#anyways that’s also the reason I’m ignoring the council of spiders | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

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The Crow’s Funeral Snippet: Jon Gets Involved In Local Politics, Regrets It

Annabelle, of course, was standing on the other side of the door.

Slightly less obviously, she was dressed in a finely tailored suit, complete with high heels and a gorgeous dripping silver chain-link necklace. Her hair was tied up in an up-do of braids piled neatly on top of her head, and there was even a briefcase.

She looked Jon up and down critically. He was wearing sweatpants and a holey shirt.

“You forgot,” she condemned, “didn’t you?”

“No I didn’t,” Jon said reflexively. He paused. “Forgot what?”

Annabelle pinched the bridge of her nose. Jon noticed that she was even wearing her usual all-black lipstick and winged eyeliner. “The council committee for London I planned for today. Remember? The one with a representative for each Entity?” Jon stared blankly at her. “There was an invite?”

“Oh, that. I don’t check my mail.” Jon looked at Daisy, who was now pressing aggressively against Jon. “Did you open up any mail recently?” Daisy barked. Jon looked back at Annabelle. “She ate it.”

“...of course she did.” Written for no real reason besides for the fact that I know too much about my own AU and I care about Annabelle. This story takes place both pre- and post- story: six months after Jon enters London, and six months after the events of the story. We talk about childhood/adulthood, stagnancy/growth, good/evil, and the inherent metaphor of a Nintendo DS. Sometimes...found family...is bad. Rest under the cut.

In the third month, boiling and bubbling over, someone knocked at Jon’s door.

Not the door to his office. The door to his flat, which had a very large ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’ sign on it, and was always locked. The employees were, granted, Jon and Daisy, but the message was conveyed. Jon saw the sign in stores and copied it, as he copied many aspects of business models. Jon didn’t quite understand how to run a business, but he had read both ‘What they teach you in Harvard Business School’ - whatever a Harvard was - and ‘What they don’t teach you in Harvard Business School’, so he figured he was set. Daisy had also grabbed him a Girl Scout book on starting your own lemonade stand, which helped more than the other two books combined. Harvard Business School could take notes.

Jon rolled off the bed, where he had been downloading knowledge of string games and trying to figure out how to do them. Omniscence was closer to reading an instruction manual than actually knowing how to do something, but at least that left Jon with plenty of time to learn skills. Even if it wasn’t necessarily his favorite activity - he was bad at a lot of them, which would frustrate him and make him wreck the craft. Daisy kept on saying he needed a hobby other than reading but what did she know, anyway -

Daisy, from where she had been sleeping at the foot of the bed, lifted her head and barked sleepily.

“I’ll get them to go away,” Jon promised. Or eat them. Maybe just eat them.

But when Daisy bristled and jumped off the bed, barking heavily, he knew who it was. Jon sighed, hastily shoving a shirt over his head, and undid the three deadbolts before unlocking the door.

Annabelle, of course, was standing on the other side. Slightly less obviously, she was dressed in a finely tailored suit, complete with high heels and a gorgeous dripping silver chain-link necklace. Her hair was tied up in an up-do of braids piled neatly on top of her head, and there was even a briefcase.

She looked Jon up and down critically. He was wearing sweatpants and a holey shirt.

“You forgot,” she condemned, “didn’t you?”

“No I didn’t,” Jon said reflexively. He paused. “Forgot what?”

Jon stared blankly at her.

“There was an invite?”

“...of course she did.” Annabelle glanced down at Daisy, whose fur was standing on end as she growled lowly. “Have you had any success?”

“You would have noticed if I did,” Jon said shortly.

“Have you tried talking to -”

“Yes,” Jon snapped, “but apparently some of us have better things to do than attend meetings and cure dogs.”

Annabelle intelligently dropped the matter, instead frowning at Jon. He crossed his arms, fighting the urge to hunch over away from her dark and perceptive stare. But instead of pushing him, she said, “Go get dressed in something a little appropriate, please. You look like you crawled out of the Buried.” Daisy barked, which Annabelle ignored. “What are you doing to your hair?”

Jon hunched defensively. It was a little matted and frizzy, but who was counting? “Daisy can’t exactly shave it anymore, and I don’t really...know what to do with it...am I doing something wrong? I bathe.”

It was very important to Daisy that he bathe and brush his teeth. Jon didn’t know what the big deal was, but if it was important to her then he did it.

Annabelle just pinched the bridge of her nose again, checking her wrist-watch. “Buzzing your hair is a crime against God, and letting your hair look like that is a crime against me. I’ll take care of this later. Just get ready in the next five minutes, or I’m filling your fridge with spiders again.”

Jon got ready in four. Annabelle didn’t joke around with that stuff.

He didn’t really know what a council committee was. He didn’t know why he had to go to one either, seeing as Jon only tended to concern himself with Daisy. Daisy had been taking up a lot of his concern lately. Then his mood had plummeted again, and in the last month they’ve both been recalcitrant to leave the flat for anything but eating, and he was capable of noticing when he was hunting a little vindictively, and - anyway.

He downloaded the knowledge, and then made a face when it didn’t really help. One of those nasty little political things. What was with his fellow Avatars and politics? Just torture anyone who bothers you. If they were one of those freaks who liked being tortured, then just smite them. Life was easy and very simple once you remembered that basic rule.

But Annabelle was really into it - she kept on saying something about ‘order’ and ‘regulation’ and ‘first dibs’ - and she tended to drag him along into these things. She thought it was ‘important’ that Jon ‘know what was going on’ or something. Jon liked Knowing things, but once you know everything you realize that some things aren’t really interesting enough to know.

When he asked Daisy if she wanted to go with, she feigned sleep. She had been hyperactive lately, compensating for her months of starvation with unbridled and frantic Hunting. Jon had taken her to one of those little pockets where people were running around and screaming all the time, and let her run wild in the rainforest for a while. It was the kind of fun bonding experience they hadn’t had in ages, and Jon had the opportunity to pluck his own grapes from the vine too.

There had been an old man who really hadn’t been happy to see Jon, which had freaked him out a bit. He had started going on a little bit about how Jon had ruined his life, but he only got a few sentences in before a giant, carnivorous plant had eaten him. That was lucky.

Jon had ripped the dimension apart as he left. Nasty little place. Nothing good there.

So Jon left the house without Daisy for the first time since she had been well enough to move around, and with Annabelle. Daisy had been waiting at the door with a rucksack packed with his favorite book and his Nintendo DS, which made Annabelle ask her where the juicebox was. Daisy tried to bite her again. Jon didn’t know why everybody couldn’t just get along.

There was a cab waiting outside, driven by another skeleton, and Annabelle quickly bundled him into it. Jon slouched in the corner and started playing WarioWare as Annabelle leafed through typewritten documents, lips pursing and making notes on the margins of each one with a red pen. She was muttering to herself, somewhat entertainingly.

“My fourth arm for a computer, I swear to Jesus. My fourth and fifth arms. My sixth arm for a computer…”

“Are those the internet machines you told me about?” Jon asked, scribbling his stylus on the screen. Ashley cheered him on. He loved Ashley. “Do council committees need the internet?”

“The internet’s for a lot more than council committees Jon,” Annabelle said tightly. “They’re for video games. Ememoharepeegees -”

“Gesundheit.”

“ - bitcoin mining, instant messaging, online dating, freaking Google Docs -”

“Do you want it back?” Jon asked, bored. “I can make you the internet.”

Annabelle’s pen froze on the paper, hovering over a bullet-point list. “The entire internet? You can just do that?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Jon poked his tongue out his mouth in concentration as he pressed the monkeys in a rhythmic order. Rhythm games were his jam. “That’s, like, the pocket nightmare dimension from Tron, right? I can do that. Addictions are easy. Put people inside, trap them inside a video or something. It’d be mostly for torture but you could probably use it normally.”

Annabelle stared at him, expression blank, for so long it made Jon a little uncomfortable and defensive. What had he said wrong? Daisy was usually good at interpreting these things for him, although sometimes when people went on about ‘violence’ she was just as confused as him. Finally, she said, “No, that’s alright. I always hated Black Mirror anyway.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a telly - never mind. I don’t want you getting any more ideas.”

***

The council committee was held in the stupidest building Jon had ever seen in his entire life. And he had been in London for six months. He knew stupid buildings.

‘London City Hall’ or whatever was this awful giant, lopsided, obloid monstrosity. All glass and windows, with nary a brick in sight, Jon hated it instantly and severely. He was immediately filled with the urge to turn to somebody and commiserate with them about shitty architecture, but there was nobody else in the cab but Annabelle - and, well, she seemed to have other things on her mind.

The neighborhood around it was filled with a mix of equally stupid buildings and perfectly respectable buildings that looked as if they had been made a long time ago. The sidewalks were relatively abandoned, and the streets were empty of everything but the endless rotation of tourist double-decker busses. Jon knew that this wasn’t one of those districts where people actually lived and roamed - instead, it was one of those business districts that people only stepped inside for work or city business. Like that silly little Palace of Westminster building that Annabelle had taken him to months ago when she was showing him the city.

That building Annabelle had especially loved. It was filled with old white men with sagging jowls and liver spots, looping in endless routines and miniature atrocities. Annabelle had asked him to take as many Statements as possible, and Jon had needed no encouraging.

That had been a strange trip. Normally people found his little monologues boring, because they were idiots with no taste, but Annabelle had listened to every single one. She had been enraptured, excited and triumphant. She had dragged him into some “Lord’s Chamber” or something and posed on the throne as Jon obediently took polaroids. Well, so long as she was happy.

Jon was already seeing that London City Hall was no better. Annabelle dragged him through it, anxiously checking and re-checking her files, as they effortlessly weaved between shambling zombies of old white men in suits. Jon tasted the ripe air of trauma from them - a similar taste to that spiralling academic building, but rather a little more tart - but Annabelle dragged him away before he could stop and eat them.

There were parts of London that were safe. Maybe even most of London - although nowhere was truly safe, not really, not every location was absolutely haunted. The grocer’s was the grocer’s; the chemist still sold your medication. Not that you really needed it anymore, but habit was habit.

But some buildings, which were entrenched so firmly in hundreds of years of evil, could not be dissuaded from their nightmares. In that respect, the safest city in the United Kingdom became the most dangerous. Some buildings had been nightmares even before the end of the world.

Jon, of course, gave very little shits about this beyond in the academic sense. Annabelle refused to let him duck out of her meeting to go snack, and she ended up dragging him in front of what looked like a smallish conference room.

Annabelle stopped in front of it, taking a second to breathe in and out and check her makeup. She seemed to be hyping herself up for it, shaking out her arms loosely. Jon slouched behind her, hands jammed in his trenchcoat pockets. Annabelle had asked him to put on a less raggedy suit, but - well, he sometimes had nicer suits, but they got raggedy very quickly. She had also asked him to leave the trenchcoat at home, but no way. It was part of his Look.

“You’re frightened,” Jon noted with interest. Annabelle was scared of less than he was, and she had much less of a reason. “What about this room scares you?”

“It’s not the people in the room,” Annabelle snapped, flashing her compact shut. “It’s what I’m trying to do. If this world’s going to last more than a few years before it devolves into fuckin’ Mad Max we need leadership. I didn’t put all of this work in just to -” At Jon’s blank look, she sighed. “Never mind. You don’t care. Just - try to trust me, Jon.”

“Of course I trust you,” Jon said, baffled. “Why wouldn’t I?”

She stared at him, expression inscrutable, for a long moment, before opening the door and pulling him in.

It was a nice conference room, all wood panelling and that specific green shade you only saw in lawyer’s offices. There was a large rectangular table in the center, and more than a dozen luxurious chairs arranged around it. There was a big pull-down screen on the far wall. Jon didn’t know what it was for, but he knew that if he downloaded the information it wouldn’t help. Omniscence was so useless.

In a move that horrified Annabelle, most of the attendees seemed to be there. They had been chatting - talking, actually, quite loudly - before Annabelle strode in and Jon slumped in after her. But in the second that they both stepped in, an abrupt hush swept the room, and every eye swiveled to them.

If Jon was honest with himself, he’d say that they didn’t quiet when Annabelle stepped in. He’d say that they quieted when Jon stepped in. That it was Jon who they were looking at.

But Jon didn’t particularly feel like engaging with that. He didn’t like being stared at by people he didn’t know, and he didn’t like being out in public with people he didn’t know. He didn’t enjoy being in buildings or meeting new people, much less going to boring meetings. Jon decided all of this instantaneously, as every eye swiveled to him.

Rooms full of humans were fine. It was just humans. Nothing even vaguely intimidating about that, unless the humans were teenage girls. But these were Avatars - Jon could taste their nature in the air, a sharp and electric tingle - and when they stared at Jon he felt something heavier in their gaze. Oh, lord. There was a teenage girl here.

Jon tried slumping to the back chair, but Annabelle grabbed his collar and dumped him in a comfortable chair to her right. Jon saw a little placard in front of it that read ‘THE BEHOLDING’. Great.

“Thank you all for coming today,” Annabelle said crisply, and suddenly every worry was gone. She was calm, poised, confident, and professional. A perfect imitation of the officials and politicians who once really walked these halls, who passed laws and rubber-stamped policies. She could have passed for an assistant or junior staff member, bright and intrepid and ready to climb her way up the ladder. “Are we all accounted for?”

It seemed so. Every chair but one was filled. When Jon peered around at the placards, he saw that each one had a different Entity on it. One of the seats had no placard, and was occupied by said teenage girl. Four were unoccupied: the Spiral, the Slaughter, the Hunt and the Extinction.

Annabelle sat down in the head chair, which seemed just a little fancier. She put her folder in front of her, eyes flickering down the room. “It seems that Helen couldn’t make it. The Hunt duo seem to have...recently met unfortunate ends. The Slaughter Avatar called ahead to say that they couldn’t make it - it was high school picture day? And...I suppose the Extinction Avatar still doesn’t exist.”

She glanced at Jon, who shook his head. “Do you want one?” Jon asked. “I can go find a climate change denier in this building and make one for you.”

That also disturbed Annabelle, as well as everyone else. Jon abruptly felt awkward, and hunched in his seat. He defensively pulled out his DS, his plans to fall asleep in the back of the room already foiled.

Above him, Annabelle continued droning. “Still, I appreciate you all coming. I know that we haven’t all gathered since a bit after the apocalypse began -” Wait, they had? Since when? “ - but I hope we can agree that further coordination is necessary. We’ve already begun having serious territory and jurisdiction disputes, and it’s best that they’re resolved sooner rather than later.” Nobody looked very impressed, but Annabelle looked seriously at them all anyway. “I want us all to have an equal voice at this table. Save the fighting for another time. And please try to keep your powers out of here. I’ve already sworn to avoid using any of my Mother’s gifts in this room, and I hope you all can do the same.”

“Yeah?” A woman drawled. She was unfamiliar to Jon, like most people in the room, but she had a teenage girl sitting next to her who seemed to be paying rapt attention to Annabelle. “How are you going to enforce that?”

Annabelle stared at him for some reason. Jon jabbed at his DS and won the Mona minigame. Nothing more was said.

“Alright, then. I’ve already collected motions from all of you prior to this meeting.” Motions? Annabelle hadn’t said anything like that. Maybe it was on the invitation Daisy ate, but somehow he doubted it. Annabelle looked down and traced her finger down to her first point. “Many of you suggested this, so I would like to introduce it as a general discussion. Territory disputes, apparently, are a point of contention between many of us.” She opened her briefcase and pulled out a large map, and if Jon looked over the top of his DS he could see that it was a map of London. She also pulled out a red marker, uncapping it. The sheet was laminated, and there were already circles and markings all over it. “We’ll go one at a time. Amherst, you’ve motioned that the Stranger is intruding within Camden.”

A foppish looking man on a dumb little top hat scowled, as the young woman sitting behind the Strange placard looked annoyed. “It is gentrification. Every apartment complex occupied by artist studios are stealing food from the plate of my insects.”

“You haven’t had Camden for a decade,” the Stranger woman said, rolling her eyes. The Omniscience informed Jon that her name was Sarah Baldwin. Vaguely familiar - had he seen her at a cafe? “Nobody lives in those rat-infested tenements anymore. Now all the rats are performance art. Which is us. Get over it.”

“What is performance art -”

“Motion for no more Avatars over the age of 40,” Sarah Baldwin said. “I hate how Amherst and Wakely are in this room.”

“I wish I could second that,” Annabelle said, to the great affront of two grimy old men, “but unfortunately we do have to deal with this. Amherst, I’ve heard several complaints from other council members that you’re infiltrating their territory.”

“I am made of bugs -”

Jon checked out after that.

Instead, he surveyed the room a bit. Nobody in it was really interesting, just a meaningless collection of self-important people. The only person in the room other than Annabelle who he recognized was Oliver, who was sitting at the very back doing his best to fall asleep. When Jon Stared at him a bit he took notice and subtly waved. Jon shyly waved back. Jon liked Oliver.

Oliver mouthed something adjacent to ‘what is wrong with your hair’, offending Jon grievously. He didn’t look that bad, did he?

He glanced to his left, then down, to ask Daisy’s opinion, but he realized too late that she hadn’t come with him. Stupid. She could have come as part of the Hunt - they didn’t have anybody, it wasn’t as if they could complain. Not to Jon, anyway.

But she wouldn’t have wanted to. Daisy hated being an Avatar, for reasons that Jon had just never understood. She tried explaining it to him a long time ago, trying to talk about how guilty it made her and how much harm she had done, but it had just confused him more. She had tried to explain up until the end, as Jon had grown more and more angry at her for her refusal. He had never understood.

She had stopped talking about it lately, though. Which was good. Jon didn’t know what he’d do if she starved herself twice. He wouldn’t have tolerated it.

Daisy had told him that the most important thing in the world was to make your own choices. So he let her make hers. No matter how much he hated it.

The others weren’t familiar at all. There was a woman with wild dark hair sitting behind the Dark placard, which confused Jon slightly until he decided that they likely hadn’t wanted to send the thirteen year old. There was this really wrinkly and gross old man for the Vast, a younger looking but older feeling man for the Buried, a deathly pale woman for the Lonely, the muscular woman and the teenager for the Desolation...why did they have two…

The teenager was staring at Jon. She had intense orange eyes, the kind that bored into you and never blinked. She looked away every few seconds, as if she was being subtle, but when her gaze drifted back to him again he met her eyes with an unimpressed stare. She squeaked and looked away firmly, hiding behind her curtain of long red hair.

Okay. Whatever. Kids were weird. Jon was glad he had never been one.

Jon swapped out WarioWare for Pokemon SoulSilver, opening back up where he left off catching another MissingNo. His entire team was full of the things. He wanted a Mareep, damn it.

Finally, Annabelle rapped the table sharply and said, “It’s agreed, then. Everybody submit specific written documentation of your territory by city block, and fax it to me by our next meeting. Please abide by the resolutions to the conflicts we discussed here. Any objections to moving onto our next order of business?”

“I have an objection to the Dark’s questionable behavior,” the Buried guy rumbled. He was dripping dirt everywhere. Why didn’t anybody complain to him about his hygiene? “In the words of the lad Brody, they are kill stealing. If they do not withdraw their nightmares from our embrace of the Earth, we will unleash retribution with extreme prejudice. The dirt is a holy place, and we will not be polluted by -”

“Oh, stick your shovel up your fat ass, Wakely,” the woman with wild black hair said. “People aren’t afraid of the fucking dirt, they’re afraid of the darkness in the tombs. Walk into a mausoleum sometime.”

“You poach the End’s territory now too, wench?”

“Please leave me out of this,” Oliver said.

“If you call me wench one more time, you’ll be watching the back of your eye sockets for eternity,” the woman said pleasantly, “so royally fuck you.”

“Um, not to interrupt, but that’s not really how it works,” the teenager said, and the death glares between the two turned on her. She hunched her shoulders, but her expression stayed firm. “The terror is going to overlap. That’s just how it is. The Buried and the Dark are not entirely...separate things, they’re gradients that overlap. If you get all finicky about what belongs to who, then you’re just going in circles…”

“The last thing we need is the coward Messiah of the Eternal Flame telling me how to worship my god,” the woman snapped.

“Watch your fucking mouth, Manuela,” the muscular woman said flatly.

Then they were glaring, and Wakely was saying something else snide, and Manuela was making another dig at the teenager as the muscular woman bitched, and Jon abruptly wanted them all to shut up.

“You’re being too loud,” Jon said.

The entire room shut up immediately. The teenager opened her mouth, but the pale woman caught her eye and shook her head.

Annabelle clapped her hands in the silence. “Onto the second motion, then! Infrastructure! Right now we are sorely missing a great deal of essential city infrastructure, and it’s becoming a huge problem. We’re still figuring out what’s mystically maintained, and what’s just being maintained because the humans haven’t figured out how to stop doing it yet, but there’s some work that’s being neglected. The Vast has motioned to reinstate the postal system.”

“Vetoed,” the Lonely woman said.

“You can’t do that,” Annabelle said blankly. “We need to vote.”

“I’d like to make an argument for the motion, dear,” the Vast man said, making Annabelle’s eye twitch. “My argument is this: Amazon Prime is so convenient!”

“We have every Amazon warehouse under our control,” the representative from the Flesh said. He was...very fleshy. “It’d be no issue to go back to production.”

“Jared has a point. The Eye’s been feeding through Amazon for years,” Annabelle said thoughtfully. The mention of the Eye piqued Jon’s attention, but then he finally ran into a Mareep and he stopped paying attention again. “We can tap into the people who are living 1984 and get them back in industry.”

“Can we begin producing again?” the Desolation woman asked, interested. “We have all these people miserable at work, but nothing’s actually being made. If we let a little reality break into the nightmares…”

“Wouldn’t that be dangerous?” the Lonely woman asked sharply. “It’ll make it easier for them to escape.”

“They all escape eventually,” Sarah Baldwin said. “They all break out in days to months. We can afford a little more permeability if we actually get things working again.”

Then conversation was off and running about something that Jon didn’t really care about, so he checked out again. He didn’t know what all of this production and infrastructure stuff meant. Going Postal meant that he had a very good understanding of a mail system, but he didn’t have a personal interest. Who he would send letters to?

Jon quickly downloaded what Amazon was. Oh, that would be useful. Wait, he could get any book delivered to his door? Without having to go out hunting for it? How would this work without the internet - a catalogue?

Everybody seemed invested in getting the internet back up, except for the two hundred year olds. Jared kept saying something about porn, whatever that was. If enough people felt like Annabelle, then maybe they would make it a priority. Jon didn’t know how he felt about that.

He didn’t know how he felt about the fact that it was impossible.

But everybody - or most people - genuinely seemed excited about it. They even seemed to be working together, intent on the same goal.

Sarah Baldwin wanted to know if we have enough people constantly under camera to have footage for television. Maybe we could get cable back up? DVDs were a lost cause, but if we could just start airing the VHS tapes…

Annabelle had a look of hook-ups (literally) in the film industry, maybe they could do something like that?

The Hahns are highly involved in production and distribution, Jared pointed out. There was no need to produce food, but if we wanted to increase access to goods it might be possible.

Why? Why did they care? This world provided them everything they needed.

For some reason, Jon felt a little defensive. What did they need all of these things for, anyway? All of this entertainment - cable and movies and internet. The world had books. What was so wrong with books? There were even old VHS tapes liberated from charity stores if you really wanted to get fancy. The most high-tech electronic Jon had ever found was the DS in his hands and a couple of games, which Salasea had given to him as an exotic artifact. Only Salasea owned these things now: trinkets and curiosities, hallmarks of an antiquated time.

What was the point of these supply lines? People didn’t need to eat or shop or consume. Nightmares provided the facsimile, and since they got a little crazy if they never ate they were provided the security of food. Buying towels and shoes and toys...it was a waste of time. People had towels. Nobody outgrew their shoes or wore them out. Children’s toys didn’t break, and anything that made happiness a little easier to come by was discouraged.

Nothing was ever subtracted. Nothing was added. The world was frozen, captured in the amber of time, and it would never move backwards and forwards.

They knew this. Didn’t they?

“We have to make this place livable for us,” Annabelle was saying. She spoke oddly intensely, with a fervor that Jon had seen in her a few times before. Annabelle didn’t like to give off the impression that she cared about things, but once you knew her it was hard to miss. “It’s easier than ever to stay powerful and feed our Forces, but that doesn’t mean we can grow complacent. We have to work together to eat sustainably. To live sustainably. If we don’t try to rebuild, at least enough to get the world moving again, then we’re sentencing ourselves to a boring and decrepit eternity in a world we will all see die within our immortal lifetimes.”

Everyone at the table was nodding. They looked determined. United. Almost...they held an expression that Jon just couldn’t name. An emotion he didn’t understand.

He had seen it in Daisy, once. She had called it hope. He hadn’t understood back then. He still didn’t.

“Liar,” Jon said, as his minigame timed out and the game over music tinkled across the tinny speakers.

Annabelle looked at him, expression inscrutable. “These problems are legitimate, Archivist. The writing’s clearly on the wall, and -”

“You’re all so stupid,” Jon complained, and Annabelle abruptly stopped talking to glare at him. Whatever. Jon had lost all patience. He closed his DS and dropped it on the table, resigning himself to talking. Jon hated public speaking, especially in front of so many people he didn’t know and, frankly, creeped him out. “You can’t build anything in this world. If you try to impose a cute little government then it’ll break down into cannibalism or something.”

“Would you know, Archivist?” Jared asked evenly.

“Jonah didn’t enact this world through myself for living,” Jon said, bored, and everybody stared at him with wide eyes. “We created it for suffering. Suffering isn’t living.”

“One might say the opposite,” the Vast man said, somehow twinkingly. “Suffering is an unavoidable side effect of living, isn’t it?”

“Is that philosophy? I don’t understand philosophy.” Jon wasn’t very good with anything that required extensive and complex thought. Which made sense - Jonah hadn’t exactly created him to think. “Humanity has clouded your minds. Makes all of you irrational and sentimental. Release your attachment to the old world. Just accept the way things are now.” Jon shrugged. “It’s not as if you can do anything about it.”

“Nobody in this room is exactly human, Jon,” Oliver pointed out placidly.

Jon snorted. “Wanting free porn back? You’re all dripping with it.” It was honestly a little sad. “The only ones in this world free of that weakness are Jonah and I. And he’s the only one who could do any of this.”

“Then where is he?” the Desolation woman snapped. She leaned forward, hands gripping the table in anger. The teenager watched her anxiously. “Why doesn’t he come on down from his high tower and explain what’s going on? We’re in the fucking dark here!”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said coldly, “who are you?”

He rubbed his bad hand. For some reason, everybody watched him do so. He stopped, self-conscious.

“Prejudiced remarks aside,” Manuela said. She had been hostile all day, but she now spoke cautiously. “Jonah Magnus needs to take responsibility for this. We don’t even know how the world ended.”

Several people glanced at Annabelle, whose lips thinned. “I shouldn’t say.”

Of course she knew. And of course she wasn’t about to tell him. Whatever. Jon didn’t care. Past was the past.

He found his hand clenching. There was a strange tension in his throat. He didn’t care. He didn’t. Rehashing the worst pain he had ever felt in his life, even now, wasn’t really worth the time or energy. He didn’t care.

“No use crying over spilled milk,” the Vast guy said lightly. “But it is a relevant question. Jonah frequently spoke of his plans, and I realize now that he had never truly shown all of his cards. But he had always held an intention to...well, rule. It’s only in this moment of his victory that he shows no interest.”

“Jonah’s busy,” Jon snapped. “Trust me, you don’t want that arse around. He never even gives me directions, and I’m his right hand.”

“Or his puppet,” Sarah Baldwin muttered.

It was fair. Probably even true. So why did an intense and burning fury shoot through Jon?

“What gives this child the right to dictate us?” Wakely demanded. Jon’s hands clenched on the table until his knuckles turned white. “What gives Jonah Magnus the right to rule us?”

“He’s not much of a ruler,” Amherst grunted. “My vote’s that we rule this world in a council.”

“Administration is important,” Annabelle said, impossibly terse, “but unless anyone here actually has the means to seize control, then there’s no use voting on it.”

“There’s only one Avatar here who has those means,” Manuela said darkly, crossing her arms and looking straight at Jon. “So why doesn’t he do anything?”

They were feeding on each other. They wouldn’t have said these - these treasonous things by themselves. But when one person spoke up, the next felt empowered, and they felt as if they outnumbered him. Jonah Magnus was hardly there to press him into obedience - why buckle under his oppressive gaze? What could he do?

