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@killthisdestiny
the fear never goes away
[ ╳ ] KILLTHISDESTINY. ⋯ a look into unwanted godhood, destiny, and clear-eyed simplicity. Hero X from To Be Hero X. Canon-compliant but heavily headcanoned. AU / multiverse / multiship. ( mun is 21+ , indie , semi-selective. follows from @timeislikemusic ) affiliations: tbd. blog roll: lc mumu (main) , bsd mumu , tbhx mumu , tbhx queen
more info under the cut . . .
nine hugs his legs to his body, seemingly engulfed by his coat of colors. maybe he's feeling a touch insecure by the side of a man who can do it all. sure, the rebel can create but the top hero can practically do whatever he wants, no limits (or that's how he sees it). "y'think we would've been friends even if… you know… fate didn't bring us together?" oddly meek, not as loud as the happy-go-lucky hero typically falls into cadence. "meet somewhere along the way. hero stuff. or... not."
╳ — IS THAT EVEN A QUESTION ? Quizzical eyes scour the colorful hero’s form, searching for some sign of tomfoolery. When X finds none, he sits beside him, legs folded awkwardly underneath. Nine is usually loud. Confident. Or, determined enough to act like it. That’s the balance they keep between each other. When one drops, there’s an obligation to correct the scales so they both don’t fall off-kilter.
“ If Fate didn’t bring us together, I would, ” X says, matter-of-fact. He picks at the frayed edges of his socks; doesn’t look at Nine. The error here is one of continuity. To have never met Nine means to have never known what he’s missing out on. It’s a nice idea, though: the ability to rewrite destiny.
Society is founded on belief leading to fact. “ In this version of our world, if I decide I want something bad enough, wouldn’t that wish impact all realities? ” X doesn’t think of himself as god. He’s just the writer of his own narrative. And, well. His story would be incomplete without his friend.
“ I will meet you in all timelines. In all possibilities. ” He bonks Nine’s shoulder with his elbow and leans a touch closer. It’s no cakewalk to defy a thing like Fate. He wants to say he could. Wants to believe it, too. Still, even if he couldn’t, it really doesn’t matter to him. They’re here and now, together, and that’s the only version he cares about. Hard to fathom more. Wouldn’t do the present justice, either, to dwell on what-could-be.
…But it matters to Nine. So he’ll speak his piece and hope it brings comfort.
n i c e
[ does it end? ] - ghostblade
╳ — A SHIFT IN WIND GIVES HIS PRESENCE AWAY . X didn’t announce himself, and Ghostblade found him anyway, standing several feet from the building’s ledge. Below them lies the aftermath of Ghostblade’s work. X doesn’t look at it directly. Fine to notice. Hard to dwell on.
Not all heroes feast on a spotlight. Ghostblade is a prime example. For others to shine so bright, it seems Mighty Glory likes to darken their shadows. Such stark contrast leaves little room for doubt. Lends itself nicely to cleanup as well.
The phone rises, screen out-turned, three words on display. X reads it from a polite distance, which consequently has him squinting. He doesn’t ask what ‘it’ means. He doesn’t get closer to find out, either. Ghostblade rarely expresses himself, let alone with an ask of all things. To close the physical gap might encroach too far on already shown leniency.
“ Depends, ” X says, hands in his pockets. “ A lot of things end. But some things just… change. One end is another start. ” He stops. Maybe he wants some kind of confirmation. That phone must ring every day with orders, orders Ghostblade carries out as stoically as ever. This could end one way. The same way as the corpse down there. Or, it’ll end with a change: catalyst and action.
No hopeless man would bother to question this routine. That’s a good sign, right?
civ x and hero x swapping personalities ohmy god hold me back 🤤🤤🤤🤤
a delicate finger tip traces along the cold polished surface of the grand white piano, a hum playing at his lips as he stops short of the nameless hero sitting at the keys. " i didn't know you played "
╳ — NOTHING PAYS FOR ITSELF . The sounds from the piano slow, drawn out longer than sheet music might call for. They’re colorful. Every rap to the key electrifies X’s skin, or perhaps the other way around. It’s an invisible sight. He watches swirling audio dance, barely noting the shape of Nice beside him. There’s a certain pleasure in making people wait for his attention. Even people he likes.
