Shrunked
Squee! My very firstest Heroes fanfic! At least the first one I've finished.... This is very strange, by the way, as it is one of those stories that is inspired by the fascist institution which is my school and the mentally challenged vegetables who staff it, specifically my math teacher, who doesn't know the difference between multiplication and addition.
In any case... While toeing the line of crack, this story isn't as cracky as it probably could have been, considering the pretense.
I guess I should let you read it now, huh?
Title: Shrunked
Author: Jiia
Rating: About PG-13. There are mentions of manlove, and some naughty language, and a heck of a lot of innuendo, but nothing serious.
Summary: Sylar gets a new power, and it backfires in a way Mohinder can't help but make fun of.
Warnings: Men who love one another. Some naughty language. Nothing the twelve year olds at my camp couldn't handle, although my camp is totally ghetto, and thus fails as far as ratings go.
Pairings: Established Mylar, with some thus far unrequited Pinder and possible Petlar in the future. Who knows? It might even end up PMS.
Edit: Heh... Forgot the story. ^.^
***
“Mohinder! It’s not funny!”
“Oh lord... Don’t, don’t talk. It only makes it worse.”
“Will you stop laughing!? For someone who places such value on maintaining a moral high ground, you’re sure quick to make fun of another’s misfortune!”
“I can’t help it, Sylar! You’re so... Tiny!”
Peter choked on air. When he had first heard riotous laughter only barely muffled by the thin doors of Mohinder’s apartment, he had assumed the man had been entertaining some sort of friendly company. Molly and Matt, perhaps, or maybe even the Sanders family. There certainly seemed to be a child of some sort in the house, judging by the high-pitched, squeaky protests that were somewhere in between a really bad falsetto and someone who just overdosed on helium. The thought that the voice belonged to someone over the age of eight had never crossed his mind.
He must have heard wrong.
He pressed his ear against the door and strained to listen over Mohinder’s continued mirth.
“Stop mocking me, Suresh! I’m warning you!”
“Oh, yes, I’m so frightened. The little tiny man is going to get me! Really, Gabriel, what did you expect? I may be kind and caring and compassionate and perfect in every imaginable way, but I’m not bloody blind!”
“Sylar! My name is Sylar!”
Nope. No such luck. It really was the voice of the murdering psychopath he was hearing, only eight octaves higher.
He really wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.
“Yes, Gabriel, of course it is.”
“Hey, where the hell do you think you’re going?!?!”
“I’m getting a ruler. I want an exact measurement. For posterity, you understand.”
“WHAT?!?! Mohinder! Get back here!”
“What did you say, Gabriel? I can’t hear you. Your tiny little voice doesn’t travel well over long distances.”
“MOHINDER!! Don’t you DARE even THINK about telling anybody about this, ever!”
“What are you going to do, kill me?”
“Yes! Eventually! When this is over!”
“Then I have every reason to make sure to prolong this priceless moment for as long as possible, don’t I? Now, say cheese!”
“... You did not just take a picture.”
“I’m afraid I did.”
“You’re a dead man, Suresh. A dead man, you hear?”
“What are you going to do, crawl down my throat? Slice me open with your little itty bitty fingers? I’ve seen boxes of dental floss more deadly than you.”
“Just you wait, Mohinder. I’ll figure this new power out eventually, and when I do, I’ll have your head! There’ll be no escape!”
“... I just realized something. I could squish you right this very moment. Into little mushy Sylar-paste.”
“... Heh... You know I was joking, right, Mohinder? I’d never really hurt you. Honest. Really. That thing with the ceiling and the voyeurism was a onetime event. Promise.”
“Hm. Right then. So you won’t mind me posting this photo on every internet site known to man?”
“Goddammit! You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?!?”
“Immensely.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t. You’re just angry because I threatened make you mush.”
“Mohinder! I’m asking for your help! And you’re making fun of me! This isn’t easy for me, you know!”
“I can imagine. Suddenly waking up to find yourself all of two inches tall must be incredibly stressful.”
