Shoulders
By: CrystallicSky
Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters, nor do I make any profit or attempt to with the writing of this or any of my other pieces.
Warnings: Language, sexual implication, slight violence, homosexuality, etc.
A soft, bitter curse escaped pale lips at the sight that met scarlet irises and Jack Spicer deactivated his helipack as he touched down to the ground in the city of Nazareth, just in time to see the monks take the small figurine that was the newest active Shen Gong Wu for their own.
Dammit! he raged internally. This had been happening more and more as of late, and for the past at least twelve Showdowns, he had been tardy.
It was due largely in part to the new project that the goth had been working on recently after a burst of inspiration. Granted, when it was finished, it would easily be one of the greatest triumphs in the field of mechanically-based Evil (and that was without his natural bias towards his own accomplishments), but it was eating up his time and attention like WHOA.
Oftentimes his distraction and drive to do no more than work on the machine was so intense that he failed to hear his Wu alarm for a good twenty minutes, and that alarm in particular blared at a far-from-inconsequential 105 decibels!
Nonetheless, it was a source of extreme frustration for the young genius. He was happy he was able to truly get into something after so many years of blandly going through ineffective motions against his Xiaolin enemies, but how in the Hell was he meant to impress his idol if he continued to show up so late, more often than not after the monks had already retrieved the Wu and gone back home?!
Even now the warlord was there, simply staring at him as if supremely disappointed.
He likely was.
The monks, finally noticing their adversaries' presence decided, for some odd reason, to engage them in conversation.
"Chase Young," Omi declared boldly, "Jack Spicer; you have come too late to win this Shen Gong Wu! You are severely lacking in fortune!"
"Really out of luck," the redhead muttered annoyedly to himself. How could slang still be tripping the small monk up? He was, what, seventeen and even now clueless?
Chase (and everyone else, for that matter) ignored him. "I have not come for the Wu," the dragonlord matter-of-factly informed. "The Jiān Bǎng Yì are useless to me, and to virtually anyone. I have merely come to satisfy my own curiosity."
"Omi will never join you," Kimiko immediately asserted, the high-strung girl jumping to conclusions as she was wont to do.
Chase simply snorted. "I hate to correct you, Dragon of Fire, but surely even you have heard what is said about those who assume." The Japanese girl flushed red, part embarrassment and part anger at the implications behind the man's simplistic statement, but he paid her no mind. "No, Tohomiko, I have not come for Omi this time."
Jack's heart leapt into his throat as gorgeous gold eyes fixed hard upon him, giving him the sort of stare that would stop a hare in its tracks long enough for a hawk to swoop down and drag it to its death. "I have instead come for Spicer…"
Hardly daring to believe the statement, the goth only just managed to rein in his body's instinct to quiver in excitement or shriek in glee. "M-me?" he eloquently inquired in place of reacting.
"Yes, you," the elder man scoffed. "Are you even denser than I already believed you to be?"
Jack blushed. "S-sorry," he apologized. "Um…so what is it you want from me?"
"Answers," Chase stated seriously. "Specifically to the question of, 'how is it possible for you to have grown worse in the ways of Evil'?"
The monks watched the expression of hurt just shy of total heartbreak flash across the albino's face at the harsh tone.
"Yikes," Clay found himself murmuring. "Ya' almost hafta feel bad for the poor guy…"
Raimundo reluctantly admitted, "Yeah…all he wants is one moderately nice comment from him, and all he gets are insults."
"I cannot believe you guys," the token girl snorted derisively. "Do you actually pity him? Jack's our enemy! He doesn't deserve pity."
"Where is the kindness and generosity your gender is known for, Kimiko?" Omi inquired of her, utterly oblivious to the glare she gave him at his blatant sexism. "Even though he is our enemy, it is not wrong to feel pity for him. We are Xiaolin monks, the most Good beings to exist! It is natural that we are kind enough to feel pity for the unfortunate; even if those unfortunate ones are of Evil."
Kimiko merely scoffed and said nothing in reply.
"I, uh…what d'you mean?" Jack softly wondered at his idol's question. Something within him still hoped beyond hope that Chase would reply with a, 'Oh, j/k! You're great, Spicer; we should totally hook up!'
But the rest of him knew how drattedly impossible that was.
"You are supremely incompetent regardless," the warlord stated coldly, "and yet instead of attempting to improve or apply yourself more, you decide to get lazy and attend Showdowns late, occasionally even skipping them altogether! Do you truly call yourself Evil, Spicer? How can you?"
