#setting: thera

[sanctus-ingenium]

last august I posted the lineart of this (plus an art nouveau style background frame) to subscribers on patreon but i've never been able to finish it, so after using it as marker brush practice today i hereby release it from my custody into the wild...

[ranticore]

struck by the urge to draw Patches again but also work out how much of a Megasphinx sp. general silhouette is just aerodynamic contour scales (wings shrunk to save canvas space)

the 3rd pair of legs emerge from the thorax. my mild pet peeve when ppl design insects that walk upright/on the rear legs (not anthros but actual speculative designs) is leg attachment.. for these guys i put in elongated coxa proximal to the femur which adds an extra swivel to the leg so the 'knee' (joint between femur and tibia) can point forward for bipedalism and backward for hexapod movement. 'upright' is not a normal stance for them (they prefer hexapod stance) but sometimes you have to hold onto stuff in your hands and walk at the same time. the abdomen dragging on the ground is not actually an issue, it is really flexible and curled aloft when walking upright

also made it more obvious that the maxillary palps point up and form the 'nose'. chemoreception is handled by the antenna (in Sphingidae, males do not possess feathery antennae) and, in males, setae at the tip of the abdomen. the scales are somewhat stiff to the touch, they feel a bit like hair that has been gelled into place. they are convergent with contour feathers and extremely light, adding almost nothing to the body weight while working well to manage heat and make a streamlined shape. although Megasphinx sp. are not warm-blooded, they need a high core temperature to operate their wing muscles. if it's cold out, they'll sit around doing the equivalent of revving their muscles with their wings in neutral gear, producing enough warmth to allow flight. if it's too hot out, the scales can open up to allow air to reach the back of the thorax

the scales do partially cover the spiracles, which are used for gas exchange, but this does not affect breathing on Thera. Megasphinx sp. has a negative-pressure respiratory system unlike the passive air intake of other Sphingids and small insects, and can actively inhale. This is a necessity due to their large size but also because if they wanna go to Earth, the oxygen % in the air is far lower than what they would expect at home, and without strong breathing abilities they can become hypoxic. Flight is impossible on Earth for this reason and Theran visitors are known to trim or clip off scales occluding the spiracles in the belief that it might help the persistent feeling of breathlessness

[sweetandglovelyart]

Now that I’ve finished the most recent comic page I think I should actually try and do some proper drawings of some of my OCs. Get ready to see Taranza’s mom Theraphoza, I’m working on drawing her first 🕷️

[regnumveritatis]

Sacred flowers of Perse Athenide, lady of Loyalty and godmother of demigods. Aka my excuse to post rare or obscure botanical knowledge they're not asking me about at home and then combining it with Athenide lore.

I: The Sea Daffodil/Sand lily/ Minoan lily(Pancratium maritimum).

Yes: you are seeing this correctly. This flower grows on the beach naturally and has since prehistoric times. It was in fact the most coveted plant grown and cultivated on the Island of Crete (though they confused the species with Lilies due to their lily like fragrance hence their archeological denomination of Minoan lilies when discussing Cretan art). Its perfume graced the halls of kings and queens. Physicians used it to soothe pain and reduce fever. Priests infused it with incense for their festivals. As such it is present on much of its artwork be it Pottery:

Kamares crater banquet vessel with decorative lillies, recovered from Phaistos. Old-Palace period (1800-1700 BC)

Frescos:

Sea daffodils in a fresco section of "The House Of The Ladies" in Akrotiri (circa 1500 B.C.)

And most importantly, sea daffodils were also present in the royal amphoras:

Minoan fresco, commonly known as the "Prince of the Lilies," from the Cycladic Town Frescoes in Akrotiri, Thera

That being said, my take on the Athenide having this for a sacred flower would be that Apollo created it as a bridal gift for Perseleia. Of course no wedding ever took place but the flower remains as a sign of Apollo's enduring loyalty towards the lady of demigods. This can work for several reasons.

1) Propagation:

The seeds of the sea daffodil are black as night, imitating Loyalty's lustrous ebony braids. In addition to the seed's first black, they are held together by an outer protective black cover that protects them from scorching hot sand on summer days. When ripe, the seeds simply drop down beneath the plant much like a tress as the pins and ribbons are removed. Whilst the sea daffodil can tolerate temperatures of -5 degrees Celsius, the seeds require a hot summer day to mature. Thus, the seeds are an allegory to the gentle caress of Apollo stroking/braiding her ebony locks, untying them in the privacy of their wedding chamber. A promise of intimacy that will be expressed in divine and mortal planes. It can even work for an Athenide twins au because the golden capsule can represent Arsinoe in the bridal place of honor preparing Perse for their weddings.

2) Shape:

Those of us who had a bell chorus in school or were obsessed with the closing scene of Cinderella will note the fact sea daffodils corona resembles the shape of a bell. Animal bells weren't popularized until the Roman empire and the large cathedral bells that chime on Hollywood weddings wouldn't exist till the middle ages. So what bell would Apollo be thinking if purposely forming his love token to Perse? The answer is this:

The greek kodon (also known as the spartan bell during the Classical period) was used primarily for two reasons: the first was for festivals, and the second was as a votive offering. In fact, the largest collection of ancient greek bells from Sparta consists of votive offerings as the bells are all inscribed to Athena Ergane in a rare show of devotion to the lady of Athens. Here, Apollo has crafted a living bell for Perseleia, meaning he will spend the rest of his life devoted to her as goddess and wife. Truth will lay himself at the altar of Loyalty.

3) Color:

Deliberately, the flower has only six petals. Six in arithmancy (which would later become numerology) being the number of Aphrodite and symbolizing the union between partners. The flower save the pollen is coloured white in recognition of her chtonic duties, which Apollo does not shy away from. A point further emphasized when this flower's buds appear only after its leaves have withered and will reemerge with the blossom. Its gold pollen can also serve as a statement from Apollo saying that he recognizes the sisters are a non-negotiable set, just as he and Artemis are a set. The green of the leaves and stems serves to highlight the fruitfulness of their godly domains. And the curls of the corona are exactly 10, the number of perfection.

4) Blooming Times:

The Sea Daffodil is one of the few flowers that bloom late in the year in the Mediterranean region, although its presence is obvious throughout the year because its long, tough leaves can be found on beaches right up until the plant produces flowers between July and October. This means it will last till after Perseleia has left for her father's domains, and since it grows on the sand, she could technically take it with her to Atlantis should she wish. They can even grow beside the final steps of her temple stairs, which lead into the ocean.

And there you have it, folks: my explanation for why the og simp would create the sea daffodil for his lady love. How do you think she felt after seeing it before the bird race?

[fableforger]

Hear me out. How would the Ros react if you went up and smacked their ass?

Let's say they are busy doing something bent over....👀 and you just sneak up on them and smack their booty.

You always have the funniest scenarios up your sleeve, I swear 😭

Thank you for the mental image.

So let’s set the scene: they’re busy, focused, bent over something -and then smack. Here’s what happens next:

Beware: Since this is a RO-related ask, there may be minor spoilers ahead. Please keep scrolling if you’d prefer to stay unspoiled.

..............................................................................................................................

Alexos/Alexa:

Freezes. Slowly straightens. You can see the tension in their back.

Turns around with the most betrayed expression imaginable.

“…Are you serious right now?”

Then quickly spins around again - “Did anyone see that?”

The way they spin makes them look like an angry spinning top.

You cannot stop laughing.

---

Zephiron/Zephyra:

Doesn’t even flinch. Just lifts one eyebrow mid-task and goes:

“I assume that means you like what you see?”

Carries on like nothing happened, which somehow makes it worse.

---

Dorian/Dione:

Drops whatever they were holding. Turns around way too slowly, one hand pressed to their chest.

“Excuse me? Did you just assault defenseless old me?”

Their eyes darken just a little.

Then they turn back around - deliberately - and lean forward again.

“Do it again.”

---

Rhaelos/Rhaela:

The pause is long. You think maybe you overstepped.

Then -

“…Next time, announce yourself.”

(Their ears are red. They will not comment.)

---

Theron/Thera:

Makes a tiny, startled sound like a wounded creature.

Whirls around, completely flustered, face bright pink.

You’ve broken them. You absolute menace.

---

???:

Gasps. Loudly. Slaps a hand over her mouth - then immediately tries to cover yours.

“Wait. What am I doing here?”

She slowly removes her hand from your face, blinking.

“Okay, I love you, but you cannot do that in public.”

She tries to look stern, wagging a finger in your face - but the effect is… less than intimidating.

You try to explain that you’re not even in public.

It doesn’t matter. She’s already dramatically peeking over your shoulder for witnesses.

---

Drakon:

Straightens up like he knew it was coming.

Turns to look at you - slow, amused, eyes glinting.

“…Okay. Now it’s my turn.”

He lifts one finger and crooks it toward you with a grin.

“Turn around.”

(You are in danger.)

[juniperscauldron]

Where: Outside Unfortunately When: Late Evening, Day 1 Hurricane Jac Who: Open to anyone dumb enough to be outside. (4/4)

A Hurricane. A fucking hurricane. Her first weekend living full time in her new apartment and the Oregon coast gets hit with a hurricane. Fabulous. At first she thought it would be annoying but doable. She closed down the cafe early, and unfortunately didn’t have time to set up protective runes yet on more than her living quarters. Surely it should be fine though. The west coast had storms, flooding, natural disasters of the like, but they weren’t catastrophic. She wasn’t too close to the shore either. The storm would have to go through a bit of the city to get to her. It was a storm out of nowhere, no real time to build up power or  It should be fine right?

Wrong.

Her plan had been to hunker down in her apartment with Sage and watch more of those awful shows Thera had gotten her hooked on. Maybe catch up on her TBR, however as usual life had a different plan when it sent a variety of debris through the front, back and side windows of the cafe below her, which honestly she just thought was rude. If it was made of glass. It was broken. And with the storm not even at its precipice, she really couldn’t stay or do much to prevent further damage no matter how much she wanted to. And while her apartment was warded from a lot of different damages. There wasn’t much her magic could do if the foundation it was built upon was… gone. 

  The last time she had packed in a hurry there had been fire licking at her heels. Now water and wind were making her run. The stadium was too far in these conditions and honestly it was so late there probably wasn’t a lot of space for a girl with a cane and raccoon at her side. She could probably make it to Theras? Crow & Chalice was further from the shore than Brewed Awakening. And that store had generations of protective wards on it at this point. It felt like a safe bet. 

So she bundled up and started the walk. Bundled up with a bag over her shoulder and Sage tucked into her layers. The storm was certainly odd. The wind and rain did not feel normal. Each droplet and gust buzzing with something otherworldly. It made her take her time. She was certainly afraid. But there was a beauty to it as well. Feeling the rain soak her hair and skin, feeling the bite of an ever growing wind. She didn’t want to stay in it long. But for the time she had to be in it. It didn’t feel terrible. And the way the clouds swirled above like plumes of black ink were something to both fear and appreciate.

She was probably about half way when she needed to stop for a moment. Walking against the flow of weather was making this harder than she preferred. So she found shelter under an awning, resting for a moment before venturing back out. Digging through her bag for a bottle of water and some Tylenol she saw something out of the corner of her vision that she certainly didn’t expect. A person? Who else other than her was dumb enough to be outside right now?

[rightwheretheyleftme]

The Minoan Artemis

“One such iconographic datum is what might be termed the Aegean Nature Goddess. This image, of which there are two examples in the extant fresco repertoire with similar iconography in the glyptic, shows a young goddess in an outdoor setting. She is accompanied and/or adorned by wild animals, and, most significantly in the case of a Proto-Artemis, is associated with girls.

The most famous portrayal of an Aegean Nature Goddess is the Goddess of Building Xeste 3 (Room 3a, North Wall) at Akrotiri on the Cycladic island of Thera (Figure 1.1), dating to c. 1700 bce.

This goddess sits enthroned upon a Minoan-style tripartite shrine. Before her a blue monkey offers the goddess crocus stamens, while right behind her is a griffin with wings outstretched and tethered to a nearby window. The goddess has a full head of long hair, including a snake-like tress on the top of her head, and one well-developed breast is visible in profile. Based on what is known of the conventions of portraying age in Minoan (including Theran) art, the hairstyle plus the developed but not pendulous breast indicated that this female is in mid- to late adolescence. The Minoans shaved the heads of their children, but left a few tresses of hair growing on the scalp. These tresses were allowed to grow long even with repeated shavings, and thus older children had longer locks on an otherwise shaven scalp. Later, the rest of the hair was allowed to grow in, leading to depictions of adolescents with long locks and shorter curls. Finally, the hair grew in fully. Likewise, standard Minoan garb for females reveals the breasts. Young girls have merely dots to indicate the nipples, while older girls have more developed breasts. Grown women, presumably mothers, have pendulous breasts. Based on the criteria of hairstyle and breast development, the goddess of Xeste 3 seems to be in late adolescence, but not yet a fully mature woman. Adorning this goddess is a large, lunate earring, a headband with dangling crocus (although some scholars also suggest that this crocus is a tattoo), and two necklaces, one with a line of ducks, the other with dragonflies. The vegetal and animal imagery suggest a Nature Goddess, as do the monkey and even the griffin.

Finally, and quite importantly, this goddess sits in the midst of a large, multi-wall fresco depicting numerous girls of various ages (per hairstyle and breast development), all engaged in crocus gathering. The girl closest to the goddess pours her gatherings into a pannier before the goddess, just as curly haired maiden carries a bucket of flowers toward the goddess from behind. The entire scene is one of well-dressed and bejeweled girls gathering crocuses and offering them to the goddess. Thus, we appear to have here an Artemis-like Nature Goddess involved in an outdoor ritual performed primarily, if not exclusively, by girls.”- Stephanie Lynn Budin. Artemis. S.L., Routledge, 2018.

