#HANGE WITH THE EYEPATCH THIS FITS LIKE A GLOVE

[sunflowersunite]

hear me out

attack on titan Gravity Falls AU.

A story told in the summers when Eren and Armin are sent to Shiganshina, a secluded town at the edge of Paradis by their parents, to live with Hange, the crazy scientist who does weird experiments in her mystery shack (Stan!Hange)

They meet Mikasa, a girl who lives in the mountains and soon becomes their best friend and partner in crime. (and starts catching feelings for Eren)

Weird, fun things keep happening, which the three investigate, but as they grow older and keep returning to Shiganshina, they realise that not everything is as it seems. As they keep searching for answers, the up till now friendly townspeople become closed off, and the fun little mysteries start becoming dangerous. And even Mikasa's lips are sealed.

(hear me out: Soos!Moblit who frets over Hange's safety and looks up to her, and Levi, who looks after her and picks up her mess. Eren and Armin constantly get caught up in Hange's weird shenanigans)

So, what is truly happening in Shiganshina?

What is hidden in the basement?

Will they find the answers to those questions before it's too late?

and... what does too late mean?

[caeca-iustitia]

The Imperial Consort is a common sight to the common folk of the Holy Empire; an angelic figure swathed in white. Their goodwill and kind demeanour have endeared them to their subjects faster than anyone could have anticipated.

-

The myth that they're an angel sent by Greagor herself comes from their typical attire; usually being very similar in style to each other with the odd exception.

They are often seen wearing a plain white halter-top gown made from a soft, stain-resistant material that brushes the floor. Underneath they wear a pair of white high heels that seem to ring out with every step they take, no matter the material they're walking on.

Their hands are covered by plain, white silk gloves unless they are using magic; at which point they remove their gloves to reveal that their nails are painted a deep shade of blue.

Over their dress, they wear a simple yet refined cloak that fastens at the throat and exposes their pale shoulders. The cloak itself is a deep blue in colour and has a sheer quality to it that helps it not feel too much. It fastens at their throat with a golden clasp which gets covered by a brooch.

The brooch has six points, each with a gemstone embedded in it. Half the points have a small red gemstone to represent Joshua whilst the rest have deep red- almost black- gemstones to represent Clive. The centre holds an opal of unparalleled brilliance that they use to represent Dion.

-

Their face draws interest due to the elegant porcelain and gold masquerade mask that hides the upper half from view; highlighting the dark blue lip colour they always seem to have.

The mask is beautiful but many question why they wear it. Even more so when one eye- the left one- is covered by an elegant golden rose that would inhibit the wearer's vision. Few, however, are brave enough to ask.

In truth, their husband forced them to wear it to cover up the scarring around their missing eye as he found it abhorrent to look at; demanding they abandon the simple eyepatch they had worn before.

-

The consort wears surprisingly little jewellery for a person of their status; though they do wear somewhat expensive pieces when they do. The piece that they're seen most often wearing is a cuff earring shaped like a golden dragon which sits on their right ear and is only just visible behind their hair.

The only other piece of jewellery they wear on a semi-regular basis is a pendant which was the only gift that their husband ever gave them and they only wear it to appease his ego. It is a small golden pendant shaped like a 4-pointed star. It has small blue crystals along each point and a small, natural pearl nestled in the middle.

-

Instead of expensive jewellery, the consort tends to accessorise with other things like fans, canes and a long cigarette holder.

Their favoured folding fan bears a frame carved from rare and expensive wood; handcrafted to fit their palm. The silk used to make the rest of the fan is pure white in colour with decorative golden wyvern tails painted onto the surface. A simple dark blue tassel hangs from the base of the fan. The fan was a gift from Lord Byron as a token of appreciation for caring for his nephews.

They have a handful of canes but their most infamous one is a porcelain cane with a large chunk of deep blue crystal embedded in the top. At first glance, one would be forgiven for thinking it is a simple cane as it appears to be quite regular outwardly. However, due to their inability to openly carry a weapon, they had this cane specially crafted to contain a long, thin blade that they may use should their life be threatened.

The cane was once used to fend off an assassin who attempted to take the consort's life during a visit to see an opera. The assassin was unaware that the consort had both the sword and a dagger that was strapped to their ankle- which was hidden due to the long gown they wore that evening. The blade proved invaluable in saving their life as they were able to keep the attacker away until the guards seized them; leaving the Emperor looking quite upset.

[dj-baklava]

Transformers: infra-red

Part 1

The match came to a close, bright lights blaring as the announcer called an end. ears ring from the pain of the game as blood and sweat dribbled down to the ring base but something about this blood was metallic.

“AND THE WINNER OF TONIGHT'S BOXING MATCH IS OUR WINING CHAMPION THE BOY WITH METAL BONES, DEVIL!”

The brown haired boy in question looked up, his breath shaking just like his body, as a smile crossed his lips he threw his arms in the air with a scream the crowd screaming back at him, his calling card. He was broken, his one eye blackened, bruises all over his body at random spots, his nose bloody and dripping down his face but his opponent was much much worse.

“Got anything to say devil?” The announcer asked, passing the microphone to the boy as he removed his boxing gloves.

“Ya one thing” he took the mic and looked to the crowd “you won’t see me for a bit mom needs help in the shop so sorry but I’ll be gone for a bit.” The crowd wasn’t too happy to hear that and it even saddened devil to be leaving but he always put family first.

After changing into his normal clothes, devil returned to his home in a sneaky manner, the hood of his demon hoodie hiding his face from both the streets and his mother knowing he was back so late.

He lived in the same house his mother grew up in, here in California. The house was now fitted for his mother’s small mechanic business, the old gurage working as her shop. He skated down the driveway, the song dare to be stupid playing in his earbuds, thanks to a bone deformity he couldn’t wear standard headphones. The house was dark, the gurage light on meaning his mom was working and wouldn’t notice him.

At the front door he kicked the wheels off his skates back into the soles of his shoes before entering the house carefully. Keeping an eye on the door to his moms shop he snuck to the kitchen for a quick snack.

“Clifford bee Watson!” He froze the voice of his mom and the sound of the closing door filling him with fear. Clifford turned a pop tart hanging out his mouth.

“Ah hi mom” he said through his teeth and food, his mother sighed shaking her head seeing the dried blood on his nose and his black eye.

“Did you win?” She asked him as she got him an ice pack from the fridge for his eye. Clifford’s right eye was damaged at birth so he wore an eyepatch.

“Heh the devil always does” he answered taking the pop tart from his mouth and the ice pack “oh that feels good” he mumbled the heat of the damaged skin bothering him.

“Let me see your hands” Clifford put the pop tart back in his mouth and let his mother exsament his knuckles. They were red from boxing but thankfully his knuckles were not like the first time he boxed where he burst the skin open.

“You're getting better at this” she let go, letting him eat his snack. His mother fully understood and supported her son’s dream of being a professional boxer but she feared his birth defects may get in his way, his bones were denser than they should’ve been and he only had one eye not to mention the reason they all call him devil, under his hood where two small red horns.

“The light was on, you got a client in the shop?” Cliff asked, taking off his back pack and unzipping it.

“I do he's a friend of me and your father” cliff stopped what he was doing at the mention of his father “his family is in a area for a mission he has a son too maybe you could make a friend”

Clifford looked down thinking, because of being homeschooled and his job as a boxer he didn’t have that many kids to hangout with his age.

“How old is he?”

“He only a bit younger than you”

“Hm I wouldn’t mind meeting him”

“Good because he’s coming over tomorrow to pick up his dad’s car” she undid her bun as she spoke, her long brown hair falling to her back. Cliff went back to looking through his back taking out a box of chocolate one of his fans gave him.

“Wanna share?” He asked holding the box out to his mom, who smiled.

“Sure but your going to bed after this” she scolded getting a chuckle out of the red clad boy

“Yes mom”

[possession1981-moving]

top 5 kibum looks!!

ahdbfjfjfnfnfn this is the hardest thing ever he is literally one of the all time fashion icons truly like the bitch never goes wrong!!!! but these are looks that really really REALLY stick out like came to my mind INSTANTLY (they’re not in order tbh idk if i CAN order them so they’re just the 5 best)

the baggy jeans with the 80s sneakers, the top showing half of his side torso and THE GLOVES! OH, THE GLOVES!!!!! 😭🖤

it’s romantic, it’s got the subtly feminine billowy pirate sleeves with the purple glitter tailoring and the pants are so understated but PERFECT for highlighting the entire look i’m alive!!

nah this is literally….. insane like the way it fits him the way he rly said i’ma go hang out with judy jetson… it’s sexy AND fun and so fucking chic

how could we have a top kibum looks list without the iconic odd eye suit? i have NEVER seen anyone pull a slim fit like this the cut is PERFECTION and THE EYEPATCH 😩💞

i genuinely live for everything about this but the deconstructed vibe plus the monochrome red with just that perfect break of the black boots it’s literally immaculate styling he never disappoints

SPECIAL SHOUTOUT to all the fits from bad love i could’ve done a list with just bad love tbh shfbfkfkfngngn

Ask me my "TOP 5/TOP 10" anything!