The stupidest people in this world all gathered in one room. It took a special level of arrogance, pride, and stupidity to assume that one was more powerful than Jonah Magnus.

“I’m not in charge of anything,” Jon said tersely. “I don’t even have a domain. I’m just trying to live my life.”

The Desolation woman snorted. “Typical. You’re rolling over for Jonah.”

Jon’s eyes widened - not in surprise, but in anger.

The teenager seemed a little uncomfortable. “Jude,” she hissed, “I don’t think -”

“Jude,” Jon breathed. “So that’s your name.”

He was standing up. Jon didn’t remember standing up. Everybody was leaning away, their own eyes wide. Some just looked confused, slightly perturbed - Wakely, Amherst. Others looked ready to bolt - Manuela, the old man from the Vast. Jon knew, in a flash of insight that grew hotter and hotter, that he preferred to be called Simon.

“Sit down, Jon,” Annabelle said, as authoritative and no-nonsense as ever. Normally he’d listen to her, respecting that she usually knew what was going on far better than he ever did. But the words barely reached him, drowned out by the rushing in his ears. “Look, we can talk about this rationally, alright?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Jude said. She snorted, burning red eyes never leaving Jon’s. “As if I’m scared of this baby prick.”

“Maybe we can move on from Jonah Magnus,” Simon said quickly. “A discussion of airspace rights, perhaps -”

“Jon,” Oliver said, voice creased in worry, “are you okay?”

“This is the all-powerful demigod you all warned me about?” Amherst said. He was dripping with condescension, just like - just like everyone else - “He’s little more than a child.”

“Guys!” the teenager’s voice rang through the room, close to scared. “The walls are melting!”

So they were. It was as if the stone and wood was made of wax, sent guttering by a sputtering candle. Wood and finish were already pooling on the floor, melting the rolling wheel of Jared’s chair and forcing him to jump up from it.

“Jon!” Annabelle said sharply. “Don’t throw a tantr -”

The table cracked sharply. It was warping, twisting in on itself as if it was a wrung towel. Jon realized, too late to care, that his hair was rising. He knew his eyes were spinning, an eternal churning wheel.

“Fuck this, meeting adjourned.” Manuela stood up sharply, pushing her chair back into a melting bubble. The floor was beginning to bubble and warp. “See you all next month.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Simon said quickly, standing up too.

“You have two minutes,” Jon said, voice heavy with static. “Don’t bother me about this shit again.”

The signal was clear enough. Jude rose from her chair, grabbing her teenager’s elbow and pushing her out the door. The others followed in their wake, expressions carefully neutral. It was useless: Jon could taste their fear, their trepidation. Even better: their anger, barely brindled fury, and disgust.

They couldn’t do anything about it, Jon thought giddily. No matter how much they hated or were scared of him, they couldn’t do anything about it. Jon was powerful. Jon couldn’t be hurt. Jon couldn’t -

Jon couldn’t reign this in.

Before he knew it, the conference room was empty. Only two other people remained: Annabelle, expression as inscrutable as ever, and an uncomfortable Oliver. His hands were stuck in the pockets of his pea coat, and he was looking around with disaffected interest - as if he was standing in line at a Starbucks in rush hour instead of in the epicenter of a melting building.

Jon knew. The entire building was dissolving. It was teeming with humans, lost and trapped and defenseless. He didn’t want to kill them. Jon didn’t like hurting people. He heard a voice speak in his head, foreign and familiar. Bring it in, Jon.

But he couldn’t. His hair would fall back around his shoulders, and the static rushing through his ears just wouldn’t abate. It felt like everything was pouring out of him, a relentless faucet that wouldn’t stop churning out thick streams of putrid water.

Jon fisted his hands in his hair, groaning. “Where’s -”

“She’s at your flat,” Annabelle said calmly. “Do you want me to get her?”

No. No, this was too embarrassing. He was an adult, he could handle this. Jon groaned again and sank into his seat, saved from the toxic waste of glass and brick. “No. Focus on getting the humans out of here.”

“What do you care?” Oliver asked, vaguely curious. “You don’t seem that fond of humanity.”

“Just do it!” Jon snapped, instead of admitting that he didn’t know either.

Eventually, the room stopped melting. Jon didn’t even want to think about how difficult it would be to leave the building. He could probably straighten out the hallways just enough to help Annabelle and Oliver get out.

Ugh. This place had sunk straight into Helen’s domain. He could taste it in the air: any future human who wandered in would be stuck in an endless spiral of twisted, melted hallways. Probably flavored with...powerlessness and fear. Feeling very small, as someone very large loomed down on you. Tories.

At least he hadn’t sucked flattened the building into one plane again, robbing it of all spiritual and metaphysical dimensions. Jon had done that to a graveyard once. The place was putrid now. He had accidentally fallen into a grave and panicked and - anyway.

He rested his forehead on the warped and splintered conference table, waiting for his throat to open back up and the rushing in his ears to die down. Finally, after what felt like forever, his hair floated back down and he felt his eyes resume their normal shape.

Awkward silence loomed. Jon sighed. “Sorry.”

“I worked hard to arrange this, you know,” Annabelle said.

“Yeah.”

“I am not happy with you, Jon,” Annabelle said.

“Sorry,” Jon said miserably. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I mean,” Oliver said, after a beat, “that’s kind of terrifying. That you can melt a building on accident. Like, what would happen if you got really pissed at Manchester or something?”

“Goodbye, Manchester,” Annabelle muttered.

Jon lifted his head, glaring blearily at Oliver. “If you think that’s crazy, you should have been there the one time I opened up an extradimensional gate and unleashed nightmare terrors into the world, rendering all of humanity immortal and eternally trapped in endless infernal hellscapes.”

Oliver shrugged, conceding the point.

But Annabelle just looked thoughtful. Probably reworking five billion plans, knowing her. Jon didn’t want to know, because he didn’t care. Let her do whatever she wanted. None of his business. Hopefully, after this disaster, she’d keep it out of his business.

Finally, she asked, “Was that true? That there’s no moving us forward?”

Jon sighed. He really didn’t want to talk about this anymore. But if he didn’t tell her then she’d just bug him about it later, or find some way to get the information out of him that would be both convoluted and unpleasant. “I’m not saying that people can’t...live their lives. They’re obviously still going to work and typing in every digit of pi into their spreadsheets for eight hours and then going home to stare, hypnotized, into cable television. But I am saying that there’s no achieving more than that. There’s no going backwards, and there’s no going forwards. The past is closed to us, and so is the future.” He eyed her warily. “If you have any cute time travel ideas, forget it.”

“I would never,” Annabelle said innocently.

Yeah, sure. Liar. Jon scowled. “You’re all hampered by your humanity.” When Oliver opened his mouth, Jon just shook his head. “Even Avatars are still people. We’re all conduits for eldritch Forces, hollowed out to serve as a live wire for their power, but we - you all remember a human life. You care about things. You have relationships. You love. It makes you weak. Some of you don’t even like your lot in life - some part of you aching for something familiar, when you felt genuine happiness instead of the cheap facsimile induced by causing pain.” Jon looked down at his hands, reflexively picking at one of his many scars. “You should be more like me. You’d be more focused.”

“Are you capable of...changing, Jon?” Oliver asked curiously. “Or will you be this way forever?”

“Most of Annabelle’s plans hinge on that not happening,” Jon said, not even aware it was true until he said it, “so I suppose we’ll find out.”

Of course, Jon knew what Oliver had tactfully not said. He had wanted to know if Jon would ever grow up. They all thought he was a child, even Annabelle. Jon had the feeling even Daisy did, sometimes.

It was stupid and they were wrong. Child would imply adult, would imply birthday parties and learning to talk and learning geography. Jon didn’t have to learn geography. He knew geography. He didn’t age. He was born being able to talk. Jon was above all of these things. He was mature. And even if he wasn’t, who cared?

But Annabelle just smiled at Jon, a polite mask. Annabelle hadn’t made a genuine facial expression in - well, longer than Jon’s memory. Or maybe that was the wrong way to put it. Maybe it was more accurate that she never expressed an emotion that she didn’t mean to. “Well! That wasn’t entirely a disaster, was it? I think next time could go really well. Don’t worry, Jon, I won’t drag you out of bed again.” She propped her hands on her hips. “Now, the three of us are going back to your flat and doing something about your awful rat’s nest.”

Oh, lord. This was going to be terrible. “Do we have to?” Jon whined.

Annabelle smiled again, but this time it was so dangerous that Jon couldn’t help but quail. “My spiders are collecting the avocado oil and coconut oil now. My best friend in secondary had 3C hair too, I think I know what to do. Oliver, bring the buzzer, scissors, and satin wraps.”

“Three cee?” Jon asked, confused. “What’s that?”

Oliver grimaced. “Why am I involved in this?”

“Because I don’t know what to do with a guy’s hair, and you’re probably the only guy I’ve ever met who knows what to do with hair? Keep up.”

“I’m feeling pigeonholed, but fine. But we are not buzzing that hair. It’s a crime against god.” Oliver looked thoughtful for a second. “I think Jon would do a nice, loose afro. I think I still have some hair masks and vinegar rinse -”

“Why is this so complicated?” Jon asked, completely freaked out. “What are these things?”

But Annabelle just smiled sweetly at him, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Jon. I’ll teach you what you need to know.”

Well. It seemed easier than figuring things out for himself. Jon didn’t like responsibility. Today was his first taste of responsibility in ages, and he had already decided that it sucked. Better to let somebody who actually cared take care of it.

That way, he didn’t have to be powerful. Didn’t have to be anybody’s demigod on Earth, capable of murdering whoever he liked. He could just be Jon, Private Detective, Archivist. He could have fun. Just live. Didn’t he deserve that, despite everything?

He stood up too, summoning a shaky smile for Annabelle. “So you aren’t mad about me ruining your meeting, then?”

“Water under the bridge,” Annabelle said. “Now come on, we have to stop by the chemist’s and pick up a decent hairbrush.”

Hairbrush? What was that for?

****

Six months after time resumed its course

Jon opened his mailbox, only to find mail.

Suspicion immediately loomed. Jon didn’t get mail. Not due to any kind of impossibility, but just because he didn’t pay bills and none of the mimic junk mail was brave enough to try their luck with him. Maybe invoices, sometimes, but mostly those were dropped off in person. The invoices were scarier than the finger-biting mimics: he still didn’t quite know how they worked. Sasha kept insisting they were important, but Sasha also insisted face masks were important. She didn’t know everything. That was Jon’s job.

He grabbed the singular envelope anyway, elbowing his door back open as he inspected the envelope. Thick, rich, and creamy, it reminded Jon uncomfortably of Annabelle’s party invite from a while ago. In the front, he saw that it was addressed to...Agnes?

The living room was noisy and busy, entirely due to the recipient of the letter and her brother. They were playing Mario Kart on the Wii, and apparently disowning each other. Jon watched Agnes hit Gerry with a blue shell, slightly bemused, and saw Dry Bones spin out into the center and make a pitiful noise. Baby Peach loomed supreme.

Jon almost felt bad interrupting. An opened bag of chips scattered dust around Gerry, and Agnes had a half-empty pack of uncooked hot dogs next to her. They had both been at this for a while. “Agnes, you got a letter. And try to keep it down, Sasha’s working and Daisy’s sleeping.”

Agnes turned around, half a hot dog hanging out of her mouth like a cigar. She swallowed it quickly, holding out one hand and letting Jon give her the letter. She frowned down at the front, ignoring the way Gerry craned his head to take a look, and when she checked the back she frowned deeper. There was a wax seal, its details out of sight to Jon.

“Is it that time already?” Agnes muttered, putting her controller down and letting the parade lap on the screen continue.

Gerry frowned too as Agnes carefully broke the seal. “Is that from…?”

“Yeah. Weird, though. Guess it’s about time for the follow-up to the emergency meeting.” She pulled a letter out of the envelope, embossed on creamy paper. She scanned it quickly. “Downing street this time…”

“Are you going to go?”

“Well, it’s not as if Jude can,” Agnes said diplomatically, refolding the paper.

Jon cleared his throat, making the kids jump. They had half-forgotten he was there. Far too late, Agnes hid the invite behind her back. “Care to explain?”

“Oh, you know,” Agnes said vaguely, casually tossing the invite behind her shoulder and letting Gerry snatch it out of midair. “It’s the invite to the Avatar council meetings. I think they’re held once every three months, but since months are a theoretical concept it’s occasionally hard to tell..”

“Not these days,” Gerry said excitedly. “It’s cold! The leaves fell!”

“The leaf thing is dope,” Agnes agreed. “Anyway, I should go. I have, like, serious words. I already submitted ten motions. I want to run for Treasurer, but Jared keeps saying that anybody who isn’t old enough to open her own bank account shouldn’t be treasurer.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Jon asked blankly. Was this some kind of youth league? Baseball? Was this baseball?

Abruptly, Agnes looked very sketchy. “I...it’s really nothing you’d be interested in.”

“I am interested in everything,” Jon said. He was offended beyond all belief. “Don’t keep secrets!”

“Jon’s not a big fan of secrets,” Gerry stage-whispered. “Did Annabelle say that we shouldn’t tell him or did she just say not to bother him about it?”

Agnes abruptly started sweating wax. “I can’t remember.”

“Now you have to tell me,” Jon said flatly.

They gave up very quickly. Teenagers loved hiding things, but they also loved drama and spilling secrets. “It’s the Avatar council meeting thing,” Gerry said eagerly. “You know, where you guys all get together and re-enact the British empire by making government decisions and imposing made-up laws on the people you’ve conquered and are currently subjugating under your big stompy boots?”

“I’m changing the system from the inside,” Agnes said proudly.

Gerry shot her an unimpressed look. “Okay. Yeah. Sure. Because that’s a thing that makes sense in an inherently corrupt system with an inherently unethical existence that exists to be profitable at the expense of the marginalized.”

“I don’t understand anything children these days even talk about,” Jon said.

“I’m surprised you don’t remember it,” Agnes said to Jon. But she had a strange expression on her face, one hard to decipher. “It’s where we met.”

Jon stared at her blankly. “I don’t remember talking to you.”

“I was sitting next to Jude?” Agnes hinted. “Teenager? Red hair?”

Wait. Jon snapped his fingers. “Annabelle’s idiot thing! Right! Right, of course, Oliver made me sit still for five hours afterwards, it was insufferable.”

Wait. Jon abruptly remembered the rest of that day. It seemed like so long ago, even though it was probably objectively only about three years. It must have been about...yes, a few months after Daisy had gotten stuck...

He barely remembered those tepid and awful months. He had been on a bit of a hair trigger back then. It had been really tough, with Daisy leaving and his terrifying encounter with Jonah. He remembered everybody had been annoying and mean and made him feel bad…

“First time I ever remember feeling fear, honestly,” Agnes said to Gerry. “Scariest moment of my life. Remember when we first met Jon? All I could think about was that he was going to melt us like he melted that building.”

Hot shame flared in Jon’s gut. Right. Other people were real, and existed, and were probably more important than his...what had he even been upset about? He didn’t remember.

He melted a building and he didn’t even remember why.

“I’m going too,” Jon said, and both kids startled. “I’m coming with you.”

Agnes and Gerry stared at each other with wide eyes.

“Uh,” Agnes said finally, hesitant, “there’s about a 50/50 chance Annabelle said not to tell you about this, and you definitely didn’t get an invite, so statistically you probably aren’t -”

“She can’t exactly stop me from coming,” Jon said, and both kids quieted.

Power-tripping had lost all appeal for Jon - assuming role as a conduit for global and absolute power did that to you - but he couldn’t deny it was useful sometimes. The world probably could have stood a little more power-tripping from him, actually. At least, it would have been helpful if he had ever done anything helpful with it. But he had never really bothered.

But Agnes still looked perturbed, almost worried. “Annabelle’s like one of two people you used to ever listen to, so if you don’t really care what she thinks anymore -”

“I think Annnabelle knows better than to complain these days,” Jon said.

It probably was for the best that Jon didn’t listen much to Annabelle anymore.

****

Jon hadn’t really told the others about Annabelle’s worse-than-murder attempt.

It didn’t really seem like any of their business, and he had spinned a vague explanation of how the situation happened. He didn’t lie, just - withheld information.

For the first time, the truth didn’t seem so important. He had the feeling it would have just upset them. It wasn’t as if he would take revenge against Annabelle. The world needed her, and Jon was a little tired of murdering everyone who upset him. The others (Daisy) would insist on the little murder attempts if they knew, but that was probably part of why he didn’t tell them. If they never knew about the one unselfish thing he had done in his life - well, one unselfish thing didn’t make up for three years of selfishness, so there was very little point.

Martin suspected. Actually, Martin seemed to know, which terrified Jon slightly. It was impossible to get anything past Martin. Jon was deeply intimidated by the man. Sasha laughed very long and hard when he told her that, for unknown reasons.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he felt betrayed. Even if the last time he had attended one of Annabelle’s little council meetings he still trusted her, that had faded quickly in favor of complete apathy. Even then, as young as he was, he had never expected the truth from her. Just friendship. Whatever she was doing, it probably wouldn’t affect him, so there was no use in worrying. Even if Annabelle slightly terrorized every other person in the United Kingdom - well, Jon was fine, so what did it matter.

Jon couldn’t decide if he was stupid or naive. Or, even worse - if he was just lazy.

Jon didn’t listen to Annabelle anymore.

Unfortunately, he still listened to Sasha James.

Two weeks later, the date of the actual meeting, Jon was stuck explaining himself to his entire house, who doubted all of his decisions. Which was just unfair. Jon made good decisions! He had made tons of good decisions, like -

Anyway!

“I think it’s a great idea,” Sasha said, freaking out Jon. “Displaying interest in your local government’s fantastic! Did you do any research on the relevant issues?”

Jon, in the middle of pulling on his trenchcoat, started sweating. “I was just planning on showing up.”

Agnes, who was wearing a gauzy skirt and blouse as Daisy helped a whining Gerry with his court buttons, gave Sasha the thumbs up. “I’m going to propose motions and Jon’s going to say ‘yeah what she said’ and it’ll be great.”

Jon let Agnes believe that.

“Well, you’ll have to share Jon’s political weight,” Sasha said cheerfully. She was in sweatpants and one of Jon’s pilfered t-shirts again. She had recently designated herself a writer, and had joined some sort of recent artist and activist collective where they did mysterious things that Jon didn’t understand. There’s a zine involved? Jon didn’t know what a zine was and he was scared to ask.

Georgie and Melanie had spent a week teaching Jon in laborious detail what exactly the internet was - information Jon could have just downloaded, but they had been intent in their mission of creating ‘the perfect internet’ and had gone through great effort in teaching him what the ‘good’ internet was (Ravelry, Spotify, r/HobbyDrama, YouTubers but only a very specific list) and what the ‘bad’ internet was (social media, the rest of Reddit, every other YouTuber). Jon wasn’t sure if the new internet was to their specifications, and he hadn’t quite been able to avoid parts of it spiralling into nightmare dimensions and hellish breeding grounds for violence and trauma, but Melanie assured him that Twitter had always been like that.

Jon also secretly added a nightmare filter to Melanie’s screen reader, after he made sure every inch of it was accessible, after he roughly recreated screen readers. Melanie said that the voice sounded uncannily like the aunt she had hated, but that it was no big deal.

Anyway, Sasha was a blogger now. After a few meltdowns to Sasha’s computer he had to install a nightmare filter for her too, which made her complain about feeling like an old woman whose grandson had to install AdBlock on her browser. Jon was a little scared of the whole blogging thing, but everybody seemed much happier, so maybe that was the important thing.

“Wait,” Jon said, finally recognizing what Sasha said. “Share with who?”

There was a knock on the door. Jon felt intense fear.

“She’s here!” Sasha said cheerfully. “Come in!”

Jon watched in horror as Basira Hussain casually strode into her house. He knew he couldn’t stop her. She had a key to the place, because Jon had no control of his life.

“Hey honey,” Basira said, intimately.

“Hey honey,” Daisy said lovingly, releasing Gerry from her clutches.

They stared at each other, as if this was any kind of greeting whatsoever, before ignoring each other. Jon did not understand so many things.

Basira, terrifyingly, was dressed like she was about to go defend her client in court. She had a briefcase, and Jon recognized her most important looking crimson hijab. Very abruptly, Jon had a flashback to the way Annabelle had dressed when she had picked him up in his old office. They even had the same expression: determined and resolute, in a way that Jon could never understand.

Basira nodded at Jon. “Hey. Sasha invited me to this thing. She told you I was coming, right.”

“She did not.”

“Whatever. Are we going to get going? We’re going to be late.”

Jon looked at Sasha pleadingly. Cold and resolute stone, Sasha showed no mercy. She smiled brightly, giving Agnes a final hug and pushing her forward. “You kids have a great time! Terrorize the bourgeoisie!”

“I am the bourgeoisie,” Jon said blankly, but the situation had already spiraled out of his control. Agnes and Basira were already comparing lists of notes, seriously discussing the motions Agnes had raised and how she was going to help Basira.

That was it – how Agnes could help Basira. How Agnes, and the role she had in the council hall, could help Basira and the people Jon knew that she intended on representing today.

They hadn’t even looped him in. Had they assumed that he wouldn’t care? That he wouldn’t help? Agnes hadn’t even wanted him there. Only Sasha -

He felt a cool, small hand grab his arm, and he turned around to see Daisy. Gerry was already enthusiastically capturing Sasha about the concert he and Agnes were going to later, and Jon knew that they weren’t listening. Daisy’s expression was somber, her body tense. Daisy wasn’t one for facial expressions at the best of times – not even a new development – but something about this…

“I should go with you,” Daisy said.

“I already told you no,” Jon said, miffed. “I can handle this by myself.”

“I shouldn’t have let you go by yourself last time,” Daisy said. Jon could admit that things probably wouldn’t have spiraled out of control if she had been there, but that didn’t mean – “Don’t terrify yourself just because you feel guilty.”

Daisy hadn’t aged any more than the rest of the world had. As an Avatar, she likely never would. She even looked young for her mid-forties, with her short stature and broad, unlined face. Sasha had assured him that she was ‘Kristen Bell-ish’, whatever that meant. But she always seemed so old to him: larger than life and not even reaching his shoulders. Wise and world-weary even when, as Jon was beginning to see, she didn’t know what she was doing any more than the rest of them did.

It scared Jon, almost: if Daisy wasn’t the person who could swoop in and make it all better, then who could?

If Jonah wasn’t the omnipresent god, then who was the most powerful person in the world?

Jon shook her off, fighting the pull in his gut. “I’m not scared of them anymore.”

She didn’t look impressed. “You’re always scared.”

“Look at the time, going to be late, gotta go!”

He still couldn’t win an argument against her.

They took a taxi there, as Jon had cheerfully informed them that the Tube was delayed due to infernal leaves on the line (Work-from-home was the hot new thing these days). Basira was clearly on edge, tense and constantly keeping an eye on the taxi driver (a friendly skeleton) and the street. Agnes wasn’t any more relaxed, reading her notes over and over.

Jon leaned back in his plush seat, closing his eyes. What would Martin say? He would probably be cuttingly pointing out how Jon was in denial over how he really was secretly afraid of the Avatars and now it was even more dangerous because he was much more willing to power-trip.

Forget about what Jon wanted. Forget about his fear, his insecurities, and every rationale he had constructed for himself as to why Jon deserved a life free of these worries.

Jon was above politics. The Avatar with no need to defend their territory, who held no fear of death or failure, had no need. Jon could not lose the affection of his patron. His domain was the world, and it could not be attacked no matter how hard he tried. Jon was not a politician, so of course that meant he could not be manipulated by politicians -

“What’s your plan,” Jon asked, without opening his eyes.

They told him. Basira was clinical; Agnes excited. Jon didn’t say anything about it, and let the conversation die down until the taxi was rolling in front of 10 Downing Street. Didn’t the prime minister live here? Boris...something? Jon quickly downloaded the information, before he found that Boris Johnson had been the world’s most convoluted psy-op by Annabelle and had never exactly existed. Thank goodness.

Right as the taxi idled in front of the building, Jon opened his eyes. He let them flare up, an intimidating spark of toxic green. “You two follow my lead.”

“Excuse me,” Basira said flatly, as Jon waved at the driver in lieu of payment. He hadn’t found out that you were supposed to pay taxi drivers until...a few months ago. In his defense, they never asked. “This is our operation.”

Jon glanced at her, and something relaxed around the corners of her eyes. He wondered if his expression was familiar to her. He couldn’t help but smile weakly, and that softened her expression even more. “Will you trust me?”

Basira stared at him for one long beat, then two, before grimacing. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Do I usually make you regret it?”

“Literally, every single time,” Basira said.

“Then it’s a pretty stupid decision to trust me again,” Jon pointed out. “You don’t seem the type to make stupid decisions.”

Basira stared at him for a long moment, before leaving the car.

Jon and Agnes silently watched her leave, before glancing at each other.

“And I thought you ran from your feelings,” Agnes said finally, before following her.

Jon, left with nothing else to do, followed Agnes.

10 Downing Street, Jon quickly found, was just like every other pretentious old British home. With lots of grandiose rooms with furniture shoved into corners so everybody could appreciate the gold-plated tile, or sitting rooms with the most uncomfortable places to sit Jon had ever seen. Each wall hosted gigantic portraits of famous British figures, who were all so ugly that Agnes incinerated one for fun. Jon respected her choices: he had been wearing a stupid wig.

Jon, unfortunately instinctively aware of the layout and history of this sordid place, led them through the halls. He opened his mouth, instinctively about to funnel a Statement regarding the decades of human suffering and imperialism, before forcing his mouth closed. Basira wouldn’t appreciate it. Besides, the Statements had been easier to ignore lately - like curious dogs nosing at his hands rather than insistent children demanding to be fed.

Instead, he settled on casually updating them on the choice of location. “A year ago, this location wouldn’t have been safe for Basira at all. This building was a nightmare pit of despair.” He led them up the ridiculous flights of stairs watching carefully as Agnes jumped up them. Trick steps, you know. Basira proceeded far more cautiously. “It’s...no less a nightmare pit, but like the rest of London it’s now safe to navigate. I’d keep clear of the residential rooms, however. The Prime Minister and his family haven’t escaped their nightmares since the apocalypse, and they never will.”

Basira’s eyebrows skyrocketed up. “David Cameron’s stuck in hell? No surprise there. What’s he having a nightmare about?”

“Well, there’s this pig, right, and you’ll never guess what he’s doing -”

“Never mind,” Basira said quickly. “Not interested.”

“I’m interested,” Agnes said.

“I’d rather you weren’t.”

Jon, who also wished he didn’t know this information, quickly directed them towards the conference room.

But he found himself stopping in front of the intricately carved oak double doors. The wrought golden handles were grimy and dull with dust, but Agnes and Basira did not hesitate to open the door and walk in. They didn’t hesitate; they weren’t frightened. Or, if they were, they didn’t let it stop them.

But Jon stopped. He felt like Annabelle, in that moment. Annabelle, standing in front of that conference room door so long ago, unable to admit that she felt any fear at all.

She had been desperate. Jon saw that now. Only a desperate person would have ever concocted that plan against Jon. He was the sole person capable of murder in this world, and the sole person who was so vindictive and petty that he would kill anybody who said something that he didn’t like.

Annabelle was arrogant. She thought herself the most intelligent person in every room. She was petty, manipulative, and power-hungry. She thought that the world was so broken that somebody had to fix it, and that she was the only one who could. She was desperate.

Jon didn’t particularly want to do this. But Jon really, really had to grow up.

Jon opened the door.

It was a far cry from the nice, professional conference room in City Hall. The floor was some ugly light brown hardwood color, and the walls were tudor-like and panelled. Old man ribboned curtains, an intricate rug woven from human rights abuses, and a claw-foot long conference table with an array of chairs made up an incredibly ‘antique’ room. The British found ‘antique’ and ‘wealth signalling’ to be the same thing. It made for some very ugly buildings and very uncomfortable chairs.

Nobody else had entered yet. Jon checked the time with his extradimensional psychic powers and realized that Sasha had hustled them out the door fifteen minutes earlier than necessary. She was so intelligent.

Agnes was already moving to her uncomfortable seat, and Jon tapped Basira on the arm and silently pointed to the seat with the ‘EXTINCTION’ placard. She raised an eyebrow at him, but followed his direction. Maybe that was what her trust looked like.

There was a placard stamped ‘BEHOLDING’ in big letters. Gone unoccupied since the last time Jon had been here.

He ignored it, and sat down at the head of the table. Likely where Annabelle usually sat, as director of the meetings. Historically, where the leader of Britain had once sat and directed the affairs of the country.

