#might make a good. full web weave of them soon but that’s for another day !

[charles-jpg]

scheherazade | max verstappen & charles leclerc

that means it’s noon. that means we’re inconsolable.

[razorblade180]

OC test: Survive pt1

Each character has been split off from one another by hard light fields to form a circular ring divided evenly; with a safe zone in the very center. They can all see and hear each other, but that’s it. All characters will face grimm at the same time. The type of grimm is dependent on what will give that individual trouble. Once a character defeats their grimm, it is their choice to what zone they want to go to next to help. The test is over when a winner in every zone has been decided.

Aero:Anybody getting Saw vibes from this, or at least something sinister?

Kovu:It did say “a winner” meaning the grimm might own us.

Summer:Remember the good old days where a test was make breakfast? I do...

Veronica:Just don’t fuck up and you’ll be fine. I’m ready for everything!

Sienna:Aren’t you technically a civilian?

Veronica:Pfft, I can still kick butt. I’m a Xiao Long!

Jacquelyn:I think the test is beginning.

Yujin stretches out her wrists and grabs her sword. It was soon after that ten pools of grimm opened up with Ursa Majors clawing out, fully armored and foaming at the mouth. One final pool had a King TaijituYujin wasn’t expected anything less, yet she was still upset. “I am sick and tired of these stupid things! Why all at once!?”

“Because it’s called survival...” Tenzen said, witnessing dozens of baby deathstalkers marching towards his as hives of lancers swarmed above. “Guess I’m playing exterminator...” he syched himself up, before a Beringel came stampeding in. It beat on it’s chests and let out a roar. “And....fighting baby King Kong...”

Jael hadn’t wasted any time making headway on her test. She knew herself pretty well and what she could handle. That still did not entirely prepare herself to fend of eight fully grown manticore in aerial combat. “So this is a manticore? Yeah, about what I expect .” She said , dodging their fireballs. “Air or land, they seem pretty dangerous. Guess I got no real advantage, yet.”

Sparrow was on the ball. Military training served him well. Armed only with an Atlesian pistol and a fishing rod, he controlled the battle ground. His mother had taught him long ago what his limits were and how to make up for them. A single Sphinx flew down to swipe at him. The young man back stepped and shot a high powered round at its foot. The beast roared before trying to fly.

“Oh no you don’t!” He casted the line right in the Sphinx’s mouth and yanked back down on the injure foot. “You’re gonna move the way I want you to!” Another round hit its front paw, making the creatures spin around, using its snake tail. Sparrow had already dropped the line and cought the second beast. He didn’t hesitate to press his gun right to its eye and blow up the head of the...tail. “Whoo! Still got it!”

While several of the kids quickly understood their enemies, others were left a little perplexed. Sienna was one of these people. “Uhhh I know Remnant is a big place, but since when do grimm look like roaches?” She stuttered.

The question got many to take a glance. Yep, roaches, but not the small kind. These roaches looked on par with the size of house cats. The black insects with bone white wings scattered around the floor. Several stood on two legs while grinding their human-like teeth together that made a shrill noise Sienna found personally irritating. The only Kovu alone seemed to grasp that situation.

“Don’t run! Walk in big circle! They’ll be huddled up that way!” He shouted. Sienna followed his instructions without question. The heard of roaches began following her on two legs while the others reached outward.

“Ohhh don’t like that!” Sienna looked at Kovu with a look that said, “what I’m the actual hell” very apparently. “Kovu-”

“They’re called Feasters. Do not let them swarm you and do not run! They will get on all of their legs and be much faster. Also don’t jump! They fly; just whack them with your chain.”

Sienna did just that. “I hate this I hate this I hate this, they’re so many! And that stupid noise!!!! Agh, my ears!” She winced. A second of stopping prompted the infestation to lunge at her like a wave. Sienna quickly tumbled backwards and kept walking. The last thing she wanted was for those things to take a bite of her. All things considered though, this was manageable. The benefit of no semblance she supposed. “How we looking everyone?”

“Peachy!” Veronica yelled, rider kicking a Tar Maw, a voracious gator like grimm that had a bond white back with black carvings. It’s red eyes glared and the tar black underside dripped like a leaky faucet. The sixteen foot beast opened its gaping mouth, hurling up grimm fluid before diving into it and through the ground subsequently; as it the dirt itself has become as flowing as water. Veronica phased through the ground to try and hit it from underneath but was shocked to see the beast diving down for her. Along with two more smaller but equally dangerous Tar Maws. Quickly, Veronica shot upward through the ground and into the air to barely avoid the the creatures that burst through the ground almost as forceful as her.

“As if one wasn’t enough.” Veronica snarled. Her body rolled forward midair to deliver a swift axe kick to one of the grimm’s hid, knocking it into the others. “I think Summer and I finally agree on something! I miss breakfast tests!”

“Glad you see it my way...” Summer groaned, watching a Arma Gigas rise. She looked over to her brother’s section to see the same exact expression of annoyance. Of course he had one as well. Nick looked at her as if she could do anything about it. “I know, it sucks.”

“Royally.” He added. Nick armed himself with Mort Froide and placed 15 upright ice glyphs around it in a diamond formation. His next move was summoning a gigas blade in his left hand before running towards the emerging knight that has yet to form from the shins down. With limited options it swung its blade which Nick proceeded to jump onto an continuing his charge towards its face. “I’ve killed one before. I can do it again!” Nick jumps at the face to slash it but is knocked back by a headbutt. Fully formed, the gigas bends its knees to prepare a jumping slash. However, blades of ice rockets out of the glyphs, wedging themselves between the knees and ankle armor space to stall movement long enough for Nick to recover. He runs his head and grunts, “Gah, okay. This one has a bet more heft. Noted...”

Valerie watched her two closest friends head off to fight their grueling challenge. “Always setting the pace.” She faced forward towards a fresh Nucklevee, free of any armor but still big enough to be a problem. “What, is this some kind of generational test? Too bad dad isn’t here. He’d love this!” Valerie leaped forward, twirling her battle axe before smashing it into the ground to break up the floor. “Can’t let move easily.” She leaped again.

The Nucklevee shot it’s arms out into the crushed floor and then upwards, it’s hands full of rocks. They flew up and over Valerie before crushing the rubble. A cloud of dirt and debris rain down and struck her back, throwing her balance off. Both arms came plummeting downwards to wrap her up and slammed them into the earth.

“It’s thinking!? But it’s new!” Valerie struggled trying to break free of the elastic grasp. “Huh?” She looked up to see the horse mouth exhale a plume of black smoke along the floor and headed right to her. “That’s not good...” through pure strength and will, Valerie got to her feet and started pulling with all her might. The arms wiggled and where dragged up from the ground but would not break. The fog crawled closer and closer until the edges of it began stinging her skin on her ankles like fire. “Gah! Aw screw it!” She yelled, taking a deep breath and releasing the tension of her struggling. Her entire body slingshotted forward through the smoke and to the best, striking it with a double kick to the skeleton like face. It’s arms finally loosened enough for her to escape. She went to sever an arm until the beast turned around and struck her with it’s massive hind hooves. Val tumbled back and onto her legs. A strange numbness and pain resided in her ankles. Moving felt...odd. Valerie looked up to see the fog continue to spread and the beast beginning to charge. “Tsk..” Maybe it was best her father wasn’t here after all?.

In a other section, a much better circumstance was taking place for Lucas. The man effortlessly weaved around the onslaught of razor sharp feathers, bouncing some back to clip the Nevermore wings that sent them. It helped, but only a little considering he was dealing with an entire flock. Multiple enemies that used a wind ranging attack with multiple projectiles. Quite the headache for one who sees the future. So he did what he always did, not even try.

“One thing at a time Lucas. This moment, right now.” He said to himself as more feathers rained. He transformed his blade into a whip and began flailing it to deflect only what he could see and hear coming his way. The moment he found an opening he would swimg the whip around the bird’s neck and yank it down for him to cleave it. A simple strategy, effective. However, it was time consuming. Not a problem for him specifically, but his mind could only think about the people around him. He hadn’t been paying close attention to all of them, but the screaming grimm he could hear outside his zone let him know they weren’t all getting lucky in this test. “EVERYONE OKAY!?”

“NO!” Aero cried as he crashed to the ground, his wings covered in webs. The flexed it off the best he could while avoiding Soul Suckers, enormous spider grimm that had a real bad habit of draining aura and turning people into soulless husks that were robbed of will. Seven of the bastards shot dense web at him in an attempt to do just that. Aero spread his wings and slammed them towards the ground, rocketing himself upward with one powerful flap. “I AM NOT EQUIPPED FOR THESE!”

“They have spider grimm!?” Lucas said with concern. “That’s just sadistic...”

“You’re telling me!?” Aero looked over to Mona’s section, who was dealing with a single Goliath. Her spry nature allowed her to maneuver around its legs, quickly attacking. Unfortunately she was up against a Goliath. Simple daggers might as well be paper cuts. “You hanging in there Mona!?” He asked before having to dodge more webs.

“Worry about yourself Bird Boy!” She yelled sprinting. Mona went into a one armed hand spring onto its trunk and rolled onto its back, sliding down it with her dagger running through it shallowly before hitting armored bone; killing her momentum and hurting her shoulders. “Shit!” She winced. She yanked her blade out and jumped off as the Goliath’s trunk tried grabbing her. “Uuuggh this big bitch might as well be made of clay!” She pulled out her second dagger and took one giant lunge that sent her flying like a bullet. Mona began spinning like a sideways buzz saw as she went by the grimm’s left and right leg, making an average size gash. Not enough to cripple it but enough to piss it off.

The thief couldn’t stop her speed correctly and ended up tumbling along the ground and barely missing a tree. Her head buzzed loudly and her vision blurred enough to not realize the two ton monster charging until it was severely feet away. “Oh f-” she tried blocking. The tusks were aimed right for her blades but suddenly, her entire body was shot up in the air and away from the attack. “Aaah! What the heck!?”

“Stop screaming!”

Mona was spun around to see Eliza hovering with the power of wind. “How the- you finished!?”

“Yeah I had those gross centipedes and a couple annoying alphas with majors as well.” Eliza said. She causally pointed behind her to a zone charred beyond belief. “My semblance was useless so I had to go all out from the start. Guess you’re in a similar situation? Let’s waste this thing.”

“Hmm you’re lucky I like the way you look. I’ll take you up on that, not that needed help.”

“Whatever you say. Maybe I should’ve checked in with Kovu!” She looked his way. “But considering with Carmine said I’m sure his challenge-”

“oPeN UuuP...” gurgled a cold, torn voice. One that reached all ears, freezing grimm and human alike. It came from Kovu’s section. There the young man sat pinned and shaken up. Nothing but the dust barrier against his back and his own bubble-like barrier in front of it, constructed from his golden aura. The thing gnawing it, a very big and very aggressive Hound. It’s teeth grated against the aura, barely cracking it but cracking it nonetheless. “oPeN UuuP...”

Kovu’s face dripped sweat. His arms were completely stiff from trying to maintain his gaurd. “Guys, I don’t want to sound needy, but...” he grunted.

Several of his friends began working harder on their matches. Yujin and Veronica in particular had a fire lit inside them to make sure Kovu would be okay.

“Hang on Kovu!” Yujin yelled. “Just give me a bet of time and-”

“I thought you wanted to be a huntsman?” Carmine interjected, gaining Kovu’s attention. “I thought you wanted to try and catch up to me, but you’re asking for help this quickly? Not only that, but now you’ve caused others to worry more about you which could make them rush and make a mistake that’ll be disastrous. Hmm, I thought better of you than that.” She said bluntly.

He said nothing. Veronica on the other hand. “Hey!” She had a few words. “Isn’t that your cousin!? You of all people should be-”

“Worried?” Carmine finished. “I’m not saying I’m not, but I’m more worried about the thing behind me, I’m case none of you payed attention.” Carmine looked over her shoulder to the massive grimm pool that all but filled the entire area and continued to flow.

Of course nobody else noticed. It wasn’t big enough to caste a shadow over them all until this moment. Once again eyes looked to see the danger but it was their ears that heard it before anything else. A deafening roar that shook the ground like a disaster. Carmine fully turned around to look at her opponent. It was cruel. Downright evil to the letter. What could she have possibly done to earn-

“Leviathan!?” Tenzen yelled.

“I know right? It’s ridiculous.” Carmine said, a bead of sweat running down her head. “I rather switch with Jacquelyn.”

“Hehe, is that a fact?” She laughed nervously, witnessing the creation of a fully realized dragon staring her down as the shook off excess fluid. Yet another huge thing that nobody but Carmine was aware of apparently because they were once again floored. Not necessarily at the beasts even though they were scary, but because that was two people’s test!”

Yujin looked briefly at Carmine in awe. “You can take down Leviathan!?”

“What? Hell no! Are you crazy!?” Carmine said, unapologetically. “That thing is a kingdom killer! Look it’s flattering that you all seem to think I’m super badass but you do know I’m one person right?”

“Well when you say it like that I sound stupid. Didn’t Ruby beat one of those?” Yujin said, dodging.

“My mother flashed her eyes while a giant robot sucker punched it with a drill. Her eyes didn’t even do much but make it stuck for three seconds. Nobody just beats a Leviathan!” Carmine brandished her sword to face it. Her eyes looked back towards to see her cousin still struggling. “....Did you all know Kovu has never beaten me in a fight? He’s always been a pretty average fighter. That being said, I could never knock him out or keep him down for long. He’s resilient as hell. Almost like surviving is his special talent.”

“Carmine...” Kovu uttered.

“Surviving doesn’t mean winning. I’m definitely not about to win this and I doubt Jacquelyn over there is coming up with a grand slam plan to solo a dragon. Buying time though, I can do that all day.” The leviathan shot out a breath of immense flames. Carmine dove out of the way immediately. “Do not make me do this all day. I’m tired. Twenty minutes at best. More than enough time for anyone to lend a hand and then some, right?” Without another word, she got to work.

Carmine was an odd ball. If she had said anything like that to a stranger, it may have come off as rambling. But those around her in this test, they got the girl’s message. Kovu most of all, while Jacquelyn understood from the start given her enemy. Twenty minutes. Nobody was to aid her for that long or to worry. Carmine had temporarily removed herself the equation. One less thing for other’s to worry about.

“Twenty one.” Kovu said. “I got this mutt right where I want him for twenty one minutes.” Sure he was being optimistic, but this barrier bursting wasn’t game over right away. Like Carmine said, he was resilient.

Jacquelyn couldn’t help but smile. Part of it was the touching pep talk. The other was nervousness because no way was she about to put herself before kids. “Ah what the hell. I’m the winter maiden. A badass one at that. Thirty.” Her eyes glowed.

“Of course they want to out do me” Carmine chuckled. Alright everyone, nothing fancy! Those who know they can win, will. All others, do this test, survive!

Finally the stage was set. Everyone was on track. “Right!!!”

[c-is-for-circinate]

Who wants a little Cinderbrush AU on this quarantine evening?

A while ago, @brightandshinynewstories and I were chatting about what would happen if the Cinderbrush four lived in Exandria (and also relatedly, if the M9 were Monsterhearts characters, but that is a digression y’all should take up with her).  We figured it would start, at least, a little like this:

There’s a phrase Sasha's history tutor used once, when she was thirteen or fourteen and didn’t have a way to stop her parents hiring all her tutors and arranging her schedule for her.  Her history tutor was a stuttery little halfling man fresh out of Vasselheim, and half of what he said was deadly boring, but he was less brutally awful than her etiquette and protocol tutor, which was probably why he got fired before she turned fifteen.  That one conversation, though, has stuck with her for all these years.

“Everyone thinks they live at the end of history,” he’d said.  They’d been talking about the end of the reign of Uriel Tal’dorei at the time, how his decision to abdicate five minutes before he unexpectedly died in a massive dragon attack hadn’t accomplished much of anything except for making life massively difficult for his son fifteen years later.  “This is it, the final form of the world.  All the aeons of existence have led up to this moment right now, and finally we’re living in the future.”

“Isn’t everybody always living at the end of history, then?” Sasha had asked.  “If you look at it that way?”

“Not...not quite,” Kempler had stammered, a little off-balance the way he always was when she asked questions she actually wanted to know the answers to.  “Usually it means more like..the idea that everything, societal structures, social mores, everything has fallen into place in such a way that it doesn’t need to change any more.  Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” Sasha had said, and let him go on talking about dragons and heroes and the politics of non-existent emperors and kings.  She’d thought about it all afternoon.

This isn’t quite the end of history, Sasha figures now, half a dozen years later.  If it were, there’d be a better way to work her way up in the government of Emon besides playing personal aide to Arbiter Ethna for the next ten years in hopes of getting appointed to a magistrate’s position someday.  Some kind of school for barristers and politicians, at least, instead of everything coming down to her parents’ names and polite tolerance for her existence.  Her advancement wouldn’t depend so much on this awkward noble apprenticeship system where she’s more tied to Ethna’s reputation than her own skills.

It’s got to be getting pretty close, though.  It’s 853 PD.  Emon’s a miracle of government and engineering.  Uriel Tal’dorei’s been dead for forty years, there haven’t been dragons around to ravage anything since Sasha’s parents were children, and every day law, order, and the modern age prove a little more how they triumph over chaos.

It’s good to live at this end of history, Sasha tends to think.  There’s just enough still to do in the world to give her a chance to do something really special about it.  Just enough wiggle room left to let her...bend the rules.  Just a little.

Nobody says arbiters and politicians can’t have a little magic on their side to...smooth things along, just a little.  Nobody says aides like Sasha can’t spend their free time however they like.  Nobody tells Sir Murasaki’s daughter she can’t go where she wants, besides Sir Murasaki himself.  If she likes to sit auditing classes in the back of the room at the Alabaster Lyceum--if she happens to enjoy practicing classical violin or running vocal exercises in her tiny little office behind Arbiter Ethna’s courtroom--well.  The bardic arts might be a relic of the past, when people had to go out slaying monsters and dealing with dragons every other day, but history hasn’t quite left them useless yet.  Anything can be a tool if you’re clever and charming enough to use it right.

Living at very-nearly-the-end of history might be the best tool there is.  The best thing about it, Sasha thinks, is the chance to make sure she’s the one who decides how it ends.

.

Sasha told Cam about her end-of-history theory once, some starlit evening on the rooftop balcony of his parents’ townhouse, looking out over the sparkling lights of the Cloudtop District and enjoying the quiet.  He’s not sure he’s smart enough to really understand it, but that’s Sasha for you.  There’s a reason she’s going to be on the Tal’Dorei Council someday, while Cam’s going to be...whatever Cam’s going to be, by then.

Probably running the family business, one way or another, if his dad hasn’t actually killed him instead of letting him inherit.  It’s basically fine, as life plans go.  Parts of it don’t suck.  That’s something.

It’s why everyone was so in favor of him courting around with Sasha in the first place, anyway.  The Murasakis are nobility and all, but they’re from some island in the middle of the Lucidian Ocean on the other side of Exandria.  The Solomons were nobodies, until they just happened to own the only still-operating stone quarry in a hundred miles in the wake of the destruction of Emon forty years ago.  Sasha’s parents have influence, Cam’s have money.  Even Cam knows putting that combination together is a recipe for power.

Real power, probably, not the magic kind.  Fewer rules.  Fewer restrictions.  Fewer demons, whispering in the back of your ear when you’re trying to sleep.

If this is really the perfect future that everything’s always been trying to lead to, then shouldn’t they have wizard magic or some shit that would just get the stone out of the ground without needing miners and overseers and crap like that?  And then, like, nobody would send some stupid human kid with no darkvision into the back end of the quarry just because he’s the boss’s son and some fucker thinks he needs to be hazed for “company morale” or whatever.  Just for example.

So maybe the world’s not getting better, it’s just that the bullshit that piles up a little deeper every year has just about reached a critical maximum.  That’s fine.  No wonder Sasha’s looking forward to the future so much, gets along with the world so well.  He used to watch her weave her own web of total crap every time she worked a room, catching eyes and shaking hands and making everybody fall in love with her as soon as they met.  It’s kind of the most impressive thing Cam’s ever seen.  He kind of hates her for it, right at this moment.

Cam’s just not built for that much shit.  He's charming, sure, people trust him, people like him, but he can’t talk his way out of any- and everything like Sasha can.  Probably that’s a nobility thing.  The Solomons aren’t nobility, everybody knows that, especially Cam’s dad, and he’s never let Cam forget it for two seconds in a row his whole life, so right, no wonder Cam’s useless in Sasha’s kind of world.  No wonder he lets himself get into such shitty situations sometimes.  No wonder he can’t get Anukirai to leave him--to leave Sasha--alone.