Eventually, he glances sideways through his glasses. “ There’s a lot you don’t know about me, ” he says. He means: this is inconsequential. Means: it is about as true as the suit and the shoes and the white of his hair. Wondrous and glamorous, made for the spotlight, and… And not quite him.
At the same time, it is him. The line’s just blurry. X could play this well in fluffy slippers and loungewear, though that’s probably not a sight Nice would find amusing. Bit too bland, no?
He stretches his hands and massages his palms. The promo material — a watch — glints on his wrist. “ My landlord raised the rent, ” he sighs, as if that makes any sense for the supposed top hero. “ So, I have a brand deal now. ” A ‘brand deal.’ Sounds like some kind of disease.
Dark eyes drift back to the piano keys. He wanders, plays something quieter, something that doesn’t suit the commercial at all. “ Long story short, send your thanks to a girl and a coin and very questionable financial decisions. ” The piano isn’t the sole consequence, but it’s the one at the forefront right now. “ I’m actually surprised myself how naturally it’s come to me. ”
How much of this skill can he attribute to his abilities? It’s… straightforward enough, he thinks. Dodge harsh contrast, paint a harmonious picture, and profit. Easy. Visual. How he learns best.
The corner of his mouth pulls, fond, when he adds: “ For the record, she’s still much better with this than I am. ” X stops and, properly, gives Nice his attention. His hands don’t stop moving. The set is extravagant, from the lights to the stage to the piano itself. At the moment, there’s no one here save for the crew. He’s meant to practice for the real deal. Practice, though he’s more so playing around. “ Shouldn’t you be off somewhere in front of a camera lens? Not that I’m complaining about having an audience. ”
"It does when I'm excited to see you." She grinned up at him and squeezed the taller man tighter. When he patted her shoulder she finally conceded and let go of him.
"I just thought I would come see you. Work has been busy and I just kinda miss seeing your face and you buying me things." She started to give him her best puppy dog eyes.
╳ — THE PUPPY EYES ARE WORKING . Would not be the first time. X has lost to worse tactics — Xinya crying on demand, and Ahu refusing to blink first, to name a few. Divinity attempting the same maneuver still catches him somewhere between the ribs. His mental door might as well have no lock.
“ Buying you things, ” he repeats, flat. He should deny it. All her flowery words lead to the same ulterior motive, and she shouldn’t get away with it. “ That’s not— I don’t just... ” he starts, and loses the train of thought entirely, because she's still looking at him like that.
Divinity doesn’t need cards to read most people. He’s fairly sure her eyes alone could tell a stranger’s future faster than her deck ever has, if she put thought to it. Turning this gift on him, however, feels like cheating. He should file a complaint. With whom, he hasn’t worked out yet.
“ Whatever. ” He exhales through his nose and snaps his fingers. A can appears in his palm, condensation already beading across aluminum. He holds it out to her at arm’s length. “ This is a bribe. I want that on record. And, by the way: work being busy doesn’t mean you get to skip meals to come bother me, ” he adds. Quick. Too quick. He doesn’t ask if she’s eaten, but maybe the concern comes to mind, now that she revealed her true intentions. Evil.
❛ now have some soup. ❜ from smile
╳ — SOUP WAS NOT ON THE AGENDA TONIGHT . The knock comes late into the night, and that alone tells X who it is. He answers anyway, already in pajamas, hair mussed after he neglected to comb it post-shower. Standing before him is a helmet and a delivery bag that isn’t fooling anyone.