Jon kicked up his heels on the polished antique wood, pulling up an episode of The Twilight Zone in his brain. He identified with Rod Serling.

The other Avatars filtered in, one by one. All of their eyes widened when they saw Jon, but none of them said anything. Jon wondered what had filtered through the Avatar grapevine. They always knew all of the gossip on each other. It was impossible to miss the Earth’s paradigm shift, and Agnes mentioned that they had convened an emergency meeting on it. Doubtlessly, his name had come up. They likely knew he was the instigator. Who else could?

Annabelle was the fourth in, as fashionably on time as usual. She was the only one who stopped in her tracks when she saw Jon. A surprise, to a woman unused to surprises. Jon’s house didn’t have insect problems.

Her eyes widened. Her jaw clenched. That was all it took. And Jon Knew, in the way that he Knew things, that she was wondering if this was when he finally killed her.

She didn’t know why she was still alive. It was stressing her out. It was a move that made no sense - an unforeseen reaction. Jon was predictable. When Jon wasn’t predictable, and when Jon’s actions weren’t being very precisely controlled, then she was left with a vindictive and irreverent steam train on her hands. She hadn’t predicted his presence here.

Jon was also sitting in her chair. Scuffing the wood. Leaning back in the chair, and definitely scuffing the floor too.

He pointed to the chair at his right, with a placard that now read ‘WEB’. Annabelle sat down in it. Everybody noticed.

Everybody also noticed Basira. She was receiving some glares, or some pointedly unwelcome expressions. But Basira’s glares and unwelcome expressions were more powerful than any demon could ever offer, and one by one each Avatar looked away in shame.

Only Oliver actually talked to him. Which made sense, as Oliver feared neither life nor death. When he walked in he was just as surprised to see Jon as everyone else, but he offered Jon a smile too. Jon smiled back, which made several of the other Avatars lean back.

“Hey, Archivist. I thought you hated these things.”

“I do!” Jon said cheerfully. “I wasn’t even invited.”

Annabelle busied herself with her notes and agenda.

As usual, Helen didn’t show up. Jon waited patiently for everybody to filter in. Sarah Baldwin didn’t show up either, and Jon searched for the information before realizing that he really didn’t want to know. He saw some other new faces, as well as some faintly familiar ones. It wasn’t that strange: no position of absolute power was forever. Where was that bloke Wakely?

Wait. He was the Avatar who had talked for too long about burying people alive at a party in a ridiculous skyscraper. He had upset Daisy. Jon had seen red and lost his temper. Jon had...tossed him over the side of the roof. Let him keep falling. Left him to waste away. He was probably gone now.

The entire room had been at that party. Whoops.

Now uncomfortably reminded that Jon had murdered two people at this table, that everybody was aware of that, and that Jon had completely forgotten about one of the semi-accidental murders because, in Sasha’s words, he was “a bit of a psychopath, what the hell”.

This distressed her, because apparently Jonathan Sims had always been a “sensitive boy” with a “tender heart”. Daisy had said that he was still a sensitive boy, just prone to power-tripping. Sasha said that this was also very consistent behavior. Martin said -

Martin said that Jonathan Sims had been a good person. And, more importantly, that Jonathan Sims had wanted to be a good person. That was one thing that Jon didn’t want to change.

Who just buried people alive -

Jon waited until everyone was settled down. Nobody was chatting or talking to each other: just sitting silently, avoiding eye contact.

He could see Annabelle preparing herself to say something. Better get this ball rolling, then.

“Jonah Magnus is dead.”

The silence suddenly became oppressive.

Jon didn’t stop to savor the looks on their faces. That wasn’t the point. Enjoying this wasn’t the point. Jon had all the power he wanted and - and he didn’t want it at all. He hoped that nobody here would make him have to prove it.

Jon did not want to melt anyone. He wasn’t going to melt anyone. Life had started feeling a little valuable lately. These people, the soulless demons surrounding him, weren’t any different than he was. Humans with delusions of grandeur. Infighting and power plays weren’t going to fix it.

But Annabelle had been right, as she always was. Jon couldn’t keep ignoring this. If he could do something, he had to. Even if it was something he didn’t like doing.

Or something he hated that he enjoyed doing.

“Jonah Magnus is dead,” Jon repeated pleasantly. “The world has changed. These two events are related, of course.”

He didn’t elaborate. Jon didn’t lie, but he didn’t have to say everything.

“The chains which bind this Earth have loosened,” Jon continued. He folded his hands over his stomach, relaxed and casual. “We now exist in the third age of life. I ask that you do not resist.

“The seasons have begun to change, our eternal placid summer ripening into fall and sinking into winter. Our world turns yet again. Babies are born, grow old, and die. The apocalypse as we’ve always known was rooted in its stagnancy. Life and growth has bloomed, and will continue to subsist. Change is once again thriving, and we must adapt with it.

“You’ve noticed that your power has weakened. You will have to fight harder than ever to maintain your food supplies. What was once a conquest is now a battleground. The playing field is far from even, but the enemy and harvest now have a fighting chance.” Jon smiled brightly. “Of course, I’m sure that this was all discussed during your emergency meeting. Great job with your repeated warfare attempts against humanity during the last six months, by the way. How’s that working out for us?”

Silence loomed. Of course, their repeated attempts to quash the new human uprising had not gone very well. At the end of the day, for every one Avatar there were thousands of humans.

“You are no longer strong enough to allow these divides into factions,” Jon continued. “We must present a united front if we’re going to maintain the ground we have. We can’t continue on the way we have. And I’ve realized…” Jon glanced at Annabelle, catching her eye. “I’ve realized that I haven’t been helping the situation. There’s more I can do. That’s why Annabelle has handed over moderation of these meetings to me.”

Nobody looked impressed.

He could see it: the way Jon had become an unpredictable, dangerous nuisance towards them. Almost everyone in this room would be much happier if Jon dropped dead. Nobody had really liked him because nobody had ever felt safe around him. Only Annabelle and Oliver - the person who had nothing to fear from him and the other person who did not feel fear - called themselves his friends.

But they would have preferred it if Jon was hostile or dangerous. If he had even admitted his power. But Jon play-acted at harmlessness, unwilling and afraid to make enemies, and in that way he became a nuisance rather than an enemy. He couldn’t even pretend that it wasn’t on purpose. No matter how many Avatars brushed him off or ignored him, it was better than feeling their eyes on him. Or feeling the fear rich on their tongues.

“Also I invited a human to work with us on human affairs,” Jon said cheerfully. “Diversity hire! Any questions?”

There were a lot of questions. Basira didn’t look very pleased at his remark, either.

Simon leaned forward first, pale and watery eyes intent for the first time. “What happened to Jonah Magnus?”

“Natural causes,” Jon said cheerfully. “Next?”

“What does this mean for us?” the Lukas matriarch said. Her eyes skittered away from him. “Are we in danger?”

Jon shrugged. “Only if you’re incompetent at feeding.”

“What caused this?” Manuela demanded. “The children are running wild, we can’t control them. We’ve lost a major food source.”

Jon scratched his temples. “What caused it...sustainability efforts.” He sobered abruptly. “You could never control the children, anyway. This is the generation of the apocalypse. You’ll find that very little frightens them now.”

“Does this have to do with those humans you’ve been running around with?” Jared asked, scratching his chin as Manuela’s expression contorted in rage.

As usual, a frighteningly insightful observation from such a brute. “It is actually directly their fault!”

Everybody turned to look at Basira, who was completely unapologetic. She crossed her arms. “Don’t ask me. First I’m hearing about this too.”

“Did you kill Jonah Magnus?” Oliver asked, morbidly fascinated. “How?”

“We humans didn’t kill him. We showed up at the Panopticon to kill him, only to find Jon there and Jonah Magnus already dead.” Basira scowled as Jon and Annabelle glanced at each other. Jon subtly shook his head. Annabelle’s lips thinned. “It looked like he’d been dead for years.”

An unfamiliar young man with a thick mop of clumped black hair peered at Jon, expression contorted in grotesque interest. He was one of the Avatars who had been born in the Apocalypse, who were all recognizably weird. His name was - right, Geoff Anjou. Some French man who had made his mark in the Parisian Underground before moving to London and conquering his next terrain. A Parisian to the bone - or, a great deal of bones, as the case may be. So many bones. Jon had always meant to take Daisy to that wonderful little nightmare and let her run loose. Chase people through the tunnels. Munch bones. Perfect vacation.

“So did the Archivist kill him?” Geoff asked, in the same way you would ask who won the World Cup. “Steal his Watcher’s Crown or whatever?”

“Are you the new queen bee?” a young woman asked Jon. The new Slaughter Avatar, Henrietta Something-or-another. A Cambridge legacy college student, Annabelle had intoned, and Jon had been afraid to inquire further. She was cyberbullying someone on her mobile, which seemed to be bleeding. “Cuz, like, you don’t seem qualified.”

“I did not kill Jonah Magnus,” Jon said, for the five hundreth time in the last six months. “And I’m uninterested in filling his shoes. That’s enough questions, I think.”

“Are you as weakened as the rest of us?” Amherst demanded. “Surely this destruction has affected you worst of all.”

“He probably ate Jonah Magnus,” Henrietta said. “The Archivist’s probably god now.”

Geoff snorted. “No way. He brought a human as back-up.”

“Why is there a human?” Another woman asked, with long brown hair and a broad face. Something about her was unquestionably severe, from her bulging muscles to her incredible height. Jon had never seen her before in his life. Her name was Julia Montauk. Something about her stank of life and undeath, same as Amherst. “We can’t exactly work with the prey, here.”

“I’m proposing an emergency motion,” Amherst said suddenly, shutting up the rapidly overlapping voices. “I vote that a leader is elected democratically. And that representatives are limited towards loyal patrons of the Forces.”

“I second that motion,” Geoff said immediately. “We can’t afford a chaotic uprising in our government right now -”

“This really isn’t a vote,” Jon said.

“Isn’t this a democracy?” Henrietta asked, with the self-righteous assurance of a twenty year old. “We vote on things in a democracy. And leaders.”

“Annabelle was voted in last spring,” Julia agreed. “No reason to change things.”

Well. Basira said that she trusted him. He’d have to rely on that.

Jon pressed down.

It felt just like that: pressing down. Reaching out a hand and squashing. Sometimes it was like ripping someone into shreds, and other times it was like plunging your hand into their chest and ripping out their heart. But this was just a press: a heavy static, bearing down over your shoulders like a ten ton weight. A sight so horrible that it was too eldritch to even look at. The realization that the hideous sight was you, and that it was all you would ever be.

Some - Geoff, Amherst - gasped, as if they were choking. Others - Lukas, Henrietta - gasped at their hearts, as if they were having heart attacks. Jon carefully kept it off Oliver, Annabelle, Basira, and Agnes. He couldn’t help but remember what she had said a few weeks ago, about being so frightened -

But Basira winced anyway, clutching her temples, and Jon carefully released the static until the inhabitants of the room could breathe again. His eyes did not stop glowing, and Jon didn’t bother to turn off the light show.

Jon put his feet down on the floor and rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward. As everyone shuddered and gasped, he spoke slowly and pointedly. “This is not a democracy. It never was. It is a monarchy, and the line of succession is clear.”

Annabelle’s eyes widened, and she abruptly clenched her fists before loosening them. An uncharacteristic show of emotion from her.

“This coalition has never been a democracy,” Jon said severely. “This is a house of lords. You are uninterested in representing any needs but your own, and I know Jared failed level eight government, but I’m sure all of you know that democracy represents elected officials. Nobody here has ever lived in a true democracy, and in your human fallibility you have recreated the only system you have ever known. The seats at this table are determined by power - all of you, the most powerful conduits for your Entity. I am the inevitable consequence of this system. I am your natural disaster. All of you bought me. Now you have me. And you are no longer powerful enough to make me leave.”

Agnes’ hand was covering her mouth. Jon dearly hoped Basira was holding onto that trust. He dearly hoped that he wasn’t speaking from anger.

But he couldn’t stop. It boiled and bubbled. It was an anger and a powerlessness that had subjugated him for thirty two years of his life. It had served as the cloud hanging over his head for three more.

“If you want someone to blame for the Archivist who now moderates this meeting,” Jon said, his voice the thin lid over this boiling pot of hurt and anger, “I now know their names. Jonah Magnus. Jude Perry. Nikola Orsinov. Twice. Breekon and Hope’s coffin. Peter Lukas. Jane Prentiss. Maxwell Raynor. A strategic book.” Jon tilted his head, having effectively made his point. There were others, but he had forgiven Daisy and Melanie a long time ago. And Jared had been polite about it. “Bring up your complaints with them. Good luck with that.”

Jon clapped his hands, closing the lid on those memories. Maybe one day the pain would leech from them like a sun-bleached painting, but that day hadn’t come yet. “Now! If you have any further complaints about my position here, or if you want to continue debating political theory, feel free to stand up and tell me so. We’re all interested in you regurgitating your life story until you die. Anyone?” Crickets. Jon leaned back in his chair, making himself comfortable. “Can we go onto the motions now? Ms. Hussain first, then clockwise from her.”

As if they had planned this, with the air of a well-choreographed actress, Basira stood up and spread out her papers in front of her. “The human contingency requests neutral zones in essential areas. Maternal wards in hospitals are highly vulnerable locations, and when assaulted by parasites the mortality rate of children is very high. If you want a self-replenishing food source, you have to allocate space for safe living. The next essential zone is a daycare and a school for children -”

And she was off. Jon had nothing to say, nor was anything necessary. Raging debate sparked after she finished speaking, and Basira effectively crushed the opposition. Agnes spoke up in her defense, and to Jon’s surprise even Manuela contributed a solid understanding of the necessity of children. When the debate started spiraling in an unhelpful direction Jon cut in and shut it down, before forcing the vote.

It did not pass, obviously.

“By the way,” Jon said. “Ms. Hussain proposed five different motions today. At least two of them have to pass. This debate is about picking which two you want.”

Then that started up all over again, and Jon tried not to fall asleep.

Moderating was hard. He actually had to pay attention and focus, and he hated focusing. He was effective enough at shutting down conversations, but sometimes shutting down conversations wasn’t helpful - he just needed to steer them in a more productive conversation. And Agnes’ political theory and Basira’s almost-definitely-made-up statistics started flying so thick and fast above his head that Jon was starting to almost completely lose the plot.

Jon chose his moment as the Lukas woman was complaining extensively about how Henrietta’s digital bullying was intruding upon the Loneliness of her adherents. Henrietta had argued that social media made people more lonely. Jon was afraid that Henrietta was his fault. Maybe the Eye’s fault, holistically. Jared wanted to be friends with Henrietta and co-host Instagram events, which Jon enthusiastically supported despite Basira’s glares.

He leaned over to his right, gesturing slightly at Annabelle so she would lean in closer. She raised an eyebrow at him. Annabelle’s eyebrows were crushing.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Jon whispered to her, as quietly as possible.

Annabelle mouthed very clearly at him, ‘Wow, really? Shock!’.

“I was making a point,” Jon hissed. “An important point. But I don’t - I still -” Jon faltered, uncertain, as Henrietta began sneering something about Lukas’ hairdo. Finally, he weakly said, “You care. They need you.”

Annabelle stared at him for a long, silent moment, before turning away from him.

For the first time that day, she spoke to the room. “Let’s keep ad hominem attacks out of this,” she said sharply. “Madame Lukas, if you’ll make your closing remarks we can bring this to a vote.”

She really was good at it. Just like she had always wanted. She had never directly admitted it, but Annabelle had always wanted to be the kind of person in rooms like this.

A politician sitting in an uncomfortable chair at 10 Downing Street. Rich, successful, important. Powerful and respected. Back then, she had wanted to be famous. Now, she was content to be controlling famous people. A dream out of her reach in life; laughably attainable in this stagnant after-afterlife.

The dream had crippled her. In her search for a functional world, one that achieved and grew and provided a comfortable world, she had ended up recreating a world that hadn’t been functional at all. A world that was slow to change, and seemingly impossible to improve. A world passed down from the hands of the greedy and bloodthirsty into the hands of the uncaring and apathetic.

The apocalypse had been inevitable. Humans driving themselves to extinction. And Avatars, possessed of human weakness, had been eager to do the same. Just a pathetic room of sour and bitter people power-tripping.

For all that Sasha calls us bougie, Jon thought, we’re such deeply unhappy people.

There had once been a young man, desperate for attention and acknowledgement. Dreaming of importance. He would stay up late at night, planning out his life as a famous researcher and well-respected philosopher. Everyone would tell him how smart he was. He would prove it all - with a scholarship to Oxford, with a sneer and a haughty air, with a boss who said that he had so much promise, here’s a job that will let you realize your potential.

I deserve this job -

Something in Jon’s mind flared, a hot poker rammed behind his eye sockets. Jon hissed, one hand reaching unconsciously to his temple, and Annabelle glanced at him in alarm. She had - Jon had been thinking about her, and - what had he been -

Together, they managed to wrangle the meeting into something half-way productive. Most importantly, Basira had gotten three of her proposals passed, and Agnes’ arguments were stirring the other Avatars into serious discussion. Conversation itself would be stilted by his sheer presence, and they weren’t quite all working together yet, but they would.

It was really all the same to Jon if the Avatars or humans won the war. He should care a bit more than he did, so he didn’t vocalize this to the others. But this conflict sparked life, a strange and frantic energy. Experiences and growth. That was what Jon had always fed on.

It seemed that Jon’s skill at prioritizing himself over all others was as sharp as ever.

Eventually the two hours wrapped up, and the other Avatars were eager to leave. Jon waved them off cheerily.

“Meeting adjourned. Try not to do anything stupid until next time. And if any of you break the boundaries of the human safe zones, I’ll know! Annabelle, will you stay behind?”

The others filtered out quickly, uncharacteristically unwilling to see whatever carnage would be wrought. Agnes and Basira lingered.

“That went so well!” Agnes shouted, the minute the last Avatar left. The room was now empty save for Agnes, Basira, Annabelle, and - Oliver, who was leaning against the doorframe. “I can’t believe you actually did something useful!”

“Ouch,” Oliver said.

It was fair, though. Jon smiled weakly at her. “Hopefully I can help out a little more often going forward. But I’m not going to give any favoritism to you, Agnes. I’ll intervene to give humans a fair shot, but I really don’t want to be...king of a ruined world or whatever.”

“I know,” Agnes said firmly. She reached out and squeezed his arm, round and gentle face creased in determination. “You’d be terrible at it. So just be you, okay?”

Jon saluted her, before gesturing to the door. “Will you steal a historical British artifact from this garbage building for me? Daisy needs more targets to shoot.”

Agnes nodded eagerly and ran off. Jon silently hoped Basira would follow her, if also out of interest for also seeing British things destroyed, but she just looked at Jon intensely instead. Not quite a glare - just a searching, intense look, as if she was finding her own Statement from deep within him. It had always been disconcerting. Jon was still convinced she hated him.

“It’s not as if I knew you very well before we rescued you from the Panopticon,” Basira said crisply, pressing a folder to her chest, “but you’ve changed. What happened? What did Annabelle have to do with it?”

Jon and Annabelle glanced at each other. Oliver lifted an eyebrow.

“Basira -”

“Don’t ask me to trust you.”

“I didn’t betray that,” Jon asked, “did I?”

Her expression didn’t soften. “You didn’t. We’re going to continue needing your help. But an ally with inscrutable motivations who does everything on a whim is a bad ally to have.”

“I’m trying, Basira,” Jon said, impossibly exhausted and just a little disappointed. “Please be patient.”

“I’ve been patient for three years,” Basira said, before forcibly cutting herself short from whatever emotion she was about to display. “What happened?”

A phantom pain pieced Jon’s arms, like chains threaded through bone. Jon fought the urge to wince, unconsciously reaching up to rub at a spot on his forearm. Everyone noticed. “It’s...family business…”

“Did you kill Jonah Magnus?”

“Jonah Magnus killed me,” Jon snapped, far louder than he intended, “so he would have deserved it, wouldn’t he!”

He felt a little lightheaded, more than he intended. It felt like a hand was clenching inside his chest, more than he wanted. No, Basira is fragile, you can’t just - no, Agnes is a kid, Daisy said that we can’t -

“Basira Hussain,” Annabelle said, hands folded tightly in her lap, eyes serious and intent. Jon started, surprised to hear her speak again. “You should go catch up with Agnes.”

Basira stared at Annabelle for a long moment, lips thin, before she abruptly whirled on her heel and stalked out. Jon watched her go, exhausted. He waited for her heels to click down the hall, far away enough that he knew she wasn’t eavesdropping, before groaning and dropping his head down onto his desk.

“They hate me.”

“They’re scared of you,” Annabelle pointed out. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Frankly, Basira could stand to be a little more afraid of you. She’s going to get herself in trouble one of these days.”

“She’s practically my sister in law, I’m not going to hurt her,” Jon snapped. “Your stupid plan relied on me never hurting people I love.”

“Sorry,” Oliver said pleasantly, “is anyone ever going to tell me what’s going on? I feel like an NPC in Jon’s Dungeons & Dragons game.”

“You want to be an NPC, I found you working at Taco Bell.” God, whatever. Jon could tell Oliver. He wouldn’t give a shit. Jon sighed, lifting his head to twist around and look at Oliver instead. “You remember when I was asking around after Sasha James? Annabelle had put me up to it.”

“Obviously. And then Sasha James started following you around? You terrorized Annabelle’s party again?”

“Yeah, it was this whole big thing.” Jon waved a hand expressively. “Anyway, then Annabelle tried to trap me in an eternal limbo that would shred me from inside out so I could act as purveyor of the world, and probably also use her connection with me so she could take over affairs here, and probably either nudge me into shaping the world back into order or into sinking it deeper into hell. I broke out and now I’m mad at her.”

“I had at least twenty other reasons,” Annabelle said, “but that’s the gist.”

Oliver stared at them.

They all sat in awkward silence. Jon found himself winding a finger around a stray coil of hair and letting it spring back into place. He had kept it the same the last three years, never bothering to change the style. A loose and bouncy cloud of hair, sometimes brushing against his shoulders until Annabelle kidnapped him to cut it again - him, as much as the trenchcoat was. So much as anything had ever been ‘him’.

“Well,” Oliver said diplomatically, “I see that you skipped a lot of steps there. So why are you here, then?”

Was it just to spite Annabelle? Screw her out of her work? Did Jon genuinely care? Did he want to organize the other Avatars, get them mobilized and going? Did he want to protect the humans?

Did he really only care about himself, and the people he called his friends and family? Did he really only care about himself, and those he possessed?

“There’s a person I want to be,” Jon said quietly, “but I don’t know how to be him.”

Annabelle stared at him, with dark and glittering eyes, expression as implacable as always. For a sudden, stupid, intense moment, Jon wanted to know if she cared about him. If one of the few people who had always helped him, who was always in his corner, had seen him as anything more than a tool.

Like Basira, who didn’t like him as a person, but found him too valuable to alienate. But Basira was - she was deeply good, if not always kind, and Jon had the sense that she had fought to turn herself into that good person. It was something she chose. She was trying to push Jon into making that same choice.

Jon clenched his hands in his lap, his fingernails digging into his palm. “There’s people I respect, and who I want to respect me. This person I want to be...I’m worried that I only want this because that’s what they want. They’ll deny it, but they want my power. Everybody just makes me into whoever they want. Whatever’s useful to them.” Jon’s gaze snapped to Annabelle, and he fought hard to keep the compulsion from his voice. It was difficult, when he wanted to know so badly, but - “The kind of person I used to be. That person I’m ashamed of. Is that the person who was useful to you?”

He didn’t want to force the answer from her. He wanted her to choose to say it.

Annabelle didn’t react. She didn’t show anything on her face. Much less what Jon wanted from her. She just tilted her head, one of the few unafraid to meet his eyes. “I never made you be anyone, Jon. All I ever did was put you in the right place at the right time.”

“That wasn’t my question,” Jon said, and this time he couldn’t help the static creeping into his voice. “Answer me.”

Annabelle sighed. “Of course it was useful. Is that what you wanted me to voluntarily say, Jon? I didn’t bring you to the first meeting because I thought it would be educational for you. I needed your power to keep the others in line. I needed everyone else to see that I controlled your power. That’s the only reason why any of this worked. We both got something out of it. Don’t pretend that you weren’t happy with the arrangement.”

It...it wasn’t a surprise, but…

“So that’s why you didn’t bring him to any of the other meetings,” Oliver mused. “He wasn’t as controllable as you liked, not when there’s more than ten other idiots around needling him. There’s never been anybody who can always predict when Jon’s going to lose his shit. Besides the biggie, I guess.”

The biggie, which was his past.

No wonder he had stayed so childlike, innocent, and cruel for so long. Jon took responsibility for his own laziness, but - but he had been most useful that way. Annabelle had liked him best that way.

Daisy had liked him best that way too. That cruel child - Daisy had wanted him, because he made her feel needed. Annabelle was just the same.

Everyone had liked him best that way. And if Jon became the kind of person who he wanted to be, nobody would like him at all.

“If you’re going to kill me,” Annabelle said, exhaustion seeping in through her voice, “just do it.”

Jon closed his eyes. He could feel it - Annabelle’s exhaustion, the way that she had just been waiting for him to do this. Everything she knew about Jon led towards an obvious course of action. Even though you nobody knew everything that set Jon off, certain things were pretty guaranteed that he wouldn’t forgive.

Annabelle had never accounted for Sasha. She had brought Sasha into his life, and she had no idea the effect she would have on it. Sasha, who had been the first to tell Jon that she chose to care about him for him. For a brief, hot flash, Jon was jealous. He wanted to be someone unpredictably kind.

If he only wanted that because he had found yet another person to give his wind-up key, then…

“You won, Annabelle,” Jon said finally, and he only knew it as he said it. “Congratulations. You played the perfect manipulation. You took a vulnerable, afraid man, who had been violated in the worst possible way and left to die.” He stood up, already uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “And you arranged him so that he loved you. I chose to love you. I’m making the choice never to hurt you, because I still love you. ”

He left the room. Oliver stood aside just in time, letting Jon brush by.

As Jon met up with Agnes and Basira, summoning a smile and a wave for them, he felt uncomfortably as if he had grown up.

He wasn’t sure that he liked it.

#tma #the magnus archives #my writing #tma fanfic #jonathan sims #annabelle cane #oliver banks #basira hussain #agnes montague #and a ton more #tcf was about deciding to change #and this story kind of hits at how difficult it is deciding who to change into #and how difficult it is to trust your own decisions when you've been manipulated since the second you were 'born'#jon and his choices and agency is becoming a big thing for me!

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imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul · 5 years ago

Text

Return to Me - Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two: A New Home

A/N: Hi all! I didn’t realize it at first but this chapter title is also the name of a piece of music in tRoS! Anyways, I hope you all like! We’re getting into some really good stuff! Let me know what you think!

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader Word Count: 4,763 Synopsis: After everything that happened on Coruscant, Poe and the reader find themselves searching for new homes, both worried about where their futures will lead them together.

Tag List: @xeniarocks, @too-many-baes, @araceli91103, @idocarealot, @treblebeth, @treestarrrrrrrr, @thescarletknight2014, @charlottie2998, @ibikus, @mellow-f1, @mrsdaamneron, @trustme3-13, @missjess71, @ella-solei, @minelskede, @gleigh42, @usuallyweepingnacho, @givemethatgold, @and-claudia, @constantdisgrace, @wordsinwinters, @readingvogueonprivetdrive, @trshbb, @kaitlynw011, @ihave2muchtimeonmyhands, @fairytalesforever, @thanos-jeep, @mixedfandxms, @pastelbunny1501, @emotionalcal, @daniellajocelyn, @getyourselfaunicorn, @spider-starry, @jimhalpertcanbuymelove, @angelicaxhouston, @roserrys

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In the days after the attack on Coruscant, you never left your chambers. Nové rearranged your meetings, and ones that you absolutely could not miss were filled in by Sondé. You felt fine, but you couldn’t run from the sick feeling in your stomach. You tried to talk to Nové about it, anyone really, but you couldn’t put it into words.

You always knew that leaving Poe meant you might not get him back.

When you divorced to take up the throne, there was always a lingering thought in the back of your head that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for the two of you after all. You certainly never saw things working out like this, with the two of you seeing each other quite a lot during your term, kissing, sleeping together, falling deeper into love with one another, and things still not working out.

And when you had thought about the future there was certainly no Lin Ral. You knew your parents would try to fix you up with someone, but back then, he was just random handsome stranger #1. You decided that Poe was going to be your forever, you never thought you would start to have feelings for someone else. You were torn between your feelings of guilt about liking Lin when you knew that you loved Poe, and your guilt at not telling Lin the entire truth.