[paramounticebound]

He didn't have an answer for her. So much belayed in the blank expression offered to her-- well, perhaps he'd been trying to will himself away from the situation. It hadn't worked.

"You could simply... not go."

That seemed simple enough. Khan, naturally, cared very little for anything remotely related to Starfleet. Formal events, any events, within them hardly blipped on his radar, as he was far from welcome in the first place.

Thera's vexation amused him, at least for a brief moment. It wasn't him that had to suffer, after all.

--Which triggered a sliver of anxiety that quickly obliterated any entertainment he may have had. Almost accusingly, he narrowed his eyes.

"Do not take me shopping with you. I would rather go back to a cell."

[Random Dialogue Meme from @paramounticebound.]

💬  ((star trek verse!)) ------------

"Give me one good reason why I should wear a dress."

Khan wasn't the person who ought to be answering that question. The facts were he had nothing to do with the assigned dress-code for the upcoming event, and equally as little with the incredibly ... 20th Century differences between expected gender attire.

He simply had the misfortune to be there with his usual assigned chaperone when she had her dander up, and was not so much looking for answers as support for her position that the 'dress' edict was annoying and unfair.

Thera groaned through her teeth, turned palms upward in irritation. "If I wear a dress I'll have to wear stockings, and fancy shoes, and ... ugh! I haven't worn that sort of thing in years - !"

[azrielover]

Skyfall : “Hello”

This is an OC x azriel story which will come in bits and pieces, meaning you could probably read each part as a one-shot in any order! Each part of the “skyfall” series will have one of these mood board covers which gives the “vibe” of the chapter 🫶🏼 I am judging the timeline of the story based on if the year 0 represents the end of the first human wars which are noted in the acotar series! Therefore BCE stands for “before current era” and CE is “current era”.

| Summary: Noelle, the adopted daughter of the Illyrian Lord of Vornhale, discovers a family secret while sneaking around the manor.

| Warnings: child abuse and domestic violence (alluded to and near the beginning)

| Word Count: 2k

| Skyfall Masterlist: click here!

33BCE:

“Why do you never listen insolent girl?” her governess spat, sharp fingernails dug into Noelle’s pale arm as she was dragged further and further away from the falling snow outside. She could still just make out the figures of her elder brothers, Kraven and Matteo, play-fighting through the frosted window, their dark features standing out against the snow dancing around them as the circled each other, wings glowing as the setting rays of sun shone through the membrane. Scrambling to find purchase along the stone walls of her Vornhale manor, the five year old continued to thrash in the older Illyrians hold.

“Please Mistress Cordelia,” she begged, boots kicking at the stone floor as they reached the stair case which led to the manor’s sleeping quarters and the study of the Illyrian Lord of Vornhale, her father. As a very traditional, respected male within the settlement, Tobias Blackwell took his position as “Lord” with the upmost seriousness. Although he was not her real father, he and his wife Thera had taken Noelle in as a newborn, raising her as their own after her mother had died in childbirth and her father was never identified. Thera had been being longtime friends with Noelle’s late mother, and with a yearning for a daughter of her own after two boys, taking her in was an easy decision to make.

Reaching the top of the dark stone steps in a much calmer manner in which their showdown began, Noelle, ever the antagonist, muttered, “Stupid hag”. Her governess froze and stared for a moment then promptly grasped a fistful of Noelle’s hair, white locks tangled in the firm grip of the weathered female’s hand and promptly began to be dragged through the halls.

“Let go! Let go!” she begged, body jerking as her white Illyrian wings grazed the floor, “I’ll walk to my room myself please Cordi, oh please.” Her feet shuffled clumsily in an attempt to keep up with the fast pace she was being pulled along at, wincing as her hair was tugged relentlessly.

“Deciful child,” Cordelia seethed, “No supper for you tonight, and Lord Tobias will be informed of this beastly behaviour,” Noelle whimpered at her words, “You have no right to act this way”, she went on “after you were blessed by the cauldron to be housed with the Lord and Lady of this house.”

Her room was fast approaching, the guards, glacing at her as she passed by, beginning to light the torches along the halls as the day shifted to night, “Do you know how many Illyrian children would kill to be in your position?” she continued, still walking, “A bastard, orphaned girl with nothing to her name being bestowed with riches, food and protection at her beck and call.” A look of disdain crossed her tanned face as they made their way inside the room, “You, child, are undeserving of the mother’s blessing. Stay here until morning. Do not leave.” Turning on her heels, she walked out and slammed the door behind her.

Huffing in admission, Noelle reached up to gently touch her tender scalp, flinching away as she made contact. Focusing on the kernel of light inside of her, she closed her eyes and rested her palm atop her pale blonde hair once more. Glowing light seeped from the tips of her fingers and weaved it’s way along the parts which still hurt, dissapearing into her skin where the pain quickly began to fade, faster than her fae healing could by hours.

Sighing glumly and rolling her eyes, Noelle stalked to the head of her large bed and rested her small hand on a mismatched coloured piece of stone which only just stood out against the rest of the wall. Pushing the stone forward with some effort, a mechanism inside the wall of her bedroom clicked and a hidden door way appeared before her, she quickly entered before it shut behind her. She didn’t like to resort to leaving her room this way as it always made things much more difficult, but it seemed as though she was out of options if she wanted to play in first snow of the winter season before morning came.

Noelle was a stubborn child and found it completely unfair how her adoptive brothers were allowed to enjoy extra play time and she was deigned to be stuck looking down at them from her bedroom window woefully. Having discovered this hidden passage way a few months beforehand, it quickly became her most harboured secret. She was sure no one in the manor knew of it’s existence and Noelle intended to keep it that way, it was very useful and this was her room afterall.

It was pitch black as she followed the dark path down a winding staircase. As no one knew of the passages existence, there was no servants to light the torches along it, and Noelle herself was much to small to reach and light them herself. So instead she rested both hands upon the walls on either side of her, tucked in her wings tightly so they wouldn’t graze the stone, and slowly made her way down. The walls were cold under her touch, and slightly slimy with something she tried not to think too hard about what it could be.

She had never been down the passage after sunset. Usually pockets of light shone through cracks in the walls, but today no such light was given. She had already pushed her own magic by healing herself earlier, so producing any light herself was out of the question.

Noelle began thinking of the many snow angels she planned to make once she got outside, giggling quietly to herself as she remembered Matteo’s sorry attempt at his own, which ended up looking more like a blob than an Illyrian boy. He tried to hit her after she had laughed at him but she had doged him like always. That was when she had been called inside by her governess and Matteo had scampered off to join Kraven like nothing had happened.

The wall began to grow more frosted under her touch, and the stairway downward began to flatten, signifying she had made it to ground level. She ran her fingers along the stone as she strived along, knowing she would soon be out in the fresh winter chill, yet as she walked, she suddenly felt metal and wood on her left. Stopping out of curiosity, she turned to her side and felt about still cloaked in darkness, managing to make out a the shape of a door, a cold, metal knob and a big key hole she managed to stick her finger through and wiggle around. She had not come across this door before in her secret adventures through the passage.

A tug in her chest pulled her closer to the wooden door in front of her, and the urge to continue in that direction became so overwhelming strong, Noelle decided it would be rude to ignore it. Fumbeling around for the door knob again, she twisted it slightly, and to her surprise it opened up into yet another corridor, yet at least this one was lined brightly with torches. Staring opened eyed for a short while at her discovery, the small girl grinned and followed along, forgetting all about the snow outside.

It was the screams that gave away what this place was to Noelle first, the next was the constant sound of dripping water, but the last was the rats which scurried along in front of her dress. Jumping back in horror as a small squeak escaped her, she grimaced. This was her father’s dungeon. She had been forbidden here as it was “no place for a girl”, but she wasn’t afraid. Yet. Nodding to herself in determination, brow furrowing, fists closing tightly, she marched on following the invisible thread which tugged her though.

As she ventured on, less torches had been lit and she felt a sense of real unease for the first time, speeding up slightly in hopes she could out run whatever it was which unnerved her, until finally she was stood in front of a small cell. The cell was only about double her own height and was barred with thick metal. There was a small window, also barred, at the top left side which blew in frost and ice cold winds which explained the intense cold she now felt. Due to it’s size, she doubted that even during the day time this cell would see much light at all.

She was about to head back when a small twitch of movement caught her eye. A small boy was staring right at her, his striking hazel eyes pierced right through her violet ones and his dark hair reminded her of her brother’s, except the child infront of her looked much less groomed, dirt was raked through the matted strands and smeared across his face and body. His supposedly tanned skin seemed sickly pale and the wings she could see protruding from his back were stiff and smaller than should be normal for an Illyrian at his stature. He couldn’t be older than she was.

Noelle approached the bars to the cell, hands finding purchase on two of the poles as she leaned her small face to fit through the space. “Hello”, she whispered cautiously, “I’m Noelle, my father is the Lord of this manor, who are you?”. The boy only stared back at her quietly, observing her and pressing himself further into the wall behind him as he crouched in on himself for warmth.

Noelle glanced to the small window once more and pursed her lips, huffing slightly, “Are you cold?” Silence from the boy across from her again. Stepping away from the cell, she nodded to herself, trying to figure out how in the name of the mother herself a little boy had come to find himself in the dungeons underneath her home.

“Well then,” she started diplomatically, clasping her hands behind her back as she began to pace up and down the front of the boy’s cell, holding eye contact, “You can’t have been here for long. I think I would know if a little Illyrian boy such as yourself has been living in my manor for the past five yea-”

“Four” the boy replied so quietly, Noelle would have missed it if she were not half fae herself, “what?” She stopped and watched as he shifted himself against the wall again, as if in pain. “Azriel,” he pointed to himself with a slender fingers, “is four.”

“Oh,” Noelle breathed, “so you can talk.” The boy, Azriel, nodded once sharply, face grim.

She smiled lightly at him, “I’ve never met anyone younger than me before, what in the cauldron are you doing down here anyways?” Azriel only narrowed his eyes at her, angling his head slightly upwards, the shadows bending around him so well she could hardly see his body. Her eyes caught on the rusted keyhole of the cell door, “you must not get out very often,” she whispered cautiously, Azriel stayed silent as she continued, “have you.. ever been out?” The boy shook his head “no” in a small movement. Noelle hummed in contemplation, “Well, this must be some sort of mistake, my father would never keep a child locked up in here lik-,”

“My father,” the boy’s voice sounded again, notably more confidently this time, “is Lord. Is Tobias.”

Noelle shook her head with a laugh of exasperation, “No silly, father has only 2 sons, Kraven and Matteo.” At the sound of her brother’s names Azriel cringed and she could physically see him close off again.

“You’ve met them.” she said, not a question. A nod. More confused than ever the five year old half Illyrian, half fae child continued her pacing as her thoughts raced. This changed the perception of everything for the youngling, she knew her father had a tendency to be cruel but this? The sound of chattering guards sounded getting closer, startling her into action. Looking back at the boy again, Noelle had made up her mind.

“Ok Azriel,” his name rolled smoothly off her tongue, “I will come back and visit again soon,” Azriel just stared at her, still wary, “I promise.” She dipped her head in goodbye and raced off towards the passage which would lead her back to her bedroom before she was caught.

Maybe Azriel could be her new secret.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That’s the first part done, hope you enjoyed! This is only the beginnings of Azriel and Noelle, their story definitely gets more interesting and will go right through from where we are now till present time in the acotar series!

Thanks for reading ❤️❤️

[drizzleoftherain]

Liturgia

Chapter 1: La Corriente Que Nace De Esta Fuente

Pairing: Ava Silva & Beatrice

Ao3

Author's note: This story wouldn’t let me live my life so I guess it had to be done. There’s a playlist and a mood-board. I’m tired now and will sleep.

Beatrice would swear upon her death bed that meeting Ava that day was not in any way shape or form a monumental deviation in her life plans.

Had this moment in time been a carefully calculated move? No. This had been simple dumb luck and it horrified her. One moment they were being ignored at dingy small gigs and suddenly they were performing at Lollapalooza. Beatrice couldn’t even begin to understand what 110,000 people looked like. Much less hearing them sing back their music, the songs that she had carefully written and slaved over for years. And here they were, expected to just pretend like that was normal. Like it was just a regular day. She was sure she needed therapy. And a new manager. Definitely a new manager. Lilith needed a haircut. Did they all need haircuts? 

Her mind spiraled. 

All in good time. 

The green room was stuffy and the air felt heavy with anxiety and pre-show jitters that shouldn’t still be happening or at least this intensely. Thoughts went back to that crowd and fear started to bubble again. She looked to her fellow bandmates, each going through their routines, and her lips curved with a small smile that she hoped would calm their nerves. 

They were set to appear as one of two musical guests, not something she recalls happening often, but unavoidable given a last minute scheduling conflict and countless apologies from The Graham Norton Show production team.

They were The Cruciforms, England’s biggest rock band since The Beatles, or she would tell her grandmother that if ever asked. Silly little hobby and all. Their EP had sold inexplicably well, well enough that eyes were on them, many eyes and they had been ill prepared. The amount of attention in itself was difficult to explain, it was as if overnight everything had fallen into place, but not. The music industry was messy, confusing and borderline psychotic. 

“Do you think she’ll be nice?” Camila’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“Who?” 

A unanimous groan stretched throughout the cramped room. 

Right. 

Ava. 

The other musical guest. 

“Do you think we’ll ever get a chance to print our vinyls at the rate she’s going?” Lilith spoke up, hair in her face. She definitely needed thera— wait no she needed a haircut, but also therapy. 

Mary rubbed her forehead knowing full well where the topic was heading. “Don’t start, you’ll just get Beatrice going on a rant again.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can put up with musical statistics and artistic integrity.” Lilith stood from the couch and walked to the heavily lit mirror in an attempt to tame her unruly hair.

Beatrice scoffed, feeling slightly validated by Lilith’s comment. “I mean honestly out of everyone that could have possibly come today and overshadow us it had to be her. Does she even have to do this anymore?”