Soup? “ Smile, you’re off-brand tonight, ” he says, stepping aside to let in his guest. “ Where are the skewers...? I had my whole evening planned around skewers. ”
He takes the container and sets it upon the one clear counter in the apartment. Steam curls from the lid as he opens it. X eyes the contents, takes in the affable aroma, and puts two and two together.
“ So this is a nutrition intervention. ” He crosses his arms, unimpressed. “ You know, I eat plenty of things. Yesterday I had an entire... ” He pauses, visibly searching, and comes up short. All his efforts are undermined the instant he gets out two bowls and their respective spoons. “ I had sustenance, as they say. ” The broth fills each dish, and he moves them to the coffee table for him and Smile to enjoy.
Dropping onto the couch across from one portion like he’s doing it a favor, and not the other way around, X sighs. “ You do know I’m a grown man capable of feeding myself. ” Still. He is choosing, of his own free will, to indulge in this meal brought fresh by his friend across the city. For no reason in particular.
And it’s good. His defiant first bite melts on his tongue, hot and savory, and the frown he wore around the spoon goes with it. He swallows and takes another. This changes nothing.
@killthisdestiny keeps a mental ledger of debts. This one’s been unpaid since last month. He finds Nice by his own devices — no seeking necessary, really, when Hero Tower functions as a beacon. The invasion of Nice’s room happens in a flurry of color. A box arrives mere seconds later, snapped to X’s hands, and he holds it without a word of apology. If Nice startled from this, it’s not his fault. Not at all.
…The ribbon is wrapped correctly. Corners square, knot centered, no visible fingerprints on the glossy cover. He’d redone it twice before deciding it passed inspection, though he’d rather eat the box than admit that part out loud.
“Don’t worry,” X says before Nice can speak. “It’s not poison.” Which references, of course, what he had asked on his own birthday. “You gave me something back in June,” he adds, like it’s a minor detail, and not the entire reason he’s standing here. “I don’t forget stuff like that.”
He remembers a lot, actually. Xinya’s favorite colors. Ahu’s preferred dinner portion. Which streets host vending machines of his favorite drinks. This is certainly a… newer type of information to latch onto. Anything hero-adjacent usually is. Still.
Inside the box sit three chains, charms strung along each. One holds a coin, small and worn smooth at the edges. Another is a cat, silver, polished to a sheen. The last appears to be a bell hung between two gold wings.
“Ankle bracelets,” X clarifies, in case it wasn’t obvious. Discreet so that Nice may wear whichever, whenever, and avoid scrutiny of the public eye. X gestures to each, though he lingers his index finger above the cat. “Recognize this one?” A beat, mock-innocent. “I still think it suits you.”
Maybe he finds that funnier than he should. Too late to go back on it now. “Happy birthday, Perfection.” He speaks it like a tease. “Try to enjoy one thing today that isn’t for an audience, yeah?”
` 𖥔 ݁₊ 𐔌 . ⋮ there was no true sanctuary in hero tower, a beacon to heroes and spying eyes alike ━━━━ most of his floor existing beneath a relentless twenty-four-hour web of surveillance that he had long since ( and futilely ) tried to ignore. it didn't matter, not truly, not anymore. he'd step out and be placed before the eyes of thousands; what was a few more watchful lenses when he stood within what should have been his home. there was at least one small relief, moon was busy today, a rare respite that just happened to land on one of the busiest days of his year. the silence she left behind settled over the apartment in an unfamiliar way, lacking the usual stream of complaints and commentary that so often filled every room.
the small opportunity wasn't passed up, instead spent cleaning the already immaculate space without her constant nagging ━━━━ that he was too loud or that the smell of cleaning chemicals was nasty. even spotless surfaces could be polished again, if only to occupy restless hands. even choosing to open the large windows, allowing the cool evening air to seep inside, the light fabric of his 'casual' clothing offered no protection but he hardly minded. the breeze wandered lazily through the apartment, stirring loose strands of pale hair and coaxing the crisp scent of cleanser out into the city beyond. though perhaps nice accidentally invited more than the cool weather, bright bursts of colour fracturing across the open room before the world around him warped and rippled for a fraction of a second. and then a tall man in a suit stood across the kitchen island. perfection's lips pull, his head tilted ever so slightly at the man.