“... This is pointless. You’re obviously not going to help me. I might as well go out and find someone who actually cares about other human beings.”
“Says the psychotic murderer.”
“Schizophrenic! It’s different!”
“Maybe you really should leave. You just seem to get cuter the more homicidal you get. You’re like an angry little bunny rabbit jumping up and down on my coffee table.”
“You know what? I’m not going to take this anymore. I’m leaving.”
“Go ahead.”
The room feel silent. Peter frowned. Although the conversation was finally starting to make a strange sort of sense, he still couldn’t understand why Mohinder wasn’t just fulfilling his veiled threat and getting rid of the villain forever. Using an obviously rather debilitating malfunction in a person’s powers wasn’t really fair, but with Sylar there were no rules. Unless you counted all the bloody, dismembered corpses of the broken ones he left in his wake.
“Uh... Mohinder?”
“Yes, Gabriel?”
“I, um... Can’t get down.”
Mohinder laughed. It was strange, hearing him laugh like that. He seemed so open, so honestly happy. Whenever Peter had been around the moody Indian, he had always seemed so scathingly sarcastic, bitter and disillusioned while somehow still maintaining his naiveté. This was the first time he’d ever really heard the man laugh, a real, honest laugh. He tried to imagine what he’d look like, the way he’d smile, the way his eyes would crinkle around the edges, glittering with that strange inner light the truly happy always have.
Peter would have given anything to see Mohinder smile that way at him.
“Ok, fine, you win. I’ll help you. Here, try and climb into my hand.”
“... I’d never really noticed before, but... You have nice hands. Big, but, I don’t know... Nice.”
“... Thank you. So do you. When they’re not the size of pin heads, that is.”
“Ah, shut up.”
“This is actually rather nice, when you think about it. I can just put you in my pocket and carry you around with me, wherever I go. Like an iPod, only cute, and alive.”
“So you think this is a good idea, eh? Having me be two inches tall for the rest of my life?”
“Sure. No more waiting all day just to get home and discover you’ve run off somewhere slaughtering the innocents. Not only do I save untold lives, I can have you whenever I want.”
“And how exactly do you think that’s going to work, Mr. Genius? I’m two inches tall. I could crawl right up your ass and you wouldn’t even notice.”
“... I hadn’t thought of that.”
“You know, Mo, you’re the smartest person I know, and you’re still a total idiot.”
“Thank you, Sylar. So are you. Now, where would you like to go? Seeing as I don’t actually have any wondrous abilities, I can’t really give you any advice as to how to control them, now can I? The obvious step would be to go to someone with a set of powers similar to your own, but the only one I can think of is Peter Petrelli, and you two really didn’t get along so well last time you met, if memory serves.”
“Yeah, well, I’d rather risk getting squished by an angry empathic nurse than spending the rest of my life in your pocket, as nice as the idea sounds.”
“Peter Petrelli it is. I just hope he doesn’t ask too many questions. I really don’t feel like explaining... whatever it is we’re doing.”
The voices approached the door. Peter knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he was well and truly fucked if he didn’t go invisible or run and hide or something, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. Mohinder and Sylar were sleeping together. Mohinder, beautiful, kind, sad Mohinder, was having sex with an evil, cruel, psychotic murderer. And knew it. Liked it, even, judging by his playful banter. It was just too much for his mind to handle.
He understood it on the physical level. After all, you’d have to be born blind, have your eyes pecked out and replaced with little balls of lead, then encased in a fifty foot concrete slab not to see that the man known as Sylar was sex on legs. He had just thought Mohinder to be above forgiving murder in favour of a pretty face. So much for his high moral standards.
Suddenly and with enough warning that a mentally retarded aardvark couldn’t have possibly missed the signs of impending doom, the door swung open and he tumbled back onto Mohinder’s legs.
Er, leg.
Shoe.
Mohinder had suddenly become five hundred feet tall. Sitting in his palm and looking down with an aggravatingly adorable mix of shock and confusion was a perfectly normal Sylar.
“Well, fuck.”
