathing hard, Ben slumped against the door and listened for the creature. He could hear it tearing through the stairwell, screeching and raging as it ran. But, it didn’t seem to know where he was. And he was fine with that. As the monster’s screeches faded, Ben was at last able to relax and reflect on just what exactly had happened. His mind was putting together all the pieces, forming a very hazy, very concerning picture.

About three things, Ben was absolutely positive. First, Morgan wasn’t human. Second, there was a part of her, and he wasn’t sure how large this part of her was, that was fine with him being dead. And third, he unconditionally, irrevocably hated her.

[e-vasong]

hi!! I just wanted to ask about the daemon AU--do you have a headcanon abt when their daemons would settle? or did they just settle after puberty? Did 5's daemon settle before or after the apocolypse?

AH!! this is such a good question.  I’m gonna put a cut after this first bit, though, because I took a simple question and accidentally...wrote a 2k thing that kinda straddles the line between answering your question and being a freeform fic? whoops.

Okay.  So I think all the kids probably settle a little later than normal for most people.  It’s been a while since I read the books, but I recall that most daemons, though not all, settle towards the start of puberty.  I headcanon that trauma is one of the things that can push that process back, and all the Hargreeves kids have that in abundance.  Not to mention that I don’t think isolating your kids from a normal childhood and forcing them into a vigilante lifestyle is exactly helpful for their development.

Luther settles first, a day after their thirteenth birthday.  It happens without much fanfare, while they’re resting at home after a mission.  There’s not much a golden retriever can do on a mission that another animal can’t do just as well or better, and Reginald really emphasizes the utility of their daemons above all else.  But sometimes Luther likes to let Amalthea turn into big, soft things when their dad isn’t looking.  He likes them, even if Diego mocks him relentlessly for it.  And that afternoon Amalthea plops down on his chest and turns into a golden retriever, licking at his chin to comfort him after the verbal excoriation their father had given them after the mission had gone wrong at every possible turn.  It’s a miracle none of them were hurt.  That scares Luther more than anything else.  How close he’d come to failing and getting someone killed.  And they don’t even realize that she’s settled until like an hour later when they’re headed downstairs and Amalthea tries to shift back into a form that their father will find dignified and just...can’t.

Klaus settles next much to everyone’s surprise.  It happens a few months after Luther.  Their father has them locked in the crypt again, and it’s particularly bad tonight.  Klaus can see them everywhere, tearing at his clothes, clawing at his skin, and he can barely breathe.  They go after Cassandra just as eagerly as they do him, but she’s harder to catch.  Suddenly she’s a falcon, an ermine, a rat scuttling through a new hole in the wall that their father must have missed.  And then she’s outside.  Twelve, thirteen feet away maybe, and it pulls at the connection between them, almost to the point of being painful.  Hurts enough to gear Klaus out of his catatonic haze and get him to push through the throng of ghosts just to get a couple feet closer to her.  And then Cassandra is a cicada, fluttering up to the lock.  And then she’s a raccoon, clawing futilely at it with those deft, clever fingers, but unable to work it open without anything to jimmy the lock open with.  Yet she’s also trapped by their bond, unable to venture and look for something to use.  And so she tries to shift back to rat, to get back inside, and just.  Doesn’t.  Can’t.  So Klaus stills his breathing long enough to stumble over to the door of the crypt, pressing his back flat against it and trying to still his breathing.  Cassandra curls up in a small ball in front of the door.  And they stay like that all night, until their father comes to let them out in the morning.

Allison, Diego, and Vanya all settle pretty close together, towards the end of their thirteenth year and the start of their fourteenth.

