#[snippets of linear time - queue]

[funnel-webbed-au]

Wood smoke and Ashes

Riley's Notes: Kinda long one. Here's something from early in arc two that explains largely why Iron Fan and DBK don't show up much, in this AU. Based a bit loosely off of my own interactions with my mother, but let me tell you, she was already making plans with what she'd do with my room before I'd even moved out yet. It felt like I never existed.

Red Son opened the door of his workshop with a quick entry of a passcode to the keypad near the door. A chill ran down his spine at the prospect of the conversation that he was about to start, but it needed to be said. He had to tell them, this had to be discussed. There was no getting out of it if he wanted a better life for himself.

He had to leave.

The fire Demon came into the living room with his nails tightly digging into his upper arms. Any tighter and onlookers would have said he was going to draw blood.

It was a terrifying thought, the idea of having to leave this fortress behind, but it was one he knew would give him more freedom than his lawlessness and his power ever would. Sure, he could do whatever he wanted in the city without consequences because he was such a powerful fire Demon, but when he was in his own home, it was like he didn't matter.

He hissed, wiping a tear from his eyes as he remembered a day he might wind up bringing up in the conversation he was about to start. This wasn't going to be easy, he knew that better than anyone else.

How did you leave someone you love behind?

“Mother…? Father…?” His voice cracked with the unease that had sunk its icy claws into his heart. He was usually so bright and filled with fiery passion, but now, in the presence of his parents, it was thoroughly stifled.

How the Hell did you tell your own family you wanted to leave, after everything they'd been through? The idea of broaching the topic twisted Hai'Er's stomach into horrible, painful knots that he'd almost forgotten. He had almost missed this pain. Perhaps this was what it meant to feel alive.

Princess Iron Fan turned to her son, raising an eyebrow though her expression didn't change from a deadpan otherwise. The entire sequence opened up a bottomless void in the fire Demon's gut.

He hated it.

“I, er… there is something we need to discuss. It is… of utmost importance and I dread broaching it now, in such an informal environment…” Those words brought Iron Fan to her feet, and she approached Red Son with an intimidating, almost towering presence that instilled fear into the one of her children who'd stayed with her, her favorite child…

Hai'Er flinched, unable to hide the chill that went down his spine from her cold gaze, filled with more frost and more unfeeling nothingness than that of the Lady Bone Demon… or so the redhead might say.

“Red Son, my dear, you know you can talk to us about whatever you need to. This is our home, although it doubled as a wartime fortress.” Iron Fan glanced at her husband, who had turned to watch the scene from his seat. He was still distracted by Chang'E's cooking show, however.

It was then that Red Son snapped. Boiling emotions tipping over, the heat of his workshop, and of the core of the volcano, erupting from within him.

“No, I can't talk to you, and no, this isn't our home. It's your home.” The fire Demon stepped back after saying those words, sweat rolling down his cheeks. The fear that set in afterwards couldn't be overstated, but despite it, Iron Fan didn't raise her voice.

“Why do you say that?” She tilted her head as she spoke those words, and it wasn't long before the Demon Bull King loomed at her side, expression serious. He didn't even need to prompt Red Son before the words came gushing out.

“This- this isn't my home. It doesn't… it doesn't feel like home.” He took a few moments to gather himself, steeling his nerves. Yes, right, he was the current wielder of the True Samadhi Fire, he didn't have anything to fear from them.

”You weren't there when I broke my arm in a training accident. I had to find ways to express myself without the use of my dominant arm for months. Sleeping wasn't easy, either, since I'm most inclined to sleep curled up on my right side, but I didn't expect you to be aware of that.“ His harsh tone drew a growl from his father, but he didn't stop. ”You two are always busy planning to take over the city, planning to take what was once rightfully ours. I'm not so sure if that city is ours to take anymore…”

He stopped, swallowing the vitriol that had threatened to overcome him… and for once, he made a choice. One he hadn't made in his own home for a long time.

The fire Demon allowed his expression to fall, showing the centuries of hurt he'd endured in the past. The instability, the lack of support, it was all hitting him harder now more than ever.

”…I can't stay here. This isn't a slight against you, but I can't stay here. You're not there when I need you, and I hate to say it, but the damn noodle boy and his friends always are. Someone he knows, if not him, will ask the unpleasant questions you two just… don't.“ He swallowed, then raised his expression to face his parents.

The Demon Bull King had turned his head away, no longer able to keep looking at his son. He knew he'd failed him, but he didn't know how severely until now. It was a mighty blow against his ego, one he might not recover from easily.

“I understand, son. If we can't give you what you need, I'll help you move out. Don't be afraid to use some of the yuan we've gained over the years to find yourself somewhere stable.”

Red Son smiled weakly, and for once, couldn't help the way his heart swelled, feeling warm and full for the first time in a long time. He wiped the tears from his eyes, nodding gently as he approached his mother.

Iron Fan moved almost too fast for comfort, wrapping her son up in her arms. The day had finally come, eh? She wasn't surprised, but it still hurt. She ran her fingers through her son's hair, appreciating the silky texture that was only there when Red Son took care of it.

“…I'm sorry, dear. This is… all of our faults, isn't it?” Although Iron Fan's voice cracked, her expression was reserved, restrained. She didn't want anyone to see her cry just yet.

“…I think so. Yours for not being there, mine for not communicating. Time will tell if this is… salvageable. If it's any consolation, I have hope that it is.” He smiled weakly as he clung to his mother. DBK picked them both up, holding them close to himself. He was going to miss his son deeply, but maybe it was better this way.

Sometimes, hope was all you had.

[te-pu-si-ti]

The last show…

September 24, 2023.

I joined some of my best show friends for one last Sunday brunch. I wore my Askalaphos vest, that I had knitted myself, every stitch a tiny act of love for the show.

The queue was beautiful. The atmosphere was just like a party, with everyone sharing the love.

Once we got into the bar, I had a whisper in my ear - Do you care about seeing the museum for one last time? If not, sit on the other side of Peep… where someone from Front of House came to meet us, handed us our commemorative masks (ours to keep), and opened the door directly into Troy.

I had tears prickling my eyes before I even crossed the threshold, and it was beautiful to step right into the city, to take it in with no adjustment period. No crossfade. Hitting me like a truck. I was there. For the last time.

The reset music filled the space around us. The first thing I wanted to do was to say goodbye to some of the spaces that were important to me. While the show was still mostly empty, I went through Tenement Square (straight past Milton's Kronos, always the first character out) and into Room 7, Kampe's room.

I soaked in as many details as I could. I laid on the bed. I ran my finger over the crystal lampshade, appreciating its tinkling sound. I looked at the keys, and the vintage makeup, and the animal masks, and I looked at my own masked face in the mirror.

I crawled into the back room of the hotel, Kampe's other home, and looked up at the ceiling. While I feel at home here, I couldn't say that I know this place intimately. There's all these details, uncountable numbers of them. There's always more to discover. Snippets of poetry pasted to the ceiling - I read them off silently.

How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water To be so still that way.

I spent some time slowly climbing the graffiti stairs, enjoying this artwork that I too often rushed past. Linear B fragments that would never get translated - the depths of this world are unreachable.

I went into the owl bedroom, I got into the bed and I hugged an owl. I must confess, I pinched something - a tissue out of the tissue-box. I'm sorry, I needed it.

I had told people I wouldn't be following Kampe; I triple-looped Kampe at the Saturday matinee and it was the most beautiful goodbye I could think of for my favourite snake monster. But I finished my set tour and... found myself settling in Klub, waiting for Kampe to appear. When I saw a fellow Fania Kampe fan waiting there too, I smiled and shrugged sheepishly.

But I just stayed for a scene, long enough to hear the pop-rocks fizzing in their mouth, long enough to watch the lights go out. Then I crossed the border, to say goodbye to Mycenae, that vast cold desolate space. The crates, the border station, the hinterlands. I watched Artemis for a while, dancing with the deer skull.

I returned to Troy, I watched Polydorus and Polyxena reunite - a devastatingly beautiful dance I did not often make time to see. But the show took me where I needed to be.

I did not make plans for this show. I tried to tie up all my unfinished business beforehand, and come into this one with no expectations. And so I found myself, at the reset, waiting outside of Peep, begging to be let in. Don't you know, this is where I belong?

It took me a long time to find the beauty of Peep. At the start of the run, I found it exposing and overwhelming compared to the safety of the mask and the gentle drones of Troy. But now, it had become home. A place full of friends and excitement and unabashed queerness.

So I spent my second loop in the bar, and it wasn't a waste at all - far from it. It was exactly where I needed to be.

So there was Dyo, and Nance, and Furnace and Cryo and... Hannah?? Yes, they had brought in a third Fury, and the band sounded awesome.

It was a beautiful, comforting Peep loop, nothing more, nothing less, with good friends, good cast, and an overall sense of gratitude for being there today.