[thelordofdarkreunion]

The Great Game

This is kind of a sequel to “Man Behind the Curtain” and prequel to “The Misty Planet.”  I decided to write a bit of an explanation story for some of the things that are going on, and some of the things that are about to happen.  Be aware, that I have not written every player of the Great Game into this story, and I probably forgot a couple that I’ll add if I ever write another story like this.  None of these characters are mine.  Enjoy!

“There is no death.  There is nothing to keep us in check… except each other.  We are what you would call gods, and this is the eternal game for absolute dominion over all.  Now, there are new players to be dealt in.  Welcome to the Great Game, my enemy.  Our journey has just begun.”

It was empty blackness.  Nothingness.  But yet, it was something.  Something different… something that mortals could not comprehend.  It was utterly anathema to all normal senses, to Euclidean geometry, to the laws of time, space, and reality themselves.  It was completely indescribable, except to the players themselves.  But, to a mortal, it might be described as something like this:

Beings, sitting around a massive table.  

There were a lot of newcomers this time.  They were attracted by this… the Great Game.  The game of gods, all vying for power over each other.  Originally, there had been three players.  The three original Dark Gods of Chaos, all battling for cosmic supremacy between each other.  Then, a fourth was born.  But with the fourth came someone else: the Anathema.  The End of Chaos.  The Supreme Ruler of Mankind.  The King of all Human Kings.  

It was then that the Great Game got a lot more interesting.  At last, the Dark Gods had an opponent different from themselves.  The Emperor of Mankind wished for His species to thrive, and wanted to impose His order throughout the stars.  The Dark Gods disagreed.  The Primarchs, genetically crafted sons of the Emperor, were corrupted.  The Emperor was mortally wounded, and his physical form confined to the Golden Throne of Terra.  But He still fought ever onwards against Chaos for the protection of His race.  The game continued, uninterrupted, for ten thousand years since then.  

Then, through a series of completely random circumstances that none of them saw coming, eight other universes were thrown in with theirs.  Some of them did not have gods in any sense, but many did, which brings us to the present setting.  

If it could be described, the table would have been utterly massive to accommodate the bulk of many of the players.  They were gods, after all, and most liked to make their forms as big as possible.  On the table were layers upon layers of… things.  Layers upon layers of images of planets, galaxies, people and creatures all flashed past.  Each individual god had their own “color” if it could be described as such.  Each of the holdings, or pieces in the Game, were tinged with the color of the god they belonged to.  Gods moved individuals as they saw fit, for the lives of mortals were simply pieces on their chessboard. 

The figure of the Shadow Broker, tinged with the cerulean blue of Tzeentch, died as his broken figure was gunned down by his own guards.  The ever-changing, utterly unknowable form of Tzeentch flashed a thousand different emotions at once.  

“Well then.  There goes one strand of fate.  A pity he did not succeed.”  Tzeentch leered at its fellow players.  “It does not matter in the end, though.  Or does it?  One really can never tell.”  A bird-like face formed on the mass the was Tzeentch, followed by a tentacle-like arm that scratched it thoughtfully in a very mortal fashion.  “I’m still wondering whether to leave this strand alone, or continue to spread my… taint to this galaxy.”  Tzeentch grinned over to the Emperor of Man.  “Is that not what your followers call it?”  The figure opposite Tzeentch scowled.  

“Because that’s what it is.  You Dark Gods have meddled in the affairs of mortals for far too long.”  The Emperor was clad in ornamented golden armor, with the symbols of His rein etched into the surface.  His features were those of a man born in the wilds of ancient eurasia, in the very first human civilization.  His skin was a blend of bronze and burnt umber, and glowed with the golden radiance that seemed to swirl around His person.  His hair was shoulder length and solid black, held in place by a golden laurel wreath.  But it was the eyes that betrayed his true power.  They glowed solid gold, with endless depths promising eternal vengeance against the enemies of humanity.  Golden electricity crackled around His eyes and face as he stroked his chin, considering His moves.  He turned to his left and right.  “What do you think?”  

The slim figure to the Emperor’s right shrugged.  

“I’m not really sure.”  This figure had short cut black hair, and took the form of a human man wearing the uniform of the United Federation of Planets’ Starfleet.  He gave a quick grin.  “Although, this group that unknowingly defeated Tzeentch’s opening move shows a lot of promise.”    The enigmatic figure of Q gave a mischievous smile once again.  “Yes… they show promise.”

“The balance of fate may hang on their shoulders,” replied the figure to the Emperor’s right.  He took the form of a human man, a very familiar one to many people.  He had a shock of blond hair beneath a pale face.  An eyepatch covered one eye, while the other glowed green.  Deus, or the one who had been tasked to play the Game, wore the form of Admiral Adam Vir.  

“Be a shame if they were… corrupted.”  The voice that spoke was so completely, utterly perfect in every regard that mortals quite literally would have died at its sound.  Another figure, glowing with pink and white light, sat opposite the human gods and next to Tzeentch.  Its form, just like its voice, was entirely perfect, combining the best features of a thousand different races into one.  However, there was something wrong, deep down, with it.  Many of the less powerful gods, and certainly any mortal, would feel the urge to vomit at its sight.  To look upon it was to die.  This was Slaanesh, Dark God of pain, pleasure, and unimaginable excess of the senses.  

“Yessssss.  Corruption, though, exists in many forms.”  This voice was a deep baritone, filled with phlegm and rasping coughs.  The form of the god was massive and bloated with oozing boils and rotting skin.  Organs spilled out from the bulk, and necrotic flaps of flesh covered it.  Nurgle, Lord of Pestilence and Decay considered the board.  “And if they are to be corrupted, then it will be my corruption to take ahold of them.  Not yours, Slaanesh.”  

“And how do you know it will be any of your corruption to reach them?” asked another voice.  This one was deep, growly, and distinctly human.  It had the sort of dark edge to it that made one instantly wary around it’s user.  The user himself was wearing heavy black hooded robes and gloves, and considered his moves carefully from behind his dark hood.  

“You’re not even a god, Tenebrae,” boomed another voice.  This one swirled with untamed power, and hissed with darkness.  A shifting mass of darkness, convoluted into a humanoid head, stared with glowing purple eyes.  

“Yes, and no,” replied Tenebrae.  “I am not a god, though I should have been.  But it matters little.  In the end, I, and I alone, am the Dark Side of the Force.”  Tenebrae paused for a moment.  “Plus, you, Dormammu, lost to a mortal.  Stephen Strange, if I remember correctly.”  This was said with a malicious grin.  

“So did you!” raged back Dormammu.  “Revan and the Hero of Tython.”  Tenebrae scoffed.

“I defeated Revan and bound him to my will.  I controlled him once, and tricked him twice.  He is nothing by a piece under my possession.  And in the end, my defeat did not matter.  I am still at this table, am I not?”  Out of the corner of his eye, the Emperor watched Tzeentch discretely move another pawn.

“Enough of this bickering.  No one will be corrupting them,” He announced.  

“Indeed,” remarked Deus.  “Now, my move.”  A misty red planet came in front of him, and he moved a white orb from one place to another.  “This shall ensure that.”  Deus smiled.  “No corruption today, I’m afraid.  They are already earmarked as our champions.”  He looked over to Q.  

“Shall I touch yours?  Just in case?”  

“Eh.  Why not.  Can’t hurt,” replied Q.  

“And yours, Revelation?” Deus asked of the Emperor. 

“No,” replied the Emperor.  “He is already marked by me.  No other power shall touch him.”  The gods of humanity made their move.  

I will be out with the direct sequel to “The Misty Planet” ASAP.  As always, if you have any questions, comments, concerns, criticisms, or requests, feel free to ask!

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Beneath an Aurora Sky ch. 18

Summary: The South Pole Station is equipped for research and Edge has always made sure things run smoothly for the inhabitants. His charges are meant to follow his rules and regulations, and in turn, he makes sure they survive in the arctic temperatures. It takes plenty of hard work and determination and Edge, along with his crew, can handle both.

He wasn’t counting on one of the newest researchers. He wasn’t expecting Rus.

Tags: Spicyhoney, First Time, Arctic AU, Hurt/Comfort

~~*~~

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve

Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17

~~*~~

Read Chapter 18 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

If Edge were forced to consider it, likely under penalty of punishment and with great embarrassment, he would have been forced to admit that the next week might well be the happiest of his entire life.