Allison settles on a mission.  She’s so busy rumoring a bad guy into killing his friends that she doesn’t notice the one behind her until Diego drops to the ground with a muffled cry of pain.  She makes a noise, a hoarse-sounding scream of shock and surprise.  But she’s well-trained enough to wrestle her gut reaction under control quickly.  She whips around, a rumor already on her lips, but before she can say anything Alexander is there.  A flash of muted gold and black, not hulking but still larger than she expects.  He jumps, first onto a table.  The spring inside a loaded gun.  Fifty pounds of coiled muscle and snarling rage.  Then he leaps again, surprisingly agile.  There’s a flash of canine, long and sharp.  The man dies with a gurgle, and when Alexander pads over to Diego’s injured body, licking at their brother’s face with concern, Allison sees that those white teeth are bloody and red.

Diego settles during one of their sneak-outs.  They’re walking along the pier, eating fish tacos they bought from a vendor nearby.  Ben is reading as they walk, flipping pages idly.  He’s not paying attention to where they’re going, though Luther keeps trying to get him to put the book down.  But then Diego had told Luther to lay the fuck off, and that had turned into a whole thing, and Ben’s still reading his book.  If Five were here, there wouldn’t be any concern about it.  He’d had that sort of quiet, watchful way about him, where you knew that even if he wasn’t actively stopping you from doing something, he was still keeping an eye out to make sure it didn’t kill you.  If Five were here, he’d have made them take Vanya.  If Five were here...

But he isn’t.  He’s probably off somewhere, living happily away from their father and from them.  Asshole.  It’s an uncharitable thought, and Guinevere would bite him for it if he said it out loud, but Diego is so caught up in his anger that he doesn’t see Ben walk into the pole until its too late.  

Ben swears, hands flying to his face automatically.  Klaus bursts into hysterical laughter.  Allison’s gasps, putting a hand to her mouth.  Ben’s book tumbles out of his hands and into the water, and Guinevere--also laughing--follows it, turning small and furry as she does.  She doesn’t catch it before it gets soaked, but she gets the book in her teeth and paddles over to a small ladder that drops down off the dock.  Ben turns to thank her, but Diego is too distracted to catch what he says.  Diego just settled, he’s pretty sure.  He can feel it in his bones.  He’d kind of been hoping for something that would prove once and for all that he’s better than Luther, but frankly their father isn’t going to be any more pleased with otter than golden retriever.  That’s kind of a bummer.  But when he kneels down to let Guinevere scramble up his arm and around his neck, he can’t really bring himself to care.  She’s Gwen, and he’s Diego, and if their father has anything to say about it?  Well then.  He can go fuck himself.

Vanya settles that winter.  She’s playing her violin in the living room.  Ben is sitting nearby.  They aren’t hanging out, not exactly.  None of her siblings really hang out with her, not since Five, but Ben maybe comes the closest.  Calliope usually takes the form of a cat, winding around Vanya’s ankles as she plays.  She used to turn into a capuchin sometimes, to flip the pages of Vanya’s music, but Io has more or less soured Vanya on monkey daemons these days.  But still.  Things are nice, and today they are in a particularly good mood.  Ben’s company is comforting; it’s nice not to be alone; and Vanya hasn’t missed a single note.  So today, Calliope flutters up onto her shoulder and sings along with her.  And she never changes back.  And when Vanya shyly shows her to their family later, Reginald sniffs, disdainful, having barely spared them a flicker of a glance.  Just a songbird, he says dismissively.  And that is that.

(And later, years and years later, Leonard peers into the veil of Vanya’s hair.

“Is that your daemon?” he asks affably.  He looks unbothered by the way Vanya cringes.  His orb weaver is crawling up the sleeve of his shirt, looking almost like a toy or a strange decorative pin.

“Yeah,” Vanya says.  Cal is a bundle of fluffed-up feathers nestled in the crook of Vanya’s neck.  She huddles in closer at the sight of Leonard’s attention.

“What is she?” Leonard asks, then holds his hands up apologetically.  “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Just a songbird.”

“Just a songbird?” Leonard echoes.  He leans in closer.  “Hey, she’s a...great tit, right?  I’ve read about those.”