If that’s what he wants.  Which--it is, of course, it should be, it has to be, it’s just.  Hard, sometimes, when Cam’s father decides if he can’t be the normal born kind of nobility, he’d better just prove he’s the High Lord of All Assholes.  When Cam’s trying not to be the kind of guy who just up and punches his problems in the face.  When Anukirai starts making promises, and Cam--when Cam can feel the power behind them, the weight of thousands of years of lurking underground, lying in wait, full of so much more patience than Cam’s ever had himself.

He’s pretty sure he could Command his dad to do just about anything, once.  Just once.  So far he hasn’t tried.

The worst thing about living this close to the end of history, Cam knows for damn sure, is feeling the weight of all of it crushing down on top of you all the time.

.

Jamie’s heard about it, too, somewhere along the way.  Lunch with Sasha at the Lyceum is always interesting, one way or another.

It’s bullshit, of course, but it’s the sort of bullshit that always appeals to people like Sasha.  As though there are other people in the world like Sasha Murasaki.  Things don’t end, they just die occasionally, and leave stinking corpses of whatever they used to be there to entertain passers-by.  Witness the inside of poor Cameron Solomon’s head these days after that particular breakup, case in point.

But of course it’s enticing to picture the world as just half a step short of perfection, all the for pretty, perfect people who think they might just be that last piece of perfection Exandria’s waiting for.  That, at least, isn’t exactly an uncommon attitude around the Alabaster Lyceum.  Everybody thinks they’re going to be the next Allura Vysoren, or whoever it is they’re all idolizing these days.  Everybody thinks they need just that little bit of extra edge to get there.

Jamie’s done with that particular race, which doesn’t mean they can’t enjoy spectating it.  There’s a lot of benefits that come from staying enrolled as a student of the arcane arts at the Alabaster Lyceum of Emon.  Greg Wrenly keeps paying tuition, room, and board, for one.  There’s a handful of cantrips and a couple of halfway decent wizard spells in Jamie’s back pocket now, too, which is never a bad thing.  It’s always good to have options.

For instance: now the desperate, overachieving would-be wizards of the Lyceum don’t have to fight their way through years of arduous study and spend enormous reserves of magical energy to cast True Seeing.  A little bit of druidcraft, a couple of exactly the right mushrooms, and for a handful of gold coins Jamie can provide a direct line of sight to the Ethereal Plane with negligible side effects to follow.  Options.  They’re practically a public service.

Jamie prefers to keep as many options open as possible; gods know nobody in this fucking city seem to realize they have any.  That’s what needing to be the best will do to you.  If a quarter of their classmates realized how much power the average archdruid has at their command, there’d be a mass exodus of ex-arcanists desperate to be the next fucking Voice of the Tempest, every one of them desperate to live up to thousands of years of legends and heroes and complete fairytales.  Every single one of them would miss the entire point.

Jamie doesn’t need to be the best.  They just need to maintain their own, extremely specific skill set, market it in the right way to the right people, and not get caught up in everyone else’s everything.  Stay a minimum safe distance away from Sasha.  Enjoy Cam’s company without getting too invested in the pretty and the trauma.  Enough wizardry to mess with peoples’ heads and not be too bound to the whims of nature, enough druidry to keep in good supply and not be too bound to some fucking hand-scribed spellbook.  Enough alchemy to keep in business.  Enough business to make sure they don’t completely lose touch with reality, the way so many mages tend to do.

Of course it’s not exactly traditional, or historical, or Respectful of the Great Arts, or whatever the fucking line is.  What the hell would be the point of that?

The best thing about living on this end of history, whatever the fuck that means to anyone, is getting to pick and choose exactly which parts of it you want to keep.

.

Aff gets the whole history thing in pieces, in passing at first, but it makes more sense the more they think about it.  You can learn a lot slinging pints of ale in your dad’s tavern on a regular old Grissen weeknight.

It’s not like they’re friends with Sasha Murasaki of all people.  Aff hadn’t even known who she was until Amanda from the livery stable down the street explained it, and apparently there’s an actual member of a titled noble family on her way up the ranks in the Watchful Hall who comes out to Aff’s dad’s tavern, like, a lot, which is just crazy.  It’s just that sometimes when Sasha’s waiting for somebody, or she and her trio of Emon’s Who’s Who are bored or whatever, they invite Aff to sit down and talk for a while.  Cameron Solomon’s... whatever, he’s cool, Aff’s mom doesn’t live too far from his dad’s mine these days, so maybe they’d helped him out while he was puking in an alleyway once or twice before even moving to Emon, out in the countryside where being a super-rich merchant prince didn’t matter that much.  And Jamie...Aff doesn’t really get Jamie, but they’re in here a lot, alone at a table where a whole rotation of people sit down to join them and then leave ten minutes later.  You learn a lot about someone when they drink by themselves while they’re doing some kind of weird shady business in your bar at least once a week.  That’s all.

Aff doesn’t even really think any of them are friends with each other, either, anyway.  Sasha and Cameron used to come in on dates, a couple of kids from the Cloudtop slumming it in Diamond Liquor out in the Central District, but they don’t really do that any more.  The one time Sasha showed up when Cam was already here, he got up and left.  Sometimes Sasha goes and sits at Jamie’s table in the corner, and she’s usually there for a lot longer than ten minutes when she does, but she still always goes back to the rest of her crew and Jamie goes back to drinking alone.  Jamie and Cam have come in together a couple of times, and it seems like Jamie doesn’t even do business on those nights, but like, who even knows what’s up with that, right?

Not that Aff’s being creepy or anything.  They’re the bar...not-maid.  Bartender?  No, that’s their dad, ruling over the land of kegs behind the actual physical bar.  Bar...server?  Is that a thing?  Whatever, it is now.  Aff’s the bar-server, they hear things.  They notice things.  That’s all.

Like Sasha talking about the end of history, which, it took Aff a couple of different conversations to realize she didn’t mean the end of the world, which is probably good.  Aff’s pretty sure she means the fact that they live now, in modern times, which don’t really have dragon attacks or cool heroes or crazy adventures any more, because all the cool heroes already went on all the crazy adventures and killed the dragons so that modern times could happen in the first place.  Which is great!  Right, that’s totally for the best, dragons are definitely bad news.  Aff’s seen a couple of places where Emon got rebuilt forty or fifty years ago after half the city...melted, they guess?  So like, it’s good that that’s not happening nowadays.  That’s a good thing.

It’s just...

Look, Aff’s a good bar-server, or whatever you want to call it, and they like living here with their dad, and Emon’s not a bad place to be, it’s just.  Hard, sometimes.  It’s hard, when they get so angry they just want to hit something, again.  Like, a lot.  Again.

If there were still adventurers and dragons and shit, then maybe Aff would have a use for all that pent-up aggression or whatever.  Maybe they could, y’know, kill monsters or whatever, and it would make them a hero instead of a fuckup.  If it were still the old days like that, maybe Aff would be good for something.

If this really is the end of history or whatever, Aff thinks that maybe the hardest part is feeling like they got smacked down in the wrong part of it.

.

The trouble, of course, is that history is nowhere near through with them.  Or with its own twists and turns, which is how history tends to work, really, even when you think it’s all just about settled down.

The third week of Fessuran is...confusing, more than anything.  Everything happens so fucking fast, in a blur of blood and fear and sleep-deprivation, washed over with a little extra haze from Jamie’s very good berries, and a couple of days go by in either about two hours or two weeks, and this is never going to make a good story to tell any kids they ever have, if they ever survive long enough to have kids.

Half a dozen people are very dead, that’s very clear, well beyond the help of any cleric or reasonably-ethical necromancer.  Amanda from the livery stable down the street from Diamond Liquor was pale and streaked in blood, breathing shallowly and barely alive, last time they saw her.  That might be worth something, if they could figure out or agree on what.

The four of them are not dead.  They are not under arrest.  They’re not in Emon any more, either, but since staying away might be the only chance they have to keep being not-dead and not-arrested, that’s probably a win, too.

They look at each other, hollow-eyed and dazed, across the table at the only inn in the tiny nowhere town of Cinder Hills, where they didn’t dare sleep last night and had better leave the minute they finish breakfast and also decide what the hell comes next.

“What,” Cam says, speaking for them all, “the fuck?”

.

“Look,” Sasha says.  “It’s fine.  We just…go to another city, and wait for things to die down.  Come back when it’s all over and pretend none of it ever happened.  Nothing to do with us at all.”

It’s fine.  It has to be fine, because if it’s not then Sasha’s lost everything.  Jail isn’t the only way to be trapped.  Freedom costs so much.

“You cannot possibly think that’s going to work,” Jamie says scathingly.  “You think there’s anybody in Emon who doesn’t know who the great Sasha Murasaki is?  We run, and we do not come back.”

Fuck Jamie, fuck them, just…fuck.

She’s spent years building herself a future in Emon.  Years, fighting to make herself a place in history.  Scrounging for every fucking scrap her parents would let her have, every fraction of respect or freedom that couldn’t just be taken away on a whim because she didn’t lower her eyes enough on any random night.  And now she’s going to lose it to this?

“Um,” Aff says.  “I have family in Emon?  I’m not just going to disappear on my dad.  And like, what about Cam’s dad, or Sasha’s family, or–”

“I can’t see my dad right now,” Cam interrupts quickly.  “Leaving actually maybe sounds good.”

“Oh, and leaving where, Jamie?” Sasha demands, because she’s ignoring Cameron right now until she can handle looking at him.  “Are we all going to stay with your little forest friends?  Sleep on leaf mattresses and learn to be druids, then?”

Jamie snorts.  “I’m not taking any of you within ten fucking miles of any druid circle I’ve ever met.  You, they’d eat alive,” and he gestures dismissively at Aff, “and you, they’d never forgive me for.  Luckily the world’s pretty fucking big.”

“So, what, you just want to–what, get on a ship and go to Wildemount?” Cam asks, interrupting Sasha again before she can get started on what even she knows is going to come out sharp and bitter and useless.  “Never come home?”

“You can do whatever the fuck you want.  I’m going to Kymal as soon as I can get on the fucking road, to see if I can rebuild even a third of what I just left behind.” Jamie says, like it’s just…that easy.  “Maybe Westruun, eventually, depending on how that goes.”

Sasha cannot start over in fucking Kymal.  She can’t.  She’s going home.  She’ll get this straightened out.

Everybody knows who her parents are.  They could smooth the whole thing over, probably, if she went down on her knees and begged hard enough.  If she agreed to let them ship her off to whatever cloister or rich husband they chose, and lost everything to spending the rest of her life under her mother’s thumb and her father’s commands anyway.

Fuck.  Fuck.  It feels like the walls of this tiny shitty tavern room are closing in on her already.  Sasha is so fucked.

It was supposed to be perfect.  She was almost done.  She was on her way.  It was going to be perfect.

“We should probably stay together,” Cameron says worriedly, looking between Sasha and his precious Aff and Jamie fucking Wrenly.

“Westruun,” Sasha says.  It’s too small to build anything worth having and it’s too far away from everything she’s ever built so far and it’s too big for her to matter at all and it’s too close for her to really be safe.  Westruun’s nothing.  But at least it’s better than fucking Kymal.  “We can go to Westruun.”

Or Vasselheim.  Or Rexxentrum.  Or Ank’harel.  Or Port Damali.  Sasha’s a little afraid to start running.  She’s a little afraid that once she gets going, she won’t be able to stop.

.

Notes on Level 2:

Sasha, human bard 2 Cantrips: Message, Prestidigitation L1 spells (3/day): Charm Person, Sense Emotions, Disguise Self, Comprehend Languages, Detect Magic

Cameron, human warlock 2 Patron: Fiend Cantrips: Mage Hand, Friends L1 spells (2/day): Command, Charm Person, Hex Invocations: Beguiling Influence, Devil’s Sight

Jamie, human wizard 1 druid 1 Cantrips: Friends, Mind Sliver, Minor Illusion, Druidcraft, Infestation L1 spells (3/day) : Cause Fear, Color Spray, Silent Image, Charm Person, Sleep, Identify, plus any druid spells prepared that day

Aff, human barbarian 2 Rage (2/day): +2 damage

[haberdashing]

What A Tangled Web We Weave (12/?)

TMA AU diverging from canon at the end of episode 92. Jon is forced into an arranged marriage by Elias; Martin does what he can to help.

on AO3

A few more days came and went without much happening. Martin kept waiting for the fallout from what he’d shared with Melanie, whether that was an emotional reunion with Tim or (much more likely) Tim cornering him in the hallway and insisting that they would never be friends again, but Tim just kept half-assing his archival work and taking every opportunity to leave the room and never actually talking through things.

Not the best possible outcome there, certainly, but perhaps not the worst, either.

Melanie and Basira kept to themselves for the most part, too, and Jon kept spending all his time tucked away in his office, though Martin made sure to bring him tea every day, partly in the hopes of improving his mood and partly just as an excuse to go in and see Jon again. Most days he was dismissed with a soft “Thank you” or a simple hand gesture, but that was enough.

Hyperaware as he was of any changes in this fragile status quo they’d established, Martin noticed that on this particular day Jon went up the stairs to the rest of the Institute and didn’t reappear down in the Archives for some time afterwards, but he tried not to think too much about it, didn’t breathe a word of what thoughts he’d had on the subject as he arrived in Jon’s office with tea in hand (hands, plural, really, as he held one mug off to the side for himself as he carefully placed the other onto Jon’s desk).

“Penny for your thoughts?” Martin tried his best to keep his voice upbeat and calm, to make it sound like just a casual inquiry that Jon could reject if he didn’t feel like talking through things with Martin.

Jon looked up at Martin and let out a low sigh, and for a moment Martin thought that that was all he was going to get out of Jon, and while that wasn’t ideal, he could live with that, just as he’d lived with similar dismissals for the past several days...

“Apparently they’ve decided who my future spouse will be.”

Martin was suddenly very glad that he had yet to touch his own mug of tea, because otherwise he most certainly would have spit it out at that comment.

Then he realized what it meant that not only had the decision been made, but Jon had been told about it, and Martin’s blood ran cold.

He’d thought he had more time, was the thing. Martin thought that in time maybe he could try to drop subtle hints here and there about his new alignment, perhaps soften up Jon’s opinion of spiders a bit while he was at it, but now all those plans went out the window.

And yet Jon was looking at Martin as he always did, with an expression that was difficult to read but seemed to fall somewhere between curiosity and annoyance. Not disgust, not horror, not betrayal.

“And?” Martin did his best to keep his voice level, to sound calm and collected, to stop his hand from shaking too badly as it held a still-full mug of tea he hadn’t really wanted in the first place.

“And Elias won’t tell me who it is.”

Martin let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He still had time, then. It wasn’t over just yet. “Ah, I- I see.”

“Rather frustrating that he called a meeting just to not tell me the most important bit of information, but then, what else is new...” Jon shook his head and Martin tried not to stare, tried not to look too closely at the long strands of hair now scattered across Jon’s face, black and silver intermingled. “He did say he thought I would be ‘pleasantly surprised’, though. And then gave me that smirk he has where he knows something you don’t and he’s just lording it over you, you know the one...”

“Y-yeah, I know the one.” Martin’s head was reeling. Did Elias really think Jon would be pleasantly surprised by finding out that he’d be marrying Martin? Was he right in thinking that it’d be better for Jon to marry a spider person he knew than a spider person he didn’t? Or perhaps that was sarcasm on Elias’ part, sarcasm that had flown over Jon’s head because he didn’t know any better...

Martin didn’t plan on speaking up again, really, but he found himself doing it just the same.

“Well, think about it. Who would you be pleasantly surprised to have as a marriage partner?”

“I... I don’t know.” Jon closed his eyes briefly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just stopped being wanted for murder, it’s not like I have a blossoming social life outside of this place...”

There was a conversation to be had there about how Jon had adapted to life on the run, who he had lived with (was still living with) when his own flat was suddenly off-limits, but it wasn’t one Martin especially wanted to have right now.

“Well, what about here at the Institute, then?” Martin scrambled to add more. “Tim, maybe? You two were always such good friends...”

“‘Were’ is the operative word there, I’m afraid. I think Tim might actually kill me if the alternative was us having to get married now.” Jon paused for a moment before adding, “Besides, I rather doubt Tim’s got any connection to the Web.”

“Right, well, uh...”

Two other options to ask about then, if he was sticking to Institute staff Jon interacted with regularly (Elias himself was not an option in Martin’s mind). Martin wasn’t exactly the best judge regarding women’s attractiveness, but he figured it was probably a safe bet to go with the one who could actually carry on a conversation with Jon without it inevitably turning into an argument.

“What about Basira? She seems nice enough...”

“I’m not- why does everybody seem to think...” Jon massaged his temple for a moment as his speech trailed off before looking back up at Martin with a strange expression on his face. “Wait... is this about what I think it is?”

Martin’s stomach lurched. It was probably a miracle that he had managed to avoid spilling his tea during this whole conversation, that his hands hadn’t shaken enough to send the mug’s contents flying. “What d’you mean?”

“Martin, are... are you jealous of my future spouse?”

There was no compulsion to the question, but Martin wasn’t actually sure whether that was a good thing. Part of him wanted to explain, to spill his guts without even having to think twice about it, but instead he just stood there, trying to muster up the courage to respond as he felt his face rapidly heating up.

“What? N-no, that’s, that’s not-”

“You are!” Jon made it sound like this was some sort of epiphany, using the sort of tone he usually only employed after a major research breakthrough. “Look, Martin, you don’t have to- to be jealous of the person I’m getting married to-”

“I’m not jealous! I-” Martin took a breath and tried to keep his voice steady as he spoke again, though he wasn’t sure that it worked. “I am not jealous of your future spouse.”

“If you say so.” Jon didn’t sound convinced; apparently, Martin was better at lying than at telling the truth these days. “Either way, Elias did tell me a bit more about what to expect with all of this. Did you know he’s married to Peter Lukas?”

Martin blinked a few times, the urge to further deny his jealousy fading as he parsed what Jon had to say. “Peter Lukas, the- the guy who runs the Tundra?”

“That’s the one.”

“No, I, I didn’t know that.”

“Apparently it was a similar situation, more about connecting their patrons than about them specifically--and also Institute funding, maybe? They’re married, but they barely interact with one another, and whatever deal required them getting married in the first place must not have stopped them from getting divorced... several times over, in fact...”

“Elias said all that?”

“Well, the marriage and divorce part I already knew, actually, but... the point is, I don’t know what my relationship will be like. Maybe it’ll be like Elias and Lukas, where one of them’s not even around the other one most of the time... or maybe that’s because Lukas’ god is big on isolation, it’s hard to say. But it probably won’t be quite like a normal marriage, at any rate.”

Martin knew that Jon was trying to comfort him, in a weird, roundabout way.

Martin wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about Jon being so nonchalant in discussing his upcoming marriage (their upcoming marriage), but it was pretty far off the mark from comforted.

“Don’t worry too much about it, Martin. We’ll see how things go soon enough. If we’re lucky, it won’t be long before...” Martin waited for Jon to finish the sentence, but instead, Jon just let it trail off into nothingness.

“Jon?” Martin prompted.

“Sorry, I... I was going to say ‘before things are back to normal,’ but what even is normal here? Is dealing with Prentiss normal? Is having a monster as an assistant and not knowing it normal? Things haven’t really been normal for a while now, have they?”

“R-right.” Martin’s stomach lurched at the mention of Prentiss, and lurched again at the mention of one of Jon’s assistants being a monster. He meant the thing that replaced Sasha, Martin knew that, but... “J-Jon, I-”

“Yes, Martin?”

Martin looked at Jon for a moment that seemed to last for an eternity, took in the bags under his eyes, the scars both old and new, and the way he was looking up at Martin with interest, his dark eyes wide as he waited to hear what Martin had to say next...

Martin gulped. He couldn’t do it. Damn his cowardice, but he couldn’t make himself follow through with what he had meant to say, not when Jon was looking up at him like that, clinging to his every word.

“I, er, think it’s probably time I get back to work. Hope your tea hasn’t gone cold yet after all my yammering...”

Jon nodded. “Of course, of course. And I wouldn’t worry about that, though if it’ll make you feel better-” Jon paused and picked up the mug of tea that Martin had deposited on his desk, took a sip in a motion that Martin couldn’t tell if it was actually exaggerated on Jon’s part or if he was just imagining things. “It’s still fine. Thank you, Martin.”

“N-no problem. Any time.”

When Martin closed the door behind himself, still holding his own mug of tea that he hadn’t even wanted to begin with, he felt the mad urge to chuck the mug at some piece of furniture nearby, watch it shatter against a file cabinet or see its contents slowly stain the contents of a bookshelf.

Instead, though, Martin just sighed, clutched his mug even harder, and went back to work as if nothing had happened.

[brooklyn-1918]

Day 6 

Characters: OC Angel Moore and All the Avengers

Warnings: Fluff, possibly minor language

A/N: This one is one more focused on Christmas activities. Send an ask or leave in the comments if you would like to be tagged.