Either way you chose, you knew that you would be giving up one of them, one side of your life, and the further you pushed, the more you felt like Poe was going to be the one you were leaving.

It had been four days, four days of you mostly lying in bed, when Nové came in to get you out.

“It’s been long enough, Y/N,” she said, throwing open the curtains to your room, quickly changing the mood you had set for the room.

“I still don’t feel well,” you lied, throwing the covers over your head.

“What’s wrong with you?” Nové asked, ripping them right back off. You looked up at her and sighed. She was frustrated with you, but underneath that, you could tell that she was genuinely worried. “I’m serious. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know that anything has been right since I left the Resistance,” you said with a frown. Nové sunk into the bed next to you, watching you closely. “I never wanted to be queen, but now that I’m thinking about it, I think my reluctance for the role was mostly because of my parents’ eagerness. I thought I would spend every moment of my reign hating it, but I’ve really, really enjoyed it.”

“I don’t see what the problem is.”

“I guess I thought that I would hate it so much, that when I was done, I would want nothing more than to return to the Resistance. But now, the future seems a lot hazier.” She reached for your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I told Lin I would run for the senate.”

“You what?”

“When we were in the rotunda, I couldn’t help but feel like I was meant to be there, that I had to be there.”

“Wow.”

“I kissed him, too,” you said quickly, gauging her face for a reaction.

“More than the last time?” she asked.

“A lot more.”

“But you had just seen Poe,” she said, the confusion evident in her voice and face.

“I know,” you whined, covering your face with a pillow. “I don’t know why I did it.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you groaned. Nové ripped the pillow out of your hands and pulled you up to look at her.

“More than a kiss with Poe?”

“No,” you said instantly. “And then Poe came to see me,” you said, getting emotional again, “And I couldn’t tell him that the reason I know Lin isn’t the spy is because I know he felt something in that kiss, too.” You grabbed the pillow back from her and laid down, tears pricking in your eyes.

“Y/N,” Nové started quietly, “You’re not a terrible person for having mixed feelings. Look at me.” You pushed off the pillow and eyed her skeptically through your mess of hair. “And you’re especially not a terrible person for doing something you want to. You studied politics your entire life, it only makes sense that you like it. As for Poe and Lin, if you had to decide right now, I think you know who you’d choose.”

“I know,” you said, chewing your lip.

“You’re divorced. Your relationship is in an awkward stage, yes, and maybe what you’re doing with Lin isn’t exactly okay, but Poe doesn’t own your heart.” You looked at her with a sad smile. “Well, at least not literally.”

“Thank you,” you said, wrapping your arms around her.

“You’re welcome, and one last thing: you can’t hide from everything in your room.”

“I know that, too.”

“You’ve got a council meeting today. I know Sondé could use a day off, it’s very hard being you.” You laughed and nodded your head, crawling out of bed.

“I can make it.”

“Good, or else me sending Sondé off to her parents in the lake country was a terrible idea,” she said, standing up. “Now, what should we dress you in for your brilliant return?” she asked as she strolled over to your closet.

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Nové accompanied you down to the council chambers. Usually, you walked alone unless there was an important conversation to be had on the way. You suspected she walked with you this time to make sure you didn’t bolt on your way down. Once you were in sight of the chambers, in sight of Sarsa Broden, she stepped awy and went back to her own duties.

“My lady,” Broden said as you approached, holding out his hands for your own. “I’m so glad to see you here.”

“Thank you, it’s good to be back.”

“How are you feeling?” he asked, putting a hand on your arm.

“Much better.”

“I’ve heard some rumors from Serenno,” he said with a small smile, “But I didn’t want to say anything until I knew they were true.” You looked at him, worried that he knew about your kiss with Lin Ral. “Are you really going to run for Senate?”

“Oh,” you said, letting out a relieved sigh. “I don’t know for sure, yet.”

“But you told Lin Ral that you were going to?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said with a frown. He studied you for a few moments in the silent way he always did. “What?” you asked, unable to withstand his staring anymore.

“Nothing,” he said with a laugh, “I just am surprised that you said you would. I, of course, think you should, but I thought you were so adamantly against it.”

“I was, but something about being in that room made me feel like I belonged there.”

“That’s because you do,” he said, holding out his arm to escort you into your council chambers.

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“Poe? Poe?” He shook his head and looked at Leia, standing in front of him with an angry look on her face.

“Sorry, General.”

“Commander, if what I’m saying is so boring, you are welcome to enlighten us with news of your own if you’d like.”

“It’s not that,” he said with a sigh, “Just got lost in my own thoughts.”

“Well,” she said, “While you were lost in your thoughts, we were planning a supply run to Serenno, and you’ve volunteered for it,” she said, smiling as she walked out of the situation room of the old Yavin-4 base, the only room they had managed to renovate thus far in their clearing out of the base.

“General, wait up!” Poe called, leaving the rest of Black Squadron alone with the few other commanders and soldiers they had picked up over the last few weeks. Leia was walking down the dark green halls, her back turned to him, clearly ignoring him as he had done to her. “Leia!” he called again.

“What is it, Poe?” she asked, not turning around. He jogged to catch up with her and looked at her with a frown.

“Don’t make me go to Serenno. Make one of those new, eager-to-please recruits do it.”

“I thought you were eager-to-please,” she said, looking up at him with a smirk.

“I am,” he said, smiling back at her, “But—”

“I know you don’t want to see Lin Ral,” she interrupted, “And I don’t blame you. But we’ve still got to keep up our appearances.”

“Let’s just find a new base and forget about Serenno,” Poe said quickly. “We’ve waited long enough.”

“Do you have one in mind?” she asked. “Poe, the reason we haven’t gotten a new base yet is that we can’t find one, and until you do, we’ve got to keep relying on Serenno. Your father’s home is lovely, but this base is crumbling around us, and we can’t keep all of our fighters in his home. We’re going to have to eventually move everyone into Serenno.” Poe set his jaw and let out an angry breath. “What happened when you went to see Y/N?” she asked, again. “You were barely up there for five minutes before you came storming down.”

“She is just getting friendlier with Serenno than I expected.” Leia frowned at him.

“I’m sorry,” she started carefully, “But—”

“I know,” he said with a sigh, “We’ve still got to trust the man we know is spying on us and trying to steal Y/N away,” he said miserably. Leia touched his cheek. He almost never talked about you that way, at least not since your split.

“We’ve still got our eye on him. I know what we all suspect, but for now, this is the best chance we’ve got to get our Resistance on its feet again.” He nodded. “I am sorry to have to put you in this position, though.”

“It’s alright.”

“So you’ll head out today?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” she said with a smile, walking towards the exit of the base as a plank came falling down a few feet from her. She looked back at him with a knowing look. “Sooner rather than later, too,” she said.

Poe nodded at her and waited for her to leave the building before rushing back to the meeting room where he would find Black Squadron. They were on their way out as he approached.

“Hey, Poe, did she chew you out about daydreaming?” Jess asked with a smile.

“No, not really,” he said, once again feeling like his thoughts weren’t with the group again, “Sura,” he said, turning to look at her.

“What?”

“Meg Junari.”

“What?” she asked again, her face wrinkled with confusion.

“I want to talk to Meg Junari. I say it’s high time we got away from Serenno, don’t you think?” They all nodded their heads and smiled at one another, except for Suralinda. “What?” Poe asked.

“You didn’t like the idea before, and now you’ve only changed your mind because Lin Ral and Y/N have a thing going on?”

“First of all,” he said with a sigh, “We don’t know that anything is going on with them.” Suralinda looked at him like she didn’t believe a thing he was saying but didn’t push. They all knew that he was struggling with what happened a few days ago. When his mind went wandering, they knew it was to all the worst places he could imagine the two of you in. “And second of all, I wasn’t a fan of how you proposed your plan. I say we all go talk to Meg Junari and figure out just what she has in store for us.”

“What about your supply run to Serenno?” Snap asked.

“Well, I can’t think of a better crew to accompany me on my way to Serenno, and if on the way back we get held up at Chandrila, well I guess it’s no harm,” he said with a grin.

“Leia will kill you if she finds out,” Karé said, beginning to walk down the hall, “You better have a good reason to go to Chandrila, one that she’ll approve of, or we’ll all be kicked out.”

“She’s right,” Snap said with a sigh.

“Sura, can you arrange for Meg to get us some information? Doesn’t have to be much, but it has to be worth our going to Chandrila.”

“I think I can do that,” she said with a pretty smile.

“Great. Then we’ll head out in an hour. First to Serenno,” he said with a groan, “And then to Chandrila to check out that base.”

“And get the fuck away from Lin Ral,” Jess said with a smile.

“Damn right,” Poe agreed.

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“Did you see the delight on my parents’ faces?” you joked with Sarsa as you both made your way towards lunch.

“Well, they have been championing for you to join the senate since before you were born,” he laughed, “I can understand their delight at your somewhat reluctant agreement to join.”

“To possibly join,” you corrected, “I’m still not sure if that’s the right path for me.”

“I understand,” he said with a nod of his head, “You’ve still got your past to consider.” You looked down at your hands, not liking the notion of Poe being your past and not your present or future.

“That is the happiest I’ve seen them, maybe ever,” you said with a shake of your head.

“That doesn’t mean you have to become a senator,” he said, pulling out a chair for you as you arrived in the dining room. “But the fact that they want you to do so also shouldn’t stop you from becoming a senator just to spite them.”

“I became queen for them,” you said with a shrug.

“You became queen for your people,” he corrected.

“My parents were so thrilled when they found out I accepted they didn’t even care that I was heartbroken. For the first few months of my reign, I was depressed, and they didn’t care at all. They were just happy that I was queen and no longer with Poe.” Broden reached across the table and touched your hand with his gently.

“In the Senate, you can be married.”

“Yeah,” you said, looking down at his hand over yours, “But they’ve got their hearts set on Lin.”

“And you have someone else in mind,” he said.

“Yes,” you said with a gentle smile.

“Well, elections are next month, it’s not too soon to drop out and become senator right away.”

“And fight my mother for the election?” you asked with a laugh.

“You said they want you to be a senator.”

“Only after I’m done being queen. They want me to follow exactly in my mother’s footsteps.”

“And if you had it your way, you’d run off to the Resistance again?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you said after a moment, “So much has been laid out for me in these last few years, I’m not even sure what it would be like to have things my way.”

“Want to know what I think?” he asked.

“Of course,” you said with a smile.

“I think you’re starting to realize that these past two years as queen haven’t been so bad. And I think you’re starting to worry that if they weren’t as bad as you thought they were going to be, maybe being a senator wouldn’t be so bad either. Am I right?” he asked. You nodded your head.

“Yes, but—”

“And I think that if these things aren’t so bad, you’re scared of what that might mean for your future in the Resistance. I know you had always planned to make your way back to the Resistance, but now something else is calling you.”

“Yes, my parents,” you said with a laugh. Sarsa chuckled along, too, and shook his head.

“I think it is something much more than that. You said it yourself, you felt like you belonged in the senate chambers. There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re listening to the voice inside of you, which is a good thing, I just think you never thought it would be calling you to the same thing your parents and myself were, too.”

“You want me to join the senate, too?” you asked.

“I think you are a wonderful leader, Y/N, I always have. I think the people of Naboo see you as the strong leader that you are, one who will guide them through this dark time, to an age of new beginnings. I think Naboo needs you, just as much as you need her.”

You opened your mouth to speak as a servant brought over steaming bowls of soup. Sarsa dug right into his, but you stared at him for a few moments more, torturing yourself on whether he was right or not.

“Sarsa,” you began quietly.

“Yes?” he asked, looking up at you.

“What do you think about the spy?”

“Are you asking if I think it’s Lin Ral?” he asked with a gentle look in his eyes.

“Yes and no,” you said, “I want to know your thoughts on it.”

“Truthfully, I find Lin Ral much too open of a person to be a spy. He’s worn his heart on his sleeve since day one. And it’s clear the affection he has for you. I don’t think he would ever do anything to jeopardize his already slim chances with you.” You smiled softly and nodded. “What do you think?”

“The same,” you said miserably. “But the Resistance thinks otherwise.”

“Of course,” he said, shaking his head, “It’s hard for people with different frames of mind to agree on the same thing.”

“I suppose. So, who do you think the spy is, then? If not Lin.”

“I don’t know,” he said after a moment of thoughtful pause. “I don’t want to turn on anyone, but I fear that it is someone close to us all. Someone right under our nose.”

“Like who?”

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“I cannot believe that Leia bought this bullshit plan,” Karé said through their intercoms. Poe smiled, his eyes still focused on the deep blue of Chandrila.

“Why shouldn’t she? It’s a real mission,” Suralinda said.

“For fake information!”

“Meg has some real information we could use,” Sura quipped, “Besides, don’t you want to take a look at this base?” Karé groaned and switched off her commlink. Poe laughed and switched his own off, too, as they made their descent onto Chandrila.

Meg Junari was a short, dark-haired woman, with a mischievous smile. She invited them to meet her in the middle of the bustling capital, Hanna City. As they departed their ships, parked discreetly far out of town, Poe began to worry about this plan. Chandrila was a heavily populated city, he wasn’t sure if this was the right location for their new base. Just as he was about to turn back, he saw Meg for the first time. She smiled at him in particular and looked between him and Sura a few times. Good, she knows our history, he thought bitterly.

“Sura,” Meg said, giving the woman who towered over her a tight hug, “Glad you could make it.”

“Glad you could accept us on such short notice,” Sura said with a smile. “You know Poe but let me introduce you to the others.” Sura went around and introduced the rest of Black Squadron, and they each gave Meg a polite hello. “So where is this magnificent base of yours?” Suralinda asked.

“Oh, you don’t think I’d be stupid enough to find you a base right in the heart of Hanna City, do you?”

“I just want to see the base,” Suralinda said, “Wherever it is.”

“Alright, we’ll have to take a city transport.” Meg started to lead the way, with Suralinda right behind her, but the rest of Black Squadron hung back.

“Come on,” Sura said.

“Guys, this is the only chance we’ve got right now,” Poe said, taking a few hesitant steps towards Sura and Meg, “Let’s at least check it out.”

The city transport could only take them outside of city limits so far. After that, they had to take another transport, and from there, walk on foot for another forty minutes. Morale was low, Poe knew that and understood why, but he also knew that they desperately needed to find a base, and the further they got away from the city, the more hopeful he became. If this base was all that Meg had promised, they would be perfectly set. With Hanna City only a few hours from where their base would be, they would be hidden enough to stay out of sight, but close enough that they could make supply runs and meet with dealers within the city walls.

“Here we are,” Meg said as they approached a cliffside.

“You’re kidding me,” Jess complained, clinging to the stitch in her side. “This is nothing.”

“Sura,” Poe began, but she was already marching towards Meg angrily.

“Is this your idea of a joke?” Sura asked angrily.

“What?” Meg asked with a crooked smile.

“This is nothing! You’ve led us to some stupid cliffside. I made my friends trust you and—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Meg said with a laugh, “If you all would just take a step closer I think you would see that I tell much better jokes than this.” They all exchanged a look but took a few steps closer, looking down into the abyss below them.

But instead of finding an abyss, they all looked to find a giant base, completely how Meg had described it. The base sprawled across the otherwise deserted abyss, much further than Poe could see the end of. It had a large landing pad, the same size as the one of D’Qar, but this had one on either end of the base. The rest of the base was comprised of one giant building, with four other, also large buildings attached to it.

“So, what do you think?” Meg asked after they had all stared at the base in awe for a few moments.

“Wow,” Jess said first.

“Yeah, what she said,” Snap agreed. Karé nodded as she continued to stare at the base.

“How is this real?” Poe asked, looking to Meg and Suralinda.

“Mon Motha built it during the age of the Empire. It was to be a backup if their base didn’t take off. She kept it secret from the rest of the members in the rebellion, save a few. I don’t think even General Organa knows it exists.”

“She doesn’t,” Poe said, looking back at the base in front of him, still not quite accepting that it was real. “If she did, we would have come here right after D’Qar.”

“Well, it’s all yours if you want. I mean, I don’t know who owns it, but it’s been abandoned for quite some time now.”

“What about the inside?” Sura asked.

“A little out of date, but not too bad. Nothing some droids couldn’t fix up in a few days.”

“This feels impossible,” Poe said, shaking his head. “Nothing is ever this easy. Not for us, anyway.”

“Well,” Meg said, the same pesky smile from before washing over her face, “Maybe your luck is changing.”

“Maybe,” Poe said appreciatively.

“Now, about that information you wanted,” Meg said, pulling out her own Holopad. “I’ve got it on good authority that the First Order is commissioning another Starkiller Base.”

“What?” Snap asked in disbelief.

“How do you know that?” Poe asked.

“I work at a bar in the center of the city. You have no idea how many First Order idiots I get in there on the daily. Slip them a few more drinks than they ask for, and they all sing like canaries.” Poe nodded his head and looked to his friends to make sure that they were feeling the same level of excitement as he was about this base, which he recognized was the bit of hopeful news that the Resistance needed to get back on their feet.

“I’m sure General Organa will be happy to know that,” Karé said, “Along with the news of this base.”

“I agree,” Poe said. “But we’ve got to keep it protected at all costs. Meg, is there some kind of shield that goes with the base?”

“I’m not sure, I haven’t been inside of it in a few months, and even then, the technology wasn’t something I’m familiar with. I’m sure there is though, Mon Mothma wouldn’t have just left it completely defenseless.”

“Well, we need to make sure no one gets to it before we can move in,” Poe said.

“Don’t worry about that, I’ve been keeping a watch over it since Sura and I discussed it at that party on Naboo. No one comes out here, and if they did, I’ll be here to stop them.”

“I don’t know how we can thank you enough,” Poe said with a smile.

“You don’t have to thank me, just take care of her,” she said, nodding towards Sura. She rolled her eyes but smiled all the same.

“We take care of our own, don’t worry about that,” Poe said.

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As Black Squadron made their approach back to Yavin-4, Poe had no doubt in his mind that Leia would be ecstatic when she heard the news of their new base. No longer would they have to travel back and forth between Yavin-4 and Serenno, neither of which felt like a good fit for them. They would now have the perfect base to reignite their fight and finally take care of the First Order.

However, as they landed outside of Poe’s father’s home, his heart started to beat faster, and not from excitement, as he saw Lin Ral’s ship parked near their new cruiser.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Suralinda asked over the intercom.

“I don’t know. He shouldn’t even know this place exists,” Poe said, quickly climbing out of his X-Wing, BB-8 rolling up behind him. Black Squadron followed after as Poe ripped open the door to his childhood home.

“Hey, you’re back,” Kes said, meeting Poe in the hallway between the front door and living room.

“Dad, what’s Lin Ral doing here?” he asked.

“He came to visit,” Kes said with a shrug, “Leia seemed to be fine with it. I was just bringing them some tea,” he said, motioning to the pot in his hands. Poe nodded and followed his father into the living room, finding Lin and Leia talking on the couch with Finn and Commander D’Acy.

“Poe,” Finn said, the first to notice him. Poe nodded at him briefly as he waited for Leia to look back at him.

“Commander,” she said with a smile, “Come sit with us, won’t you?”

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron imagine #sw imagine #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fanfiction #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #sw #sw fanfic #sw fanfiction

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 5 years ago

Note

This is a cracky question, but suppose the Animorphs saw Captain America Civil War. Would they be Team Cap or Team Iron Man?

Okay, if I can be a raging hipster for a minute: I LOVE the comic book arc of Marvel’s Civil War, and I’m not a huge fan of the movie they made from it.

The comic story was an excruciatingly effective execution of an argument where no sides are right. Team Cap correctly argues that it’s wrong to force heroes like Spider-Man to out themselves, but takes that argument way too far when they skip over diplomacy and go straight to stabbing people. Team Iron Man correctly argues that superheroes have way too much power to have so little oversight, but takes that argument way too far when they start imprisoning metahumans just for failing to register. Families get torn apart by politics, as in the case of Jessica Jones and Luke Cage’s struggle over what’s best for their daughter. Politics get torn apart by families, as in the case of Black Widow being firmly Team Iron Man and the Winter Soldier being (of course) Team Cap but them both deciding to ignore their own ideals and focus on solving smaller problems instead. Heroes die. Captain America is so disgusted with himself after he beats Iron Man unconscious that he turns himself in, only to get assassinated in the midst of Iron Man’s gloating publicity ploy. Iron Man’s so disgusted with himself over the death of his best friend that he stops enforcing the Registration Act and quietly lets the war die. No one wins. Everyone loses.

That arc isn’t cool or action-packed or any of the other terms we normally use to describe kickass superhero stories; it’s heartbreaking. Spider-Man compares the fight between the Avengers’ co-leaders to a nasty divorce. The schism destroys friendships with decades’ publication history. The Superhuman Registration Act draws attention to Black Widow’s immigrant status and internalized fear of treason, Power Man’s and Cloak’s identities as black men who’ve been abused by police, anti-mutant prejudice as a constant fracture point, and questions of superheroes as law enforcement. This is the comic book arc that started me reading comic books. It’s sad. It’s heavy. It’s complex and uncomfortable. It starts badly and ends worse, with no good answers. It’s got all that depressing shit that makes me love Animorphs so much.

The movie adaptation was solidly okay, but it was also a fistfight in a parking lot over who got to keep Bucky Barnes. There is a clear right side and a clear wrong one, because Team Iron Man is operating off a miscommunication. It was a decent flick in its own right, but it captured 0.000001% of what makes me hug the comic books to my chest and cry tears of masochistic agony at night.

ANYWAY, that has all been a characteristically long-winded way of saying: there’s not a good moral divide in the movie Captain America: Civil War. However, if the Animorphs all read the comic series Marvel’s Civil War, I think they’d land thus:

Jake: Team Cap, for most of the same reasons as Cap himself. Like Captain America, Jake’s a true believer in the best of American institutions — and like Cap, there’s no American institution that Jake respects more than the right to overthrow any power structure that needs overthrowing. They’re both tough-minded idealists, and they’re both a little too willing to take their ideals too far.

Cassie: Team Iron Man, mostly because Cassie has compassion for all people but also knows that there’s no such thing as a single right answer. Cassie doesn’t trust the U.S. government, but she trusts a world with no government even less, and she more than any other Animorph understands the value of compromise.

Ax: Team Iron Man, because Ax tends to believe that the solution to any one group having too much power is a set of checks and balances. He evolves over the course of the series to understand his brother’s anarchistic tendencies better, but he also experiences visceral disgust at the idea of secret assassin squads and other excesses on the part of the andalites’ War Council.

Marco: Team Cap, but only lightly. Marco’s canny and cynical and definitely does not believe that the solution to an excess of law enforcement is more law enforcement. But he also sees moral event horizons coming, even when he chooses to wave at said ethical thresholds as they go by rather than respecting them. If one side seemed to be more effective at preventing violence than the other, he’d go for that one regardless of its ideals.

Rachel: Team Cap, because Rachel’s the type of person who gets angry at even the implication that someone is trying to control her. Deep down, Rachel fears becoming a controller even more than anyone else on the team — definitely more than she fears dying — and she would not willingly give up her power to a relatively unknown government agency.

Tobias: Team Iron Man, but with Marco’s same lack of conviction and willingness to change. Tobias knows his own limits, up to and including knowing that some ethical questions are simply too big or too complex for him to answer. In Tobias’s case, it’d be a matter of wanting to at least give the Superhuman Registration Act a try, and then seeing how it’s working out before jumping to conclusions.

#animorphs #animorphs meta #captain america civil war #marvel civil war #mcu #marvel 616 #long post #please disagree with me #i am curious to hear others' thoughts #i love these kinds of debates #and i could see multiple possible positions for everyone but the berensons #anonymous #asks

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ginnyzero · 4 years ago

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Completely Harmless Ch. 54

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Fifty-Four CHILL-ax during Happy Horse Week!

The decorations were approved by other clubs while the few votes against them were roundly ignored. It helped that gave everyone a goodie bag and had a snack table set up with their treats and cups of apple cider mixed with ginger ale. The marble balloons had been turned into arches and pillars. She’d borrowed the flag banners from Jorvik Stable to show off what things would look like complete with hay bales.

The Councilman hadn’t been too happy about the hay bales, but Kate had promised to clean.

Everyone was relieved that Lily was okay. And they were more than willing to take shifts at the council house in order to help make the decorations they needed between breaks in training. Training that was more important than they realized.

In fact, it was Herman that clued Lily in as she waited her turn to run through the show jumping event set up in the Arena.

“Really looking forward to seeing all you girls at the County Fair this year,” he said with a big grin on his face. Leaning against the fence of the riding arena he looked almost lazy as he watched the girls.

Lily looked down at him and put a hand on her horse’s neck. “Herman, I think you’re forgetting that most of us have never lived here before. Or should I be asking Linda or Pauline?”

Herman glanced up, the grin didn’t fade. “Didn’t forget. Didn’t know you didn’t know.”

Lily rolled her eyes. Her stallion tossed his mane.

“There’s an eventing contest held at the County Fair every year. It’s the first qualifier for the Claymore Challenge. Every club comes and tries out. Course, last year, and the year before that, and the year before that, was just the Bobcats and the Bulldogz. Be nice to see them have a bit of competition.”

Lily’s brow furrowed. “But we’re collecting ribbons,” she said slowly drawing it out.

“Gotta train your horse and get it into condition so it knows what it’s doing. Practice is one thing, Lily girl, doing exhibition is another. The lights, the crowds, you don’t know how your horse is going to react. Depends on the crowd too.” Herman sucked his teeth. “Yep, some mighty fine riders in practice can’t make it through exhibitions.”

Lily pressed her tongue to her back teeth and looked off to the side as her brows furrowed. “Qualifiers,” she said after a few moments and not coming into any conclusions.

“Yep, helps me winnow it down. I know you’re all doing well in your ribbons. You can’t all go to the Claymore Challenge as much as I’d like to send you all. One Club per county. Thems the rules.”

Lily looked down at him. “I wasn’t given any rule list when I made the club. How many members are we allowed to have maximum anyways?”

“Fifty.”

Lily blinked. There went the plan to merge clubs to get around that pesky rule. “Well, we’re a bit beyond 100 people, Herman. I think we’re hitting closer to 200.”

Herman grinned. “And you wouldn’t believe how proud I am of that, all of you choosing to leave Moorland and form clubs to help out the district. Brings a tear to me old eyes, it does.”

Lily snorted. She shifted her attention. Tracey rode around the track keeping her posture upright as her stallion took the turns.

“You’re doing good things,” Herman rocked back and forth on his feet.

“If you say so,” Lily glanced back at him.

“You don’t think so?”

“I think I’m doing what needs to be done whether it’s good or bad, I can’t say.” Lily gripped the reins in her hands turning them over between her fingers. “I’m doing the best I can or we are, or I hope we are. One never knows. You have a lot of things you don’t tell newcomers, like, qualifiers being at the County Fair.”

Herman chuckled. “You’re revitalizing this county.”

“You didn’t need me for that, you just needed to act.”

“Mrs. X of CHILL wants to meet you,” Herman said.

“Fancy that,” Lily said in a dry voice. “I’m not surprised.”

“Alone.”

“Of course,” Lily murmured. “Because what other way do you meet the leader of a secret organization that,” she paused. “What does CHILL do?”

“Put nails in the road for G.E.D.,” Herman said.

“Your horse idioms are so lovely, Herman,” Lily said. “Where is she?”

“Observatory 12 in Epona.”

Lily backed her stallion away from the fence. “And let me guess, she wants to see me as soon as possible.”

“You know how this works.”

“Way too many crime shows, way, way too many.”

Herman laughed.

“How cliché can you get?” Lily muttered and nudged her horse into a trot. The nearest transport to the Observatory was in Crescent Moon Village she thought. Hillcrest and the Dews Farm in Epona were getting transports set up still. Hillcrest’s was in need of a major repair since someone had tried to use the truck to ram the wall. (It hadn’t worked.)

She took the transport to Crescent Moon Village and went directly down the road through the Marsh and up the side of the mountain to the Observatory perched on the edge of the Cauldron opposite of Hillcrest.

Dismounting, she opened the huge doors of the observatory a crack and slipped inside.

It wasn’t as dark as she’d thought it be. Sunlight streamed in through the small windows illuminating the place.

“I’m glad you came,” Mrs. X said from the middle of the room. She smoothed the skirt of her ankle length green dress, but a deep hood obscured her face.