“Careful, your inner brat is showing.”

“When you’re in the party bum-bum-bumping’ that beat!” Camila sprung up, triggered. 

“Oh God no.”

“That sewer sluts a vibe! 

Internationally recognised!

 I set the tone, it’s my design and it’s stuck in your—”

Beatrice moved as fast as she could. One squeal later and Camila was restrained. She stared up, breathing through her nose as Beatrice’s hands held her mouth shut. The couch underneath them protested with the sudden movement.

“It has been a great year for pop music. I've gone back several months and can safely say we’re finally out of the dark ages that were the early 2010’s.” Yasmine, who had been rather occupied with her phone, spoke up. She was nose deep tracking charts or plotting to take them down. One or the other. Or both. “It’s not all Ava’s fault. Though her tactics are a bit questionable and borderline exploitative.”

“See! Yasmine agrees. She has over-capitalised music and for what. Is it any good? Probably not, just some over-produced crap that will sound dated—aaaaahhh!” Camila bit her. Actually bit her. “You bit me!”

Camila had managed to squeeze her way out of Beatrice’s grasp. “How dare you speak about our lord and saviour like this.”

“She’s clearly only popular because of all the features she has managed to grab.” Beatrice continued her tirade, rubbing her hand in soothing patterns. “That and the radio won’t stop playing her.”

Mary stared at Beatrice, patience clearly gone. “Okay, you’re starting to sound like a Reddit basement dweller. I have heard her albums, they’re great, she’s talented.” Her eyes bore into hers like an older sibling would to a misbehaving little sister. “Is it my cup of tea? No. I don’t drink tea, but I can at least admit she works hard.”

“You said you wouldn’t.” Beatrice wasn’t petulant, but they had agreed not to listen to the top 100, which meant Ava was off limits. Or at least she thought they had all agreed. Clearly Camila was a filthy liar and now Mary too. 

“I’m quite partial to Malamente .” 

“No, Lilith, not you too.”

“What about Bagdad ?” Yasmine perked up, suddenly very interested in the conversation being had. “The interpolation of the choir and Justin Timberlake’s ‘ Cry Me A River ’ is brilliant.”

Beatrice sat defeated. The betrayal. They shared meals together.

She was already thinking of ways to make them suffer during practice. They were only listening to greats from now on or so help her God. They can’t squander it, this opportunity only comes once in a lifetime and they were going to focus. She would plan their listening schedule; Bob Dylan, Bowie, good old Simon & Garfunkel, aaaaaaand she was boring herself. Bananarama…what. Too much. 

Knock- knock knock- knock

“It’s probably Vincent.” Lilith had somehow constructed her hair into a braid, who thought she had it her.

“Useless,” Beatrice muttered, putting some distance between herself and the door. She knew whatever news he was bringing was going to age her in seconds. They truly needed a new manager.

It was Camila who stood to answer.

“ Hi ”

Camila slammed the door shut. The Earth spun just a little faster. 

The girls all stared as she stood perfectly still, back to the door in a state of complete panic. “It’s…it’s…” she stuttered, with full blown realisation. 

“Who is it?”

“Vincent?”

“No.”

“Graham?”

“No.”

“Ava?”

Camilla raised her hands to her mouth and nose nodding slowly, “…yes”.

Mary basically pried her bandmate off the door. “Woman, for crying out loud let your fellow countryperson in.”

The door opened and there she was. Hands behind her back, with a smile that could probably make someone trip on a busy city street. And they were all staring.

Thud

Yasmine’s phone hit the floor and all eyes followed the movement as she scrambled to pick it up. All except for Beatrice who had for a second forgotten herself. An indescribable force. Ava was or looked younger than she was expecting. She wore an oversized white t-shirt tucked into her jeans, hair in a messy bun and no makeup to speak of. Beatrice breathed in once and looked down as if struck, but couldn’t resist a second glance. Brown eyes met hers.

Ava moved forward, awkwardly doing a small wave, “Hi guys…what’s up?”

“The ceiling usually, I mean if there is one, sometimes it could be sky, but I guess…that can also depend on the weather because there’s rain and clouds and pollen and…solar wind patterns can disrupt the Earth’s magnetosphere in a phenomenon we refer to as an Aurora.” Oh no, Yasmine.

Mary nodded along only for a second. “Ava, right? I’m Mary.”

“Hello,” She smiled brightly again, outstretching her hand for Mary to shake. 

“I once had a weird dream after listening to ‘ De Aqui No Sales ’.” Beatrice could see Camilla’s mouth moving but could only hope that she had misheard. 

“Oh?” Ava chuckled, her voice turned oddly raspy with mischief. “What was it about?”

“I don’t know. It involved my dead dog Mauricio and buñuelos.”

“¿Buñuelos? Me encantan.”

“Si, a mi igual,” Camila chuckled with so much admiration.

“This is Camila, she apologises for slamming the door on your face,” Mary said gently, who apparently had taken it upon herself to be the only normal person in the room. And without any prompting began to go around introducing everyone. “That’s Yasmine and her now very broken phone.” Yasmine half smiled half winced. “The one with the sour face over there is Lilith.” A quick salute. “And this is Bea-”

Beatrice doesn’t know what possessed her to walk across the room, but she found herself in front of Ava with a tentative hand outstretched, “Beatrice.” And the indescribable force was back, negating her own will as their eyes met again. Brown. Kind. Cute laugh lines by her eyes when she smiles.

“Beatrice.” Ava repeated dumbly. “Ava.”

Lilith rolled her eyes, “Oh, we know.”

—

“Ohh! Oh that is lovely!” Graham Norton’s voice resonated over the boisterous studio audience as he made his entrance. He waved his hands, “Hello everyone, hello! Good evening. You’re all so welcome to the show. It is Friday night and like your overpowering mother-in-law, I’m back! We’ve got a great line up to finish up the week with not just one but two musical guests. If you look over there singing for us later we have The Cruciforms , Europe’s latest obsession.”

The crowd erupted into delighted cheers as the girls waved back. They were now all wearing matching form fitting black suits with paired high waisted pants. Thin ties adorned their white button ups. 

Yasmine sat behind her drums twirling one of her sticks flawlessly in her left hand, Camila on keys, Mary with a funky bass, Lilith and her guitar remained perfectly still and Beatrice smiled from the center, microphone nearby.

“They’ll be performing their latest single ‘ Stuck ’, but first who are we meeting on my sofa tonight!” Graham spoke enthusiastically as he diverted his attention to the entry leading backstage. “Well this actress has decided to return to familiar shores, and is currently starring in the West End revival of Macbeth, put your hands together for Academy Award winner Olivia Coleman!”

All big smiles as the actress emerged waving at the crowd and giving Graham a warm hug. She took a seat clapping along as the host continued.

“Next up you may know him from this year’s box office hit Dune 2 and upcoming Bob Dylan biopic A Complete Unknown , Mr. Timothée Chalamet!” 

Timothée walked through the opening, small moustache and all. He shook Graham's hand before joining Olivia on the sofa.

“And our final guest needs no introduction. She’s our two time Grammy award winning neighbour, back from her record breaking global tour! Ava!”

The cheers somehow got louder as the audience absolutely lost their minds. Ava practically materialised wearing a long sleeved black Schiaparelli ensemble that resembled a matador chaquetilla vest with gold embellishments. Her hair now in long draping curls framed her perfect face. She glowed as the attention consumed her. Graham walked to meet her halfway giving her a big hug before helping her to the sofa. 

The show went through its finely structured style for a bit as Graham took several moments discussing everyone’s upcoming projects and accomplishments. They joked and spoke, Timothée and Ava already familiar with each other and Olivia just entranced by the overall energy that had taken over the studio.

“Right! It’s time for music. This band had a great year, they’ve already been announced as The Brit Rising Star for next year. Here performing their current single ‘ Stuck ’ it’s The Cruciforms!”

The audience cheered. The lights dimmed. Lilith’s opening notes queued them in. Yasmine followed. And suddenly they were all bouncing along as the lights focused and vamped up the atmosphere. Beatrice kicked her black chucks along with the beat of the song and reached for the standing mic. 

We talk…

Talk ‘til we’re blue in face

The words…

The words don’t resonate

Seasons…

They always seem to stay the same

Holding…on to things we said we would change 

Beatrice sang, her voice coming flawlessly through the studio speakers. She glanced at Camila as she sang into the mic joining her for the chorus, keys bouncing up and down under her fingertips.

I’m stuck, babe 

Stuck with nowhere to go

Because, babe

We’re just taking it slow

It’s overdue oh oh uh oh oh

Make your move oh oh uh oh oh

Stuck, babe

Stuck with nowhere to go

Their song came to an end and the audience cheered.

“There we go!” Graham joined “The Cruciforms, everybody!”

They waved, smiles all around.

“Come on over girls! Leave those instruments there and join us on the sofa.” They followed his direction, Lilith and Mary handing over their instruments to nearby staff members. They walked the curve of the stage over to the interview area as the other guests stood to greet them. “That was fantastic, thank you so so much.” 

Beatrice, the ever stoic leader was first shaking hands with Ava, Timothée and Olivia as Graham introduced all the members by name. The girls followed her lead and quickly everyone was acquainted. 

“That is such an ear-worm, truly fantastic job ladies,” Graham took his seat and everyone else followed suit. 

“Thank you very much.” Beatrice hoped her voice wouldn’t crack and betray just how nervous she was. 

“That single is from your EP, and it’s out now and is a thing of beauty,” He continued the praise leaving all the members shy and bewildered. “How do you all feel after the incredible year you’ve had? ‘ Stuck ’ was the biggest British single of the year.”

Beatrice looked around to her band members as she spoke, “I think we’re all just in a state of shock still, to be perfectly honest. We couldn’t have imagined the amount of traction or how much the song resonated with people.”

The guests nodded along basking in the pure happiness each of the girls was giving off. 

Beatrice had just realised just who she sat next to. Ava’s smile was immense as she listened along. “How did it feel listening to the song on the radio for the first time?” She asked, eyes meeting hers.

“I know this is going to sound absurd because surely band members are with each other every second of every day,” Beatrice chuckled, “but we all heard it at different times.” 

“It was surreal!” Camila added and everyone nodded in agreement.

“I think you have this idea or this hope for so long… I’m sorry I’m not used to this. I’m nervous.” Beatrice hesitated while taking a breath, the audience laughed. 

Ava tapped her leg in encouragement, “No one is.”

Beatrice smiled at the encouragement and continued, “when we all finally heard it together we were in a cab on the way to get dumplings and we almost caused our driver to crash.” 

Everyone laughed again delighted. The show continued with more of the same atmosphere and fun banter between Graham and the guests. They spoke about their upcoming European tour and promotional endeavours for the upcoming album. 

When the show was ready to wrap, Ava stood from her spot next to Beatrice and walked towards the stage, where her guitarist and a percussionist with a cajon waited for her. She sat on the chair between them, her demeanour shifted to a more sullen tone appropriate one. 

The lights dimmed and the flamenco guitar began. 

Qué bien sé yo la fuente 

Que mana y corre

Aunque eeeeeees de noche

Aquella eterna fuente está escondida

Qué bien sé yo donde tiene su manida

Aunque eeeeeees de noche

En esta noche oscura de esta vida

Qué bien sé yo por fe la fuente fría

Aunque es de noche

Aunque es de noche

Aunque es de noche

Music, Beatrice found, always had a way of burying itself down to her bones. She didn’t need to speak the language, she understood the emotion perfectly. And Ava, what could she even be nitpicky about, Ava was delivering every line with so much care and love. In that instance she couldn’t help but chastise herself. She had devalued Ava, just as much as any other popular artist. And for what? To seem knowledgeable and alternative?

The song shifted. The tempo increased, but Ava’s falsettos had merged so perfectly that Beatrice would have just assumed it was the same song until it wasn’t. Ava stood, the light now reflecting the change of mood and the room mutated rather intensely. 

Taggea'o tu nombre en la pared, eh

O El Mal Querer en Times Square, ¿o qué?

Driving speed limit DGT, eh

O quemando rue'a sin carnet, ¿o qué?

Vas a lo suave a lo kitty cat, eh

O muerdes si tienes que morder, ¿o qué?

Muerdes si tienes que morder, eh

Muerdes si tienes que morder

Beatrice looked around to her bandmates, all enthralled with what had just occurred. Camila was practically levitating, and she knew she wouldn’t hear the end of this today. Was Olivia Coleman dancing? Mary’s eyes met hers, see , she could hear her.

A palé, a palé, a palé, a palé

A palé, a palé, a palé, a

A palé, a palé, a palé, a palé

A palé, a palé, a palé, a-a-a

Fuck the greats.

—

“What the fuck was that?” Ava winced, as she was all but pushed back against the wall. The show staff were far enough not to hear or see. Her manager stood in front of her. She was still taller than Ava even in heels. “I thought we had agreed, they’re not ready to hear that. It’s not the right time.”

Ava felt small, but the rage had been building inside her for years, eating away at her. She needed this. A change in her sound had been a long time coming and no amount of begging and hoping was going to accomplish it anymore. Keep your eyes up. She reminded herself. 

“The audience enjoyed it, didn’t they?” Ava squared her shoulders. 

A dry laugh. “A decision like this can derail your entire career.” Her manager ran her hands through her wavy hair, “Who encouraged you?”

Ava shook her head baffled. “You think I needed encouragement? If you truly believe that you clearly haven't been paying attention.”

“I need to call Fermin and get this sorted before it gains any traction.”

“Emilia.”

Emilia turned, phone to her ear. “Hell–”

“We’ll call you back.” Ava's eyes were so intense that she was sure she was about to cry and she knew Emilia knew.