If you would like to read the previous day’s story, you can read it HERE

If you would like to read the background to the OC Angel Moore, you can read it HERE

Angel scrubbed her hands over her face, then peered through her fingers at her daughter, who was currently running full tilt around the common area, weaving in between the furniture, and boxes of Christmas decorations. 

Natasha and Thor sat next to her, sipping on some sort of drink, one Angel strongly suspected might contain alcohol. Tony was lounging on the couch, Steve leaning his hands on the backrest behind the inventor. 

“Can we please start?!” Olivia yelled, skidding to a halt in front of Angel. She dropped her hands away from her face, and put on a smile. She shook her head. 

“Not until everyone gets here, Livvy bear. We're missing a few people,” She explained. Olivia frowned, then nodded slowly. Then she took off at a sprint down the hallway. 

“Mr. Bucky! Miss Wanda! Mr. Bruce! Mr. Sam! Peter! Mr. Clint! Where are you?” 

__________

Another 15 minutes passed before everyone was there. Olivia practically tore through the first box of decorations, trying to find the lights for around the tree. She handed a string to Angel, Peter, and Bucky, who began to unwind them. 

Tony and Natasha were pulling box after box of ornaments from the bins, and Clint, Steve, and Bruce were prepping the tree, making sure it had water, and it was firmly in the stand. Wanda used her powers to clear away any fallen needles, and move bins around. 

Sam, ever the helpful Sam, stood there chuckling with Thor, who hadn’t the slightest clue as to what he was supposed to be doing, seeing as how he missed the last few holiday seasons on Earth, 

“Ready?” Peter asked Olivia, who nodded and took the string of lights from him. Peter nodded to Bucky, who plugged the long string of lights into the wall, illuminating the little bulbs, the beautiful white light shining on each and every one of them. 

With one arm, Peter scooped her up, and with the other, he shot a string of web above the tree.

“Not sure how this is going to work, but we're going to try,” He said. With a running start, he picked his feet up, and started to revolve around the tree, going higher and higher, while Olivia unraveled the string around the tree. She laughed brightly, watching the progress as the tree started to glow from the bottom, up. 

The others clapped their hands, and someone turned on music for the background, Silent Night filling in whatever little silence there was. Once Peter set himself and Olivia down, they got to work. 

__________

They tossed decorations to one another, hanging them on the tree in various spots. Those with the ability to fly decorating the tallest branches, those contained to the ground got the lower ones. 

Soon, the tree sparkled with decorations of red and gold, silver and green. Blue, orange, pink. Ornaments shaped like deer or elves, Santa or sleigh bells. Hell, there were even Avengers ornaments. 

“Who gets the honor of getting star duty this year?” Clint piped up. A chorus of murmurs and shrugs went around. 

“I think Angel should do it,” Wanda said. The young woman looked over to Angel, a smile on her face. 

“She’s new. She’s won the right to star duty.” Wanda shrugged. Angel smiled kindly, taking a few steps so she could hug around Wanda’s shoulders. Tony plucked the gold star from the end of the couch, and handed it to Angel. 

Angel unfurled her wings, and scooped her daughter into her free hand, lifting gently so as to not disturb anything with the air flow from her wings. Together, they placed, and secured, the star to the very top branch. Angel flew back so she could hover in the middle of the room, holding securely onto her child, admiring the glittering tree. 

“Good job, everyone,” Tony said, flopping down into a seat. Angel landed, her wings retracting, and sat next to Tony. Olivia stretched out, feet on his lap, head in her mother’s, as the other Avengers sat down on the couches and armchairs. 

Wanda’s fingers sparked as she moved objects back into the boxes, cleaning up their mess. But she had her feet propped on the coffee table, reindeer socks on full display. Mugs of eggnog were passed around by Natasha and Sam, but they were soon all quiet, drinking happily and listening to carols.

Permanent Tags:

@wildefire​

24 Days Tags:

@im-a-light-child​ @nomadicpixel

[lurafita]

SIM Tony / Peter, Part 4

Read part 1 here

Read part 2 here

Read part 3 here

I hadn’t planned on updating this so soon after the last part, but I got inspired.

Alright people, things are going to start getting real from here on out. Tony’s new ‘Superior’ mode makes an entrance. I don’t know exactly how many parts I’m gonna do for this before I find a point at which I can call it finished, but just know that from here on out, the plot is gonna spice up.

From here on out, Tony will be Superior Iron Man, and while I will probably deviate in his characterization from most other stories that feature SIM Tony (mostly in the way he treats Peter), he will get dark. He will be manipulative, possessive and ruthless. Violent (never to Peter though, I can’t write physically abusive relationships and don’t want to), dominant and dismissive to other people (aside from Peter, because as you must know by now, I just can’t be too mean to Peter).

Tony Stark had had his insecurities over the years, but he had never realized just how truly lacking he had been before.

Before his transformation, before his new suit, before his new.... him. Everything was so much better now. So much stronger. So much more.

It was as if he had awoken from a life long sleep. Truly alive for the first time ever. And it felt glorious. He wondered if it was the same for Peter, after the spider bite had changed his DNA. This feeling of rightness.

He was reborn.

He was...

Superior.

He admired his reflection in the floor to ceiling windows of his laboratory. His hair, that had been peppered with grey spots before, was a rich black now. While he had always been fit, his physique had changed slightly as well, making him stronger, broader. No more wrinkles on his handsome face. Extremis had knocked off what felt like a good twenty years from his body. He was in the prime of his life.

Another thing that was new was his eye color. Instead of the previous dark brown, his eyes now bore a cold but fierce blue. It wasn’t like he minded the change, but he had always been a bit partial to his brown eyes. They had reminded him of his mother. Though to be honest, hers had been a little lighter than his. More of a honey brown, than his previous dark coffee tone. It didn’t matter though. The icy blue was very becoming, and there was someone else whose honey brown eyes he would be able to stare into very soon.

A low groan had his gaze drift to the ground some feet behind him, where Curt Conner and Otto Octavious were currently lying in their containment cells.

Breaking the two former scientists out of the Raft had been easy, but taken a lot longer than Tony had liked. Timing had been crucial, and so the planning had been meticulous and followed down to the very second.

Acquiring Venom had been just slightly more tricky, but nothing was impossible for a man like Tony Stark. (Even his previous, inferior, self.)

Then the experimentation had started. Each of the villains had unique strengths and abilities, that the billionaire wanted for himself. The perfect melding of two species and regenerative factor from Conners, though preferably without the monster make-over. The harmonic symbiosis of the human body and machine from Octavious, though Tony had no desire for the frankly gaudy looking appendages. And the fluidity and shapeability of Venom’s armor and other perks, but without the alien taking over the genius’ mind.

Two days of panning for the acquisition of the three villains, followed by four days of experimentation on his subjects to find out how it all worked. Tony could only smirk derisively when remembering how much his previous self had loathed the process. Tony had never been as much of a believer in second chances as Peter was, but he had been against human experimentation and torture. In the beginning, Tony had tried to keep any pain to an absolute minimum, had tried to be as respectful to whatever remained of his subjects humanity as possible, even though he would never forgive them for the torment they had inflicted upon his love.

But when things had reached the finish line, as he had extracted and recreated what he needed from them, as Extremis had absorbed and subjugated Venom and combined everything together to mold it all to Tony’s body, he had known that his previous reservations had been needless. These creatures didn’t deserve any consideration or mercy from him. Whatever pain had been inflicted on them had been warranted. So what if extracting the genetic code to their mutations had fried their pathetic little minds? It was nothing that Tony Stark should need to concern himself with.

Foolish sentimentality and redundant human morals might be cute for Peter, but they should never limit him.

Speaking of Peter, it was time that the new and improved Tony went to fetch his sweetheart. Six days, though unfortunately necessary, had been far too long to be separated from his love.

“Jarvis, take two suits and transport the garbage to the warehouse I have prepared. Then send an anonymous tip to Shield, so that they can collect them.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The monotone, taciturn answer of his A.I. brought another grin to Tony’s face. Jarvis attempts to caution and dissuade him from his plans to improve himself had not sat well with him. After all, the A.I. was just that, an artificial intelligence programmed by him (well, his former and weaker self), to assist and serve him. He had appreciated neither the sarcasm, nor the way that Jarvis tried to lecture him about the possible dangers his transformation might bring.

It was yet another piece of evidence that showed how fucking weak he had been before. The old Tony had programmed his A.I. specifically to back talk and supervise him, to make sure he wouldn’t cross a line he couldn’t un-cross. To keep himself humble.

Pathetic.

The only kind of sassy mannerisms he would tolerate in his life came from a certain spidery hero.

As the two suits now carrying the all but brain dead men inside them flew away from the tower, Tony let his Endo-Sym armor encase his body. He watched with smug satisfaction as the silver cells flowed like water over his form and solidified into a nearly unbreakable shell. No verbal or manual commands required. The armor was a part of him now, reacting to his will alone.

“Find my sweetheart, Jarvis.”

Six days since they had last spoken, and Peter had left the tower in tears. But Tony would rectify it all now. He was better now.

The window in front of him opened and he lifted off the floor, his new suit capable of storing and using electric and psionic energy for flight easily.

A miniature map of the city appeared on the transparent shield in front of his eyes (why deprive the people of his handsome face with a helmet, after all. Also, the silver armor complimented his blue eyes marvelously). A little dot blinked rapidly right at the docks.

“Camera footage and public reports indicate that Spiderman is currently engaged in a fight with the Green Goblin at this location, Sir.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t expected to be dealing with the Goblin this soon, but he was not about to let Harry fucking Osborn hurt his love any more. Feeding more power into his thrusters, he sped to the harbor.

-

Peter hadn’t managed to dodge the last bomb his former best friend had thrown completely, and was knocked out of the sky from the explosion. The noise and flash of it was hell on his enhanced senses, disorienting him as he fell to the ground, unable to catch himself with his webs.

The hard impact punched the breath out of him, and he felt his ribs crack.

Possibly broken, but he couldn’t worry about that right now, he needed all his concentration to be fixed on Harry if he wanted to win this.

Ignore the pain.

Danger!

He propped himself up and off just in time to avoid the knife aimed at his jugular, but not quick enough to escape it all together, as the blade sliced a small gash along his arm.

Since when does Harry use throwing knifes?!

“What’s the matter, Spiderman? A little on the slow side today?” Harry cackled above him, spinning around on his glider and readying himself for his next attack.

Harry was right, though. Their fight had dragged on too long already, with Peter having to lure his nemesis out to the docks to avoid civilian causalities. As the adrenaline that had kept him on his toes at first was ebbing away, the exhaustion of the last few days started catching up to the young hero anew. Even with the help of his spider-sense, Peter’s movements were starting to get sluggish.

Ignore it.

The number of hits he had taken was rising at a rapid count.

Ignore it.

The constant explosions from Harry’s bombs was playing havoc on his senses.

Ignore it.

“No funny little quips today, Spiderman? No ‘You don’t want to do this, Harry.’?”

His breaths came in harsh pants, he had no air to spare for words.

Danger!

A jump to the right saved him from the full force of another small bomb, but brought him closer to the water, and away from any buildings to climb or attach his webs to.

If there even was any left in his shooters.

Ignore it.

Harry’s mutated, twisted face grinned down at him. “Tired already, Pete? But we are just getting started!”

Danger! Danger! Danger!

This time it wasn’t just one, but five of the miniature bombs that the Goblin threw down at him. Peter let instincts and spidey-sense take control as his body weaved through the explosions. But it was too much.

There were too many. Too close.

He was too hurt. Too exhausted.

Ignore it!

He couldn’t.

DangerDangerDANGER!

Too slow.

The bomb detonated right at his feet, throwing him back through the air, weightless for an endless second, before he was swallowed up by the cold embrace of the ocean’s water.

Move. Move, dammit! Swim up! You still have a job to do! Fucking fight!

He tried. But his limbs felt cold and numb, and the water kept dragging him down.

I’m sorry.

Just as the darkness was starting to creep in around the edges, he heard some kind of big splash. He tried turning to the sound, but moving hurt. Everything hurt.

So this is it, then.

Just as they had constantly during the last six days, Peter’s thoughts turned to the man he loved.

I’m so sorry, Tony.

The last thing he saw before unconsciousness set in, was a pair of ice blue eyes.

_____________________________________________________________

Hui.

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frenchfrostpudding

  alanaaw88

[vengeancedemons]

destined to burn // self para (pt 2)

summary: Robbie and Coulson search for an exit. They find one, but things in Hell rarely turn out the way you want them to. trigger warnings: hell, death, mentions of violence featuring: robbie reyes, phil coulson, mentions of elias morrow and daisy johnson ( @daisyquakes ) word count: 2125 this one is reasonable!!!

The problem with rumors was the inherently vague nature of them. They made wide, overarching claims with no evidence to back it up, made assumptions without testimony. Coulson, Robbie soon learned, had heard about this door somewhere in the hellscape… but he had only the vaguest idea where it was. 

Of course, he didn’t admit that at first. For the first few hours, Coulson had marched forward with such confidence that Robbie was sure he knew exactly where he was going. He’d forgotten, it seemed, that this was a man who’d lived life by the skin of his teeth, a man who’d often pretended to have answers he didn’t in order to keep spirits high. It was a noble cause. It was. But Robbie didn’t need his spirits to be high. He needed a way out.

“You’ve got no fucking clue where you’re going, do you?” Robbie’s voice was dry, cutting through the silence like a knife. Coulson’s shoulders tensed, muscles tightening as he realized he’d been found out.

“You should really watch your language,” he said instead of responding, and Robbie stopped. It seemed to take Coulson a moment to realize the footsteps behind him had faltered, and he took a few more steps before pausing to turn around to look at Robbie. “Okay,” he relented, “so I don’t have a map. But I have an idea.”

“An idea,” Robbie repeated. “You have an idea. That’s --- We’re betting our lives on this shit, Coulson. Literally. We’re betting Daisy’s --- “

“You think I don’t know that?” Robbie hadn’t heard Coulson snap often, and he tended to pay attention when he did as a result. His mouth snapped shut, shifting into a frown as he clenched his jaw tightly. “Look, I don’t have to tell you that Hell isn’t an exact science. I know where it’s not. And I have an idea of where it might be. For now, that’s what we’re going on. Okay? It’s not like we have any other options here.”

And that was a good point. There wasn’t exactly a list of plausible exits in Hell, wasn’t a compiled number of cheat codes worked out by people who’d beaten the game. There was no one who’d beaten this game. Not to Robbie’s knowledge, and not to Coulson’s. The only people who’d gotten out of Hell were people who’d been pulled out.

So they walked. Robbie didn’t know how long they went. Your body didn’t tire out in Hell, didn’t need sleep or food. That was part of the torture --- the inability to tell one day from the next. No sunrise, no sunset, no way to mark the cell door with tally marks to keep your head on straight. They walked for what could have been hours and what could have been years. They ducked for cover every now and then when they ran into gang members who might want to kill Robbie or Hydra agents who might like to see Coulson suffer, they conversed as much as could be expected for two men whose current existence was built up in a web of anxiety so tight neither could breathe. And they kept going, no matter how pointless it seemed.

When they came across the first sign of something in a world full of nothing, Robbie thought he might be hallucinating. Everybody knew stories of guys in deserts who swore they saw lakes where there was only sand, guys who died choking on dirt they swore was water. When Robbie saw the first tiny little sign that things were getting different, he figured it was the same phenomena. It was a mirage, it was a dream, it was his sorry mind finally giving in and heading out.

But Coulson saw it too.

“Is that…” Coulson was frozen in his tracks, staring down at it in disbelief. Robbie kneeled down carefully, glancing back to the older man as if in question. When Coulson nodded, Robbie plucked it from the ground and straightened up, holding it in his open palm like it might break if he applied any pressure at all.

“A daisy,” he observed, throat a little tight. “Kind of on the nose, isn’t it?”

“Nobody said Hell was subtle,” Coulson replied, voice betraying the fact that the lump in his throat was just as present as Robbie’s. “Still think I don’t know where I’m going?”

“Don’t get a big head,” Robbie warned. “It could be playing tricks on us.”

“Or she could be working from her end just as hard as we’re working from ours,” Coulson shot back. “Which is the more logical answer here, Reyes --- that something in Hell is different for the first time since either of us have been here, or that Daisy Johnson is getting things done?”

Robbie didn’t have an argument for that. He shrugged in response, slipping the flower into his jacket pocket and moving forward. It took only a moment for Coulson to fall into step beside them, for the quiet to return. Coulson had a point, of course. Daisy would have figured out Eli’s game eventually, and she’d fight like hell to take him out. But hope was a dangerous animal, and if he let himself think they might succeed for a moment only for them to fail? He wasn’t sure he’d come back from that. Hell was bad enough when you were resigned to it, but when you thought you had a chance at escape and lost it? That was what made people lose their minds.

The daisies became more and more present as they moved forward, from single flowers sprouting from the dirt to entire patches of grass with little white flowers poking through. Coulson seemed to feel more confident with each step, but the pit of dread in Robbie’s gut only grew the more they moved. Maybe they were headed the right direction, maybe they’d find the door, but what then? What were the odds this half-baked plan actually amounted to anything? It seemed like a pipe dream at best, and he said as much to Coulson several times. Every time, he was met with infuriating positivity. He was starting to wonder how no one had killed this guy before the Rider made his deal for his soul.

When they finally found the door, the daisies were so thick you couldn’t see the ground beneath them. They grew on the side of the stone wall the door was nestled in, tangled in the hinges. Next to it, there was a small metal box with more flowers weaving up the post. It looked almost like a ticket dispenser you might find at a restaurant when prompted to take a number. It might have been pretty if not for the location. There wasn’t exactly any prime real estate in Hell.

“Do you think we just… Open it?” He glanced over at Coulson, who raised a brow in response.

“Why, what did you want to do? Knock?”

“You know, it’s moments like this I understand why you ended up in Hell.” 

Coulson’s resulting laugh was unexpected, and Robbie found himself joining in after a moment. There was a level of elation to it, a disbelief. They’d found the way out. This awful, unbelievably shitty chapter of their lives was about to end. It seemed worth laughing about.

When the laughter died down, Coulson nodded to the ticket dispenser and they approached. The machine clicked once, twice, three times before whirring. It spat out a single ticket, and Robbie tore it loose and held it out to Coulson, waiting for the machine to dispense a second for him.

It didn’t.

Robbie kicked the machine. It stayed silent. He slapped a hand against the side, but there was no change. Infuriatingly, it seemed spent, as if dispensing a single ticket was so exhausting it couldn’t possibly muster up the strength for a second. They’d come this far only to be stopped at the gate. Robbie wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or scream, felt his hands trembling as the hope he’d allowed himself to feel in the moment of laughter before evaporated in an instant.

Beside him, Coulson shifted, and Robbie glanced behind him. He saw his own hand, still extended backwards. He saw the bright red ticket, still clutched in his fingertips. He saw Coulson’s expression, apologetic and unsurprised.

“No,” he said slowly, thrusting the ticket towards Coulson. The agent made no move to take it. “No, hey, if only one of us gets to go --- Look, it should be you, right? You can kick Eli’s ass and find me another way out. You can at least make sure she knows what she’s dealing with.”

“Robbie,” Coulson said patiently, and Robbie knew that tone. He knew what was coming. He might have plugged his ears if not for the ticket Coulson still wouldn’t take, might have screamed to drown out whatever the agent might say next if not for the fear that it’d bring other people swarming towards them.

“You’re a good man, Coulson. You didn’t --- You never deserved to be here. I did. I do. You go. It’s gotta be you, man.”

“It can’t be me,” Coulson replied. Fire burned in Robbie’s chest, and the Rider wasn’t with him anymore but he swore he could still feel those flames licking the side of his face. “What did I tell you when I found you? Your body is alive, Robbie. It’s out there, just waiting for you to get in it. Mine isn’t.”

“So you take mine,” he tried desperately. 

“Yeah, not a big fan of the plus one that comes with. Ghost Rider-ing isn’t as much fun as you make it seem, Reyes. Besides, I don’t think Daisy would forgive me.”

Robbie’s throat felt tight, and his eyes burned for reasons that had nothing to do with a demon burning away his goddamn flesh. “And you think she’ll forgive me if I leave you here? There’s gotta be another way. There’s gotta be something --- “

Shouts in the distance cut him off. Peace was never something that lasted long in Hell, never a thing that stayed. Coulson glanced behind him, concern etched into his expression before he turned back towards Robbie. “You have to go, Robbie.”

“You said it could be both of us,” Robbie muttered. Coulson at least had the decency to look apologetic.

“Actually, you said that. I just figured you weren’t going to come with me unless I agreed.” 

“You’re an asshole.” The shouting grew closer. The door squeaked, opening on its own, and Robbie knew that must mean something but he couldn’t pull himself from his grief long enough to consider it. The door was glowing orange, flickering like one of the Rider’s portals, and all Robbie could do was look from Coulson to the goddamn ticket in his hand. 