The station was running as smoothly as possible, all its occupants working diligently as the good weather held. No major mechanical issues, no emergencies, large or small, and overhead the auroras swirled and spiraled throughout the endless nights. His brother was doing well, going willingly if grudgingly to Alphys for his next healing session, and Alphys began joining them at meals more often than not, sitting next to Undyne who fairly glowed her adoration. All the researchers were busily focused on their work and not a single complaint, petty or otherwise, found its way to Edge’s door.

That was well and good, but not the source of his happiness. No, that came from the cheerful smile of another skeleton Monster who stood at over 2 meters tall and probably weighed no more than 100lbs while he was soaking wet and wearing full outdoor gear, including the boots.

Likely Rus could calculate the actual weight in that brilliant mind of his, someday, Edge should ask.

Rus fit into the station like a puzzle piece they never knew was missing, both at the dinner table as he laughed at Undyne’s lewd jokes and in the lab as he helped Alphys with the delicate calibrations of her machines. When Edge visited Bonnie in the kitchen sometimes Rus would be there, chatting with quick flashes of his hands and even if he weren’t, Bonnie would still be working contently, humming tunelessly beneath her breath.

If Red chose to join the others in the rec room, the evening might end with the two of them in a round of horrible puns and insults that was better than a recorded stand-up routine and left any of the scientists there roaring with laughter, to the point that many came right after dinner hoping to find a good seat.

Then there were his own nights with Rus. It wasn’t simply the sex, delightful as it was, it was also the time afterward. With the curtains drawn back from the window, the aurora cast tangles of complicated light across them, filling the room to the brim. Edge could hold Rus in the circle of his arms and listen as he talked. About his work, about gossip around the station, whatever caught on his clever mind. If Edge were genuinely interested, he could ask questions and if he weren’t, he could simply drift and listen to that rich voice washing over him. And if he wanted Rus to be quiet, well, there were ways to handle that as well and his voice was just as lovely when he was moaning out Edge’s name, his bared bones lit in the soft glow of the southern lights

All of those things packaged together were like an unexpected gift, lovingly wrapped and brought to Edge here at the end of the world.

But was a simple piece of fruit that made Edge realize he was in love.

Edge was only just returning from taking the Glaciologists out to Station #5, a trip that took several hours to get there and back, and left him mostly sitting in the cab of the Cat, half keeping a watchful eye over them as they worked and half on the kindle he’d brought along. By this stage, he could generally trust the scientists not to endanger themselves needlessly out of ignorance or stupidity, or a combination of both, and it gave him a rare chance to catch up on his reading.

When they returned, the scientists had their heads all but glued together as they discussed results, leaving Edge on his own to take care of the vehicle before heading back inside. Before he could make it through the door, a slim body crashed into his own, almost sending both of them into the snowdrifts. Edge caught Rus automatically, sputtering protests and laughter as one as he was smothered in kisses, Rus’s mouth icy cold against his own.

Despite the layers of outdoor gear and gloves, when Rus practically tried to climb him, Edge only caught him under the knees and hefted him up, saying teasingly, “Are you having trouble walking today?”

“if i say yes, will you carry me?” Rus grinned, but he didn’t give Edge a chance to reply, squirming free despite Edge’s attempts to hold onto him. He tugged on Edge’s arm urgently, pulling him towards the door. “come on!”

Edge frowned and followed along, out of the arctic wind into the warmth of the vestibule, "What’s wrong?"

"nothing is wrong,” Rus whispered loudly, “but alphys has this whole place hotwired and it’s a secret!" He made a show of looking around furtively, winking at Edge as he pulled off his boots and coat.

Bemused, Edge did the same, hanging them up as he always did despite Rus’s impatience. He followed Rus back to his room. More like their room; somehow in the past few days, Rus practically moved in, only going back to his own for a change of clothes. Edge’s once empty bookshelves were gaining astronomy magazines and star charts, along with pencils that weren’t his, riddled with teeth marks from their owner absently chewing on them. Even Rus’s work was migrating here, the bedside table was a mess of pages and notes in Rus’s chicken-scratch writing.

Not even a week before Edge would have firmly believed that chaos introduced into his carefully organized life would be infuriating, and yet, even the stray sock in the corner of the room only filled him with fondness, a sign that Rus was still here.

The moment the door closed behind them, Rus crawled up on the bed but instead of a leer or an invitation to an afternoon delight, he held up a triumphant hand. “check this out!”

When he opened his fist, in his palm he held up a small brightly colored globe. An orange, the dimpled peel very nearly the same shade as his magic.

“Where on earth did you get that?” Edge asked, astonished. Oranges were rare treat that they usually only had when the ship first dropped off the researchers. They didn’t keep well and generally the only citrus available on the station came in frozen concentrates.

Rus grinned delightedly at his surprise. “bonnie.”

Of course. Some time ago Bonnie ordered a couple tiny dwarf fruit trees and she’d kept them in her own quarters with a small hydroponics setup that Alphys rigged for her. That was well over a year ago, closer to two, and he’d forgotten about them entirely. Until now.

“she was so excited,” Rus said gleefully, “she said it’s the first fruits she’s gotten!”

“And she gave one to you?”

Rus scoffed as he began carefully peeling the small fruit, “please, like you’re surprised. we all know i’m her favorite. here.”

Truer words.

Rus held out one of the segments, white threads of pith still clinging. Edge took it from his hand, bone lightly grazing bone, and cautiously ate it.

Juice burst across his tongue, almost bitterly sour and as Rus ate his own segment, his pretty face puckered, his grin going into a grimacing wince and in that moment with shared taste of the fruit between them, Edge knew he loved him.

Unremarkable, really. It was nothing like the ridiculous movies that Undyne sometimes watched, loudly claiming they were Alphys’s choice when she was the one sitting there watching with a Kleenex clutched uselessly in one hand as her good eye streamed unhindered and her eyepatch glistened wet over a pretend couple onscreen proclaiming their love.

But there were no fireworks, no lightning flash, not even the aurora blazing overhead. There was only a soft pulse in his soul, a realization.

He loved Rus. Loved his smile and his laughter, the joy he brought into Edge’s staid life. Loved him as he complained, “oooh, sour!”, flopping back on the bed and rolling on the blankets in mock convulsions.

He loved Rus and said nothing, only took another segment of orange when Rus offered it, finishing off the tiny fruit between them.

Rus took the last segment, twirling the little crescent between his fingers. He stuck it between his teeth, tipping his head up in teasing offering, and Edge was not particularly worldly when it came to lovers, but he knew an invitation when he saw one. He leaned down, biting gently on his half of the orange piece and the sourness was tempered in the sweetness of the kiss.

“welp, that’s that,” Rus sighed as he drew back to chew the last bite. “bonnie asked me to save the peel for her cookin’ needs.” Rus carefully set it on the table and his grin turned slyly inviting. “you need to run off for anything important, boss?”

“It’s possible I have a few minutes left to spare,” Edge told him blandly. He let none of his roiling thoughts show in his expression, revealing nothing but uncomplicated desire.

��good thing i’m a minute man—oh!”

Because when the time came, he would need to let this brilliant light go. Rus was as bright as the sun, he needed to get back to the world, and leave this one of frequent darkness behind.

But until then, this was his, and Edge was going to hold it close while he could.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, he wasn’t the only one taking an interest in Rus’s future.

“So, you asked the fashion victim to stick around yet?” Undyne grunted. She was holding up the antenna they were installing for Alphys, a strange, spiraling device made of coils and scaffolding. After Rus’s adventure out in the snowstorm, Alphys devised a way to extend the capacity of their communication devices, her hope being that when she was finished, their cell phones would work as actual phones and not simply as text devices whenever they were close enough to connect to the wi-fi.

It was something that had been discussed before and apparently, all she needed was a burst of inspiration to work it out.

“I have not, not that it’s any business of yours.” The conversation was paused as Edge used the hydraulic drill to fasten the base deep into the concrete slab that held the communications tower. Four screws the width of two of his fingers later, and it was done. Even the fiercest of storms wouldn’t shake it loose. He was less certain about Undyne and swatted her away when she tried to jostle it. She fell back, scowling down at him as he packed up the tools.

“Why not?” Undyne demanded. “Don’t know how it’s escaped your attention, but he’s pretty much the missing jelly from our peanut butter sandwich. He’d do good work here, boss, and we could use another set of hands.”

Edge only busied himself sweeping up the last of the metal shavings into a small tin and sealed it. “I believe I already said that it was none of your business.” Not that he believed anything so droll as ‘not her business’ was going to prevent Undyne from jamming her nonexistent nose in, but he had to try.

From her fierce scowl, he was concluding that the attempt was a failed one. “C’mon, boss, you can hire him on. You and I both know it ain’t about the money. The institute would put him on payroll if you asked and even if they didn’t, we could each kick in enough G to afford keeping him around.”

“You’re right, it is not about the money,” Edge agreed. Some of his irritation leaked in his voice as he pointed out, “Weren’t you the one advertising our relationship as a temporary distraction? In fact, I believe that was one of your major selling points.”