❛❛ of course you don't ❜❜ despite the words, he sounds amused, his naturally soft voice always failing to deliver anything but the sweetest of sounds. nice only knew the nameless hero's birthday because he was surrounded by his fans; it was hard to ignore them, and well, he just happened to be lucky enough to stumble across the pinnacle more often than most. there was never much to it ━━━━ or so he had believed ━━━━ but as his finger ran along the perfectly smooth edge of a pressed ribbon, lingering against the immaculate satin, it became painfully obvious that sentiment wasn't shared. the careful presentation alone spoke of consideration far beyond simple obligation.
hard work undone by the simple tug of his fingers, spilling onto the smooth white countertop before he finally lifted the lid. nestled within, a plush jewellery pillow, three chains wrapped delicately around it, each displaying its individual little ornament with pride. two golden, one silver. crystalline hues drifted over each one, polished to perfection ━━━━ even if his wealth had grown disgustingly vast, nice still recognised when money was spent. certainly x had thought this gift through.
the smile upon his lips was born from annoyance and nothing more as the man let his finger hover upon the feline design, blue eyes peering up from behind white lashes. ❛❛ i'm quite certain i already apologised for that ❜❜ all sly, no different than a cat preening after knocking over a water jug. his laughter was the kind of sound perfection's fans would go wild for, light, melodic, and entirely too pleased with itself. anklets ━━━━ something for the dancer to wear, something for himself to know and no one else. something subtle enough to escape every camera, yet meaningful enough that he would always know it was there. it's been a while since he had something like that. everything he wore was designed to be seen, nice reduced to an ornate thing to be watched, every carefully selected accessory another piece of the flawless image expected of him.
❛❛ i suppose i have to if it's an order from the top, then ❜❜ a grin curved across his lips as he lowered the box with one hand, and brought the other up to tap his cheek ━━━━ a tease, a mockery of what had earned him the cat-like comparisons. ❛❛ give me one last thing to enjoy, won't you .ᐣ ❜❜ it wasn't exactly a thank you, but what else could one expect from a man spoiled simply by existence. and if in a few weeks, the nameless hero caught a glimmer of silver at the cuffs of white fabric, half-hidden whenever elegant sleeves shifted with practised movements, then it's a secret they alone get to keep.
Hearing him tell her to stop made her laugh. It was something he had told her again and again, but in her stubbornness, she never did as he said. In her mind, if she didn't, where would her place be in his life, where would her place be in this world in general? A question she thought about a lot, too often actually. X was a hero and not even a small one; he was a Goliath in a world of Davids. At least, that's how he was to most.
Divinity took a deep breath and then used her chopsticks to steal some of his food. "Next, you're gonna go on about how great power comes with responsibility, right?" She teased him, hiding her inner turmoil behind a smile as always. Her problems weren't as big as everyone else's; she needed to stop complaining. The cannon fodder doesn't get to complain; they exist to move the story along. They give the real protagonist a reason to keep fighting, support them, and don't complain.
"Is it worth it when you guys need those parts of me more?" She asked softly, for herself as much as him.
╳ — STOICISM FALTERS . A yelp of protest rises when Divinity steals his food. X presses his lips together, scowl about as fierce as a child’s. He considers cradling his meal closer, or shooing her away like a fly; he does neither, opting for taking another too-big bite of noodles.
She smiles and she teases, dancing around all that he said. It’s a type of backtracking. Does she regret it? Opening up to him, that is?
X covers his mouth. “ Hm hmph. ” Oh. He holds up one finger. Swallows. Starts again. “ You never listen to me anyway. ” And he’s no lecturer. Even Xinya refuses to sit attentively when he has something to say. If he can’t sway a girl and her dog to pay him mind, he sure as hell can’t sway an adult.