“Yeah,” Coulson agreed, “I get that a lot. Robbie…”

“I’m not going,” Robbie said, sounding almost like Gabe stubbornly refusing to do his homework until Robbie relinquished the controller to the gaming console. “You stay, I stay, güey.”

Coulson’s expression turned utterly apologetic. “You don’t have much of a choice,” he replied, and Robbie realized what was about to happen just a fraction of a second before it did. A hand on his chest, shoving him backwards. A grip on the back of his neck, pulling him in. He windmilled his arms, tried desperately to stop it, but gravity worked against him and sent him stumbling back through the door.

There was a slamming force and his eyes shut against a concussive impact. There was heat, there were flames, there were voices. When he opened his eyes, it was to the familiar sight of flames burning all around him, a familiar feeling of being aware but not in control, the familiar presence of the Rider greeting him in a way that was almost pleased. There was a fight going on, he could see it. He was in the thick of it. The door was gone. Coulson was gone. And Robbie was painfully, infuriatingly alive.

On the other side of that closed door, Coulson heaved a heavy sigh. The daisies wilted, the door disappeared, and Phil Coulson began to fade.

There was a rumor in Hell, one everyone learned about quickly. If you rid Hell of the person who’d put you there, you got your out. You got to move on to the next world, the one no one knew anything about, the one everyone hoped was better. It was a world Coulson would find for himself, one way or another.

A group of damned souls stumbled into an open field. There was no one there, no door, no flowers. On the ground, a crumpled ticket with two holes punched out.

The world was quiet.

[deerheadlights]

Chapter 9... extra long and action packed!

Alkyone felt another presence in the room just before she opened her eyes. Lethos’s wife, Phanessa, was standing over her hands fluttering. “My little dove,” she cooed, “I am so sorry about your rough night, how is your head? I told Lethos that Hyrcanian wine is too strong but he only wanted the best you know!”

“Oh it was very good,” Alkyone said, her throat felt rusty. “I am so embarrassed about how I behaved, I must send my apologies to Alketas.”

“Oh, don’t spare a thought, he shouldn’t have launched into politics like that.” Phanessa leaned on the bed and stroked Alkyone’s hair back from her forehead with a wet cloth. She closed her eyes again. It just felt so motherly. Her own mother had wasted away from some illness, she had spent a lot of time in temples with her praying. They thought her grandmother had offended the gods in some way, and that was why her mother’s stomach was continually paining her. She had died about 3 years before Charonea. Alkyone thought it was a blessing that she didn’t have to go through the shame of the past few years, just the move to Athens would have been excruciating for her.

“Do you think you feel well enough to do a little weaving, or would you rather stay in bed?”

The room seemed to stink of vomit to Alkyone, and she felt trapped in it.

“It’s been too long since I had the company of other girls to weave.” she agreed.

 As she sat down in the air weaving room, she suddenly remembered another reason, besides the fact she had been on the run, that she had not spoken to many other girls. Back in Athens she had been viewed with a bit of mingled pity and contempt, and after that in Thebes just open suspicion. From their wide eyed looks these girls seemed like more of the same. Alkyone pulled open the shed of the weave and slipped her shuttle through. “Are you all excited for the feast of [bluh blah] when the moon gets full?” [Bluh blah]? It was hard to keep time when every place had different calendar names. The best she could reckon, they were in the month that in Thebes would be called [s;afnjkfd], but who knows what they called it here on the southern islands. “I’m excited for the horse race! Father said we are sure to win this year!” a freckled girl said excitedly. “I like the human races more, personally,” chuckled another. “Nothing is better than the sacrifices at twilight, with fireflies flickering about, I truly feel the god’s presence then.” a thin, pious girl responded. Alkyone felt an air of expectation upon her, “At festivals at home, I liked the music contests best.” “That’s great! We have the best chithra players here!” the freckled girl said. Soon, chattering came much easier, though she accidentally did some doubles in her weaving. They were discussing what harvest food would taste best at the feast when a slave came quietly through the door. He whispered something in his mistress’s ear.

“Oh, Artemis’s girdle. What is the point of slaves if you have to do everything yourself. Please excuse me girls, I must take care of something.” Phanessa and the woman swept out of the room.

“Good, now I can talk about what I’m really looking forward to seeing at the festival,” remarked one ruddy girl, “The wrestling matches!” Alkyone found herself giggling along. “Do you think that man who came last year with Nothon will be there? They said he was coming back with him but he never did.”

“Do you mean Tydeus? He was here last year.”

“Oh, is he your husband?” asked the freckled woman.

“No, he was my father’s friends! He’s old enough to be my father.”

“My husband’s my father’s age.” she said lightly, “I guess you got a younger one then?”

“No,” Alkyone squirmed a bit, “I never got married, my intended died and I’ve been… travelling ever since.” The room was awash in “awww”s and “oh poor dears”s

“Well, Lethos knows all the bachelors of means on the islands and in Ionia, he can set you up!”

Alkyone didn’t like the oppressive feel of pity, she tried to lighten the mood. “Well, if you have a wandering eye for Tydeus, he told me he would be back before the moon turns full, so he should be there!”

By the end of the afternoon she had a good length done for all the conversation she’d had, the length from fingertip to shoulder. It wouldn’t be so bad, to marry a wealthy man on the islands, and weave with her friends. It could almost be home. She knew she wasn’t going to follow Tydeus into Asia to chase Alexander, after all.

 Alkyone had retired for the night, but a pervasive sense of dread kept her awake. She had had sleepless nights sometimes for a long while. The anxiety from waiting for Charonea, for the battle of Thebes and for Issus had burrowed into her soul, so even when there was nothing to fear she would still lie awake. Well there is something to fear, what if something’s gone wrong in Athens? All this lying in bed had tickled her bladder.

“Lydia, fetch the bedpan.” She didn’t feel like walking down the stairs to the [restroom]. Nothing.

“Lydia!” where was the slave when you needed her? All day she was practically hovering on top of her, useless. Well, perhaps after getting up she would find getting to sleep easier.

She admired the painting of the Argonauts on the wall of the stairs as she made her way down, when suddenly she heard a muted conversation.

“...Is there a reason you can’t use the poppy all the time? It makes me nervous, that she’s just walking around. We showed Alketas she’s alive, now who cares if she’s sleeping all day.” Wasn’t that Nothon’s voice?

“Too much poppy oil can kill, and too little will addle her once it stops. Besides, today we learned that Tydeus is returning sooner than expected.” A pause. Lethos? “I wouldn’t call walking from the bedroom to the weaving quarters ‘walking about unimpeded.’ Tydeus is the one I’m worried about.”

“He’ll come. Even if he learned that we’re throwing in with King Alexander, he wouldn’t leave her. We’ll have the full package prepared for Alexander, don’t worry.”

There was a rustle nearby. Alkyone turned slowly, and walked back up the stairs, limbs stiff as Hephaestus’s automatons. Her mind was being pulled in so many directions, it felt more like she had bees buzzing in her skull than thoughts. She laid back on her bed, bladder quite forgotten.

Oh gods, it was that awful feeling again, just like when she learnt of every lost battle. It climbed through her toes, gave her shaky thighs, and when it filled her belly it turned truly foul. She laid there with her heart tattooing and skin crawling like a thousand ants. She was utterly trapped here! The sword of Damocles was starting its descent! They must have seen that Alexander was going to control the west of Persia and decided to strike a deal. So much for the sons of Democracy. What can you expect from an Athenian that doesn’t even live in Athens? That thing she’d told the freckled girl, they knew! The slave girl, she was probably reporting right now to Phanessa everything else she had breathed that day. I’m nothing but a gnat in a spider web! Was there no one else she could trust? Her thoughts ran round and round like horses at a stadium. She realized there was another person in the house of Lethos that wanted out as much as she did. The Persian.

 ----

 It seems whatever Alkyone had said had promoted Marduniya from a floor scrubbing slave to a dining room slave. Unfortunately, that also meant he had been given more “suitable” attire. The thin white chiton without any trousers made him feel so… exposed. You had to watch the way you walked up and down the stairs or the breeze would make it flip right up. And his legs felt strange just rubbing against each other all the time. At least he didn’t have to go around naked like some of the other slaves and even the dinner guests. These Greeks are such barbarians.

 One of the guests made a motion with his cup, so Marduniya went to refill it. He had done such things as a junior officer, being a cupbearer was nothing shameful to him. The man’s blue eyes narrowed as he smirked, he pointed at Marduniya and said something that made his compatriots laugh and cheer. He recognized the words “Persian” and “slave.” So soon everyone will have Persian slaves after Alexander beats us, is that right? Whatever happened at Issus, the Great King would regroup. A smaller empire might be better in the long-run anyway, Egypt was always rebelling, and as amazing as the grain crop was, maybe they just weren’t worth the trouble. Besides, weren’t these people supposed to be Tydeus’s friends? He said he wanted Alexander gone. Maybe I should try listening a bit harder. But try as he might he couldn’t get anything else about them. He did hear a lot about [festival]. And he caught the word for horse, and saw the unmistakable sign of bets being placed. So there’s to be horse races? They couldn’t be very exciting compared to Persian horse races. Greek horses were smaller and broader, the best long-legged enduring race horses were born on the plains north of Nisea. He was sure the pride-and-joys of these men would have stood no chance against his old storm gray, or even that dun Tydeus had taken from the battlefield. He was so lost in thought, the fat man seated on one of the klines was practically shaking his cup about before he noticed it.

 The rest of the evening was rather boring. It must be more exciting to be a gossip-selling servant when you know the language. Afterwards, he had to clean the amphora and cups and set them back, which cost more hours of night. By the time he made his way towards the cloisters his eyes had begun to dry and droop. He was going past the lavaratories when he heard his name whispered. It gave him a fright, but he saw a finger poke through a little hole in the wall. It came back out. “Marduniya! We have to go! We-” It was Alkyone! But her words were so shaky and hurried he had no idea what she was saying. “Sorry...what?”

 “These people… are Alexander’s people!” Yeah, I was starting to suspect… Marduniya tried in mixed Greek and Persian, “I heard at dinner, something like that… but mostly [festival] and horse races.” He had used the Greek word for horse but Persian for races. She was quiet, then said something in Greek away from him. Probably telling the slave with her she needs some more time. “Yes. Races. You could do races, yes?” I could ride better than anyone on this island, that I am sure of, he thought, but he just said, “Yes.”

“I think I have an idea.”

----

“I’m sorry about Iphicrates. I would have gone after him, but in the aftermath of the battle… I just had other concerns.” Tydeus was telling Euphenes.

“He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.”

It was the morning after the symposium. They were lounging around Euphenes’s inner courtyard.

“I know it’s not as grand as the ones you have closer to Asia,” He said to Glaukos, “Here in Athens, if anyone suspects you’ve got two silver owls to rub together they want to you to start funding plays or maintaining naval crews. So we must be a bit more staid.”

Glaukos had never seen such a collection of plants in his life, white long-necked moon flowers, olive boughs, and plenty of flowers he couldn’t name. Surely this isn’t any better than the gardens of Babylon. “At least we can waste on fishcakes and hetairas. I noticed you took a liking to Antiope?”

Tydeus rolled his eyes, “Would you stop teasing the lad? I wanted to speak with you about the… atmosphere here. Do you think it’s safe?”

“Come with me to the agora and you’ll see for yourselves. Maybe even see Antiope again too?”

She was there, at a flower seller’s stall, haggling over the last myrtle of the season. Euphenes swooped in and paid the sum before she got the seller too low. Who pays for flowers? Glaukos thought. Trade a small fry or some beans sure, but actual coin money?

“Walk with us, Antiope, we are considering the facets of Athenian society and need another perspective.”

“Oh my, you might want to pick up a sophist in the agora, not little old me!”

Glaukos had noticed plenty of older men wearing old fashioned himation cloaks close to their bodies, giving speeches to little gaggles of followers at the foot of some columns.

“Yes, shall we listen to Demosthenes decry the ‘Common Peace of Macedon’ as another name for Tyranny, or a student of Phokion preach keeping our vows, no matter how degrading they are? That’s the irony, someone should write a play, that the Athenians argue with one another while armed Macedonians patrol the streets.” Euphenes voice was raised and he drew some looks.

Compared to the crowded streets Glaukos had encountered last night, the agora was even worse. How can people live like this? he wondered after the fourth person stepped on his foot.

He was relieved when they got to a more secluded alcove by the temple district. The white marble buildings and their gold caps gleamed in the sun, giving Glaukos a twinge of pious feeling. I should go to the temple of Poseidon to pray for everyone back home. As he turned to ask Tydeus, some men blocked the entrance to the alcove. He had seen them before in the crowd from the corner of his eye. They had rough dark cloaks with nothing underneath and greasy old sandals, basically what he had worn his entire life.

“So Euphenes the Alcomenid finally decides to go out and rub shoulders with the common people.” one of them sneered.

“Ah, Kallikles, my favorite Macedonian-bought dog! You’ve got me cornered, now maybe they’ll give you two obols a month instead of one!” Even Glaukos knew that was an insultingly low price. Antiope moved back until she was pressed against the wall, while Tydeus went to the front, his hand inside his chiton.

“You’re a fool if you think you can cry out that sort of talk in public. At least be smart enough to call the Common Peace oppressive, instead of naming the Macedonians.”

“What are you going to do? Nail me up to serve as an example?”

“Great idea!” snarled one of the men, reaching for a side arm.

Tydeus drew a short sword with a glittering gold hilt that drew all the cut-throat’s eyes, then threw a knife to Glaukos.

“You said you wanted to learn to fight? Well here you are!”

He barely caught it without cutting himself. The street brawls he’d been in at home suddenly seemed a lot more like adolescent tussles than preparations for something like this. Well, no use being a coward now.

The closest thug brandished his own knife at him, and Glaukos anxiously watched the sharp tip wave about. When he lifted it high, Glaukos leaned in and gave him a cut on the meat of his upper arm before skipping back. He yelped and stepped back, cradling his wounded limb, and Glaukos ran towards Tydeus. Blinded by the promise of loot, the three of the remaining men were engaging him, while Euphenes went sword to sword with another. Glaukos stabbed one of the distracted goons in the shoulder, earning him a howl. Tydeus blocked one blow with the beautiful blade, then turned it to cut deep into the man’s fingers on his sword’s hilt. Euphenes had beaten off his man, and suddenly it was three against Kallikles.

“Looks like my hired muscle is better than yours.” Euphenes gave a wolf’s smile.

Kallikles looked around but Glaukos stepped to block his path, then Euphenes’s blade bit the so-called dog in the chest. Glaukos jumped back from the sudden spray of blood. He hadn’t expected him to kill him, just give him a beating and send him running like the other men!

“I cannot express to you how good it feels to have removed that thorn from my side!”

Tydeus was gripping his sword and glaring at Euphenes, “So you took us out here and baited them so we could play your hired killers, is that it?”

“I knew you could handle it my friend, besides, getting rid of this man aligns with your own goals.”

Glaukos found his voice, “You could have gotten Antiope hurt!” He looked around for her but she was nowhere to be found.

“Ah, my naive little friend! She was their spotter, I brought her with us on purpose.”

He turned to Tydeus, “So you see, Athens is unsafe for everyone now a days, let alone someone in Alkyone’s delicate position. But you did me a favor and I will do one for you. Need any resources? Name it.”

“A fast boat would be nice, since we’re going to have to avoid a murder trial.”

 The trireme was outfitted with three decks of professional rowers, but it’s battering ram had been removed for speedier travel. And it had plenty of room for the horse that had sped them back to the Piraeus.

“I can’t believe he just killed his rival like that. I thought Athenian politicians were supposed to get by on their votes?” Glaukos was cleaning and sharpening two swords and knife. The knife was fine, but the swords both had knicks were they had hit bones. Euphenes had donated a whole panoply for each of them, as well as the sword he had used that afternoon, in a addition to the boat.

Tydeus just made a derisive noise. He had forgotten how tiring ordering a crew around was.

“Where did you get a blade like this?”

“From that Persian, Marduniya’s, belt. I’m better with a kopis anyway, for me an akinakes is just a big knife. You can have it.” The short akinakes had two sharp edges, and a golden hilt, with griffins forming the cross guard and a horse with a lapis lazuli mane and tail as a grip. Euphene’s sword was more utilitarian, a single edged kopis blade with a medusa inscribed on the hilt. It’s only been 2 days, and I have a sword, shield and armor! Just that was enough to make Glaukos’ head spin, let alone the betrayal and murder of the past day.

They looked up at the moon through the slat in the ceiling. It was close, but not full yet. “At this rate, we’ll be back before the festival they hold on Rhodes. So maybe we finally won’t be in a hurry every time we leave.”

 ----

 Alkyone rose early, and despite her body slaves consternated protests, walked right into Lethos’s study.

“Is something the matter?” He was caught with his stylus in the air, he had been inscribing on a wax tablet.

“I’m sorry to barge in, I just had a thought about how to repay you after you’ve been so kind to me.”

“Oh, my dear, that isn’t necessary!” It sure isn’t, you sniveling traitor.

“I heard yesterday that you had horses in the races at the festival tomorrow. Instead of tiring out your jockey in multiple heats, maybe you could use my Persian! I’m sure he’s a good rider, all noble Persians are.”

She could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. He’ll say yes, he’s a slave to money, anything that can help him win is a sure bet.

“What a great idea, Alkyone! You will make someone a practical wife someday,” he smiled.

Alkyone clamped a smile onto her own face. How can he act like that when he knows full well he’ll be handing me off to die in a few days?

She demurely backed out of the room and went back upstairs to accompany Phanessa to breakfast.

 Now was the worst part of the plan, spending the day agonizing about the variables. The fluffy fish with spicy sauce and poached egg with honey would have tasted amazing if her throat and stomach hadn’t clenched with every swallow. Back in the weaving room, she barely contributed to the excited conversation about the festival the next day. Beating the weft to align each thread helped her gather her thoughts. She would get food from the kitchens late at night, this cloth she was finishing would be her cloak… what was she thinking her plan was crazy, it would never work! No! She would do this and escape, or she was dead, dead, dead! Or worse than dead, a little thought whispered, what if he marries you to some horrible Macedonian who could have killed your father and rounded up your old friends to sell as slaves? She felt a fresh stab of fear right above her kidneys. That won’t happen.

 -----

The horse under Marduniya whinnied, showing the inside of his upper lip at the mares penned nearby. He shook his head, who races with a stallion? True, they could be faster and stronger, but they were heavier and could also decide they wanted to mate with the mare in last place mid-race. The prudent man always chooses a gelding, his father had often spoken the old saying, meaning a practical person picks a compromise. But the plan Alkyone had whispered to him through the hole in the latrine wasn’t practical, and didn’t involve winning. This rearing stallion will be perfect.

 Another slave was working the horses, some tribesman from the banks of the Euxine sea. He was not quite a Scythian, but he knew his way around horses too, and some clumsy Persian. “Crap horses, but better than the rest of the island.” he said to Marduniya. Finally, another one around here that can talk. “So we’ll win no problem, huh? Do we get freed if we win?” Marduniya was sure the slave jockeys had to have an incentive. At home any nobleman worth his salt would have his own sons race for family glory, but not here. Any mirth on the other slave’s face died. “There is only winning. Don’t think about losing.” Killing a slave for losing a race would be a ridiculous waste of resources, but for a man as rich as this Lethos, who knew? Or maybe he tortures them? He had seen some scars on the Thracians and Illyrians, but they were all on the front like sword cuts from a battle, not knotted back scars like someone scourged. He prefered not to know. “The problem is, it’s not all about going fast. Other riders will try to knock you off.” Marduniya had fallen from his horse after his first battle, but not during. That had been part of his training from childhood, to grip the horse and hold on no matter how much you or it twisted in exertion. “I was a lancer in the the cavalry of the Great King! You think I’ll be knocked off my mount by the likes of you?” The other man rolled his eyes, then suddenly straightened and cast them down. The foreman was back to yell at them. It’s only been 2 days, I haven’t magically learned Greek. Marduniya listened to his staccato bleating impatiently, until the man drew a finger over his throat and pantomimed tossing a body. Finally he left.

“So I think I got it, but what was that all about.”

“The usual. You Oriental women better win or we’ll geld you and throw you in the ocean with stones ties to your feet.” he paused. “Only one of us will win… have a good death, Persian.” he squeezed his mount with his knees and rode away. So that’s how it is…

 ----

 Tydeus and Glaukos disembarked onto Rhodes during the first hour of gray dawn. The savory smell of the dawn festival sacrifices was blowing down into the harbor.

“Do we get to have a little fun, boss?” one of the sailors called through the oar hole.

“This is an island in contested territory, where the enemy navy could dock at anytime. What do you think, oarsmen?” the man wilted a bit.

“You may disembark to get a hot meal, but afterwards, man the ship. That’s an order!”

There was some grumbling from the ship as they left the docks.

Glaukos turned to Tydeus. “Do you really mean that, sir? That enemies could appear at any time?”

