#and probably be quite anxious together given all the assassination shit

[antaripirate]

lila wearing alucard’s hat in sasenroche fills me with joy every time

[in-tua-deep]

While genetically the Boy and Five are the same there has to be an aspect of nature vs nurture. So how do the two differ? Does the Boy want his own name and not simply a gender or does he want a name to symbolize becoming part of a family? Do the two of them react to situations differently? I love this AU so much and I need more!

(for more commission boy au/clone five au check out the previous posts on it one, two, three, four, five)

oh absolutely they’re as different as they are similar - even identical twins raised together are different people, after all! And that’s identical genes (like Five and Boy share) and similar upbringings ;3c

they’re both traumatized in very different ways (with overlapping similarities, like both of them don’t trust strangers/adults they don’t know as they’re both used to adults only wanting to use them/cause them pain)

Five is fucked up about the apocalypse. Fucked. Up. He still has minor meltdowns over what if the apocalypse happens today despite them having stopped it. Probability maps are scrawled across the walls in whatever was closest at hand when Five’s brain went into meltdown mode

The Boy doesn’t use math as a crutch like Five does (or as a way of keeping his mind busy, or as a self soothing habit, or anything else) because he wasn’t allowed to write on,, pretty much anything. He had to give verbal reports. After Five’s whole “hide my equations and plans from the commission by writing them in secret in a book” thing, they didn’t trust the Boy with any kind of planning materials. The only reason he knows how to write is because he pretty much taught himself, tracing letters with his fingers in the dust or on steam covered mirrors tbh

(his handwriting is. atrocious. borderline illegible. he really struggles writing with a pen or pencil but can fingerpaint letters/numbers just find. it’s a work in progress and on god five is going to get his little clone as fast as five himself is at writing shit on walls)

the Boy is still a little math prodigy but he’s only done enormous mental equations, which he is very good at!! but it’s definitely limited him (so he wasn’t capable of doing the complex time equations that Five figured out)

The Boy and Five present their nerves about new situations very differently - the Boy goes small and quiet and anxious whereas Five deals with it by going on the aggressive and yelling. This is because the Boy is way more afraid of punishment/rejection than Five is and is more unsure of his position in the family and his default is “obey, do what they say regardless of how you feel just power through it or face the consequences”. 

Meanwhile Five’s default was ‘rebel, yell, bring attention to himself because if the spotlight was on him then it was off his siblings’ which is depressing in its own way. The Boy didn’t have siblings to protect, he was alone. Five himself probably wouldn’t have drawn attention to himself if there wasn’t anyone to protect, but there was and he did. He bristles like an offended cat and yells

(but tbh, Five doesn’t actually expect anyone to actually listen to him. both him and the boy learned a long, long time ago that their opinions didn’t matter to the adults, that they might as well not be saying anything at all. The Boy went quiet. Five got louder.)

The Boy is definitely more willing to embrace childish things than Five is, because Five feels he has to protect his reputation and prove that he isn’t a kid 

and if there’s some residual trauma there of children vs. adults where Five is fairly convinced that status as an adult offers him some measure of protection against people like Reginald and the Handler, there’s always that. But Five is also probably more willing to be one of “the children” if that means the Boy isn’t alone as the only child because Five’s “protect” instincts overpower his “self preservation” instincts tbh

the Boy is really enthusiastic about things when he thinks he allowed to be (so basically when he’s around Five bc he sees Five as an ally - though he’s getting better around the other siblings without five as a buffer)

his favorite movie is lilo and stitch no you can’t change my mind. it’s the movie he plays constantly as a comfort thing that he never gets tried of. If this was in the era of VHS he would have worn out the tape. Why??? because the boy points at the screen and is like “!! i’m an experiment as well!” and then watches this little blue alien find a family for himself and he’s like “it me!”

…does that make Five the Lilo in this?? possibly. Allison says that it’s more like the Boy is Lilo and Five is Stitch considering Five is the chaos gremlin between the two of them but whatever

(“This is my family. I found it, all by myself. It’s little, and broken, but still good. Yeah, still good.”)

I keep wanting to say the Boy is more skittish than Five but that’s?? not quite true? they’re both skittish and don’t trust easily and cling to the idea of family but in different ways idk like the end goal is the same but they take very different paths to it u know what i mean?

i think the Boy probably does eventually get a different name. Maybe not a name-name since the Boy’s idea of what a name is?? is kind of skewed? like his fav character is Stitch and his brother is Five and he was raised by someone names the Handler like this kid was never gonna have a normal name let’s be real

honestly he probably ends up stuck with something like. Kiddo. Because i HIGHLY doubt the family actually calls him ‘boy’ and in absence of an actual name to call him by end up with nicknames and to differentiate him from Five “Old Man” Hargreeves they probably call him kid and kiddo

i’m thinking about differences and similarities between them again hmm

Five is definitely more assertive?? Five can read the Boy really well (and vice versa) and tends to act as the Boy’s spokesperson when the Boy isn’t comfortable or something. Usually it’s just Five cutting in abruptly like “back off idiot he wants a ham and cheese sandwich not whatever the fuck that is”

the Boy is more likely to approach an issue with violence whereas Five tends to swear and yell and threaten as a first step. Where’s that one meme?? the Boy is “stabs without warning” and Five is “warns (loudly) before stabbing” 

the Boy is arguably more deadly than Five since he’s been trained in assassination since basically infancy where Five was taught to be a hero which are arguably very different skillsets (the Boy was never taught about minimizing casualties or saving anyone rip) BUT Five is more experienced and has arguably more creativity than the Boy. 

Five is a lot more playful in his fighting because he was because when he was little, fighting was playing. That’s how Five and the other umbrella academy kids bonded - by beating the tar out of one another and outdoing each other. They showed off for each other. The Boy is more straight forward because to him, fighting is a job to get over with as soon as possible

ironically it’s five who has to teach the boy to play, and not the other way around. Jump Tag is a favorite between the two where they just zoom through the house trying to catch each other - Five is a lot better at jumping than the Boy since the Boy wasn’t permitted outside of missions and training, but he’s catching up quick (after all, Five did take a brief 45 year hiatus because his powers burned too many calories in the apocalypse, but it’s a bit like riding a bike in that he never forgot)

even so Five is NOT the person to teach others to play because his childhood was messed up as all fuck

so it’s probably claire that really teaches them how to play

Claire is a well adjusted kid whose confidence, unlike Five’s, is not faked. She has adults she knows, loves, and relies upon. She has healthy relationships with peers. She goes to public school and knows and is friendly with a lot of different people. 

So this like, 8-year-old walks in and meets her two skittish emotionally immature uncles (cousin? depends on if they consider the boy to be five’s brother or son) who don’t know fuck all about anything and is like “ah yes. i am your big sister now. i am in charge here.”

and while Five at least rails against the “big sister” charge, neither of them really protest Claire taking charge?? they’re both very willing to follow along behind her tbh neither of them are leadership material and they both know it. they’re probably both very protective of her

if claire is ever bullied god help whoever chose to pick on her bc Five is absolutely willing to maul a middleschooler and the Boy would be right behind him

well i mean. Five is a follower but he’s a little bitch about it, you know? like he’s willing to go with whatever but also if it’s a dumb idea then fuck you. So he’s confrontational with his siblings but if they were ever like “okay then five you take charge” he would be like “oh no. nuh uh. i’m not taking responsibility over all you idiots my blood pressure would go through the ROOF.”

Five loudly declares that Claire is way more sensible and sane than any of the rest of his family so she’s the only one he’ll take real orders from.

(and then Grace walks in and Five will absolutely listen to her as well and not just because the Boy is lowkey scared of Grace and Five is trying to set a good example - as much as he’s capable of setting a good example)

i feel like i’ve talked about their different issues with food, where Five hoards, is food aggressive, and will eat everything whereas the Boy is used to bland nutrition bars and sludge with everything he needs for the day so his issues are more him not knowing what the fuck anything is, being iffy about any strong tasting foods/spices, struggling with eating outside of allotted food times/getting his own food 

there’s a whole post about their differences in nightmares/how they deal with those floating out there somewhere

their fashion sense definitely differs in their own ways? The Boy accepts anything he’s given with no questions and has no style of his own where Five tends towards what Klaus calls “hobo chic” in that he discards clothes he deems not useful to survival. You won’t catch Five in ripped jeans or tight pants that restrict mobility (though admittedly tight restrictive clothing would make the Boy uncomfortable as well but he’ll wear what he’s given with no questions)

both boys struggle with capitalism in that there’s Way Too Many Options for things that are dumb. It’s really overwhelming for them both when they’re sent to the store for like, toothpaste and have to enter an aisle with a bajillion different options for one (1) whole thing

OH the Boy doesn’t shoplift. Five frequently shoplifts because his idea of possessions are “it’s in my hand or in my claimed space/room/etc. it’s mine” regardless of the passage of money whereas the Boy’s idea of possessions is “nothing belongs to me ever” and they’re still working on both of those things

they’re both kind of wary around animals because neither are used to them or know what to expect from them. Mr. Pennycrumb is a therapy dog and no one can convince me otherwise and both boys are instantly smitten with him (but they’re still kind of iffy around like. big dogs that bark. or horses. fuck horses they’re scary motherfuckers.)

the Boy doesn’t like bugs very much after living in the very sterile Commission science rooms but Five will literally pop a wolf spider in his mouth for a snack so yEAH they both have. very different perspectives on that. The Boy is absolutely horrified and the first time he witnesses this hides behind Klaus for half a day because what the FUCK FIVE while Five is unapologetic

they protect each other and support each other and figure things out together bless

it’s secretly a very wholesome au behind the horror of the commission cloning five and training a small child to be a murder machine

[presidentrhodes]

iron husbands?

yaaaaaas thank u ❤️❤️❤️

who’s the werewolf and who’s the hunter

tony is the hunter; he comes from a long family of hunters who hunted werewolves in europe and then crossed the pond to come to the us. rhodey is heir/alpha to one of the royal bloodlines and centuries of survival instincts carved into his very dna has taught him to keep a low profile. rhodey's kept an eye on tony since college because their respective bloodlines have a long, bloody history. when wolves start turning up dead, rhodey assumes tony must be responsible, so he shows up in new york, ready to put tony's entrails on display in time square as a statement to the humans. except, to his surprise, he finds out tony has not only left his family's bloody history behind in the past, he's become a vocal activist campaigning for the rights of magical creatures in the country, including the werewolves. cue, rhodey and tony team up to find out who's killing the wolves and take them down; in the process, they obviously fall in love.