“Oh?” Vanya asks, bracing herself for whatever is going to come next.  Leonard is a nice guy; she’s sure he means well.  It doesn’t mean that what he says next isn’t going to hurt.

“Yeah,” Leonard smiles at her.  “You’re right.  They are songbirds.  But they’re more than that.”

Vanya pauses, lifts a hand to her hair uncertainly.  She hadn’t expected that.  “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m surprised your family didn’t ever say anything to you, I have to admit.  They are songbirds, Vanya.  But they’re hunters too,” Harold says.  There’s wonder in his eyes, and when Vanya looks up to meet his gaze, he just smiles.)

Ben, like Luther, settles without much fuss.  Once a week, since they turned ten, they’ve had a designated time to try out new forms for their daemon.  Their father brings out books on zoology.  Gives them specimen after specimen to try.  Ben isn’t quite sure that this is how it’s supposed to work.  All accepted science suggests that settling is half a physical affair and half a mental one.  It’s not just about finding the right shape, it's about state of mind as well.  Amalthea is a golden retriever, but if she had tried that form when Luther was eight, Ben doubts that she would have settled.  But their father doesn’t much seem to care, nor does he seem to understand.  Then again, Io and their father have a dynamic that Ben doesn’t quite get either.  They seem less like human and daemon and more like warden and prison guard.  But maybe that’s just Ben projecting.

Melpomene takes to their father’s training with more courage than Ben does.  His stomach hurts; he wishes that he could go back to bed. This is worse now.  All the others have settled, and Ben’s been doing this part of their training alone for almost a year.  But Mel is braver than Ben is, and she takes the lead.  So they go down the list, while their father watches with those piercing eyes.  Io is perched on the desk, lips drawing back from his teeth whenever Ben so much as twitches a muscle in the wrong direction.

Mel turns into a large octopus.  A cassowary.  A vulture, a great Philippine Eagle, a Sumatran rhino, a spectacled caiman.

And then she stops.  Tries to shift again.

“I’m stuck,” Mel declares, sounding just as surprised as Ben feels.  Their father’s back straightens, and it’s the nearest thing he’s ever given Ben to pride.  He peers over his spectacles.  Nods.

“This is acceptable,” their father says, like there’s any other option.  It’s not like Ben can do anything about it, but he holds his tongue and stares at the floor again.  A predator.  A scary one, not like Guinevere or Amalthea.  Even Alexander is cuddly.  Crocodilians, though, people hate.  This isn’t how Ben wanted his settling to go.  He hadn’t wanted their father to be right.

Ben’s stomach twists.  He feels something nudge against the inner lining of his gut, like it’s trying to escape, and ignores it.

“Dismissed, Number Six,” their father says, and when Ben turns to go his eyes feel wet.

And Five...Ugh.  I’m debating how much of this I want to share, because I actually have this scene written elsewhere?  But Five settles last.  Five settles last by no small margin, not just chronologically, but by age as well.  Five settles late even among other late bloomers.  He settles when he’s eighteen.  Approximately.  It’s hard to keep track of days in the Apocalypse; Five is good with numbers and has a great memory, but it’s been five years by this point and the days are starting to blur, even for him.  The lateness of his settling comes from a combination of trauma, a lack of socialization, and the fact that he is desperately trying to avoid it.  He and Dolores keep a list of forms that they know are safe, forms that she’s taken again and again and hasn’t settled in yet.  

Because in the Apocalypse, an unsettled daemon is an incredible asset.  She can be a hawk, fluttering up to a roof to scout for places to salvage.  A wolf, sniffing out supplies.  An elephant, moving rubble and bricks so they can turn what remains of the library’s atrium into a makeshift shelter.  And a bear, warm and hardy.  That form’s kept Five from freezing to death for the past several winters.  But the thing about nature is that it always finds a way.  They can only fight it for so long.  And one night Five wakes up, and Dolores is a snake, and she can’t shift out.  She’s cold, too.  The night temperatures are too much for her now.  