“They could, but mostly sailors trying to flout my orders pisses me--” he stopped in his tracks, gazing off to another ship passengers waiting on a gangplank.

“Dionysodorus! Dionyso, is that you?” A tall, muscled man turned around.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Tydeus, son of Medon!” the man, Dionysodorus, had a tired smile.

Tydeus jogged up and squeezed his hand in greeting. “How was the embassy to the Great King? How did you escape capture, I heard they got Iphicrates--”

“Alexander got me too.”

“Then what happened, how did you escape?”

“Well, let me start with the whole story. King Darius was very amenable to financing our cause, we had some documents sealed by him, but now that Alexander’s captured part of his treasury and killed his way through his nobles and mercenaries, that’s probably null and void. He even got his golden chariot and tent with his family, you know.” he sighed.

“We were in one of the tents he captured, but it happened so fast we didn’t realize what had happened, or we would have taken our own lives. But they brought me, Thessaliscus, Euthycles the Spartan and Iphicrates to the boy king. And right away, he said he pardoned me and Thessaliscus, because he understood that as exiles from a destroyed city we were doing whatever we could to get justice, and because he respected my win at the Olympic games. Euthycles he has in custody, he kept Iphicrates but let’s him move about freely--”

 Glaukos had been so focused on the man’s story he hadn’t seen Tydeus expression until Dionysodorus had wrinkled his brow in concern. His face had turned the purple of a hanging man, his mouth pressed in a white line.

 “You were in his presence, and then you left when you were dismissed like a good boy? You should have cut his throat for what he’d done to Thebes!”

“With what?! You think they didn’t take our weapons?”

“You should have put out his eyes with your thumbs! Strangled him!”

“You can’t be serious! First of all, I would have been dead before I touched him, and secondly, to kill someone who granted you freedom after expecting death is--”

“I used to think that my fellow Olympians had steel in their souls, but now I see you’re just a coward, happy to run home with your life! I would have died just to put a scratch on that bastard!”

The other passengers of the boat and some people from the dock were starting to gawk at the exchange. The sun had risen above the horizon, casting a glow that made both men’s faces look even more red.

Tydeus turned and started walking away. Glaukos stood rooted to the spot. “His grief has been transmuted to madness.” Dionysodorus said, mostly to himself, before turning to Glaukos. “You should stay away from him, young man, if you know what’s good for you. People like that tear down many others on their own path to Hades”

If I got in a boat now, I could be home in time for dinner, the thought came unbidden to his mind. And then at this time tomorrow you’d be getting a lecture that you weren’t hauling the bream right. He ran off to catch up to Tydeus before he called for him.

----

 Tydeus said he would be here by now, Alkyone thought as she toyed with the fig on her plate. The household of Lethos was having an early breakfast, so they could hurry to witness the morning sacrifice that would kick off the day of celebrations.

“I don’t like to fill my stomach too much in the morning either,” Phanessa confided from her left side. “Here, this beverage will wake you up and keep you full until we can eat under the tent at the events, I swear by it.” She handed her a delicate ceramic cup. You swear by it, but you’re not drinking it now, Alkyone observed. She thought back to her first experience drinking in the house. They wouldn’t want me to come to the festival, why take the risk I could get lost in the crowd? A little poppy, I feel too sick to come, and they’re saved the anxiety. Unfortunately for them, she had her own plan, and it required her attendance. As a slave passed behind her, Alkyone pretended to be bumped. “Oh!” The cup and it’s dubious contents were smashed onto the ground.

“Oh no, how clumsy of me! Let me clean it, it’s the least I can do!” Alkyone reached down and palmed the largest shard.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Phanessa directed the passing slave, “clean it!” Did I detect some irritation? “We’ll make you up a new one right away.”

“No I’m fine, really, and we’re going to be late!”

 Alkyone smoothed her veil unconsciously as she swayed in the palanquin with Phanessa. She had chosen a periwinkle color that would probably fade after the day in the sun, but seemed appropriate for a festival of the sea. “Thank you again for bringing me along,” Alkyone gave a saccharine smile. Phanessa responded with a tight one. “Of course, what kind of person would I be tantalizing you with talk while weaving then barring you from coming?” Oh, just the terrible person you are.

 The palanquin stopped at the the edge of the residential district. “We have to walk along the sacred way ourselves, it’s traditional.”

They joined Lethos, Nothon, and that Alketas from her first day there. Their little group was firmly ensconced in a circle of slaves from the manor. Marduniya wasn’t there. He’s probably helping transport horses to the stadium. She hadn’t been able to contact him last night, so she wasn’t even absolutely sure that Lethos had taken her advice to use him as a jockey, despite his positive reaction. “I’m so happy to see you still haven’t left Rhodes, sir.” she said, sidling up to Alketas. “Now I can properly apologize to you.”

“Apologize for what,” he said lightly, “it is already forgotten.” Well, hopefully you won’t be forgetting today for a long time. Now that her plan was rolling into action, she still felt the anxiety of before, but now it was a buoying force, making her giddy. This must be how the soldiers feel before a charge, or else they’d never willingly run towards danger. She turned to Phanessa on her other side, “Do you have a spare stick of kohl? It’s been so long that I’ve seen a proper sacrifice done the Hellene way, I fear I will become too emotional… I don’t want to spend the rest of the day looking like a harpy with old kohl trails around my eyes.” Phanessa got a spare from her body slave and presented it without comment. Her smile that used to seem motherly now looked condescending. Alkyone tucked the stick into the small pocket of her long Ionian chiton with the ceramic shard.

 It hadn’t all been a ploy. As the priest raised a knife over his head, reciting the sacred words, and the white bull lowed and tossed his garlanded head, Alkyone’s eyes filled with tears from recalling home.  Maybe one day Thebes will be rebuilt, and we’ll have sacrifices at the temple of the Amphion again… The smell of blood hitting the altar from the bull’s throat jerked her back to attention, and the smoke of the burnt sacrifice followed them back to the city as they walked towards the stadium.

 “Do you know what order the events are?”

“First music contests, then wrestling,  long jumps, javelin toss, foot races, and finally horse races.”

You’d think a festival celebrating the lord of the sea and horses would have horse racing first, Alkyone thought impatiently. But then again everyone loved a big finale, and moving dead horses out of the way was best left for last, instead of delaying the next event.

 At the stadium, they found their viewing tent that had already been set up by slaves. The yellow and gray of the sails of Lethos’s ships was complemented by a little purple fringe. Gaudy. From the inner pavilion they were able to enjoy the starting fanfare of the games in shade.

 The music festivals only heightened her anxiety. Instead of some soothing lyre playing, it was a contest of Aulos flutes. Some armies marched to the tune of the reedy two-tone flute, which put her in mind of battles past and future. Then, some contestants tried some more oriental approaches to music, with singing and playing different notes, that put her in mind of some dionysian frenzy. When they crowned the winner, a more conservative contestant, with the laurel, she was relieved.

 Wrestling was next. As an unmarried woman, Alkyone knew she was allowed to watch the nude men compete, but Phanessa did not retire. It seemed like the Aegean Islands didn’t have the same rules as the mainland Olympic games. The first contest involved two men of extreme varying sizes. Alas, no matter how many clever holds the smaller man strove with, his boulder-like opponent defeated him. Let’s hope that’s not prophetic. She squirmed a bit on her seat, “Alas, maybe I can fit a trip to the latrine before the next bout?”

 If Alkyone had not already known their plan, she would have wondered at the size of her entourage as she made her was to the latrine tents. All major events needed additional room for calls of nature, since so many people came in from the surrounding farmland. The small tents were more private than the more permanent communal bathrooms, which was just what she needed. She could see the shadows of the 8 slaves that were accompanying her through the tent’s fabrics, but she knew no one could see within. She took out the kohl stick and shard and wrote an ostakon message.

 ----

 The exchange with Dionysodorus left a bitter taste in Tydeus’s mouth. He supposed the man’s family had to be safely tucked away in Athens, no man whose family was sold into slavery could have possible just walked away from the person who was responsible. He heard Glaukos’s running strides to catch up with him but didn’t turn his head. “Sir, perhaps if Alexander forgave that man, he could forgive--” Tydeus rounded on him but before he could speak,

“I know, you would never bend your knee to him, but maybe Alkyone wouldn’t have to worry anymore. If he didn’t punish a man plotting with his enemy, would he really hurt a girl just because of her parents?”

“He sold the women and children of Thebes into slavery, so yes, he would.”

“Well, perhaps he regrets it and wants to change things.”

“Maybe it’s a trap. What did he have to lose letting them go? They are exiles with no power, especially if the Great King is in flight. Iphicrates and the Spartan were the high price items. He can rehabilitate his image with no risks. Alkyone and I are a much riskier proposition.”

The boy seemed chastened by that.

“These political things… it just seems like everything is motivated by something hidden.”

Yes, I struggled with it as well, when Podaleirus would explain these things to me.

“Let’s see if we can find Lethos’s tent at the stadium, I’m sure it will be the tackiest one.

----

 Rhodes had always been like a more splendid big brother to Karpathos, so despite the trimmings for the festival, Glaukos felt at home compared to Athens. At home they are celebrating the feast to Poseidon too. He smiled thinking of his brothers and sisters walking to the small temple at Olympos to participate in the celebration. They never had horse races, but a foot race around the town was a staple. They picked their way through town to the stadium.

“That one has to be it,” Tydeus said, pointing to a gray and yellow tent with purple trim. He made a disdainful face, but Glaukos liked how the yellow made the purple stand out, like putting goldenrod with myrtle in the same wreath.

“Let’s see if we can squeeze in there.”

They stepped awkwardly over the many families that had come from outside of town, watching while sitting on some spread together cloaks. Finally they made it to the entrance, and waved past the attendant guards.

“Greetings, Lethos and Nothon! Sorry to come at such an inconvenient time!”

Glaukos didn’t like the look that crossed the two men’s faces when they saw them. It wasn’t shock, it just seemed  more predatory, just for a flicker, then the ‘polite surprised host’ mask slipped in to replace it.

“Oh Tydeus don’t apologized! We’re thrilled you were able to come earlier.”

“Yes, it’s so good to see you!” Alkyone jumped up and almost tripped over a cushion. Glaukos moved forward to catch her hand, pre-empting Tydeus. He caught her, then she made a show of righting herself as she pressed something hard into his palm. He looked up to catch her eye, but she had swept over to Tydeus, Lethos and Nothon, telling the former about the wrestling maneuver he had missed. Glaukos snuck a glance at his palm. There was a little pottery shard with small, neat writing on it. I don’t know how to read, he panicked. What could it even be? A love letter? As nice a thought that was, he didn’t think that was the truth. Maybe… something’s wrong and she can’t say it in front of everyone.

 The next bout was starting, so everyone hurriedly got back on their cushions. Glaukos made sure to stay close to Tydeus but on the opposite side of Lethos and Nothon. The two wrestlers were evenly matched, body-wise, the battle would come down to wits. During a particularly deft hold when everyone’s eyes were held on the action, Glaukos discreetly poked Tydeus in the side. The earned him a quick glare, but he put the little shard over his hand. Tydeus palmed it, and read while he acted like he was adjusting his position. After ten heartbeats, he crumbled the delicate little shard against the sandy ground. He read it that fast? He looked up from the tiny remnants to Tydeus’s face, which had gone slightly pale, but was working it’s way up to red. One of the wrestlers had caught his opponent behind the knee and slammed his head into the ground. The stadium erupted in cheers. Amidst the noise, Tydeus bent close to Glaukos’s ear and said without looking at him, “We’ve been betrayed. Wait for the signal, and we’ll have to run back to the boat.” What? He was slightly irritated. This shit again? I wanted to watch the games, not be a fugitive again. What could the signal be anyway? Match after match passed while Glaukos watched Tydeus and Alkyone from the corner of his eye, but neither of them gave any indication of a signal. Maybe he assumed that I read the message? They had a light mid-day meal with pomegranates for desert and relieved themselves during the intermission, but Tydeus didn’t acknowledge his questioning looks with a response. Probably because of all these people surrounding us. Lethos had about 10 slaves trailing them, and not just little push-overs, but big tattooed Thracians. The shadows lengthened so much they had to reposition the tent, and he was getting tired of being on edge. Finally Alkyone said something more than a flippant comment about the event, “Marduniya, the Persian, is in this event!”

“Really dear, you should rename that slave, it’s really quite the barbaric mouthful.” Phanessa answered, sprawled out beside her.

“Could we get closer to the action?”

“Do you want dust kicked into your face?”

“Let’s at least go to the mouth of the tent!” Alkyone said, turning to them.

Is this the signal? They moved close to the opening, standing up now like most of the crowd, but they were still surrounded by guards and the crush of the crowd, there was no way they were running through this. Glaukos could barely recognize the Persian from the sick, half-drowned lump that had been in his house four days ago. He had the same pants on as before, felt boots and a Median style shirt with fitted sleeves. His horse looked raring to go. The referee raised the short whistle-flute to his lips…

 ----

 Marduniya’s inner turmoil was reflected in his cuvetting horse. He had spent the last two days training it in the maneuver he was going for, but two days was nothing when it came to horse training. All day his gut had been roiling, and the sporting events didn’t do much to distract him. Who the hell runs and jumps around while naked? These Greeks are crazy. But then again, he wasn’t sure why anyone would dedicate themselves to running if you could just ride a horse much faster. Just like the last meal before a battle, he made sure his lunch wasn’t too heavy or anything that would cause bloating or gas. He had seen his little Getae friend, who had given him a smile showing all the teeth. Still, he hoped that after this race that madman didn’t kill the kid.

Finally, the race overseer tooted the approach to the starting line. The flute just didn’t have the same dignity as a Persian trumpet, making the moment seem oddly comical to him. Glancing about he could see that the other rich men of the island were more practical than his “master” and had chosen mares to race. Perfect. The crowd started cheering, kind of strange considering they would have been disgusted by him if he was walking along the road. The referee gave the signal for silence, and then… GO!

 He gave the horse a squeeze on the belly and a slap on the flanks to get it to ride into a gallop at once. The beginning and the turns were the most dangerous parts of the race, with all the horses bunched together. A light Greek youth next to him tried to elbow him off the saddle, but Marduniya caught him on the hook of his elbow and flipped him over the horse’s rump. That’s one down, out of 15. Despite the lack of rider, his horse continued to run, enjoying being part of the herd. That’s right, keep going. His concentration was swiftly ended by a punch in the jaw by some half-Scythian looking little bastard. He drove his bigger stallion into the other horse’s path, reaching out his arms to grapple him from the saddle. His opponent caught on, and soon Marduniya’s leg was being crushed against the two horses as they tried to pull each other off. Suddenly, his own horse swerved away, causing the Scythian to fall between them into the gap, just on top of another rider that the horses had moved to avoid. Marduniya looked around quickly to take stock of his surroundings, ignoring his throbbing jaw. Seven riderless horses milled about, though most of the thrown riders had gotten themselves outside the barricade, out of harm’s way. There were three riders ahead of him, and they were working on defeating each other. Two of the lithe riders were twisting out of the way of a heavier man. There was always a trade-off, a heavier rider would slow the horse down, but in a no holds barred race it could be an advantage.

 The two riders pulled ahead and the third slowed, and turned his attention on Marduniya. This one looked like a Getae compatriot of his buddy from the horse yard. He had a large blue boar tattooed on the arm he was trying to grapple Marduniya with. He slowed down, and moved to the outside of the turn, making the Getae smirk with victory. Then he surged forward, grabbed him and slammed the man’s head against the tall fence post of the turn. He was stunned, and comically rolled off the rump of his horse. Marduniya could hear the cheers of the crowd, and it got his blood up. Let’s see if you’re cheering once I finish this. There were only three other riders left besides him, and he knew he wasn’t going to catch up to the, before the next corner. It’s now or never. He slowed down a bit, and looped to the very inside of the track. The riderless horses were still cantering along. “Hey lion,” he spoke in a low voice to his horse, “don’t you want to guide that harem of mares? Isn’t it your dearest wish?” The stallion had been fighting him every time they had passed a mare.

The large group of horses got to the turn-off where the bulk of the crowd was standing, and Marduniya turned his stallion to cut off the others. There was a fence of wooden posts covered in cloth to separate the spectators from the horse race. As far as the horses were concerned, the red cloth was an impassable barrier. But after making him hop some logs with his cloak draped over them, Marduniya prayed his horse would jump when he wanted it to. Running at an angle between the wall and the other horses, the beast saw it had no choice but to jump. Some shrieking onlookers threw themselves backwards before he landed. Unfortunately, this horse was not as well trained as his old storm-gray, who would kick at a spoken command, but Marduniya leaned back onto the horses back until it was so uncomfortable that it kicked to right itself. The cloth ripped apart, and he reined in his stallion so that it reared and gave a commanding neigh. Follow me, ladies! So Marduniya gave his sides a kick, and they galloped up the stadium aisle, followed by 10 other riderless horses going varying speeds causing absolute pandemonium. Horses wouldn’t trample people on their own, Marduniya knew from watching the extensive training of war horses, but having the huge animals canter up close would terrify the rural people who weren’t used to it, whose screaming would only make the horses more antsy. They ran up the stadium seats, and up the hill, like a dam breaking, and soon the tents at the top of the hill were starting to topple. There’s my cue to get out of here, hope that was enough of a “distraction” for you. Although Alkyone had given him a good plan back at the house latrine, this part had been sort of a sketchy outline. He could see out of the corner of his eye that his Getae friend had won the race, but no one was paying attention.  Some guards were starting to push people out of the way to get to him, but he was riding a racehorse, while they were on foot. He turned his horse and set off towards the harbor.

[childotkw]

Concept: Lupin x Voldemort/Tom. It came to me in a dream.

I’ve honestly never considered this pairing before, so this might be terrible, but let’s give it a shot?

I only see this pairing happening in a very specific kind of timeline. One where Tom Riddle went into politics to better position himself for his dealings as a Dark Lord. After decades of building his reputation and base, his exhaustive efforts have paid off. He’s a shoe-in for the Minister job once the current one steps down.

He’s already planning a list of policies that he’s intending to have passed – after all, he already controls half of the Wizengamot, and the other half can be corralled easily enough. The only potential flaw in his plan is the younger generation, who carry vastly different views to their parents and grandparents. As this is the generation he will be ruling over, it seems wise to gain their allegiances early, to prevent any unruliness down the track.

So he begins to look into what he could do that might sway them to his side, and he hears of things like equality and fair rights and minorities, and at first he is amused, until he realises how powerful these notions are. If he is voted in with the support of the purebloods – already ensured – as well as the outcasts, then he will be that much stronger. People are less likely to buck under a regime they helped put into place.

Now all he needs is a mudblood or similarly positioned person to use as a face for his campaign, and he’s good to go. He heads to Hogwarts, partly to assess the current graduating class for a suitable candidate, and partly to piss off Dumbledore.

It’s there that he stumbles across seventeen year old Remus Lupin, a young halfblood that suffers from lycanthropy. Tom takes one look at this bright, intelligent, poorly-dressed boy and immediately sees his ticket.

Werewolves have been persecuted for centuries, and though those ideals have spread to the younger generations, it would be all too easy to whip that fervour in the other direction. To have these children cry out for fair rights for people like their classmate, who despite his affliction, is widely regarded as such a nice young man, so polite, so kind.

So Tom approaches Lupin, intending to quickly ensnare the boy, to provide a sympathetic ear to his woes and tell him of his idea to push for equality for werewolves in their country. He expects a swift indoctrination, a few sweet words, maybe a hand on the shoulder – and then he’d have his golden goose.

Lupin sits quietly, listening patiently as Tom weaves his plans before him, asks insightful questions. And then he smiles, shakes his head and says no.

Tom is, understandably, confused and more than a little annoyed. Lupin snaps his book closed, hops off his bench, then trots away without a backward glance.

And while it would be a simple matter of finding another tragic little wolf to use for his campaign, Lupin had inadvertently thrown the gauntlet down. Had, in his soft-spoken refusal, stated that it was a pointless endeavour, that nothing could change the state of their world. Had implied that he believed that Tom could not make it change.

It is, naturally, unacceptable. Tom could do anything, and how dare this boy say otherwise. But the challenge has been issued, and Tom can’t quite help himself.

So he goes back to the drawing board, redefining his ideas. He’s on a time limit. Lupin has six months until he graduates, six months where he is easily accessible and within reach. But Tom knows that if he doesn’t convince the child by then, he will vanish. It’s easy to slip through the cracks when society doesn’t want you, and if Lupin leaves then Tom won’t be able to prove the brat wrong.

Thus he begins his long task of slowly clawing his way into Lupin’s life, rooting through his past, jumping on every chance he has to interact with the boy – and even creating a few of his own. He pulls this boy kicking and screaming into the spotlight.

Soon, people begin to talk of how Tom Riddle has taken an interest in poor, young Remus Lupin. They begin to speak of how open-minded he is, to offer support to someone in his position, to be so compassionate to a victim.