“Yeah, but.” Undyne sighed, shuffling her booted feet awkwardly like an oversized child. “Al really likes him, and she doesn’t take to people easy.”

“I know.”

“And you like him. I like him. Red likes him, fucking Bonnie likes him, and the only other person she’s ever liked is you,” Undyne said, watching Edge finish with the tools without lifting a bratty finger to help despite still having eight to spare. “So what’s the problem here? Once this crew clears out, between you and me, we could get him trained up. On the next rotation, he acts as a junior guide, only works in the local stations. He can keep up with his studies, work on his starry mumbo jumbo as much as he likes, and you two can keep up with your mattress tangoing, after Al adds a little more soundproofing to your room. Win-win, boss, that’s all I’m seeing.”

“There’s one problem with your plan.” Edge picked up the gear bag and headed towards the Maintenance building.

Undyne was on his heels almost immediately. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“Rus doesn’t belong here,” Edge replied. The weather was clear and after the racket of the drill, his voice almost seemed to echo in the cold darkness. “We are here because this is the only place in this dust-forsaken world where we can live in peace. Rus doesn’t have to stay, he has his entire life out there to explore and despite your confidence in my skills in bed, I daresay he can find someone else with similar aptitude out there.”

“Aw, c’mon, boss!” Undyne whined.

Edge stopped and faced her, and even through his goggles and hers, she looked upset. Undyne was also not one who took to people easily, cementing proof that Rus was somehow an expert at worming his way into their corner of the world. It did raise a few odd warning bells, reminders of his brother’s concerns over Rus, over his brother who should be dead, warnings that Edge was not ignoring but not allowing to linger in the forefront of his mind. It could be suspicious, or it could be that Rus was simply a very likable person, his personality shone like the stars he watched so diligently. Certainly none of the others on his team could say that, Undyne and Alphys might have a sparkle but Red was more of a black hole and Edge likened his own temperament to a piece of concrete.

Frankly, he rather expected Rus to laugh if he were asked to stay and Edge wouldn’t blame him for it. Rus had less than two weeks left of his rotation and whatever fallout came from him being here, they’d know soon enough.

“Undyne,” Edge said, trying for gentleness. “he has a family, a career waiting for him out there. Staying here at the end of the world will leach that spark out of him.”

Undyne only bared her teeth in a razor grimace, “If you’re gonna talk about him like that, don’t even try to convince me you don’t want him to stay.”

“I never said that I didn’t.” Edge started walking again, deliberately giving Undyne his back.

She didn’t take the hint. “Yeah, well, you might want to ask his opinion on that before you go on ahead and make it for him. Ask him!”

“No, because he might damn well be foolish enough to stay!” Edge snapped. “I want what’s best for him and I am self-aware enough to know that it isn’t me.”

“You sure?” Undyne retorted. She flung an arm out, gesturing to the endless expanse of icy landscape surrounding them. “All this snow ain’t exactly Alphys’s idea of a good time either, but she came with us and she stays.”

Where else could she possibly go, Edge did not say. No matter how truthful it was. Where could any of them go, they’d lived out with the Humans, tried on the idea of a normal life and found the fit to be an ill one. “I’m through discussing this with you, I told you, it’s none of your business.”

“It sure as fucking hell is my business if I have to sit for the next year watching you mope, you bony-ass, stubborn—” she trailed away, her held tilting to the side. Edge heard it, too, both of them turning to the north towards the faint rumbling sound overhead. Lights separated from the starry sky, a helicopter coming in fast.

“Who the fuck…?” Undyne muttered.

Red’s voice came out thin and filled with static over the walkie-talkie. “hey, boss, we got visitors.”

“Yes, we know,” Edge hastened his steps, tossing the tool bag into the Maintenance shed.

“already got the pilot on the horn. says they’re from the institute. he’s got the right landing codes. want me to send them in?”

“Direct them towards the helicopter pad,” Edge told him, “I’m on my way.”

Undyne was close at his side, her face drawn down in concern. “Since when does the Institute do more than send us a new list of researchers and take our supply list?”

“They sent me an email a while ago saying we might be receiving visitors,” Edge admitted, “but they never followed up on it. I’d honestly forgotten.” The unusual missive had gotten lost in the shuffle in the midst of his and Rus’s past argument.

The helicopter pad was as well-maintained as the rest of the station, kept clear of snow and debris despite nearly always being empty. It was generally only for emergencies, although Red threw out the occasional idle jibe that once his skull was healed, he was looking into getting a pilot’s license. As if Antarctica didn’t have enough dangers without his brother dive-bombing down from the sky.

They kept back, watching the sleek machine settle its narrow runners on the pad. The helicopter pilot only waved and did not exit, the side door sliding open and two figures clad in outdoor gear climbed out.

Next to him Edge felt the superheated surge of magic from Undyne, the air suddenly thick with ozone.

The bundled-up visitors coming towards them were obviously Monsters, one of them towering over the other who was not at all short. There were passing few Monsters of that size, less still with a nearly visible aura of power radiating from them, a sign of a boss monster.

They came to a stop a distance away, the larger Monster pushing up their goggles to regard them with eyes that were a deep, solemn shade of red.

“Hello, Captain,” Toriel said clearly. She inclined her head regally to Undyne.

If it was an attempt at diplomacy, it failed from the second word. Undyne puffed up like an angered sea lion, snarling out, “I’m not the one in charge here, you sanctimonious twat,” She heaved in a breath, spit flying as she growled, “and I sure as shit ain’t the captain of the guard, anymore.”

She took a step forward, eye and gloved hands already wreathed threateningly with magic and Edge held her back with a cautioning arm, though Toriel made no move to defend herself.

“Easy,” Edge murmured. He raised his voice, calling over, “What brings you to our station, your Highness.”

“I do, actually.” Her companion stepped forward and a pair of glowing hands formed out of magic appeared in front of them, moving in Hands to form the words even as Edge flinched back in shock at hearing a spoken language he barely recalled from childhood. It seemed somehow far away, like a voice heard in a dream. The other Monster pushed up their own goggles, revealing a be-spectacled skeleton face with narrow fissures running from both their sockets, each in the opposite direction as the other. “I’m looking for my brother.”

tbc

[koteosa]

🔥 Asrian and sharing a bed

I angsted all over this but uh, here you go friendo

ao3 link

In the dead of night, there were really only two reasons Julian would ever expect to hear a knock at his bedroom window. Either it was the rapid and tinking taps of Malak demanding to be let inside, or it was a very weak burglar attempting to break in and rob him blind. Or kill him in his sleep, perhaps, it wasn’t like he had very many valuables to begin with.

The sound clearly wasn’t the tapping of a bird’s beak, and it wasn’t very persistent or threatening, either. Rather, it was hesitant, a single knock followed several seconds later by three more, almost as quiet as the first. He holds a candle up to the window, but can’t find anything on the other side of it, and frowns. A prank, maybe?

His curiosity gets the better of him. Pulling his eyepatch back on, he sets the candle down on a table nearby, sliding the window up to take a peek outside. No one immediately jumps out to drive a dagger into his throat, so that was good. He almost doesn’t see anything worth noting at all; likely never would, if not for the way fluffy white hair and a bright orange vest stand out so plainly against the darkness of night. 

A murderer would have made more sense than this. Hell, the Count would have made more sense, showing up at his bedroom window at the witching hour, long after most people had gone to bed. There was no reason for Asra to be here.

Yet there he was, kneeling outside like he had already changed his mind about visiting, and was hoping Julian just wouldn’t see him.

Asra turns his head, and their eyes meet. Julian doesn’t like what he sees there, the ring of red in his tired lavender eyes, clothes haphazardly arranged about his body like he’d thrown them on in a hurry, hair tousled. The sight has Julian’s mind racing to figure out what happened; had he been attacked? Did someone die? Was someone about to die? Why wasn’t he at the palace, with his parents? Wouldn’t they be much higher on his list of people to run to?

The magician raises fluidly to his feet, lips parting to say something, but without having the right words. It doesn’t matter; Julian shoves the window up the rest of the way and frantically coaxes him inside. The urgency brings a look of surprise to Asra’s eyes, but he follows without question, climbing easily in through the window. Julian closes it behind him, not wanting to let the chill get in anymore than it already had.

Asra stands awkwardly in the center of the room, looking around at his surroundings. His hands are fidgeting, fingers curling and uncurling without his bag to hold onto. With his back turned, all Julian can see are the colorful swirls and patterns of his vest, hanging slightly off one shoulder.

“Is everything alright?” Julian asks, carrying the candleholder with him over to the hearth nearby, paying more attention to Asra than to what he’s doing with his hands. Somehow he manages to set the candle down on the mantle without setting the house on fire.

Rather than answer, Asra kneels down by the hearth, lighting a fire with his magic. It burns weakly, a bright blue that begins to shift colors as he teases it with a fresh log of wood. It begins to spread more after that.