Eyes bore into hers, “Let me make something exceedingly clear to you. You are where you are because of all the hours I’ve devoted to making it happen. Not only do you continue to act like a child every chance you get, you also make no effort to hide it.” This time the shove against the wall was physical. “Who do you think contacts the media to hide all your little “mistakes”. Not to mention the rampant alcoholism that everyone ignores and puts up with.” Tears were beginning to well in Ava’s eyes. “Do you think it’s cute what you’re doing? Do you think it’s funny?” Emilia spoke calmly, completely stone-faced.“How fucking dare you?”

Ava couldn’t bear to raise her gaze to meet Emilia’s.

“Let me predict with 100% certainty what’s about to happen after we leave this building.” Emilia lowered her mouth close to Ava’s left ear, “You’re going to sneak out of your hotel room and you’re going to drink until you black out, and I’m going to find you in your bathtub tomorrow morning feeling sorry for yourself. And then we’ll leave this God forsaken country and never speak about this again.”

A noise from down the hall alerted them immediately. Ava could feel Emilia extracting herself. She gave a small glance in the direction of the noise, but couldn't make out what it was. 

Emilia’s eyes were furious as her gaze returned to Ava. “I’ll let the driver know we’re ready to leave.”

Ava watched as her manager made her way down the hall and into one of the green rooms. The same noise resonated across the hall again. She wiped her face as best she could, turning the corner and without realising, smashing straight into something solid.

Beatrice. 

Vest pocket tangled on the handle of the janitor’s closet. She would laugh if the circumstances weren’t pointing to the fact that she was sure the woman had overheard the exchange. And she knows that face. She sees her assistant make that face all too often.

“Why are you coming out of the closet?” Ava was nothing without her humour after all. 

A beat. Beatrice hesitated, Ava could see her eyes frantically searching for the proper response. “Well…you see I was just trying to find the–”

“The?”

Beatrice made an attempt to form words, but gave up several times. She struggled with the handle again, somehow she had managed to make it go further into her pocket.

Ava chuckled. A full on throaty chuckle. “Here. Let me.” Ava placed her hand on her arm and gently twisted the handle enough that it slipped right out. 

The honey brown eyes danced awkwardly from wall to wall before meeting hers. 

There was a breath and Ava began to understand that this was probably something Beatrice did often before speaking. A learned response she knew all too well. “Are you alright?” Beatrice asked, arms coming to her side. 

She waited for Ava’s response. Strange . Most people would have already walked away from what had just happened. Pretending. Always pretending. “Do you know Claridge’s?” She hoped Beatrice wouldn’t push.

“Do I know Claridge’s?” An inflection on the ‘I’.

“Meet me outside at ten.”

“What? Like, tonight?”

“Ten. tonight.”

Ava turned to leave.

“Ten?”

“Tonight.”

—

Beatrice is not in the habit of meeting up with world famous pop stars outside of bougie hotels, but she was in fact a big fan of a mystery and that’s what Ava was. A person like Ava shouldn't exist. The raw emotion and vocal talent she had just witnessed could not have come out of a five foot tall person that looked like that. 

Like what? Like sunshine? 

She physically shook the thought from her head and glanced down at the watch on her wrist. 

10:14 pm

This had to have been a joke. Why would she have ever thought that something like this could happen to someone like her. The doormen knew it. And she knew it. She didn’t belong and they were definitely going to call the Bobbies. She swiped through her phone a couple of times looking for the train schedule. She had time. She could still walk away without being charged for trespassing.

“Hi.” Beatrice was sure she caught some air. “I’m sorry about the wait, I had to do a bit of Mission Impossible–ling,” Ave smiled way too happy about her own joke. 

“I see.”

She looked at Beatrice for a moment, long enough to be noticed, that is, “You look slick.”

And it wasn’t a usual thing for Beatrice to care about her appearance. Her eyes looked down, suddenly vulnerable. She was wearing houndstooth trousers, slip-on-sneakers, a white cotton shirt and a black coat. And then she looked at Ava who was wearing the same outfit from the green room plus an oversized coat and heels, hair still in curls.

“Thanks.”

Ava began to walk.

Beatrice hesitated for a moment but followed after her. “Wait. Where are we going?”

“Looking for some nightlife.” Ava was quick on her feet, comfortable in her heels as they made their way down the cobblestone street. A feat that Beatrice herself has never been able to maneuver that well.

“A nightlife here? In Mayfair?” The only kind of night life in Mayfair was over expensive single-grape wine from wherever the fuck in France. 

As they walked they passed high end shop windows and luxury vehicles parked on the street. There were a healthy amount of people wandering nearby restaurants and bars, which calmed Beatrice’s nerves. After passing The King’s Head, Ava made a right with no signs of slowing down.

“You seem to know where you’re going.”

Ava slowed, taking pity on her. “I come to London a lot, usually to record.”

“That makes sense.”

“Do you like it here?”

“London? I mean, I was raised here, can’t complain.” Beatrice continued, “What about you?”

“Can’t say I stick around long enough to form an opinion.”

“I can show you around if you’d like sometime.”

Ava giggled, but didn’t look at Beatrice. “Maybe next time I’m in town.”

Beatrice wasn’t sure what it was about Ava that caused her to lose all sense of self. If it were any other Friday night she would be in her flat reading or listening to her latest record find. Only leaving if her bandmates had plans together or to have dinners with her parents. Was it because of who she was? No. Beatrice had already met her fair share of celebrities so this wasn’t that. Plus, she was never one to be around people like Ava. People that shined easily.

They stopped in front of white steps. She looked up at a simple black door with the number 46.

“Are we visiting someone?”

Ava didn’t answer, choosing to climb instead.“When we go in, don't accept anything from anyone. Don’t wander far from me and definitely do not speak to the staff more than required. They will know.”

“Sorry?” Ava knocked and after a few seconds the door was opened by a man in a tailored suit with an earpiece.

“Ms. Silva, good evening.”

“Good evening.” Ava grabbed her hand leading her inside.

 Past the entryway was a long hallway and a set of heavy doors. What the fuck was happening? 

“Good evening Ms. Silva, coats?”

Ava removed her coat, handing it over to a staff member behind the counter, then began to help Beatrice out of hers. 

“Thank you. Enjoy your evening ladies.”

Her hand was grabbed again as they passed through the solid doors. 

The building seemed to suddenly expand, the lights were dimmed and cigar smoke floated up towards strategically placed vents. Several men and women sat around chairs she was sure would cost more than her university education. The brown oak coffee tables held various drinks and if she looked close enough she could see old water marks left behind from years of use. As they made their way down the room she made out rows and rows of people chatting to one another or laughing. The music was jazzy and at a level where easy conversation could be had.

Ava didn’t pay much attention to their surroundings and was headed for the stairs. Her hand felt suddenly very clammy with uncertainty. And as they neared the steps she felt the bass of the music increase. 

Beatrice knew better than to get herself into a situation like this, so, why had a woman she had only met a few hours prior been so powerful. She was almost sure this was turning out to be some weird Ready or Not shit, where rich people kill for sport. And the funny thing was she knew this was how she went. All those years of repression and putting music first, all too be undone by a pretty girl with red lips. Her bandmates were going to kill her for this–well, she’d be dead, but they would definitely come to the wake and roast her.

They took two steps at a time and emerged into what was obviously a club. The lights bounced with the beat of the music as the people inside danced along, not acknowledging anything but the vibe and themselves. The bar stretched across the entire length of the left wall and several tables stood snuggly to the right, both hugging the dance floor. 

Ava walked straight to the bar, finally releasing her hand. Beatrice couldn’t see much apart from the pulsating lights hitting the walls due to how dark it was.

“What will you have?” Ava got close enough to speak into her ear.

“Huh? Sorry I was looking at the architecture.” 

Ava gave her a fond look then turned her attention to the bartender. “We’ll start with shots.”

“Oh, I don’t–I’m not—”

“Just try it. It’s a no pressure shot.”

Beatrice looked from the glass and to Ava. This was not a good idea.

By the time Beatrice had mustered a semblance of courage to even hold the shot Ava was already on her fourth. She watched her expectantly and the indescribable force was back. The liquor went down hard. She could feel it burning all the way down. 

“That was vile!”

“I bet!”

Ava looked at the crowd. The energy was feeding into her. “Dance?”

Beatrice wavered considering her options. “You go ahead. I’ll catch up.” She was hoping Ava wouldn’t question it. And when she didn’t Beatrice sent a small prayer to anyone who was listening. She watched as Ava made her way through the crowd needing no time to synchronise to everyone else.

“Anything else?” The bartender asked impatiently.

“Water, please.”

This was going to be a long night.

She had somehow made it through to Ava, who was now flushed red and perspiring, though it was not something that looked bad on her. She smiled the moment she spotted Beatrice and rushed to put her hands on her hips.

Oh, your gravity, your gravity

Your gravity, I will follow you

Oh, your gravity, your gravity

Your gravity, I will follow you

The bodies next to them bounced and swayed matching the rhythm. 

Head in the stars, I see you everywhere

I could never get away, get away (away)

In a hold, just take me anywhere

And I believe in what you say

—

Beatrice adjusted the body on her back again.

Yup, this had been a terrible idea.

She had only made it down two streets and her ankles were not complying. Ava was essentially dead weight at this point and she could feel a cool kind of liquid on the shoulder where her head rested. 

It was now 3 AM and she was having some major regrets. 

Beatrice wasn’t sure how much alcohol Ava had consumed, she had lost track at some point. She had begged her to have some water, peanuts, anything, but Ava had been hard headed and knew exactly what she was doing.

She bounced her butt up, catching Ava’s thighs again. At least it didn’t look out of place. Plenty of people had stumbled out and they had left a straggler a street behind who kept insisting he was Harry Styles.

Thank God for her sneakers or else this would have looked more like she was pulling a dead body. Oh fuck. Did it look like she was carrying a dead body? Her pace increased out of pure fear. This literally could not be happening right now. She was done for. Ava’s fans would kill her. They wouldn’t even question her. They would tear her apart limb from limb in some sadistic medieval torture session while chanting along to one of their idol’s songs.

She had by some miraculous stroke of luck made it back to Claridge’s. The two doormen from earlier watched her struggle the last few meters to the door.

“Hello there!” She sounded way too excited. 

“Evening,” one of the doormen greeted her unenthusiastically.

“Yes, hi. She–she’s a guest at this hotel and as you can–” she adjusted their bodies. The men looked between them, but showed no signs of letting her through. “As you can see, she is very much asleep.”

“What name is the room booked under?”

“Silva? Ava Silva?”

“There’s no such guest staying with us.”

Of course.

She readjusted Ava again. Hoping for some kind of pity. 

Ava’s hand appeared in front of her face holding a room key. “Oh! Well, there we go then. Excuse us.”

The door was held open long enough for Beatrice to slip inside. 

“You are…weird–weirdly strong,” Ava said a little slurred. 

Beatrice’s sneakers squeaked on the checkered marble flooring. The grand entryway was entirely too opulent for the amount of pain currently coursing through every inch of her body.

 She needed a lift. 

The night attendants watched them closely.

 She heard the distinctive ding and rushed to make it, but the doors closed.

She lowered her face to the console and pressed the up button with her nose. This had to be a new low even for her, which is saying a lot because she NEVER does anything like this. The most she would admit to is staying up all night during record store day and camping outside the vinyl store for hours. It took a few seconds and the other set of doors opened. She slipped inside taking a moment to balance Ava and herself against a wall.

There was a beep and the lift began to rise. 

“Did you just?”

Ava nodded against her shoulder.

When they arrived at the correct floor Beatrice mustered all the strength she had left. She readjusted Ava and in one smooth motion used the wall to push them forward.

“Room?!”

“The–the door on the left,” Ava pointed down the hall.

Her legs were shaking. She needed to run into that room. The door clicked open and she rushed in quickly finding the bed and throwing Ava on it, who bounced a couple of times giggling as if Beatrice hadn’t just carried her for what felt like kilometers. There was definitely going to be murder tonight, and she would accept her fate at the hands of her fanbase.

“How could you be laughing!” Beatrice began, eyebrows cast down, anger suddenly blooming after tonight's events. “How could you just let yourself drink to the point of passing out? What if I hadn’t been there? How would you have gotten back here? Do I need to take you to the hospital? Do you need your stomach pumped?!” Beatrice took a breath. Her face was hot and she was sure, no, she knew, she had pulled one of her calf muscles. 

Ava was sitting upright watching her closely, her face was red, small strands of hair stuck to her forehead. Suddenly, Ava stood with yet another impressive display of heel sportsmanship, discarding her coat in one go and running to the bathroom.

She managed to make it to the toilet before retching and vomiting into it.

“Oh my God–are you okay?” Beatrice wobbled her way into the bathroom. Ava nodded weakly, giving her a thumbs up.“Here, let me pull your hair back.” Beatrice took the hair tie on her wrist, somewhat picking up Ava’s sticky hair off her face. Yup, that was definitely a chunk of something tangled in her hair. Ava’s shoulder shook with a giggle.“You look a mess and you are laughing?!” Beatrice couldn't help it, her shoulder began to shake as well.

They both laughed wholeheartedly or in this case deliriously. And then Ava began to retch again.

“N—” Beatrice could feel it. The need to join. It was all dry, but enough for her body to gag and compulse a bit in solidarity.

Ava threw up again and Beatrice wobbled out needing to get out of there before dry turned into not so dry. She looked around the room looking for a small fridge with hopefully some water inside. It was a miracle at this point that she hadn’t tripped on the amount of clothing littering the floor. The room she found was as chaotic as its inhabitant. 

Score.

She grabbed the sealed bottle and basically hopped on one foot to the bathroom. She kneeled down to where Ava’s head was in the toilet, handing the bottle over. “Please rinse out your mouth. Stomach acid is not good for your teeth.”

Ava did as she was told. She sat back against the bathtub, everything finally catching up to her. 