***
If this amuses you greatly, feel free to request a sequel. I sort of kind of want to write one, but I also want to pass chemistry, so... Your choice. ^.^
In any case... While toeing the line of crack, this story isn't as cracky as it probably could have been, considering the pretense.
I guess I should let you read it now, huh?
Title: Shrunked
Author: Jiia
Rating: About PG-13. There are mentions of manlove, and some naughty language, and a heck of a lot of innuendo, but nothing serious.
Summary: Sylar gets a new power, and it backfires in a way Mohinder can't help but make fun of.
Warnings: Men who love one another. Some naughty language. Nothing the twelve year olds at my camp couldn't handle, although my camp is totally ghetto, and thus fails as far as ratings go.
Pairings: Established Mylar, with some thus far unrequited Pinder and possible Petlar in the future. Who knows? It might even end up PMS.
Edit: Heh... Forgot the story. ^.^
***
“Mohinder! It’s not funny!”
“Oh lord... Don’t, don’t talk. It only makes it worse.”
“Will you stop laughing!? For someone who places such value on maintaining a moral high ground, you’re sure quick to make fun of another’s misfortune!”
“I can’t help it, Sylar! You’re so... Tiny!”
Peter choked on air. When he had first heard riotous laughter only barely muffled by the thin doors of Mohinder’s apartment, he had assumed the man had been entertaining some sort of friendly company. Molly and Matt, perhaps, or maybe even the Sanders family. There certainly seemed to be a child of some sort in the house, judging by the high-pitched, squeaky protests that were somewhere in between a really bad falsetto and someone who just overdosed on helium. The thought that the voice belonged to someone over the age of eight had never crossed his mind.
He must have heard wrong.
He pressed his ear against the door and strained to listen over Mohinder’s continued mirth.
“Stop mocking me, Suresh! I’m warning you!”
“Oh, yes, I’m so frightened. The little tiny man is going to get me! Really, Gabriel, what did you expect? I may be kind and caring and compassionate and perfect in every imaginable way, but I’m not bloody blind!”
“Sylar! My name is Sylar!”
Nope. No such luck. It really was the voice of the murdering psychopath he was hearing, only eight octaves higher.
He really wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.
“Yes, Gabriel, of course it is.”
“Hey, where the hell do you think you’re going?!?!”
“I’m getting a ruler. I want an exact measurement. For posterity, you understand.”
“WHAT?!?! Mohinder! Get back here!”
“What did you say, Gabriel? I can’t hear you. Your tiny little voice doesn’t travel well over long distances.”
“MOHINDER!! Don’t you DARE even THINK about telling anybody about this, ever!”
“What are you going to do, kill me?”
“Yes! Eventually! When this is over!”
“Then I have every reason to make sure to prolong this priceless moment for as long as possible, don’t I? Now, say cheese!”
“... You did not just take a picture.”
“I’m afraid I did.”
“You’re a dead man, Suresh. A dead man, you hear?”
“What are you going to do, crawl down my throat? Slice me open with your little itty bitty fingers? I’ve seen boxes of dental floss more deadly than you.”
“Just you wait, Mohinder. I’ll figure this new power out eventually, and when I do, I’ll have your head! There’ll be no escape!”
“... I just realized something. I could squish you right this very moment. Into little mushy Sylar-paste.”
“... Heh... You know I was joking, right, Mohinder? I’d never really hurt you. Honest. Really. That thing with the ceiling and the voyeurism was a onetime event. Promise.”
“Hm. Right then. So you won’t mind me posting this photo on every internet site known to man?”
“Goddammit! You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?!?”
“Immensely.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t. You’re just angry because I threatened make you mush.”
“Mohinder! I’m asking for your help! And you’re making fun of me! This isn’t easy for me, you know!”
“I can imagine. Suddenly waking up to find yourself all of two inches tall must be incredibly stressful.”
“... This is pointless. You’re obviously not going to help me. I might as well go out and find someone who actually cares about other human beings.”
“Says the psychotic murderer.”