Lily stepped closer. Mrs. X’s face was also covered with a mask. Crossing her arms, Lily stopped. “I don’t deal with people who hide their faces.”

“My identity is a closely guarded secret, one I’d like to keep that way.”

Lily pressed her lips together. “You’re either trying to recruit me. Or, you have a message for me. Spit it out one or the other.”

“You’ve impressed me.”

“Funny, you don’t sound impressed.”

“You’ve interfered with a major operation. Hillcrest is only a small part of the G.E.D.’s plans for the Harvest and Epona Districts. You’ve set me back months of work.”

“You, lady, are a vigilante.” Lily lifted a finger off of her arm. “You run around in the shadows not sharing information with the authorities, and causing more problems than you solve because you won’t work within the boundaries of the law.”

“The law has failed us.”

“So, Bernie Winterwell didn’t want to leave his house and was happy to be bribed. Was it a moral failing? Or is House of Winterwell in dire straits? Or is there another reason? I don’t know. I don’t care. If Baron Winterwell isn’t doing what you need to do, you go to Count Marchenghast.”

“He’s ill. The Countess is overwhelmed. They’re too young and inexperienced to handle the G.E.D.”

Lily’s lips parted. “Really? Because, Mrs. X., I’m what, sixteen, and I’ve handled them just fine by oh, seeing that they don’t have the proper paperwork or you know, put people in actual danger and taken this to the people in charge like the Rangers and the nobles who run this county and they’ve managed to take care of things with the information me and my girls have provided them. I do not feel that the people of Hillcrest are an acceptable sacrifice so you can try to stop the grander scheme and get the higher ups.”

“You are too young to understand.”

“I understand that right now you’re no better than the druids, most of whom, also wear hoods and also, who I will not have anything to do with unless they show their faces. Here’s my message to you, it’s the same one I gave to Elizabeth Sunbeam. You lead and take action instead of observing and waiting. You follow. Or you get the hell out of my way. The people of Hillcrest will not thank you for standing by and watching.”

“Jarlaheim is in great danger. You don’t understand how great.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Yes. We know. You remember Mayor Elaine. She was in Hillcrest. She knew what Ms. Drake was up to. Ms. Drake has been arrested. Given her lawyers, she probably won’t be in there for long. But it’s a good way to stall them and give time for Mayor Elaine to recover and take control over Jarlaheim.” Lily turned on her toe and grabbed the door. Pulling it open, she looked over her shoulder. “Come out of the shadows, Mrs. X, and into the light.” She walked out shutting the door gently behind her.

“People,” she said to her stallion.

He whuffled.

Lily mounted and turned him around down the mountain. “Vigilantism, peh.”

He nodded his head.

“Jarlaheim is in great danger,” Lily mocked. “Gee, you think? I mean, there aren’t four dig sites around the place, probably illegal dig sites, run by the G.E.D. if it’s not in great danger. Like, I don’t have girls in every stable and town and farm in this county by now. And do you know what we teenage girls like to do?”

He knocked his ear back seemingly interested.

“Share information. People might call this gossip. Because they only hear about who is dating who and who is fighting and what embarrassing thing happened to so and so this week. But there is important information among the trivia.” She patted his neck. “Sometimes, if the mare is fat, it’s not that she’s actually fat, she’s pregnant.”

He whinnied.

“Exactly, you get it.” Lily let him trot down the road. “Diabolical corporations. Aliens. Witches. Ghosts. Aliens running diabolical corporations. Druids. Chipmunks and squirrels as spies. Magic horses. Now vigilantes.”

He nodded his head.

“Nahnahnahnahnahnahnah, Batman!”

Her horse whinnied again.

She quieted as she got out of the marsh and into the village. She hummed “Spider-man, spider-man, does whatever a spider can,” under her breath as they passed Hayden’s house.

She took the transport back to Jorvik Stables.

When Herman asked her how it went, she replied with, “It went.”

The decorations were ready in time for Happy Horse week, if barely. Barney had helped them by using the vinyl wall art to make plywood versions of the horse silhouettes with his wooden scroll saw. He’d also made them horse heads to vary up the horse shoes and hang their smaller horse garlands from. They weren’t allowed to touch his saw. They could lose fingers if they weren’t careful. Plus, he was making the silhouettes five or six at a time to save time. Each stable and town had at least one of each galloping, show jumping, and dressage silhouette. Carney Summers had been busy making race signs for everyone.

But everything was painted, glittered, glued together, whatever needed to be done in time to decorate for the week. Metal and plastic buckets had ribbons and bows on them. Plastic helmets also had bows and rhinestones and gold trim. They wrapped fancy striped ribbons in Jorvik national colors around every extra haybale they were strewing about for decorations. (And handy seating for the tired parents.)

So, the day before Happy Horse Week was also busy instead of training, they were decorating and making sure everything was out and just so. They’d put together plenty of snacks for the tables and had decided that mint candies went in predominantly blue favor cones, and granola went in predominantly green favor cones.

Putting together the selfie walls had been a bit easier now they were at the third time around. They used the triangular and horse shoe garlands to drape the circle. Put plenty of championship ribbons on the upper left hand side. Put together a pillar or arch out of marble balloons and made sure there were hobby horses and stuffed plushies (fresh from Fort Pinta) out for people to use as props.

Agnetha has pursed her lips at the arches of balloons in front of the rose archway and on each side of the bandstand, but she hadn’t said anything dire.

Thinking ahead, they set up the pavilion so people could decorate their own buckets and helmets if they wanted to do so. They even had championship ribbons for name badges.

They had to rearrange the jumps in the riding arena. (That gave them time to decorate it.) Though the Rose Arches remained firmly in place. And put together the special race tracks for the cross country races through the grape fields.

It was a good thing that they had extra decorations and banners, because just in time for Happy Horse Week, the Silverglade Oval Track was ready to open and it needed to be decorated as well.

Pia and Ingrid sent pictures of the Art Show and Flea Market respectively. Everything was horse themed! Pia had plenty of exclamation points. She never asked for it to be that way!

They had to help transport the cake from Ma Anna’s Pastry Shop in Firgrove all the way to Moorland. They transported it in separate tiers thank goodness, but they still wanted an escort for some reason. When it was put together, the bottom three tiers were sold colored, there was a blue tier, a green tier, and a white tier. Then the top two tiers, one had stripes, and the smallest was white with green and blue polka dots. They stuck a large golden harp in the top of it as a topper.

The tables for the Moorland feast were set out. And there were extra tables so they could set out the grab bags, horse masks, party hats, and horse ears for the kids. The Farmer’s Market bustled with happy people who were more than happy to put up another tent for the Carnival games of bobbing for apples, pig pen, horse shoes, hobby horse races, and pin the tail on the horse. They had a special spot for the pinatas (and plenty of them.) And a booth all set up so everyone could get their face painted.

Realizing they’d forgotten prizes for said games, Kate and her club ran to Jorvik City to get more of the prizes like they had in the grab bags. (Because why not try to collect them all, according to Regina. She was roundly reminded, again, that this wasn’t Pokemon!)

The Timber Wolves escorted Andy’s petting zoo down and helped him set it up at the same time they brought down the cake.

It was quite the whirl of activity.

No one was sure who exactly hid the Golden Horse Shoes, only, that they were hidden.

So, everyone was excited the first day of Happy Horse Week, despite the fact that they’d had to make a schedule so there were people minding the races, giving beginning riding lessons, doing the lunge informational event, the craft pavilion, and the snack booth.

“Where do we want to go first?” Was the biggest question. Firfall was having a jousting demonstration at their medieval fair. There was the County Fair to check out too with all the food, and booths, and games, and they had to keep an eye on the competition up there with the eventing qualifiers. Or, they could go to Moorland and get a slice of carrot cake or apple spice cake (or both) and go straight to the Farmer’s Market to do games there. Or, they go to Fort Pinta and grab Token Takes Jorvik, buy a horse plushy if they didn’t already have a stuffed lovie of their own and start on the different challenges, plushy vacation pictures, Andy’s Geocaching, and Hayden’s Spider Hunt.

More than a few of them though were bowing out of Hayden’s Spider Hunt.

“No thank you,” they said.

They knew they’d see all of it. It was a matter of did they want to watch a pie eating contest at the County Fair or not? There was going to be a demonstration of a flat track oval race too that sounded interesting. They all agreed that they wanted to see the horse rubber duck race. That sounded too funny not to see.

The last day was the Light Ride.

It was with light hearts that they made their schedule and took to explore the county during Happy Horse Week. (They had Golden Horseshoes to find!) The first place they had to go was the Silverglade Oval Track ribbon cutting ceremony!

Loretta shifted her weight on top of her white stallion, the pink of her showjumping jacket setting off her fair complexion. Lily cynically thought that was the reason why the Bobcats colors happened to be pink. Loretta looked good in it. Loretta glanced over at her. “What are you doing here?”

Lily tugged down the sleeves of her own showjumping jacket, light purple. (Thought she’d the option of a dark purple or mulberry color.) “Same as you, I suspect. Claymore Challenge qualifiers.”

Loretta’s eyes widened. “No. No. You can’t. Your clubs are too,” she trailed off.

“Too what? We’ve qualified. We’ve earned the ribbons.” Lily looked down her nose at her. Had Loretta forgotten about the fact that more clubs meant more competition?

“You haven’t been around long enough to train your horses to be competition ready,” Loretta curled her lip. “You’ve been too busy doing other things.”

Lily leaned forward a bit resting her weight on her folded hands. “Not for the last month, month and a half. You don’t want to train for more than a couple hours every day and risk hurting the horse.”

“But you couldn’t have earned enough ribbons.”

Lily smirked at her. “I did.”

“That’s not right.” Loretta frowned.

“Take it up with Herman.” Lily shrugged. She tilted her head.

The Announcer’s voice rang out. “President of the Bobcats, Loretta.”

“You’re up,” Lily told her.

Rattled, Loretta nudged her stallion into a trot to take the arena.

Lily narrowed her eyes and watched. Either Loretta wasn’t as good as she claimed to be or Lily’s appearance as the next competitor after her had truly rattled her. She missed several jumps knocking down the bars.

When Loretta came off the field she looked furious. She stopped her horse by Lily. “If someone like you who isn’t even from Jorvik keeps me from going to the Claymore Challenge again,” she started.

“Again?” Lily raised a brow. “Last I checked the rules, Jorvik citizenship wasn’t required to compete, only belonging to a Riding Club in Jorvik in good standing.”

Loretta sucked her cheeks in and trotted off. “I won’t be defeated.”

Lily watched her go and put a hand on her horse’s neck. “And President of the Silverglade Equestrian Center’s Silver Drakes, Lily,” The Announcer said.

Lily squared her shoulders. She had an event to do. She could wonder who had beat out Loretta last time. Lisa. Linda. Or Anne?

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.

#star stable #sso #star stable online #fan fic #jorvik reimagined #star stable salt #happy horse week #loretta isn't learning #silverglade reimagined #completely harmless #many nods to ruth westside

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legobiwan · 5 years ago

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Cestus Deception review: Part 2 (now with less wine):

Finished up Cestus Deception while taking a much-needed drive around town (by myself, not getting out except to take some pictures of mountains in a remote area, in a car no one else ever gets into because...well, one I am terrible about keeping a neat car and two I tend to hoard strange, partially disassembled instruments in my backseat along with exercise clothing, power tools, and books. #socialdistancing please do it, my friends).

Kenobi’s plan! Was to...visit an opium den, collude with a criminal, and then fake a Sith acolyte attack on a bunch of commerce families with Kit Fisto playing the role of evil!being? All in the name of getting the ruler of the planet to sign an accord with the Republic to stop manufacturing Jedi-killing droids? But, it was all a fake? Kenobi! Your deviousness is showing.

I CAN’T, YOU GUYS. Who came up with this name for Kit? How did they not both start laughing hysterically? Kit “Nemonus” Fisto roleplaying as a lightwhip-wielding Sith battling Obi-wan Kenobi. This was your plan, Kenobi? Honestly.

And then Ventress gets some footage of Kenobi’s machinations and he is totally exposed in front everyone at the signing of the accord and ordered offworld. I mean, 100% caught in his own bullshit.

And then he doubles-down, I don’t know, I kinda dig this intense version of Obi-wan. He’s very...I hate to say it (lie, I *love* to say it) Dooku-ish in this novel. ...eeeehhhhh, *shrugs aggressively a la Larry David* can’t complain?

Okay, so Obes and his barrister friend are ordered offworld. Not even two minutes out of the atmosphere, Obi-wan is basically like, yeah, no, I’m going back down and peaces out on an escape pod while ordering a clone to take law-friend back to Coruscant.

And then Ventress attacks the ship. Xutoo, the clone...well, it doesn’t end well.

Surprisingly, Doolb Snoil (who I keep wanting to call Sny Snootles which I know is incorrect) survives this encounter and escapes on his own via pod to the surface. I was 100% expecting him to bite it because all of Obi-wan’s friends tend to bite it in tragic manner...

HAHAHAHAHHA NEVERMIND THEY NEEDED TO WAIT FOR ANOTHER ONE OF OBI-WAN’S FRIENDS TO DIE IN HIS ARMS WHYYYYYYYYYYYYY, STAR WARS, WHYYYYYYYYYYY??????

Okay, so I feel like the audiobook was abridged because I would have remembered this exchange. I think. Or I was distracted. Not unprecedented. Anyway, this is the kind of philosophical debate about free will in this universe I love and it does raise some very interesting ethical questions about the Jedi practice of taking children at that age. (Granted, no one was ever a prisoner of the Jedi Order, but it is far more difficult to escape an institution when you have been brought up in it. But then again, perhaps that child would have had a far worse life on their home planet. Or not. And it’s rare we see any insight into that decision, beyond Dooku in Dark Rendezvous, and of course, Rael, to a certain extent and Anakin. (If you know of others in Legends or Canon, let me know because I find it to be a fascinating question with no good answer.))

Meanwhile, Obes and Kit’s little Onderon-esque insurrection is drawing the attention of the local authorities.

Why, yes, I agree, Dura. Brilliant, ferocious, tactically diverse, respectful, knows the Alderaanian Reel, *ahem*

Can we briefly talk about the spider-friend army attacking the Jedi Killer droids and defeating them because the droids, like recent Apple products, had a shitty battery life? Gotta get that portable battery/USB for your genocidal droids, Dooku. That was some Class-A Star Wars bullshit.

Speaking of the JK droids, Obi-wan battles one himself later, and two things about this encounter:

JFC, of course he did.

Did...did Obi-wan just...punch a droid to death? I mean...well, that is to say...not very civilized, is it, Kenobi?

Sorry, but the love story between Jangotat (Nate) and Sheeka Tal was...less than inspiring. Maybe it was the narration or the editing (as I am realizing going through the pdf that they cut some stuff for the audio version), but I was not so into it. Then again, romance isn’t really my thing in general. But Obi-wan Kenobi being a living Jedi pregnancy test...(okay, okay so I’m sure all Jedi were able to sense little life Forces forming themselves in people’s reproductive systems, but the fact that Star Wars feels compelled to come back to this idea of Obi-wan pointing out secret pregnancies is pretty hilarious, in my mind. Obi-wan Kenobi, Jedi Master and aspiring OBGYN. Good lords.)

I love the confrontation between Ventress, Obi-wan and Kit. Kit is such a third wheel here, his only reason for being is to make vaguely threatening comments towards Ventress and for her to ignore them so she can continue to villain-monologue at Kenobi. Also, Dooku wanted Obi-wan alive? WHY AM I NOT SURPRISED.

Okay, but Obi-wan and Ventress have the most EXTRA duel ever. They have a lightsaber battle...underwater? And then somehow rip each other’s rebreathers out at some point, which, let’s be honest, kiiiinda feels like a euphemism and then Ventress just gets frustrated with Obi-wan’s lack of coronavirus, meaning he can hold his breath underwater a really long time and peaces out in an angry cloud of random underwater smoke. Hilarious. THIS LINEAGE, I SWEAR, DOOKU IS THE INSTIGATOR OF SO. MUCH. DRAMA.

Can we appreciate that Obi-wan’s “backup plan” is to buy a half-million credit radiation suit form a opium addict gangster and sabotage a commercial production plant singlehandedly? And he shows up with credits! The Council must have loved that request. Half a million credits. The audacity of this man.

All this to sabotage a plan, that apparently, was a total smokescreen. It turns out that no, the CIS wasn’t trying to mass-produce Jedi killing droids, but pretending to in order to lure the Republic and engage them in combat where they would be framed for mass civilian casualties. That is some 4D chess, right there. Well played, both Dooku and Sidious. Well fucking played.

Okay, I think (think) audiobook cut the part where Obi-wan:

a) negotiated for spider clemency from Dura, who is so smitten by Kenobi she’s totally going to go with it even though Obi-wan is totally representing large, poisonous spiders this is FANTASTIC. (side note, I love spiders) Obi-wan Kenobi, Friend to Large Animals is probably the truest thing I have ever posted on this hellsite, so now we add gigantic spiders to the list. Have I mentioned I love this man? And who else but the student of Qui-gon fucking Jinn would be like this? Of course. Of. Course.

b) where he admitted to at one point being in love (what?!?) and

c) where he was the sole preoccupation of Ventress’s thoughts as she left Ord Cestus, just...what???? Amazing. Truly amazing.

Overall, I really enjoyed the Obi-wan characterization, it was nice to see Kit in action (and Kit, by the way, didn’t totally approve of Obi-wan’s methods but went along with it), the Jangotet/Nate storyline was okay. Some of the machinations of the overall plot were a little muddled (which was probably due, in part, to the audiobook cuts) even if I did like how they tried to deal with the free will aspect of being a clone (even if it was not totally deftly handled). 7/10 would have been 7.5 but the audiobook cut some things that were important to me. (Or I zoned out and didn’t catch them :D

#hello there #cestus deception #legobiwan listens to a book #obi wan kenobi #kit fisto #asajj ventress #i hope everyone is keeping their spirits up right now!#it's spooky out there #we're probably max 3 days away from a shelter in place order #over here in legohome #kinda pissed we don't have statewide drive up tests yet we should considering #we'll get through it #it's going to get weird #but we'll get through it #and now tumblr #i am tired and want to read my (non star wars) book #will try and answer stuff tomorrow i'm super behind on this and writing but a little distracted by life atm

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mobius-prime · 5 years ago

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161. Sonic the Hedgehog #93

Crime 'N Punishment

Writer: Karl Bollers Pencils: FRY Colors: Frank Gagliardo

Sonic races back to Knothole after his fight with Ken, wracked with guilt both over the king's injuries from the previous day, and from losing the sword today. That said, he's still not ready to face the consequences of his actions, as he's completely outraged when he exits the Great Oak Slide straight into a net waiting to catch him.

That's one hell of a way to try to put someone under arrest, Geoffrey. Imagine if real life cops just slung a net over anyone they wanted to arrest. Sonic angrily insists he doesn't have to answer to Geoffrey, but then Elias shows up, saying he does have to answer to someone after all…

Within Robotropolis, Eggman welcomes the crowd of Overlanders into his city, though the little girl, Hope, finds herself feeling uneasy. As Eggman invites the members of his immediate family into the palace to offer them a "luxury suite," beneath the city streets, Kodos continues to celebrate his acquisition of the Sword of Acorns.

Might wanna be careful of what you say when you've got a sneaky ninja spider hanging around you, buddy boy. In Knothole, Sonic tries to insist to Elias that he wants to speak to Sally before anyone else, but Elias says that whatever he has to say to her can be said to him instead, since he's the acting ruler. Sonic thus imagines himself apologizing tenderly to Sally while holding her close, and, deciding that that is definitely not something he wants to do with Elias, races off, which angers Geoffrey, though Elias says to let him go for now. Sonic is caught up in his depressed thoughts as he runs, until Mina happily races toward him, shouting that she's glad he's not in jail. However, she finds herself unable to control her speed as she runs, and crashes straight into Sonic.

IS THIS A LOVE TRIANGLE I SMELL? Man, I'm sorry Mina, I love you, but I cannot stand love triangles. Y'all already know this. Apparently Mina was actually originally introduced to the comic with the intent to make her a romantic rival for Sonic's affections against Sally, and so for a little while, we're gonna be dealing with that, until Mina is able to get her own characterization apart from being a love interest. Anyway, at that moment Antoine and Bunnie show up, having just returned from their trip to Mercia with the High Sheriff in tow, bound in ropes, because damn, if high quality mechanical restraints designed by the most advanced race on the planet aren't enough to keep a violent and powerful Robian in check, surely some plain old cordage from Home Depot will do! They say they have to speak to the king at once concerning their new prisoner, but Nate arrives as well, explaining to them that the king is paralyzed and Elias is acting ruler for now. Sonic becomes guilt-ridden once again, and to his everlasting credit, Antoine immediately, without first finding out the story behind Sonic's mood, says that he doesn't believe any of this can be Sonic's fault. With the strong, almost hateful-at-times rivalry that these two were depicted having in the original SatAM cartoon, I absolutely love the respect and friendship between Sonic and Antoine in the comics. Antoine in particular is just a much more well-treated character by the writers, who give him proper character development and depth every chance they get, instead of just having him be the Cowardly Frenchman. (Don't get me wrong, Antoine in the show was hilarious, but he really gets the proper love he deserves in the comics.) Anyway, Sonic explains both the king's injuries and the loss of the sword to everyone present, and when Nate tries to reassure him that the king shouldn't have even gone into battle anyway, Sonic suddenly stands and races off, saying he's going to do what he should have done from the start. Meanwhile, back underneath Robotropolis…

You may have messed up big time, Kodos. Elias and Geoffrey approach the queen and Sally to inform them of what Sonic has done, and Sally is shocked to hear the news. She starts to ask what she should do to rectify the situation before catching herself and asking instead what Elias plans to do. Her mother tells her not to worry, and leads her away, while Geoffrey gets his chance to address Elias alone.

I've never agreed so much with such an asshole before. He's basically said exactly what I've been saying this entire time - Sally is the one who has the necessary leadership experience. She ran a whole freakin' rebellion on her own when she was a kid, for crying out loud. However, I draw the line at Geoffrey's plan to basically install himself as a shadow ruler from behind the scenes. Geoffrey is known to be far too harsh in situations which don't call for harshness, and though he has leadership experience of his own, leading the Rebel Underground during Robotnik's reign, he's far less qualified to handle the running of an entire kingdom than he is at leading a small squad of covert operatives.

Back in Robotropolis, Eggman welcomes Colin, Lady Agnes (the woman Sonic saved last issue), and Hope into his palace. Colin explains who the other two are, but it's a bit confusing so I'll give my own spin on things. Colin is Snively's father. We don’t yet know who the mother was, but she isn't in the picture as of now. While in space, he remarried to another woman which made Hope his step-daughter, but that wife died before they reached their home planet once more. Lady Agnes, Hope's grandmother, is his mother-in-law as a result of the marriage. And in all of this, remember that Eggman/Robotnik is Colin's brother, which would essentially make Hope his step-niece. Enough about their weird-ass family history, though - in Knothole, Sonic races back to Elias and admits his guilt in stealing the sword, presenting himself for arrest. Elias, however, instead of arresting him, strips him of his knighthood and tells him that from now on he's confined to Knothole as a minor, all while Geoffrey smirks in the background. Come on, Geoffrey, you were actually acting chill there for a while back when Sonic was actually knighted, why are you going back to your old asshole ways? Sigh…

Bagging the Big One

Writer/Pencils/Colors: Ken Penders

I think this is the first time we've ever had a story where all the work was done by one individual. Unfortunately, that individual happens to be Penders, who has decided to take the laziest approach to his work possible. Seriously - the backgrounds for the majority of the panels are photos of real world landscapes, onto which the comic characters are awkwardly superimposed, making them look incredibly out of place. It's all just… really, really bad. I went ahead and chose some choice panels that demonstrate just how bad it is so y'all can see for yourselves!

Anyway, remember Charmy the Bee? You might not, since he's been ignored by the comic for so long by now, but he still exists, I can assure you! You might also not remember that he's a freaking prince engaged to another bee called Saffron, because Ken Penders is insane. Charmy and Saffron are lounging in a photograph of a field talking about their future children (YES, REALLY) when a flash of light interrupts them and Green Knuckles approaches them. They're surprised at his color swap, and as Charmy introduces him to Saffron, we see the three of them through a set of crosshairs from afar. Yes, that's right, Nack and Nic have tracked Knuckles to this spot with the information the Albion council provided them. Nic wants to take Knuckles down immediately, but Nack admonishes her for not playing dirty enough, and leaves her to her sniper's perch as he approaches the trio. Knuckles, meanwhile, is explaining his new look, as well as the disappearance of the Floating Island.

This next part drives me nuts, because Nack concocts some story about his aircraft breaking down and needing help repairing it, and Knuckles does not suspect a thing, even though he first saw (and punched) him all the way back during the Sonic Triple Trouble special! Granted, it's not like he ever exchanged direct words with him, and I guess you could say it's been years and he's forgotten or something, but you'd think someone who's supposedly as smart as Knuckles would recognize the face of someone he punched off his island previously. Anyway, Knuckles tries to brush Nack off, saying he doesn't have time to help, and in response Nack makes the very smart decision to throw a knife into the grass at Knuckles' feet where he could easily grab it if he wants to. Knuckles does just that, but then listens as Nack informs him that his partner has Charmy and Saffron in her sights and that Knuckles will come with him if he wants his friends to live. Knuckles reluctantly does so, and as they walk over to Nic, Nack reveals that he knows that Knuckles is the Guardian. This shocks Knuckles, who wonders how he even knows about that in the first place, and then we come to perhaps one of my least favorite pages in the entire comic, for a variety of reasons.

First of all - stop with the photo backgrounds, Penders, they look horribly out of place and incredibly ugly. Second of all, the actual art is awkward-looking as hell - for one, Knuckles just looks like he's amiably offering up his wrists for the handcuffs instead of seeming shocked. Third of all, Gala-Na, instead of being reasonable about the whole thing, has again shown herself to be a horrible person. Again, if she just took the time to try to reason with Knuckles, talk to him, offer him advice and help him with his newfound powers, he would probably listen, because he's confused and scared and in want of guidance from people who know more about this stuff than he does! But no, instead she's decided to lock him into a Chaos Syphon against his will, acting like it's some difficult decision for her to make when she's not the one who has to deal with the consequences on her very life and being.

And finally, we come to Yanar. To the image of Yanar, whom Athair once considered so close as to be his own son, whom Knuckles trusted and helped to reach his final destination after generations of wandering without a purpose, who has acted as an ally and even a friend before this moment - Yanar, handing over payment to Nic and Nack the Weasels, in exchange for helping them capture Knuckles to drain him of his power for Gala-Na's own peace of mind. Handing over the payment and ignoring the shocked and betrayed Knuckles behind him, turning his back quite literally on the one person who helped him and all of his people find their home after so long. He's decided that he likes his new home so much that he'll even betray the one who helped him get there. This was the exact moment I realized I hated Yanar. Even more than Gala-Na, I hate him. At least Gala-Na has the excuse of not being attached to Knuckles personally. If you ask me, Knuckles doesn’t show nearly enough anger, hurt, and betrayal from this event. Way to follow in the footsteps of your adoptive father Athair, asshole. You know, the one who actually cares about his family even though so many of them have turned their backs on him? What a complete piece of garbage. Sorry, I know this isn't actually even commentary on the quality of the comic and it's just me personally being all salty at the actions of one character, but I feel really strongly about this one. Just… screw you, Yanar.

#nala reads archie sonic preboot #archie sonic #archie sonic preboot #sonic the hedgehog #sth 93 #writer: karl bollers #writer: ken penders #pencils: james fry #pencils: ken penders #colors: frank gagliardo #colors: ken penders

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ettadunham · 5 years ago

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A Buffy rewatch 6x04 Flooded

aka doubling down and not paying rent

Welcome to this dailyish text post series where I will rewatch an episode of Buffy and go on an impromptu rant about it for an hour. Is it about one hyperspecific thing or twenty observations? 10 or 3k words? You don’t know! I don’t know!!! In this house we don’t know things.

And today’s lukewarm take is that Willow and Tara should be paying rent, and Anya has a point. About everything.

(Okay, so I think that the Save draft button is actually broken on this website? Luckily I only got into a few paragraphs this time around, but I can’t believe that I’ll need to write out these posts in Word now. What’s next? Spellchecking? Proofreading? Planning and thought? Give me a break.)

Flooded among many other things is the first appearance of the Trio, our supposed Big Bad of the season, and… can I just say… I hate them so fucking much. Like, they truly and honestly make my skin crawl.