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, she says to Five, almost frantic with it.

It’s fine, he tells her as she curls up under his jacket, soaking up the warmth radiating from his chest.  You’re beautiful.  It sounds like a lie.  It kind of feels like one too, even though he means it. 

This should be a wonderful thing.  It would have been, under almost any other circumstances. 

They do make it, of course.  We know that.  Five is clever and he is determined and he has no choice but to survive.  He will accept no other outcome, and he’s right in that.  They suffer, but they live.  They win and they get back to their family.  

In the moment, though, they are just a seventeen-year-old boy and his daemon, entirely alone in a world that doesn’t care whether they live or die, and it mainly feels like a death sentence.

(BUT THEN ALSO THEY ALL REUNITE WHEN FIVE TIME TRAVELS BACK AND BEN COMES BACK TO LIFE SOMEHOW AND LEARNS SELF LOVE AND THEY ALL RECOVER FROM THEIR TRAUMA TOGETHER YEE HAW)

[sburbian-sage]

Strifing Without Specibus: How To Weaponize Your Sylladex & Other Harming Implements

One’s Strife Specibus is one of the more important tools in the game. Defending from Underlings and PK’ers, facing down the final bosses and Unreal Heirs, fruitless sparring with your Guardians and Coplayers, and the time honored tradition of getting into dick-measuring contests with your friends, seeing who can make the coolest or most absurd method. Some people allocate their Specibus accidentally, but as their improvised weaponry grows on them, they “main” it, trying as hard as they can to keep using it in future sessions. Your average Player will use a variety of Strife Specubi, from typical weapons like bladekind, pistolkind, and hammerkind, to weird choices like bookkind, peprmillkind, or rulerkind (measuring sticks, not governing bodies). Some people choose theirs because they like it, some choose for versatility, and some choose for metagaming purposes.

Sometimes though, the Strife Specibus isn’t enough. You’ve got some wimpy kiddy scissors that just won’t cut it while an Ogre prepares to swing. You’ve got a lance, but a winged Imp flies out of reach. You’ve got enough mangrit to toss a dryer, which you conveniently have on-hand, but no dryerkind, and the strange abstracted game-y nature of reality thus prevents you from attacking with it. In such cases, instead of un-abstracting your Strife Deck for the purposes of tossing it on the floor and stepping on it, perhaps you should get good and learn how to weaponize your Sylladex.

We’ve all been there. We’re having trouble fighting things, so your smarmy know-it-all friend tells you “a hyuk hyuk why dont u fite with your sllyadex yuo fucking scrub” and then doesn’t tell you how to actually do it. So you flail around, then learn how to do it kind of, and then stop doing it and rely on your Strife Specibus. Then years later, someone with less experience than you is having trouble fighting things, so you tell them “a hyuk hyuk why dont u fite with your sllyadex yuo fucking scrub". With typos, because you’ve turned into a silly mspaint strawman comic man. And then you cry. It’s a vicious, dehumanizing cycle, and you probably want to punch that guy or yourself, but you can’t because you don’t have fistkind you fucking scrub. You also can’t throw stuff at him, because you learned the bare basics of Sylladex fighting so you’re very shitty at it. So I’m going to help you break that cycle, and teach you actual lessons of fighting with your Sylladex. That way, you can walk right up to that dude, then toss a bunch of cream pies at him, then watch him scream and cry like a silly mspaint strawman comic man. Then you can do it to your past self. Then go mad with the power of throwing things.

The Fundaments: How Do I Shot Web?

I wrote this section after all the others because I realized too late that some of you might not even know the basics of weaponizing your Sylladex. That’s sad and pathetic, but it’s not unlikely, and best to put it here now rather than get accused of putting the cart before the horse later. Basically, you know how if your Sylladex is full, if you captchalogue something else, it goes flying out at high speeds? This is the mechanic you are exploiting. Catchaloguing an item such that it ejects something you’re holding on. The following section will be divided into Taos (even more fundamentals) and Zens (more advanced tricks), because I read a book that did this once and I thought that was cool.