“ Still. Who are you to decide what I need? ” X leans over and adds to her portion from his own bowl. Protein, noodles, veggies… all the green onions he refused to eat. ( Defensiveness was only ever an act. ) When he stands, he gathers the other empty containers into his arms. “ Why not hear me out when I tell you what I want instead? ”
Cleanup is poorly managed. X spills leftover broth on the table, hisses, and has to return with a towel. He could snap everything away. In an instant, the entire apartment could be refreshed to pristine condition. But then it wouldn’t be lived in. It wouldn’t be a home.
Patting the mess, X sighs. He wants Divinity whole. He wants his friends to be safe. He wants to be able to accommodate impromptu visits. He wants to buy pet-safe detergent for the throw blanket currently covered in fur. He wants to complain, and fuss that there is no space, and then share this home anyway. Does the rest have to matter?
` 𖥔 ݁₊ 𐔌 . ⋮ when one typically finds themselves saved by the nameless hero, it tends to follow the same well-rehearsed close — the man raises his hand, a knowing smile tugging at his lips as his fingers snap, before he vanishes from sight. just like that, he slips back into obscurity, returning once more to the ever-present mystery of his origin. so why he sticks around this time should instantly be taken under scrutiny. perfection incarnate hadn't needed saving, hadn't even come close to requiring intervention, more than capable of protecting himself. when x asks for a reward, his flush is born from shock and nothing more.
returning to flat feet, a feline grin slowly spreads across the man's lips, his expression touched with proud amusement, hand lingering upon the man's ( dry ) cheek for a moment longer before retracting. clean to a fault, his saliva carried no scent, lacking even the faintest trace of anything unpleasant, a rather clean variant of what's usually a disgusting gesture . . . he's glad x doesn't taste of anything.
❛❛ hm .ᐣ isn't that what you were asking for .ᐣ ❜❜
╳ — THE OBJECTIVE WAS TO PESTER . With Queen, X follows a comparable modus operandi. Buttons pressed. Arguments bolstered. Last nerves stricken. He expected Nice — someone who also carries himself to high standards, a pinnacle of hero society — to cringe at this gesture with that angry, twisted look he tries so hard to conceal.
What X received instead couldn’t begin to grace the realm of fractured pottery. So: “ Not exactly, ” he says. He sounds happier for it. Pleased with the subversion, even. “ You’re rather strange. ”
X shouldn’t talk. He arrived today in a flash of colors, still sipping an energy drink, and intervened in the fight because damage to this road would’ve warranted alterations to his usual morning commute. Absurd reasoning, habits, and existence. What about him isn’t odd?
“ Do your fans know you’re more cat than bird? ” Cat-like is the best way to describe such a kittenish lick to the cheek. So much of what X sees about Nice, from social media edits to magazine articles, describes humble ivory feathers and an olive branch, not frisky mischief or barely-sheathed claws.
low ponytail X 👀
❛ what is right and wrong depends entirely on the story you’re living in. ❜
╳ — ONLY WINNERS WRITE HISTORY . Ethics are subjective. One individual’s viewpoint on morality will never perfectly align with another’s, and this is supposed to be good. Diversity. Empathy. Compassion. Humanity paints the world a thousand different shades of grey and still manages to forge definitions for what is right and what is wrong.
“ I don’t think so plainly, ” X says, a bewildered smile on his face. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say he does not complicate it at all. Even the worst misdeeds have an explanation. The distinction being: is it forgivable? That depends on who is asked and who is doing the asking, or if they have worried enough to broach the subject whatsoever.
Reality stitches together immeasurable lenses. Most people only peer through two. Sometimes, X wishes the same could be said for him.