And I failed at the card trick, I tore my bits of parchment up into confetti and threw them in the air - just as Kampe emerged from their dressing room, giving me a glance and a smile and a gentle touch as they passed.

And they made me forget my plans, because I had to choose between the last Tango and the last Fania Kampe YSSMIAC, and while I heard stories about the amazing tango switchover with two Hades and two Persephones, I have absolutely no regrets.

Now with a blood-marked mask, I followed Kampe up to the blinding, and stayed with them there at reset, to see my only cast switch of the day.

Kampe's reset has always been one of my favourites, ever since the first time I saw it - the quiet following the blinding. Everyone else has filtered away to begin their stories again. The use of the round minotaur painting on the floor - walking around it or turning on it like a clock. The sense of Kampe losing themselves, then waking up from a strange dream. Finding themselves with the eyeballs and the blood, uncertain of where they came from, but accepting it and moving on.

Fania Kampe lay on the floor of the Klub, curled up, unconscious.

A white mask in a long black puffer coat jumped over the bar. They walked up, leaned down, examined Kampe. They took off the mask, revealing herself to be Pin Chieh. Pin Chieh Kampe put the mask onto Fania's still-bloodied face, Fania got up and took Pin Chieh's coat. Fania disappeared into the crowd, becoming an observer, and Kampe was now someone else.

After the swap, I did some wandering, catching scenes here and there, always with added poignancy knowing this was the final loop of the show that defined my life for over a year.

I wound up in Peep again, just in time for Lily to come in and sing a final If I Didn't Have Your Love - with added help from the Furies. Persephone 'forgot the words', and had Sam, Hannah, and Laura provide the first 3 lines of the song. And it was so sweet, and I started welling up, and then she asked us all to take out our imaginary trumpets for the instrumental break - like so many times before, Lily had me laughing through my tears.

Upstairs to the Klub to watch Rob Laocoön dance his ritual - he heard the whooping from Peep below and sneered, muttering under his breath. His whirling dance was exquisite.

Then Neo ran in for Law of Life, and I followed him to Mycenae, finishing up with the highlights of the second half of the loop there. Iphi and Pat, crate dance, the stone table and the shower...

I tucked myself into a corner of the balcony, securing a spot for the finale. The finale was familiar to start, but different, a little grander - Hecuba was there, climbing the stairs to meet Clytemnestra. More lost souls were on the girders and the table.

And then there was the applause. The endless applause, the cheering - I screamed and whooped until my vocal cords gave out and all I could produce was a sad yodel.

Hades and Persephone appeared on the stairs to give us a final speech - and to notice that the record has a second side...

I don't know if they were really teasing anything in particular. But it was a glimmer of hope, a statement of intention, something to keep us busy speculating about until the next thing comes along. The fan Facebook group changed its name to include "the B side" that very day.

I just didn't want to go. One More Kiss, Dear, was playing on repeat, and I let most of the crowd go before I started to move. I walked slowly. I left a part of myself behind.

And I almost made a huge mistake, because the outside doors were open, daylight pouring in, and there were signs pointing outside for 'no cloakroom'. I almost left. But I followed the cloakroom crowd, for a few more precious minutes in the building.

It turns out, Peep was open for one final Peep finale. The crowds were thick and I couldn't find the friends I came in with, but my friends were all around. We hugged and cheered and savoured the last gasp of The Burnt City.

Persephone arrived, Lily, and she sang us Life On Mars.

And then we left.

And it was over.

(It wasn't over - it's never really over - We all went to the Dial Arch and shared our stories, and then life went on, and I still run into somebody I know nearly every time I go to the theatre, and I have so many great TBC friends, and I am taking in so much immersive and dance and weird and cool art, and somehow a year has now passed. And I'm so different than I was before I met this show. It has left its mark on me.)

[shads-shipposts]

So, my sailor fic Anachronism won't be released in full until at least 2029 due to other projects in my neverending queue, but! There's a profound lack of Karaboudjan crew content on this site and I feel like rectifying that. Plus I haven't cursed this hellsite with my nonsense in ages, and that's gotta be fixed.

So, here's a touch-up/completion of something I'm fairly certain I posted a while back. Ch 2 of Anachronism, called Run and Gun! It takes place the morning of the Tintin movie's beginning, but don't worry about not having chapter 1 to read yet. Honestly, things will probably make less sense if you read chapter one. Plus I haven't written it yet.

All you need to know is Anachronism involves a literal self-insert (I get sucked into the movie) but with the twist of its actually the same universe as one of my old Tintin fanfics that was never finished. Hence why Allan is after me, he's got bits of memory missing and ain't happy about it. Also, being a black belt ain't made up. I trained for 4 1/2 years and got it in 2019. This story takes place in 2020, specifically Jan 1.

Enough ramble, on with the show! Depending on the reception, I may post more book snippets as I go along. So be sure to leave a comment if you enjoyed! Or if you have thoughts on characterization, it's been a while since I've written with these guys.

CW: Langauge, minor peril, utter chaos

Word Count: 3700

---------------------------

“Catch that kid! I want her alive!”

Well ain’t this dandy? All I wanted to do was sketch the ship, now I’m in a run and gun chase scene! This is what I get for being curious!

At least this was just a dream, so I couldn’t really get hurt.

Right?

Usually my dream would have shifted into something unhinged by now. Things were too stable, too realistic. Too… what was the word? Linear.

Footsteps came quick behind me, and close. Blackbelt or not, running was not my forte. My fighting style was quick and brutal, so I never had to worry about stamina. Fights were only supposed to last a few seconds, otherwise they were brawls.

I was not trained for that.

I just really hoped it wasn’t Allan right behind me. He had questions, and to be fair I had a hell of a lot of my own, but I didn’t think he’d be keen on sitting down and having a calm chat about them.

I risked a glance behind me.

Not Allan, or any other sailor I recognized, but a young guy. No older than me, or taller, but probably faster.

“No hard feelin’, doll!” he called. “Boss wants you back, so I’m takin’ ya back!”

“Ain’t you precious!” I retorted, anger sparking through me at the nickname. “Call me that again and I’ll drop your ass!”

“That fire won’t do you any favors with the boss!”

“And your smooth talk won’t do you any favors with me!”

I had to lose this guy, he was getting close.

Spotting a brick wall maybe eight feet high, I changed course and headed straight for it. Hopefully this young fella couldn’t vault walls like I could.

Let’s see if all that self taught parkour pays off!

Jumping at the wall, right foot first, the treads of my boot caught the rough brick and I propelled myself over the obstacle. I landed in a puddle, but at least I was gone from the bad side of the wall.

“Oh what the hell?!”

Ha! Lost him!

“Nick! Where’d she go?”

“She vaulted the wall!”

Well, that was no good. That sounded like Neil, and he could probably toss Nick over the wall.

Time to make like my name and vanish!

Spying an open door, I darted inside a warehouse and climbed up behind some crates. I was careful to not put myself into a corner, however, because I knew my harsh breathing would give myself away. I could control it decently well, but even still.

My reprieve was horrifically short lived.

Voices, inside the warehouse.

“Those footprints led in here.”

Damn puddle.

“Be careful, fellas. She’s feisty!” came Nick’s laugh.

“Anyone would be annoyed to deal with you,” another sailor snorted. “Remember, boss wants her alive. Preferably unharmed, but use force to get her down if needed.”

Oh, it’s gonna be needed.

Noise came from my right, and I turned in anticipation as I waited for the sailor to show himself. He sure was making a lot of noise, and I thought I even heard a crate tumble down to the floor.

The reason for all the excess noise soon revealed itself.

“Gotcha!” Nick laughed, arms wrapping around my middle. He hauled me up and towards himself, but that gave me an idea.

Throwing all my weight back into him, he yelped and we both tumbled backwards, heels over head, down the tall stack of crates. Something that should have hurt like the dickens, but didn’t.

This was a dream after all.

Down we went, Nick having a much worse time than me. It was a long way to the cobblestone floor, the sailor who made all the noise rushing to beat us to the bottom where another sailor waited. I didn’t recognize them, so I didn’t feel too bad when I kicked off the pile of crates and launched us both into the legs into one sailor as he darted below us to grab me.

He went down, he and Nick ending up in tangled a pile of sore limbs, leaving me free to spring free and ready myself to square up with the remaining sailor.

Though I honestly wished he would have been the one Nick currently struggled to detangle himself from. I’d faced off some big guys in karate, but this fella was on another level.

Leverage. I’d have to use leverage.

In a way that did not anger this big guy.

“Little girl has skill,” he remarked in a thick Russian accent, giving me a smile that was surprisingly more good-natured than sinister. “But sadly will not make safe.”

“Get ‘er, Ollie!”

Diving into a shoulder roll, I sprang up and immediately changed direction and dove into another one just as his arms closed over the spot I just was. I darted out the door, immediately slamming into another sailor and taking us into the street.

I could not catch a break!

A car horn sounded, but before I could react, the sailor I ran into snatched the back of my jeans’ waistband and rolled us out of the way to the other side of the street. I kicked off with my legs, aiding him the best I could.