It works like a charm, and Lupin is caught like a rabbit. Because if he rejects Tom’s attention and support then he could actually make things worse for himself and people like him. Tom takes full advantage of this fact, and carefully winds the boy deeper into his web.

Over the months though, he begins to grow strangely fond of the boy. There is a spark of humour to Lupin, dry as the desert and sharper than most blades. He speaks with a flat drawl, tongue lashing out with startling accuracy before he retreats beneath a mask of guilelessness. He is intelligent, and strongly opinionated for all he rarely shares them. He also unquestionably loathes himself, with a ferocity that catches Tom off-guard.

It intrigues him, prompts him to dig a little deeper, and slowly he unearths the side of himself that Lupin keeps concealed. He begins to see the hints of the animal that lurks just under the surface – the way Lupin bares his teeth when he’s angry, the way his senses are far sharper than they should be, the rumble of a growl that coats his words when he feels threatened.

The amber tint that steals his eyes whenever the full moon creeps close.

It’s utterly fascinating to witness this grudge match between man and beast play out in the body of a boy, and Tom feels his fingers start to itch.

Their meetings slowly drift away from chess and politics, circling to long conversations about his transformations, at the way Lupin’s consciousness is overridden by his animalistic instincts, at how he used to chain himself up each month and wake up with thick gashes around his wrists, at how sometimes Lupin had wished he had bled out just to finally escape the curse.

And one night, Lupin confesses with trembling hands, that he dreams of finding Fenrir Greyback and burying his teeth and claws into the man’s still beating heart. That he would howl over his body in triumph at justice finally served.

Tom is delighted at the brutality lingering inside this otherwise unassuming boy, and he decides then and there that Lupin is too interesting to let slip away.

And Remus? Well, Remus knows that Riddle isn’t a good man, and though his classmates begin to side-eye him, and James, Sirius and Peter are even more vicious in their defence, he can’t bring himself to push Riddle away.

The man is a force of nature, with a magnetism that Remus can’t resist, and despite his instincts snarling at the predator he senses lurking in Riddle, he starts to enjoy their time together. Enjoys the rapid-fire conversations, the debates. Enjoys the way Riddle doesn’t flinch away from him in those terrible days before and after his transformations. The way Riddle looks at him not like he’s an abomination or something that needs to be fixed, but like he’s something fascinating to behold.

So maybe he starts to push back, to test this nebulous thing brewing between them. Maybe he starts to come to Riddle days before the full moon, brimming with energy and a burning need in his gut. Maybe he gets a sick rush from getting in Riddle’s space, of snapping his teeth in an alpha’s face without fear of being beaten down. Maybe he likes the way Riddle says his name with that not-quite purr wrapped around it.

Or maybe he just likes knowing that if he ever lost control, that Riddle was perfectly capable of putting him down.

Remus has never had a crush before, and he knows what he feels for Riddle isn’t healthy, that it shouldn’t be encouraged, but not even Dumbledore’s quietly disappointed looks can dissuade the instinctive urge he has to bite.

[heartschoicegames]

Heart’s Choice Author Interview: RoAnna Sylver, “Dawnfall”

Find true love and family with a pirate crew at the ends of the universe, where aliens, ghosts, and portals open the space between worlds...and your heart. You are a Navigator, one who creates and guards portals from one dimension to another, wary of the liminal sea between them.

Your universe is made of two worlds: one contains the magic-infused world of Zephyria, and the other, the dystopian space station Eclipse. The worlds are balanced, until one day, an explosive disaster, a deadly energy storm, and an infamous pirate—the Ghost Queen—upend your life and plunge you into a race to save both worlds.

Dawnfall is a 232,000 word interactive romance novel by RoAnna Sylver,  one of the first set of games releasing with the launch of Heart’s Choice. I sat down with the author, RoAnna Sylver, to talk about writing interactive romance. Heart’s Choice games release December 2nd.

Dawnfall has frankly an insanely wonderful setting for a romance game. Tell me about the aliens, the pirates, the ghosts, and the alien-pirate-ghosts.

Hi there! I’m so glad you think this sounds fun! Yeah, Dawnfall is weird as heck, and that’s one of the things I love about this story. It’s weird in a way I don’t think we’ve seen much of before. I really just tried to put in everything I find fun or interesting, and that I’ve always wanted to write. Dawnfall started out as a total brain-candy project, and runs on pure Rule of Cool. Pirates? Yes. Magic? Yes. A slice of cyberpunk? Hell yes. Eerie ghosts and faerie-tale influences and memory-sharing potions? Giant bird people? The power of rock n’roll? Yes, yes, yes.

And also everybody’s dateable, and in a couple cases, dating each other. We weave a tangled web, but I think it’s a pretty badass and spectacular web.

You seem to really neatly straddle the genre fence here with a romance and sci-fi/fantasy. What was challenging about cramming all of that into one game?

Thank you so much for saying that. I’ve always adored SFF, and there’s so much in this genre-collection, so many extremes and concepts and contrasting colors, that I couldn’t limit myself to picking just one to play with. This weird game-book is kind of a love letter to fantasy and science fiction and haunted house stories and cyberpunk adventures—I thought a lot about the Disney movie Treasure Planet for its genre-blending beauty, and the Bioware game Mass Effect for its array of fascinating, multidimensional alien cuties to interact with and date… and then turned it up to eleven.

I guess you’d expect the challenge to be in making it all fit together/be “believable,” but I kind of threw that out the window. I don’t expect anyone to find it ‘realistic’ (setting-wise anyway; I tried to make every character ring true of course), and I don’t really care if someone thinks it’s silly, or doesn’t take it seriously. It is silly in a lot of ways. DAWNFALL is a giant ridiculous queer space magic pirate adventure, and the only goal is fun. If you have fun, I’ve done my job, and there should be something fun in here for everyone.

Did you have a favorite NPC you enjoyed writing most?

Honestly I love them all so much in different ways, and I know them so well by now it’s really second nature. Their voices come so easily and they’re all so much fun. The Queen’s swagger is awesome though, and her mental voice/mannerisms probably come through especially clearly. I love Zenith’s vulnerable moments when xie lets xir guard down and lets go of the need to entertain or please. I love Averis’s journey and growth from cute wibbly nerd to a confident swashbuckler (who is also still a cute wibbly nerd). I love how deeply Oz feels, how strongly he loves and remembers and honors memory, and how unafraid he is to show softness and warmth. And I love a certain spoilery ghost-babe and how they’re so full of joy at the beauty of life.

I do want to give special mention to Aeon, though. This is a story about connection, and I wanted to show that sibling bonds are every bit as important and strong as romantic or any other. I also wanted to show a complex, multidimensional antagonist figure who holds heartbreaking secrets along with authority, and is genuinely trying to do what she thinks is the best thing, and wants what’s best for you, the PC, even if you might not always agree. Her balance between being so emotionally guarded and determined and unyielding, while hopefully being extremely easy to read and tell what she wants and fears and loves—spoiler: you; she loves you!—was a challenge I hope I pull off.

…Also I enjoy any time Vyranix gets his pompous feathered ass handed to him. I think we all know a Vyranix, or at least of one, and it’s always fun to take them down, even in fantasy.

Who would you be romancing as a player?

I’m gonna say “everyone,” and here it won’t actually be cheating, because you can romance everyone! At once! In varying degrees/relationship dynamics and attractions. You don’t see a lot of polyamory-friendly games or books or anything really, and this is an incredibly important thing for me. The second I got the idea for Dawnfall I knew it had to let players romance anyone they wanted and show polyamory in a realistic, healthy light. I’m also a-spec (asexual and aromantic), and having not just good representation but being actively included and welcomed and celebrated in fiction is so huge too.

Dawnfall is a romance of course, being part of Heart’s Choice, but one of the single most vital elements for me is making it inclusive for aromantic and asexual players and player-characters. Essentially, I wanted to write a romance that didn’t penalize players for not experiencing the attractions the way we’re otherwise expected or required—and I’m so grateful that my amazing editors and community not only accepted but supported everything I was trying to do here. (It’s so refreshing not to have to fight for inclusion and freedom. It shouldn’t be, but it is.)

And that’s where the concept of “Heart-Stars” and “Same-Feathers” came from. I’ve never seen anything honor queerplatonic relationships like I’m trying to do here, and I want everyone, of every sexuality and attraction, to feel like they have a place here and can experience this adventure without limits. And I wanted to show that it’s a very normal thing, hence this being the same for the human characters as well as alien. (One of the nonbinary characters being human is also no mistake. I love me some wild alien genders, but there are tons of awesome nonbinary humans too!)

…That being said, I think I gave Averis most of my anxiety-issues, and would really just like to curl up with Oz and watch The Great British Bake-Off. That sounds like a perfect night in my books.

What were some of the things you found surprising about the game-writing process?

Coding was definitely the biggest learning curve. I’d never coded anything before in my life, and it’s such a new skillset to learn, entirely different from any kind of writing I’ve ever done. Sometimes it felt rewriting my brain, which did not at all do this intuitively—and also sometimes like I bit off much more than I could chew (first game ever being not only a huge piece of interactive fiction, but a polyamorous romance with aro and ace possibilities, and so many more variables than expected!), but it’s been worth it. Entirely. If my writing makes anyone feel seen and accepted and invited to have fun as they are, it’s worth every bit of struggle.

Also, oddly, interactive fiction is in some ways easier for me than writing a plain old book! Probably because I love AUs so much, and every choice in a game is like writing a tiny AU of the story, so I get to do the same scenes several different ways. My ADHD-brain finds something about this extremely satisfying, most likely because it somehow feels more like multitasking! Several stories in one, and if I like two ideas, I don’t have to pick just one to write!

Honestly though, I think the most surprising part is just being done, and…that I could do this at all. It was so huge, and took so long, and I learned so much, and every day I’m just kind of going “who the hell am I?” about doing all of this. I’m proud of it. I did a cool thing. And trying to get better at saying that.

And, what are you working on now?

I always have about 8 active projects going at once (which shouldn’t come as a surprise after last question!), but my next interactive fiction game is with Tales/Fable Labs! It’s shaping up to be a Dawnfall-sized project, but a little faster-moving and action-y.

It’s called Every Beat Belongs To You, and it’s a romantic thriller that feels like Twin Peaks meets Mr. Robot, with a smattering of Repo: The Genetic Opera. A creepy Pacific Northwest town with a secret (and a rash of ritualized murders), a super-slick medical research company whose flagship product is a 100% perfect synthetic heart, a mysterious new-age group, and a sister who went missing just before discovering how it’s all connected. Also five simultaneously-dateable (including ace and aro ships!) cuties of varying genders! Who will you trust with your heart?

I’m very excited about Everybeat, which should be just as queer, polyam, exciting, and weird as all my stuff! Aside from that, I’m working on Stake Sauce Book 2, its companion f/f vampire series Death Masquerade, and Chameleon Moon Book 3. I’m not always working…sometimes there are videogames, and sleep. But I really hope to have a lot more fun things to share soon!

Oh, and depending on how this weird, fun thing goes, I do have some ideas for prequel Dawnfall stories; maybe games, maybe books, but the ideas are there. The world—worlds, really—is so huge, and I’m not done playing in it yet! I also have some character art drawn, and I want to do a lot more of them. It’s another way to show love.

So thank you so much! I really hope Dawnfall is as fun to everyone to read/play as it was for me to write. I can’t wait to share it with you!

[mastrechef]

This idea has been stewing in my mind for a while after a discussion my sister and I had about some of the more outrageous Kingdom Hearts theories. I finally decided to just go ahead and write it. I’m still fleshing things out as I’m currently rereading Otherland by Tad Williams, which this idea borrows heavily from (if you’ve never read it, I highly recommend it). I figured if I was going to take the time to write it, I might as well do it justice.

The moon shone brightly as he framed it with his fingers. It was nostalgic standing amongst the towering buildings and the myriad of glittering lights reflecting off rain drenched metal. Familiar streets snaked off in every direction in an intricate web, desolate and empty when in his memory they were always packed with life, no matter the time. This was a place he had once considered home. That was a lifetime ago. More than a lifetime it seemed some days.

"A far-off memory that’s like a scattered dream, isn’t that right?" he said to himself.

He shaped his hands into a heart as he held them up against the brilliant moon. The thing that started it all and the end goal everyone was charging towards. Kingdom Hearts.

Described as the collective heart of all worlds and all people, it was coveted by those who sought greatness. There were so many stories built around it, tales of immense power and wisdom granted to any who managed to claim it. Yet did anyone truly understand what that entailed?

He doubted it. The truth of Kingdom Hearts was such an elusive thing, something that defied imagination. As of yet no one had come close to learning that truth, nor to obtaining the true Kingdom Hearts.

From behind him, he could just make out the sound of a dark corridor opening over the gusting wind. Turning to look, a familiar figure stepped out to join him on the rooftop.

“So you finally decided to show your face again.”

“Luxu,” he exclaimed, dramatically clutching at his chest as though in pain. “I’m heartbroken you aren’t happier to see me.”

“As if!” scoffed his most faithful apprentice. “Maybe I would have been if you’d shown up in time for the reunion. Man, Aced is as hot-headed as ever and the others aren’t much better.”

The Master just smiled privately to himself. Luxu could deflect all he wanted, but they both knew his indifference to be false. There was no hiding the relieved glint in his eyes and the slight softening of his expression. For all that he acted rather laid back these days, it was different when he felt it in truth. He had been waiting a long time for this moment.

The Master was absolutely tickled that someone actually missed him.

Time was such a nebulous concept to someone like him, who drifted seamlessly between past, present, and future. He had known his students long before he ever met them and even after all this time it felt as though it was only yesterday that they had parted ways. Yet for them, it had been far longer. He wondered how the others would react to finally seeing him again.

“How'd the kid get here of all places?”

Luxu’s question broke him from his musing. He tucked his hands behind his back as he explained. “His little tumble down the rabbit hole from misusing the power of waking was interrupted. Someone was waiting for him and stepped in to give him a hand.”

“Someone from the outside?”

“Bingo! You're right on the money. Someone sent a proxy here with only the instructions to 'save Sora.'”

“Ha! Good luck with that. The kid’s pretty determined to do himself in.”

“I’m not too concerned,” he said with nonchalance. “But better to keep an eye out. Can’t have anyone getting impatient and moving before the time is right.”

…

Sora had been wandering for some time, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of the twisting streets of this strange city. No matter which way he went, he inevitably ended up back where he started in front of the building emblazoned with “104” in glowing red lights. He had woken up here after his rather disheartening defeat at the hands of Yozora. Wherever here was, it was the same place that they had fought in, although Sora had caught only the barest glimpse during the fight.

Since coming to in this lifeless city that was like a cold facsimile of San Fransokyo, Sora had encountered Yozora no less than three times. Each time Yozora has no recollection of their previous interactions, and each time they fought. Sora had not yet been able to beat him. It made him think of Riku, and of a childhood spent chasing after his best friend, who was always faster, always stronger.

Letting out a gusty sigh, he found a nearby park bench and sprawled across it, tilting his head back to gaze up into the unfamiliar night sky. “I wonder how they’re doing… Riku, Kairi, and the others…”

He grimaced as a pulse of not-quite-pain pulsed through his chest. Even before the final clash with Xehanort, he’d been feeling a phantom ache in his heart that had only worsened as he used the power of waking to save everyone from that horrible first confrontation with the Xehanort-possessed Terra. Sora may not be the smartest, but he was more perceptive than most people gave him credit for, at least when it came to matters of the heart, so he suspected that he knew the cause.

There were few things in his life that Sora had regrets about, but helping someone in need would never be one. Even if it was to his detriment. Ventus had needed a place to heal and Sora had happily offered his assistance. Of course, he didn’t actually remember that, but didn’t make the sentiment any less truthful. However, ever since waking Ventus, he’d had this lingering feeling of being hollowed out, like a piece of his own heart had broken off when Ventus left.

Sora would have been more surprised if he hadn’t felt any different. After all, Ventus had been with him for more than ten years.

By the end of the final battle he could feel the fragility of his heart and realized the truth in the younger Xehanort’s warnings. He really had overstepped his limits. The decision to go after Kairi was an easy one, if a little selfish. If he was already past the point of no return, the least he could do was make sure everyone else was safe first.

Sora hoped that Riku and Kairi would forgive him and that they didn’t blame themselves for his disappearance.

Echoing footsteps startled him into awareness. It seemed Yozora was back, since no one else ever showed up here. Getting to his feet, Sora turned to meet those eerie heterochromatic eyes. “Hello again, Yozora.”

“You know me?” Yozora asked, just as every time before. “Who are you?”

“I’m Sora, remember? We’ve met before.” He didn’t really know why he kept trying. So far, nothing has worked to spark any recognition.

“Sora? You’re Sora?” That same steely-eyed look of determination returned, that same look he always got as soon as he learned Sora’s name. Sora mentally prepared himself to fight once more, tuning out the rest of the repeated conversation.

Yozora drew his weapons and Sora made one last plea to resolve things peacefully, but the other was not deterred. Resigned, Sora summoned his keyblade.

“Time to end this.”

Having seen it multiple times now, Sora was ready for the lasers and dodged out of the way, regretful that he was out of practice with barrier magic. It would really be helpful right now. He kept bobbing and weaving, waiting for the slightest break in the relentless assault. There! With a yell, he rushed Yozora, putting the full force of his formidable strength into his swing. Yozora was knocked back, but it didn’t faze him for long. His opponent started teleporting, trying to catch him off guard, throwing around more lasers and appearing out of nowhere to engage him directly. Sora did his best to dodge and deflect as many attacks as he could, but Yozora was fast—faster than anyone he’d fought before.

He stumbled as a beam of energy grazed his side in a flash of white hot agony. Already, he felt fatigued and he hadn’t even been fighting for more than a few minutes. Gritting his teeth through the pain, Sora waited for another opening and charged Yozora again, his hits striking true.

It wasn’t enough. Yozora’s aggression only heightened, as did the intensity of his attacks. Everything became a blur. Between the pain and the exhaustion, Sora simply couldn’t keep up. For the fifth time, Yozora struck him down.

“Not again,” he groaned weakly. How was this guy so strong?

“Sorry, but I don’t lose.”

Sora was sick of this pattern. Nothing ever changed. Was this all just a dream he couldn’t wake up from? Is any of this for real or not? He didn’t know. None of this... makes sense to me. His thoughts trailed off as he once again succumbed to the encroaching darkness.

Some random side notes: I’m still on the fence about whether or not the Master of Masters is actually a villain or more of a Dumbledore-esk character, but he’s definitely going to come off as more of a villain in this.

As for Sora, I’m going to be playing around with his character a little bit. There’s nothing necessarily wrong with having a character who doesn’t change, but I still found it vaguely annoying that in KHIII he still acted like the same 14yo kid he was is KHI.

I do plan to bring Vanitas into this because I think he’s interesting and the way his fight in KHIII ended felt kind of unresolved.

Also, it seems that in cannon very little time passes between KHII and KHIII, which I find a little strange, so I may fudge the timeline a bit, though it’s not very explicit.

I think I’ll try to keep up with this in between my other writing. And maybe work on some more FFXV stuff. Maybe. Depends on if I have any actually good ideas.

[bluebellhairpin]

The Girl Who Knew The End {2}

Lullaby Of Woe

Thorin Oakenshield X Fem!Reader

Chapter One // An Uninvited Guest

Chapter Two // (You’re Here!)

Chapter Three // “I Was With Child” 

A/N: Some people wished to be tagged if I continued this story, so here we are I guess. - Nemo

Song: ‘Lullaby of Woe’ by Marcin Przybyłowicz 

Summary: After a few days journey, the Company stopped at the place you recognise as the place where Balin tells the story of how Thorin gained the name ‘Oakenshield’. This eventually leads you you telling a story of your own, one that gets Thorin really thinking about how he ought to be treating you. 

Series Masterlist

Masterlist  

{Edited 24-02-2020}

You had been traveling with Thorin and the Company for a while now, both yours and Thorin’s temper flaring a good handful of times already, the Company were starting to quietly bet on how long it'd take for your bickering to turn into banter, then to turn into full-blown make-out sessions. The tension sure was building towards and end like that.

You had stopped for the night, resting under a rocky crevice, Thorin was set to start on first watch with Fili and Kili before you took over with Dwalin and Ori. You decided to stay up with them, the story Balin would tell would be one you decided you'd rather not miss. 

As Balin started the story of how Thorin gained the name Oakenshield, the dwarf in subject wandered off to face the cliff. You watched, as everyone did, and found yourself standing with the rest of the company out of respect for your leader and king. You knew orcs, they'd caused you pain, physical and emotional; they'd left scars - physical and emotional - on you too that wouldn't go away. 

You’d always respect Thorin for what he went though - even if he was a jerk. 

As Thorin joined the group back from the cliff face he previously stood on, you got another ‘revelation’.