who’s the mermaid and who’s the fisherman

tony is the mermaid; he's been cast out of his family because of a mistake that got many merpeople and other marine creatures killed. he's been struggling to survive in the vast depths of the ocean, depressed, lonely and almost going out of his mind. one day, he sees a fishing boat capsize; while the land breathers are obviously an enemy, he ignores his basic survival instincts to help the fisherman struggling to stay afloat in the rough waters. tony brings the fisherman to a nearby island, with lots of greenery in the middle and no humans on it, and tends to his wounds (a broken arm, cuts and bruises etc). when the fisherman comes to, tony learns his name is rhodey and that, like him, he had also been cast out of his family and has nowhere else to go; that's why rhodey had set off for the ocean, hoping the waters would take him somewhere new. tony proposes that given their similar situation, they can begin their life anew on the island. and rhodey agrees.

who’s the witch and who’s the familiar

tony's the witch, rhodey is the familiar. tony spent the first 20 years of his life thinking he didn't have magic, even though everyone in his family is a witch or a warlock. rhodey's an animagus; his animal form is a grey wolf, and he had been with tony since he was a puppy and tony an infant. one day, tony is being chased by a wendigo and rhodey leaps in front of it to save tony's life, getting seriously wounded in the process. tony panics because rhodey's literally bleeding out in his arms and he summons every last bit of strength and wills rhodey's wounds to close shut. they do; and suddenly tony feels the magic surge through his veins, beat against his pulse and thrum in his ears. rhodey's wounds heal completely within minutes and tony, with his newfound powers, drags his best friend and familiar to the nearest bar for a celebratory drink because "fuck you, howard, i'm a witch."

who’s the barista and who’s the coffee addict

tony is the barista. he runs a small coffee shop that fits barely 10 people indoors and business has been bad ever since a fancier café opened across the road. tony knows he's going to probably have to close down soon and move out of the city because he can no longer afford rent. one night, right before he's about to close for the day, a tired businessman comes stumbling in and offers a $100 bill for a cup of coffee. tony notices how distressed and tired the man looks, so he lets him in and makes him a strong cup of coffee and warms up some meat pie, which the latter accepts gratefully. he finds out that rhodey's under a lot of stress because the board of directors at his company is trying to oust him from power. tony lends rhodey a listening ear that he desperately needs and they stay there in the café until 3am. from next day onwards, rhodey becomes a regular patron at the café, but business still dwindles until one day, tony puts up a notice outside informing customers that he will close down by the end of the week. rhodey doesn't show up for the next several days and tony assumes he probably gets his coffee from the other café now; until, on friday, as tony's about to close his outlet for the final time, rhodey shows up and hands him a stack of papers: it's the purchase deed for the space across the road. turns out, rhodey made the other café owner an offer they couldn't turn down. rhodey tells tony that he quit his job as ceo of his company and asks tony if he wants to be business partners. within a month, they're running the café from across the road and business has never been better; tony still works as barista from time to time even though they now have 10 full-time staff and rhodey's already talking about plans to create more franchises across the country. at some point, they evolve from being just business partners to...well, partners.

who’s the professor and who’s the TA

tony's the TA/PhD candidate and rhodey's the professor. they are both astrophysicists by training and they study pulsars for research. needless to say, their academic opinions differ plenty and whenever tony isn't marking problem sets and rhodey isn't lecturing young, impressionable minds, they're arguing about pulsars and what they can tell the world about matter and the existence of other exo-planets over a night cap. tony is envied by the other doctoral candidates in his year because he gets to spend so much time in professor rhodes' proximity (hello??? hot, youngish professor who's super accomplished, super smart, has some graying hair, wears tight polos and black-rimmed glasses? fucking hell...) in this instance tony's like 29, rhodey's about 34.

who’s the knight and who’s the prince(ss)

rhodey's the knight and tony's the prince. here's the backstory: tony's mum was king howard's first wife. when howard remarried, he had another son, prince arno. per the kingdom's rules on succession, you can only ascend the throne if you're of pure royal blood. tony's mum was a commoner, so she was never afforded the royal title of queen, whereas howard's second wife was a princess from a neighbouring kingdom. that said, king howard wants tony to inherit the throne, something that many of his close advisors as well as arno and his mother refuse to accept. they see tony as an impediment and when howard falls ill, numerous attempts are made on tony's life. tony is obviously very booksmart and he excels at strategy, which is why howard wants him to be king. when howard senses a possible civil war could be brewing in the kingdom, between supporters who want tony to be king and those who'd prefer arno, he calls aside a young knight, sir james, and makes him swear on his life to protect tony. (howard knew tony and rhodey had been childhood friends, which is why he approached him in the first place) when shit hits the proverbial ceiling, rhodey protects tony from all manners of assassination attempts until arno and his mother are finally thwarted and kicked out of the kingdom. tony becomes king and rhodey becomes his most trusted advisor, friend, confidante, and general. basically, tony hands the keys of the kingdom to rhodey and relies on him and his decisions to run it.

who’s the teacher and who’s the single parent

tony teaches kindergarten and loves his young charges very much. one day, they're joined by a shy, quiet new student, lila, and her overly anxious uncle, james. tony tries to reassure rhodey that lila, who had just lost her parents, would be fine and that he'd make sure she isn't being bullied or harassed for being the new kid. as the term progresses, lila slowly comes out of her shell; she makes friends, she loves recess, she loves colouring, and she is good with numbers. every week tony calls his kids' parents to update them on their children; his conversations with rhodey, however, last twice as long and become twice as frequent, until one day rhodey invites tony to lila's birthday party. tony isn't sure how to read into this: the other parents have never really invited him to their kids' birthdays and yet he doesn't want to turn down the invitation from the rhodes' (mostly because he doesn't want to upset young lila). though nothing happens at the birthday party, rhodey keeps asking him out. it starts under the pretext of wanting to know how lila is doing and morphs into them just spending time together until tony impulsively kisses rhodey on the day of lila's graduation to k2. with lila no longer his student, tony asks rhodey out on a proper date and soon he's spending his weekends at the rhodes' place until about a year later, he moves in with rhodey and lila.

who’s the writer and who’s the editor

rhodey is the editor for the opinions section in one of the top newspapers; he has a pretty fierce reputation of being a hardass editor who would chew and spit out anyone making rookie mistakes in the entire newsroom. new writers and reporters basically cower in fear; tony's an established hotshot columnist who's been headhunted from a rival paper to write a weekly political column. he is pretty well-known among politicos and is well read by a loyal audience, both offline and online. tony is basically used to getting his way until he submits his first copy for edit and rhodey returns it, each page crossed out in red, and with a remark on the final page that read: our company motto may be all news fit to print, but i am not letting this garbage print. tony is furious. how dare someone call his columns garbage when the news organisation is literally paying him a six-figure salary to write them. he marches up to rhodey's office and barges in, ready to fight. but he stops on track and blushes when he realises this asshole editor is the same handsome college senior that tony had a short, deeply physical relationship with almost 20 years ago. the argument just melts away from him and even rhodey can't find it in him to be as curt and critical as he is to the other writers because damn...the encounter brings up a lot of memories and regrets they have both had since leaving college and then losing touch.

send me a ship!

[twitchesandstitches]

Polypa and Konyyl Fight Comm

Commission of hyper muscle-gut Polypa fighting against a similarily beefy Konyyl!

----

Music thudded out from the hive block; the deep thudding of drum-bugs bred for resonance and volume echoed loud, and the blood pumped faster, harder in tune with the music. Trolls were, by nature, inclined towards passion and bouts of fierce emotion by far more intense than most other aliens. Floating in the private lanes of those with a fledgling interest in xenopsychology (a discipline doomed to die, with the genocidal ambitions of the Condesce’s constant expansion, but ever heiress was a possibility for transformation and you never knew your luck in future ages) was a bit of writing about an alien met by a surprising number of trolls, and the unknown writer mused that perhaps this alien’s shocking lack of emotional extremes indicated that trolls had deeper feelings than they suspected.

Through alien eyes, trolls had seen that they felt deeply, fiercely. They saw some vague chance for kinder things to flow, as odd and even counterproductive though it was, but trolls did have other needs that an alien probably would not understand.

The thrill of claw biting into chitin; the crash of horns (ill designed for this purpose, better suited for the balancing of psionic humours, but then since when did anatomical use factor into the troll impulse to just RIP AND TEAR?), even the snarl of teeth biting into flesh and spilling blood onto the floor.

Trolls were not, by nature, murderers. They believed they were but, as the man on the moon might say with his fingers crossed, it was amazing how far you could bend a people and still have them believe everything they did was their own idea. But trolls were a passionate people, a fierce people… and violence was a need. There was a reason that fierce rivalries and the regulated spilling of blood was a kismessitude tradition.

And every urge finds an outlet in the properly organized parts of the world. And here was one such place. The hive block was a large one, but it was bigger underground, the upper part a facade to avoid too much attention. If the Proper Authorities knew about it, they didn’t much care. The Condesce, and those who understood her ways, was known to smile upon the practice. “BEATIN’ THE SHIT OUT OF EACH OTHER IS FUN AS HELL,” she had said, once. Perhaps this was a sign she approved. Perhaps it wasn’t, and she was speaking about the general practice of relief duels.

The hiveblock was mostly a disguise, a shell set over trap doors and a small arrangement of puzzles to weed out the unworthy. It was mainly for effect, and to satisfy the troll instinct to maintain security. They weren’t exactly territorial, no more than any highly social species like them, but psychologically, trolls were most comfortable when there were clearly defined boundaries between who should be there, and who would be kept away. It crossed the social boundaries of caste, and even as security theater, it soothed people and allowed them to embrace the revelry without a little voice in the back of their mind being anxious.