Neither of us were gonna be able to fight if we both got flattened by multiple tons of steel.

Angry yelling followed from the driver, but I didn’t really have the time to say sorry as I found myself locked in a grappling match with the sailor who saved both our skins.

Why couldn’t the other black belts have just ignored the awkwardness and taught me grappling?! I didn’t know dick about this!

But I did know one thing.

As an arm came down and tried to loop around my neck, I bared my teeth and sank them into his bare arm.

It tasted like sweat, dirt, sea-water, and engine grease.

Not that I knew what the last tasted like.

“Youch!” a semi-familiar voice yelled, quickly releasing his hold on me.

Diving away, I sprang up but stopped in horror as I found myself staring down a dead-end alley. Spinning around into a right fighting-stance, guard up and front leg ready to strike, I finally saw the sailor I’d nearly gotten run over.

Neil knelt on the ground, blocking my way out as he nursed his wounded arm. I hadn’t bitten too hard, more concerned with just getting free via surprise, so all he had to worry about was spit and a bruise. Inspecting the bite mark, he then looked up at me with an expression halfway between amusement and shock.

“You just bite me, Shortie?”

“Well pardon me for wantin’ to escape!”

He snorted in amusement, a partial smile on his face. “Apology accepted, but afraid I can’t grant that escape.”

As if on cue, more sailors joined him at the entrance to the alley. Hobbs, Tom, Ollie, Nick, the unnamed sailor Nick fell on, and…

“Shit,” I hissed, locking eyes with Allan.

“What’s the rush?” he asked. “It’s rude to not say goodbye, kid.”

That easy-going and nonthreatening smile don’t fool me, Al.  Tom’s the Golden Retriever, not you. You’re a German Shepherd with anger management issues or some shit.

Nick and the unnamed sailor stood on either side of the entrance, looking the opposite directions as they presumably kept a look out for any passersby. The others moved into the alley, pushing me further back.

Hobbs laughed, looking me up and down. “What’re we all standin’ around for? She’s not so tough, watch!”

He came forward, reaching for my arm. I waited until he got just close enough, subtly shifting my weight to my left leg, before letting it fly.

It caught him in the chest, knocking him off his feet and back towards the group.

“Nice strike,” Ollie said, arms crossed and stance relaxed as Neil erupted into laughter.

“Don’t encourage her!” Hobbs spat, slowly staggering to his feet.

“Looks like we got a martial artist on our hands, boys,” Allan remarked, looking me up and down. “No wonder they felt so safe takin’ a stroll down the docks.”

Not my brightest idea, but even in a dream I can gather ideas.

“Now I get why you said it was reflex after you smacked me in the face,” Neil said, still laughing at a wounded Hobbs.  

“Sad to say, kid, all that fancy dojo-learnin’ won’t do you much good here on the street. But we can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Allan said, tone now conversational and even charismatic in a way. “Up to you.”

Of course he’d switch to charming and agreeable now, he had me cornered. Ol’ good cop bad cop, except Allan Thompson played both roles. Good trick, scare someone out of their wits then act all friendly so they would be more likely to cooperate and “make it easier for everyone”.

Unfortunately, I never in my life “made it easy” for anyone and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna start now.  

“All we need from you is some answers,” Allan continued, stance relaxed and arms loose by his sides.

“You and me both,” I muttered.

The way you shift from threatening to trustworthy is amazing, sir. Were you not out for blood, I’d study you like a prison psychologist.

“Quit fightin’,” Hobbs growled, coming up on the right. “You’re just gonna get yourself hurt.” He emphasized his words by pulling a blade out.

I ain’t the one that got Sparta-kicked just a minute ago.

“No need for violence,” Allan called over to him, but he said nothing about sheathing the blade. He looked back over at me. “I’d suggest playin’ nice, kid. No more of that warehouse nonsense, these fellas won’t be as easy to deal with as the new guy.”

“Drop the act, Allan,” I growled. “You and I both know that sweet talkin’ is empty and I ain’t so stupid as to be charmed by honeyed words like that.”

His expression changed, the easy-going smile shifting to something not quite sinister but definitely not friendly. “We’re gettin’ those answers, kid. One way or another.” His tone darkened. “You want to play rough, we can play rough.”

Hobbs flanked his right with a blade, Neil his left with nothing but his bare hands. Tom stood back, waiting and watching the scene unfold with sharp eyes and a hand on his hip close to what I knew to be a firearm.

“Four corners, huh?” I asked, shifting into a ready stance with my weight on my toes. “A gun, a knife, and fists. All I need is a kicker. You good at round-house kicks, Allan?”

He didn’t say anything, still bearing that dangerous smile that sent shivers down my spine yet also brought a similar smile to my own face.

“Think this is a game?” Hobbs demanded.

I flashed a toothy grin his way. “Play ball, bitch.”

Allan shrugged. “If you insist.”

Hobbs came first, blade aimed for my leg. A simple horse stance to horse stance paired with a wrist throw took care of him.

Neil was next, swinging wide with a haymaker that didn’t make much sense but he’d already proved enigmatic in his methods so I didn’t spend time questioning him. I just stepped in, blocked the punch on the inside of his arm, and wrapped my hand around the back of his neck. By a stroke of luck, I threw him into Hobbs and they both went down.

But now I found myself facing Tom, or rather, not facing him.

He locked me in a bear hug from behind, but unlucky for him this was one of the easiest attacks to break.

Drive my heel onto the top of his foot, punch out and step into a horse stance to break the hold, elbow to the gut to wind him, grab the arm, kneel, bend, and flip.

Tom fell hard onto the cobblestones in front of me, arm trapped in an armbar, but as I drew back a fist to strike his ribs, I found myself unable to commit.

Instead, I threw his arm away and dove into a shoulder roll to escape before he could spring up and grab me.

But what was waiting for me was worse, and I sprang to my feet to find Allan’s pistol pointed straight at my chest.

He was in arms reach, and I knew how to disarm him, but I risked the trigger getting pulled and the bullet hitting one of the others. If I could just get him to shift slightly, then I only risked the wall getting hit.

Unless it ricocheted…

“Hey, what gives?” Hobbs groaned, cradling his wrist. “Why does Tom get let off easy?”

“Maybe because he didn’t try stabbin’ the kid!” Neil smacked him over the head. “What were you thinkin’, dickhead?!”

“I was just aimin’ for ‘er leg! I wouldn’t hit anythin’ vital!”

My attention slipped, focused on the bickering pair.

Allan immediately took advantage of the mistake.

“Tom.”

Act!

I stepped in, both hands grabbing the top of Allan’s and forcing the gun down. For some reason, it didn’t go off. Snatching it from his grasp, I slammed my foot into his gut and drove him back. The force sent him off his feet, just like Hobbs, but before he recovered I had the gun ready and aimed at him.

I’d never be able to pull the trigger, even with it just aimed at his foot, but I just hoped they wouldn’t know that.

Allan did notice, however, where I was aiming and where my finger was; resting along the barrel, far from the trigger. Still kneeling, his eyes traveled from the gun to me, slightly narrowed. Tom came up from the side, cautiously, but Allan stopped him with a hand.

“Why would you risk gettin’ shot to get the gun,” he asked, one hand over his stomach where I nailed him. He stood, eyes trained on mine. “Only to aim it somewhere that wouldn’t even stop your attacker?”

“Mind your business.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Considerin’ I have my gun aimed at my foot, think it is my business.”

“I ain’t lookin’ for a murder charge.”

Dream or no dream. Not that that is the whole reason.

“Did not stop you from trying to break neck in warehouse,” Ollie commented, still standing calm as could be near the front of the alley.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures and all that.”

He tilted his head. “You are not desperate. Dedicated to escape, but not desperately seeking.”

“Didn’t realize I was bein’ chased by a buncha shrinks.”

“He’s right, though,” Allan said. “You’ve not once been lethal. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Sure was painful,” Hobbs grumbled, shaking his wrist.

Allan stepped closer, and I raised my gun to his arm.

He shook his head. “Again, not lethal.”

“Good trigger discipline,” Ollie commented.

“Won’t help.” Allan stepped closer again, hands still at his sides.

I still couldn’t bring myself to aim at his face. You never aimed a gun at something you didn’t intend to shoot. Aiming it anywhere near him was already breaking that rule.

Instead, I warned, “Back! Don’t test me, mate, I’ll pull this trigger.”

Lies. All of it lies.

I knew that… and so did Allan. We were in the 2011 movie, but I was not dealing with movie!Allan. I was dealing with some variant of the one I originally wrote with all those years ago, which was closer to the comics; smarter, more cunning, and a lot sharper than anything the movie even hinted at. The charismatic side was new, but very unwelcome. I didn’t know how to even begin thwarting it, and he fucking knew that.

“Come on, then.” He opened his arms. “Pull the trigger, kid. Shoot me down.”