Dojo, from beneath the comfy enclosure of Clay's hat, winced. "Ouch…poor kid…"
"Has Chase always been like that?" the Brazilian vaguely wondered.
"If you mean with a stick up his backside, then yeah, pretty much," the dragon informed. "It's no wonder he's never had a steady girlfriend!"
"Heh," Rai chuckled, privately amused, "maybe he's not Evil after all; he just needs to get laid!"
A slender hand deftly whapped him on the back of the head. "Why are guys always so crude?" Kimiko dramatically demanded.
"It's a scientifically-proven fact that men think about sex a lot more'n women and are a lot more straightforward about it, so it makes sense that men don't care too much about talkin' of it in public. I reckon some women might find that 'crude,' but it's really all relative." At the blank stares he received from his companions, the big blond monk flushed lightly and demanded, "What, a cowboy can't know about sex statistics?"
The green reptile beneath said cowboy's hat cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, aside from that extremely awkward fact…there just might be something we can do for the poor kid."
The monks (Kimiko aside, who was busy brooding in her supreme bitchiness that day, it seemed) perked.
"'Something we can do'?" Rai echoed. "What can we do? Fix 'em up on a blind date and hope Spicer doesn't get killed?"
"No, no, no, no, no," Dojo immediately rejected. "Well…there might not be something we can do per se, but there is something we can do right now to see if something needs to be done."
The dragon yielded utterly baffled stares from his charges.
"What on Earth're you talkin' about Dojo?" Clay demanded, the first to enunciate what everyone was thinking.
"I'm talking about the Jiān Bǎng Yì," the lizard sighed roughly, as if it should have been supremely obvious to any old idiot. "I told you earlier that it can temporarily make somebody switch from Heylin to Xiaolin and vice versa, right?" The young monks nodded in confirmation. "Well, it does something else, too. Dashi was bored and decided to throw in this function for laughs. It's…well. Just hold the statue by the base instead of by the wings and tag the both of 'em with it: you'll see for yourself."
"What will it do to them?" Omi asked the dragon, dark eyes blinking innocently at his friend even as his small hands moved to the bottom of the figurine.
Said object was of a humanoid figure, most likely female but it was hard to tell for the ambiguity of it. Regardless of its gender, it bore two sets of wings upon its back: one pair feathered and white and the other leathery and black. Their reptilian companion had already explained to them that holding the statue by the angel wings and activating it towards an enemy had the power to turn them Good and that holding it by the devil wings and activating it could turn an ally Evil.
The monks waited eagerly for further explication as to what holding it by neither sets of wings would do.
Dojo simply grinned. "It'll let us know what, if anything, needs to be fixed between those two, and even if there's nothing we can do, it'll at least be funny as hell! Go on," he encouraged, "activate it! I've always wondered about the real dynamic they've got going on!"
Kimiko (whose bitchiness at this point could only be described as premenstrual) huffed in annoyance. "You've been watching way too many soap operas, Dojo."
The smallest of the monks for the most part ignored her statement and fixed his gaze upon the two beings of Evil before him.
Chase was glaring, speaking some distasteful statement or other while Jack gazed up at the inch-or-two-taller man with barely disguised hurt and dejection.
Jack Spicer was Evil, Omi acknowledged in his mind, but…all in all, he could not say he hated the older boy. Perhaps it was just him being too Good of a Xiaolin monk, but he actually liked the occasionally-goofy, rarely-successful redhead, a fact which often provided the answer behind why he would always give the goth his utmost trust when he claimed honesty: somewhere deep down, perhaps he was hoping for the day when Jack renounced his claim on Evil and joined the Xiaolin monks for good and they could have something akin to a friendship.
That day had yet to come, and in all honesty, it likely wouldn't.
Even so, the yellow monk thought to himself, brow creasing at the sight of the hopeless and injured expression upon the albino's face as his idol heaped insults upon him in excess, he could not stand idly by and watch someone be so severely hurt by another when there was something he could do about it.
Dojo had said this Shen Gong Wu could possibly help: it would be used for that purpose.
Omi raised his arms to bear the Wu before him, his grip firm and steady as he softly (so as not to attract they Heylins' attention) spoke, "Jiān Bǎng Yì."
For the most part, nothing appeared to change: Jack and Chase were still standing precisely as they were before the Wu's activation, still immersed in their own conversation as if nothing had changed.
But something had changed.
Upon each of their shoulders was a small, humanoid figure, all with a pair of tiny wings sprouting from their backs.