Beatrice had wandered back into the room, she removed her coat and let herself rest against the bed. Her bandmates were never going to believe her if she ever brought this up. This could not happen again. She wasn’t built for this. She was built for late night doom scrolling and hot cups of tea. This had filled her social quota for the century and in a moment of weakness imagined her life right now in a different reality. She could be a nun, transcribing old texts and doing a bit of bookkeeping. Yup, that she was made for.

The toilet flushed and Ava slowly emerged from the bathroom. She leaned against the door frame, removing a heel at a time.“That was close.” She fiddled with the button of her jeans until she gave up and pulled them down without any warning.

Ava was a terrorist.

Beatrice made no attempt to look away. What would the point have been? Ava had managed to top whatever she did with something else. Silky black underwear. Pfft. “Right. So, I’m going to go now.” She pushed off the bed and shoved her hands in her pant pockets, “I would like to say that it has been great, but it has not.”

Ava pulled the covers and slipped inside without paying her any attention.

Beatrice waited for any kind of reply, but when none came concern took over once again. Ava was lying so still that she could have sworn she had a cardiac episode without any kind of preamble. She stepped closer, lowering her face enough to hear some kind of breath. Soft, hardly there. She could see Ava’s chest slowly rising and falling in rhythm. The person before her now felt so small and fragile, without the carefully crafted mask she had wielded the whole day.

She unconsciously ran a gentle hand down Ava’s cheek, the force pulling her to do it was so strong she didn’t have the strength to fight against it anymore. Ava was okay. She was asleep.

Beatrice grabbed the bottle from where Ava had left it on the bathroom counter and brought it to the night table closest to Ava. With one final look to satisfy her worry she turned to leave, carefully putting her weight on her foot, surprised to find that it felt much better already. She closed the room door lightly behind her and as she reached the lift doors. A noise from down the hall alerted her. The same woman from before, Emilia, emerged from the room opposite of Ava’s. She scanned a keycard against Ava’s door, but before stepping inside, her face turned, making eye contact with Beatrice.

Her face was unreadable and for just a moment Beatrice feared for her life. She looked away, smashing the lift button a couple of more times. She heard the door close down the hall and breathed a sigh of relief as the lift doors closed behind her.

—

Beatrice had hoped that a Sunday morning run followed by a cup of coffee would bring her some kind of peace. The chilly Autumn wind hit her cheeks, turning them pink. She sat outside her favourite coffee shop, which was just a few minutes walk from her flat. The run had filled her body with endorphins and she was currently riding the ‘ nothing is absolutely wrong ’ train. 

The last few days had been a roller coaster and dare she say a shit fest. Vincent was not answering her calls or any of their calls and had apparently disappeared from the face of the Earth. Her emails were out of control with managers, producers, sponsors and basically everyone in the industry that wanted a piece of them.

So this, a simple coffee, she could do for the moment. She wasn’t going to think about what had happened with Ava last night. And she was not going to think about murdering Vincent.

Several undisclosed and heavy shopping bags were deposited on the table in front of her. The sudden action caused her to blink rapidly several times.

A woman stood there observing her closely. She wore brown high waisted pants with a cream turtleneck and an olive coat, “Beatrice Young?”

“…Yes?” She was hesitant to confirm.

“Suzanne De Fanti,” She took a seat across from her.

Why did that name sound so familiar?

She waited for Beatrice to speak, but when no reply came she continued, “I hear that you are in need of a manager.”

“Oh well, that’s— does everyone know that?”

“Yes.” It was direct and Beatrice liked that in a person. “I have taken it upon myself to reach out to several brands that meet the bands general aesthetic or as you young kids call it now ‘vibes’.”

“I can see that.”

“It seems you are a difficult commodity to get a hold of and I am here to facilitate that.”

Realisation suddenly hit her. “You’re THE Suzanne De Fanti? You’re a legend. I thought you retired from management a couple of years ago.”

The woman shrugged. “If I’m being perfectly honest, the industry was a bit stagnant.”

“And you’re back?” 

“I believe so.” She answered, fingers picking at something on her nail. I have plenty of connections and old friends. I assume everything is still exploitative and disruptive.”

Beatrice watched her for a moment. This was probably too good to be true. How does something like this even happen? Also, how did Suzanne even find her? 

“Where are your bandmates? I’d like to meet them so we’re all acquainted.” Suzanne had a way about herself and Beatrice knew to keep a bit of skepticism. 

“That simple then?”

“It can be. I assume you don’t speak for them.”

“No, I do not.” A breath. “What’s in it for you? A return to your former glory?” 

“Don’t misunderstand my offer.” She began, “In my years of doing this I have rarely seen such a reaction towards a musician much less a band. You’ve done well, but that can only take you so far in this industry. You need proper connections and someone with the experience to help you navigate it all.” Suzanne searched her face. “You want to hear the most useful advice I can give you? Quit. Quit now before it hurts. Because it’s going to get a lot more difficult from here on out. Yes, getting attention in itself is a feat, but keeping it? That takes work, and not everyone is built for it. Trust me. I have seen it.”

Beatrice shifted her eyes. The words cut a little too close. “Is that all you think it is for us?”

“No, but the way I see it is, eventually, you forget to think about why you started in the first place. And then the hurt sets in.”

Beatrice doesn’t have a response. She lets the conversation sit between them and thinks. Always thinking. Her bandmates were beginning to show frustrations with Vincent’s lack of initiative, they had been busy and tired, so tired. Suzanne could be the person they needed.

“We have practice in thirty minutes. I can give you the address to the studio we’re renting, you can come see us then.”

“Nearby?”

“Just a few streets from here. I was about to change and head over before…” Beatrice waved her hand around not needing to communicate what had just happened.

“Alright, we go now.” Suzanne stood pointing at the bags, “How fashion savvy are you?”

“I have been trying very hard not to be giddy over the Alexander McQueen logo.”

She smiled in approval. “Well, what are we waiting for?” She grabbed a few bags and left the rest for Beatrice to help with. 

Beatrice thought she was a speedy walker on most days. Growing up in London had ingrained a mad scramble mentality to grab The Tube on busy work days, but this was on another level. Suzanne walked with so much haste that it was like she was running circles around Beatrice and still pulling in ahead and her legs could only take her so far.

“Bea! Beeeeaaaaaaa! BEATRICE!” Camila screamed across the street from them, somehow spotting them on her way to practice.

Suzanne stopped before she did and it took all her self control not to topple over her. 

Camila crossed the avenue, catching up to them. “I can spot those little pigeon ankles from anywhere.” She looked from Beatrice to the stranger, before her eyes caught sight of the bags.

“Camila Delcán”

“Oh…wow that’s scary.” She paused, “Do we know this…very well dressed woman?”

“Hi Camila,” Beatrice greeted her, a fond look on her face. “This is Suzanne De Fanti.”

“The Real Housewives of Napoli?”

“...I don’t…what?”

Suzanne laughed and it was genuine. “Potential new manager,” She extended her hand to Camila who shook it with both hers.

“I have been manifesting this.” She said, way too happy with the possibility. 

Suzanne handed the remaining bags to Camila, “Grab these will you, I need to make a phone call.” She pulled a phone from her purse and pressed the screen exactly once. “Lead the way ladies.”

And they were off again. Beatrice didn’t know what had possessed her, but somehow she was walking faster, eager to meet the rest of her bandmates. Camila kept pace next to her, she was hopping. They turned a corner and headed towards a three story building. Once inside they called for the lift and turned to look at Suzanne who had hung up and was taking in her sights.

“This won't do.”

“It was all we could afford and we’re still under contract.”

The lift arrived, doors grinded struggling to open.

“Stairs?”

“To our left but the lights have been out since August and the neighborhood teens hang out in there.” Camila offered, already stepping onto the lift alongside Beatrice. “I once found a boobless Barbie doll, it was so strange.”

“Hmm.”

They were all crammed in the small space as the sorry excuse for lift ascended. The metal rattled and further protested as the bass from the levels above amplified aggressive sounding drums and guitars. Beatrice and Camila looked at each other with concern as the lift’s door slowly opened to reveal the saddest looking loft imaginable. 

The three occupants inside continued their session. Lilith fiercely sing-screaming into the microphone while strumming her guitar. Mary casually just jamming with her bass and Yasmine too distracted on the drums to notice that anyone had arrived.

Wake up, wake up, wake up

We are appalling and we need to stop just watching shit in bed

And I know it sounds boring and we like things that are funny

But we need to get this in our fucking heads

The economy's a goner, republic's a banana, ignore it if you wanna

Suzanne looked around, slightly concerned with the safety of the loft as the walls shook and dust particles fell off the ceiling. The studio equipment was prehistoric and to be perfectly honest half of it didn’t even work anymore. There was a small couch by the wall behind the control booth and copious amounts of carpets. 

I don't like going outside, so bring me everything here

HEY! 

WOO!

YEA!

Mary was the first to notice their new guests, she gave Beatrice and Camila a small wave before walking towards the amps and shutting off their power. It took a few seconds for Lilith and Yasmine to realise what had occurred. 

“Guys! We have a new manager!” Camila shouted excitedly on her way to her bandmates.

“No…wait Camila,” Beatrice called out after her.

“New manager? I don’t remember us having a democratic vote about this? Beatrice?” Mary was always on top of everything.

“Suzanne De Fanti,” The older woman reached out for a handshake.

“Oh shit? It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Mary,” Mary shook her hand without hesitation.

“I know.”

Lilith and Yasmine now joined the rest.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Beatrice raised her eyebrow towards Lilith.

“I vote yes.”

“We should think about this together.”

“No, I’m done waiting around,” Lilith answered back unfazed. “I’m well aware of who she is and what she is capable of.”

“And I’m well aware of who you are and what you’re capable of.” Suzanne smiled. “Your mother and I ran around the same circles years ago, I’m glad to see that she wasn’t wrong about you.”

The girls all stood in silence.

“Yes”

“YES!”

“Yea”

“I like her very much,” Yasmine spoke last.

“That settles it then.” Suzanne crossed her arms, looking at them a little too close for comfort. “Haircuts, clothes, studio, and Levy.”

“Levy?” Beatrice asked, confused.

“Yasmin, I require information of all that has happened this year and leading up to it.” Their new manager continued, not bothering to answer, “I’ve been following along but I need to know what the media doesn’t know.”

“I’m on it. I’ve kept a spreadsheet of all our exploits thus far.”

Camila’s eyes bulged. “What! What exploits?”

 The lift doors opened just as weakly as before.

“Uh, so I was just verbally assaulted by a very off-brand Billie Eilish outside.” The man walked towards them. He was impeccably dressed, coat outlining his shoulders perfectly. 

Suzanne smirked. “Girls, this is Levy.”

Camila bounced in place. “Can we keep him?”

—

One Month Later

“I thought I already told you to stop biting your cuticles, you look like a sneaky little rodent,” Levy leaned over and whispered-yelled rather roughly into her ear.

Beatrice was so close so so very close to ending his life. 

A model squeezed between them scrabbling towards her fitting assistant. 

Beatrice’s nails came back to her mouth. 

How Suzanne figured out she used to do ballet was a mystery to her. She had never referenced it in any interview, heck, her bandmates didn’t know. Well, except for Camila, but she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t, right? Why, Yes, Suzanne I love fashion. Please put me on a runway show, it’ll be great for the group's image and reachability. And sure, Suzanne had been skeptical about her abilities, but a few contacts later and a runway coach from hell had prepared her to do just one outfit. She could do this. It was just walking. She walked all the time in straight lines, and not so straight lines. Plus, she had great stamina. 

Levy swatted her hand away. 

She glanced around the massive room around her. Everyone was running around like a bunch of headless chickens. Photographers, hair stylists, makeup artists, assistants of assistants, models in various stages of undress and Levy. The lights were so bright that she was sure it would leave an impression in her corneas. Everyone was yelling and somehow it was the weirdest dance she had ever experienced. Everything was somehow going according to plan.

She found a bit of wall to lean on and it lasted exactly one second before Levy pulled her off it. “You’re going to crease it! And I am not about to be impaled by Sarah Burton.”

“You try standing on these!”

“I would willingly sell my left nipple to do so.”

Admittedly, the dress and heels she was wearing were beautiful, but she would not give him the satisfaction of enjoying this one bit. The embroidered black lace hugged her torso perfectly, which flowed until it hit silk that further became undone with fine brushed textures. She was about to politely scream like a banshee and truly personify the dress she was wearing. 

Levy walked off to answer his phone. Beatrice was certain it was Suzanne asking how she was doing. And by the look on his face, he was not being very kind. She would give him an earful once he came back.

Everyone around them burst into cheers suddenly, even the models engrossed in conversation stopped to look over. A few photographers rushed forward snapping pictures as the person walked to the enormous wall that was the entrance to the catwalk. The person must be the musical number that was meant to close the show. There was a break in the crowd and Beatrice could only stare a little slack jawed. 

Ava. 

It was Ava. 

Her hair had been cut straight across her shoulders in a clean bob. She had fierce eye makeup just like Beatrice’s and wore a dress that resembled one of the earlier looks. With cascading translucent white silk chiffon that stopped just a bit past her bottom with beautiful sunray pleats. She nodded a few times to the assistants nearby as they handed her a microphone and put in her in-ears. The music shifted and Ava stepped onto the runway.

“Beatrice!” Levy was urgently trying to get her attention.

She saw the closing looks coming together in order. The stage assistant ran frantically towards her. “Remember. Do it just like earlier during practice. Follow 41. Remember the cameras are mainly positioned at the front.” She wasn’t much younger than Beatrice. “Once you’re back, be ready to head back out to close the show with the rest of the models.”

Ava’s voice echoed inside.

She nodded, purely by instinct as she was pulled towards 41. 

Me da miedo cuando sales

Sonriendo pa' la calle

Porque todos pueden ver

Los hoyuelitos que te salen

She and 41 were about to become so intimate.

41 stepped through onto the runway and a hand was held in front of her. Once that hand was down it was go time. There was no more deliberation. She focused on Ava’s voice. The arm came down and she was off.