I looked into his eyes, reading the challenge there clear as day. The moment I pulled the trigger and hit any part of him, the others would pounce. They’d already tried attacking separately once before; they would not make the same mistake twice.

We were both within striking range, both able to absolutely ruin the other’s day. But still we remained, unmoving, staring the other down. Locked in a battle of wits, a battle which neither party was going to give up easily. There was too much at stake to walk away.

We both wanted answers. The only question was… who wanted them more?

Tom stepped into my field of view, slowly. “Shadow, just drop the gun, yeah?” he tried, a hand reaching out. “Ya can’t hurt us.”

“Don’t mistake my inaction for inability,” I growled, not taking my eyes off Allan. “I know my way around a gun.”

“It’s not that. You don’t want to pull that trigger, trust me.”

Neil and Hobbs were cautiously approaching now too, staying back at a gesture from Allan. The first mate didn’t take his eyes from me, however.

They were way too calm considering I had a loaded gun. Or…

My eyes widened.

Did I?

Grabbing the slide, I aimed away from Allan and looked inside to find an empty chamber. Ejecting the clip, I found it to also be empty.

They weren’t scared of the gun because there was no reason to be scared of it. It was useless, unless I threw it at one of them. That wouldn’t do any good.

“You gotta be shittin’ me!” I whined, dropping the gun.

Allan reached out with his foot and slid the gun behind him, where Ollie picked it up. “Tough luck, kid.”

“Shut up,” I grumbled.

“It’d be best if ya just came with us,” Tom said, stepping forward only to stop when I shifted into a fighting stance and brought my guard up.

“Er, not a good idea,” Neil said, shaking his head. “Can’t win a boxin’ match wit’ Tom, Shortie. You got lucky he grabbed you. He usually just punches.”

“A, I’m taller than him,” I grumbled, gesturing at Hobbs and earning a venomous glare. “B, I know I can’t beat him.” I looked between the men, heart pounding against my ribs. “But I sure as hell can make you wish you left me alone.”

Dismay crossed Tom’s face. “Doesn’t ‘ave to be like this.”

I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I prepared to go down fighting. “We both know it does. Unless you let me walk outta here.” I smiled humorlessly. “And that clearly ain’t happenin’.”

Dream or not, this was gonna hurt. Emotionally, and physically. Getting beat up by Tom was not something I ever wanted to go through. Something told me he would take it relatively easy on me, but even a light yet solid hit to the diaphragm from him would take me down. If I was bad at grappling, boxing was even worse.

And we already established I wouldn’t be able to hurt him.

“We won’t ask again, kid,” Allan warned as the men all took a step toward me. “This has gone on long enough.” There was no smile on his face and no amused tolerance in his voice with his next command. “Stand down.”

I shook my head. “No. Y’all square up.”

“Yoooo, Shadow!”

We all looked up, fight briefly paused, and rage filled me as I saw Trevor looking down at us from the roof.

“You miserable and worthless list of terms and conditions!” I hissed. “Get your ass down here so I can at least fuck up your face ‘fore I’m torn to bits!”

He laughed. “What, after I was gonna offer you an escape?”

“Oh yeah?” I gestured angrily at the sailors. “Little late!”

“Not really! Got a little magic trick!”

“Now ain’t the time for games!”

“Not a game! Watch!” He threw a small sphere at us. “Abracadabra!”

It bounced off a crate and landed at my feet, making the men jump back.

“Grenade!”

A hiss and explosion of smoke later thankfully disproved Neil’s initial theory, but left us all with sore throats and watery eyes.

Not that it stopped one sailor.

A shoulder slammed into my stomach, driving me back into the wall. I brought my elbow down, hitting the tender spot between the shoulder blade and neck, but the man grabbed me as he fell and we both went down. Arms tightened around my middle, whoever it was trying to pin me to the ground.

Allan, judging by the feel of rolled up sleeves.

He brought his full weight down, nearly knocking the breath from me and almost causing my arms to buckle. The man was heavy! A hand grabbed one elbow, yanking it back, and down I went. I rolled as I fell, teeth aimed for his shoulder. I missed the bulk of it, but managed to at least catch the cloth.

Tasted and smelled heavily like tobacco and what I assumed was some time of smokey yet slightly sweet alcohol. Bourbon, maybe?

Writer brain off, Fighter brain on!

“Damn it all, kid, quit bitin’!” came the raspy yell, but I couldn’t tell if it was anger or smoke that caused his tone.

“Nien!” I growled through a mouthful of shirt.

He rolled us both out of the alley onto the sidewalk, out of the smoke. I ended up on top as we came to a stop right by the curb, but before I could strike, a hand snatched my arm and dragged me away from Allan.

“Time to go, Shadow!”

“Trevor?! Get off-!”

“Let’s go, let’s go, no time for slow!” Trevor sang, yanking me to my feet before turning to Allan. The hair all along my body stood on end before Trevor hit him smack in the chest with a small blast of lightning.

It sent Allan back to the sidewalk, and damn near sent me into shock.

“Trevor, are you tryin’ to fuckin’ kill him?!” I screamed, frozen as Allan laid groaning on the ground.

“Relax, he’s fine!” Trevor yanked me down the road, away from the alley and the docks. “C’mon!”

Giving one last look at Allan, who was indeed slowly recovering and coming back up on one knee, I turned and followed Trevor away from the scene.

[mickmundy]

Hello dutchie! I've re-read your fics multiple times now and now I want to write my own! I have to ask: do you have any writing tips or advice about fanfic in general? I enjoy your pacing but I have no clue how you manage to update every week. Cheers!

OH MY GOD EEEEE ;___; IM SO HAPPY TO HEAR THAT MY FRIEND!! AND HIII ^_^ that's so awesome im so proud of you!!! hmm idk if i'm really a great person to get advice from, this is just stuff that works for me personally and my hectic irl schedule so just take it with a grain of salt!! ;-; <3 BUT i will gladly talk about it HEHE!! i'll actually just make an entire post about my writing process at some point because making long posts forces me to reflect and i'm overdue for a Self Reflection on how i write so! if/when i do that i'll link it back on this post heh ^_^ BUT ANYWAY!

i have a few Personal Rules about posting/writing fic that i must never break... and this is...:

feel free to break up your (longer) fic into parts. this prevents SO much burnout and gives you time to breathe between writing! if you're in it for the long haul like me, it's easy to get overwhelmed and feel like you're on a Crunch, which is never good! :'(

so i don't technically write a new chapter every week and post it on friday; i've had malus, for example, complete for a few months now! and so now it just "posts on a queue" where i just upload the next chapter every week! so for example, if malus is 21 chapters, at 1 chapter a week, that gives me 21 weeks (about 5 months) to write my next fic. that's a lot of time!

always finish the fic before you post it. this seems super unrealistic At First but i love the "arc/seasons/parts" style of posting, especially if it's long fics. nobody's saying you have to finish a 293849283498234 chapter fic in one day LOL but if you find that you're overwhelmed at the idea of writing Long Fics, then don't write one! write shorter parts that Combine and Create a long fic! :-) see what i mean? this is also an effective way to show time passing in your fic instead of just "~*~ two years later ~*~"-type of disclaimers.

chapters shouldn't be more than like... 3 google doc pages and paragraphs should be broken up. i like keeping my fic chapters short-ish so that they're easily digestible and force readers to Linger on the parts that i want them to. giant walls of text can sometimes put Huge Moments in your fics at the risk of getting lost!

let yourself sit on it for at least 2 days before you post it. do not read your own fic during the "sitting on it" time. let yourself back away from it and invite your mind to think about other things!! i've caught a LOT of my own mistakes or inconsistencies this way!

much easier said than done, but try not to let yourself get wrapped up in "the numbers" of posting (views, kudos, etc). obviously our goal as creatives is to get our work seen, but please remember to value yourself and your art above the numbers game! ;-; it literally took me a year (as of january lol) of constantly promoting my fics on twt (and later on here once i made an acct) before i found all of the amazing readers i have now! ^u^ and i wouldn't trade them for the world. i'd happily take 10 readers who comment and talk to me like a person over 100 hits/kudos or whatever!

that being said, don't be afraid to promote your fics. i felt annoying and stupid promoing mine but i'm ultimately so glad i did

there are probably others but i think these are my biggest ones (other than delving into like. tf2-specific "guides" i have for myself but i won't bore you with those). as far as tips for outlining or planning, i just have a channel in my gf and i's server dedicated to my fic that i post random snippet's i've written and want to include, random one-word concepts, like literally any time my brain has a Fic Related Thought i slap it in there. i'm also a huge fan of Linear/Traditional outlining too and do that with my more Complicated/Larger concepts that i want to execute in my fics so that i can stay consistent! :-)

ILYYY BEST OF LUCK ON YOUR FIC WRITING ENDEAVORS MY FRIEND! ^u^

[growinstablog]

5 Reasons Why Instagram Stories is Better Than Snapchat

How people use Instagram has drastically evolved over the years. Back in the day, people used Instagram mainly to upload photos of their brunch plates and share their latest selfies.