Of course, Warren is the worst of them, as we see even now, but they all joke about rape at least three times in this episode alone? And I’m calling those “jokes”, because the show is playing it for a comedic effect, as part of their ridiculous supervillain fantasy, which only makes it all worse.

On the other hand, I also kind of appreciate that these guys are our villains. Villains, who we will actually see put these words to action later on, and it’ll be sufficiently horrifying and repulsing. Which would be especially effective for an audience member who laughed at those earlier scenes before.

Now, while I feel like in today’s society, most of us don’t need that reminder, as we already know all too well what these groups of entitled young men insecure in their own masculinity are capable of, and how easy it is to radicalize them… I can see the argument that this might still come as a shocking revelation to some and a chance at self-evaluation. For me though, seeing the Trio’s plans of hypnotizing Buffy and making her their “sex bunny” played as some ridiculous gag is almost worse than their attempted rape and ensuing murder of Katrina in Dead Things.

Almost.

Speaking of Big Bads, villains and uncomfortable rape analogies… Willow is really out there, waving a red flag in Giles’ face now, huh. Giles blows off at her, sure. (And with good reason if we’re being honest.) But Willow threatens him. Giles’ face is a mix of a lot of things, but one of them is caution, and maybe even a bit of fear. He knows all too well where Willow could be headed.

(And then he just fucks right off to England without even leaving a note like “PS: Keep an eye on Willow, and don’t let her murder anyone. Unless it’s Warren. That bloke had it coming.”)

It’s not all bad though. Willow tries to support Buffy after her failed loan, and makes some terrible attempts to piss her off, just to make her feel something. Except that part of Willow’s concern for Buffy also comes from her unexamined guilt, and it only puts more pressure on Buffy to try and pretend that she’s fine in front of her friends.

Buffy is exhausted, and she tells Spike as much. She also asks why he’s always there when she’s miserable, which… girl… that’s called stalking. That’s why he’s always there when you’re alone and miserable. He’s been stalking you for a season now, and hasn’t even been subtle about it.

But for better or worse, it’s what Buffy needs right now. Not the stalking, but someone who she doesn’t feel any pressure with to pretend like she’s okay. Like she’s the old Buffy from before.

Previously with After Life, Buffy was asking for Giles and talked about missing him. Then, I commented that she might be thinking of him as someone that she could confide in. I think that that may still hold up, although it appears that once Giles is actually there, Buffy quickly assumes the same pretend position with him as the rest of the gang.

(Plus she already relieved that burden off her chest with Spike.)

It’s hard to explain Buffy’s logic here, because it’s something that I feel with her, rather than have the words to describe it. Part of it is surely that Buffy wants to protect her friends from the truth, but it’s also part of a larger narrative that she surrounded herself with. She also knows that she’s not the same, and that her friends noticed it. But if she doesn’t talk to them about it, that leaves her space to ignore it, ignore her trauma, her detachment, just as she’s trying to ignore her financial issues.

It’s classic self-sabotage and depression. At that stage where you don’t even want to admit that you have depression, because that implies that something’s wrong with you. And we are just not going to deal with that. Quick, let’s self-depreciate and make a joke about burning down the house for insurance.

Of course those financial issues would be better if someone paid rent for living there for potentially over 4 months now. Or at the very least had a discussion with Buffy about whether or not they should still live there.

Yes, we circled back to Willow again, but also Tara. This is certainly not a new hot take, but it is sort of baffling that these two don’t seem to contribute anything to Buffy’s financial situation despite living in her damn house. I get that most of Joyce’s insurance money just about covered the medical bills, but they also comment about the cost of living and… Those costs should have been covered by the adults living in the house, not by a finite and apparently very little amount of money Joyce left her daughters??

You definitely get the idea that the gang, and specifically Willow and Tara in this case, had absolutely no plans whatsoever beyond bringing Buffy back. They apparently expected Buffy to magically solve those finance issues when she was brought back, instead of… you know… thinking ahead about the teenager in the house, whose well-being they moved in for, I assume.

I initially was also just somewhat confused by the fact that they thought that pretending that Buffy was still alive was better than sending Dawn to live with her dad… But this rewatch reminded me that Hank Summers absolutely can’t be trusted to actually take in his own daughter, and Buffy even says so in an episode in season 5. They actually worry about how Dawn might be put into foster care if Buffy’s deemed unreliable as a guardian.

So, alright, I get it, they hoped that they could bring Buffy back anyway, but I can’t believe that apparently they didn’t even pay the bills out of their own pockets? They’re college students, sure, and that Tara obviously won’t get support from her family… But maybe, you know, take on a part-time job? And what about Willow’s family? Weird as a relationship she has with her parents, it’s still a relationship, so she could probably explain that she needs money to pay rent.

It’s just baffling. Even more so the fact that none of this is ever addressed, and Buffy keeps making increasingly sarcastic remarks about how everyone’s living in her house. Which points to her, Willow and Tara never having a discussion about whether or not they should move out or stay, now that she’s back.

On the other hand, there’s Dawn, and having three adults parenting her is probably better for now. Especially when she wants to do the research with them. Tara’s face is entirely too smug when Dawn opens a book despite her mom efforts, and is immediately greeted with some weird demon horn penis shit, or whatever.

(Which also reminds me of a s7 scene, where Dawn is having a slow epiphany of what Willow’s TMI involving tongue piercings imply, and Buffy’s like “Dawn needs to do a research thing!” How the turntables.)

Arguably the most reasonable person in this whole bunch is Anya though. When she proposes that Buffy should be charging for saving lives, everyone boos her. But you know what, that’s just a load of crap. And not just because that’s the entire premise of Angel the series.

Maybe there’s an idea here about how altruism can’t be done for profit, but if that’s the intention, then I’m once again calling bullshit. Apparently you either have a 9 to 5 job in order to pay the bills, and have food to eat – after which you’re happy to watch one (1) episode of television and write a nonsense text post about it, and definitely not go out to save the world if you also want to sleep. OR you can do the whole saving the world thing but also starve and lose your house to debt, I guess.

(The Spider-man comparison is also just weak, man. Peter Parker is a high school student for most of his stories. He has an aunt to take care of his finances, just like Buffy didn’t have to worry about finances in high school either.)

This also comes right back to the whole idea of how the Watcher’s Council is paying Watchers but not Slayers. Like, you know what, Giles. You could actually take care of this.

After all, you’re the one getting paid for Buffy’s work.

Oh, and bless Anya too for calling out Xander’s stalling and bullshit about their engagement. She’s right and she should say it.

#buffy rewatch 2k19 #btvs talk #btvs

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butwhyduh · 6 years ago

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The Fall Festival

College Peter Parker x Reader

Warning: smut, danger, maybe language. Word count: 3300 Summary: just a normal day for Peter Parker full of a science club meeting, a hay ride, and rescuing the a bunch of people in front of his awesome girlfriend. @thewackywriter

Peter Parker fucking loved fall. He also liked the pumpkin spiced food and the pretty fall scents girls wore. Peter liked the swirly leaves in the park. Mr. Delmar would sell pumpkin empanadas on Fridays in October and they were awesome. The Halloween decorations would spill out everywhere and Peter prided himself on having the best spider webs on the block, probably all of New York. What kind of Spider-Man would he be if he didnt?

But this year he had extra reasons to love fall. He was a freshman at ESU majoring in biophysics and minoring in photography. He wasn't too far from home and could hang out with Ned who went to Queens College and obviously majored in computer science.

And finally, Peter had a girlfriend. He couldn't believe that he found a girl that liked him back. Liz was a disaster and MJ ended up with her coming out gay to Peter after he kissed her. It was horrible. Even though she was really nice about it.

But then he met you at an event at college. He couldn't help but stare at you from across the room. It was pretty unforgettable how you first saw him. It was at the end of the event and he tried to grab a donut beside you and instead you turned around and your foam coffee cup was crushed against his chest. Peter ripped his soaked steaming hot t shirt off right away.

Your eyes widened at his fit form. Woah, he was a nerd with those abs? You quickly looked away and flushed. Peter noticed of course. Instead of asking you out, he turned brick red and basically ran out of the room.

It was a week later, you finally had enough of his eyes on you but never talking to you. You walked up to Peter, who dropped his pen on the floor in the library, and asked him out. He barely stuttered out a yes. A month later you were now officially dating.

You had your hand in Peter's as you walked into the student union building. The science club was meeting and Peter had talked you into going. You sat in one of the last stools in the room. Peter stood behind you with his head on your shoulder. You ran a hand through his hair as the group began. Peter hummed as you scratched his scalp.

Normally Peter was involved but today he was distracted by the smell of your hair, the softness of your sweater, and the way you were scratching his head. He resisted the urge to kiss your neck. You gently tugged at his hair and he stifled a moan.

"Peter, do you agree?" You asked him. He shook out of his thoughts.

"With what?"

"Study group for genetics?" You asked smiling. Peter had been day dreaming. Peter turned red again and nodded in agreement. You noticed he softly gazed at you the rest of the meeting. You tried to pay attention but those soft doe brown eyes were hard to ignore. Especially looking at you like that.

"Hey Pete, what was that? In the meeting. You kept looking at me?" You reminded him. He adjusted his back pack before grabbing yours. You would complain but he always insisted. Plus he was freaky strong. You saw him pick up the corner of a fridge once to get something from under it.

"You...ah.. you look really pretty today," he said. You smiled at him. Sometimes he was too good to be true. You pulled him to the side of the hallway as the meeting room cleared out.

"You're the sweetest boyfriend," you said pulling his collar until he was face level. He grinned at you before lightly placing his lips on yours. You deepened the kiss and Peter practically melted in your arms. He groaned when you bit his lip.

Peter quickly pulled away and adjusted his pants before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the door. You smirked at the thought that you had affected him so. Peter slowed down after a minute and stopped in front of the bulletin board.

"Hey, they're having a haunted hay ride tonight. Do you want to go?" Peter asked excited. You felt nervous. You hadn't ever gone on one. "Come on. Lets go on a hay ride."

You felt his big brown eyes persuade you. "Okay, fine. Don't make me regret this."

You pulled Peter to your dorm room. You needed to study. Plus, you kinda left him in a state. Peter was sweet but too nice and you had to take care of him because he would never ask. He tossed the back pack on your bean bag chair and sat on your bed. You basically pounced him.You straddled him and pulled his beanie and jacket off. "Woah." He ran his hands on your outer thighs. You kissed him deeply and soon you felt his arousal on your thigh.

You pulled his t shirt off and stripped your own top off. Peter gripped your hips tightly as you kissed his neck. He softly panted as you sucked a hickie on his collar bone. His eyes closed and his hands grasped at your bottom.

You lightly pushed at his chest for him to lay back. He flopped to the bed. His erection painfully tight in his pants. You unbuttoned and pulled them off. You shimmied out of your pants and panties. Peter tried to unclasp your bra and you helped him because he wasn't getting it.

You reached in your night stand for the box of condoms as Peter massaged your breasts. You opened the box to find it empty. Your head flopped down as you showed him the box in disappointment. He groaned.

"How are we out?" He whined.

"Uh.." you thought of the last time you had sex. It was after a basketball game and Peter actually took charge and pinned you against the headboard. You had mindless grabbed a condom from the box in the heat of the moment.

"We'll have to get creative," you said simply before bending and kissing his belly button. He shuttered at the sensation.

"Are you gonna?... oh my God," Peter said closing his eye tightly as you took him in your mouth. You were the first girl to go down on him and he still couldn't handle it. Peter began whining as you kitten licked the tip.

When you took him deep in your mouth he whimpered and grasped at the sheets. He was trying hard to not cum. You bobbed your head and his hips bucked softly. Peter panted heavily. Unbeknownst to you, his super senses were going crazy.

"I...I'm..." he gasped. You knew he was close the way he twitched. You softly ran a hand on his thigh as you took him deeper in your mouth. A panicked look flashed across his face and he made a strangled gasp as he came.

A knock at the door made you jump. Peter scrambled to put on his pants. You pulled your clothes on quickly and called, "just a minute." You looked at yourself in the mirror to make sure you didn't look crazy before opening a crack in the door. It was your RA.

"Don't forget that we have a haunted hay ride tonight," she said bubbly. She handed you an orange flyer with the info. You thanked her and shut the door.

Peter sat awkwardly on the bed. You smiled at him. "We should go. Oh, crap. Its almost time," you said looking at your phone.

Peter pulled his shirt on and nodded. "Yeah, okay. You don't want me to..." he trailed off. You grinned at him.

"Afterwards. We can stop at Walgreens on the way back," you whispered and winked. You grabbed your hoodie, okay Peter's, and pulled him to the subway.

Soon you arrived at the stop for the park the university was using for their hay ride. They had a food stand to buy hot chocolate and cider donuts. Kids ran around dressed as characters. Peter grinned largely at any superheroes.

You climbed on the hay ride next to Peter. He held your hand with one hand and wrapped his arm around your shoulder on the other. Soon the trailer was full of college kids and teenagers. A man dressed as a skeleton jumped on the front of the trailer dramatically.

"I'm going to take you to hell!" He began dramatically. An older woman looked at him sternly. "Not really, sorry Mrs Smith. Anyways I'm going to tell you all about the horrors of the park." She raised her eyebrows and he corrected, "the history of the park."

He began telling a story about a legend of the park as the trailer slowly drove down the gravel path dimly lit with Christmas lights around trees. You couldn't quite pay attention because of Peter's close proximity and your unfinished earlier activity.

"This bridge was built in 1904 by the city council because it was common for carriages to get stuck in the mud. During high river level that could be dangerous. So it's probably plenty haunted of people who drown," the guide whispered darkly. The trailer creaked over the bridge decorated with plastic bats and spiders.

"Tyler," Mrs Smith chided.

"Sorry, probably not super haunted. Not as haunted as our next spot that was an early medical facility. Which is also probably not haunted," he said after her look.

Peter suddenly sat straighter and looked around. His spidey senses were tingling. A loud clangour and then screech came from the bridge where the truck and trailer behind them was. Peter jumped from the trailer, grabbed his web shooters and mask from his back pack, and hoped you didn't see him swing through the trees. You definitely saw him. Your blood stopped in confusion and fear. The bridge wiggled visibly. People on the trailer shreiked.

"Karen, what's wrong?" Peter asked.

"Bolts on the top left of the northern side of the bridge are compromised. A 45% chance of collapse," Karen said. Peter cautiously swung close to the side. Ancient metal flaked gold rust.

"Jesus, has anyone ever updated this bridge?" Peter asked himself. He began webbing the broken bolts together. Above him the driver of the truck tried to drive forward. A bolt on the right side snapped loudly and the bridge began to lean the opposite direction.

"There is now an 85% chance of collapse. You need to get them off the bridge, Peter," Karen warned.

"On it," He yelped swinging to the other side. Peter webbed the bolts together. "Drive," he yelled at the driver. The man nodded before flooring the truck. The bridge groaned but held as it drove over. The bridge creaked and whined as it shook. Peter quickly swung away from it and into a tree. In a deafening groan, the bridge collapsed into the river below.

Peter climbed high in the tree to avoid being seen. He pulled off the mask and web shooter and shoved them in his pockets. The police began to arrive and Peter weaved his way through the crowd to you. He prayed that somehow you wouldn't notice his lack of presence.

You searched for him in the crowd. Peter was Spider-Man. Peter was Spider-Man, your mind kept repeating. You lost sight of him as the bridge collapsed. Suddenly you saw him searching for you in the crowd. You ran to him and hugged his roughly.

"You're okay," you gasped. He wrapped his arms around you. You pulled back. "Peter, we need to talk. Not here."

"Uhh.. w-why?" He asked nervously.

"You know," you said seriously. He visibly gulped and looked at you warily. You refused to let go of his hand as you left the growing crowd.

Back at his dorm you sat on the edge of his bed. He stood nearby awkwardly running his hands along the edge of his sweater. The room felt incredibly silent.

"So... you're Spider-Man?" You began.

"Uh... yeah..."

"How? How can you do that... stuff?" You asked confused. He was very strong, you knew. But a superhero? Your boyfriend?

"Well... uh... I was uh.. bit by a spider," he mumbled running a hand through his hair.

"A spider? What kind of spider? Are you messing with me?" You asked.

"No, no, I'm not. At Oscorp I was bit by a radioactive spider that changed my DNA," he said biting his lip. "And now I can do stuff. Don't tell anyone."

"That's... crazy. How long? What can you do? Did you really fight captain America?" You asked rapidly. He smiled slightly.

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Uh... I worry about you. But its... its actually kinda hot," you said slyly. Peter's eyes widened.

"It... uh... it is?" He said quickly. You nodded.

"Too bad we didn't stop at the store," you mumbled.

"I'll go right now. If.. If you want," he said eagerly. You laughed.

"Uh, yeah. Sure," you flushed. He grabbed your face and kissed you before running out the door. You grinned at the thought. Now what should you do? Take everything off? Take some things off? Put on his clothing? Do nothing?

You turned on his radio and walked the room. There were subtle clues to Spider-Man everywhere. He had a photo of a spider on his bulletin board and what looked like a blue print of an iron man armor. A newspaper claiming the evils of Spider-Man sat on the desk. His genetics textbook sat on top despite him taking the class the year before.

Peter came back lightning fast. His face pink and his hands clutching a small bag. He dropped the bag on the bed and walked behind you where you were looking at an old photo. Peter wrapped his arms around you.

"What are you looking at?" He said kissing your neck.

"Your graduation. You looked so happy," you smiled running a hand to his hair.

"I almost didn't make it on time. There was a bus that ran through traffic I barely stopped," he remembered. You turned to look at him.

"That's insane. You stopped it with your bare hands?" You said looking at his brown eyes in amazement. He blushed.

"Uh.. yeah, I did."

"That means you can lift a lot," you said with an idea. "There is... uh, something I want to try if that's okay..."

"What? What is it?" Peter asked.

"Can you pick me up when we.. you know," you said looking away.

"You want me to pick you up while having sex? I can do that," Peter said grabbing the back of your legs and wrapping them around his waist. You gasped in surprise. Somehow between your earlier activities, the fear from earlier, and this new knowledge about Peter, you've never been more turned on.

You grabbed his face and began kissing him. Peter groaned as you lightly pulled his hair. He carried you to the bed and laid you down softly. Peter pulled off his shirt and you scrambled out of yours. He grasped the buttons on your jeans and pulled them down. You unbuttoned his pants and pulled them off. Peter quickly yanked his boxers down and then your panties.

You grasped him and rubbed your thumb over his tip as you pumped him. He groaned in your hand. He ran a finger up your slit and rubbed a few circles around your clit before pulling his hand away. You moaned slightly. Peter pulled your hand from his cock and moved to grab a condom. You ran your hand between your legs and began circling your aching clit.

"Woah," he said when he was done rolling the condom on. "That's so hot. Like, wow."

You pinched a nipple between the fingers of your other hand. Your hips rocked as you fucked your fingers. Peter gulped and massaged himself while watching. You pulled your fingers from yourself and put it in your mouth and tasted yourself. He had never seen you do that.

"God, you're fucking beautiful," he groaned. You gave him a come hither motion and he practically hopped across the room. "Do you want me to pick you up? Like- like you said," he stuttered. You nodded.

He wrapped his arms around your bottom ad you grasped his shoulders as he pulled you up. You felt his arousal on your thigh. You kissed him, running your tongue in his mouth to massage his. Your hips ground on him and his hips jumped at the contact.

Peter pulled your hips slightly back and guided you on his length. Nether of you had ever tried this before. You stilled at the sensation. He felt so good in you. Finally you took him deep as you could and began grinding on him again. You could tell Peter wanted more but this position was perfect for rubbing your clit again him.

"Bounce, baby. Please," he finally whined. You began thrusting slowly. His hands deeply massaged your ass cheeks. You groaned as he hit the perfect spot inside you. Every once in a while you swirled your hips and Peter would whine softly. Peter tried to let you control, and you clenched around him felt amazing, but he needed more so he began moving your hips for you setting a harder and faster pace.

You felt your core tighten as you got closer. "Peter, fuck, Peter, fuck," you moaned as he bounced you on his cock. He got a perfect view of your head thrown back and tits bouncing. "Don't stop, it feels so good."

"Yeah, you're so fucking tight and wet. Gonna make me cum, baby girl," he groaned. You gasped in surprise. Peter had never said anything like that. He opened his eyes and slowed down to see what was wrong. "What?"

"Don't fucking stop. I'm close. Keep talking," you groaned as your hips bounced. He growled and continued bouncing you.

"So tight. Such a perfect pussy. Taking it so good. God, I love you," He whimpered lying his head on your shoulder. He was trembling trying not to come.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. dontstop. I'm gonna cum. Gonna cum. Gonnacum," you gasped and your body clenched around his cock and you moaned loudly in ecstasy and your thighs shook. He sped up before losing his pace and he gasped loudly in release, his cock twitching inside you. You kept your legs wrapped around him. His chest beat wildly next to yours. Too soon he laid you on the bed and removed the condom and threw it away. He scooted by you and pulled you on his chest. You lazily ran your fingers on his hand. He rubbed your outer arm with the thumb of his other hand.

"That was... I thought... it was... that was great. Did you-did you think so," he babbled nervously. You smiled.

"Babe, that was awesome. We should definitely do that again. Next week I get my loan and I'll be going to the doctor," you said.

"Oh, for like a check up?" He asked.

"Yeah, and I'm gonna get on birth control," you said casually. Peter stopped moving.

"Does that mean no more condoms?" He asked hopefully. You laughed heartily.

"Yeah, hun, it does. We've got a little while for it to work and everything. You know what we should do?" You asked.

"I'm a... a little to tired-" Peter began.

"Not that. We should get a pumpkin," you said sitting up. You reached over for your clothing and began putting them on. "You know? since we missed it with my boyfriend having to save the day and all. I wanted to get one today."

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raendown · 6 years ago

Link

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 2531 Soulmate au: The one where you have a spirit animal only you can see that will lead you to your soulmate

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI in the blog header!

Chapter 178: Madara/Tobirama

Tobirama’s animal guide was a cat, a lazy good for nothing smug little shit that lounged on the furniture and watched him with eyes that always seemed to mock him for something he could never figure out. It was pretty to look at, he wouldn’t deny that, all white and gold and almost translucent. Beauty did not make up for the annoyance of that mocking stare, though.

Hashirama laughed and told him he deserved it. Tobirama left spiders under his pillow again.

Resisting the urge to follow his spirit animal wasn’t a problem for him like it was for others since his stupid cat never actually tried to go anywhere. No matter how many times Touka explained that it probably meant his other half was supposed to find him Tobirama remained certain that his cat was just lazy. How could he, of all people, be meant to sit and wait? That wasn’t his style at all. If he had a question he had always been the sort of person to ask questions or go find the answer himself. Waiting was boring.

It was boredom that chased him out of the house and in to the forest when he was ten years old, irritation that made him flop down on the bank of the Naka River to scowl at his dumb spirit guide. The cat only yawned and licked its chops without care.

Only when a massive glowing snow leopard burst from the trees did his guide finally move, leaping to its feet just in time for the two beasts to crash together in a glittering explosion of light fragments. For a few moments during which he stood in shocked silence Tobirama could only think that of course he finally got to see the damn thing move quickly only to have it disappear for good. Then his brain finally caught up with him and he realized why, precisely, the thing must have disappeared.

Tobirama hated that stupid cat even more when he found out that his soulmate was an Uchiha, a loud-mouthed brat barely older than himself and only half as mature. It was hate at first sight and he felt absolutely no remorse for dunking the idiot in to fast moving currents before dashing off towards home. He could hardly believe his own bad luck to have matched with such a crappy soulmate.

Not that it stopped him from quietly checking the riverbank every chance he had thereafter.

It took a week before Hashirama suddenly looked around the room with the expression of one who’d had a revelation.

“How come I haven’t seen any of your stuff knocked off the walls in a while? Is your guide okay?” he asked. Tobirama eyed the spot where that damn glowing cat, visible only to himself, had spent most of its time lounging.

“Gone,” he grunted.

“Wha–!? But then – so you’ve met your soulmate! Who is it?”

Tobirama scowled and ducked his chin down to concentrate on the blades he was supposed to be cleaning. “Doesn’t matter. Can’t be together anyway.”

Matching with an enemy wasn’t exactly unheard of and his brother may have been an idiot but he wasn’t stupid. Hashirama was quick to connect the dots, face drooping in to a sympathetic pout. Tobirama ignored him. He didn’t need a soulmate to be happy. In fact, he didn’t need anything that he didn’t already have. He would be perfectly happy spending his life in support of his elder brother.

And yet, when the moon rose high and Hashirama had fallen asleep across the foot of his bed, Tobirama snuck out of his room and ran to the river, his heart hoping for something that his head told him would never be possible. He spent the night alone.

He was fifteen when they met again, dangling his toes in the water and trying to decide how he felt about the news his father had given them. Most shinobi died in battle. Not many lived long enough to gather their children and coldly explain the sickness raging through the body. Cancer, he had called it. Tobirama wasn’t sure what to think about the whole thing.

Was he supposed to mourn the impending loss of a man he’d never truly loved?

The sound of a snapping limb caught his attention just in time for him to hear an indignant yelp and witness his errant soulmate plunge out an overhanging tree in to the river. When Madara resurfaced Tobirama was howling with laughter, clutching his stomach as he rolled on the ground.

“It isn’t funny! Aren’t you supposed to be a sensor? You suck! I got so close to you because you suck!” On and on he railed but all Tobirama did was continue to laugh. The fool looked like nothing so much as a damsel in distress with all that hair plastered to him and a lily pad clinging just behind one ear. It was an unexpected brightness in a day he expected to be filled with nothing more than morose introspection.

“Aren’t you a sensor too? You know I have to be infusing chakra to feel anything.” Tobirama tilted his head to admire the disaster in front of him from a better angle.

Madara screeched but didn’t deny it and that small triumph would have been enough on its own to lift his mood. Riding the waves of that uplifting win, Tobirama spent the next hour dodging verbal barbs and lounging much like his cat used to, comfortable where he was sprawled out across the rocks yet unwilling to question why he was so relaxed in the presence of someone he should have been trying to kill. He also chose not to wonder why Madara was not attacking in turn. If Hashirama was allowed to go through life with his head in the clouds then Tobirama should be allowed one day of letting things slide.

When they parted that day he swore to himself that something like this could not happen again. He’d had his fill of whatever it was his stupid heart was looking for but it had to stop now.

Half a week later he found himself fishing a broken tree branch out of the Naka River while Madara sulked that the evidence of his own stupidity hadn’t vanished on the current. Once more he told himself that it could not happen again and once more he knew he was lying.

Butsuma was dying. It was a cold fact, terrifying for all that he did not love the man. His father’s death meant change; it meant Hashirama taking over the clan before he was truly ready, before they were certain that the council of elders was ready to support him without thinking they could somehow control him. The politics of the situation promised to be a nightmare in the coming year.

And yet Tobirama had found a silver lining no one else in his quietly panicking clan was privy to.

In the summer sunshine Madara’s smile was a sweet thing, hard earned and beautiful in the quicksilver moments when they weren’t bickering over something. He did enjoy their frequent battles of wit but there was a different feeling to knowing that Madara was smiling for him, happy to be there with him, amused at something he had said. Long since given up on denying himself, Tobirama wondered if everyone else fell in love with their soulmates this quickly. Barely more than a year had passed since they began meeting regularly and already it felt as though he had known Madara for a lifetime.

Surrender and selfishness, he had discovered, tasted like freedom. Dangerous and addictive. Time with Madara was stolen from things he should have been doing like training or helping Hashirama read through the clan records in search of some useless nugget of information to back up some unimportant argument. He did do the important things still, of course. Madara couldn’t be his whole life. Yet for all the hours he spent acting the perfect Senju son, at least half of them were abuzz with thoughts of how long Madara’s hair was getting and how much he wanted to braid it through with flowers just to mock him for looking like a girl. Softness between them was always offset with something else, afraid of facing the truth hidden in their words.

Although it was possible that reason was only on his part. Tobirama watched Madara from the corner of his eye, listening to him ramble on about something annoying Izuna had done and the sweet revenge of dunking him in the koi pond. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know if Madara felt the same longing that he did.

They could never truly be together, after all. What would be the point?

Autumn had covered the riverbank with a dewy blanket of colorful leaves the evening they first kissed. Tobirama choked on the lecture he’d been giving his soulmate on why it was stupid not to wear armor in battle, fingers tightening on the bandages they were tying around a bloodied arm. They broke apart when the action caused Madara to flinch.

“Oi! Careful of the goods!” he admonished. Tobirama blinked at him.