Chase's right shoulder sported a leathery-winged version of himself, the shoulder-devil standing proud with an arrogance that almost certainly came from the centuries of highest influence over the man whose shoulder he dwelled upon. His dark hair was wild, wilder even than his human counterpart's as the black-green locks fell on either side of a wickedly handsome face, pushed aside only by the prominent subdermal horns upon the apparition's forehead. His manner of clothing was decidedly not that of the warlord and he was instead clothed (if one could truly be so generous as to call it that) in a long, black floor-length robe, fastened in only one place just below his ribs and leaving a muscular chest and six-pack in plain view of anyone who might be looking while a pair of sinfully tight pants hid his lower-half from view (though with said tightness of them, it left very little to the imagination).
The left shoulder's apparition was decidedly different. This miniature version of Chase Young bore fluffy, feathered wings on his back and sat upon his host's shoulder in a more submissive posture, one leg crossed over the other and hands folded atop his knees. The shoulder-angel's hair was not black-green but simply black and draped flat over his back and shoulders as it was ringed with the glow of the golden halo that hovered just above his head. This apparition wore much more modest clothing, a simple nondescript outfit of a pearl grey that, in contrast to his counterpart, left everything to the imagination.
Jack, too, was not without his shoulder-advisors, and two small versions of himself adorned either side of his neck. On the left was the devil without doubt: his posture was not proud and tall as Chase's id's was, with a bit of a slouch to him, but the black bat wings sprouting from his back gave away what he was. His choice of clothing was not provocative in any way shape or form in that it was simply the trench coat Jack himself wore but with a higher collar that obscured his face from the nose down, leaving his eyes, red and glowering, to stare coldly and emotionlessly in a manner that definitely sent shivers running down one's spine.
Jack's shoulder-devil was arguably scarier than Jack!
The shoulder-angel, conversely, sat daintily upon the black-clad right shoulder, legs tucked beneath him and hands on his thighs. His clothing was purely white, providing a lack of contrast from the super-ego's skin to his long-sleeved sweatshirt and pants and he smiled guilelessly and innocently as if to say he hated no one and nothing in a message the complete opposite of his counterpart, who seemed to say he hated everyone and everything.
Oddly enough, these figures went entirely unnoticed by the larger beings upon which they were perched.
"What excuse could you possibly give for such blatant slacking, Spicer?" the true Chase demanded, and the monks watched with dropped jaws as the apparitions responded in kind.
The devil, the more assertive one of the two, spoke first, holding his head high and imperiously demanding, "Where have you been, Spicer?"
The angel almost immediately afterwards stood, a mildly concerned expression on his face as he inquired, "Why have you been absent from Showdowns so frequently, Spicer?"
Jack shifted a bit uncomfortably, put at unease by his idol's hard, stern gaze. "I've…been caught up in some things…" he lamely settled on.
The Jack-devil stared coolly at the warlord's own devil from across the short distance between the two men and unapologetically informed, "I have been…" he smirked here, the only evidence of it with his mouth concealed being the sharp, wicked glint in his eyes, "busy…"
Upon the right shoulder, the angel-Jack also stood and scuffed his feet awkwardly. "I'm sorry," he replied to the Chase-angel's question, "My host gets…caught up in his work sometimes, I guess. I didn't mean to make you worry."
The Xiaolin monks gaped: WORRY?
Ignoring them entirely, the warlord frowned at the goth. "What sort of things?"
To the watching group's surprise, the Chase-devil snarled a horrid, bestial-sounding snarl and leaped clear across the distance between the two bodies to land on Jack's left shoulder. Deftly catching hold of the redheaded id's collar, the Chase-devil raised the youth so that his feet could not reach the ground and slammed the slender body against the firm white column of Jack's throat. "WHO ARE YOU FUCKING?!" he roared in animalistic fury.
Conversely, the Chase-angel merely made use of his wings and flew over to the goth's right shoulder, taking the Jack-angel into an affectionate hug. "When you are so often absent or late, Spicer, what else am I meant to think but that you're ill or perhaps even dead somewhere?" The elder super-ego pulled back from the hug and stared seriously at the younger, requesting, "I would prefer you didn't do such things from now on."
"Well," Jack began quietly, "y'see, I'm working on this project right now, and I've been trying to finish it as soon as possible 'cause…" Red eyes threw a sideways glance to the monks, causing the goth to hesitate as far as spelling out his actual plans in front of them. Eventually, he settled on, "I've been trying to finish it because I think it'll be useful."