Now, people — and brands — are using Instagram Stories to share snippets of their days in a linear narrative through disappearing photos and video clips.

When Instagram launched Instagram Stories, people couldn’t help but notice how similar it was to Snapchat, another social networking platform where photos and videos self-destruct after 24 hours.

Instagram may seem like a copycat — and it is — but it sure knows how to replicate success and take it up a notch. Within just a year, Instagram Stories has far surpassed Snapchat with over 300 million daily active users, compared to 178 million for Snapchat.

If you’re not using Instagram Stories for your current marketing efforts, you’re missing out on a lot. Find out why you should start creating these evaporating but engaging stories for your followers and customers below.

Image credit: Mashable

Home Screen Advantage

One of the greatest advantages Instagram Stories has over Snapchat is its interface. It’s placed right smack on top of the native feed, which makes it perfectly accessible to all users.

Once a user logs in, they can instantly see all the Stories updates from everyone they follow.

Snapchat, on the other hand, is not so user-friendly. It requires a lot of click-throughs that prevent users from enjoying a continuous viewing experience.

Instagram is generous about promoting updates on Stories from verified accounts, and will send push notifications to all your followers whenever you do a live session.

Instagram Stories are also arranged in ascending order, which gives users access to the latest updates with minimal click-through needed.

With stellar placement and accessibility, it’s no wonder people are loving Instagram Stories more than Snapchat.

Better Ease Of Use

Both Instagram Stories and Snapchat operate the same way but the former trumps the latter for being more user-friendly.

Instagram Stories is the success that it is now because it addressed some of Snapchat’s major pain points by designing a timeline with more intuitive navigation.

Instagram Stories has an autoplay feature that allows users to binge-watch updates from all the accounts they follow uninterrupted. If you want to watch updates continuously on Snapchat, you have to pre-select the people you want to see and create a queue — which is A LOT of work compared to the ease of Instagram.

The effortless viewing experience makes it so easy for users to watch update after update from friends and brands. Instagram has successfully addressed some of the issues people had with Snapchat and took it up a notch.

The autoplay feature encourages users to watch more stories, both from friends and brands they follow.

If you’re a brand, now is the perfect time to integrate Instagram Stories into your current strategy. Instagram Stories is the perfect avenue to connect with potential customers on a more personal and casual level — away from everyone’s manicured and carefully curated timelines.

You might also want to consider purchasing a few thousand Instagram Followers from a reputable provider to kick off your marketing efforts. Buying a few thousand followers will give you a seemingly buzzworthy status that will have everyone’s eyes peeled on your Stories. And if they like what they see, they won’t hesitate to follow you as well.

250 Million Active Users

Back in June of this year, Instagram Stories hit over 300 million daily active users — and those numbers crush Snapchat’s 178 million by a mile.

When it comes to the sheer volume of users, there’s no denying Instagram Stories is the clear winner. Snapchat’s user growth continues to disappoint year after year as they lose momentum.

Instagram Stories’ user count is a clear indication that they’re doing something right. As a result, more people flock to this service than any similar competitors.

The number of users alone is enough to draw brands in and encourage them to create stories in their marketing efforts, for a chance to reach out to the platform’s 250 million active users.

Cataloging VS Permanence

Snapchat Stories and Instagram Stories may seem eerily similar — and they are — but how they’re packaged can’t be any more different.

Creators marketed Snapchat to the fun and reckless youth who want to send fun, silly or even compromising photos of themselves to friends without the repercussions that come with permanence.

Instagram, on the other hand, launched Stories with the idea of providing users with a place where they can catalog snippets of their lives — either in short video clips or images.

Instagram managed to strike the perfect balance of carefully curated and aesthetically pleasing newsfeeds with fun and casual disappearing timelines that ease the pressure of perfection — two things Snapchat can’t offer their users to the same degree.

Location Tagging

If there’s one thing Instagram is doing right, it’s making intuitive UIs for their users. Aside from the incredibly easy viewing experience it provides, Instagram makes it a lot easier for users to personalize their posts.

Instagram Stories also has a location tagging feature that helps businesses drive attention to their brick-and-mortar locations. Since not everyone can put a clickable link in their Instagram Stories, adding location tags is a great way to boost a brand’s social proof on the platform.

Aside from boosting a brand’s credibility, location tags also help users reach a local audience. Adding a specific location tag on a photo or image on Instagram Stories automatically associates it with other posts in the same area.

For an experiment, Bustle uploaded a series of photos and tagged their location. Within minutes, their posts were seen by users who are either in the area or are interested in seeing posts tagged by users within the immediate vicinity of their HQ.

The location tag is a nifty feature that will help smaller brands enrich their presence among local users.

Instagram Stories Is Where It’s At

From the sheer number of users down to ease of use, it’s clear how Instagram Stories attracted over 250 million users.

Now is the perfect time for brands and business owners to start integrating Instagram Stories into their current campaigns. Instagram Stories puts you one step closer to reaching your target audience, one story at a time.

Take your Instagram marketing campaign to a whole new level by uploading stories for all your followers to see. And consider purchasing a few thousand Instagram Followers from a reputable provider to give yourself a more impressive social proof. These extra followers will make your Instagram account look more noteworthy, and new users will be attracted to all the hubbub.

Instagram Stories is killing it right now and it would be a shame if you don’t take full advantage of it for your marketing efforts — so start uploading those stories TODAY.

https://growinsta.xyz/5-reasons-why-instagram-stories-is-better-than-snapchat/

[funnel-webbed-au]

Dark Matter

Red Son stopped as the time on his phone shifted from 11:59 to 12:00. A sigh escaped from the fire demon despite the familiar flow of unnatural Diyu magic that swirled around him, the herald of a friend's arrival.

"Have you found Nezha yet, Dai Xie?" The fire Demon asked the shadow Demon. He didn't have to look to know that the mayor was behind him.

The shadow Demon's tail nested itself in front of him, lying on the pavement almost dejectedly, the sharp edge unaffected by the asphalt. The former right-hand man of the Lady Bone Demon shook his head, then pinched the bridge of his forehead, sighing.

"No. I found something worse, sir. A husk of your dear friend... He saw me, and didn't recognize me as... one of the men who would take care of him when he needed it the most. I... sincerely apologize, my liege."

Red Son could hear the bow, and the forced smile on his face. The fire Demon clenched his teeth as a pit rose in his stomach, followed by almost palpable nausea. He wanted to know... but something told him he'd regret knowing.

"...alright. Mark the location on our digital map of the city and its surroundings, I'll investigate when I can." Red Son wiped sweat off of his face. He couldn't fathom what had happened to the Deity he'd come to appreciate so deeply. He didn't need to know yet. He knew that whatever Nezha was enduring, he'd make it through. He was a tough, stubborn bastard, after all... but his curiosity still got the better of him.

"...what... what happened to him?" Red Son's voice cracked, coming dangerously close to breaking as he turned around to finally look at his legal expert. The way his brow was furrowed, and the way he pinched his lip between his fangs, it gave away the desperation that had burrowed itself into his heart. It ate away at his guard, and at his rationale like maggots into an old carcass.

Dai Xie forced a smile for Red Son's sake as he raised his head to make eye contact. The words he was going to say next would be devastating... but Red Son couldn't say he hadn't warned him with how cryptic and vague he'd been before.

"Stella got him."

Red Son's vision swam as everything in his line of sight became hazy and clouded. The Demon fell to his hands and knees as the pit in his stomach turned into a bottomless void, and the nausea reached a fever pitch. The mere thought that Nezha now had eight limbs and four eyes made the fire Demon's insides churn as if possessed, as if they needed to be ejected from his body to avoid sepsis.

The mayor shook his head, then kneeled down, setting his hand on Red Son's shoulder before he entwined his tail around his boss's, gladly offering the comfort.

"Breathe, sir. Breathe." Dai Xie pulled the fire Demon into his arms, holding him in a firm, familiar grip. Red Son could almost hear Nezha's voice, telling him everything would be okay... that they'd be home soon, reassuring him with that gentle, loving smile that only a real friend could deliver.

Hai'Er hiccuped as liquid rolled down his cheeks, staining the mayor's upper sleeve with the transparent liquid. Dai Xie hardly moved in any form of protest from this.

Red Son only tightened his grip.

[funnel-webbed-au]

A Shiny New Royal Heir

Riley's Notes: Nezha and Lian have a very cute platonic dynamic. Also, RIP Nezha. Welcome to paperwork hell, bud, same hell Erlang Shen has to deal with. Also, this post was written by Onyx and proofread by me. Onyx highlights their titles in pink.

To say that the Deity was bored would be an understatement. He was completely and utterly devoid of stimulation, not a familiar soul in sight to help him manage his strict and stressful duties. The issue was how ready he had(n't) been to take up his father's mantle, and there was not really any other solution to it than let him learn on his own, which was how he found himself in such a tricky situation in the first place. Prince Nezha, heir to His Highness Yang Jian was unhappy.