Once that’s done, he raises to his feet, leaning back against the side of the fireplace. He crosses his arms over his waist, plainly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry I showed up so late,” he says, eyes directed at the floorboards. “And without warning,” he adds, wincing slightly as he turns to stare at a nearby shelf.

“I don’t mind,” Julian replies honestly, still struggling to figure out why, exactly, the magician was here in the first place. “I'd… offer you some tea, but coffee’s all I’ve got, I’m afraid.”

Asra shakes his head. “That’s not why I’m here,” he says quietly.

“Well, I should hope not. This isn’t a cafe, it’s a clinic,” Julian jokes, hoping to see even the hint of a smile on Asra’s face, so tired and blank. He isn’t successful. Rather, it’s as though Asra hadn’t heard a single word, turning to him with an odd look he wasn’t used to seeing on the magician’s face. Actually, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen this, the melancholy in his eyes, brows creased and lips parted. It felt wrong, like he shouldn’t be allowed to see this. They weren’t anything to each other, were never truly anything to each other.

“I can’t sleep anymore,” Asra says, still speaking in low tones, like he was sick. A silver eye narrows down at him.

“I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

Asra scoffs humourlessly. “I know. I know,” he says, and reaches up to cover half his face, eyes falling closed with an exhausted sigh. Nodding slowly, Julian lifts the candle back up, glancing back towards his desk.

“I think I understand,” he says, gesturing towards the desk, where a wooden chair and matching stool were arranged around piles of books and parchment. They head over to it in silence, with Asra keeping his head down all the while.

After perching on the stool, Asra slumps against the nearest surface; the wall, in this case. It was as though he hadn’t the energy left to hold up his own body anymore. Surely it wasn’t that he felt safe and comfortable enough to do something like that around Julian. Certainly not.

“So,” Julian continues, filling the silence Asra left behind, “You want me to prescribe you something.”

A sarcastic smirk appears on Asra’s face as a bitter laugh parts his lips. “Spells work a lot better than any medicine you could give me, Ilya,” he says, in a rather smug way that has Julian wanting to argue that notion for the next four hours, but he holds back, instead focusing on the actual response.

Frowning, he says, “There’s no other treatment I can offer you, I’m afraid, and I have the chronic insomnia to prove it.”

“I know,” Asra sleepily mumbles, eyes languidly surveying a book laid out on Julian’s desk. “I know you do.”

Utterly lost, Julian asks, “Then, why come to a doctor’s office? Is there some other problem? Or do you need someone to talk to that isn’t your parents? I would have thought your apprentice would come before me.”

“I don’t want to talk about them,” Asra says, louder and clearer than anything else he’d said that night, with an odd crease of his brows that has Julian even more confused. Since when was he not utterly delighted by the mere concept of his apprentice? Were they fighting? Was that why he was here?

He couldn’t ask, not after Asra had very explicitly just stated that he didn’t want to talk about it. So, not talk about it they did.

“Right,” Julian says lamely. Not sure what else to say, lest he repeat himself yet again, he waits patiently for Asra to say something else, to explain himself. He looked on the verge of falling asleep on the spot, surely he couldn’t go on much longer.

It takes awhile for Asra to get the words out. It felt much longer for Julian, who wasn’t anywhere near as tired, despite the rather advanced hour. “I haven’t slept alone in years,” Asra says. “Not since…”

Sorrow fills his eyes, and he turns his head closer toward the wall, hiding half his face in the wallpaper.

“Before them, I shared a bed with my best friend. And before him it was my parents. But I’m far too old to climb into bed with them, and… I barely recognize them anymore. I don’t feel comfortable around them like I used to.”

Which left…

“Asra,” Julian says, with just enough disapproval in his voice for Asra to begin to curl in on himself in shame. He turns, looking for the window he came in from.

“This was a mistake,” Asra says, raising up off the stool. “I’m going back—”

A black, gloved hand reaches out, latching frantically onto Asra’s wrist. They both turn to it in shock, the impulsive action outside Julian’s control, yet it works to get him to ease back into his seat as he was before. Or an approximation of it, at least; he was far too tense now to do anything but sit there, stiff as a board.

Julian sighs. This was a bad idea.

“You should know,” he says, “I don’t sleep well at night. If you want to sleep now, which you look like you do, you’re going to have to use one of those spells on me. The tablets I keep in the clinic don’t work very well on me anymore.”

It takes a moment for his words to register, but when they do, Asra looks up at him in surprise. After the surprise fades, it’s almost like he doesn’t believe him, or doesn’t like the idea, despite it clearly being what he was after. His lips part like he has something to say, yet nothing ever comes out, and he just nods instead, staring down at the floor as usual.

This was going to be a really long night.

Beginning to tug some of his extra layers off, Julian raises to his feet, gesturing towards the bed in the corner of the room. It was large enough for two to fit comfortably inside, with a rich red quilt and matching pillows, plus sheer, black curtains pinned to the canopy overhead. Undressing in total silence, Asra leaves his extra clothing and boots by the window, while Julian changes properly, as he does—well, certainly not every night, considering most nights he just collapsed somewhere without planning and woke up in wrinkled clothing.

Dressed in black leggings and a pale blouse for sleeping in, he finds Asra hovering near the bed, waiting for him to make the first move. Those gold buttons on his pants did not look comfortable to lay on, nor did the beige shirt, but he clearly wasn’t comfortable taking them off, and Julian didn’t own a single thing that would fit on someone so much smaller than him. He decides not to comment on it.

“I presume you’ll want to sleep on the outside,” Julian says. Avoiding eye contact, Asra nods, shuffling a bit closer to the bed after Julian has climbed inside, pulling back the covers for him.

Asra lays facing him, while Julian tucks the covers up over the magician’s shoulders. Perhaps a little too dotingly, considering they weren’t even together, anymore—were never together, he reminds himself. A little embarrassed by his behavior, he goes to turn toward the wall, only to be stopped by a hand on his bicep, tugging lightly. Their eyes meet, and he catches something desperate in the magician’s gaze. The sight tugs at his heart strings a little too firmly.

But it’s quickly gone, as Asra leans in toward Julian’s neck, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the borderline deceased chill of Julian’s. His breath catches, unused to this kind of physical proximity from anyone, much less an old fling. Tawny hands remain clutching onto the front of his shirt, and he reciprocates, wrapping the magician up in his arms. It felt like the proper move to make, and judging by the way Asra moves closer, he’s not mistaken.

And he definitely wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep like this. His mind was too active, body too tense, heart too loud. At this rate, he’d spend all night and well into the morning pondering over what this meant, how and if this would change things between them. Did Asra want things to change between them? Did Julian want that? He’d meant to resolve himself to seeing them better as friends, and this was making all his efforts crash down around him. Having Asra so close was dangerous for his heart, pounding away in his chest as it was currently.

Oh god, did he notice? He must know, of course he knew, they were laying so close together, he had to notice.

Right as he’s starting to panic about that, he hears something that drags him forcefully out of his thoughts. A sharp breath, followed by the sound of sniffling. It’s then that he registers the shaking in Asra’s shoulders, and his rising panic finds a new source.

“Asra?” Pulling back slightly, he tries to get a better look at the magician’s face, but he curls in on himself, moving his hands to cover his face. Oh, no, no no… “What happened? Did something… Did I do something wrong? Why are you crying?”

This was new, and seemingly impossible, before tonight. Never once had he seen Asra crumble. He was quicker to anger than fear, or sadness, or generally anything vulnerable. Something had to have gone catastrophically wrong, Julian was sure of it.

But Asra doesn’t respond, and Julian doesn’t know how to react. He didn’t own the guidebook on Asra Alnazar, that was up to his apprentice, or his parents, or his friend, people he actually liked. They were barely even friends. After the investigation ended, he hadn’t seen fit to make many appearances outside the palace. They’d been out for drinks maybe twice, that was it. Julian didn’t even know what Asra’s parents’ names were!

“Do you want me to take you back to the palace? I’ll walk you home, up to your room, even, or… or maybe you don’t want me around, I’ll just show you to the door, then, you don’t have to use the window. Much more civilized, and we don’t have to talk about this ever again. I’ll wipe tonight from my memory completely—”

The feeling of Asra pressing closer, arms snaking around his back to cling tight enough for stubby nails to be felt digging into flesh shuts him up. Not knowing what else to do, Julian wraps him up in his arms, a hand against the back of his head. His hair was so soft—not the time.

“I don’t want to go back,” Asra says, his voice surprisingly steady for someone who was definitely crying, Julian could feel the moisture against his chest. “It’s not the same room, but it reminds me of…”

“…The plague,” Julian finishes. Asra nods, his fingers curling tighter. At the time, he never would have thought Asra was struggling with much of anything terribly tragic. He seemed fine, much better than someone who had lost his lover, or anyone, really, to an epidemic. It was in reflection, after he knew, that he realized it had all been fake. Sometimes he wondered if he actually knew who Asra really was, at all.