“Schizophrenic! It’s different!”
“Maybe you really should leave. You just seem to get cuter the more homicidal you get. You’re like an angry little bunny rabbit jumping up and down on my coffee table.”
“You know what? I’m not going to take this anymore. I’m leaving.”
“Go ahead.”
The room feel silent. Peter frowned. Although the conversation was finally starting to make a strange sort of sense, he still couldn’t understand why Mohinder wasn’t just fulfilling his veiled threat and getting rid of the villain forever. Using an obviously rather debilitating malfunction in a person’s powers wasn’t really fair, but with Sylar there were no rules. Unless you counted all the bloody, dismembered corpses of the broken ones he left in his wake.
“Uh... Mohinder?”
“Yes, Gabriel?”
“I, um... Can’t get down.”
Mohinder laughed. It was strange, hearing him laugh like that. He seemed so open, so honestly happy. Whenever Peter had been around the moody Indian, he had always seemed so scathingly sarcastic, bitter and disillusioned while somehow still maintaining his naiveté. This was the first time he’d ever really heard the man laugh, a real, honest laugh. He tried to imagine what he’d look like, the way he’d smile, the way his eyes would crinkle around the edges, glittering with that strange inner light the truly happy always have.
Peter would have given anything to see Mohinder smile that way at him.
“Ok, fine, you win. I’ll help you. Here, try and climb into my hand.”
“... I’d never really noticed before, but... You have nice hands. Big, but, I don’t know... Nice.”
“... Thank you. So do you. When they’re not the size of pin heads, that is.”
“Ah, shut up.”
“This is actually rather nice, when you think about it. I can just put you in my pocket and carry you around with me, wherever I go. Like an iPod, only cute, and alive.”
“So you think this is a good idea, eh? Having me be two inches tall for the rest of my life?”
“Sure. No more waiting all day just to get home and discover you’ve run off somewhere slaughtering the innocents. Not only do I save untold lives, I can have you whenever I want.”
“And how exactly do you think that’s going to work, Mr. Genius? I’m two inches tall. I could crawl right up your ass and you wouldn’t even notice.”
“... I hadn’t thought of that.”
“You know, Mo, you’re the smartest person I know, and you’re still a total idiot.”
“Thank you, Sylar. So are you. Now, where would you like to go? Seeing as I don’t actually have any wondrous abilities, I can’t really give you any advice as to how to control them, now can I? The obvious step would be to go to someone with a set of powers similar to your own, but the only one I can think of is Peter Petrelli, and you two really didn’t get along so well last time you met, if memory serves.”
“Yeah, well, I’d rather risk getting squished by an angry empathic nurse than spending the rest of my life in your pocket, as nice as the idea sounds.”
“Peter Petrelli it is. I just hope he doesn’t ask too many questions. I really don’t feel like explaining... whatever it is we’re doing.”
The voices approached the door. Peter knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he was well and truly fucked if he didn’t go invisible or run and hide or something, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. Mohinder and Sylar were sleeping together. Mohinder, beautiful, kind, sad Mohinder, was having sex with an evil, cruel, psychotic murderer. And knew it. Liked it, even, judging by his playful banter. It was just too much for his mind to handle.
He understood it on the physical level. After all, you’d have to be born blind, have your eyes pecked out and replaced with little balls of lead, then encased in a fifty foot concrete slab not to see that the man known as Sylar was sex on legs. He had just thought Mohinder to be above forgiving murder in favour of a pretty face. So much for his high moral standards.
Suddenly and with enough warning that a mentally retarded aardvark couldn’t have possibly missed the signs of impending doom, the door swung open and he tumbled back onto Mohinder’s legs.
Er, leg.
Shoe.
Mohinder had suddenly become five hundred feet tall. Sitting in his palm and looking down with an aggravatingly adorable mix of shock and confusion was a perfectly normal Sylar.
“Well, fuck.”
***
If this amuses you greatly, feel free to request a sequel. I sort of kind of want to write one, but I also want to pass chemistry, so... Your choice. ^.^