Also, you should know that Hope players will be better than you at this. [Eject] is a Hope-exclusive ability that automatically ejects something from their Sylladex, and it’s very easy to learn, and it completely removes half the challenge from weaponizing your Sylladex (that is, finding something to put into the thing). While you’re scrambling for rocks so you can launch your fridge, they’ll be launching fridges at a whim. If you’re not a Hope player, then do what everyone else does. Bitch about it and move on.

Tao of Sylladex Strife: Know Your Fetch Modus

If you’re going to be using your Sylladex to fight, know how it works. Even babies know how to pick stuff up, but sometimes babies get confused by how their particular Fetch Modus actually works. And maybe you’ll get confused even if you’re not a baby (read: teenager), particularly if you get dropped into a new Session and the guy whose place you’re taking is a hipster and decided to grab one of the most esoteric Fetch Modi known to man. So make sure, before you even THINK of mis-using your Sylladex for violent purposes, that you understand how it works. And check the back, because there might be settings.

Once you’ve done that, you need to re-learn it again. This time, understand how it works in combat. Particularly, how does it eject, and how can you use it? FIFO and FILO Sylladice will eject the earliest item. Hashmap ejects the item occupying the slot you’re attempting to fill. Tree doesn’t eject so much as stuff falls. Array is wonderful for inventory management (even though I prefer Index), but it ejects stuff randomly. Enabling the “detect collisions” setting also makes inventory management easier, but considerably slows down the speed at which you can weaponize your Sylladex. How long does it take to actually captchalogue items? Is it complicated, or unwieldy? When something gets ejected, how does it fly? It’s somewhat complex, re-assessing your understanding of your Sylladex, but some general tips are as follows.

Knowing what will eject is better than random ejection.

More space means more stockpiling, but it becomes harder to keep track of your stuff.

Less space means you know your inventory better, but you have less room to maneuver and can’t stockpile as well.

Turn off “detect collisions” if you want to use your Sylladex in battle.

Short and uncomplicated captchalogue mechanics are better.

Tao of Sylladex Strife: Know Your Inventory

Now that you understand how your Fetch Modus functions, you need to understand its contents. Your Sylladex will serve two functions. An inventory, and an arsenal. “Inventory” basically means “stuff for use in puzzles and alchemy”, “arsenal” means “stuff I will use to commit murder with”. Just as it’s good to have a Fetch Modus that can serve those two functions, it’s good to have a balanced inventory. Key items, and tossable junk items. It’s also important that you know what’s going to be used. Safely take out keys, and toss your dishwasher, not the Glass Orb of Not Softlocking The Game.

As for your arsenal, understand what does and doesn’t make an effective weapon. Straight razors and sharp and fly fast and long, but they’re small and might break. Fridges are big and heavy, so they’ll do a lot of damage, but also destroy the environment and have bad range. Make sure as shit you’re out of range of your impact bombs when you let them loose, and don’t toss garden gnomes if you’re trying to knock back a Giclops. While they fill the role of bullets (with the Sylladex as the gun), they’re more like specialized tools that are all used by hurling them at people you don’t like.

Tao of Sylladex Strife: Know Your Surroundings.

Understanding your battlefield is not only important in general warfare, it’s also important when considering your throwables. While most Players who stick to their guns (so to speak) will mainly traverse their Land only looking for that which is essential to winning the game, you need to traverse it while understanding it on two levels.

The first level is the Strategic Level. Understanding your Land as a whole, and how to utilize the TOYS (Tools Of Your Surroundings) within. If you find yourself low on Sylladex weapons, where you can stock up, and what will you be stocking up on? What’s the fastest route to those locations from where you are? Does a certain location have better weaponry for the specific foes you’ll face later on? Stuff like that.