A lot of this had been a big concern for Polypa when she had made the decision to join the underground fighting ring (literally, at that, metaphors generally being tangled with puns in troll naming structure). Fighting was not an easy adjustment for her, not when she had been an assassin for all her adult life. She was skilled at ending life as quickly and dispassionately as possible, discreetly if possible. The showmanship of battle was not an easy thing to learn.

But then, as Tegiri had noted, she would be able to satisfy her urges more easily, make even more money than as an assassin, and completely legitimately.

That last bit had been spoken as if an afterthought. Almost a dance between them, or plausible deniability to make him comfortable with her job; he pretended he didn’t know that she assassinated political figures in ways heretical to proper society, and she made sure he didn’t have to deal with it. Joining the fights was a good way to pleasure her belly, find a living that was easy on both her and Tegiri, and generally made her feel happier about things.

She didn’t expect to find a rival, but life had lots of happy surprises, like Tegiri.

Beneath the ground, in a space large enough to accommodate even the largest of trolls, a deep chamber plunged downwards, the squared-off steps descending downwards, in an effect similar to an inverted pyramid. Most of this space was filled by a gladiator ring, the circular platform surrounded by a translucent cage made of transparent resins, so the contestants could tear at one another without being able to flee as instinct might demand. Various mechanical ingenuities built into the floor would allow tools, trick weapons, or surprise obstacles to be brought in, though tonight’s match would have none of that.

A spiral arrangement looped around it, rows and rows of seats suitable to house any troll, from smaller rusts who crowded together like pudgy terrorscales, to being filled by enormous motherly bluebloods or purples, and every shade in between. They were not quite off-spectrum, but many of these trolls were close; some of them had forearms and claws so large they would need specialty weapons. Others had grown prehensile tails, curling around them, and still others kicked legs swelled into sharp hooves.

Mutations were often grounds for culling, but not always. If a mutation did not actually impede a troll, or made them more dangerous in some exotic, intriguing way, there were allowances for that. The underground fights very much demonstrated the notion.

Above the audience seats now filled to max capacity was a small balcony overlooking the ring, the onlookers present to dictate the flow of audience thrill and steer it if it got too intense. A bit like an auspistice, but for a group.

In this bench sat two trolls: Tegiri and Azdaja, sitting across from one another, weapons at the reader in case they decided the other was showing too much favoritism. Given that they were quadrantmates with both the combatants, that was likely. Tegiri frowned as Azdaja, his eyes were a bright teal, his chitin dense and little hooks sticking out, and despite his much broader frame, he was shorter than Azdaja, who smiled cooly. Azdaja, he was a goldblood, his eyes blazing with the power of his bloodline, emanating confidence and coolness where Tegiri was neutral, almost a void of a troll.

Tegiri tapped a fat bug linked by blood-cord to the speakers, and aloud he declared the beginning of the battle. “Welcome, my friends, my fellow worshipers of blood and might, welcome!” The crowd cheered as his resonant voice echoed, made deeper by the mike-bug’s effect. “I do hope you prepared yourselves for truly astounding feats of power and skill beyond that of any other troll, for it is upon us all!”

Azdaja spoke up. His voice was more smooth, brimming with a kind of sexual magnetism that was not so much commanding as charismatic. “All of us are different, in our own ways. Those of us strong enough to survive and serve our Empress, we have proven that we are different enough to serve ably! And our battlers tonight…” He wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully. Tegiri made a ‘tch!’ noise, baring his fangs. Azdaja just grinned, letting the tension between them mount, and feed into the same tension of the area. The crowd was hungry. “They are so very, very special indeed~!”

Both trolls stood up as two very… very large figures appeared in the shadows. Azdaja declared, “I bid you, raise your horns in surrender, for our fighters are here!” The audience, from the most lowly rustblood to the most endowed purpleblood, slowly stood up with a crashing of seats and clinking of floor resin, and as if a single mass offering themselves up to a fearsome goddess, they raised their heads up, horns away and exposing the vulnerable spot between jaw and thorax. It was so easy to kill a troll by going for the throat, to expose it, willingly, was a great act of vulnerability, and carried so much significance.

The fighters, both of them, gave the rumble of approval. The audience sat down, and though it was all just part of the ceremony, it still had the audience’s bloodpumps going, their faces varying shades of black or gray tinged now with their blood color, at simply being in a state where their idols, the warriors battling in their name, could have descended upon them but chose not to. It was a thrill, a dangerous one, and yet they loved it all the same.

There, away from each other there and getting prepped, the fighters gazed at each other, eyes both the same shade of olive green; one significantly higher, the other straining to look past her own heaving doom globes. Several attendants (smaller trolls, selected for their thinness even if that was a VERY relative thing among trolls), carefully adorned them with their battle garments, affixing the blood-colored banners and had them extend legs out for the boots, and the other clothing of the trade.

Polypa waited as the bandages were fully applied over her face by several trolls standing upon her enormous shoulders, and she was such a massive giantess of a troll (whispered by some not afraid to be labeled heretics that she was fuchsia-sized) that her shoulders qualified as scaffolding; the trolls looked barely a couple feet tall compared to her despite being of average height for their castes, and their stance-digits sand deeply into the thick muscles of her shoulders as though they were stepladders.

She was, by any metric, a mutant. Everything she ate was converted into more body mass, more muscle power, and possibly she was channeling her latent psionic abilities into that mass as well, as the bluebloods did.

Sometimes, Polypa suspected that the only reason she hadn’t been culled was that her transformation into this hulk had only been discovered after she had fully transitioned, and her strength was just too useful. The Empire regarded useful mutants, or ones strong enough to survive despite the odds, to be worth keeping around and adding to the genepool.

Only one of her eyes was left exposed as they were done, staring ominously across the audience. A few swooned. Polypa’s face, and the terrible burn scars some suggested she had inflicted on herself for the hell of it, were covered in bandages, but that didn’t quite do more than obscure her absolutely massive lips (puckered, it seemed, and inviting), and somehow her face veins were even larger. Thicker across than a grown trolls hands, wider around than her horns, and carrying valuable body-engorging chemicals right with her blood. They pushed out against the bandages, pulsing faintly, faster or slower depending on how worked up she was, and some enterprising technician had worked out a counter to determine the intensity of the fight by measuring how fast those veins were pulsing; if you could see them contracting and pushing out over and over, then you had a real damn fight on your hands!

It was difficult to imagine anyone giving her a fight like that. Even adorned in the fabrics of the ring, it could do little to hide Polypa’s body. An enormously muscular titaness, her muscles were impossibly defined, and deeply rigid, almost blocky where they were tensed. Her biceps alone were several times larger than her head, seemingly too big for any normal troll to contain them in her body, and her apparent frame was made mostly of her hyper-sized muscles. Her doom globes were hardly small, easily larger than her head, though compared to her various other assets and muscles, her bustline just seemed… mostly irrelevant.

Sticking in front of her, raised up on a throne, was her proudest feature, her biggest crowd draw, and the source of her mass. Polypa’s stomach was a gigantic orb, distended and swelled into a ball shape hanging out before her, but it was not soft at all. Abs lined it, as clearly defined as the muscles on the rest of her, so that it seemed to be a rounded distortion of a hyper beefy troll of Polypa’s dimensions. It was just so big; it easily dwarfed Polypa, a round behemoth of a musclegut, and she could probably have fit several dozens of her attendants into it without difficulty.

As they climbed up it, sliding up and down, affixing bits of cloth here and there, or just slowly making their way down the ladder of abdominals, Polypa twisted and seethed. She was good at hiding it, but even a bolted down ladder suggests a lot of tension if it strains a certain amount, and for such a controlled troll’s hips to bump that much, or for those huge lips to be clamping down on noises that sounded a lot like sensual moans, and all from the slightest brush against her massive… incredibly sensitive belly…

Even just the air moving against her belly aroused her. Her gut, and especially the sub-dermal chitin, was one big erogenous zone. Putting any layers over it was just out of the question. She would never cover up her pride, but touching it like that was just going to overload her pleasure perceptions.

Polypa shivered, instinctively crossing her legs together, door-sized thigh muscles striking against one another with an audible bang. By sheer luck, it resonated with the background music and the noise sank into the crowd yells, and the beat came louder, pulsing with the animal battlelust of the crowd.

She gazed across at her foe. Polypa shivered, not exactly in dread. With her fighting style, this would be hard…

Because her foe was like her.

Both fighters advanced to the ring, and even at a distance, it was clear that her rival was just as mutated as her; they were both within acceptable parameters by Imperial law, on the basis they could absolutely fuck things up. The floor shook as their gigantic bodies advanced, and thighs wider around than some trolls were tall smacked together as they ascended the stairs. Skintight costumes, flame-bright for Polypa and clashing shades for her rival, clung tightly to their gigantic bodies, highlighting the bouncing, dense bulk of rumblespheres bigger around than entire doors, backsides even larger to counterbalance their enormous bodies.

On paper, their mutation was a simple; incredibly efficient metabolism and nutrition absorption. A simple thing, it seemed, until you considered how fast someone might grow if they converted every single thing they ate into raw biomass, right into their body. And some other mutations went into it; hyper muscle growth, some unusual flux of hormones governing rumblesphere and chairbuster development, something to do with latent psionics...

That was the science, at least. The results were a lot more impressive than it sounded.

Polypa’s opponent slowed just as she did, and they wound up paused paused in midstep, their the slopes of their engorged bellies protruding right into the right already. Polypa couldn’t shake how similar they were; maybe it just some coincidence in the genetics, or even some common ancestor from ages in the past, but they had both mutated in such a similar way, and it was refreshing to have a competitor who could keep up with her, and a bit worrying that she might have… well, a real rival on her hands.

Tall spiky horns rose up over a wild mane of hair, and gazing up at her was a somewhat smaller troll with broad, lovely features. Konyyl Okimaw caught her eye and gazed levelly, and Polypa was struck by how big she was.

Not heightwise, by her standards. Polypa was a giantess among trolls, and Konyyl’s head barely came up to her neckline, her horns just barely as high up as Polypa’s own horns. Konyyl wasn’t as wide as her, either, Polypa was simply carrying too much developed muscle mass. But Konyyl was curvy in a way Polypa wasn’t, her huge muscles nearly swallowed up in her plump, strongfat build, softness brimming at every angle. Her thighs were round, her belly a smooth expanse of inviting bulkiness.