 She had practiced with the lights on before. She knew how intense they would be, but nothing could have prepared her for the amount of eyes that were currently on her. On either side of the runway were rows upon rows of the fashion elite. All taking notes in order to be the front page article the moment the show was over. The flash of photographers set her on edge momentarily as she navigated the now very foggy catwalk. She spotted Suzanne sitting to her left, who gave a quick nod, but nothing more.

Cuando sales por la puerta

Pienso que no vuelves nunca

Y si no te agarro fuerte

Siento que será mi culpa

Ava must have noticed her somehow because she made eye contact and stumbled with her words for a second. She walked past, head forward. She was almost there, almost finished. The photographer's flashes intensified as she made it to the end of the runway giving them a quick pose.

Pienso en tu mirá, tu mirá clavá es una bala en el pecho

Pienso en tu mirá, tu mirá clavá es una bala en el pecho

Pienso en tu mirá, tu mirá clavá es una bala en el pecho

Ava sang into her microphone, her powerful voice coming through perfectly. They made eye contact again. Beatrice’s stomach jumped. Huh . That was definitely new territory.

The walk backstage was even faster.

She made it, careful to stand out of the way for the final looks to come through. Levy waved frantically, his smile genuine. The models around her began to line up for the closing parade and she followed suit. 

Once they were all ready the stage assistant lowered her arm and they all walked out to the runway. The feeling was indescribable, she was riding on the world's weirdest high right now. She was equal parts delirious and beyond elated. 41 had saved her life and she was eternally grateful. 

As she made her way back from the photographers she gave Suzanne a huge smile and then it was over. Sarah Burton walked past her eager to take her bows as the audience clapped enthusiastically. 

Levy crushed her in a big hug. “I was rooting for you the whole time, didn’t doubt you for a second!” 

“I feel really really lightheaded right now.” She leaned back against a table, dress be damned. She needed something to ground her. All of that stress for maybe 5 minutes of having to do it.

Everyone around her was celebrating how great the show had turned out. Some models weren’t even fazed, already taking their makeup off and pulling at their hairs, the assistants around them helping them out of their outfits.

Without meaning to her eyes sought Ava in the crowd. Something that she should have been more careful about because as soon as she found her she saw more than she bargained for. And sure this was a fashion show and she had spent the majority of the day seeing the human anatomy in ways she hadn’t before. One of Ava’s assistants helped her out of her dress while the other one held another outfit. It was quick. She could have missed it if she looked away, but her heart began to palpitate. 

Ava’s eyes met hers and held her gaze. It was seconds, but it felt like an eternity and she had the audacity to wink in her direction.

The second assistant slid the dress on causing their gaze to shatter.

Oh God, can you make my heart stop?

Hit me with your kill shot, baby

I mean it so serious

God, can you make my heart stop?

Honey, with your kill shot, baby

I mean it so serious

[sanctus-ingenium]

let's see how YOU like it

[ranticore]

i remind myself why i rarely ever drew nettlerove even tho he's consistently one of my faves ever. afaik he's never even been on this blog in adult form

anywayss i thought i'd try it again and it's as painful as ever. i obviously had less of a focus on realism for his staphylinid species Cryptostenus oculatus. But they have an interesting life cycle, being brood parasites on communal lepidopterans. these huge beetles sneak their eggs among the eggs of the butterflies. the larvae strongly resemble caterpillars and benefit from a cushy colony life until their caterpillar peers are ready to pupate. Cryptostenus remains a larva while the caterpillars pupate, allowing it to go mask off predator for the first time in its life (a very confusing and horrifying moment for them) and feast on its caterpillar siblings in their most helpless state. next spring, what emerges from the colony's pupation chamber will not be a new generation of butterflies, but one very large beetle.

Crytpostenus are flightless in their adult forms but excellent climbers, able to squeeze into deceptively small gaps despite their large size. As adults they are largely solitary (and many do not believe they are anything but extra fucked up butterflies, if they never manage to meet another of their species). Back home in Thera, they are rarely ever seen by others, spending much of their time hunting in caves or, in the case of oculatus, disguised among tithe tree flowers, which they mimic. The glands on their labium (the "chin" part of the face) secrete a sticky substance, and like some irl beetles in the Stenus genus, they can rapidly extend their labium, using the sticky substance to grab prey before reeling it into the mandibles.

Nettlerove never did manage to meet another member of his kind. As a caterpillar he crossed the Houndstooth mountains unwillingly (in the claws of a dragonfly) and almost died. He was found by a human expeditioneer called Dara, who took him home to Earth (illegally not informing the relevant authorities) to patch up his wounds. Dara saw a moneymaking opportunity in Nettlerove, realising that this caterpillar guy could easily travel the narrow tunnels in the empty city, scouting ahead for his team. But Dara pushed Nettlerove too hard, ignoring his objections and claustrophobia, handling him roughly and with zero concern for him, until finally Nettle got outta there. He made it home to the colony just in time to pupate and murder all of his siblings, following a natural drive he didn't know lay within him.

Believing that he was irrevocably a monster and worthy of nothing but the worst possible treatment, Nettlerove went back to Dara, who was horrible but at least wanted him. For the next eight years Nettlerove was Dara's hitman, for lack of a better term. He was the largest insect to ever make it to Earth, and most humans had no idea Dara had such a monster lying in wait. With Nettlerove's help, Dara was able to gain a controlling stake in one of the critical entrances of the empty city.

^ older design but that's an accurate size comparison w/ Dara

[theoxenia]

In late fifth-century Attica and Thessaly, two men devoted to the worship of the nymphs created gardens around the mouths of caves, consciously following the cultural model of the nymphs’ sanctuary set forth in the Odyssey. During the archaic and classical periods, the nymphs were credited with the ability to ‘‘seize’’ individuals and inspire them. These nympholepts sometimes withdrew to cave shrines and spent their lives communing with the nymphs and other resident gods. They welcomed visitors and may have acted as prophets. One such nympholept was Archedamus, an immigrant from Thera, who devoted his life to the maintenance of a sanctuary of the nymphs at Vari in Attica. At the instruction of the nymphs, he cut stairs, sculptures, and inscriptions into the rock of a cave, and outside it cultivated a garden. At a cave near Pharsalus, Pantalces left a long inscription inviting worshipers to enjoy themselves and take pleasure in the sanctuary. He refers twice to the growing things that he planted, and tells how the nymphs made him an overseer of the place. He lists the resident gods: the nymphs, Pan, and Hermes are mentioned first, then a number of gods concerned with the health and nurture of youths: Apollo, Heracles, Chiron, Asclepius, and Hygieia.

A Land Full of Gods: Nature Deities in Greek Religion by Jennifer Larson, in A Companion To Greek Religion edited by Daniel Ogden

[uhuhmaries]

CHAPTER 5 | SURRENDER

Series: Surrender (18+)

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

— Ludo’s POV

I don’t plan on going.

But two nights pass, and I’m standing outside the warehouse again anyway. Same heavy doors. Same cigarette haze leaking from every gap in the walls. My fingers twitch with want—something to smoke, something to drink, something to take the edge off.

But I’m clean.

Mostly.

Just mascara, lip gloss, vintage heels, and the heaviest liner I own to sharpen the version of me that doesn’t care.

I’m not here for Harry.

I tell myself that three more times before stepping inside.

The place is packed. Sweaty bodies pressed together like secrets. Bass already rumbling through the floor. My skin buzzes. My pulse kicks.

And then I see him.

On stage.

Spotlight low across his chest. Fingers working his guitar like it owes him something. Head tilted down. Hair damp at the edges. His voice curls around the room like silk set on fire.

He doesn’t look at me.

Not at first.

But then—he does.

Mid-song.

One slow drag of his eyes across the crowd until they find mine.

And when he sees me?

He fucking smiles.

It’s crooked. Dangerous. Quietly proud.

And I feel it like a slap to the ribs.

After the set, I slide backstage with the casual charm of someone who looks like they belong. No one stops me. One guard lets his eyes trail down my legs but doesn’t ask for a pass.

“Harry around?” I mutter.

He nods toward a hallway.

“You’ve got five minutes before they close the green room.”

I nod, heart pounding. Walk faster than I should.

I don’t know what I’m looking for.

Not Harry.

Not really.

But curiosity’s a bitch that smells like blood.

And I always bite.

The hallway bends left. There’s a locked door slightly ajar.

The kind of door that’s supposed to be locked on purpose.

I glance around. No one watching.

So I push it open.

It’s a supply room—or looks like one.

But inside?

There’s a table. A few crates. Neatly stacked.

Cash.

Wrapped in black bands. Labeled with numbers that don’t make sense.

And phones.

Three. Maybe four. Lined up like they’re being rotated.

A printer. A stack of IDs. Laminated. In different names.

Hold the fuck up. This isn’t merch.

My stomach drops. This is something else.

This is what he didn’t want me to see.

The click of a boot behind me sends panic screaming through my spine.

I spin.

Harry.

He’s at the doorway, chest rising and falling like he ran. One hand gripping the frame.

Eyes locked on mine.

Frozen.

“Ludo…” he says, voice low, warning.

I back up.

Hands in the air, like I walked in on a murder and I’m already guilty just for looking.

“I didn’t—” I start.

He steps in.

I step back.

“I didn’t see anything,” I lie.

His eyes harden. “Don’t fucking do that.”

“I said I didn’t—I’ll keep my mouth shut, alright?” I snap, heart pounding.

“Ludo—”

But I’m already turning.

Running.

He calls my name once—sharp, broken—but I’m gone.

Out the door. Down the hallway. Back into the crowd.

Because I don’t know what this is.

And I’m not sure I want to.

I don’t go back to the hotel.

I don’t even go back to Ueno.

I leave everything in the room—passport, bag, the shirt I stole from Harry’s drawer—and I disappear the way only a girl like me knows how to disappear.

No paper trail.

No receipts.

Just ash and perfume and silence.

I take a cheap room on the other side of the city. One of those hourly love hotels that smell like bleach and heartbreak. I keep the lights off. I don’t charge my phone. I don’t open the curtains.

I just… exist.

And think.

And spiral.

The money on that table wasn’t band payment. The IDs weren’t for stage crew. The phones? No one needs that many phones unless they’re running something bigger than music.

And now I know.

I’m not just tangled up in some moody rockstar’s personal crisis.

I’ve slipped into something criminal.

And worse?

I’m not sure I want to run away from him.

But I do anyway.

Because I don’t trust myself.

Because the last time I ignored a red flag, I ended up needing stitches and therapy I never finished.

I can still feel the way Harry looked at me—after I turned, after I ran.

Like I wasn’t supposed to see that part of him.

Like he wanted me close but hated what it meant.

And now?

There’s no word. No knock. No text.

Just silence.

The kind that sounds like punishment.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

— Harry’s POV

She’s gone.

No text. No call. No smartass reply.

I’ve sent six messages. Called twice. Showed up at her hotel three times.

Room empty. No check-out record. No forwarding info.

Nothing.

Even the night manager looked at me like he couldn’t remember her.

“Girl like that?” he said. “Nah, don’t ring a bell.”

But he’s lying.

They all lie when the money’s right.

I stand outside the hotel for a long time after that. Chain-smoking. Staring at the pavement like it might spell out a clue.

She ran.

I would’ve, too.

The room she saw—the cash, the phones, the IDs—it wasn’t meant for her. I fucked up. Left it cracked open because I was distracted. Because I was thinking about her when I should’ve been thinking about protocol.

Louis is going to lose it. He already suspects.

I told him I handled it.

I didn’t.

Because I can’t.

She’s not just a girl anymore.

She’s a fucking hurricane with a mouth that begs for forgiveness and a heart that doesn’t believe in it. And I’m in it—deep—with no lifeline.

I lean against the wall of the hotel and finally let my head fall back, exhaling through my teeth.

Ludo’s gone.

But I don’t think she’s done with me yet.

And I know for fucking sure—

I’m not done with her.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

📝 Author’s Note:

YALLLLL IM SORRY FOR BEINF KINDA INACTIVE IVE BEEN BUSYYYYY AYEEEEE 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↔️

[doturnaround]

Commit the crime, gotta do the time. Right? Thankfully you were let off with only a few weeks of 'community' service. Sentenced by the one and only Spider-Man. Guess he really IS a menace.

chapt 3 - the third runs away with - 6k words - explicit language a. crossposted onto ao3 under the same name.

He had never felt so bad for helping someone before. She was obviously devastated, as anyone should be, but the way May looked at him like it was his fault? The things hed promised to do? Peter just loved over filling his plate. Though He didn't doubt that Hammerhead had something to do with that explosion, but he'd figure that out later.

Currently, he was working on containing a Ms.Thera Johnson, escaped convict and hammerhead lackey. He looked down from his position on the building, slightly shifting in his squatting form as he watched a cop car swivel onto the street, far down the street. Tightening his hold on the web, he stands up sideways on the building, then jumping off into a swing as soon as he spotted a parted crowd. Following the small shrieks and obvious breakup of civilians, he swung towards what he could only assume was the escapee.

He caught up with her quickly, the pace she set a bit slow for an escaping convict.

“You're giving them quite the run for their money!" He said, now running in step with her. Referencing the cop cars still far behind him. She glances at him quickly, then increases her pace.

“I'm innocent!” She pants out, still running down the street, pushing people out of her way. 

In her haste, a poor older woman – who was very cutely enjoying tea with her dog – was knocked over by Thera. He felt his eyebrows pinch, why did villains never keep actually innocent people out of their shenanigans. He let go of the web he was running with, helping the woman up and resituating the dog on its chair.

After denying the money the older woman, Sherri, was putting in his hands, and petting the dog of course, he returned to his chase. He didn't stop to act cocky in giving her distance, but more so he'd rather help someone up than chase someone down who got arrested for being a wuss.