“You kissed me.”

“And you tried to take my arm off for it! See if I do it again!”

Tobirama flailed internally – and maybe a little bit externally as well. “What!? I never asked you to kiss me!”

“Good! I’m not gonna anymore!” Madara scrunched up his nose in a jeer and Tobirama felt his blood boiling, though it was hard to tell if he was angry or excited or some other strange emotion in between.

“Well – well – take this!”

Jerking forward before the other had a chance to dodge him, Tobirama crushed their mouths together again and poured everything he had in to a kiss that rather quickly turned much steamier than he had intended. All he’d been trying to do was make a point. What kind of point he had no idea as it was lost from his mind immediately when Madara’s teeth nipped at his lower lip.

Sixteen years old, feeling like he had stolen a bit of happiness just for his own, Tobirama held tight to the sleeve of Madara’s robes and promised himself that the world would have to make him let go.

“You’re not sad at all?” Madara asked for the eighth time. The very concept of not loving one’s own father seemed to baffle him, for all that he wasn’t exactly close to his own. Tobirama shrugged.

“No, we knew this day was coming. He was sick and now he’s dead. Hashirama will take his place and I will support him. There’s nothing to be sad about, really.” Uninterested in the conversation, Tobirama rather pointedly leaned over against his companion’s shoulder. Perhaps if he smiled the way Madara liked he might earn himself another kiss.

But no, instead his statement was met with a heavily exasperated sigh and a hand pushing him away. Tobirama narrowed his eyes. Separation simply wouldn’t do, not when he had spent the better part of an hour figuring out a distraction to keep Hashirama occupied so he could slip out to this meeting. After all that effort he deserved all the attention and contact he wanted. Or at least that was his opinion and, since he wasn’t often given to caring for other people’s opinion, his was the one that mattered the most.

Ignoring the protesting squawks from beside him, Tobirama dodged underneath the shoving arms and fell sideways until his upper body was cradled in Madara’s lap. He allowed himself a smug chuckle when he was not immediately flung across the clearing. Very few people could claim this level of familiarity with the boy underneath him and even fewer could get away with this unharmed. Other than himself there was probably only one other person who wouldn’t be risking death and that was only because Izuna was the last surviving sibling.

“Talk about something that isn’t boring,” he demanded. “I’m sick to death of talking about Butsuma.”

“Alright, how about we talk about your brother?” Madara huffed down at him.

“Ugh.”

“Why haven’t you told him about us? I understood when it was your father in charge but Hashirama would understand. You know damn well the first official thing he’s going to do is pitch the idea of a peace treaty.” Running fingers absently through Tobirama’s hair, Madara glared down at him, his expression in direct contrast with the gentleness of his touch.

Tobirama chewed on his lower lip. “But what’s the point of having one side behind us and not the other? You could never leave your clan – and I would never ask you to. So if there’s no chance that your father will see reason…”

“Hn. I see your point.”

Slowly sitting up again, Tobirama carefully balanced himself on one knee to throw the other one over his partner’s lap. When he had settled himself he leaned forward to wrap both arms around Madara’s neck and bury his face against the smooth skin there. Seventeen wasn’t very old in civilian terms but in shinobi years he was already approaching his prime. In this world they both understood that there were no guarantees that either of them would live to see tomorrow and yet what scared him the most was not the idea of dying, it was the idea of waiting out the rest of his life without Madara by his side.

When Madara began petting his hair again he hummed and burrowed deeper in protest of whatever the other was about to say.

“So…it’s going to be tough. And I can’t believe I’m about to say this but…my father won’t live forever either, you know?” Those words froze him in place but a hand cupping the back of his head kept his still as Madara went on. “If there’s no other options left then we play the long game. Some way, somehow, it might take years, but we’ll get to be together. Properly, I mean. When I’m clan Head we’ll make peace and we’ll build that village and then you and I? We’re gonna take the world by storm.”

Tobirama slowly opened his eyes, looking out at the world around them through the curtain of Madara’s wild hair, listening to the blood thunder in his ears.

“Sounds nice,” he admitted quietly.

“You’ll wait with me, right?”

“Forever,” Tobirama whispered. “For as long as it takes.”

Madara held him tighter and said nothing; they had already said everything they needed to. What they had was forbidden, it had gone from unwanted to the most precious part of their lives, and it was the biggest secret they had never told. It was something neither of them asked for but it was theirs and it was time they admitted they were willing to fight for it.

Some battles were fought with blood and steel. Others were fought with time and patience. Tobirama smiled to himself as he felt the tension draining out of his shoulders. If that was all it took then he was ready. He could be very patient.

#rae writes #soulmate collection #madatobi #madara #tobirama #hashirama #fanfiction

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ask-the-phan-site · 5 years ago

Text

Phan Cam: School Festival Day 2 of 2

WARNING: MAY CONTAIN PERSONA 5 ROYAL SPOILERS. PLUS, THE CHARACTERS MAY OR MAY NOT ALREADY KNOW WHAT HAPPENED IN THE GAME. ALSO IT CAN GET A BIT LONG.

>October 27

(ignore the time stamp on the picture)

>Shujin Academy, Aoyama-Itchome. The last day of the School Culture Festival.

Welcome to the Shujin Academy School Culture Festival!

Oracle: This is the last day, so whatever you wish to do, better do it now.

Queen: We also have Princess Crystal of Attilan (turns out we got it wrong the whole time) speaking today here to talk of the Inhumans in this school and pretty much all of Japan.

Joker: And at the end, we’ll be having a big dance party. So we hope you can... Get down.

Joker, Fox, Queen, Oracle, and Crow: Enjoy!

Yeesh! Can those smiles be anymore painful? Even to the people coming here?

>We were greeting the Joes which at this moment consisted of Tunnel Rat, Duke, Scarlet, Roadblock, Ripcord, Flint, Lady Jaye, Breaker, Shipwreck, and (I’m not sure if he’s a Joe now or not) Vincent Hauser, Duke’s younger brother.

Queen: You’re here?

We just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought we’d stop by and say hi.

Oracle: (unconvinced) I’m sure.

Alright, alright, we��ll come clean. We’re here because, well, there is an Inhuman here... Actually, a lot of them.

Queen: I promise you all they’re not any trouble.

It’s just a formality. A bunch of army guys and women appearing here. It will give them peace of mind.

Joker: The Avengers and the Future Avengers make everyone feel safe as well.

Crow: And a detective.

It never hurts to be sure.

That’s true. Even superheroes need help.

Fox: He has a point.

I’d rather that we just get this over with. If the Inhuman want to go, they can go.

Don’t be so negative. Some of these people have lived her their whole lives and they may not want to go with the princess.

Although, I’ve heard that Attilan is quite the sight. They may get curious.

Just have faith in them. You’ll see.

Are you sure about that? It’s kind of hard to ignore royalty.

????: Indeed it is. I know this all too well.

>We turn to see Own Burnett, or rather Principal Burnett, coming to us.

Duke: (smirking) Why’s that? Xanatos proved to be too much for you?

I wouldn’t say that. I just have great respect him... I just have some father issues.

Scarlet: I guess I can understand.

Owen: Anyway, I am glad that you all came. Please, enjoy the festivities while you are here.

Flint: We’ll do just that. Thank you.

Vincent: ...

Hmm...

>With that, the Joes come in.

Owen: I think Mr. Amamiya and Ms. Niijima have done enough for now. We can begin that meeting you requested.

Queen: Very well.

Crow: We’ll handle things here without you for now. Good luck.

>With that, we go with Owen to his office. The student council president was waiting for us there. Let’s call him Sugi Meishu.

Owen: So, what is on your mind?

Sugi: Well, for starters, why is David Xanatos’s former assistant doing here?

Owen: If you must know, now that I am no longer of Xanatos Enterprises, I am in need of new employment. However, thanks to a book I read, I thought I could try my luck here in Japan.

Queen: Really? What kind of book?

>Owen takes a tablet out of his desk. He shows us what on it.

I see.

I’ve read that. Not sure what to make of it, though, it did give me a lot of Knowledge and Guts. Maybe even a little Kindness, too.

Owen: Glad to hear of it.

Sugi: I could never understand it.

Owen: However, my time as your principal is limited until they can find a more permanent one. They wanted to see if someone from over seas can safely run this school. Now they are convinced it can. However, they still wish for someone of Japanese origin to be here. But still, they were happy with the results.

Sugi: (a bit happy) That’s good to hear. I’m sure the school district would love to hear our opinions as well.

Owen: I will see to it that they do. Now off, I wish to speak to these two alone.

>With that, Sugi leaves. Now it’s just me, Queen, and Owen.

Owen: It was actually Master Alexander who suggested this book.

Queen: That’s good to hear.

Owen: Yes. I must admit, he knew for a awhile that something was happening here in Japan... Especially after your friend fell into that coma. And even before then, he knew.

Joker: Yes. But he’s awake now as you clearly see.

Owen: Yes... And Master Alexander didn’t have to do anything.

Queen: ... So he told you about the connection...

And that we’re the Phantom Thieves.

Owen: He told me about the connection, yes... But it was you who told me that you were the Phantom Thieves. Just now.

WHAT!?

Shit, I can’t believe we fell for that. That’s the oldest trick in the book.

Owen: I can assure you that you have nothing to fear. Master Alex has asked me no to reveal your identities and I see no reason to reveal them.

Queen: I just hope you are right.

Owen: Anyway, I must go and prepare the announcement.

Queen: What announcement?

Owen: In time. Now I believe you still have some guests to greet.

>We nod and leave.

>Back at the entrance, Fox and Oracle leave Crow alone to take a short break. Then, Crow spots his neighbors, Yushi, Hase, Akira, Isshiki, Akine, Ryu, and Furuhonya. Also with them are the ghosts, Mariko, Kuri, and Shiro the dog, the human yokai, Sato and Yamada, a man with an eye patch known as the Antiquary, and, invisible to everyone but them, a pair of disembodied hands known as Ruriko.

Once again!

Crow: (happy) I’m so glad you could be here.

You have Joutou’s student council president to thank. She decided for the last day that our school and Shujin join our two festivals for the last day... Though I wish not all of our neighbors came.

C’mon, Yushi, we never got to wear these uniforms the past two festivals. Now we have our chance.

Is this still too short?

I think it’s just right.

(I apologize for the next picture.)

Akine: It sort of does.

Mariko: I see nothing wrong with uniforms being short.

It’s a good thing you’re invisible to human eyes.

Not this time. Look a that wall there.

Seriously!? I thought they only did this in Shibuya.

I had a word with the people there. They thought about it and said, “Just this once.”

I’m also glad the Kuri can come with us this time. It’s nice to get him out of the apartment once and awhile.

...

*arf*

Yushi: By the way, I brought that package you told me about. It came in yesterday, but I already went to bed when you got home. Not sure why you wanted me to bring it here.

(taking the package) Just wanted to make sure.

>Then, five more people come up.

If you’re quite done talking, you’re holding up the line.

Sorry.

Now, now, Rui chan. It’s just a quick drop off.

Still, it’s hard tel believe that one of your neighbors, Yushi kun, is the Detective Prince himself.

Crow: (smiling) I’m honored to hear that.

Indeed. And from what I’ve heard... You must suffering so much with your mother gone and your father being a disgraced politician.

I take it you’re Haruka Aoki. Yushi san told me a lot about you.

Aoki: I am. And I just wanted to let you know that if you ever feel like crying, I’m always available.

I am very fine with how things are now, thank you very much.

(sarcastic) I see that.

Crow: My friends and my neighbors are all the best family I’ve ever had. And I am happy for that.

????: That’s the spirit, Akechi kun?

Seta sensei?

Good day, Akechi kun.

It’s good to see you.

I’d rather be going to the Culture Festival at Tokyo U with the others, but I guess this place will be great, too.

>Then, me, Queen, Fox, and Oracle return.

Joker: They keep saying that everyone is waiting to get in.

Yushin: Right. We better go in now.

Furuhonya: See you at the cosplay contest.

>With that, the group goes in.

Crow: Futaba chan, I know you need to get back to work, but can you check something for me, please?

Oracle: Is it something to do with that package?

Crow: Yes. It might be up your ally.

Queen: It’s alight, Futaba, we can handle things here for now.

Oracle: Thanks, you guys.

Crow: Let’s head over to 3-B. That class hasn’t come up with something, so it should be completely empty.

>With that, they leave... I’m curious, so I quickly take out my phone.

Hey, Mona. Can you do something for me?

What’s 👆, Ren? (👁🤔I'm getting better @ texting.)

Try not to use so many emojis next time. Anyway, I think Akechi and Futaba are doing something and I would like to know. Just in case. They’re at Class 3-B. Good luck.

I’m on it.

>Later at Class 3-B, Crow and Oracle sat the box down.

Oracle: What’ in here, Crow?

Crow: You’ll see.

>Crow opens the box and shows her what’s inside...

This... This is... How?

Crow: If you must know...

>Flashback. Sometme after Peter/Spider-Man got his body back and Otto Octavius/Doctor Octopus back in his. Otto awoke with a start... But he wasn’t in the hospital.

Wh- Where am I?

>Otto gets up and find that he’s in a cell. Worried, he goes to the bars and looks out.

>Then, the cell door opens and Otto goes out. Then, someone comes to him.

Welcome to the Velvet Room. This place exists between dreams and reality. Mind and matter. Life and death. Only those who have agreed to a sort of contract may enter here. Yet you, Otto Octavius, have not agreed to such a contract.

Otto: But then, how...

Lavenza: However, the Velvet Room is inseparable from the fate of those who come here. Nothing meaningless happens here...

So there must be a reason why one of our guests requested you come here.

Otto: (still a little confused) Requested? Here? Wait, how did I even get here?

Lavenza: You are here, and yet not here. Your body is still sound asleep in the real world. You are here in your dreams.

Otto: (getting it) I see. I guess that explains why I’m not groggy here.

????: Glad you’ve realized that.

>Then someone comes out of the shadows.

Thank you, Lavenza, I can take it from here.

Lavenza: Very well. (steps asaide)

Otto: (a bit surprised) Akechi?

Crow: You probably understand why I’ve called for you here.

Otto: You’re angry at me because I took Peter Parker’s body... Or rather, Spider-Man’s body and completely ruined his life.

Crow: So you know.

Otto: Yes... And that you and your friends are the Phantom Thieves that took my heart over a year ago. Being in Parker’s life helped me figure it out... But after what just happened, I don’t see any reason to reveal your secret. After all, I’m a villain. Who would believe me?

Crow: Glad to hear that.

Otto: Look, I understand what I did was wrong. I tried to be the hero Parker couldn’t, and I failed. Not to mention that you fell into a coma because of what I did. Believe me, if I could, I would turn back time and undo all of it.

Crow: But that won’t help at all. It won’t change the fact that you did do it.

Otto: Don’t you think I know that?

Crow: However, there’s nothing I can do either. I know that Peter wants you to have another chance to become the hero you can be. He’s seen your memories. About your father. So I will give you a another chance as well.

Otto: Well, I’m glad to hear that.

But for me, this is your last chance.

Otto: !

So let me give this one warning: If you ever do something like that ever again...

It’ll be the last thing you ever do. I’ll make sure of it.

Otto: (now a bit shaken)... Y- (a bit of a voice crack there) Yes.

Crow: (back to his cheerful self) Good. Glad we’re on the same page.

Lavenza: It appears you have gained full control of your once dark self.

Crow: Thanks. I’ve been working on it while I was in my coma. Just hope I don’t have to use it the next time we have a heist.

Lavenza: I doubt that. You may have to use it at times. But only when you really have to.

Crow: I’ll try. Now I just have to explain it to the others.

>Crow has now gained Black Mask Mode.

Tutorial

Crow can now use Black Mask Mode.

Black Mask Mode is similar to Orgia Mode. When Crow enters it, his costume will change to his Black Mask one and his attack power and Persona Skills will double for 3 turns. When it passes, Crow will revert to his regular form and will enter a cool down state for three turns which will cost him some HP and unable to act.

Once in Black Mask Mode, you cannot exit it. You must wait until it passes.

Otto: Still, I wish you could make it up to you. I’ve made you miss so much of your life already.

>Crow thought for a moment. Then, he spoke.

Crow: Well, this is one thing you could do.

Otto: What?

Crow: ... You know that costume you wore during your “experience”.

Otto: My Superior Spider-Man suit? What about it?

I would like to have it.

Otto: (a bit surprised) Are you serious?

Crow: I would like to have it as a reminder of what I just said.

Otto: ... Very well. If that’s what it takes to make up for what I did, I’ll send it to you.

Thank you.

>Suddenly, a ringing sound came.

Lavenza: It is time to return to the real world. Return and regain whatever rest you have left.

Otto: So... See you around? I promise next time I won’t fail you... Or destroy you... What ever you don’t like me doing to you.

Sure. Why not?

>Back in the present.

Oracle: I see. So you want me to check it just in case Doc Oct left behind any “nasty surprises”?

Crow: Pretty much.

Oracle: Well, alright. It should be a quick check up. I’ve always heard of stuff like this happening.

>After a few short minutes, Oracle was finished with her analysis.

Oracle: I’ve checked it. All good. I guess he even had it pressed. Though, some of the technology might still be usable. Including the spider arms.

Crow: That sound useful. How nice of Otto.

Hey, you should try it on.

Crow: Alright. Just to make sure it was worth the wait.

>So, Crow changes out of his fancy suit and into the costume.

Be brutally honest. How do I look?

It’s... It’s certain way different from the one Peter usually wears. The one he gave you.

But you have to admit, Otto does have some taste.

>Crow has received the Superior Spider-Man Costume.

Tutorial

Crow can now wear the Superior Spider-Man Costume. There are only two ways you can see him wear it. No matter which one you go by, Crow has to be wearing the Spider-Man Costume.

To see him wear it in field, go to a place that requires you to use a grappling hook or climb. Instead of a grappling hook, Crow will use Web Shooters. When climbing, Crow will use the costume’s robot spider arms.

To see him wear it in battle, simply enter Black Mask Mode. This, however, will not effect Crow in battle. When Black Mask Mode passes, Crow will return to his regular Spider-Man Costume until he enters Black Mask Mode again.

Crow: I see even the scanners working...

Since I’ve noticed two people spying on us.

>Oracle quickly turn to the door and saw Mona... and Vincent.

Oracle: How much did you hear?

Quite enough.

Vincent: ...

>Vincent quickly and quietly leaves.

Mona: I wonder what he’s up to?

Oracle: Anyway, I think we should tell the others.

Crow: I think it’s for the best that we do.

>With Vincent, he takes his phone out and begins typing something on it. Then, Duke arrives.

Duke: Is everything alright, Vince?

Vincent: (putting his phone away) It’s... It’s nothing. I’m just a little tired. Who would have thought a Japanese Culture Festival would be this much.

Duke: Maybe... Actually, you’ve been tired a lot these days. I’ve noticed you haven’t gotten much sleep.

Vincent: I’m fine. I’ll just go to the rest area. I’ll meet you up for the speech.

>With that, Vince leaves. Duke just stares, a little worried about his younger brother.

>Later, after Crow, Oracle, and Mona told us what happened with Otto, we were a little surprised. But we decided to let him keep the suit if that’s what he really wants. I just hope he knows what he’s doing.

>Later on, we finally finished greeting people coming to the festival for the day. Luckily, I have time before the speech, so I decide to check out the rest of the festival. So, after I changed back to my uniform, I check my phone to see if anyone wanted to spend it with me. I have three messages. One from Fox, one from my dad, and one from... Vincent Hauser. I decide to check Fox first. I wonder what my boyfriend would like to do?

Ren, I would like us to check on what the Art Club is doing. Can you come?

I’ll be there. I want to see, too.

Thank you. And there’s something I want to tell you. I would tell you over the phone, but I think I should tell you in person.

>With that, I go to the Art Room.

>At the Art Room, everyone is too preoccupied with Akira’s “art demonstration” (and his uniform). Fox is also watching until he notices me.

Ren, you’ve made it.

I’m here. So, what is it you want to talk about?

??????: You’ll see.

Aren’t you...

I’m a distant relative of Yusuke’s... But that’s not why I’m here and what he was going to tell you.

Fox: He’s right.

Joker: What is it?

Fox: Well, as you know, if I had a mother...

Then I must have a father.

Joker: (surprised) Are you serious?

Goemon: Yusuke’s mother entrusted me with his identity before she died. Since he’s almost finished with high school, I thought it was time to tell him the truth. His father is alive and well.

Joker: Why didn’t he come to find him after his mother died? I can understand why you didn’t come for him.

Fox: Goemon ojisan said he and my mother separated before learning she was pregnant. So I guess he doesn’t know I exist. The reason they left each other is because my father was still in his last year of high school when he met my mother who was his art teacher. At first, it was just tutoring because his grades in art were slipping. But as time went on, their relationship only grew until they ended up having romantic feelings for each other. They were only in bed with each other once. But not too long afterwards, the school found out and my mother was forced to quit her job so her student wouldn’t get expelled. He already had a promising future as a race car driver. Not too long after that, my mother found out she was pregnant with me. Since she had no job, she went to the only person left in her life. Her art teacher...

Madarame.

Joker: I see. And your father?

Goemon: There was a DNA test. The student is definitely Yusuke’s father. But she asked that he never find out. By the time Yusuke was born, he was already famous for winning his first race. And learning that he was a father at such a young age and with an older woman would only ruin his reputation. So, we kept quiet. But now that Yusuke’s a man, the time has come to tell him the truth.

Joker: Does your father know about you know?

Fox: No. But I suspect that he has to know sooner or later. My mother didn’t want him to know. Though, I suppose she wanted to tell him herself after learning he would take part in what is known as the World Race on Highway 35, but she never got the chance.

Joker: Yeah, you were only 3 when the race took place and your mother died around the same time. And I’m guessing Madarame wouldn’t tell him either so he could have you to himself... Or rather, your art talent.

Goemon: I would have done something about it, but you know I can’t actually return to Tokyo.

Fox: I understand. You were already wanted by the authorities and your enemies. I would only be put in danger.

Joker: What will you do now? Are you going to go looking for your dad?

Fox: Not right away. I still have to finish school. Maybe after. And...

Ren, I would like you to come with me.

Joker: Of course, Yusuke, you know I would do anything for you. And you would do the same. I’ll go with you to find your father.

Fox: Thank you, Ren. I know our love for each other is only fanmade, but thank you.

Goemon: That’s good to hear.

Joker: By the way, who is your father? We know he took part in the World Race. And he’s probably Japanese since he went to high school here.

Goemon: Technically, he’s Japanese American. He’s father insisted he go to school here. He’s... someone whose element opposes Yusuke’s.

Joker: That only narrows it down to one. You mean...

Goemon: Yes, Yusuke’s mother told me so... It’s Taro Kitano.

You weren’t kidding when you said he’s a famous racer.

Goemon: Yes. During the first World Race, he was the leader of the Scorchers. Two years later, he left to join Metal Maniacs. However, and this was off the record until recently, things happened and he decided that being in the Metal Maniacs wasn’t working out for him. So he left and returned to the Scorchers.

Joker: Yeah, I heard. He claimed that only left because “the Scorchers were lost without me”... But in reality, we all know he was the one who is lost without the Scorchers. And after a year with them he regained leadership. They’re now all living in Los Angeles, waiting for the the return of the World Race. Which is going to be very long since the secrets of Highway 35 is now lost after the race’s creator, Dr. Peter Tezla, passed away. Even his old assistant robot, Gig, doesn’t know how to open it. So these days, most of the racing teams that were involved in the World Race, including the Scorchers, are just entering smaller races and street races.

Fox: Of course, we’ve seen impossible things happen before.

Goemon: That’s true. Maybe the World Race will return. It’s only a matter of time.

Fox: For him, I hope so. I know he would probably love it.

Goemon: Speaking of time, I should be going. It’s only a matter of time before someone recognizes me and calls the police.

Joker: Right. Well, see ya... And one more thing.

Goemon: What’s that?

Tell my favorite cousin I said hi.

Goemon: (smiling a bit) I will.

>With that, he leaves.

Fox: (a bit surprised) Ren, I didn’t know you two were related.

Joker: Only in spirit. He knows that my Initial Persona and my Third Tier Persona are both based on his grandfather. So I like to play with the idea that we are family.

Fox: (laughing a bit) That’s actually quite clever.

Joker: Thanks.

Fox: Also, there’s something else I want to tell you.

Joker: What is it?

Fox: I’ve decided. After I’ve finished school...

I’m moving in with you at the cafe.

Are you serious? That’s... That’s wonderful.

Fox: Yes. I’m tired of having to only be with you once a week and holidays. I want to be with you always.

Joker: What about college?

Fox: We can still go. But I can no longer stay in the dorms and I don’t have enough for an apartment. And even if I did, it would just feel lonely without you.

Joker: I know. Mona said that he’s still trying to convince Ann’s parents to let her and him move in together now that he has a human form. Obvious they object to the idea, even Ann.

Akira: (who heard the whole thing after finishing his demonstration) That girl is definitely like her Persona. They are both free-loving spirits. Anyway, Akechi’s already spoken to Mona and he keeps telling him that he’s very welcome to move to our place which we would be happy with.

Joker: What did he say?

Akira: He said he’ll think about it. But I’m sure he’ll come around, but I doubt he’ll ever give up chasing that girl.

Fox: (laughing a bit) Good to hear somethings never change.

Joker: Anyway, I’m just so glad that we’ll be living together from now on.

Fox: And we didn’t even have to ask a magic counselor to do it.

It’s just us.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

>With that, we embrace in a passionate kiss. Everyone in the Art Room saw us and applauded us.

Joker: (finishing up) Speaking of fathers and family, I should check up on what my dad wanted.

>I check my phone.

Hey, Ren, I want to talk to you about something... It’s... It’s about Adi.

What is it?

We’ll tell you at the counselor’s office.

I’ll be there.

Fox: If you don’t mind, I would like to know what it is, as well.

If you don’t mind, Yusuke wants to come, too.

Alright. I think he might want to hear this too if he wants.

Joker: Let’s go.

Fox: Very well.

>At the counselor’s office, we meet with Dad and Adi.

You made it. You as well, Yusuke.

Fox: Yes.

Joker: What is it you wanted to tell me?

Well, you might want to sit down. This could be difficult to process.

>We sit.

Jonny: As you probably know about Ryuji’s relation to Makoto.

Yes, I know.

>Skull told us the whole story just after Crow awoke.

>Flashback. Crow’s hospital room. We were gathered around with Skull’s mother.

Years ago, when I was still a baby, Hydra had already begun workin' on what is known as the “Emerald Rain Project”. Makoto, or Hurricane, was born from it. But...

They can’t just make a body with nothin'.

Joker: What do you mean?

Skull: That power still needed a body to hold it in. They needed genetic makeup that could handle it. So they searched all the governments in world and they found him... Alexander Paine, my father. However, gettin’ a DNA sample was difficult since Paine already workin’ as a double agent. So they had to settle for the next best thing.

Mrs. Sakamoto: (no serious picture available) They wanted our son. It happened when I was coming in for what I thought was our yearly blood test. That took Ryu kun’s blood and mine. However, after the examined our blood... They saw my blood had much more potency then my son’s. So they took my blood instead.

They made someone from your blood.

Skull: Yes. They then combined it with the Emerald Rain...

and created Makoto.

Makoto was made from your mother? But, in a way, that would make him...

Yup, that would make Makoto... my biological younger brother.

>We were all quiet.

Skull: But we’re not gonna let it completely change our lives. We know that we’re related, but we’ll continue livin' our lives. But won’t be distancin’ ourselves. He’ll be visitin’ us a little more often, but his home is in New York with the Avengers and the Future Avengers.

Why are you telling us this now?

Skull: After what happened with Akechi, I think I should tell you now before somethin’ else happens.

>Back in the present.

Adi: I see. He told you.

Joker: He has... But what does this have to do with it?

Adi: I think... I think it was fate that me and Makoto know each other.

Joker: What do you mean?

Jonny: After seeing Adi perform the same trick you did at the club with the billiard table, I thought it was a bit odd. So I asked Tony Stark to do a check. When you were still a baby, your mother and I took you in for a blood test... The doctor who performed it was a Hydra agent.

Adi: The scientists then turned your blood into sperm and gave it to a female agent... The same one who bore me.

Fox: But if that’s true, that would mean...

No, it’s not possible.

Adi: This is why I asked you two to sit down. Ren Amamiya, a DNA test confirmed. You, in a biological sense... Are my father and I’m your son.

WHAT!?

(A little reminder, this is a fanmade timeline. In reality, there are no actual relations between certain characters... Other than the fact that they were either from ATLUS or share the same English voice actors.)