But it was no wonder he was here, and not at the palace. He wasn’t so sure he’d feel comfortable there either, not this soon after moving in. “I’m not sure if I can help you,” he says, curling his fingers into Asra’s hair. There’s a prolonged moment of silence, apart from the sound of Asra’s strained breaths struggling to find calm, before he speaks again.

“You’re right,” Asra says. “You can’t.” Julian wasn’t sure what he was expecting to hear, but… that stung. He wanted to help, he wanted more than anything right now to be able to help. If he could wave his hand and say some magic words and cure Asra’s heartbreak just like that, he would. But he can’t. And he’s a doctor, not a therapist. Hardly even a friend, for that matter.

Asra was right. He couldn’t do anything.

“Well,” Julian starts, struggling to keep the hurt out of his tone, “My door is always open for you, whenever you want me. Or the window, I suppose.”

Maybe that was too suggestive, but Asra had to know what he meant. And he meant… well, anything. Even that. Hell, Asra could show up to kill him and he probably wouldn’t be able to find it in him to be mad. If it helped him heal, then so be it. Vesuvia could find a newer, better doctor to take his place.

Asra continues to cry quietly, and Julian strokes his hair, longing to be of any use to him at all. He wishes he could see the magician’s face, gently wipe away his tears. That he could do better than this, maybe wrap him up in a warm blanket and bring him tea, to tell him everything was going to be alright. The palace would stop being so scary and someone would be there to warm his bed eventually, he was still young and probably the most beautiful person Julian had ever laid eyes on.

But Julian was terrified of screwing things up. Everything between them had been precarious from the start, and Julian had done enough fucking it all up before he’d even known how delicate what they had was. He couldn’t screw it up now, not like this. Asra needed him, even if only because no one else was available.

That was fine. He would do whatever he could, whatever Asra wanted. Whatever he asked for, and more.

Eventually Asra’s breathing begins to even out. The grip on Julian’s back grows slack, yet Julian’s arms only wind tighter. The slumbering magician doesn’t seem to notice; he was always such a heavy sleeper. To think he was having trouble falling asleep seemed unfathomable.

Stroking gently through Asra’s curls, Julian focuses on the sound of his gentle breaths. The rise and fall of his chest against Julian’s own, the warmth of his body, the woodsy smell of his hair… Tugging his lip between his teeth, Julian suppresses a sigh.

He was a fool to think his feelings for the magician would ever qualify as “just friends”.

[fruitful-blogger]

BITES of Spider Life! (Chapter 2)

Inspired by the BEAUTIFUL Sanders Sides/Spiderverse AU by @ask-spiderverse-virgil and @sugarglider9603!

Summary:

When you’re bitten by a genetically-altered and probably radioactive spider, things in life tend to get a little complicated. Follow Virgil Storm, Roman Marigold, Logan Quinn, Patton Foster, and a whole slew of other spider-people and spider-related people as they deal with life, love, and the occasional robot army trying to take over New York.

Just another Tuesday for our teenage Spiderlings.

(Fluff and Slices of Life!)

Read from the beginning (Ao3)

Chapter 2: It’s a Playdate (Ao3)

           “So you brought us with not to go to the ACTUAL meeting but to hang out with the other kids?” Virgil, as Spidergale, threw to Thomas, currently dressed as Rainbow Weaver. In fact, all of them where in their Spider gear as they swung onto the landing jutting out from Stark Towers, otherwise known as New York’s Avengers’ headquarters. “What is this? A playdate?”

           “Look SHIELD has some news, and you know I’ll give you guys the rundown on what’s important after. Mostly it’s just us getting nagged about property damage.” Thomas threw as he waved his hand.

           “I’m SO SORRY about that building last week!” Love Bite, aka Patton, threw, his lenses cocked as he looked so sad. Really, their masks were good with expressions.

           “Love Bite, you were THROWN INTO A BUILDING!” Arachne, aka Logan, threw. “They do NOT blame you for that!”

           “And if they did, they’d have to talk to these fists first!” Royal Slinger, the last of their quartet of Spiderlings, threw in an ever so Roman way.

           “And you sent a card to the building manager. They probably get it and have insurance for that.” Thomas assured as he rubbed Patton’s head, mushing his cap ever so slightly. “Now, yes, unfortunately some of the higher ups are a bit prickly about kids and meetings. Some of the other protégés occasionally come, and, as much as I love and appreciate you guys, I think you need more friends than just each other.”

           “I mean, maybe Logan and Virgil…” Roman trailed off before his boyfriend swatted him. “HEY! It’s true!”

           “ANYWAY!” Thomas cut in once more, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Just… don’t blow anything up. If there’s an emergency, the building is hooked up with an AI known as JARVIS. Our normal communications won’t work in the tower, but he’s been told to interrupt the meeting should something go awry.”

           Logan’s extra arms came out to hold out a small device. “Would you at least endeavor to record it? I feel like I can pick out things better from a first-hand reading.”

           “Sorry, kid, but that won’t work in here.” The Spiders turned as Tony Stark stepped out onto the veranda, band shirt and blazer perfectly matching his glasses that likely cost more than Thomas’ rent. “My tech will auto nuke it on entry, but if your nice, I might be swayed to share my personal logs.”

           “Isn’t that not allowed?” Patton questioned.

           A voice snorted behind Tony. It was now that the five noticed a second figure on the roof. The person, as opposed to Tony, was no older than his late teens, early twenties, with brown hair and clothes that would be more normally worn on one of the spiderlings in their alter egos – he wore washed out jeans, a Columbia t-shirt, and a plain navy hoodie, a Stark pad in one arm as a keycard was clipped to his side. “Tony hacked the system a while ago. JARVIS stores a copy on a local drive that only Tony and I can get a hold of.” The kid stepped forward and waved. “Oh, yeah, hi, I’m Peter.”

           Tony threw an arm around the kid. “Spider runts, meet Underoos – he’s one of the best scientists I got in this place. Give him a few years, and he might be as smart as me.”

           Peter blushed at the praise. “Aw, Mister Stark-”

           “Seriously, kid? I’ve known you for years. It’s TO-NY.” Tony turned to Thomas. “You remember the kid, right?”

           “Yeah, you gave me a bunch of vines to watch last time.” Thomas chuckled. “Still haven’t gotten through them all yet.”

           Peter nodded sagely. “Well, I’m the designated ‘person under 25’ today, so I’m gonna be taking you guys around the tower. Squirrel Girl and Ms. Marvel are already here, but I think most of the others are out on team missions or whatever.” Peter shrugged. “I’ll get the brief later.”

           “You have access to those systems?” Logan approached.

           “Eh… ‘Access’ is a relative term.” Peter waved his hands. “Now, ‘hacking,’ hacking is a better descriptor.”

           “I taught him well.” Tony said, ignoring Patton’s chide at how hacking wasn’t right. “Now, Weaver, we got a meeting to be fashionably late to. You know how old eyepatch gets.”

           “Yeah, yeah.” Thomas waved before turning to his kids. “Now, be good and listen to Peter. This should be a couple of hours, and, PLEASE, don’t blow anything up.”

           “No promises, boss man.” Virgil gave a salute.

           Thomas sighed as he followed Tony. With their enhanced hearing, the boys definitely heard Thomas muttering to the other man about ‘kids these days’ and ‘I love my boys but I want to strangle them’ and other normal terms of love.

           “So I kind of already know which of you is which.” Peter said as he pulled out four keycards from his pocket. “You guys are going to need these.”

           “Oh? Will they allow us entry into the building?” Logan questioned as he took one.

           Peter snorted. “JARVIS’ face recognition software is better than any keycard. We mostly use these as a bait and switch in case anyone tries to steal our stuff. Don’t tell anyone that, though. These cards just basically get you free snacks at the vending machines.”

           “SHOULD you be telling us this?” Virgil questioned, eye quirked. “I mean, you just met us.”

           “Call it my personal spider sense.” Peter shrugged. “I’m good at reading people, and you guys seem alright.” Peter didn’t add that he had top security clearance, up there with Tony and Pepper, and had run background checks on them all. He’d been a bit less prying then his mentor, though, and had JARVIS blur names and faces. He got the basics, though. Each spider kid was unique, around his age (a bit younger, actually), and were good in their own right. Heck, Love Bite stopped on random street corners to help school children and old people cross the road.

           Peter led the charge, and, of course, Logan was asking questions as they walked in. Logan was, by far, the smartest of the four, but Peter was surprising them by being a match for his intellect. Patton was startled by JARVIS greeting them when they walked in, but soon enough the AI and the teen were chatting up a storm. Roman, for all his gags at things like science and math, was actually quite good and intrigued by it, so he was looking all about with Virgil, pointing out things that looked cool and getting layman explanations of things from Peter.