A cool crimson gaze stared seriously at the Chase-devil, as if entirely unfazed by the fact that he was being hoisted up in the air and threatened by the embodiment of wickedness from a centuries-old Evil dragonlord. "I'm not fucking anyone," the red-haired devil stated, less to soothe whatever worries the elder apparition may have had and more to simply get his feet back on the ground for the convenience. "I've finally managed to make my influence known; my host is finally building a machine that is fatal." His eyes glimmered wickedly as they glanced over to the monks. "I am doing my utmost to see it completed soon so that my host can at last prove himself. Killing one of those morons ought to do the trick."
On the right shoulder, the Jack-angel nuzzled into the Chase-angel's chest, hugging him back. "I'll try not to," he said. "My host is working on something…really bad, right now, though." The angel's white wings fluffed a bit, as if anxious as he, too, shot a look to the monks; this one remorseful. "I think one of them is going to die…"
The monks looked back at the two facets of Jack Spicer. Normally, from someone as incompetent as the goth, they would dismiss the threat of death and easily. What could someone like him do to them, after all?
However…these shoulder-apparitions had so far not shown a tendency towards hiding what they felt. After all, the Chase-angel had protectively cuddled the Jack-angel and the Chase-devil had become furious at the very idea of the Jack-devil having sexual relations with anyone, both things the real Chase would've never done (at the very least not in public). Besides that, not one, but both of Jack's shoulder apparitions had foretold their firm belief in doom for the Xiaolin.
Consequently, they were more inclined to believe that Spicer had something very frightening in store for them in the near future.
Chase gave a derisive snort. "Ah," he spoke, "so you have immersed yourself in yet another one of your foolish machines; that certainly explains your tardiness and absences as of late. You always were more focused on silly little toys than on true Evil."
Dark, leathery wings flapped once and the hostility melted from the everlord's devil's face; replaced with a dark smirk. Clawed and gloveless hands curled around his albino counterpart's biceps, once more pressing the younger id against the goth's neck but with a decidedly gentler force.
The watching Xiaolin practically felt their jaws hit the floor as the id of Chase Young deftly tore open the Jack-devil's trench coat, revealing the redhead to be grinning back with rows of jagged, knife-sharp teeth reminiscent of the mouthful of a tiger shark.
Instead of attempting the impossible and trying to kiss the youth (and likely get his lips and tongue shredded to bloody pieces in the process), the Chase-devil bent and pressed his mouth to a now-bared, white throat; kissing and licking and biting in just such a way as to have the goth humming in pleasure and gracing all who might be looking with his (quite frankly terrifying) ginsu-knife smile.
How did Jack's id manage to be even more visually-chilling than Chase's?
"Mmm, Spicer," said id purred in a highly seductive tone, "why don't you tell me about this little project of yours? How am I to believe that you aren't simply setting yourself up for yet another failure if you don't tell me its purpose?"
The elder super-ego on Jack's right shoulder lightly pushed the younger away, cupping the Jack-angel's supple white cheek in one of his broad palms. "Jack," he cooed sympathetically, knowing full-well what it was like to not only being ignored but to be completely contradicted as the man he advised sided with his wicked foil, "what is that…thing forcing you to do?"
"This is Evil!" Jack immediately protested, caught by the everlord's subtle goad to make him reveal his work. "I'm almost done with it, and when I am, I'll…" Red eyes glanced back over to the monks, once more causing hesitation in terms of revealing too much in front of them. Instead of spelling it out, the genius took a different route: explain his machine's purpose, but in scientific terms that his idol should easily be able to understand but that will stump the Xiaolin. "I'll be able to forcefully extract the chemical element with the atomic number 26 from any concentration of hemoglobin I choose."
Omi had been entirely lost from the words 'chemical element.' Clay had never taken a biology or chemistry course. Raimundo had never paid the slightest bit of attention in those classes. Dojo never cared to think about science in the first place. Kimiko remembered that the atomic number 26 was indicative of the element iron, but she had forgotten what hemoglobin was and didn't know enough of Latin roots to be able to guess.
In short, the lot of them had no idea what Spicer was talking about and only prayed his shoulder apparitions would explain it better.
"If you must know," the red-haired devil spoke with the air of someone being put upon, even as clawed hands roamed his body and a hot, wet mouth assaulted his neck and collarbone, "what I'm working on entails the removal of iron from hemoglobin."
That was of decidedly very little help.
A pained expression crossed the angel's face. "He…I'm building…" Jack's super-ego grew frustrated trying to explain it and instead pulled the Chase-angel in close, whispering it like a terrible secret in his ear.