And the rumblespheres so close to popping out of that costume were almost twice the size of Polypa’s. Polypa wasn’t really threatened by that, beyond a vague sense of ‘damn, wish I was that stacked’, but it was unusual to be around anyone more developed than her, no matter which way it was. And her hips! Her butt; it was so big and spilling out so much that even from the front, Polypa could see hints of it.

Her own backside, slabs on slabs of solid meat swelling out, wasn’t quite as large, proportionate to her own body. It was a battle of beef versus thickness. And Polypa felt trepidation at the thought of all that body mass slamming into her so very sensitive belly, and some excitement too.

Both professionally, and… less so.

She tried to move forwards and direct all eyes to her again and her stomach smacked into the doorway, bending the metal effortlessly away from her. Her skin sang at the touch, heat pulsing down right to her hips. She felt her bulge swell, the cup built into her suit giving her some modesty, and the veins on her face swelled so much her hair was pushed out of the way. Her belly pushed, to and fro, and her lips clamped against a lusty growl when the doorway broke apart around her. Her belly hit the ground and it was harder still to keep her composure: every scrape against the ground sang like fire in her loins, the whisper of air was a sensual pressure she didn’t want to stop. Every impact, every little motion of her gut and every touch against it felt so good.

God, she loved how sensitive her muscle gut was. And it was so hard to fight with it and keep her composure. It was almost enough to let her forget that her moirail, Tegiri, had gotten into some kind of an technicalities argument that was now close to a full on brawl with Azdaja up there. The shouts and argument rising up there, and absolutely unscripted, did manage to get her attention off the pleasures of her body. Embarrassment ensued, and Polypa realized that Azdaja was presently trying to duel Tegiri right on the spot.

Rather than, well, focus on their own fight.

Polypa’s blinked her visible eye. She shared an embarrassed glance with her rival, but it seemed mostly wasted. Konyyl Okimaw, perhaps the only troll alive on Alternia capable of keeping up with her, was grinning up, apparently pleased at the incensed shouts in the announcer booth: “NO, FUCK YOU, BEEF BEATS ROUND!” - “YOU IGNORANT BUFFOON, SQUISHY DEFLECTS THINGS HARDNESS WON’T” and so on.

Konyyl flexed, drawing the crowd to her body, and Polypa seethed; her rival, it seemed, had a knack for showmanship that really did not come naturally to Polypa. She raised an arm several feet across and flexed, impressive biceps rising up, though barely half the size of Polypa’s they still dwarfed Konyyl’s arm. The crowd hooted, cheered and in a few cases almost fainted from big sexy overload as Konyyl’s massive doom-globes shifted on her round gut. They were nearly twice the size of Polypa’s, despite the height difference, and though Polypa considered that Konyyl’s own gigantic belly was too round to really be impressive (not when it didn’t even have a single visible muscle on it), she was certainly stacked, front and back.

Konyyl turned, her butt wobbling and rising up nearly to her waist, perhaps half as big as her belly (and that was saying something). “Hey! Who wants to see a real throwdown!” she bellowed. She throw a bit of her hips out so her soft stomach and massive rumblespheres rocked in exactly the right way to hit the primal ‘fuck yes’ button of troll psychology.

The crowd screamed, applauding and in a few cases getting so enthusiastic they headbutted one another. In the booth, Azdaja and Tegiri paused in their argument and got up to hurriedly resume their seats.

Attention turned to Polypa, and she became acutely aware that she was the star of the show, so to speak. She coughed, awkwardly. Her enormous lips, denting her bandages, worked in an awkward expression that she was very glad was not visible; it would have gone so poorly with her fighting persona of an unshakable, cool badass. She raised a massive arm nearly as thick around as Konyyl herself, so dense with muscle that the act of moving it generated enough energy to power a house for a few days. “Uh. Yay? Fight stuff and… stuff?”

The crowd stared. Polypa stared blankly. Konyyl covered her face, groaning.

In the booth, Azdaja leaned over to Tegiri. Dropping the persona, he quietly said, “So. She’s the ‘best in the business’, huh?”

Tegiri sniffed disdainfully. “Polypa is the finest fighter alive. At no point is being able to work a crowd actually a part of that skill set.”

Azdaja looked like he wanted to scof, but he considered this. “Hrm. Fair enough, I suppose.” More loudly, and into his mike-bug, he said, “Are you ready, fighters!”

Polypa recognized a cue when she saw one. She kept her arm raised up and, struck by a sudden inspiration, extended a claw in a rude gesture. Konyyl’s true reaction of mild indifference was quickly turned into stage-show outrage, and her massive rumblespheres inflated to amplify the roar she screamed out.

Polypa, in turn, flexed. Muscles on muscles, each weighing nearly a hundred pounds, they swelled up, crowding out Polypa’s insuffiicent frame, and arched up over Polypa’s fist, and the crowd leaned in, even the ones who were supporting her gaping in awe at how much muscle there was, the promise of savage power. And then, she amped it up; Polypa did a secondary flex without dropping the first one, and other muscles bunched up, getting even bigger and beefier. She raised all this up, and crashed bicep against forearm, with so much force that there was a mighty thunderclap

No, an impact, a shockwave that made a crater where she stood, and blasted down the entrance into the ring. In anticipation of this sort of thing, a door slid out of the ground behind her so there would be no fleeing. Her massive musclegut forced the doorway into a crumpled mess, so that the new door was entirely a formality. She did her best not to coo with delight, and her hyper muscular thighs concealed the sudden swelling of her nook.

Konyyl charged in from her side, leading with her gut, and given her endowments, and the size of her stomach, she was briefly only visible to Polypa as an advancing mass of belly topped by rumblespheres and a snarling face. Polypa felt a bit of smugness that Konyyl wasn’t quite big enough to bust her doorway.

“Fighters,” Tegiri said sonorously; as a tealblood, it was his prerogative to perform these kind of ceremonies. “Tap your horns!”

Polypa took the initiative, slamming her belly on the ground and making the arena shake, and sending her body quivering in pleasure. She lowered her head, fat veins pulsing slowly, and her pointed horns were angled downwards. Konyyl glowered, fully aware that Polypa was dictating the terms of this battle with such a little gesture, but she rose up to it. She slammed her own gut on the ground and springboarded herself up, to Polypa’s amusement, her own rumblespheres squishing deep with some distant sloshing sounds, and her spiked horns were pushed into a tap against Polypa’s.

The loud click was a signal.

“Begin!” Tegiri boomed.

The crowd went hushed as both Polypa and Konyyl stared at one another, tension ramping up between them, the two fighters waiting for the other to make a move to take advantage of, but Polypa had never been terribly patient and all her skills in battle lay in being the first to take a solid move, to make that move count. She lunged, and the crowd shouted in awe, a few people in front seats even shrieking in fear; Polypa had jumped straight upwards, almost vault clear to the ceiling, and nothing is quite so terrifying as seeing something that big, moving so fast, and then-

Well, coming right down.

Polypa descended, belly first, and Konyyl dragged herself out of the way as Polypa pressed right down, the arena quaking and the caged ring shaking. She pulled herself out, quickly turning her drawn out moan (ground clinging so deliciously to her stomach as she hauled it out) into a fierce yell, and it went even better when she shook off some rubble and caught it with her other hand. All in a single, smooth motion that was almost visual poetry.

“Ah, an excellent use of her signature high rising gut press,” Tegiri observed. “A devastating moves, and I have no doubt that anyone else but someone like Okimaw would have been turned to blood and splatter beneath it!”

Azdaja smirked as Polypa swung the chunk of rubble as a club. Konyyl caught it, headbutted it and smashed it into little pieces, and charged right through the dust, another vicious headbutt catching Polypa in the right rumblesphere. “Unfortunately, Konyyl is far too quick for that. Give her credit, because,” he laughed, a quick and escalating chuckle. “It takes a special troll to be able to use your horns in battle like that!”

Konyyl charged, and Azdaja proved right. Polypa tried to match her in kind and return the gesture, but Konyyl’s smaller sized proved an asset for once. She waved out of the way, slamming her belly out into Polypa’s as the latter tried to advance, and was slowed when the sweet shock against her gut made her hesitate. And again, when Polypa tried to swing her horns at her.

Polypa mixed a punch in there, between swings of her horns and thrusts of her belly, and between getting knocked right on the shoulder by a fist and the shockwaves from Polypa’s belly hitting her stance. Konyyl was stunned, rocking on her feet. Polypa lunged forward, caught in the moment and the pull of instinct, and made a serious error, moving in the flow of battle without thought as she did:

She forgot to adjust for her belly getting in the way.

The imposing slope of muscle and chitinous shimmers that she was so very proud of (with many images for publicity showing her cradling it, stroking it, or inviting fans to wash it with loving touches and expensive oils) had many features to recommend it. Her ability to maneuver it was not one of them.

Polypa gasped aloud as sensation overwhelmed her, her loins feeling aflame, and instead of connecting her horns against Konyyl’s, she overbalanced and smacked her face into her own rumblespheres, and the dense fat, compacted from her growth, gave her a nasty knock. It was like hitting squishy armor, the shock rebounding into her face, and the whole world spun around her.

In the back of her mind, she cried to herself: ‘shit, shit, SHIT!’ A novice error! A rookie mistake, how did she do something so damn stupid!

(Trolls, it should be noted, have many things to recommend them. Their impulse control is not one of them.)

She felt a harsh impact as a pair of horns locked against her own, and a sweet sense of rapid impacts against her gut, and a very heavy weight, almost as big as her whole body. She was suddenly tugged forward, and her senses snapped in. She looked down into cleavage bigger than her own, mashed up against her, and she worked it out. Konyyl had climbed up her body, and had shoved her own spiky horns through the hole in Polypa’s intact horn.

And was now presently punching the shit out of Polypa’s face.

“Will you- ow! I said -ow! Would you just- ow!” Every pause was punctuated by about half a dozen punches to the face. a n ordinary troll would have been lucky to survive a couple of those punches, or have their head not instantly be exploded from the force. Polypa was too strong, so heavy and dense with digested biomass that she could probably shrug off a direct artillery strike, but those punches were at least annoying, and hurt.