Your head hurt when major events of the films occurred. You walked over to the cliff where Thorin once was, looking over around the place the small groups of orcs were. You had to swallow the bile rising is your throats at the sight of the flashing eyes of their wolfish steeds; the same ones that cause you all that pain. 

You looked back at Gandalf, of which had sensed your revelation and was keeping a keen eye on you since. Your face had gotten paler, Gandalf was worried, but he’d come to understand that the revelations you got couldn't be shared.

No matter what happened, you could never share what was to come. 

“My (y/n), you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Bofur said from a way across the camp. Unlike Gandalf, the Company didn’t yet fully understand the lengths of your revelations, so you had to make up reasons as to why you suddenly looked so shocked, ecstatic, or somber. 

“Oh i-it’s nothing Bofur. I just remember something from my world.”

“Must’ve been something’ pretty scary. A tale of sorts?” Bofur proded, some of the other Company soon turned to face you.

“Oh no, it was just a… Um, a lullaby.” you said, racking through the leftover knowledge in your mind for an excuse that would be believable. Of all things, you had to say a lullaby. 

“Lullabies aren’t generally scary.” he said, taking a puff of his pipe smugly, thinking he caught you. 

“This one is. It’s meant to get children to stay inside at night.” You said, turning your head away slightly to curse yourself at weaving a web that you might not get out of.

“Huh, what’s it called?”

“The Lullaby of Woe.” you said slowly, remembering a more scary lullaby from a game you played once. 

“Sounds morbid. And fake.” Thorin said, now having taken his place near Fili and Kili again. You narrowed your eyes at him. You’d give him fake. 

“I would sing it for you, but you’d hardly be grateful if I did.” The Company went into light uproar, not having anything but Balin and Gandalf’s stories, and Bofur’s songs  over the past couple nights, a lullaby from you - even a scary one - sounded like a nice change to them. 

“Oh please (y/n). I’ll even sit in front of Uncle if you want, then you won't even have to see him.” Fili offered with a smile. 

“Sounds nice Fili.” You laughed, the company now gathering in their sleeping packs to hunker down and listen to your lullaby.

“Wolves asleep amidst the trees, bats all a swaying in the breeze, but one soul lies anxious wide awake, fearing no manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths.” 

You started, carefully singing as your eyes traveled over the group, seeing some already stiffening at your sung words. 

“For your dolly Polly sleep has flown, don't dare let her tremble alone. For the witcher, heartless, cold, paid in coin of gold. He comes he'll go leave naught behind but heartache and woe. Deep, deep woe.” 

Thorin watched you as you sang, your lips moving with purpose, you paused in your singing with such wispy grace, he wondered if the lullaby might be a summoning song instead. What if you were actually here to kill them? To lure them all in with your sweet song? Thorin shook his head. 

Gandalf knew many people, but none were like that, not even you.

“Birds are silent for the night, cows turned in as daylight dies. But one soul lies anxious wide awake, fearing no manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths. My dear dolly Polly shut your eyes, lie still, lie silent, utter no cries. As the witcher, brave and bold, paid in coin of gold.” 

You slowly stood, walking around the camp as you sang, making your voice echo off the rocks, the sound richoching down the cliff and across the valley into the ears of the still waiting Orcs. They were chilled at your song. 

As far as they knew you were speaking of your own story, the witcher was you, and as far as your sung words said you weren’t afraid of anything horrible, even them. 

“Send one more word to Master, the Dwarf scum travel with a powerful being. Let him know this now so he can prove to that pathetic King that he can kill such ones with ease.”

“He'll chop and slice you, cut and dice you. Eat you up whole, eat you whole.” 

You sung the last word with force, letting your words rattle poor Dwalin’s unsuspecting ears. The dwarf shot up from his sleeping position to then face your laughing face with a scowl. 

“Lass, I’d never do that again if I were you.” he warned, only making you laugh more, Fili and Kili almost in stitches at the look on Dwalin’s face when you scared him moments before. Even Thorin, having been watching you still from when you started singing, cracked a smile. 

“Trust me Dwalin, there are much worse things than a Lullaby to be scared of right now.” You said, a breathless laugh escaping you as you patted his shoulder and moved back to your own sleeping space. 

“You could say that again (y/n).” Gandalf said quietly, nestling himself back into a sleeping position before tipping his hat over his eyes. “You can say that again.” 

Thorin looked over to watch you as you also settled down, he kept looking between you and the fire to try and make it look like he wasn’t staring. After that song, that lullaby, it was almost as if he saw you in a new light, like one switch of many was suddenly turned on inside his mind which enabled him to really see you. Sure, he’d seen you before, but only superficially, not like this. 

It suddenly occurred to him that you had a life back where you came from, a family, friends, maybe even a lover or children. You’d been through hell to get to Bilbo’s that night, only for him to treat you like you were nothing. Now he felt pretty bad about it, regretted it even, and felt the strange need to make it up to you. 

He didn’t really know how. He didn’t know what you liked. Mahal - he wasn’t going to apologise - he figured you wouldn’t appreciate that a whole lot. He thought about getting you something Dwarrowdam’s liked - but you weren’t a dwarf, so the chances of you liking what he’d find you were slim. He then seemed to be hit with an epiphany; you wanted to go home, the place you’d be sent back to once your purpose (whatever it was) was fulfilled. 

He’d help you fill your lot in your sudden change of life, he’d help get you home to where you wanted to be most, with the people you wanted to be with them most.

Surely you’d forgive him after that, even without an apology.

Series Taglist: @thorins-queen-of-erebor  @pigeonsbones @captainrainbowpanda

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter ten (joe the drummer)

“Coin operated boy, He may not be real, experienced with girls but I know he feels like a boy should feel Isn’t that the point? That is why i want a Coin operated boy, With his pretty coin operated voice saying that he loves me, that he's thinking of me Straight and to the point, that is why I want A coin operated boy.” -“Coin Operated Boy”, The Dresden Dolls

November 28, 1988. Boston, Massachusetts.

So I had left Oswego at about ten this morning because I didn't know if or when Matt and Dominique were going to be in Boston today, but I have this hydrogen car that Maya left behind and I have nothing more to do than to take it for myself. I had the copy of Ultramega OK in the disc player for the first stint of the trip: as I drove through Syracuse, their cover of “Smokestack Lightning” came on, and I couldn't help but think of Ellen and seeing Brick in the hospital. It felt like a sign, seeing the chimneys in the outskirts with their rising smoke against the bitter upstate cold.

I've done this drive before by myself and with my parents and my grandparents, but this time it was interesting because not one time did I have to stop to refuel because of the hydrogen. There was that one time Maya stopped on the way back up, but that was it. The whole thing throws me because I always think it's going to run low at some point and it never does. To be honest, I'm surprised this car doesn't have an autopilot option because sometime around Albany, I wanted to put my feet up on the dashboard next to me and relax for a moment before I resumed onward to Springfield and then eventually to Boston. I played Ultramega again once I entered Massachusetts, where more and more the brick and mortar began to rise up from the cold earth and the outskirts of the City.

She said they're going to be near the women's college, and the only one I can think of offhand, just from my doing gigs over here with Anthrax and a couple of my past cover bands, is to the north of the heart of the city itself.

I take the next exit leading me over to Wellesley, and this is the part of town that, along with New York City, makes me wonder if Maxwell Industries in Seattle is serious about their wanting to move out this way. Over the edge of the freeway, I can make out the small cobblestones comprising the streets down below: every other building is made of stone and brick, and has a chimney bleeding out plumes of pure white steam. The sky is pure white with the sun reflecting on the steam, and so I'm driving about with my mirrors on and my scarf around my neck like I'm a pilot. I even have the black gloves and the black boots.

Everything is made of brick and mortar and cold metal: not a lick of bright blue neon to be found. There's a row of shiny silver entities floating in the air over my head, but they're too small to be considered airships. At least I think so anyways. They seem to drift onward over me and across the freeway to the other side within a mile of my next exit. Something about them is unnerving, like what are they?

I'm soon winding my way through the tightly woven web of spirals that is Wellesley and I indeed recognize the school up the street and past the four roundabouts.

Oh boy, this is going to be fun!

Trying not to wreck the car, seeing as this isn't even mine and I just don't want to wreck the damn thing, I begin to weave my way through the roundabouts like it's a snake. I really am like a pilot now because I'm having to keep this thing in control. The hydrogen hum is totally silent but the tires are yelling at me over the cobblestones.

Surprised there are no passersby on the sidewalks. It's the middle of the day following Thanksgiving: usually I would expect the whole area would be filled to the brim with hustle and bustle like Syracuse or Albany—Oswego had more happening when I left this morning. But no: there's no one here.

I weave one last time around the fourth and final roundabout and I catch the view of the stationary shop in question: this little pale brick building with a bright pink and white striped awning over the gilded glass. I know that's what it is because I recognize Dominique and her heavy black overcoat and purple tinted glasses standing next to Matt and another woman.

I don't realize where I'm going and I almost drive right into the narrow alleyway running adjacent to the place.

I slam on the brakes. I turn the wheel around so as to avoid hitting anything.

And the car drifts up to the curb.

I stop right there right before them, and Matt pushing the two women back away from the edge of the sidewalk so as to miss me. He then recognizes me with a nod.

“Oh, hey! It's Joey!” I hear Dominique declare through the windshield.

I switch the thing off and stumble out of the car to meet up with them. The steam in the air makes everything feel cold and the whole place smells sweet, like cooking molasses. I toss back my black curls and adjust the shades before meeting up with them.

“Quite the entrance if I might say so myself,” Matt remarks with a big beaming grin underneath his big smokey sunglasses.

“Joey, this is my mentor Angeline Belotti from the New York Times,” Dominique introduces me to the blonde lady in a lush dark red velvet dress with a low plunging neckline and a big matching handbag in her left hand. She's got on these little cream colored leather gloves protecting her hands from the bitter cold around us.

“Joey Belladonna, right?” she asks me in that strong Queens accent that makes me think of Anthrax.

“Yes'm.”

“I thought I recognized you. That little upstate indigenous boy that Anthrax fired for—reasons I haven't been able to find out.”

I shrug at that. Yeah, me, too, and the thousands of other fans who are left wondering.

“Anyways, I'm glad you could make it, Joey,” she continues, “Matt and Dominique were just telling me about a young lady named Maya Sorensen whom you found last month in a gutter.”

“Yeah, I was just walking and I saw her laying there on the sidewalk all disoriented and helpless.”

“He was just being a good guy, y'know?” Dominique fills in for me.

“Well, of course. But what I don't understand is why didn't you take her to the authorities and earn credit that way?”

I flash back on what she said in After the Watershed: her fear of being discovered by someone who wanted to hurt her. Come to think of it, that's actually quite the bullet I dodged myself, too.

“She told me not to,” I reply to her.

“She told you not to?” Angeline repeats it.

“See, I thought there was more to this,” Dominique says, her eyes lighting up behind the purple lenses. “I thought you and I would be in for hell of a scoop, Angeline.”

“Well, anyways, she and I were going to do some writing practice here in this shop next to us,” Angeline explains to me, “and we were hoping you'd show up because Matt's got nothing better to do at the moment.”

“Yeah, today's my birthday,” he says out of the blue. “I'm twenty six.”

“Oh, really? Happy birthday, man.”

“There's a pub right back here if you guys want a bite to eat,” Angeline gestures behind me to the sidewalk running around the corner of the shop.

“Yeah, we're gonna be in here a while,” Dominique adds.

“I haven't eaten since I left Oswego,” I confess.

“All the better,” Matt assures me. “C'mon, man—”

He leads me away from there and we turn the corner to the narrow alleyway I almost plowed into. This little passage way smells more of molasses even with the piles of rusty wires and the shiny silver air conditioners resting upon the ground.

“Dom and I got one of these,” he starts, gesturing to the air conditioner closest to the other end of the alley.

“These exact ones?” I ask him as the bright white glare of the sun shines over his blond hair like it's a vein of pure gold.

“Exact one. For some reason, the cybernetic ones Maxwell Industries makes don't work as well as they should. Here we are—”

He holds the door for me and I step into the cozy, intimately lit pub of dark wood and wire framed lamps first. The place smells of French fries and honey. Once I take off my sunglasses, I catch a glimpse of a little plaque on the wall next to us.

“'Open mic night,'” I read aloud.

“Huh?” He takes off his sunglasses once the door closes behind him.

“It's open mic night.” I grin at him as I lead him into the main room of the pub.

“Oh, no, you aren't suggesting—”

“I am, and—hey! Check it out! There's a full on drum kit in here!”

“Oh, man.”

“Come on, dude. I'm out on the job and I'm pretty much a trash digger at this point. Sometimes a guy's gotta drum his heart out, y'know?” And then he bursts out laughing.

“I hear that!”

We take a seat at the big heavy dark polished wooden bar dotted by single beeswax candles held up by fancy iron catches. He asks for a glass of stout, and I for a glass of straight up root beer. Too much bad karma with sarsaparilla now. He takes a sip from his glass when I sit back in the stool with my legs crossed. A few more people enter the place behind us, followed by an elderly couple.

“Been meaning to ask you this, too,” he starts, “—what do you think of our album?”

“Ultramega?”

“Yeah.”

“It's all so—grungely,” I tell him, and he bursts out laughing at that. “Grungely and totally badass.” He picks up his glass again for another swig of stout and then takes a look over at me with a lick of his lips. I raise a glass to him and we clink them together at the edges. He asks for a refill when I ask for some battered cod and a little dish of tartar sauce.

The candles seem brighter than they were when we came in. More and more people are coming in behind us, and soon the pub is bustling with people.

I turn my head to the window on the other side of the room, at the growing shadows casting across the floor and the drum kit with the waning light. A girl with a guitar steps up onto the stage.

“Any volunteers to play rhythm section with me?” she asks into the microphone over the drum kit. I turn to Matt as he's downing the rest of his stout.

“That drum kit over there's freed up,” I point out to him.

“I dunno if I can play, though,” he admits. “I can be—kinda unsure of myself when—hic, 'scuse me—I've taken down a couple of drinks.”

I think back to the first time I played Ultramega OK on my player, and the other times I played it, including this morning.

“You know, I really like you guys' cover of 'Smokestack Lightning',” I tell him.

He swallows, but doesn't reply. I glance up at the drum kit once again. All the times I played in cover bands are returning to me.

Oh. Oh, okay. I'm gonna be Phil Collins now. I take one final sip of the root beer and wolf down the last bite of fish before striding on over to her to join her.

She welcomes me by telling me she's not the best singer. I concede as I take a seat on the stool behind the snare and the bass. It's a small kit, one that I'm definitely used to. I tell her what song I want to play and her face lights up; and then there's that microphone next to my head.

“Hi, my name's Joe Belladonna. I'm the singer as well as the drummer for tonight. Just call me Joe the drummer.”

I'm a little rusty, especially since Matt's got such an interesting way of playing but I do know it. I'm also doing the duty of singing like Chris.

Nancy says I'm like Chris. Well, tonight I'm gonna be Chris as well as Matt, playing this old blues song in a dark steamy town that smells of molasses.

There's just one difference: my screams don't go as nearly high as Chris, and I'm a tenor.

[irrepressible-domovoy]

Truth’s Understanding

Yesterday I wrote a ficlet based off of an idea from @mmmmmmmmmchicken and everyone loved it so much that it has since become my post with the fastest-growing popularity. (Part one is called Hatred’s Lies, if anyone is interested)

The idea was that Flash Thompson from Spiderman: Homecoming was also Flash from DC Comics and was friends/allies with Spiderman but they didn’t know it. It spiralled out of control until I wrote a part two.

Note: I am not sure how this one stacks up to the first one, but I have been writing since I was three years old and never had anyone cuss me out until that fic. So maybe my opinion is colored by that fact.

Peter poked at his lunch.

Well, the school called it lunch. It really wasn’t food, but it was what they had and he wasn’t going to add to the grocery bill by bringing lunch with him every day.

He picked up his breadstick (the only edible part of the whole tray) and tried to nibble at it, but couldn’t get his stomach to stop clenching.

Across the room, laughter echoed loud and rambunctious, even for a school cafeteria. Most of the other students were huddled in their little groups, whispering away about their latest gossip.

That was normal. It wouldn’t usually bother Peter.

What did bother him was the topic.

Flash.

The web-slinger’s super-hearing had picked his name up in nearly every whispered conversation that day. Everyone had either been asking if he was alright or spreading some outrageous rumor meant to humiliate him more than it was meant to actually explain why he was acting so strange.

The boy in question was sequestered on the floor in the corner where no one would bother him, by the trash cans where no one else wanted to sit.

The people he had once called “friends” sat across the room and regularly snuck glances at him and would send someone over to throw something away, “accidentally” missing and hitting Flash instead.

Peter tried to be angry with him, he really did. He should be allowed that at least, right?

Flash had run off as soon as he saw who was underneath the mask last night. No apologies, no explanations; just a gust of wind and a tingle of electricity in the air in his wake.

It had made Peter angry for a little while. He’d all but said that he forgave him, and yet he still ran.

But the anger had simmered down to more of a frustration. Yes, Flash seemed like the emotionally constipated kind of guy, but this was just ridiculous. He’d already seen him cry. (And there was no shame in that. Peter knew that first-hand)

He had tried to talk to him before school and in between classes, but Flash kept ducking and weaving through the crowd to avoid him.

Michelle thumped down across from him, pulling him from his thoughts, Ned sliding in next to her.

“You hear about Flash?” Ned asked in lieu of a greeting.

A muscle in Peter’s jaw ticked and Michelle must have seen it because her eyes narrowed. Those Vulcan eyes of hers…

“You know something we don’t, Parker?”

Peter shook his head and directed his gaze to the crime scene that was his lunch tray.

Through his peripheral vision, he saw the others share a look.

“Pete,” Ned began, softening his voice. “You know we’re all friends here, right? It’s our job to help each other out.”

Peter sighed. The other boy’s softness might have appeared like he was using kid’s gloves, but Peter knew he was just trying to be supportive.

“It’s just something between me and Flash.” He made sure he caught Ned’s eyes. “No need for the guy in the chair.”

Something dawned in his eyes then. A Spiderman thing.

Peter just hoped he wouldn’t ask any more questions.

Another round of laughter came from the more popular kids, this time spreading into snickers from the rest of the room.

One of the kids had gone to throw something away: a half-full pudding cup that had ended up all over the one kid on the floor… three feet away from the actual can.

“The bully has become the bullied,” Michelle mused. “It’s kinda poetic, in a sick way.”

Peter growled low in his throat. This had to stop.

He stood, waving off his friends, and followed Flash as he left to get cleaned up.

Peter jogged after him until the made it to the boys’ bathroom.

“Finally found the chance, huh?”

Peter just blinked for a moment as Flash took off his top layer, leaving the plain grey t-shirt beneath, and ran it under the faucet.

“Kinda surprised you'd do it in the school, but hey,” he gestured at nothing. “What do I know?”

“What are you talking about?”

Peter took a step closer but froze when Flash flinched almost violently.

The vigilante paused to actually look at the other teenager.

His eyes were wide and his shoulders were up around his ears. His movements were jerky as he scrubbed at his shirt, but his eyes never strayed from Peter's hands.

It clicked.

“I'm not going to hurt you, Flash.” He held his hands up in surrender.

The speedster laughed.

“Why not? I deserve it.”

Peter gave a small, half-shrug.

“Eh, not really my thing to decide what people deserve.”

Flash, who's hands had gotten faster and faster with their scrubbing of his shirt until they were inhumanly fast, realized he'd accidentally rubbed a hole right through the fabric and threw it down in frustration. He growled out a curse and pulled at his hair before sliding to the ground and smacking his head against the wall a few times.

Peter slid down next to him, sliding his hand between the wall and his friend's head.

“Why are you always so nice to me?”

Peter thought for a moment.

“My aunt and uncle always told me that people who were mean to people usually did it out of ignorance, fear, or jealousy. So I assumed that it would be the same with you.” He took his hand back, clasping both together on top of his knees. “And I was right.”

Flash appeared deeply engrossed in the tile and grout for a few minutes, in which Peter sat in silence.

“But-” There were the waterworks again. “I all but said that I hated you last night.”

Peter shook his head but kept his eyes forward on the old door.

“No, you said that I made you feel inferior. Which I am really sorry about, by the way.”

Flash sniffed and waved the apology away.

“Nah, it's my own insecurities. No reason you should suffer because of them.”

Peter scoffed.

“And you should?”

Flash pressed his lips together in a thin line.

“I swear,” Peter fixed him with his deadliest glare. “If you say that it's what you deserve, I will throw you through this wall.”

That was enough to startle a laugh out of Flash.

Peter was glad to hear that sound again, but he had to ask.

“I don't mean to pry, but why were your friends making fun of you?”

Flash's face fell.