“Innocent? I know you know something! Innocent people don't run like you do!” He was already right behind Thera, using the opportunity to tie her wrists together with webbing. She must've sawed her way out of her cuffs earlier.

Angered at the webs around her wrist, she decided to ditch flight and shift to fight. Her face was in a snarl as she attempted to kick his knee in. Good spot for self defense, but her foot to eye coordination failed her. And Spider-Man's speed.

Doing a move he recently became fond of, Spider-Man jumped up to stick Thera to the roof of… whatever building they were in front of, by the webbing on her wrists.

“Hey, this is your last chance to get in any sort of sob story so I might rep for you. I'm a real sucker for people who were manipulated by HammerHead.” He says, talking to her wriggling form. 

“Fuck. You. You don't know shit I've been through and like hell I'd tell you!Th- They already blew up my fucking aparment!” Thera screeches,her voice cracking as she flung her foot at him again. He caught her foot and frowned.

“ You have to try your best to not let them intimidate you, witness protection-” Before he could finish talking about possible outcomes for her, she writhed again.

“Leave me alone!” Frustration seeping through her voice.  He did as she said, deciding to walk away. He hoped she'd gotten the point and knew if she needed help, he was there. It was a small chance, but by the way Thera was so … afraid? He needed to investigate this more as soon as he could.

He continued his patrol, stopped bad guys, got his only form of payment…food. And settled down to take a break, sitting with his legs dangling off the edge. He was really glad his fear of heights wore off when he was 12.

It was probably stupid and dangerous, but he had a pocket notebook with everything he knew about the bullets. Phone became a victim of Parker's luck. So, he kept a notebook of anything he could remember about the effects and causes of the bullets. And since that night, he couldn't fully shake that feeling they had on him. It felt like he was coated into sizzly nyquil. That was genuinely his best description of it. At the moment anyways.

—

As soon as he locked onto the sight of an entire table reaching suspiciously under the table, he flung himself over the roof. Feeling the air rush against him, people below quickly spotted him and the target of his red suit. Hoping that the person he brought into this situation, knew how to handle herself. Sorry uncle Ben.

Launching with a huff, Spider-Man starts his takedown. He could see now, in the middle of the gun fire, that he'd launched into the fight a bit quickly. The men and women were eager to land a shot on him, and had unusual confidence with their guns.

Not anymore confident than you have to be to continue to shoot at a man you know will barely dent. Or at least be back at it within 2-4 business days. Usually. Still, the bullets seemed to be in excess tonight. Most everyone in his sight was holding a gun, or hiding behind someone with one. And everyone with a gun was shooting vehemently at him. 

From the scattered circle of mafiosos, he was outside it with people shooting at him with no mind to the people in front of them. He landed one of those fancy picnic umbrellas, and was now jumping off it to the nearby wall. This movement created enough speed and distance for Spider-Man, while gunmen were still aimed at the umbrella to the wall, to aptly web up 5ish guns from a line of people. 

He quickly stuck them to the wall, now landing off the wall and on the ground. Feeling the hum through his calf that was his landing, he launched back into action. For at least a moment he'd seemed to intimidate them, as the shooting became tremendously worse as he landed.

Spider-man had a little tug of war tussle with a stocky man, the man heaveing his entire weight back with the gun,and fell when the gun was pulled from his hands. Avoiding laughing at people falling, Spider-Man wrapped the man in webbing and threw him at a group of shooters.

“Did you guys cut costs on aim training?” He says, strolling over to a woman with a gun in her hands.” Cause, hey-” The woman angrily lifts the gun and shoots sloppily. “I think you missed me!” He continues, quickly flipping over the stray bullet.

He continued to quickly take down shooters all around, now at 16 ish people.They angered and got the slightest bit better, but again started to fall in quality as he took more goons out. All until He was left with a singular shooter cowering in the corner. Who then quickly dashed into the building.

He sighed before following them, he didn't want to leave his indentured servant up there for too long. He tracked as best he could, past endless halls and rooms. Until he entered a makeshift lab, covered in papers and materials still out. Someone didn't follow lab procedures! The person dashed into a small door in the lab, and he was going to follow, but he spotted a baggy with a strand of hair in it.

The bag said ‘4/3 fight, sample 1:2’. He only recognized that date because that was a bad fight he had with the green goblin. He remembers very vividly the horrendous state he left in, apparently so bad, that someone got their hands on a strand of his hair.

He snooped around the lab a bit more, finding clear evidence linking Hammerhead to the whole operation. And a scribbled note of ‘I want these bullets out to the families TONIGHT’. He pocketed any ‘samples’ -one of which being from an actual spider- and some incriminating HammerHead things. Whatever they were making was genetically linked to him.

While he was doing this, he kept finding more and more interesting things, cursing the science nerd inside of him. More chemical formulas and prototypes of bullets, what he assumed HammerHead was talking about on his note earlier. It was scary looking at things designed to hurt him.

Thanks to his acute hearing and sense of smell, from walking aimlessly where he thought the person went, he again tracked them to a dusty old printer room. Where they were hiding.

“Come out come out wherever you are, person making a bioweapon for meee” He sings songs, not really expecting for them to actually come out. The person- a young woman, appeared suddenly and started to lift her 2 barreled gun, before deciding against it and running- towards him?

If he'd know she was just hoping for closer range, he would have moved. But he didn't. The proximity now not allowing him to doge the two automatic slug shots from hitting him. 

Peter's been shot before. But not by this gun, when they were usually a sharp prick from a pistol. Not enough to kick in his adrenaline, much to his dismay. But he could feel the layers of his skin flay. He knew that's not what a bullet was supposed to feel like. 

This bullet was enough to kick start his adrenaline, only delayed. He felt and realized he'd been shot, but continued to fight the woman like he hadn't. She shot into the air a few more times, but once he'd finally got the gun out of her hands, she ran off. Leaving him with the floaty feeling of being unaware and adrenaline pumped. Thankfully not floaty enough to forget to take some bullets from the gun.

The adrenaline lasted halfway back up the building he jumped off of. It felt like he'd been shot again, but fully and like a normal human being. Glancing down at the dark blood covering his abdomen, he sighed sharply. He'd been roughed up horribly before, those were over periods of him being worn down by bullshit he could have avoided. This was a jarring wound that could kill him, if he listened to the voices in his head.  Like if someone normal was shot in the thigh, they could easily die of blood loss, Spider-Man wouldn't.

But he felt like he could right now. Like he was dying. The pain was searing and felt weird and bubbly, cutting from his abdomen to his thighs. He heaved himself further up the building, resting for a moment in the searing pain of his abdomen. Climbing made it worse… who woulda known.

He thought about doing something, he didn't carry tylenol, didn't work….. um?

He couldn't do anything. Yay.

Biting through the pain he flopped over the ledge to the roof. Once he stood leaning on the railing, the memory of telling you not to come out with him telling you so, popped back into his head. Thinking of his head, it felt sloshy and if he turned too fast one way it’ll all spill out.

“You can uh, come out now.” He said, trying to ignore the pain through his body by kicking at the gravel roof.

You appeared from behind the tin roof building thingie completely shocked. Her jaw opened wide as she stood in front of Peter. She was staring intently at the bullet wounds on his stomach, a bit too hard he'd say, judging by how her eyebrows pinch and she looks away for a second. And the hand on her stomach. Oh and the way she was mumbling to herself, like she needed consoling right now. Did he really look that bad? He would look but the pain was tingling at the back of his neck now.

“S-Shop.” She said clearly. She started a sentence that he didn't know where it was going. Thankfully, she elaborated.

“Affamata keeps a First-Aid-Kit that could, Help. You.”  When she finished, she started to slowly move towards him, with her hands up like Peter had a police badge on him. He half formed a rebuttal when he spat it out. His mouth moved faster than his mind.  What did he even say? He was losing blood. And that bullet was like way weird.

“M Not gonna blow up, already blew- blown up. Guh, down there.” Spider-Man slurs, and sighs deeply before continuing with a sharp inhale, now shifting his hand over the spot near his hip. The rush of his fading adrenaline now becoming a grey film over his mind. 

“Not a usual drug deal. It was drugs though!.. Fuckin Drugs they were.”  He continued his messy thought, watching blearily as you rushed over to let him fall on top of you. ‘Drugs for me.’ he added in his head.

Then they moved to the stairs, and Peter kept on with retelling his story. His lips were numb and it was kinda fun being more aware of his gums than his lips. Heh, gums. When's the last time he's had gum? No like Juicy Fruit Gum, because he hadn't had that kind in a long long time cus who likes juicy froot. Middle school? Mental note ask flash when he last forced peter to chew old hard gum when he had braces. 

But he should tell you about what actually happened in the fight. Had he already? He can't even tell what he's saying right now, so probably? He suddenly found himself on the floor. Pizza Princess dropped him! He could hear her shuffle around him worriedly, heaving him back up. He giggled under his mask as he continued to be dead weight. He didnt feel like he was dying as much anymore, like he was stuck in purgatory

Then they were outside, the cold air waking him up a bit. He should help, he could walk on his own. But then again no he can't. So he decided not to be as much dead weight. Peter picked up his feet as best in sync as he could. As he was, Pickpocket turned to give him the saddest puppy stare he's even seen. Not on purpose, but how a dog glances at you when you accidentally step on its tail.

He starts apologizing as best he could, leaning on you a bit more. The floor was like liquid to him. ‘A bit too liquid’ he thinks, watching the word flail around him, you grabbing him around the waist before starting to drag him somewhere. Pizza. What's aunt mays favorite pizza? Spring salad pizza?how. How many season and month jokes has she gotten before. She'd probably laugh at each one. Too nice.

He blacked out for a bit. He knows because it is no longer windy, and he was last conscious when it was windy. Also because he's on the floor again. Cold floor. Pickpocket yells at him for something, picks him up and then puts him back down. Then she drags him on the floor, where? He didn't know, he'd closed his eyes a long time ago thinking about how his first cd was Bjork. 

“Hes veeeeeeeeenus as a boy”

His shut eye was actually starting to turn into sleep, but he didn't want to fall asleep, so instead he fell into a sleep paralysis type of fight for his consciousness. PickPocket was talking to him, but her voice was so weirdly calming he was losing his battle. He won for a quick second. And he took his chance of consciousness to tell PickPocket he was at the end of this battle, and was choosing to conk out. Although he might rather be on the floor so he could stretch out, he grabbed Pickpocket closer on the bench.

Then she whispers a word and the lights are off. But the sleep isn't sleep because he can't have anything. Flashes of the subway station and bits and pieces of the train squealing on the tracks interrupt his darkness of sleep. And then something is weirdly funny and shakes him out of his sleep for longer than usual, but then it turned into a sick coughing, the kind that hurt y'know, and he was awake for now.

He sat in a train, and started to lift his mask.

 “This mask is supposed to be extra breathable thanks to engineering stuff, but O-” He sneezes into his elbow and urgh ew, he hasn't sneezed like that since the fourth grade.  Pickpocket puts tissue into one of his hands and he uses it swiftly.

After that he returned to his restless sleep, this time only stirring when they passed by fluorescent station signs. And then when he discovers he's on an escalator. Strange confusion washes over him, he could feel his consciousness slowly returning to him. His confusion not letting him hear what he asked Pickpocket.

“Queens, Hunters Point, we're going to Affamata so I can patch you up more.” You said, staring at the station below. 

Once they both did, he saw tall metal fencing surround the exit/entrance. Metro was open 24/7… what was this? He wanted to do something but felt the fatigue in his muscles, so he started dumbly between the fence and you.

Then you kicked down the fence with a startlingly loud crash. People with their phone already out for the Bugles' new headlines. Pickpocket them through shady back alleys, and no one touched or even called out to her, or him. 

He didn't say anything, just watching Pickpocket heave as she powered the trip to Affamata. After you struggled with your own employee keys, he hit the tile wall, feet away from the kitchen doors. He continued to watch as she got a first aid kit and then started in the wrong direction.

“I- The most I think i can do is disinfect it” you stuttered.

“Do that” He said, head lolling to the side, still fighting to be awake. 

But through his sleep drunken haze, he walked her through his treatment of his wounds. She crouched there, listening and trying to memorize what he was doing. Not before he had to take the entire thing into his control… At least she tried.

With his returning consciousness, he cracked a few jokes and actually started to feel better. Much better than the feverish and weirdly tingly way he was earlier. He wrapped himself up nice and tight with the gauze, and then started to actually get up. No way he was staying here!

In the cool hallway of Affamata, he stood and waited once again for Cinderella to finish the will of her evil step sister, Spider-Man.

“I guess this is good-bye for tonight?” He says, his hands now on his hips.

“Let me walk you to the parking lot? In the back of course.” she responded, eyes glued to the floor. Looking shy, much different from how she looked earlier today. They walked to the back parking lot together, Peter noticing she had a tiny little limp. He really should've done something instead of being a jackass dead weight the entire time.

“Y’Know Joes, is like 10 times better.” the Vigilante says, referring to a nearby ma and pa pizza shop a few blocks away, kicking a rock across the faded white lines of the parking lot.

“Y’know. I don't work here. I'm an indentured servant, thanks to yours truly," She says, twirling her hand toward him, then bowing into a deep curtsy. Standing backup in the same overdone sense. She didn't seem to notice the wear on her body right now.

They continue with the banter for a bit before he finally swings away, pain immediately reactivating  through his body. Dumbass. But from near a block away, as he was still honing in on her voice, he heard her say something.

“Let the bedbugs bite!” she whispered, and he felt an anxiety he knew all too well. He really should get this over with quickly. She doesn't need to be involved.

—

It really wouldn’t hurt anyone to visit F.E.A.S.T. right now. He could check up on ‘student victim #63794’- via aunt May, talk to may and possibly help around. So that's what he did, quickly there, not before a quick snack though.