           “So how does the whole… spider thing work?” Peter asked to the group as they passed a wall of armors. “Like, do you guys make your own web? Does it come out of…” He gestured to his behind.

           Virgil snorted as he nudged Logan. “Yeah, Arachne, does it come out down…” Spidergale found webbing over his mouth, courtesy of his best friend. Virgil let off a noise of protest as he scrambled at his mask to remove the muffle or move up the mask.

           “I myself, as well as Love Bite, have the ability to generate organic webbing from our wrists, but we tend to rely more on web shooters. Using organic webbing extensively can be draining and requires Love Bite and I to consume more calories when doing so.” Logan pulled off his glove and rolled down his sleeve slightly to reveal the device. “Weaver made the initial designs and prototypes. He also uses them. We’ve fit them with other devices in the mean time, like vocal communicator, tracking systems, and what not.”

           “I came up with the best kinds of snacks to deal with the hunger.” Love Bite nodded as he pulled out some wrapped cookies. “Want one?”

           Peter eyed the cookies. “Am I safe to eat one? I’m not superhuman.”

           “Oh! Wait…” Patton stuffed the cookies back into one pouch and pulled a new set from another. “These are just sugar cookies. We do a lot of patrolling, and snacks are important!”

           Roman pulled on Virgil’s mask, managing to dislodge the webbing. “Patton is a really good baker.” The emo noted as he leaned over to help Roman off the ground.

           Peter took the cookie before hesitantly taking a bite.

           His eyes blew wide.

           “I need, like, a million of these.” He said with great awe. “These are amazing. They’re awesome. Did you put something in this?”

           “Love and sugar, kiddo!” Patton confirmed before sticking a few cookies at each of them.

           “LB I’m not…” Virgil tried to say, but he found his mask jerked up slightly to reveal his mouth just as a cookie was stuffed in. It wasn’t even a regular one – it was one of the superhuman high protein high sugar ones Patton made.

           “Nope!” Patton chided. “Grandma told me that all you had was an apple today!”

           Virgil took a bite as he grabbed the cookie. “How did you know?”

           “She and all the other old ladies put me in their baking group chat.”

           Peter licked his fingers. “So the rumor is true? That you guys are Weaver’s kids?”

           The group snorted. “Yeah… that was a thing.” Roman smiled. “While Weaver is like the weird combination of dad and older brother, none of us are actually related. I mean, unless the spider venom changed our DNA and made us more related? Is that, like, a thing or just something in comics?”

           “The circumstances that gave us four our powers was similar to Weaver, but it was still separate. In short, we each were exposed to venomous chemicals of an altered spider that resulted in each of our power development.” Logan explained.

           “I arguably got the best powers.” Roman threw.

           The other spiders rolled their eyes.

           “We all have the same basic powers.” Virgil explained. “Wall sticking, enhanced strength, spider sense, etc. Arachne has a little less stick, so he uses his legs for extra grab. Also the web thing.” Virgil shot a web off into a corner.

           “We each have little cool powers, too! But they’re not really all there.” Patton explained. “Like I can pick up on surface thoughts of animals, but it comes and goes. Spidergale turned invisible once! That was really cool!”

           “Ro- uh, Royal Slinger blew out the speakers of our school’s speakers a few times.”

           “My voice is a beautiful weapon.”

           “Arachne’s also the fastest. Like, really fast.” The emo added last.

           Peter let off a whistle. “That’s pretty insane guys. I’d love me some super powers, but I think I’m stuck toying with armor in the mean time. Jar, don’t tell Mr. Stark about this, but I’m trying to compress an arc reactor to make it possible to charge a mobile suit of some sort.”

           “Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Parker.” JARVIS confirmed.

           “Just don’t jump into it feet first, dude.” Roman warned, wincing in memory of his first attempt at being a hero. Gods, his outfit was UG-LY back then. “You have, like, Iron Man to show you the ropes first. Rainbow Weaver has been the best in training us, and, even if I hate to admit it sometimes, we’d all be squished by now without him.”

           “Royal Slinger? Admitting he’s not immortal?” Spidergale joked.

           “A prince must know his limitations… so that he can overcome them!” The red spider defended.

           Peter thought about it before nodding. “I’ll think about it. Mr. Stark is a bit protective is all.”

           “And you think Weaver isn’t?” The emo threw before they all started sharing horror/hilarious stories about times Weaver had saved their asses in the most dad ways.

           They took an express elevator about 50 floors up before the doors opened, four spider senses going off at once as they hit the deck, grabbing Peter with them. A disk shot over them, bouncing off the interior of the elevator wall before Logan caught it with his legs. “Whoops! Sorry!” The five looked up to see a girl with a massive, stretched out form begin to shrink as JARVIS paused the practice. Off to another side, a girl with a squirrel ear headband and a massive squirrel tail waved, a number of little squirrels around her.

           “Hi Pete!” The animal girl waved. “Oh, hey! It’s the spider brigade! Hi!” The girl scampered over, one squirrel with a bow on her shoulder, a big grin on her face. She exhumed what the boys affectionately called ‘Patton energy.’ “So, I’m Squirrel Girl, this is Ms. Marvel, and this is Tippy-Toe!” She introduced in rapid succession.

           Patton leapt up. “Hello! I’m Love Bite, that’s Royal Slinger, this is Arachne, and this is Spidergale! Oh, and this is Peter!”

           “I know Peter!” Squirrel Girl replied.

           “Oh, sorry! Oh my gosh, your squirrels are SO CUTE! Can I pet them?”

           “Tippy-Toe loves petting!” As she said this, the squirrel on her shoulder leapt to Patton as the boy screeched in pure joy, gently petting the squirrel with pure adoration.

           Ms. Marvel made her way over as she picked up the disk with an enlarged hand. “We got bored and decided to goof off.”

           “That’s a mood.” Peter and Virgil said at the same time before looking at each other, grinning.

           “Ms. Marvel?” Roman asked, stepping forward. “Ok, so this might be a rumor, but I heard you can shapeshift.”

           “Mm-hm!” She said, setting down the disk and shifting into Royal Slinger. “I’m a polymorph!” She stated in her own voice before clearing her throat. “How do I look?” She struck a pose with Roman’s voice now.

           Virgil blinked between the two before turning to Logan. “Slap me. I’m having a nightmare.”

           “Hey!” Roman threw, but Ms. Marvel already shifted to appear like Spidergale. Roman was enamored. “You. You would be FANTASTIC in the school play! Can you act? Please say yes.”

           That was how Roman and Kamala were left, acting out favorite TV scenes and talking about superhero stuff (not, like, serious stuff but more ‘did you see Cyclops last week that outfit was HIDIOUS!’). Patton was currently covered in squirrels and designing crazy playgrounds off the walls with webbing.

           That left Peter, Virgil, and Logan.

           Peter turned to the two. “Wanna blow something up?”

           The two introverts shared a look.

           “Yes.”

           “Mr. Stark, Mr. Weaver.” JARVIS interrupted what Thomas was deciding was the most BORING meeting of his life. Seriously, they weren’t even covering whatever Doctor Doom or the Skrulls anymore but TAXES and PUBLIC IMAGE and BLAH BLAHDY BLAH! He was a wholesome gay hero he shouldn’t have to deal with taxes. This was some homophobic BS (as he kept telling himself, trying not to daydream too much about MJ or planning a new video and miss the whole meeting).

           “Hold up, Cabbage Patch.” Tony threw to the guy with ridiculously curly hair and a pressed suit on the screen. He was definitely a bureaucrat first and foremost. “What’s up, JAR?”

           “I would like to inform you that Protocol Baby Alarm has been triggered. It has also come to involve Mr. Weaver’s protégés, Spidergale and Arachne.” JARVIS intoned.

           “Well, shit, I guess I gotta deal with that.” Tony threw as he stood. “You don’t mind, Cap? Fury? Gotta make sure a civilian like my people are taken care of. Kinda serious.”

           Serious??? Weaver stood up, full of concern. “Wait, what’s the Baby Protocal? What happened?”

           “I’ll explain on the way.” Tony nodded as he easily walked out. Thomas abandoned his chair with little fanfare, worry and panic in his veins. His spider sense hadn’t gone off, and his gut (aka his ‘dad’ sense) hadn’t told him something was wrong. Tony walked quietly down the hall, humming something ACDC until they reached the elevator.

           Once the doors closed, Thomas felt like he was about to crawl out of his skin. “What’s the Baby Alarm? Tony, what happened? Are my kids ok?”

           Tony looked over before snorting. “JARVIS, pull me up a feed.”

           On the elevator doors, a holographic screen showed a room absolutely COVERED in spider web, the epicenter a mess of plastic, scorch marks, and more web. The camera panned to show Peter stuck to the floor, Logan trying to dislodge his legs from a wall, and Virgil… well, Virgil seemed to be stuck to the ceiling somehow. Soon, four other kids, including his missing spiders, ran in. Roman started laughing, even with the sound muted, and Patton began fussing over Logan.