He slides his hands into his pockets — eliminating knowledge of when ( or if ) he’ll snap away — and faces Nice, curious. “ Do you? ” Does the perfect hero care about his conduct, and not just for appearance’s sake? “ Are you in the right, Nice? ” X recalls a girl and her dog and the neighborhood she was willing to risk her life to save. “ And is that always the case? ”
When X shrugs, it is dismissive. “ You act like this can’t also be your story. That’s always so funny to me. ” Mean. Honest. He just doesn’t understand it. ( He didn’t understand what Smile meant either when insisting an iconic expression could not once leave his face. Folly at its finest. He means well. Perhaps. )
[ ╳ ] The pain of having newer mutuals with awesome writing you devour every time you see it, but not knowing if it's okay to like things you aren't involved in, so you just watch from afar and hope they feel the good vibes resonating through the screen.
Thinking about peak again
perfection incarnate had a skill of running into the nameless hero, though ( for once ) this has been rather intentional… a small dessert wrapped in a delicate white and gold box handed to the older man. happy birthday !!
╳ — THERE IS A TARGET ON THE TOP HERO’S BACK , and knowledge of it resides permanently in his periphery. Nice ran into X out of nowhere several times before, but now he seems less… annoyed by it, and that’s an interesting thought.
“ What is this? ” X quirks one brow. “ A bomb? ” As soon as he mentions it, he takes hold of the box, disproving the verity of his suspicions. Inside, just as delightful as the gift-wrapping, is a sugary treat. X’s eyes flit upwards to meet Nice’s with a twinkle. “ Aha! Poison, ” he jests. “ You have class. ”
It would be aggravating if he were to poke the perfectly layered frosting for a taste, right? He holds back, replacing the lid and clutching the present close to his chest. Suddenly, he seems quite protective of his self-declared life-ender. “ Thank you for the birthday wishes. Very sweet. I know you don’t like me much. ”
@killthisdestiny // cont.
LIPS TWISTED, NINE STRUGGLES to keep his bubbling laughter at bay. it's a response he should've expected but hearing the top hero say it aloud, go along with the corny joke that was never even properly started in the first place is almost too much for him. such grave behavior isn't even in his wheelhouse !
❝ whoa, you say that like you're actively trying to get rid of me ! ❞ the rebel laughs, laughs till his shoulder demands some sort of recompense in the form of bumping the taller man's shoulder. such a collision only causes him to throw his head back, laughter continuing in soft bursts. ❝ come on. why are we comparing me to a fridge anyways ? i've got so many outstanding qualities. like, like ! i'm cool, i've got great fashion-sense, pretty good-looking, and i can fetch you some cold drinks & food too, y'know ! ❞
he waves his hand before lifting it to grip his own bright pink glasses, he slides them over his eyes. ❝ where would you be without me ? without your guy nine, huh ? ❞
╳ — ADAMANTLY, X SHAKES HIS HEAD . Tough act. The corners of his mouth twitch, and he can’t stop glancing back over at his friend. Nine laughs fully, wholly, with his entire chest. Shoulders shake, riddled by mirth, until he bumps their arms together. X scoffs. Regains his footing. Rolls his eyes. His lips betray him.
“ Fridges are cool, too, ” he points out. In the literal sense, he’s right. “ They also store food and drinks. ” X pulls one hand free from his pockets to place over his heart. “ Of course, I wouldn’t dream of replacing you. You do have… ” he trails off, running his mind back through The List of Outstanding Qualities. “ …a fashion sense. ”
Style-wise, they’re opposites. X prefers the plain and simple. They say successful people will wear the same clothes every day, and this is a principle X agrees with. Less thought poured into an outfit means he can redirect his attention to things that matter. Like getting work done early. Like buying matching bear slippers for Smile. Like finding it in him to leave home for something other than work and hang out with Nine.
His arm drops to his side. Where would he be without him? “ Well, your humor isn’t half-bad either. ” And, perhaps, it’s that persistence that X values most; the willingness to stay by his side when, frankly, there are few who do. Save for the second occupation that weighs on his mind, he’s not an interesting person. Nine is. There’s a discrepancy there that he neglects to dig into.