Unhappy in his role, unhappy without his beloved snake and certainly unhappy with how many imbecilic Celestials felt the need to send their complaints straight to the palace instead of using their brains to sort the issues out themselves. Was that really too much to ask? Apparently so. He had never known just how infuriating some people could be until he was already far too deep to escape his anxiety riddled torture, so he was stuck listening to the high pitched whine of whatever citizen was giving him a headache at any one time. Anything would be better than that.

Alas, he knew he could not leave his duties to collect dust. He would let his love for a special Storm Deity motivate him into keeping his childish habits and behaviors at bay for long enough to prove that he could handle the weight of his new, freshly polished, gold crown. He dreaded what may happen if he didn't... which forced his posture straight and his chin up, his façade no longer that of a traumatized child, but instead one of a war-hardened, invulnerable soldier. Soon enough that would no longer be an act, but instead the whole, undeniable, truth.

A long sigh left his lungs as he moved on to the next stack of written requests, the piles of paper slowly becoming painful to deal with and simultaneously getting taller every time he looked at them. When three-year-old Nezha said that he wanted to be a war general when he grew up, this was almost certainly not what he had meant. Ah, how present Nezha longed to regain that childish innocence. Realistically, it wasn't going to happen, but a man could hope, right? That wasn't really the prince's style even though he'd been shifted to different views a little.

He was shaken out of his thoughts by the entry of his beloved peach blossom, her footsteps near silent but loud enough to his overly sensitive ears that he knew she was coming. Hurrah! A savior! The tea that she was carrying with her smelled absolutely delectable, and the sweet treats that he knew his 'mother' had made almost rivaled it. "Nezha, dearie, you need to take a break. You will burn yourself out otherwise, and we can't be having that." Her soft, mellow tones were enough to convince his tired mind nigh on instantly, so he took the tea.

She seemed relieved that he hadn't fought her gentle orders, and it shone in the way she happily joined him behind his desk, resting on the hanging chair that he'd commissioned specifically for her. For some reason, any room that she was in almost immediately lost any tension that it had been carrying. It was weird, but Nezha wasn't about to complain, her presence lifting so much stress off of his tired shoulders. She was not even doing anything, just sitting behind him and sipping at her tea, and she was, miraculously, still the only medicine he would ever need

"Thank you, Lanhua. Your efforts in assisting me are appreciated and certainly do not go unnoticed. I do not know how to repay you, but I promise that It'll happen at some point." She clearly wasn't in the mood to be serious, as his words only elicited a giggle and a slight head shake, but even still, her point came across clearly: her kindness was free, he did not owe her anything. Upon Nezha figuring out what she meant, another sigh left his mouth but this one was just somewhat exasperated, all stress gone from his systems for a time

It was astounding, how she knew exactly what to do to get him to relax, but he wouldn't trade it for anything. He loved cared for her.

Author's Note!

I am incredibly sorry about the poor quality of this one! Wrote it late at night and almost fell asleep before finishing it, so it isn't my best work (Have a future!Nezha design as an apology). Thanks everyone for your support!

[funnel-webbed-au]

The Sparks of Hope

Nezha cringed after the shards scattered across the floor at his feet. He'd been shaking far too much to be able to hold such a beautiful vase without dropping it, and he should have known better. Now, he could only brace for the strike that would inevitably come.

But there was nothing.

Nezha opened his eyes, confused. Why had he not been struck? Wasn't it... normal to be struck for something like that? Erlang Shen sighed and shook his head, disappointed, but not angry. Why wasn't he... why wasn't he angry? The lotus Deity tilted his head, confused, but when Erlang's eyes met his, the raven stiffened, then bowed hastily.

"I, er, apologize deeply, Your Highness." He spoke quickly and eloquently, desperate to avoid being hurt for such a mistake. He couldn't afford to be anything but perfect, anything but the golden boy, the golden soldier, the most perfect and powerful Marshal that Heaven had to offer.

"It was an accident, my boy. Don't fret. Sure, perhaps there won't be another vase exactly like that, but it is a small tragedy that would pale in comparison to what it would be if the shards had harmed you."

...what?

The younger of the two Deities could hardly wrap his mind around what he had just heard. Erlang... really did care for him, didn't he? It almost brought a smile to the Marshal's face, but not quite. So close, yet so far. Nezha was quick to fetch a broom and dustpan, cleaning up the shards of broken china so that his superior wouldn't have to kneel. Such would be hard on his back, after all, and Nezha hated to see him suffer.

With the shards disposed of, the Storm Deity passed his protege a nod of approval, glad to see that he was as diligent and responsible as his reputation implied. The gesture drew a soft sigh of relief, no, contentment, from the Marshal, who soon reveled in soft scratches around his pointed ears.

"Thank you, my boy. It would be a shame to have had to disturb one of the three housekeepers at such an hour. I am very proud of you that you kept your composure... and I assure you, I will not strike you in anger. May Buddha cast me down should I ever harm you." The gentle, reserved affections that Nezha received while his superior spoke only served to convince him more of the storm Deity's sincerity. He didn't bite anymore, not if he didn't have to.

Maybe, just maybe, Nezha would get used to this.

One can hope.

[funnel-webbed-au]

Lunar Tides and the Price of Sanctity

Chang'E opened the door of her home and took a deep breath of the cold lunar air. There were some perks to living on the moon, and one of them was the almost eternally unbroken silence that the stars had to offer. Today, however, was an exception to this rule.

She smelled blood, and it made her veins run cold. Someone was there, and they were likely hurt. It wasn't unusual for certain Deities to be wounded in their lines of work; the scent made her spine tingle, regardless. As Chang'E followed the smell of blood and the trail of powerful magic that hung in the air, she found strange flowers blooming on the moonrock, where life shouldn't have been able to grow.

Her interest piqued, the Goddess of the Moon kneeled down to examine the flowers, and soon discovered that each one was sprouting from a tiny pool of ichor, the blood of another Deity. The colored tints on the petals made her heart skip a beat. They were pink, which reminded her of... no. It couldn't be.

She picked up the pace, and soon discovered that one of her closest friends was washing severe injuries in one of the ponds around her garden. She had mixed feelings about that, for on one hand, his ichor would nourish her garden, and on the other... hiding himself away like this wasn't healthy, and they both knew it.

Every drop of the Grand Marshal's golden ichor brought clarity to the water. Perhaps it was a cruel joke from the one who had granted his wish for a new life; perhaps it was simply tied to his powers as a nature Deity. Whatever the case was, his golden ichor turned the water from a soft grayish hue to a shining, translucent teal. The potent magic that filled the water would fuel Chang'E's garden for a long time.

...but nothing was worth the price of another's happiness.

The Goddess of the Moon approached the Central Altar Marshal, resting her hand on his shoulder. His muscles clenched, and he turned to her fast enough to startle the goddess, who fell backwards onto the gray rock sheet beneath them both.

A deep sigh escaped from the ancient Deity. He'd never meant to scare her, he never wanted to hurt anyone. Yet, it was all he was good at, or so he thought. He watched with interest as Chang'E disappeared into her home. She was leaving him; who wouldn't?

What caught him off guard next was when she came back.

The goddess had returned with a first aid kit, and as Nezha's eyes widened, she began to treat his wounds. It was a small gesture of kindness that caused the tension in his shoulders to evaporate. Even though his wounds wouldn't take too long to heal, Chang'E was still taking time out of her day, and maybe her livestream cooking show, to take care of him.

It was honoring, really, and reminded him that his few friends truly did love him.

[funnel-webbed-au]

For There Is No Hell like Heaven

As Nezha shed his armor, he swallowed harshly. He knew what laid beneath his signature red sleeveless shirt, and he didn't want to see it, but he knew he needed to bathe, needed to clean those scars. He paused to breathe, for it was all he could do to prepare himself for the wounds that would almost undoubtedly reopen under the hot water and the weight of his own grief.

His shirt came off far more easily than it should have. The horrendous mark right over his sternum and the marks around his major joints made him flinch. He hadn't gotten a good look at them in a while, for he never let his glamors down. He remembered who had done this to him, but he wasn't mad about it anymore. It was just the way it was, it was just his fate. Even the people that loved him sometimes felt he needed to be contained, and then there were the chain whip marks on his back... and the burns that had never healed around his worst scars.

They might never heal.

Nezha knew he'd have to live with that, as much as he hated that fact. The lotus Deity sighed, then turned around so he could examine the lash scars on his back courtesy of the multiple mirrors in his bathroom.

The scars didn't look any better than they had the day they had finished healing as much as they would. The Deity flinched as the memory of the chain whip against his skin returned with the same hateful fury that only Li Jing could deliver. That man never had the right to be referred to as his father, and Nezha knew it.

He'd just been naive, once upon an illusion-filled time.