Well. That was even less helpful. Thanks for offering information that could've saved us from whatever this Evil machine was, shoulder angel, Kimiko thought to herself, unaware that her companions were thinking largely similar thoughts.
Conversely, golden eyes widened almost imperceptibly at the albino youth's statement. Chase understood perfectly what Jack had said: whatever the goth was building…however he was building it…it was going to remove the iron from the blood, specifically from the protein in which it was necessary for carrying oxygen.
Without the presence of iron, the hemoglobin in the bloodstream would be unable to bind oxygen to it. With the blood unable to carry oxygen, there would be no way for oxygen to circulate through the body or get from the lungs to the rest of the organs that were in need of it.
A mere deficiency in iron could cause anemia; fatigue and muscle weakness along with a plethora of other potentially-debilitating symptoms that could easily allow even Spicer to emerge from a battle as the victor.
Instead, the boy aimed for a complete elimination of iron: without any iron in the bloodstream at all…well, to put it simply, anemia was a walk in the park in comparison to outright death; a death, one might add, that would be slow and torturous as the organs of the body shut down one by one for lack of oxygen.
"Spicer," he found himself speaking, "I am…impressed. I would not think you capable of devising such a thing."
The Chase-devil's face bore an expression of utmost Evil glee and he grasped the bat-winged id of the albino by the face. "Jack, do you know what this means?" he demanded, smiling wickedly all the while. "You are gaining control; enough control to be able to kill! You're finally winning, Jack," he declared as in triumph. "Soon it won't matter what that haloed fool that complements you says: your host will be true Evil…"
Chase's super-ego was decidedly less gleeful about such a prospect and held his angel close to him, his soft and feathered wings folding comfortingly around the boy. "I'm sorry," he apologized sincerely. "If your host is building such a thing and refusing to listen to you, I'm afraid you're losing what power over him you had. Before long your opinions will mean absolutely nothing to him."
The Chase-angel himself was subject to such a fate and had been for centuries upon centuries upon centuries. It was a horrid existence for what was essentially a conscience and one he would not wish on anyone, much less the Jack-angel he so cherished.
Jack himself was overjoyed at receiving even so small a compliment as the one Chase'd given him and cheerfully squealed, "Thanks! I mean, it wasn't all that hard once I came up with the idea and it shouldn't be too much longer until it's done so, um…" The happy tone grew hopeful here. "…maybe you'd like to see me test it out when it's ready?"
"I love you," the Jack-angel confessed, his white-clad arms curling around the taller angel's neck. "Kiss me…"
Surprisingly enough, the devil's input in forming the statement the real Jack had said was not too terribly different from the angel's. A black chuckled escaped the id's lips as the Chase-devil returned to lustily kissing at his neck and chest. "My host certainly will be true Evil," he happily agreed. Red eyes, glimmering with immoral intent gazed down at the overlord's id as the elder male molested him. "Hell, I love you, you magnificent bastard," he admitted quietly before that deadly, toothy grin once more took his face. "How about we have some triumph sex to celebrate my victory?"
The monks were torn between shock, disgust, and a very small measure of vulnerability at the sweetness of it…well, the sweetness of the super-ego's confession of love, at least; there wasn't much sweet about the idea of two tiny devils doing each other on the black-leather shoulder of a trench coat.
The everlord considered the genius' plea for a moment. "…You know, Spicer…Jack…I believe I may take you up on that offer." Chase simply couldn't help his smirk when an expression that could've very well signified the Best Day of His Life Ever flitted across his fanboy's face at the statement. "I would very much like to see this new toy of yours in action."
The Chase-angel bent and kissed the being enclosed within his wings; chaste and sweet before kissing him again in possibly the least expected way of any Chase Young anywhere: Eskimo-style. "I love you, too," he affirmed. "I look forward to seeing you again, my Jack."
"As much as I'd dearly love to ravage you right here and now, I'm afraid we simply haven't the time for a truly good round of sex, Spicer…" He paused and straightened himself to his full height before laying his clawed fingers on the redhead's shoulders. "To remember me by," he offered, raking them harshly down the younger id's white chest, "until next we meet again, my little slut."
The Jack-devil hissed as the gouges that were caused closed up almost immediately; leaving no more than several diagonal scars across the bat-winged apparition's chest that would surely heal to nothing in a few days. It wasn't meant to mortally wound or seriously injure; the marking was the principle of the thing.
"Awesome!" Jack exclaimed before catching himself and in a more subdued tone asserting, "I mean, yeah, that's…that's, um, great. I'll let you know when it's ready for a test-run so you can watch."