He walked into F.E.A.S.T. with half a panini hanging out of his mouth. Giving a few people a tight lipped smile, he found May near the bathrooms. Right next to you. Aunt May turned quickly, smiling before grabbing your shoulder.

You turned plainly, looking like you were in the building when it exploded. But holy helllll he was in no place to judge. He looked much worse for much much much longer. He finished be panini as you stood up, walking somewhere where you could talk privately. But as he'd walk a creeping half memory makes its way back to him.

He remembers pulling up his mask to sneeze sometime during last Friday, but his memory had gotten worse that night and he didn't remember if his mask went up any higher that night.  Even his memories of when he was physically better were just as mentally bad, black spots interrupting his thoughts like a silent film.

From what he could remember, you didn't show much sign of seeing his face. And you weren't now, but when he first told MJ- she pretended he didn't exist for 2 days!! Which you werent doing but you just saw your apartment be blown to smithereens and… who the fuck is he kidding you probably saw his dumb baby face. Did he tell you his name too? Was now even a good time to ask? Urgh. 

As he followed, he sighed.

“Have you spoken to your school yet?” He strolled behind you, asking the question softly, mentally waving away his anxious thought cloud.

“Yes. And my parents. And I’m still fucking here.” You snapped back. Peter didn’t mind your tone though, he’d seen many people in different stages of grief, and also knew how to aggravate someone in that position.

“Well, I just came here to make sure you were okay, told the-” He scrounged for the pizza store owner's name-  “Pizza guy you had to take some time off, i'm not gonna bother you either. But uhm, if you need anything, I have strings to pull.” He said.

You both were in a random storage room, dusty boxes and overflowing carts behind him. The fluorescent lights wash you out, emphasizing your grim look.

“It's- just. I dunno, I've never had anything close to this happen to me.” You sighed, crossing your arms and leaning on a metal shelf.

“I mean, I know May very well, and F.E.A.S.T. has been a part of that too. I've been down on my luck a lot, and I mean a lot. But May and everyone here took such good care of me. Uhm, Jeanine- brunette woman with glasses, can help with looking for a new apartment or dorm if you need.” He says, also leaning on a shelf, his hands braced against it as he leaned his body against it.

“Yeah, everyone has been jumping at giving me a tour.” You roll your eyes.

“I'm grateful though,” You unfurl one of your hands” I mean thank you, i wouldn't have made it here without you. But… can we maybe talk about something else that isn't my homelessness?” She says, staring at the wall nearest her.

“Uhm, yeah sure. Is it okay if it's about.. What were sorta doin. Oscorp?” He asks, now also leaning his head on his hands. (essentially this pose but actually putting his head on his hands.)

“Yes, yeah just anything that's not about.. Me? What's going on with me now?” You snap, your head jerking with your strained words.

“Yes mamm! Last Friday, I wouldn't normally act that way with bullets. HammerHead has genetically engineered a bullet that targets my.. Spideryness. So if we continue this we might have more run-ins with it, but I don't, want that.” He pauses as you slide down the shelf to sit down. 

“Horrible horrible feeling when I got shot. D- What you remember about.. How did I act?” He says, ‘did you see my face?’ ringing in his mind

You don't respond for a second, then scoffed, saying.

“Uhm, just you being totally fucked out. Just clearly weren't there.” 

He hums in approval, no updates on seeing face- leaning towards no. He pushes off the shelf to sit in front of you against a box. You pick up a pen off the floor and start to disassemble it, he breaths deeply while pinpointing where you had set the line.

“ Well, that's what I expected. I can barely remember anything. But got some valuable stuff from the shady lab they were using. Uhm…. Oh! I don't know if you know, but the police detained someone from the Oscorp charity event, and she broke out the next day!” He threw his hands in the air, like he hadn't seen it happen before. 

He continued to recount some things from the morning, pausing on the story of Thera, when another thought hit him. He didn't know why he was so worried about you seeing his face, if he asked you would either say no or yes. And he wasn't showing her his face by asking. He just avoided some Parker luck. Maybe it was all mental… or maybe it was an inescapable curse on his bloodline.

“Back to Thera, the girl who escaped prison, her story I guess-” He started back up into that story, when you perked up and interrupted him.

“Wait like Thera my roommate, Thera Johnson” You said, eyebrows knitting together and your mouth slightly agape.

“Thera like HammerHead goon who said her building got blown up, Thera Johnson.” He squinted at you.

“Tha-That was my fucking roomate.” You say moving from how you were seated. 

“She got my fucking dorm blown up! What the fuck!” You screech, now standing to pace the room. 

“Woah, are you sure she was your roommate? Curly dark hair- Was she the lady you mentioned last night? When I asked you if you'd seen anything suspicious?” He asked, moving to put his head on his knees.

“Y-yeah…” You stopped pacing to stand in front of Spider-Man.

“Well.. anything more suspicious you could remember about her?” He said as he decided ro get up too, people standing made him stand up too. Grabbing onto the shelf with a hand and holding on as he tilted forward.

“No. J-just she was loud. Bought and ate a family sized bag of doritos a week” You say, a foggy look smothering your earlier one of curiosity. 

“Sure-” He laughs “But, i don't think that has much to do with HammerHead” He says.

He was going to ask you a few more questions when he noticed your foggy look turn misty as tears welled in your eyes. He didn't say anything as he hugged you. Your arms enfolded against his chest as he wraps his own around your back.

You both stand there for a bit, Peter not moving. He silently worried he caused it, he hoped if he did cross a barrier you would tell him. 

“I should've stopped her.” Your voice cracks and she seems to melt into his hold. Peter finds your tone grimly familiar to himself

“She's my roommate and now” You stifle a sob “People are seriously hurt, and are going to be in the hospital for maybe months, and. And it's me I'm just as responsible.” 

“What- people could be crippled because i couldn't keep her from the building. I just-” her past attempts of quieting herself being thrown out the window as  she starts to bawl. And just as he did when they both witnessed the attack itself, he holds you quietly.

Peter didn't need you to go into full detail to know how you felt. He readjusted his arms to put them on top of your head in a weird cradle. May used to do it to him when he was younger, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss it. 

“It's not your fault. We can blame ourselves for others' actions for all eternity.” He pulls from the hold to grasp your shoulders and look into his eyes as best he could. The lenses had their stupid cons.

“But it's already happened. We can't change the past, but the future is still for us to choose.” He draws back into the hug, and then starts to rock a bit. Another May hack. Your cries come in fits, turning your head once or twice as you both stay there for a minute.

“Ugh, stop trying to put me to sleep.” You swallow thickly, your voice still muddled from your crying. You push on his chest and he pulls his arms from you.

“Sorry. I,I want you to know that a lot of stuff is going to happen in the next few weeks, and I'll do my best to be there for you okay? I am the one who should've done something, but did not. So now I'm doing this. Helping you.” Peter says.

“It's always helped me feel better about guilt, I'm sure if you reach out to your roommates you can find ways to help.” He continues, now following her out of the storage room.

She hums and walks to her curtained off bunk. You sit on your bed and he pauses in front just in case you say anything else.

“Yeah. Thanks for being here. Ill… ill take your advice. But again thanks for spending this time with me” She sighs, looking up at him.

“No worries, I've really… done worse.things. In this amount of time.” A grimace spreads on his face, he really has. Besides, spending time with you was weirdly therapeutic to him.

“I know- but” You glance at the large clock on this wall of the shelter “I don't want to keep you this long again. You have a life” She laughs slightly.

“Oh no it's fine im su-” He looks at the clock himself. It's been an hour. Which usually wouldn't be a problem but everythings a problem for him.

 “Holy muda chucka what the fuck im late.” He hisses, rushing out a bye to you and out the door.

It wasn't a super urgent thing but he was already 10 minutes late to meeting up with Harry for the first time… in 8 years.

ShithsihtithdihsSHITT. Is all that runs through his head as he runs outside and suddenly back into F.E.A.S.T.  He appears back at your bunk and grabs your forearm, pulling you up from the bed. He'd promised May last night he'd actually get you to get started with apartments, Aunt May said ‘if you don't start now, it's really really hard later.’ And he'd promised her!

They both stumble into Jeanine's office as she sorts through papers. Their sudden arrival sent the papers flying. Spider-Man instantly started to push the papers back into Jeanine's hands. 

“Sorry, help her-” He glances at your disgruntled glare. “With apartment things immediately under.. Spider.. Jurisdiction. Bye!”  He chokes out, leaving you in the room as quick as he came.

—

He got on the suit quickly, thank you Harry and delivered dry cleaning! He combed through his hair with wet hands and then dashed out into the street. A huge con of having a friend who's uber rich and has an equally snooty set of etiquette rules, is being ready properly.

When Harry had messaged him about a small gathering he was having with family at home, he didn't expect to be invited. But with the sheer amount of time he'd spent with him in 7th grade, he wasn't that surprised. He was there after school nearly every day. Then Peter got bitten, and Harry went to britain. And then stayed there for an extra couple of college years.

Harry was supposed to be here last night… at the charity event. Peter did all that sneaking and changing and avoiding you, just for Harry to be nowhere. Guess jet lag got him. Still, here he was now, knocking on the sorta grand doors of Prince Tea House. It was.. Nice 30 minutes from his dingy apartment, so he was around 50 minutes late.

He wished he could say fashionably late, but he knew that wasn't this crowd and prepared for Harry's Nonna to glare at him the entire time. Good thing he brought flowers.

He walked in, half hiding his face in the small bouquet he got, and was guided to a private room. Of course. The glass walls cast a warm light on the 5 people there! That was a lot for an Osborn family reunion!

“Ah, Peter. Ever on time.” Norman says cooly from the head of the table. 

He grins nervously, heading over to Nonna, Harry's late mothers mother, and gives her the bouquet. She huffs and rolls her eyes, then gives him a quaint kiss on the cheek. 

“Uhm, to Jimmy Buffet, maybe?” Peter shrugs, old people like old music references.

Norman doesnt respond, so Peter takes the seat next to Harry. It was now time for introductions. Out of the 5 people he saw coming in, minus people he knew, left two people he didn't know. An older woman and a man about Peter and Harry's age. So Peter half stood and shook hands with them both as a proper gentleman would do. 

“I'm Charlotte and this is my son, Jude. I'm a distant cousin to Norman, coming to visit for a bit. We recently moved to the area.” Charlotte said, her highlighted hair bouncing as she sat back down.

Peter continued to introduce and small talk with everyone until it ended. And through it all, he could sense the palpable glare of Norman Osborn towards his distant family. Peter had glance-talked to Harry to confirm their mutual exasperation. Harry nodded faintly after following Peter's gaze, staring at Norman to Charlotte then making a brooding glare.

“Not even your family catches a break?” Peter whispered to Harry, Nonna had gone into a very distracting story from her childhood.

“No-one. Them particularly i guess? Been a total control freak since we met.” Harry responds with a grim look.

Peter sighs sharply, no-one. Truly. Then his attention turned to the little TV in the corner, broadcasting news. More specifically, the news from last night. All the details he couldn't juice outta the police.

“Last night a college dorm in midtown manhattan was bombed, thankfully…with zero casualties. Authorities are pointing this to the fact the fire alarm was set off before the attack, letting everyone from the affected floors evacuate beforehand. “ The screen cuts to footage of the building crumbling, then back to the caster.

“Security footage shows two hooded figures entering the area of the attack, then leaving the same way they came.” They continue, showing the siad footage

 Two dark forms of seemingly very large men pass on and off the screen.

“We also have information that this attack might have something to do with an uptick in gang violence. If you live near the Lefcourt Colonial Building, please keep an eye out and stay safe” The newscaster finishes, the channel then cutting to an ad.

Peter squinted as the channel replayed security footage of the building. He's glad no one was hurt, and felt his heart tighten, he'd been in your position often. And hoped that he could give you what he needed when this had happened to him.

Plus, from what youd said back at F.E.A.S.T. , you thought Thera had blown up the building. But with the way the newscaster framed it, and by the little blurry footage of two people entering the building- it couldnt have been.

And that Jeanine could help you find an apartment… Thinking of apartments, when was the last time he paid rent? Shit.

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[fableforger]

hiiiii, i've got another ro ask for you! how well would they take finding out they've fallen for the mc, like would they be in denial, would they be excited, etc? and also what would it take for them to realise it, are they more dense or can they detect the first signs?

Thank you so much for the ask! I tried to capture how each RO would deal with falling for the MC, while keeping things light enough not to spoil too much. I hope it gives a glimpse into how their hearts work. ✨

Alexos/Alexa: They try to fight it, setting rules they immediately break. Eventually, when they can’t deny it anymore, it feels like breathing after holding their breath too long. ✨ They notice the feelings early but keep stumbling over their own resistance.

Theron/Thera: They accept it quietly, almost like they had been waiting for it all along. To them, loving the MC feels as natural as the changing seasons. ✨ They realize it early, with no real struggle.

Zephiron/Zephyra: They welcome the closeness, even the feelings - but the idea of true commitment feels dangerously heavy. They need time to trust that love doesn’t mean losing themselves. ✨ They notice the bond early but hesitate to fully believe in it.

Rhaelos/Rhaela: They carry the bond without even realizing it’s there. It takes a sharp moment - or someone else’s words - for them to see what was always waiting inside them. ✨ They are definitely a little dense.

Dorian/Dione: They allow physical closeness easily, almost recklessly, but true emotional feelings bloom quietly in the background. When the realization finally hits, they fight it tooth and nail, treating every tender feeling like an enemy. ✨ They don’t realize it early - it grows under the surface before they even notice.

Drakon: He stays calm, thinking it’s just another fleeting attraction. Only when it stubbornly refuses to fade - when the MC becomes something constant - does he understand how deep he's fallen. ✨ He senses the pull early but underestimates its importance until it proves unshakable.

???: It’s hard to say without spoiling too much... But I can say: As soon as she realizes it, she would be absolutely overjoyed, like discovering a hidden treasure in her own heart.