Nezha ran the shower water to his favorite temperature, which was just a little too hot for most to handle. Not him. He couldn't help but relax as the water pulled the stress out of his body. Hot water had always been as much of a blessing as sky water, and he never got enough of either of it... though alas, he rarely had the time to really enjoy it, especially before Erlang had struck Li Jing down from his status as one of the Lords of Heaven.

It wasn't too long before the Deity remembered his responsibilities, remembered what others expected of him, and as he scrubbed his scars clean, he winced. Sure, he had an incredible pain tolerance, but with his heart in such a vulnerable state, his scars seemed to hurt much more under the surface of the sponge he used.

Gritting his teeth, Nezha finished scrubbing the dirt off of his back. He'd been knocked around a lot in today's training session, a minor inconvenience normally, but today? It was annoying and painful. He'd have to get back at his mentor for that.

As he stepped out of the shower, the Deity released a deep sigh. The mirror really highlighted the dark circles of permanent exhaustion below his eyes, and the harsh LED light only made it worse. The intensity of the light finally got to him, as he figured it would, and he was forced to turn the light off. Once his eyes adjusted, he dried himself off the old fashioned way, taking his time to savor the soft towels his shifu had bought for him. Unlike most... the fabric these were coated with didn't rub against his scars much.

He'd have to thank Yang Jian for that later.

[funnel-webbed-au]

Take a Moment to Breathe

Tag List: @skellebonez

Riley's Notes: Hehe. I learned how to write panic attacks, flashbacks, and dissociation a little too well. Can you tell the venom, and his inner war with it, is severely fucking him up.

Since when was Nezha's room so... dark? So eerie? He couldn't remember, and as the ancient war Deity pulled his legs against his chest, the images flashed through his mind... and partially through his eyes. He flinched, hissing under his breath, even as venom dripped from his now curved fangs.

He pressed his back flat against the wall, fear clawing at his heart. That was Li Jing standing before him. So he really had come for him, hadn't he? Oddly, the older Deity said nothing and Nezha had to remind himself that he'd never be allowed here, and the enchantments on the palace wouldn't allow him to open a portal.

Nezha blinked, and the man he'd come to hold such a dreadful, all-consuming fear of was gone. Of course his mind and eyes were playing tricks on him; the venom was dangerously close to breaking the blood-brain barrier, and when that happened, well...

Nezha just hoped no one would have to see it.

He knew that seeing the venom's immediate aftereffects would tear his family's heart asunder. They'd all been through enough, and although they were healing, it was a slow and painful process as recovering from anything was. Nezha burst into a coughing fit with those thoughts in mind, and for once, the golden ichor he coughed up had lost its celestial glow. The subtle tint of green to it made the Deity's heart stop.

Breath, Nezha. Just breathe. He could already imagine his beloved mentor's words in his ears, imagine the careful scratches he would dole out with all absence of shame, all absence of care for judgement. The thought of being petted once more brought him some degree of comfort...

But it would never be enough.

The visages cleared for a moment, and Nezha realized that he wasn't in his room.

He was in a cave, at the funeral service of his own mind.

Where was he?

When was he?

Sydney felt the claws on his back, then glanced around as his four eyes finally came back into focus. He didn't know if that had been a true memory, or a hallucination. Gods, he really needed to get his next injection of his medicine.

Maybe it would help.

[funnel-webbed-au]

Hindsight's 20/20

Tag List: @skellebonez, here. Have some notes on this AU's iteration of Erlang Shen, in lore drop form.

Riley's Notes: Shorter piece, as it came to me spontaneously. Hopefully it sheds some light on how both Onyx and I write Erlang. There are some differences between the way we write, but the overview is the same.

The palace was too quiet in the so-called Prince's absence. He was Erlang's prince, after all, recently adopted thanks to the changing rules of Heaven's courts. The ancient Deity sighed as the eerie silence, only breached by the tap of his cane on the tiles, left him alone with his thoughts.

He was once quite a cruel man in the past. None of his attempts to justify his actions could soothe him now, as he knew better. It was a blessing and a curse, for he missed being that deluded, and yet knew it was better now that he wasn't, now that he could feel those nails digging into his heart. It had once been ashen and black, but now, it bled the golden, pure ichor of a man who loved and lost in equal measure.

A painting on one of the walls caught his attention. A single glance made his heart quietly fall to ruin within his chest, and the Deity approached it, every step labored as if forced. He remembered the monkey depicted on the canvas all too well.

The paint put into excruciating detail what he had thrown away so carelessly in the name of his 'justice' in the name of his so-called 'law'. What good was the law when it broke apart relationships?

What good was it then?

Yang Jian rested his hand against the frame of the painting, then closed his eyes. Mistakes like these weren't something that healed in a millennium, much less overnight. Perhaps he was a fool to hope, but hope was all he had at this point.

He could only pray that this hope wouldn't destroy him as utterly as it had Kui Mulang.

[funnel-webbed-au]

Just Press Pause

Tag List: @skellebonez

Riley's Notes: It's just Lian and Syntax being fluffy and domestic. I guess I should give everyone a break after that horrific post where Syntax passed out lol Also, drop theme is Soft Serve by Rook1e and park bird

Lian rolled out of bed with a soft groan, annoyed that her husband had left before she was even conscious. The mantis stretched her claws out before fully returning to her humanoid form, though she left her antennas out. She knew he loved them, and she adored the tender touches he would sprinkle her antennas with.

Once she was up and out of bed, she checked her closet. For once, her favorite black jacket was conspicuously absent. It drew a raised eyebrow from the former peach maiden, who soon shrugged and slid on a casual dress and house slippers.

The moment she came out of the hallway and into Pierre's workshop, she found two things: Her jacket, and her adorable partner, asleep at his desk. His head was resting on a throw pillow directly on top of his mousepad, and her jacket was draped around his shoulders. She knew he loved to steal her things, but this was getting ridiculous. As much as it exhausted her, though, the sight made her golden heart sing.

"Hey. Hey, bug. Wake up, bug." Lanhua snickered as her husband released a few soft French swears, and was pleasantly surprised when one in Mandarin slipped out. Syntax reached for his glasses, and the moment he had them on, he turned to Lian.

The sight of her alone soothed the residual stress from the episode he'd had that night, and any and all thoughts that were bothering him fell to a back burner. He rose to his feet, then stretched, all while Lian patiently waited for him to finish.

Lian didn't waste a single second when her partner held his arms out to her. It was nice to feel his exposed hands, and she intertwined her fingers with his. A shudder came from the spider, but he soon relaxed and Lian purred while her bug smiled, returning the purrs at a lesser intensity.

"Good morning, bug." Those words alone brought a barrage of morning kisses. It was a nice change of pace to be on the receiving end for once, and Lian wasn't going to take that for granted. She scooped the smaller Demon up into her arms to allow him more access, reveling in every touch he doled out.

"Someone's happy today."

Her voice drew a soft snicker from the spider in her arms, even as he used his metal claws to ease some tension in his spouse's back. They did have their uses, as annoying as the spinal attachment could be, not to mention painful. But, the utility outweighed the temporary discomfort that came from taking it on and off.

"Of course I am. How can I not be when you're the one that woke me up?" Syntax chuckled as Lian cooed from his words, then froze up when she kissed him. It rarely lasted, as they both had work to do sooner or later, but this time, he pulled himself deeper into her embrace. Her arms around him, and his head on her shoulder... he really treasured these moments.

Syntax flinched and shuddered, clinging to her more tightly than before. He relaxed somewhat at the sensation of Lian's fingers in his hair.

"Hey, sweetie, how about we freshen up, then head out to that cafe my brother likes so much? I'm sure it will help." The way she'd lowered her voice, softened it, it brought a degree of comfort to the spider's stress-addled mind.

"Let me retrieve my meds first, blossom, I'll meet you outside." The spider pressed a kiss to her cheek, and she repaid him in a split second, covering his cheeks with kisses.

It was mornings like these that reminded him he'd have the support he needed, no matter what came. He had Lian, he had Maverick, and he had his extended family in turn.

It put him at ease.

[funnel-webbed-au]

Through the pits of Hell, Together

Tag List: @skellebonez (Huntsman and Syntax bit. Figured you'd want to see this.)

Riley's Notes: Additional content warning not in the tags: Syntax passes out from blood loss. Also, this is a vent drop. Some of the things that happen with the spiders will have parallels to some bullshit I'm going through right now. What little sense of stability I had imploded on 6/11/23 and I am very out of sorts. The blog might go on another hiatus while I deal with the isolation and with moving out.

The clock ticked by, every sound, painful and agonizing as Syntax sat, contemplating the information he'd discovered from his exploratory genetic testing. He'd discovered something that had truly broken him, and it wasn't just that he'd once used to be human.

No.

The spider he'd treated so harshly was the last blood relative he had contact with now, and that fact only contributed to the sense of isolation that was gnawing at him. He leaned against the wall of his workshop, long after Maratus had put his lab into power save mode. This knowledge truly had him in a chokehold, unable to forget it, unable to fully process it, either.