"If you insist on being so rough," the goth's id smirked back at his elder, a black gleam in his ruby eyes, "then you leave me with no choice but to be rough right back…" The Chase-devil was caught sorely by surprise as his long, wild mane was caught in one pale hand and used to forcefully yank his head to the side, aggressively baring his neck. A snarl left him as the redhead's serrated shark-teeth descended upon his throat with a gentle bite.
Considering even a regular bite would've ripped his throat out, of course it was gentle.
Even that moderate bite, however, was enough to leave a very defined oval of cuts on his neck that, like the albino's, healed quickly into jagged scars. There would've been plenty of blood left behind had the Jack-devil not had a taste for it and licked the majority up.
The goth's super-ego once more snuzzled Chase's in a display of affection that could only be called sickeningly saccharine and he cooed, "As bad as it sounds, I'm kinda hoping my host can finish this Evil thing soon; if just so we can be together again sooner."
Chase himself allowed his sharp smirk to become simply a pleased smile at the youth's reaction and assured, "Then I shall await your summons. Don't keep me waiting too long, Spicer."
The man's super-ego stepped back from the younger and flapped his powerful angel wings, dutifully returning to his Evil host's left shoulder. "I hope the same," he confessed across the small distance. "After all, the more time our hosts spend together, the quicker mine can get used to the idea of loving you."
The id had done the same as his Good counterpart and once more stood upon the proper human as he offered the Jack-devil a hungry smirk from where he stood. "We will be seeing a lot more of each other, Spicer," he promised in confidence. His golden eyes briefly flickered up to the face of the man he advised before returning to the Evil apparition directly across from him. "I believe he is beginning to come around to the idea that you could be quite the firecracker in bed if he simply lets you. I should have him completely convinced with a few more wet dreams by the time your host calls him for a demonstration of that ingenious device you've thought up."
With a curt, acknowledging nod from Chase Young, a sweetly-blown kiss from the angel on his left, and a lusty wink from the devil on his right, the warlord was gone.
A dreamy, dorky-looking smile crossed the goth's face at the man's departure. His angel shared the expression but accompanied it with love-struck sigh, delicate little hands folding over his white-clad chest as if to keep his heart from bursting out of it. The devil's eyes fluttered closed and he gave a soft, perhaps even somewhat amused, 'heh' before once more doing up his trench coat; concealing both his deadly grin and the mark from the Chase-devil's nails.
Abruptly, as if suddenly realizing their presence, Jack straightened, head whipping towards the monks. Omi was shocked by the unexpected eye-contact into dropping the Jiān Bǎng Yì, thereby dispelling the miniature versions of the goth on either of his shoulders.
At something of a loss for what to say, the albino sputtered, "So, um…uh…I'll, uh…I guess I'll see you guys at the next…" A disgruntled frown took his features and he gave up trying to leave on an intelligent or supremely cool note. "Okay, how about this? I'm fuckin' done here."
The Xiaolin watched as Jack's helipack was activated and the teen took off into the sky without further preamble, headed home to presumably finish up the instrument of their doom.
They all had thoughts of going after him and wrecking everything they could find in his lab, but unfortunately, they were all acutely aware of the fact that Chase Young was now involved. He had personal interest in seeing the goth's project finished and to try and sabotage it…
Put simply, it was a choice between signing one of their death warrants or all of theirs, and nobody wanted to take that chance.
"…Well…" Dojo spoke up after a long, tense silence, already shifting into his larger form to allow the monks transport home, "it's best to look on the bright side in these situations: we may be boned, but at least Jack's love-life is going somewhere!"
"Dojo," Clay grumbled sourly, climbing aboard the reptile with his companions close behind, "…shut th' fuck up."
A/N: Jiān Bǎng Yì literally means 'shoulder idea/desire,' which is what the whole fic is pretty much about.
Sigmund Freud coined the terms 'id' and 'super-ego' and they are two of the three key pieces that compromise the human psyche as he defined it: the id, the ego, and the super-ego. The id is representative of basic human desires and focuses on instant gratification: a shoulder-devil. Conversely, the super-ego aims for perfection, is focused on ideals and spiritual goals, and is essentially a conscience: a shoulder-angel. As for the ego, it focuses on things realistically and seeks to find a beneficial balance between the id and the super-ego: in this case, the human that the shoulder-angel and devil advise.
Other than that stuff, I don't have much to say about this particular fic save for, "I hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading!" :D