           Then he got stuck.

           “Protocal Baby Alarm AKA Peter blew something up again, nothing’s actually broken, but now I have an excuse to leave a boring meeting.” Tony grinned as Thomas clutched his chest, his heart slowing. Everyone was alright.

           In so much trouble, but alright.

           “I TOLD them not to blow anything up!” Thomas threw.

           Tony laughed. “My kid’s a sweetie, but he can be a terrible influence.”

           “He seemed so innocent.”

           “Oh, he is.” Tony nodded as the door opened. “He gets the blow shit up bit from me. JARVIS? Can I get some blue prints on whatever they were doing? Or, hell, can we just get some bots to scrape them off?”

           Thomas cracked his neck as the biochemical components appeared on a holographic display that led them. At least he remembered enough of this gibboly goop from his chemical engineering degree. “Looks like they messed with the webbing formula… again.”

           “Again?”

           “Royal Slinger and Arachne can get very… creative with my original formula. Slinger always wants to make it gayer, and Arachne still hasn’t figured out how I get the coloring just right.”

           Tony laughed. Yeah, their kids would get along swell.

[blue-scorpion-king]

An encounter with Nyx, by Earl, ‘The Blue Scorpion King’ -Closed-

*Continued from: http://monmuses.tumblr.com/post/182584697992/for-the-meme-to-nyx-with-earl-encountering

{BGM: Ready Or Not Instrumental }

The heavy, mainly blue and black coated fitted man, that stands 3 feet away from the hooded girl, has noticed the aura from her and gets the feeling that she is not human or mortal Olympian, unlike him, but another kind of mortal being. And seeing the snakes under the shadow of her hoodie, now he knows that she is a Gorgon right away, but does not run away from her, like he got not even a  gram of fear in his mind and soul when seeing an being like an gorgon.

He also ignored what other people were looking at, seeing that it was just an quarrel between 2 men in a fair, but anger-filled match. It can possibly be over some girl, an man, or an trans-person even. It ain’t nothing to really try and break up, despite fighting being his number 1 hobby.

[“You’re coming out of the alley for a reason, miss?”] Earl asks the girl, Nyx, while looking into her eyes with his lone left eye one, and light red snow softly, and slowly, falls on his clothing and dark blue gaucho hat. His voice pattern sounds like a much deeper version of the late and great blues musician, Howlin’ Wolf, and his words are coated in an accent that is a mixture, made out of Scottish, Spanish, Greek, and Mississippi.

He stands at 3 feet, 2 inches tall, looks to be in his 30′s, despite being 51, and has a bright green left eye, with the right eye socket being covered by an eyepatch. The shape of his eyes are angular, has an Sam Elliot style mustache, thick, bold eyebrows, and an lion-like, boxy big nose. He is wearing pants for this winter weather, that are loose enough to fit his ‘thunderous’ thighs, having a gaucho hat on, with an 3D printed plate, that is scorpion-shaped in design, that looks provoked, on the front of his hat, an basket-hilt serrated xiphos sword hangs from his left hip, is wearing elastic light blue cuffed gloves, with three plaits on each, an criss-cross pattern silver scarf, colored in 2 different shades, an steel lower jaw, with no lower lip, which is similar to the lower jaw of the 1970's Japanese Super Robot, ‘Kotetsu Jeeg’, with the steel going down to almost his neck bump, or 'adam's apple', has chimpanzee-like canines, top is organic and bottom is steel, and have magnetic chrome balls that has replaced just his knees and his ankles. He also has his five-piece beaded pendant necklace, wears black/blue laced ghillie brogue-like boots, has a mostly black utility belt, with its 3 pouches, and on each ear, Earl has an earring of a tiny blue crystal skull, with two cyclops-like eye sockets. His light blue hair, that is wavy, is in an braided at the lower back style, which is similar to the hair of Princess Lianna, one of the 2 protagonists from that Fire Emblem Warriors game, and 2 long wavy bangs that goes down from the top corners of his forehead. The scar on the middle of his brow is a wide and bold scar, that goes to his cheeks and to the sides of his forehead, shaped up like a straight X, but with ridgy edges. And lastly, the vertical scar on his left eye socket is not as wide and bold as the brow scar.

And here, he stands in front of an gorgon, not turning around, but simply asking on why she is coming out of an alleyway in the middle of the blasting winter in Tokyo Metropolis, Japan.

[monmuses]

blue-scorpion-king‌:

*Continued from: http://monmuses.tumblr.com/post/182584697992/for-the-meme-to-nyx-with-earl-encountering

{BGM: Ready Or Not Instrumental }

The heavy, mainly blue and black coated fitted man, that stands 3 feet away from the hooded girl, has noticed the aura from her and gets the feeling that she is not human or mortal Olympian, unlike him, but another kind of mortal being. And seeing the snakes under the shadow of her hoodie, now he knows that she is a Gorgon right away, but does not run away from her, like he got not even a  gram of fear in his mind and soul when seeing an being like an gorgon.

He also ignored what other people were looking at, seeing that it was just an quarrel between 2 men in a fair, but anger-filled match. It can possibly be over some girl, an man, or an trans-person even. It ain’t nothing to really try and break up, despite fighting being his number 1 hobby.

[“You’re coming out of the alley for a reason, miss?”] Earl asks the girl, Nyx, while looking into her eyes with his lone left eye one, and light red snow softly, and slowly, falls on his clothing and dark blue gaucho hat. His voice pattern sounds like a much deeper version of the late and great blues musician, Howlin’ Wolf, and his words are coated in an accent that is a mixture, made out of Scottish, Spanish, Greek, and Mississippi.

He stands at 3 feet, 2 inches tall, looks to be in his 30′s, despite being 51, and has a bright green left eye, with the right eye socket being covered by an eyepatch. The shape of his eyes are angular, has an Sam Elliot style mustache, thick, bold eyebrows, and an lion-like, boxy big nose. He is wearing pants for this winter weather, that are loose enough to fit his ‘thunderous’ thighs, having a gaucho hat on, with an 3D printed plate, that is scorpion-shaped in design, that looks provoked, on the front of his hat, an basket-hilt serrated xiphos sword hangs from his left hip, is wearing elastic light blue cuffed gloves, with three plaits on each, an criss-cross pattern silver scarf, colored in 2 different shades, an steel lower jaw, with no lower lip, which is similar to the lower jaw of the 1970’s Japanese Super Robot, ‘Kotetsu Jeeg’, with the steel going down to almost his neck bump, or ‘adam’s apple’, has chimpanzee-like canines, top is organic and bottom is steel, and have magnetic chrome balls that has replaced just his knees and his ankles. He also has his five-piece beaded pendant necklace, wears black/blue laced ghillie brogue-like boots, has a mostly black utility belt, with its 3 pouches, and on each ear, Earl has an earring of a tiny blue crystal skull, with two cyclops-like eye sockets. His light blue hair, that is wavy, is in an braided at the lower back style, which is similar to the hair of Princess Lianna, one of the 2 protagonists from that Fire Emblem Warriors game, and 2 long wavy bangs that goes down from the top corners of his forehead. The scar on the middle of his brow is a wide and bold scar, that goes to his cheeks and to the sides of his forehead, shaped up like a straight X, but with ridgy edges. And lastly, the vertical scar on his left eye socket is not as wide and bold as the brow scar.

And here, he stands in front of an gorgon, not turning around, but simply asking on why she is coming out of an alleyway in the middle of the blasting winter in Tokyo Metropolis, Japan.

Now this... this was a sight. Never before had Nyx encountered a man who gave off a strange aura. Though, it wasn’t a warm, comfortable feeling. She felt a sense of dread; a sense of being controlled. She could sense this man was not human, not even close. His appearance gave that away, but it was the fact that she could feel the tension within him.

Hesitantly, she began to contemplate whether or not to run. Before she turned, however, his voice made her halt.

“You’re coming out of the alley for a reason, miss?”

A shudder ran up her spine. Her eyes slowly looked at Earl, filled with fear and receding pupils of a snake. Silently, she nodded.

“...it is nothing to worry you about, I assure you,” she mumbled.

She decided that she had no choice but to step out of the alleyway instead of clouding herself in its darkness. In both hands, she still had her backpack, which held her lunch. Her hands seemed to be shivering slightly from the cold, but from how much anxiety she felt, it seemed to not be affecting her at all.

Though, her voice seemed to give that away. She was, in fact, bloody terrified of what this man was capable of doing. But she knew that if he was going to put up a fight, she was going to be ready. Because of this, she tensed up, and a number of hisses echoed from her hoodie.

“M-May I ask... who are you?” She questioned with a silent hiss in her tone. 

An encounter with Nyx, by Earl, ‘The Blue Scorpion King’ -Closed-