The second level is the Tactical Level. This is understanding your immediate surroundings while in a fight. What items can you quickly get to? Which ones should be used for ejection, which are best for softening the enemy up, and which are best for dealing lethal blows? Is it at all possible to make new items, like smashing the tile floors or breaking a window and captchaloguing the ensuing debris?

It’s a bit difficult to give blanket lessons on this Tao, but it’s always keep an analytical eye. You should know where your TOYS are before you need them, lest you get caught with your pants down.

Zen of Sylladex Strife: Art of the Adventure Gamer

You could tag SBURB as a lot of games. AR MMO survival psychological action adventure with house sim elements. Early-access too, considering how shitty it is. But don’t forget the adventure part. Have you ever played those point-and-click adventure games like Monkey Island or Sam & Max, and been amused with how the protagonists will take completely random and sometimes absurd objects because they could be useful? Well stop smiling, because they’re always right and you need to start doing that too.

First of all, you should already have been doing that. SBURB is also a puzzle game, and not only can potentially any item help you with puzzles, but every item could be useful for Alchemy purposes. Well now you need to add “killing stuff” to the list of potential uses for every item. Diagnose yourself with severe kleptomania and start acting like it. Grab everything you can! Use everything on everything! Stack up on Captchalogue Cards! Seriously, they’re dirt cheap for the Alchemiter. And speaking of Alchemy...

Zen of Sylladex Strife: Alchemy Isn’t Just For Weapons

Everybody loves going down to their Alchemy Pad and making new weapons, new armor, new tools, and a whole lot of useless bullshit. It reminds them of the satisfaction of upgrading their equipment or buying a new level of gear in the other video games they’ve played. Those video games, however, also tend to teach you that upgrading your ammunition or spending money on special ammo is a waste of time. It is, but not necessarily in SBURB. While improvised weaponry for Sylladex fighting is comparable to ammo, the ease of Alchemy means that not only is is usually cheap to make “upgraded ammo”, but they can be pretty effective. For example, throwing a couch at someone will hurt. Steel nails are very easy to acquire. A bit of Grist and the || function later, and you’re throwing a steel couch at someone. Not to mention, like that couch, some ammo is easy to retrieve. So next time you settle down to celebrate Gristmas, consider loading your Sylladex with some harmful objects.

Zen of Sylladex Strife: Mod Your Modus

Now that you know you should know your Sylladex, you should begin experimenting with it. If you can, grab a Modus Control Deck and a couple of extra Fetch Modii. If not, then you could try Alchemy or perhaps programming. Mix-and-match modii until you have something stronger, then once you’re settled, get to understanding that. Try to find a way to circumvent the weaknesses of the one you’re currently using. It’s kind of like sitting down at a gun bench, except your gun should also be able to carry stuff effectively, and is infinitely more confusing to comprehend.

Speaking of the Modus Control Deck, remember that you can use it to change the Fetch Modus you’re currently using. It’s possible to change Fetch Modii manually, but I find the MCD is more elegant and simple. So it might be a good idea to have several Modii for several occasions, and use the one you think you’ll be needing. For example, use something Inventory-suited like Index when exploring, and when you’re expecting a fighter, switch to something Arsenal-suited like Fingerbands. Just remember to not displace the MCD, or you’ll be running around with the one you’re using forever.

Zen of Sylladex Strife: Fighting At Full Power

This is the Zen that makes you feel like a warrior. If you intend to fight with your Sylladex, you need to remember that it is one of at least two weapons at your disposal. You also have a Strife Specibus. You must use both if you want to truly succeed. Throw something heavy at a Giclops, then pepper him with bullets. When locking blades with a Lich, stun him with a surprise vase, then riposte. I once saw a guy with Hammerkind augment the swing of his sledge with a safe going at breakneck speed, so his strike went at terminal velocity and tore a Basilisk in half. You’re going to have to learn how your Strife Specibus factors into all of this, and probably practice, but by mixing conventional warfare with captchalogue warfare, you become significantly harder to predict, and much more deadly.