“They, uh, were making fun of Damian Fowler, the kid with the stutter in Mrs. Kinsey's class?” He swallowed, picking at his jeans. “I've never been cool with that kinda thing, picking on someone for something they can't help, but the others were all for it.”

Peter closed his eyes, already knowing how this ended.

“I spoke up, because I had realized what we were doing at all was wrong. No questions asked.” He shook his head with a wry smile. “I did get them to stop picking on him.”

Peter sighed.

“Well, I guess I should officially welcome you to the Losers Club.”

Flash chuckled.

“No, seriously,” Peter continued. “We've got jackets and everything.”

Flash actually started giggling, pulling Peter along with him.

“Still friends, then?” Peter asked when they finally stopped laughing.

Flash offered a small smile in return.

“Still friends.”

“Good, because I really want to get off this dirty, public restroom floor.”

Flash elbowed Peter in the stomach in his rush to get to his feet.

[dreamstormdragon]

OC Snippet Tag

Rules of the game: Pick an OC and answer the following 7 Qs!

I got tagged by @theblueskyphoenix

As for an OC… Darnit making me choose between all my babies.

I pick my Spider-Verse OC Athena Parker, because I’ve been wanting to do more with her but am on a bit of a “Don’t do anything new until after nano” so… Yeah.

1. Your OC is at a jazz bar when they see a mysterious, alluring dame being pestered by a joe that just won’t let up. What do they do?

She, really wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place. She was just there to make a trade of goods, with a seller because it was cheaper than shipping.

However, she wasn’t about to sit there and watch that happen. The girl stood up, adjusting her gloves, taking aim.

The guy opened his mouth, for another pickup line, when he was silenced by a glob of web across his mouth. He let out a muffled yell of alarm, as he started looking around, expecting New York’s favorite webslinger to be hanging around the bar somewhere.

Athena tapped the woman’s shoulder gesturing for her to sit next to her.

“Thank you… I have no idea where that came from though.”

She smiled.

“Maybe there’s a friendly neighborhood spider chilling around. Root beer?”

“Please.”

2. The world will be destroyed in three days. What does your OC do with their remaining time?

The world, was going to collapse in three days. No one had expected that blasted device, to be recreated in another universe… Let alone a universe full of danger like no other.

“This is going to be tough.” She remarked, looking down at the ruined city, her hair blowing in the wind.

The man beside her, narrowed his eyes, giving her a nudge.

“You wanna sit and wait for the world to die, or get home in time for dinner?”

Athena smirked, pulling down her mask.

“Let’s stop the zombie apocalypse. I wanna punch zombie you in the face.”  She gave a thumbs up, showing she had a capsule in one hand. “We can make a cure rain right?”

Peter patted her head, before pulling his own mask down.

“Let’s roll.”

3. Your OC spends the night in a haunted house for a bet, only to realize that the rumours might be true… What do they do?

She hummed a little under her breath, her mind trying to block out any of the noises coming from around her.

Yarn over, pull through, yarn over pull through…

The air around her went cold, as something icy grabbed her shoulder.

“I, swear if you interrupt my counting I’m gonna sock you.” She growled, turning as a large misty apparition shrunk down behind the couch. “That’s what I thought!”

“Boss…” A voice whispered. “What do we do? She just gets mad!”

“Take her dang yarn!”

Athena held up a spray mister, meant for plants.

“You touch my yarn, I cleanse you out of this dimension.”

4. A character your OC cares deeply about has just passed away. How do they handle their grief?

She supposed, it was too good to be true. To believe she’d ever have a full and happy family, where no one was going to disappear from her life.

She sobbed harder, burying her face into a bundle in her arms. His spare suit, his mask… It still smelled like the laundry soap he used for it and baby powder.

MJ was downstairs, dealing with the press but Athena… Athena couldn’t go down there. It was just a reminder, that in the end…

 Spider-Man, chose to save her instead of himself.

Dad… Why? Why did you do this to me?

 She sat up, slowly staring down at the mask. No more night time runs in their casual clothes, no more sitting up late watching movies while making jokes.

No more dramatic sighing whenever we go to the craft store…

No more tucking me in at night… No more kissing Mom goodbye before patrol…

“You were supposed to be there for me… I’m not ready for this part…. I’m not ready,...” She growled, her voice shaking as she punched the mask down into her mattress. “You were supposed to give me away at my wedding you jerk!”

She sunk down into her bed, curling up.

“You… You were the only one who got what I’m going through…”

Dad….

Please come back.

Please let this be a bad dream I can wake up from…

I need you… I’m scared.

Daddy, I’m scared…

I’m scared of the dark...

 5. Your OC walks into a coffee shop. What kind of coffee do they order?

Athena hummed a little, strolling into her favorite shop.

“Ah, if it isn’t the weaver!” The barista laughed. “How hard did your dad’s credit card cry this time?”

Athena grinned, holding up a hefty bag from her favorite yarn store.

“Pretty bad. Can I have a mocha frapp with extra java chips, six pumps of vanilla and caramel?” She asked.

The barista winced.

“Oh… Oh, you are terrible. You want actual coffee in that?”

Athena stuck her tongue out.

“Nope. Give me my overly sugary drink fix please!”

6. Your OC finds themselves in a financial pinch - they need money, and fast. Who do they go to or what do they do to get the dough?

Athena sighed heavily, looking up from her laptop, to the people across the room. Her mother met her eyes, as she shook her head getting up quickly. She wanted no part of this upcoming war.

“Daaaad.” She called, in the most sugary sweet voice she could manage. “How much do you love me?”

Peter didn’t look up from the report he was typing up for the Bugle. “How much is this gonna cost me?”

“Just… a hundred and fifty…”

“For what?”

“Freshly dyed, baby alpaca yarn… and angora in some beautiful shades.” She batted her eyes, trying to get him to look her in the eyes. “I promise, I won’t ask for anything else!”

“Athena… I’m gonna teach you a lesson my aunt May taught me.” Peter looked up at her with a stern look. “I’m not made of money. I’ll drop cash gladly on your yarn that doesn’t cost me an arm and a leg but if you want that really fancy crap, either wait until the holidays or your birthday. Or find a way around it. But I am not dropping that much on new yarn, when you have tons of it upstairs.”

Athena sighed heavily, looking down at the skeins she oh so desperately wanted. She already could imagine the sweaters and shawls she could create from them.

Then… she got an idea… Athena looked up at him, giving another innocent look.

“Dad? Can I have an etsy store?”

“By all means, if it gets rid of the yarn you’re stashing in my spider shed go for it.”

A few days later, Athena was listing batches of Spider-Man related memorabilia on her new etsy store, from jackets to order by commission, to premade little plushies of the famous webslinger… and a few of her own persona.

“You think people really are gonna buy Arachne stuff?” She fidgeted, looking at the tiny plushie in her hands, that resembled her costume.

Peter patted her head, taking it and slipping her a twenty. She looked up at him in surprise.

“I know at least one person who will.” He winked, giving her a grin. “I think I’ll make her my little desk guardian at work.”

Athena giggled, hugging him tightly.

“Love you Dad.”

“Love you too Weaver.”

7.  Your OC somehow obtains the ability to time travel. Where do they go, and what do they do?

She was going to stop this. She had been so determined to stop it… she didn’t think about what would happen when she did. She saw her younger self, milling around a shop room, singing under her breath.

Before she had been bitten by a radioactive spider, dropped into her dimension… while it sucked her newly divorced future parent into another.

She had been intending to jump back, to stop the divorce from happening in the first place… but it made her pause.

Her younger self, had been so alone… She had her group home, yes. Her fiber art club at school.

But years of accumulating skills, taught to her by people who had said “we promise this is the last home.” Had hurt…

Arachne stared at Athena, spotting a familiar bright green, blue and black spider crawling along the wall.

Soon, I’m gonna get bit… Then in a few months, Mom and Dad are gonna drop in on my life...

Gosh and I was gonna mess up a good thing I had…

I love my parents… but I know if I stop that, then I stop this.

Then I stop my family from existing…

So, she turned away. She jumped back to her own time, throwing away the device that was letting her make the jumps. Trading her costume, for her favorite dress and jacket, bolting down the streets towards home.

Home, with her room that had the special shelves, just for her ever growing collections of yarn and thread.

Home, with the old school sewing machine her aunt May had left to MJ when she passed.

Home, with her weaving loom and her knitting needles and crochet hooks…

Home…

With her parents.

ooooo

Aaaaahhhh this was fun, to explore Athena a little bit, since I do wanna do more for my spider gal. For now… This shall be it. This was fun!

Let’s see…

I taaaaag….

No one. >83

[avengerleague]

‘Mimic’

Avengers x Female Reader

Chapter 1: Origin

Summary: The origin story for Y/n, a soon to be avenger. When a fight involving the avengers was the last thing you were expected to encounter on your walk back to your apartment one day. After trying to be a good Samaritan puts you in the wrong place at the wrong time, a strange device’s explosion cause results that you couldn’t have seen coming.

Word Count: 2690

a/n: Alright so in case you’re wondering the protagonist is going to have power mimicry. I didn’t want to be that bitch who spoils her own story but this is called ‘Mimic’ so I don’t think it would have been that hard to figure out anyway. I’ll further explain in the next chapter. Also, like I said in my last post, in my head this was going to end up being like Reader x Bucky but in a future scene I wrote out earlier it came together as a really cute Reader x Steve??? So if anyone has any opinions on this lmk like should I pick one, or try to do a love triangle type thing? w/e enjoy! Or don’t I can’t force you to feel anything!

Chapter 2   Chapter 3

New York City was no stranger to Avenger intervention. It was only a few short years ago that the they first assembled to save the world, in effect trashing the city as a whole. And while many New Yorkers still held a grudge about the widespread destruction that resulted, when chaos struck, there was no one else anyone would rather have around.

 You were only a few minutes from your apartment when you heard people start screaming at the end of the block. You stopped in your tracks and pulled your earbuds out of your ear as a wave of people rushed towards you and away from something; it was practically a stampede. The fight or flight in you told you to follow the crowd and run screaming in the opposite direction, but there was a curious part of you that wanted to see what was happening for yourself. You stuffed your phone and headphones in your pocket and began to push through the crowd. Swimming upstream was hard enough without being shoved and elbowed, but soon enough you broke through the end of the mob to see the rest of the street was almost completely open. Almost. About 100 feet from you 7 guys in all black facing away from you were fighting 3 people whose faces you couldn’t see, two guys and a girl. Like intense fighting. You could see that one of the guys in black had something in his back pack that was glowing through the fabric. You made out that one of the three was dressed strangely, like in a morphsuit, and then wait, did the girl just… and did the guy on the left just… it can’t be the --

 Before you could finish your thought, your eyes landed on something halfway between you and the people fighting. It was a little boy standing on the sidewalk crying, he must have lost his family in the chaos. He could only be about three or four and looked like he was too scared to move on his own. It’s not like you were the everyday hero type, but you couldn’t just leave the kid there.

 Sticking close to the buildings on your left, you made your way over to the boy. There were random objects and debris all over the street from the panic a few minutes earlier, so you head to weave and climb your way over. After a bit of struggle, you finally reached him and kneeled down to try to console him. His crying eased but he still gave a few quiet sobs. “Hi buddy it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay,” you lightly placed your hands on the sides of his arms. “Do you know were your mom or dad went?” The boy wiped his cheek and pointed in the direction the crowd left. Another loud yell caught your attention, except this time it was coming from the direction of the fight. Now that you were closer you had a better view. There were two guys in black knocked out on the ground, maybe dead! That wasn’t really any of your business. The source of the yelling was another one of the guys in black – he was floating a couple feet in the air. Down on the ground you saw a girl with a reddish cloud coming from her hands presumably levitating him. She looked vaguely familiar, like you might have seen her on the news. And though you weren’t sure of her name, the way she was suspending this guy in the air, you were pretty sure she was in the Avengers. Your eyes darted to the right of her; is that Captain fucking America who just knocked that other guy out? Something on the left caught your attention; a guy in a red and blue full body suit swung off a building and tied a guy up with what looked like webbing of some sort. You’d seen him before, but you had no idea he was in with the Avengers. He was spider something, the spider, Spiderman? That left only two of the bad guys to go. Captain America grabbed the glowing thing out of the guy he’d knocked out’s bag and ran a couple feet away from the fighting to examine it while the other two held off the remaining bad guys. Something flying overhead caught your eye. Hold on, was that Iron Man? This really was the Avengers.

 You shook yourself back into reality and refocused on this kid who desperately needed saving. You picked him up and tried to make your way back where you came from through the rubble. You’d only taken a few steps when you saw a woman come running towards you crying. The boy reached out towards her and called for her. You glanced back at Captain America; you were now close enough that you could hear him speaking into an earpiece while picking around at wires connected to the glowing box. “Tony, I’ve been able to shrink the blast radius and for the most part disarm the bomb, but I haven’t been able to stabilize it and I can’t get the timer to stop.” You didn’t have time to be concerned. You continued climbing through the debris and heard him talking into his earphone again from behind you, “How do we know it won’t be harmful? Even if it won’t physically blow something up we don’t know what it’s capable of”.

 You finally reached the woman at the middle of the street at a fallen piece of a building that was now blocking the entire street. It was low enough that you could pass the boy over it, but you would need a running start or a boost to get over it yourself. “Thank you so much, I don’t know how to thank you,” his mother said as you lifted the boy over the rubble into her arms. “We got separated with all the craziness and then I couldn’t get through all the people” she said through tears of relief. “I was only doing what anybody would do,” you assured once he was safely across. “Now you should get out of here. I can manage getting across myself.” The woman nodded her head and backed away. “Thank you, truly.” She turned and ran.

 You looked side to side along the piece of the barricaded street to find a place that you would be able to climb over and ran a couple feet to your left. You decided to take one final look back at Captain America and the Avengers. You looked over your shoulder and before you knew what was happening you were being dragged away from the barricade.

 The guy held you around your neck and shoulders and pressed a gun to your temple. You had your feet on the ground, but he was holding you at an angle where you couldn’t stand. You managed to look up and see it was one of the guys in black. “Drop the device.” He threatened, “Or else.” Captain America put the glowing thing down and sat back on his feet with his hands up. The only other remaining bad guy grabbed the device from in front of cap and joined the guy who was currently holding a gun to your head. The Avenger girl and the Spiderman guy ran up behind Captain America panting. It was a stand-off.

 Needless to say, this was not where you thought this day was going to end up when you woke up this morning.

 “Back away, and the girl will be fine,” the guy holding the device said.” That’s when two shots came and struck the guys in black out of the blue, like literally, out of the sky.” You fell onto your hands and knees and looked up to see the one and only Iron Man land next to the other avengers who were still about 30 feet away from you. In a semi-robotic voice from inside the suit you heard him say “We don’t negotiate with terrorists”. A majorly cool line, but you didn’t really have time to appreciate it.

 *BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*

 You looked at the glowing device still a few feet away from you and saw it was ticking down the final seconds until detonation. The avengers must have heard it too. One of them yelled “RUN!”

 Without thinking you took off in the opposite direction of the device. You saw the Spiderman shoot his web at it and the girl use whatever powers she had to try and get it away from you, but it was too late. A second later with a boom you were blasted back and hit the broken building in the middle of the street. You were lying on the ground, but you felt pretty much okay, you didn’t feel like you’d been seriously injured or affected in any way. You pushed your hair out of your face and looked up to see the girl was rushing over to you. The blast must have knocked one of the guys into the other because they were both on the ground. While they were on the ground though, they were in about the same place that they were before, so you gathered they weren’t thrown back like you were.  You looked around, Iron Man was gone.

 “Are you okay?” she asked kneeling in front of you. She had brown hair, a whisper of an eastern European accent, and looked around your age, maybe a little younger. You shook your head and nodded at the same time, mostly just in shock at this turn of events. “Yeah I’m, I’m fine. I think I’m fine.”

 “Steve only had time to shrink the blast radius to about 15 or 20 feet, so we were just out of reach, but you felt the full force. That’s why you were thrown back so far”. She pressed her earpiece into her ear and stopped talking, seemingly to hear someone talking to her. After a moment she nodded her head and refaced you. “Tony says that he scanned your vitals and you should be fine. No broken bones, no concussion, just a sprained wrist and some bruises.”

 “Tony Stark?” Your eyes practically popped out of your head. The girl nodded “He’ll be back, he’s making sure the explosion was contained to this block”. Billionaire, dreamboat Tony Stark had done a scan on your body. How much could he see? Should I even be thinking about this right now? No, I’m sure I shouldn’t, and yet…

 She offered you her hand and pulled you off the ground. “I’m Wanda by the way,” she said.

 You started “I’m –” but got cut off when Captain America and Spiderman ran over.

 You’d obviously seen pictures and videos of Steve Rogers before, hell, you even did a presentation on him once in middle school, but none of that could have told you about how utterly, downright handsome this man was in the flesh. “Wanda, is she okay?” He asked looking from you to her. The reason he probably hadn’t asked you himself was because your eyes were so wide from seeing him up-close and personal that you looked like you were in shock. Which you kind of were, but more of an attractive-man/avengers-shock than anything else.

 “She’s alright.”

 Captain America nodded his head and Iron Man (fucking Iron Man!) landed next to you. You gasped a little bit out of surprise but the other three seemed unphased by his falling out of the sky. Cap stuck his hand out towards you to shake.

 “I’m Steve.”

 You reached towards him, “I’m –” a reddish cloud came out from your hand just before it met his and he was thrown down the street, landing on his stomach. Steve groaned and pushed himself up to his elbows.

 For a moment nobody said anything. They looked from you to Captain America and back to you. You look down at your hands. You were just as shocked as they were. No, you were certainly more shocked.

 Iron Man points to Wanda, “I thought that was your thing?”

 “It looked like it was my thing, but it wasn’t me, I swear.”

 “What are there two of them?” Spiderman muffled through his mask throwing his hands up.

 Everyone turned to look at you. Cap walked back over, his hair slightly messier. You shook your head with wide eyes, “I swear that’s never happened before”. They all stayed silent for another moment.

 “Well,” Iron Man broke the silence, “She obviously has to come back with us.”

 Cap turned to him, “Hold on Tony, we don’t know what this situation was, we don’t know who these guys are. We’re lucky we were even around in the first place. This could be out of our jurisdiction.”

 Spiderman raised his hand, “Are we even sure we have a jurisdiction?”

 “Maybe we should take her to a hospital,” he continued.

 Iron Man shook his head, (or his helmet I guess). “Cap, she’s perfectly healthy, physically. A hospital would be completely useless. Whatever that was,” he said motioning to your hands, “Came from that glowstick on steroids. When someone can throw someone 15 feet in the air without touching them, that is very much in our jurisdiction.”

 Cap nodded his head realizing Tony was probably right. “Right. Now that all of that’s settled,” Tony Stark turned to you, “Are you ready to go to the Avengers facility?” You were more than a little thrown off. The avengers facility? That was like the Batcave, the inner sanctum. Should you just leave everything and go? Did you even have a choice? You didn’t like your job that much, you didn’t like your roommate that much, so what did you have to lose? “I’m in.”

 “Great! Now you four are all going to have to be quarantined until we figure out what’s wrong with this young lady, and if it affected the rest of you, you know, with your standing here right now”.

 “Hang on, what do you mean ‘you four’, what about you?” Wanda protested.

 “You may or may not have noticed, miss teenage drama queen, but I happen to be in an airtight suit with a filtration system. Nothing gets in here but pristine air” Tony boasted.

 “What about me?” Spiderman chimed in. “You designed my suit; did you give me a filtration system?”

 “No, that thing’s mostly polyester. Anyway, since you three were out of the blast radius I don’t think it should have affected you in the same way. I mean you two can’t make things fly with your hands, can you?” he said pointing to Spiderman and Cap. “Peter?”

 Spiderman – Peter, sighed and made an intensely half-hearted effort to mimic the hand motions you had seen Wanda doing earlier during the fight. You had to admit, it made him look pretty stupid, but nothing happened. “Yeah that’s what I figured. Super glad I got to see that though”. He leaned down and picked up the device. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.  just called four self-driving cars to bring you guys back upstate, and she let the police know to block off this street just in case it ends up being toxic or something.” You looked over at the others to see if they were as troubled by that statement as you were, and with the exception of Peter (who even through a mask you could tell had eyes nearly popping out of his head), they looked more inconvenienced and annoyed at Tony than anything. “I wouldn’t give it too much thought. So, I’m gonna fly back because I can fly, and I guess I’ll meet you all there”.

 Wanda rolled her eyes, “ You know you’re not the only Avenger who can fly, Tony.”

 “I don’t know, yours is more levitating. You can’t do distance. It’s sad.”

 “Suck it Tony”

 “Wow, she’s really catching on to American slang. ‘Suck it’, that’s really something. You teaching her this Parker?”

 Steve turned to you once more, “What did you say your name was again?”

 You let out a small laugh, “I actually didn’t get to say. I’m Y/n”.

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Chapter 2   Chapter 3

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