She was a bit more focused on how Konyyl was putting all her body weight right on Polypa’s stomach and shit that felt so good, ooh yeah, right THERE. And that certainly broke the stupor.

Konyyl swung back for another few blows, her bouffant hair blown back in a very dramatic way that would look amazing in the video replays, and her swing froze. Immense pressure locked around her arms, and she saw her forearm’s bulging muscle constrained by Polypa’s hands suddenly clamping down on her arms. The horn-colored claws growing out of Konyyl’s hands glinted, though they had been blunted for this fight. They shone with faint hints of olive blood.

Polypa noticed some faint wetness trickling down her face now. She’d actually been cut. By blunt claws. How damn strong was Konyyl, to actually do that kind of damage?

Now, Polypa did not put a whole lot of stock in the romantic notion of a rival who was strong enough and skilled enough to pose a real threat to you; she thought it was absurd, a silly thing, a romantic’s fool notion. But here and now, she grinned.

This was… fun.

With a yell, she spun and threw Konyyl into the ground, and the slightly smaller oliveblood hit it gamely enough, allowing her considerable assets and gut to soak up the damage, though she was clearly feeling it in a way that Polypa wouldn’t have. Perhaps she wasn’t quite as tough as Polypa, or Polypa’s absurd strength was overwhelming even her defenses. Either way she hit the ground and bounced, and needed a moment to pull herself back onto her feet.

Polypa’s first impulse was to press the attack, but after the horn lock incident of only a few moments ago, she backed up, her belly bouncing off the ground and up again to a steady temp in time with her steps. It didn’t seem popular with the crowd, judging from the goans and boos. Polypa rolled her eyes. Didn’t they get the concept of strategy?

Konyyl recovered, and saw an opportunity. Now that Polypa was playing it safe and not employing the same kind of one-shot brutality that had made her such an effective assassin, Konyyl sw her own opportunity to test Polypa’s skill at actual drawn out battles. Her reactions, her responses to a sudden technique; Konyyl propped herself up, ramming into Polypa’s gut. It was like hitting the side of a spaceship, from the wince on Konyyl’s part, but it made Polypa’s face veins flush and even swell, like vines blooming in moonlight.

Konyyl noticed, and rubbed her belly against those abs just right. The slow, squishy slide of her firm belly, against those hard abs that flexed in just the right way; both women had a reaction, but Konyyl was better at hiding it, and Polypa had to cover her face to stifle her arousal growls. Konyyl took opportunity of Polypa’s absent hands to push against her, forcing her into an unsteady stance.

“It does seem to be an even match tonight,” mused Tegiri, though he was hedging his bets.

“Konyyl would appear to be outclassed in raw strength and durability, always a serious disadvantage in this kind of fight,” Azdaja said. “But she’s worked out how to maneuver herself in ways that Polypa apparently can’t! Good on her, I say!”

“Yes, well, you’re biased.”

“Indeed I am!” Azdaja grinned. “You should own up to your own biases, my friend!”

Tegiri sniffed. “It is not a bias. For my part, I simply acknowledge from the facts that Polypa is objectively superior to everyone else forever.” He pointed as Polypa delivered a truly impressive punch right to Konyyl’s face that pushed her back, as surely as a gale force wind would. “Behold, the play of her muscles flexing so admirably!”

“Hrm,” Azdaja said, noncommittally.

As they continued their commentary, observing how, say, an attempted mutual belly press was a perfect execution of two unstoppable forces bouncing off each other. And the resulting flurry of punches as they remained deadlocked gut to gut. It was really just amazing how they could even keep track of the motion, because the crowd certainly couldn't. They made impressed noises, they leaned forward and watched with shock as they continued to wreck the ring and warp the cage with the shockwaves that their monstrous strength inflicted upon the world around them and a few were even pushed out of their seats BY those shockwaves. They were quite thrilled about it, too.

“And that,” Tegiri said primly as the ring cracked almost in half from Konyyl managing to lift Polypa’s massive body into the air just long enough for their combined weight to sink them both down. “Is why we sit the audience so far away-”

He was interrupted as Konyyl leaned forward, just enough, howling with exhaustion and the pain of holding up so much mass overhead, her claws sinking into the surprisingly pliable canyons of Polypa’s back muscle, and she dropped her, with gravity and technique combined into a beautiful moment of violence.

Polypa crashed down, not exactly thrown but Konyyl’s strength and her own weight made enough of an impact to give an impression. Outside, trolls on the street above were dancing away as the street itself cracked almost in two. Errant blocks rising up from the street almost claimed the legs of one or two hapless bystanders, and rubble cracked right off an unfortunate building, foundations unearthed in a single moment. And the underground ring shook far harder, and it split in two, the ground tilting slightly so that two halves were at an angle, tilting up.

The cage had been torn almost right away, and now it lay crumpled, slowly falling around them both, though they seemed oblivious to all the destruction.

From a crater, moving with such violence that she forced the halves of the ring even further apart came Polypa. Rubble fountained around her, and above her, her rising gut producing another crater just in front of her as she rose up.

Rubble fell into her cleavage. It lined her belly like some fairly sticky body paint. It felt from some new and minor tears in her tights, and she barely noticed. Her bloodpusher pumped harder, her veins flushed and contracted and pulsed out again, and it felt so good.

And as she roared and charged, she thought… that this, again, was so much fun. That fighting Konyyl was fun.

A challenge that was really, genuinely fun.

Polypa closed the distance with astounding speed, to the audible shock of the people watching, including Azdaja. “Amazing!” he said, surprised at his own delight in this turnaround. “How is she still even conscious after that impact!?”

Tegiri’s smug pride in his moirail made Polypa smile as he spoke. “You have to do better than that to even make her flinch.”

Polypa’s arms reached out for Konyyl, going for a grab, and Polypa saw that Konyyl’s back-step away, just out of reach and belly range, was slower than before. In the brief moment between pause and her darting away, circling to Polypa’s flank…

It was a slower movement. Konyyl was getting tired.

That last move must have taken so much out of her. Polypa grinned. Now, she had a plan; use that weariness against her.

Konyyl charged, and Polypa whirled around, lunging out again. She made like she was trying to pull her in for a grab, and once again, Konyyl circled narrowly out of range. In the brief moment Polypa needed to catch her balance. Konyyl was rushing at her, and threw several punches.

Konyyl’s biceps weren’t as big or developed as Polypa’s, they didn’t have quite so many tons of biomass funneled right into them, but they were still damn strong. The first three punches, Polypa was shocked to realize she could feel them pummeling into her rumblesphers. The fourth one hit hard enough that she was forced to step back. The fifth, and then the six, pushed her back.

Konyyl charged again, and Polypa swung her belly, right into her path. Still reeling from the surprisingly powerful hits, she misstepped, and Konyyl misinterpreted the stumble as getting ready for a big blow, and backed away.

Polypa caught herself. She seized the moment, readying herself, and moved forward. With a roar, she charged forwards and kicked out, her belly giving her far greater weight and stability than she could have had otherwise, and it slammed right into Konyyl’s own belly. EVen with the armoring effect of such a large gut and the shock absorbing qualities of troll fat, she still winced and slid back, almost half way down the ring.

But Polypa wasn’t done. She lunged forward, her fist grabbing Konyyl’s left horn. She pulled down, hard, and as Konyyl was put off-balance, she slammed several massive punches right into her shoulder, following with a gut slam to the side; Konyyl gasped aloud, winded by that, and Polypa grabbed her, easily lifting up even her massive frame.

Konyyl growled, getting ahold of herself, and with this level of leverage, she managed to hit Polypa with a kick heavy enough to make her drop. “You are NOT doing my own damn move on me!” She yelled, falling on Polypa gut-first. Polypa sank into the floor beneath the belly, embedded in the ground.

Konyyl got up and backed away, to the cage. Polypa rose up once again, already expecting another charge, and frowned when she saw Konyyl crouching on the wall of the cage. She tilted her head. “What are you doing?”

Konyyl grinned at her. “Mobility, chump!” She leaped, launching right like a cannonball at Polypa!

Polypa danced out of the way, swinging her belly so that the force spun her in the right direction, and her eyes widened as Konyyl hit another part of the cage, but instead of breaking through it (and thus going out of bounds), she somehow landed on it and instantly kicked out again, rebounding without losing a moment of momentum or force.

And again, right at Polypa.

This time she did hit her. Only striking a glancing blow, but it still knocked Polypa down again, hitting so much harder than any of the other blows; harder than anyone had managed her entire time here.

Polypa slowly got up, visibly winded this time, and Konyyl came right back, ricocheting almost half a dozen times again before returning for another hit. Like a cannonball, she struck her squarely and Polypa saw stars, and old wounds flaring up as Konyyl rammed into her, and bounced off once more. This time: to the ceiling, to the floor, and to the walls. Again and again, building up speed, building up momentum, building up more raw force.

All packed into that big, firm belly, like it was an artillery shell.

But she heard, however hard it was to even notice, Konyyl’s exhausted pants of keeping up that pace. That momentum.

If it was exhausting just keeping up with Polypa to this point, how much harder to be constantly leaping around without dropping even once?

Polypa smirked beneath her bandages.

And this time, she turned as Konyyl launched once more right at her. Polypa reacted in seconds, knowing each one counted, and the thrill of knowing she might actually lose, that it hadn’t been a certainty all along, felt like she was fighting for her life all over again. It felt… real, a deserved thing.

That maybe, she was as strong as everyone said she was.

She thrust her belly out, stance strong and rooted.

Konyyl rammed in, right on target, right into her belly, with all the accumulated force she had mustered-

There was an explosion, of sorts. Polypa barely noticed the ring effectively shatter around her. The cage falling in bits and pieces, the shouts and alarmed yells and delighted roars of the crowd, Azdaja and Tegiri’s own surprised yells (“What’s going on!? What happened!?” “A turnaround, an absolute reversal!”)...

But she had felt the recoil, absorbed harmlessly by her amazing belly. And she had felt Konyyl go right back the way she came.

She advanced as the dust cleared, and felt something just as warm as her own blood beneath her. Polypa gazed down, and below her Konyyl gazed back levelly. Polypa chuckled, tweaking at her bandages. Konyyl didn’t even blink at the hint of the gruesome burns beneath, and Polypa gave her a mental award for it. Still letting her see the scars, Polypa said, “You just can’t beat me. After I survived this? Nothing is ever gonna stop me, ever again.”