Mac turned as the blast doors to his lab were unlocked, and the spider he'd been thinking about so intensely crossed the threshold into his living space. As the larger spider approached, Syntax curled up, desperately wanting to hide from everything and everyone... and especially to hide the marks on his body.

No such luck.

Huntsman kneeled down in front of the younger spider, shivering with dread. The blood dripping from those wounds dug a pit in his stomach. Those injuries would need stitches, and he knew from experience that the younger spider was more of a danger to himself than anyone else. It made Knox glad that he'd brought a first aid kit with him, along with the supplies he'd need for stitches.

"Mac. Mac, stay with me, damn you, nerd." Knox shook his cousin, his junior by fifteen years, until the younger spider opened his eyes before the blood loss could knock him out. A soft croak came from the younger, shorter spider as he fully registered the presence of the last blood relative he had contact with.

"Hunter...?"

Pierre didn't know what to think anymore, and he didn't have the strength to fight, either. He hardly moved, even as Knox jammed the local anesthetics he had around the lab into three places along Syntax's leg.

Was he Syntax? Was he Pierre?

Who even was he then, and who was he now?

Was there even a difference...?

Pierre didn't feel the needle going through his skin while Knox stitched up the horrific gashes on his calf and thigh. He could hardly hear his cousin's voice, either, even as his consciousness faded in and out.

At least he wasn't bleeding out in the cramped silence of his private workshop.

~ ~ ~

Pierre woke up in his bed, connected to an IV filled with a deep green liquid mingled in with shining neon green flecks. He raised his free hand to his forehead, then winced from the harsh light above. He reached around, and somehow, quickly found his goggles, then slid them on over his eyes. The relief from his migraine was immediate, and it drew a sigh of relief from the small spider.

"You scared me, kid."

Huntsman's deep, gruff voice, filled with exhaustion and relief alike, pierced Syntax's usually cold heart. The elder spider had been crying, hadn't he? Syntax sat up, then craned his neck to see Knox covering his face with one of those huge, scarred hands.

"...you scared me... kid..."

The way Hunter's voice cracked, then broke the second time keyed him in all too well. Maverick had been crying, and the fact both surprised Pierre and gave him hope. The 5'8 spider tapped the edges of his bed, shaking somewhat, then swallowed and spoke.

"...Hunter, have you been..." He didn't even have the courage to finish his statement. Sometimes, though, he didn't need to. The bond between them had already been established long before Pierre had discovered their genetic connection.

"...what does it look like..." Maverick allowed his cousin to catch a glimpse of the tears dripping down, even though his voice was begrudging about it. The spider shivered before the tension in his shoulders completely gave out, resulting in a dramatic slump. The relief was immeasurable.

His cousin was alive. He hadn't been too late.

"...I'm... I'm sorry, Hunter... I... learned something that made it nigh impossible to live with what I'd done on Estelle's behalf. We're related, Hunter. By blood. You're my older cousin, Maverick Braddock... I... I never got to meet you until Stella got us, and now, we're stuck here because of me-"

As Pierre dug his nails into his forearms, he soon felt Maverick grasp is upper arms to stop him. Maverick's jade eyes were still misty with tears, and the younger spider could only sigh as he relaxed his assaults on his own skin.

Knox sighed.

"Kid, you thought you were gonna get out in one piece, that's the only reason why I thought you'd help her before she got you. Now, though, we're in this together, for both better, and for worse... and we have to make the most of that."

Syntax swallowed hard. It would take a miracle for the older spider to trust him, that much he was sure of, but there had to be something he could do to help. For now, though, he simply watched the IV drip replenish his life.

It was then that he noticed the needle in his cousin's arm.

They were in this together, come hell or high water, the deepest caverns to the highest mountains.

"...I'll... keep that in mind. Thank you, Knox." For once, Pierre's voice wavered.

He didn't mind.

[funnel-webbed-au]

Mutiny

Tag List: @skellebonez

2. A.M.

Syntax closed his laptop with a soft sigh, then narrowed his eyes. There would be Hell for the unforgivable, horrible things that Estelle had done, to him, and to all of them. She'd lied to Esmeralda, she'd lied to her now henchmen. It was only fair that he lie to her about what his true intentions were, about what he meant to do now that he had decided to stay for now.

He was going to tear her apart, steal everything that mattered to her, just like she'd stolen his humanity. He couldn't go home with the first member of his family he'd met in a decade. No one would recognize him but his cousin, who was stuck here with him, stuck here because of him.

If only he hadn't been so naive. Maybe he could have prevented this. Now, though, there wasn't any use quietly tearing himself apart over it. Syntax wrapped up the injuries on his forearms, throwing the blade away as he did so. No. There was no use in letting this grief fester, he had to do something with this wrath.

So, the spider prowled through the cursed passageways of the cavern he begrudgingly called home, passing by a number of different chambers as he moved. Every footstep was filled with purpose, filled with wrath and anger and hate.

She wasn't getting away with this.

He wouldn't let her.

The smaller spider crossed the threshold into Estelle's room, his intentions fully masked. He couldn't let her know, not yet at least. When she took notice of him, he nodded at her, forcing a smile that she couldn't tell was a lie.

She'd taught him too well how to lie.

It wasn't long before his claws were at her throat, his eyes drilling into hers.

"You took everything from me, from us. You stole our humanity. If you think I'll let you live after this, you're sorely mistaken." His voice was deathly quiet, for rage never makes a sound. He was going to make her pay for everything she'd done. She'd stolen things from him he could never take back, and as the venom dripped down his claws, Estelle knew he was going to kill her. The fear rendered her paralyzed. His claws were so close to her throat, so sharp, so well refined...

It was only fitting that it would be used against her now, for after all, she'd ruined his chances of finding a home in the Megapolis. If he was going to die here, despondent and alone, he was going to take her with him, with the very same weapons that were once used in her service.

Alas, the footsteps of his beloved adopted mother forced him to leave Estelle alone. As Esmeralda entered the room, she was too late to see what Syntax was trying to do. His claws were clean now, as were his fangs, and both of them knew damn well that Esmeralda would never believe her partner. Syntax, no Pierre, maintained too good of a facade of complacency for anyone to suspect him just yet.

While the jade scorpion went to comfort the obsidian spider, Syntax simply huffed, then sighed, as he always did when he was upset about something... or seemed so. His cruel, venomous green eyes made his former master shiver, because now she knew.

Her minions no longer served her.

She wasn't safe from them anymore.

[funnel-webbed-au]

Ashes, Thunder, and Gold Dust

Sydney opened his quartet of jade green eyes as sweat rolled down his cheeks. He sat up so sharply mere moments later that a tremor ran through his body. The adrenaline rush that followed wasn't pretty.

Who had those men in his dream been? One of them wore shining golden armor and had an award winning smile, but something still felt wrong about it, like it was pyrite, fool's gold. He didn't trust that smile, and seeing it again would fill him with a thirst for violence, that, he knew. He was the second eldest of the three men he'd seen... and his hair was the second longest, as well.

One of the other men had nature powers and dressed like a scholar would. Sydney could vaguely remember that this man had been cruel to him. His voice was harsh, scathing, yet maintained pseudo manners. It reminded him of... someone. He couldn't pin any of their names, but he knew this man was like them. He always expected the worst of Sydney, even when he hadn't done anything knowingly wrong. His cruel voice and the harsh blows he would deliver when he was commanded made Sydney's tainted blood boil.

Fire filled the spider's veins as he staggered to his feet, hissing. He could already see him now: His black hair tied back neatly into a ponytail, his face unfeeling and cruel. Yet, Sydney knew that for whatever luck of the horrible draw, this man was supposed to have taken care of him.

He did anything but.

The spider's eyes lit up with jade green as the tears began to fall, caustic and dangerous, too much for anyone to handle.

His veins burned with his grief, burned with the adrenaline that coursed through them. Every moment of his fury only caused it to grow, the pain, and the wrath, driving him to claw the edges of his lair. The marks in the rocks would terrify anyone, but at least he had this way of venting his frustrations. No one needed to suffer because of his outbursts.

What were their names? He didn't know the names of any of the three men, and the third's demeanor, the third's face, it eluded him for a few more horrific moments. The spider sighed as venom dripped from his jaws and onto the cave floor below him. No, he had to calm down, no matter how much it hurt. He had to protect the spiders who'd taken him in. They were all he had left, after all, and he couldn't disappoint them the way he had two of the men in his dream.

As the pain subsided, along with the adrenaline and the stress, the face of the third man finally came to him: It was a kind, sincere one, filled with the crease marks of age that would have come with a Deity of his caliber. He was an ancient, wise man, one who's heart was as filled with love as it was with pain.

For some reason, the thought of the raven caused the funnel web spider to relax. That man's arms were held out to him in his dream, and the way he'd held him spoke to the love between them, spoke to the unbreakable bond. He missed it... he missed someone he couldn't even name, someone he hardly remembered.

But how was that possible?

More importantly... What was Estelle hiding from him?