Konyyl scoffed. “I can. Watch me…!”

Polypa smirked. “Oh?” And with that, she lowered her stomach right onto Konyyl, not enough to crush her, but definitely enough to immobilize her. Konyyl’s breasts, her gut, and her muscles all strained against it, but Konyyl was simply too spent from the fight, from her risky moves, and that exhausting ricochet maneuver. If she had any energy left it all, it wasn’t enough to lift Polypa anymore.

Polypa smacked a belly big enough to fit dozens of trolls in (and had, during her assassin days), and chuckled. She said no more as the dust cleared, and the situation was revealed.

Konyyl struggled. The crowd went silent, and then cautiously began to cheer. Polypa’s name was shouted, with increasing loudness, and then more fervor.

“Polypa… Poly-PA, Poly-PA! POLY-PA!...”

The yell echoed all around the ruined ring, the chairs shouting louder. No, not shouting, they were screaming it! Tegiri had joined in the shout, assuming he hadn’t started it, and Azdaja’s distressed cries were drowned out in it.

Troll sports like this didn’t have any real concept of a referee; there would be no point. Instead, it was up to a clear loser to admit defeat, or be crushed. Konyyl did nothing, for a moment.

And then, she smacked her hand in grudging defeat on the ground.

The crowd exploded in delight as Polypa stood back, and even helped her up. “Polypa wins!” Tegiri yelled, his calm breaking into open passion, and if the crowd was exploding, he was erupting. “Polypa WINS!”

Konyyl, at least a good sport, shook her hand as heavily as she could in her current state. “You did good,” she mumbled. “Do this again. When I’m bigger.”

Polypa grinned. “When I’m bigger too. Next time, maybe we’ll wreck a city.”

Konyyl smirked, and gave Polypa’s sensitive belly a smack that was absolutely supposed to rile her up.. “Sounds fun!”

[critical-ramblings]

Mind’s Eye (3/n)

(Also on AO3!) 

(Catch up on chapters 1 and 2)

Beau paced out around the edges of the mostly empty warehouse, listening intently for armored footsteps, for muttered spells or explosions. But all was silent through the wooden walls, dark at the cracks she could peek through. She hated feeling this useless.

When she came back to the group, she tapped her staff a few times against the ground. Out of nerves, maybe, or just so nobody (Nott) got twitchy fingers. Caduceus had conjured a little light into his staff’s crystal, making a tiny radius of yellow in the black of the building.

“I have an idea,” Beau said abruptly, standing just inside that radius. “It’s probably not a good idea, but...I figure it’s the only one we’ve got.” She waited a moment for someone to contradict her, to jump in with an actual plan. When no one did, she took a deep breath and went on, “We could make it to the Cobalt Soul. There’s got to be one in the city, and I’m still part of the order. Technically. I’m pretty sure we could ask for sanctuary. The monks are surprisingly sneaky sons of bitches, they’ll be able to stop us being scryed on. I think.”

“You think?” Fjord gritted his teeth. “Shit.”

“I know, I know. But what do you want from me, man? Either they’re going to find us through magic or the old-fashioned way. We’re not exactly stealthy.”

“I think we stealthed pretty good getting here.” Jester sounded a little affronted. “Can’t we just cast disguise on ourselves and hide Caleb in a bag or something?”

“Remember how we put the dodeca in the haversack to keep people from scrying on it?” Nott piped, but when Jester perked up she continued, “We should absolutely not do that with Caleb.” “Why not?” Jester asked, peering into the depths of her violently pink bag.

“For one thing, we put dead things and severed heads and shit in there,” Nott looked in with her, poking dubiously at the contents. “For another, I don’t think he would fit.”

“But we do have that bag of holding.” Jester sat up and made a grabbing motion at Fjord. “He would fit in there.” Fjord took a reluctant half step towards her, saying, “Jester, I don’t think you’re supposed to put living things in there...”

“Lets. Not test it now,” Beau said, though Jester sat back with a disappointed sigh. “What about the Cobalt Soul thing? For, against?”

“Well, we know that they don’t like the wizard-people,” Jester said slowly, looking around at the others.

“I think we can get there,” Yasha said. She was watching Beau the whole time, something uncomfortably like faith in her shadowed eyes.

“You know where it is?” Fjord asked, and Beau made a face.

“I’ve never been to Rexxentrum before. The only one who has is...” she trailed off, and everyone turned to look at Caleb. “But it’ll be in the temple district.” Beau continued, rallying. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

Fjord muttered a few curse words, but didn’t say anything constructive. Jester tapped her feet together nervously, watching him. Nott, still with her crossbow out, bared her teeth and said, “I don’t really care where we go, back to the inn or to the library, but let’s get moving. I don’t like being in one place.”

“Me neither.” Yasha stood and, moving Nott gently aside, hoisted Caleb over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She turned to look at Beau again and gestured towards the door. “Lead the way, I guess.”

With that extremely dubious endorsement, Beau slung her staff over her shoulder and crept out into the unfamiliar night. The rest of the Nein followed behind her, except for Nott, who moved to flank around their right.

Mostly the city was quiet, which was both good and bad. It meant the Crownsguard and the Righteous Brand weren’t after them in full force. Good thing. It also meant that the Scourgers–and by extension, the Assembly–were still operating under the assumption that they could kill the Mighty Nein quickly and sweep everything under the rug. Bad thing. Very bad thing.

The closest call they had was when a cloaked figure swooped overhead and hovered above the crossroads for a moment. Beau and the others ducked down into the nearest alley, but if they’d been spotted...

The figure turned a few times in the air, long enough that Fjord started to edge up to offer a distraction. Just as they flitted away. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, and they went on.

They were on the streets a lot longer than Beau would have liked, more than an hour. But eventually they coasted up to the side entrance of the large, stocky building with two great banners of the Cobalt Soul at the front. The temple/library/archive/hopeful safehouse was blocky, just a big square of wood and stone amidst the splendor of the other temples. Even at night Bahamut’s sanctuary gave off a mirrored sheen in the light of the fires outside the Allhammer’s. During the day the streets would be thronged with faithful, priests, and Crownsguard. Now everything was eerily empty, and the knock Beau gave the door seemed to echo impossibly loud. For a long moment, no one answered, and then just as she was bracing herself to knock again, the door opened a crack.

A sleepy eye peered out at her, the shaved head of an acolyte maybe ten years younger than she was. “Can. Can I help you?” the girl said, stifling a yawn in the middle.

“Hey, hi,” Beau shifted, working hard not to lean on the door or get uncomfortably close to the door guard. “What’s your name?”

“Cleo.” The little monk wannabe was starting to perk up and look around at the motley crew gathered behind Beau, who smiled tightly.

“Cleo? That’s a nice name. I’m Beau, I work here. Well, not here here, but I’m part of the Cobalt Soul, and–”

“You don’t look like one of the Cobalt Soul,” Cleo said, and Beau paused. Looked down at the loose, comfortable clothes she’d bought in Rosohna.

“Uhh. Right. I’m...listen, kid, I’m an Expositor, I have some really important information about the war. The whole she-bang. So if you could just–” There was a rushing sound from overhead, and Beau broke off to look for wizard assassins. Everyone in the party ducked instinctively, making themselves smaller against the unforgiving wall of the library. When Beau looked back, Cleo was watching them with both eyes narrowed. This one might be too smart for her own good.

“I don’t know if I believe you,” Cleo said, but before Beau could answer she continued, “But I can get someone who’ll know for sure. Stay here.” And she slammed the door shut. Locked it, too.

“Shit.” Beau pulled out her staff and put her back up against the wood, one eye still on the sky. “We don’t exactly have time to wait around,” Fjord started, and then there was another rush of air and they all fell silent. She hadn’t spotted anything about them, but the temples were tall. It was possible the Scourgers had landed elsewhere and were headed here now. Hells, they might be invisible for all she knew.

“Maybe if we just hide inside...” she said, and suddenly Nott was at her elbow, lock picks at the ready. The goblin girl grinned up at her before focusing in on the door itself.

“Got it!” she said after just a second, and the heavy wooden door swung open soundlessly. Inside was a small foyer, empty except for a stool next to the door and a pile of books. There were three hallways that led deeper into the library, but Beau wasn’t anxious to push their welcome more than they already had, and she stayed put. The Nein did take up most of the little room, though, especially after Yasha’d set Caleb out on the ground so she could put both hands on her greatsword.

Not long after they’d closed and locked the door behind them, Beau picked up the pitter patter of anxious feet from the hallway to their left. Cleo emerged with an older monk, a light-skinned human with piercing brown eyes and a few wrinkles around her face, exaggerated by her scowl. “What is this, who are you?” the monk demanded, standing in the archway with one hand on Cleo’s shoulder. “How dare you break into the Reserve!”

“It wasn’t really breaking and entering–” Beau started.

Fjord broke in to add, “I apologize, ma’am, no harm was intended. We are simply facing pursuit of a very disruptive nature, and wished to avoid unnecessary damages.”

“Pursuit?” the matron looked like she was about to have a heart attack. But only if she could kick them out first. “Do you know Dairon?” Beau asked, a little desperately. “Elf lady, bald, about yea tall?”

The monk caught her breath for the first time since she’d appeared–stopped to think. “I know Dairon,” she said at last. “What about her?”

“She sent us. Me. Sort of–it’s a long story. But I’m training under her to be an Expositor, and we really need a place to stay.” Out of the corner of her eye, Beau saw Fjord give her a thumbs up.

“If you are truly what you say, you know that I have ways of verifying your story.”

“I do.”

“And you would submit to such questioning, given where your story stands?”

“I would.”

The monk looked faintly surprised, by Beau’s quick answer, or her agreement, or maybe both. But she took up a fighting stance after a moment, quirked her fingers in a ‘come hither’ gesture.

Beau took a deep breath as she stepped forward, bracing herself against a flinch. This was going to hurt.

The old lady hit her in the throat and the gut, one-two, and Beau felt the wash of unfamiliar qi sink into her body. It stayed heavy in her throat, like a wash of mint and ice. She had to fight for a moment to get her breath back, to work through the freezing sensation in her lungs. Only when she was sure she could talk without her voice cracking did she look back at the monk and nod.

The lady nodded back, slowly. Behind her, Cleo was staring at all of them with wide, fascinated eyes. “What is your name?”

“Beauregard Lionett.” Beau tilted her chin up to say it, a defensive tic she couldn’t quite swallow down here. “Although you might as well leave that last name out of it.”

“What is your purpose here, Beauregard?”

“We’re here seeking shelter, that’s all. From an enemy this group has in common with the Cobalt Soul–the Cerberus Assembly.”

The monk raised one pale eyebrow, like she doubted that last point, but Beau could still feel the freezing taste of truth on her breath. She wasn’t lying, though it was technically possible that the Assembly was more of a Dairon/Expositor problem than a widely known Cobalt Soul one.

“Very well. Are you, Beauregard, a member of the Cobalt Soul?”

“Yes.” This, at least, she could answer with confidence. “Like I told the kid, I’m an...Expositor.” That one took a little effort to get out, her throat trying to close up solid with ice. She hadn’t ever officially ‘graduated’ from being Dairon’s apprentice, but what the hell. If the last few months didn’t qualify her to be a full-blown Expositor, then nothing did.

Again with the doubtful eyebrow raise. The monk went on with her questions as if the title meant nothing to her. “And what is your relationship with Dairon?”

“Uh. Complicated?” That clearly wasn’t going to fly. Beau gritted her teeth and went on, choosing her words very carefully. “I was Dairon’s apprentice in Zadash, briefly. Until she got sent away to Bladegarden. She and I worked...in Xhorhas to gather information about the Krynn.” Beau tried to say that they’d worked together in Xhorhas, but the ice closed up and wouldn’t allow it. She and Dairon hadn’t–quite–been working at cross-purposes in the East, but they sure has hell hadn’t been working together on anything. Not until much later.

“You’ve been to Xhorhas?” Cleo butted in, and Beau grinned at her before the matron could push her back.

“Yeah, to Roshona itself. Pretty cool town, I thought.”

“Enough of this. I want you to swear that you will bring no harm to this library, or it’s keepers. That whatever your mission in Rexxentrum, you will keep the reputation of the Cobalt Soul clean.”

Beau had to glance back at the others before she answered that one. They’d already been hugely compromised by the Scourgers, and obviously everything else had to wait until after Caleb woke up. After that happened, they wouldn’t need to hide here anymore. They’d just have to keep a low profile while they were here. Lower than usual, anyway.

“I swear,” she said, looking back at the monk, who nodded again. A few seconds later the icy feeling faded from Beau’s throat and lungs, and she allowed herself a few gasps of warm air.

“Very well.” The matron was still frowning, but she didn’t seem like she was going to keel over or kick them out any second. “We have a few rooms available–”

“Is there someplace hidden?” Caduceus asked suddenly, from the back. He’d been leaning against the door a little, but at his height he was still easily visible. “Someplace that can’t be looked into from a distance, say?”

The monk’s scowl deepened, but she did nod after a moment. “We have a room like that. Follow me. Cleo, get a lantern and some food for our. Guests.” She led them down the central hallway, through a darkened corner and into the main library.

Even without the lights, the space was beautiful. Dark wood shelves stood in ten feet high rows along the floor, and two floors of open balconies above them were also backed with shelves. Smaller study rooms and nooks branched out from both the ground floor and the balconies, and the ceiling was covered in stars. Beau found herself craning her neck, trying to decide if the stars were actually glowing or if they were just that brightly painted. She stopped after she almost ran into one of the bookcases, and followed the monk to a small, inconspicious door under a staircase.

“This is meant to house the more dangerous tomes in our collection,” the old lady said, unlocking the door with a key from her ring. “Until such books make their way into our possession, or we deem it necessary for any of our current charges, it is empty. You’ll be hidden here, both magically and from more mundane searches.”

“Thank you,” Beau said, reaching out to grab the monk’s wrist as she stepped away from the door. “Thank you.”

The monk shook her off, but her frown had mostly gone, and she inclined her head in a very small bow. “It is my duty to help members of our order however I can,” she said, then added, “But if you have brought the Assembly down on us I will throw you to the wolves.”

“Better hope you keep us hidden then,” Beau said, her mouth dry. The lady smiled crookedly and gave the key to her.

“I will send Cleo with meals for you tomorrow as well. Open the door only for her, and you should be fine.”

“Will do.”

[lilster-strange-blog]

What do you know about Tony Stark

Fanfiction Avengers Tony walked into the kitchen feeling very down about a recent view of himself, not that he'd admit this to any human being but he has an extremely low self esteem and there were so many people that hate him that he wouldn't even need to include himself to list a few thousand that would agree that he was a bastard. But his weaknesses had to be hidden while there were strangers living with him, no break downs in front of the Avengers. Tony still being in closed in his own brain didn't notice the human flying towards his stomach until he felt it and the kitchen cupboard making contact with his face. Then watching a few star struck avengers look at him worryingly was slightly dazed. Then the world began to spin into a mix of emotions and colours, then black. ———————————————— Captain America fell onto the unusually comfortable sofa, he now realised that flashbacks took a lot out him. After spending roughly an hour of recalling the flashback the faint sound of food steps stumbling around outside the room he was relaxing in. Then a distraught figure came into view the visible sight of tear stains on his face. The figure went to take another step then heavily swayed around the area he was standing in. Steve instantly went to the unknown being in front of him after stabling the human Steve caught sight of who the figure truly was and she nearly fell himself. Tony Stark. The broken figure in front of him was Tony Stark. That took a while for Steve to take in. Well he had to ask what was wrong of cause it was Tony Stark crying, how could he let this go? So he took a step towards the figure of Stark and looked deep into unseeing eyes nearly sent Steve backwards. But he called to the man in front "Stark? Stark? Stark! Tony!" He wasn't replying what was Steve supposed to do? He didn't know what to do. His instincts was to get more people to help snap Stark out of his trance. After 10 minutes a group consisting of two assassins, a super-soldier and a scientist with an alter ego where forced into a room to come across a sight that would drive away any normal person, but they weren't normal like I said Avengers but even being some of the most powerful people in the world can be surprised from somethings and this was definite one of the scariest for them all. Tony Stark standing dazed and lost in thought crying life definitely got a whole lot harder then before. After coming out of a dazed spell the Avengers came together to discuss what was going to happen. After 7 minutes 35 seconds of discussing a certain hawk got slightly agitated and began to stand seemingly at the same time as everyone else but a loss of footing cause a domino affect to apply and everyone crashed into each other, everything would have been fine if there wasn't a ill member unaware of everything going being sent into a kitchen cabinet. This caused everyone stared worriedly at the figure crashing into a piece of kitchen furniture and his eyes going from seeing to closed in a forever second. The instant the shock was gone the rush to check Tony was alright was next then a rushed phone call to the ambulance and anxious wait for them to arrive took seconds. ———————————————— At the ambulance no one stood still it was slightly intimidating for Bruce Steve was marching up and down the corridor and Clint was jumping left to right like he was preparing to fight someone and Natasha had disappeared somewhere a long the way which scared Bruce more than her being with them. The door thatTony had recently been dragged into four hours ago had not been opened, was giving him an even bigger scare than anything else, this was his friend. His only friend. And he was in the hospital. He could admit it he was scared and he could feel it, Hulk was too. "Stark family?" A voice called to the group causing everyone of them to turn in the direction of the noise. "No" Steve began just to be shut down by Bruce. "Yes, well I certainly am and this is his TEAM" "Well I am Rhodey, Tony's brother in a way I guess but in definition his best friend you probably haven't heard of me if you don't look that sad - Huh I thought this would have been good for him" Rhodey seemed to begin talking to them and then deciding to himself. "We only know that Tony gave us a home and LOTS of food but that's all we know about the guy - oh and that he has a very high self esteem-" Steve began "Nope sorry but Tony, my pal has the lowest self esteem l have seen and I meet a lot of people with low self esteem, I work as a general in the army just to let y'all know but now ya do so- anyway Tony God I hope he's alright, What the hell happened?" Rhodey questioned the clueless avengers all slightly star struck by the comments made. "Well?" Rhodey repeated himself after 5 minutes of silence. "I'm sorry, but in most ways we aren't sure- you see Steve here, got us down when he was unresponsive to visual, verbal or physical movements, that is until there was a domino affect that came across all of us and we all went flying at him and he well went into the a kitchen counter and saw us for a moment then his eyes closed, and, Oh God I hope he's alright, he's my only friend you know got me to stop thinking I'm a monster and all but now-" Bruce's quick and unscientific explanation surprised everyone but the emotion behind the ending took them of guard. "Umm I'm sorry Bruce but he didn't do that we did as a team" Steve explained quickly that caused everyone to turn not expecting him to deny that Tony could have done that. "NO! Do- did you think you were a monster- NO I did and did you welcome me- NO you stayed clear of me and did you jab me and make me feel SAFE -the answer is NO you didn't do that- Tony did so DON'T. YOU get to say shit" Bruce yelled at Steve seemingly angrier than anyone had seen him and he ironically was turning slightly green but it weirdly enough disappeared midway through the outburst. "Wha-" Steve began but a reluctant comment stopped him. "I may know why, he well, you know, treated you normally, well like a not-monster- I don't know if I personally should tell you but he well, you know what, this is his to share not mine... But he probably wouldn't mention it so well the short story is that Tony considers himself a monster and well your opinions of him and that you constantly voice them isn't helping not that it matters he's always believed it since he was, I think he said he was - six when he truly started believing it" Rhodey began in a normal voice then reducing himself to a whisper. The 30 minute silence that followed was interrupted by an anxious looking doctor. "Hi there, General James Rhodes I would like to inform you that, well no one here besides a Bruce Banner? are permitted to know of Mr Starks health reports" "Oh" Rhodey replied "ok but this is his team so if me and Bruce could possibly find out what exactly is wrong and we could decide if we let his team know?" "Yes of course if you both wouldn't mind stepping to the side?" The doctor quickly supplied them. Instantly Bruce and Rhodey power walked to a far away spot leaving behind the confused remaining team members with nothing left to say. ———————————————— When the doctor seemed to be absolutely sure that there was no sneaky assassins hiding and listening began to explain the different injuries of Tony. "The extent of Starks injuries are quite mixed from old to new and minor to extreme. You see there are many scars upon the arms, which indicate self harm but there were strangling marks of purple surrounding the neck-" the doctor paused to allow the listeners to understand the first section of the collection of injuries. "There were also small signs of rape, that we had chemically checked to confirm and as much as I regret having to explain this but he has been raped many times. But there is a long time differential and the rape had been treated correctly. There is signs a dangerous concussion that cannot be confirmed until he awakens but there are multiple broken ribs, punctured lung, a sprained ankle, brake in the wrist and multiple fractures and brakes in the different fingers, many burns and scars littered across his body some more dangerous than others. But overall that is it the mental state may be less calm considering the trauma." And with that the doctor left the scene to leave Rhodey and Bruce to deal with the news on there own. "He- oh God, he got raped, that, oh no. How could we-I not notice that he-he should have told us or me or you" Bruce fell on his words seemingly, ashamed of himself and absolutely confused of what to do in this situation. And for an hour and a half Rhodey discussed what they had to do for Tony to get better when an alarming notice sounded throughout the hallway along with about 6 doctors and nurses rushing into the room Tony had been dragged into 7 hours ago. ———————————————— Tony was slowly climbing out of the depths of darkness and to the modern room that he instantly recognised as not his room and it scared him. Then the quick beat of a monitor speeding up and everything began to fade when an alarm sounded throughout the room and an electric shock pushing him back to darkness ended his quick climb to consciousness. ———————————————— Tony woke to a dog pile of sleeping avengers and his best friend who he unthinkingly hugged Rhodey, not realising his mistake until the other awoke. "TONY!!!" Was the screamed comment given by Rhodey , slowly waking the surrounding people, Heros. "Wha-" he coughed and it hurt. "Hap-" another cough wracked his sore body. "Hey Tones, well you see you had punctured a lung and the only reason you're here is because you were having another depressing episode and then got domino'd and passed out from a concussion. Water!" Rhodey finished with passing a bottle of water and a glare. "-Sorry" was all that left the billionaires mouth and that scared the avengers more than anything. "..." The odd selection of people stared at the billionaire in confusion and complete worry. "Man of iron! How are you my friend I have heard of your downfall from shield brother Clint I do believe you will recover quickly, Yes?!" Thor pronounced loudly and happily to the other members of the room. A cough of hard and uncomfortableness resounded through the the room then a weak reply came from the last person the expected. "Thor my pal, and trust me you are one of the few people that I actually believe won't betray me. But No this isn't something you just heal from like my physical injuries but I've had depression from the first moment my fath-Howard hit me, which was when I was 4, twenty years of believing that I deserved it and still believe it now isn't something you just heal from. -Sorry" "Depression, I understand. But Tony why is it that your father hit you and did he do it more than once?" Thor quickly questioned Tony. "Why because he couldn't find Steve and then when I made a small mistake in building a weapon at the age of 6 and when a problem with work occurred, SHEILD by the way not- well both really then at the age of six he trained me to be the best assassin in existence, failed at that to I guess but being tortured by SHEILD suits then went to MIT for 2 years got raped there and bullied so you know not just him but mainly him-" another coughing fit wracked Tony's body. "Assassin-" "SHIELD-" "Howard-" "Rape-" Were the different noticeable words that were recognized from the rush of words that left different people's mouths. "You- an assassin funny seriously" Clint said "what -" Clint was stopped mid sentence by a knife from the desk by Tony's hand landing directly next to Clints face and left standing unwavering in the wall. "Happy?" Tony raised an eyebrow "Proof enough or do I have to kill someone to prove it to you just because a SHEILD assassin kills people doesn't mean we all do although I guess I've done it more often than not to be fair ooh actually I've wanted to ask forever ; Tasha when did you first kill someone?" Tony asked with faint cough afterwards with a completely straight face which was more creepy than not. "Well?" "Er? Eight why..? " awesome - what about you Clint?" "... 7 but technically I wasn't an assassin" "Awesome awesome sooo any one else ever killed anyone?" "- Tony... Why are you asking this?" Rhodey questioned "Why because if they want to know me then I gotta know them right because if they think I'm gonna share personal stuff like this and not find out anything about them, then they're more stupid then I originally thought" Tony replied. "-" Steve looked slightly wary " I haven't killed anyone directly but I guess If there's anything you want to know just ask Tony." "Sure. Now I killed someone before I was an assassin to but can't be joyful in saying it was an abusive father like Clint but I guess its ok, I grew up getting kidnapped when I was six I was kidnapped and I'd been there for - 7 weeks, 3 days and 4 hours and I was greeted by a face which was ordered to kill me and ironically I killed him and ran back to the place I feared more than death but hey I had a job to do for my mother..." Tony trailed off. "-6 ..." Clint looked at Tony in the eye. "Hey Tony who here do you actually trust?" "Well - Rhodes- obviously, I mean he's my brother and all, Bruce, you hmm realistically just you three but even then there's only one person I would trust with my arc reactor but oh wait no that's just me." "What about Pepper?" Natasha question and Rhodey almost growled at her. "Calm Rhodes, Pepper had been cheating on me with Justin hammer another person who betrayed me. You know I never really told you about the only people I trust and why have I? well... Rhodey here rescued me after being raped by Justin Hammer, someone I believed was my friend, and his pals at a party. By the way Thanks Rhodey you have no idea what you stopped me from doing there. Been pals; no bros since. Bruce hmm I dunno it just happened I felt bad cause he treated himself like a monster when the only true monster is me and The friendship just happened not much I can say about it... So try not to betray me, Bruce. Clint, I dunno if you remember but when you were I think you were 12 and I was 6 we met when I was running through the street and coincidently ran, quite literally into you and I have no idea what you were doing but you looked after me and promised me we were gonna meet again I guess we did and all" Tony paused to smile it was a happy memory after all. " you generally talked me back into life and you are the reason as dark as it seems that got me to fight and kill the guy that kidnapped me and keep living I would have given up if it wasn't for that promise" 😊 Silence reigned them for a short while. "So the reason you trust me is because we met when we were younger - wait a second TONY your 24!!" Clint exclaimed "Yes and yes" Tony expressed with no denial. "- no way" was the effective comment. "Way. BTW Clint what do you want for your birthday?" Tony said. " how do you know my birthday?" Clint questioned watching him searching for signs of lying. "Trade secret" was all Tony said before swinging out of bed to everybodies fear. "Tony!" "What?" Tony replied clearly bothered. "Where are you going?" Rhodey said. After no reply He demanded. "Where. Are. You. Going. Tell. Me. NOW." "... Home" Tony said after a long sigh. "Tony your injured" "Rhodey you should know more than most that I have stayed home with way way way worse." Tony complained. "If your 24 when did you graduate university?" Steve questioned. ".. I was 16. Why? And I have had control of the company since I was 20. Again why?" Tony asked again. "Hey Tones... Did I say you could leave" Rhodey almost stropped at his friend who was still getting ready to leave. "..." Tony paused for a slight second almost considering sitting down, which was worrying Rhodey more than anything Tony was always sure of himself, always. "Err. I don't think I need to be here Rhodes but I'm sure I can rest at home. You know how I feel about hospitals." "Ok... I'll go with you" and with that Tony and Rhodey left behind a very confused team and a thoughtful Clint. "Hey!! Wait up!" Clint screamed after Bruce as he also began to leave the room. "-" "I guess we better go home then guys" Steve said hurrying the team out of the hospital room. _____________________________________ When they all arrived they were greeted by a scary as hell sight. "What. The. Hell." Steve stated to the sight of Clint, Tony, Bruce, Rhodey and Loki sitting watching the TV like one of them wasn't a worldwide, scratch that Galaxy-wide criminal. "Not hell, you idiot Jees... Steve its called TV you know the flicking thing that is modernly used to keep us entertained, I mean wow did you go back in time again!?" Tony growled at the lack of knowledge. "Not. That. Him." Steve said angrily pointing at Loki " Loki." Tony just rolled his eyes and pointed to Steve and said "Steve" then himself "Tony... Smart ass " "Loki is a criminal Tony how long has he been here?" Steve said. "Erm. He's been here for I have no idea. Whatsoever." Tony said getting up to go to the cupboard. "You know I have learnt something, brother" Loki said to Thor whilst keeping an eye on Tony. "Not only do you have a great asset on your team but that dear old, well young Tony here doesn't drink alcohol as in at all that's something as is the whole piano and singing thing he's got going for himself." Loki smiled. "Brother, did you just call me brother?" Thor asked worriedly. "Well yes brother. But I must say Tony here has quite the talent in making people laugh and join his side when he needs to and I don't quite know why but I seem to be someone he wants on his team..." Loki replied. "Wow" Thor mused. "Sing sing sing sing" Clint chanted as Tony walked past a beautiful piano. "No" Tony said not even considering the plead. "Please" Clint asked. "Fine" Tony said with a slight annoyed tone to it. Little girl terrified She'd leave her room If only bruises would heal.. A home is no place to hide Her heart is breaking from the pain that she feels Everydays the same She fights to find her way She hurts she breaks she hides and try's to pray She wonders why-ey Does anyone ever hear her when she cry-eys Today she's turning 16 Everyone's singing but she can't seem to smile They never get past arms length How could they act like everything's alright (oh no no) Pulling down her long sleeves To cover all the memories that scars leave She says maybe making me bleed (well maybe making me bleed) Could be the answer that could wash the slate clean Everydays the same She fights to find her way She hurts she breaks she hides and try's to pray She wonders why-ey Does anyone ever hear her when she cry-eys This is the dark Before the dawn The storm before the peace Don't be afraid cause seasons change And God is watching over you- He hears you Everydays the same She fights to find her way She hurts she breaks she hides and try's to pray She'll be just fi-ine Cause I know he hears her when she cry-iys Everydays the same She fights to find her way She hurts she breaks she hides and try's to pray She'll be just fi-ine Cause I know he hears her when she cry-iys She'll be just fi-ine Cause now she hears her when she cry-iys Happy?" Tony concluded his song leaving a speechless team sat in the room. While placing down a guitar none of them even noticed until it was being carefully put away by Tony.