Adi: I’m sorry. I know this must come as a shock to you. You’ve already been though so much with your friends and don’t need anymore drama in your life.

Joker: I... I know. It’s just so much to absorb. Me? A father? I haven’t even graduated yet.

Adi: I’m not asking you to take me in. The Avengers already claimed that job. I just thought that you should know. And I also wanted to let you know that things don’t have to change because of this. I’ve learned that a hero known as Superman went though a similar situation as you do. However, instead of acknowledging Superboy as his son, they refer to each other as brothers. I don’t know if you’ll do the same with me, but I just wanted you to let you know.

Joker: ... I guess, I still need to time to think it over. But I guess it does mean that we’re related. I’m not sure if I’m ready to call you my son and me your father yet. But I guess I can consider you my brother for now. And maybe someday...

We would call ourselves parent and child.

Adi: You mean it?

Joker: We’ll see. But if you ever need anything, I'm right here.

Adi: ... (a little more happier) Thank you.

>I can feel Adi’s trust and happiness in me. I feel closer to him now.

I am thou, thou art I… Thou hast acquired a new vow.

It shall become the wings of rebellion that breaketh they chains of captivity.

With the birth of the Crossing Persona, I have obtained the winds of blessing that shall lead to freedom and new power…

Confidant: Codec

Arcana: Crossing (This Arcana is made up for this Confidant.)

Rank: 1

Ability: Technical Act

Adi will help Admin track down more Mementos targets no matter which Mementos it is.

Jonny: I’m glad we got this over with.

Joker: I know. But why would you help him try to talk to me? He can just come to me any time.

Jonny: I was the first person Adi told. In a way, that makes him my grandson, or rather, my son if what you say is true. I guess I just thought I could help him if this gets hard. You’re still a kid after all.

Joker: Actually, I just turned 18. I’m a man now.

Jonny: And a good man indeed. I’m proud of you, son.

Thanks, Dad.

>I can feel our bond getting stronger.

Rank Up!

Confidant: Chief

Arcana: Daylight

Rank: 3

Ability: Pass with Riding Colors

You will gain a higher score on your Driving Test.

Joker: Will you be staying for the speech?

Jonny: Why not? I better go, I promised your mother I’d show her how a haunted house works.

Adi: Yeah, they probably don’t have those on her homeworld.

>Dad laughs a bit and leaves.

Adi: He really seems like a good father.

Joker: He sure is.

Adi: Though I wish I knew.

Joker: Knew what?

Adi: If his last name is Argia... Why is your last name Amamiya? Is it your mother’s maiden name?

Joker: Technically...

It’s because I’m the nameless and silent protagonist of a video game where everything about me, including my name, personality, past, interests, and even my love life are decided by the player.

Adi: I... Guess that makes sense.

Fox: Ren, can I ask something?

Joker: What is it?

Fox: If you do decide to take up the role as Adi’s father...

Do you think he would mind two?

>I laugh. Adi can’t help but crack a smile, too. We then put our hands on each other’s shoulders.

Adi: Don’t worry, I have no problem with that.

Joker: By the way, what made you curious about who your father is?

Adi: Well, I know it sounds strange but... It came to me in a dream. I’ve been dreaming about you ever since... Since the second day of the Dream Festival... Since I heard you sing.

Joker: Me sing?

Adi: Yes. I think that’s what drove to pull that trick you did with the billiard table. I thought it was just a thought. But now I know. I think... I think we’re connected.

Joker: Connected? My song?

Fox: Ren?

>I think about it... I put the pieces together... And I finally get the picture.

I think I finally know how Ryuji ,Akechi, Harry, Peter, and all those other people became connected... And it’s not just because they share the same voice actors.

Adi: You know? Then tell us.

Joker: I’ll tell you... After the festival. Right now, I’ve still got one more person to check on.

>I check my phone.

You’re that guy who was with my brother, right? I want to talk to you.

About what?

I’ll tell you in person.

Alright, I’ll listen to what you have to say.

Thanks. I’ll meet you on the school rooftop.

Alright. BTW, what kind of icon is that?

... A falcon. I was originally going to use an eagle, but that sort of hurt. So I went with a falcon.

Adi: I would like to come, too. I have a feeling I know where this is going.

Fox: Same here. I’m coming, too.

>We nod and go to the roof.

>The school rooftop. The Gardening Club were showing the guests what they have been growing with Noir and Isshiki helping.

That’s amazing, Haru chan!

Thank you, Isshi kun.

>We then notice Vincent sitting at one of the desks nearby. Noir notices as well.

Noir: And on that note, that’s all we can demonstrate. Crystal HIme’s sppech will begin soon. But don’t worry, Tokyo University has an open exhibit every Saturday. We’ll see you then.

Isshiki: We will.

>With that, everyone leaves. Now it’s just me, Vincent, Fox, Adi, and Noir.

Joker: Let me guess, you’re here because you’ve been having weird dreams where you’re someone else.

Vincent: So it’s that obvious, huh?

It’s been going around, lately.

Adi: So, what can you tell us about your dream?

Vincent: Well, depending on what I’ve heard your friends said... Otto Octavius. Or should I say, Doctor Octopus.

Noir: You’ve been dreaming about him?

Vincent: Yes. And when he swapped bodies with Spider- Peter Parker, I started feeling weak.

Noir: I think that was from the swap. But I guess you’re better now that he and Peter are back in the own bodies.

Vincent: Yeah, I am. But it’s not just Doc Oct I’ve been dreaming about. I’ve also been dreaming about a version of Robin, a Planeteer, a grotesque version of Pinnochio, a young man scared of technology, another young man with two swords (though that one’s faint), a boy with a scar, a cloned agent, a shape-changing hero, a super fan of Ben Tennyson as well as Tennyson’s future son (I think), one of the 7D, a student who is also from New York, and bunch else.

Fox: But one of them stuck out the most, didn’t it. Which one?

Vincent: ... Yes... But I don’t think I’m ready to tell you. I need to know you’re legit.

Noir: What do you mean?

Vincent: I know that you’re the Phantom Thieves. Don’t ask how I know. Maybe it was because of the change of heart you gave me two years ago, maybe it was the connection. But don’t worry, Duke didn’t tell me. And if you want to know what I’ve been dreaming about, I need to know that you might be able to help.

Joker: With what?

>Suddenly, I sense something on the fence. We look up and someone comes down.

...

Snake Eyes san!? You’re here, too!?

????: Yes, my sensei thinks you might be able to help someone he knows.

>Another appears near him.

It’s... another Snake Eyes.

Adi: (puzzled) Another Snake Eyes?

Joker: Yes, there are other versions of you Joes.

Fox: And every version of Snake Eyes all know each other. Even before the connection.

Adi: How is that possible? They can’t even talk.

Snake Eyes: ...

Jinx: Just trust him. Actually, it’s someone the other Snake Eyes knows. He’s known as Lt. Stone. He and that Snake Eyes are part of a version of the team known as “Sigma 6″. I would tell you more, but Sensei insists that Snake Eyes tell you himself.

Noir: Are you serious?

Vincent: Just do this. If you do, then I’ll tell why the person I’m dreaming about got my attention.

Okay, we’ll do it.

Vincent: You will? ... Thanks.

Joker: Does Duke know about this?

Vincent: I think he’s a little preoccupied with connection dreams of his own. Something about a firefighter with a giant robot, the second Kid Flash, a squid boy, an anthropomorphic dog, an evil warrior, two young men in wheelchairs, a gay superhero, and a bunch of others I can’t even point out.

Adi: (a bit surprised) That must be a lot.

Announcement: Attention everyone! Our guest speaker will begin her speech soon. After that, we have our cosplay contest and dance party. If you wish to attend, please make your way to the gym. Thank you and we hope to see you all again at next year’s festival.

Noir: We better go, I don’t want to miss Crystal Hime’s speech.

Joker: And I entered the cosplay contest.

Jinx: Yeah, I read it in the program. It’s in three categories: Japanese High School, Halloween, and Superhero.

Joker: I’ve entered in Halloween.

Vincent: ... I’ve entered in... Superhero.

Jinx: (a bit puzzled) You entered?

Vincent: (frustrated) Roadblock and Ripcord conned me into it. It just happened.

>So, we went to the gym.

>in the gymnasium, everyone who is attending the festival gathered as Princess Crystal and President Sugi are on the stage.

Sugi: Attention everyone, Princess Crystal of Attilan is here to address everyone here. Both human and Inhuman. Alright, Crystal sama, the floor’s yours.

Thank you, President Meishu. (goes up to the podium) Students and staff of Shujin Academy, human, Inhuman, and otherwise, I have come to you this day, the last day of the School Culture Festival, to offer a chance on behalf of my brother-in-law, King Black Bolt, to come to settle in the Inhuman City of Attilan. Now keep in mind, this is your choice alone. I cannot make it for you. Nor can my sister, her husband, or the rest of my family. Since most of the world has already accepted you for who and what you are, but we would like to wish that you could come and experience life with other Inhumans. Of course, you are aloud to visit instead. And if you do wish to move to Attilan, do not be alarmed. You can visit Earth and your loved ones as many times as you like. No matter what species you are, whether you’re visiting or moving, you still need a passport. Our only wish is that we foster peace between us all. We only hope that you will give us your answers. Thank you. Now, does anyone have any questions?

>A lot of hands shoot up.

Princess Crystal: (unimpressed) Any questions that doesn’t talk about how cool my family is or if I’m seeing anyone.

>Some hands came down. Most of them were guys.

Princess Crystal: Yes, you there.

Inhuman Female Student: Yes, about moving to your city, can my boyfriend, my friend, and her boyfriend move in with me? They’re not Inhuman, but they do have powers. My boyfriend is a metahuman, my friend's a mutant, and her boyfriend’s a NEXT. Is that alright?

Princess Crystal: They might move in with you, though, I must caution your mutant friend. The Terrigen Mist we have with us is dangerous to her kind. She might get M-Pox. However, we have a friend who is a mutant scientist, Dr. Hank McCoy. I think he might work on something. And M-Pox has been proven to be treatable. So, yes, they can move in with you. Who else has a question? How about you?

Inhuman Male Teacher: How is the employment rate in your city? I’ve been a teacher for four years and I’m not about to quit just yet.

Pricness Crystal: You don’t need worry about that. If you still wish to teach, we have plenty of learning facilities to choose from. Of course, for other employment, well, we Inhuman do not use money much, but you can still work if you so desire. Most of the goods in Attilan are either given away or traded. Now anymore questions?

>Meanwhile, backstage...

She makes a compelling argument.

Are you thinking of taking up her offer?

Kei: That depends, will Makoto be coming with me? And my kaiju?

I guess I can go with. Just remember, we are still from Earth. But I’m happy wherever I am as long as the people I love are there... Especially you, Kei.

Kei: (smiling) That’s true.

>The two boys shared a short hug.

Princess Crystal: Well, that’s all the questions I can answer. Thank you for your time. Now I return you to your student council president.

Sugi: Thank you, Crystal sama. Now, for the cosplay contest! We have three categories: Japanese High School, Halloween, and Superhero. Now, could our contestants for Japanese High School, please come forward.

>The cosplayers come on stage. I could tell Mariko is the most excited as she’s hoping to win.

Mariko: (smirking) I’ve got this one in the bag.

Sugi: And the winner is... A late entry... Teddie Teddison?

Mariko: (shocked) WHAT!?

I’m so glad you all chose little ol’ moi. I haven’t been this honored at a school festival since Yasogami did its cross-dressing pageant. Thank you all!

Mariko: (angry) Why that little- I’ll have to find out where he’s staying and give him a good haunting.

Akine: (smiling threat) Do you want me to exorcise you?

Noir: How is Teddie san even here?

Mona: I invited him. Something about “us mascots sticking together”. Especially now I have a human form just like him. Way to go, Teddie senpai!

Sugi: Now, on to Halloween. Will the contestants please come forward?

>The cosplayers, including myself, come forward.

To set the record straight, I’m not Harry Potter.

>I notice that Panther is in the contest, too.

(This is as much of her costume as we’ll show to avoid being flagged.)

(whisper) Good luck, Ren.

(also whispering) You, too.

Sugi: And the winner is... Ann Takamaki!

>The audience cheered as Panther got her prize.

Thank you all!

Male Student: You go, Takamaki! That costume makes you look-

Don’t even go there.

Sugi: Now on to our final category. Will our Superheroes come up, please.

>The cosplayers come up. I see Crow still dressed like a Featherman.

Think what you like, this is the best I could come up with. And using anything webby would feel like cheating.

Female Student as Dragon Kid: (blushing) I don’t know what you mean, but you really look cool in that Featherman costume.

Sugi: And the winner is... Yest another late entry...

>A spotlight turns on... What the...

Duke: (shocked) Vince?

Sugi: (amazed) That is a real great costume! What are you?

Vincent: (thinking to himself) I can’t believe I’m doing this. Ripcord, Roadblock, you owe me. (out loud in a heroic voice) The name’s Stretch, leader of the Flex Fighters, and one of the stretchiest heroes in Charter City!

Sugi: Really? Like Plastic Man, Elongated Man, Mr. Fantastic, and Ms. Marvel?

Vincent: Those are his main powers.

Sugi: There you have it, everyone, our contest winner!

>Everyone applauded.

Sugi: Well, that it for the cosplay contest. We will begin our dance party and the closing ceremony shortly.

>Backstage.

Duke: Wow, Vince, I didn’t think you could do something like that.

(Vincent insisted we use this picture to remind us it’s not what you think)

(groans) Ripcord did the wig and Roadblock gave me the suit he had his grandmother made. They said, “If you can do this, we’ll get Tunnel Rat off my back about turning you guys in for a month.”

Ripcord: Actually, since you won, we’ll make it a year.

Duke: (unimpressed) So you’re saying you conned my brother into doing this.

Ripcord: Hey, it’s Tunnel Rat’s fault he still won’t let go.

Tunnel Rat: He has a point. I know you’re tired of hearing this, but... Seriously, Duke, your kid brother?

Duke: I already made it clear, he just wanted to protect our folks.

Vincent: Besides, isn’t getting my heart taken by the Phantom Thieves enough?

Tunnel Rat: ... I’ll get back to you on that.

(back in uniform) Tunnel Rat, a happy ball of sunshine, you are most definitely not.

Tunnel Rat: Tch. Whatever.

Sugi: Now, it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for. It’s time for the yearly...

Shujin After Party!

Eveyone: (cheering)

Sugi: We prepared a surprise event! Members of the dance group! C’mon!

Wait, that guy on the far left of the stage... Sakamoto senapi!?

Hey, guys! Betcha you didn’t see this comin’!

Vincent: (back in his regular clothes) You’re in idol, so we kind of did see this coming!

Sugi: Alright, everyone, dance against them like you want to win!

Violet: At times like this, you stand out if you’re the only one isn’t dancing. Let’s dance as well!

Looks like it’s show time!

>Before I knew it, Violet, Roadblock, and even Flint are dancing.

Flint: (looking nervously at Lady Jaye) What? It’s a catchy song.

Violet: (smiling) You’re good, senpai!

Sugi: Alright, now that the assembly’s gotten warmed up, let’s change the song! At a festival at JTB, he blew everyone’s minds, now let’s see him do it again! Let’s give a big welcome to...

Naomi Chiaki!

This should be interesting. Let’s see if Inaba was right.

>What happens next can only be described in this post by Bishonenlover☆.

Sugi: Thank you, Chiaki sensei!

Inhuman Male Student: I should totally transfer to JBT if I’m not going to the moon!

Sugi: And now for our last dance the the evening! So, will Sumire Yoshizawa come to the center of the dance floor!

Violet: (surprised) Me?

Sugi: Who better to dance the big finale than the one who killed it at Dream FES? And to make it better... Vincent kun will be dancing with you?

Vincent: (shocked) Me!?

Sugi: Right, that’s the prize for best Superhero cosplay. A dance with one of the school’s most popular students.

Vincent: I don’t have a choice, do I? ... Fine. But if I look ridiculous...

Violet: (reassuring) Don’t worry, I won’t let that happen. Now come on!

>Violet takes Vincent by the hand and drags him out to the dance floor... Is he blushing?

(Insert song: Colors Flying High)

>Then, I notice someone on a balcony... Guess Roxie Richter hasn’t learned her lesson from last time... But I don’t think we have to worry. At that moment, Snake Eyes, Jinx, and, who I can only guess is Storm Shadow, surround her.

You Arashikage trash better back off! This is between me and that slut down there.

As if we take orders from someone whose clan is as broken as yours.

Roxie Richter: Well sorry if I’m only Half-Ninja! Fine, I’m leaving. But this isn’t over!

>With that, she leaves... We really need to keep an eye out for her.

Violet: (finishing her dance) I have to say, you’re not so bad on your feet.

Vincent: (also finished) Well, playing football and my training at West Point made me quite nimble.

Violet: (a bit surprised) Oh, you’ve already started going there?

Vincent: Yeah, I got in on a football scholarship. They say I’m doing well and that I might have a place... with the Green Berets.

Violet: (smiling happily) That’s good to hear. I hope you make it.

Vincent: (blushing a bit) Th- Thanks.

Lady Jaye: (a little happy) Looks like Vince made a new friend.

Duke: (happy for his little brother) Yeah, I guess he did.

As long as he doesn’t try anything funny, I’m okay with it.

Duke: I take it you’re her dad.

Admin’s Notes

We don’t know much about how this works. Has anyone who graduated from West Point ever become a Green Beret? Please let us know at our sister page.

P.S. No, we’re not with Cobra or terrorists. We’re just making sure we haven’t made any mistakes.

Sugi: And now we come to the end of another School Festival. To close us off, Principal Owen Burnett will give us his announcement.

Owen: Thank you, Mr. Meishu. I am glad I got to be here in time for the festival. And thank you, Princess Crystal for that speech. Now, I know most of you have never known who your principal is since the ‘departure’ of your previous one, but now, here I am. And I promise, in the time I have here, I will try to make things here at Shujin Academy better than they were before. I will not disappoint.

>A decent amount of applauding can be heard.

Owen: Now for a couple of changes that I wish to announce that will only be in effect while I am here. We will be adding two more to the staff. They should be no strangers as they have part of this staff before. First off, let us welcome back... Takuto Maruki.

It’s so good to be back here at Shujin. After a bit of soul searching, I’m back in action. I’m ready to help you all... In the real way.

>The crowd, especially the girls, all cheered loudly.

(This gif is originally from angelnanime. Sorry, but it would just be criminal not to include this scene.)

>The crowd, especially the girls, all giggled, but are happy that Takuto (he insisted we not hide his name for personal reasons) is back... I hope he keep his promise.

Owen: And last, but now least, and you will probably will be very unhappy for allowing this, but apparently, he’s be declared rehabilitated and they convinced me to give him back his old position. But I promise you, during this time, he will be on probation. If he repeats his crime or performs any other illegal action, I have orders to report him to the police.

A teacher on probation? Wait...

HELL NO! THEY CAN’T DO THIS!

Skull: Relax, Ann. I don’t think it’s actually-

?????????: Heads up!

>The volleyball is quickly cough by Owen, effortlessly.

Shocked Male Student: No way, what’s he doing here!?

Appalled Female Student: Great, does this mean I’m going to be groped by him?

I know what you’re thinking. Don’t worry, I promise those days are over. I’ve learned my lesson and I won’t be doing anymore abuse or harassment while I’m here. And I also promise that the remainder of this school year will be the best. And by the end of it...

You might never want me to leave again.

>We all couldn’t believe it. Our first target is back at Shujin... Something tells me things are about to get more interesting.

#phantom thieves cam

1 note · View note

jhameia · 8 years ago

Text

Fic: “The Ambassador”

the fic i mentioned 5 days ago, done at 19k words, maybe it will leave me alone now and I CAN GET BACK TO DISSERTATING. is it Strange Magic fanfic anymore? WHO KNOWS ITS DONE have an asexual romance between a spider woman and a fairy dude

1: The Mission

Sylvia of the Northern Spiders, loyal retainer and advisor to the Royal Family of the Dark Forest, glared at the Bog King, her childhood playmate and close cousin as she entered in response to a roared summons.

The atmosphere in the throne room was tense and ugly as he stared down at her from the dais. This wasn't the first time he had ignored her counsel, but this was the first time it had gotten so personal. Banning love from the Dark Forest! What ridiculousness! Banning love potion she could understand, cutting down the primroses, sure, but locking up the Sugar Plum Fairy, of all the--!! And Auntie Griselda was of no help, taking her precious son's side in his time of hurt.

Which she should be doing, except his head was so far up his ass on this matter, it would be illogical. Her job was to help him be a better King, not a worse one. Bad enough that he was surly to start with--just like his father, his father's father, and beyond--this recent affair had launched that surliness off the precipice into a pit of mean-hearted stupidity.

"You called, Your Majesty?" she asked coldly. The formality of her tone cut through the silence.

He didn't flinch, though he might have before; "Your Majesty" from her lips was usually soft and fond and warm. A change in that meant cutting disapproval.

"We received a message from the Fairy Kingdom," he drawled, tossing her a little scroll.

She frowned. The Fairy Kingdom and the Dark Forest had been isolated from each other for generations. With good reason. The fairies were not to be trifled with: dangerous, vicious creatures masquerading as light fragile butterflies. She unrolled the scroll, and raised her eyebrow at the uncharacteristically warm message written in tidy handwriting. "From... one of the Fairy Princesses? Aren't they still very young?" Princess Marianne couldn't be older than fourteen. Or sixteen?

"It is nonetheless a royal missive."

"Requesting friendship between the kingdoms," she murmured. "Not very sophisticated. No peace talks, no diplomatic relations, no trade, just... friendship?" She looked up. "This is the request of a child."

"Not just any child. The Crown Princess." A curl went up on the Bog King's face, and not a smile.

"You intend to... honour this?"

"You advise against it?"

"I..." She thought about it. "It would be good," she began slowly, "to have access to the Meadow again. The Swarm would benefit from an open border, and we wouldn't have to travel so out of our way to the Glen. We could rebuild an accord with the elves."

He leaned back with a satisfied smirk. "I am appointing you our ambassador to the Meadow."

Her jaw hung.

"I trust you will have our bests interests in mind," he continued blithely, his tone a bit too light. "You're the least likely in the kingdom to try to eat a fairy, too, so that's a plus."

Her heart raced. "And how long will this term last?"

His gaze was flinty as he replied, "until I recall you."

"I see." She went numb. Banishment, under a pretty name. She never thought--he would never--except he was doing it now. "And I cannot decline this appointment?"

"No."

"I didn't realize you hated me that much."

"I don't," he snarled. "But you will respect your king."

She stamped a foot. "You know why I disagree--"

"Silence!"

That was it. Her mind raced through the memories at her beck and call: of previous kings who were cruel like this, twisted by something deep inside, unwilling to take counsel, willing to hurt others in order to stay their path towards self-destruction.

The only remedy was time and waiting.

Could she wait? She clutched her hands to her chest. He was her best friend, her only family left in the Forest. He was also hurting deep inside from something he refused to talk to her about and there was nothing she could do. He was her King, and he was sending her away from home into a nest of something more vicious than wasps.

She bowed her head, so he wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing her tears. "I honour and obey my King," she intoned, words from an ancient memory.

"You leave with the dawn."

2: The Path To Good Revenge

Ambassador Sylvia arrived on a leaf drawn by four dragonflies, her grip on the reins tighter than necessary because she was so furious... and nervous. There was so much open air on the Meadow, and the wind threatened to knock her over a few times. The good thing about having eight legs was a solid sense of balance.

A company of guards came to meet with her, demanded her to halt. Fliers, she grumbled internally. Most goblins were grounded, but Bog did take his wings for granted regularly.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but if I stop, I will fall," she said politely. "My intentions are peaceful, and my business is with the Royal Family."

"What is that business?" the leader of them demanded.

Friendship, apparently, she thought, but it sounded stupid to say, so she smiled sweetly instead. "That is for the Royal Family to hear. Will you escort me to an audience with King Dagda?"

"Madam, the King does not take to goblin interlopers lightly!"

"Good, that makes him a wise man. Also a good thing that I'm not an interloper."

That seemed to flabbergast the lead fairy. Finally, he nodded. "We'll take you there. But if you try anything..."

"You would be doing your job. Yes, I'm sure." She tossed her hair out of her face and lifted her chin. She would keep her dignity here.

The palace loomed ahead, and the lead fairy guard gestured for her to land on a platform, clearly built for fliers. She leapt out of her makeshift chariot, and the fairy guards stepped down to surround her.

"What is your name?" she asked the leader.

He blinked at her. "Captain Nathaniel."

A ranked officer, then. "Captain Nathaniel, thank you for your company's service."

He was definitely not expecting that. She refrained from smirking. She knew how these folks pretended to be civilized. She had never enjoyed the advantages of having foremother memory so much before. Here, in the Fairy realm, where they obviously did not remember a damn thing, she had something to help.

The Fairy King was obviously not expecting to see anyone that day, since the throne room was devoid of courtiers. But maybe these days the throne room was always this empty? Foremother memory was definitely not helping with regards to the niceties of the Fairy Court.

The King himself was on his throne. A large, round man, he, with wide green eyes, and green armour. The crown, she recognized. Most everything else, no. She curtsied as low as she could. "Salutations, Your Majesty, I, Sylvia of the Dark Forest, come as ambassador to open lines of communication between our lands, upon orders of the Bog King." Let him think the Bog King actually wanted this.

Hurried footsteps echoed in a hallway outside, and a slip of a girl burst in from a door to the side of the throne. "I heard-! I came as soon as-!" she huffed, and stopped, amber eyes widening.

Sylvia took a few steps back to look less threatening. She knew how she looked: the upper body that might look like a fairy's, save for the carapace on her torso, and the lower body of a spider. Even among goblins, her form was extreme. She had considered wearing clothes, but she had been a bit too furious to consider spinning something up. Besides, the Royal Family had the right to at least see her full form.

She curtsied again. "You must be Crown Princess Marianne." She held out the scroll. "The Bog King received your message."

"Oh! He did! Amazing!" the princess literally squeaked with delight, any fear melting from her in excitement. She gripped her father's arm and shook it a little, uncaring of protocol. "Father, a goblin in our court! The first in generations!"

"Marianne!" Dagda scolded. "What did you do??"

Marianne drew back a little, defensive. "I... I sent a message. I... I may have thrown it over the border and... hoped for the best?" She turned to Sylvia. "How does he respond?"

"He sent me. I'm to be Ambassador until relations have been established to our kingdoms' mutual benefit." She made the last part up easily. Bog had never said, just packed her off. She wrote to several goblin elders last night to request their cooperation in the foolish endeavour. She could pretend to be productive in exile.

Plus, this little princess seemed like a total treasure. She would drive Bog up the wall. He would deserve it.

The total treasure's hands were clasped in complete and utter delight. "Father, did you hear that? It worked!"

King Dagda was rubbing a hand over his face. "Marianne, you can't just--it's not that simple! You have to think about what the Kingdom wants! I can't--the Council will--"

"I'll talk to the Council," Marianne declared. "You've always wanted me to attend those meetings, anyway, and you're right, it's time I got started! Father, please, look--" she gestured at Sylvia--"she came all this way! Surely we're not going to turn her away."

"I hope not," Sylvia muttered, a bit too loudly. She saw the King narrow his eyes at her for speaking out of turn. "I am not allowed back, Your Majesty, until my task is complete," she said shame-facedly. "The Bog King is not known for his tolerance to failure."

"See? Father!" Marianne was back to shaking King Dagda's arm insistently. "Let her stay! Please?"

King Dagda looked between her and the goblin, clearly torn between wary apprehension and fatherly guilt. "But my dear, we know nothing about... about..." She could be dangerous, he wanted to say.

Sylvia nodded. "Your Majesty, Your Highness, if I may elucidate further on the current economy of the Dark Forest, perhaps we can find someplace to start."

Marianne beamed. "Yes! I'd love to learn more about the Dark Forest!"

She was going to unleash the princess on Bog, Sylvia decided. She was going to work so hard to make the impossible possible, because she liked little Marianne, and right now she hated Bog so much she was setting aside generations' worth of prejudice against fairies to spite her stupid, surly king. She would bend her foremothers' memory to helping Marianne be a good Queen, because the princess was going to kick Bog's ass, metaphorically or literally, it didn't matter. Bog was going to get killed with kindness. Served him right.

3: Weaving The Web

Ambassador Sylvia was housed in a set of apartments to the eastern wing of the castle. She had a bedroom, a bathroom, and a receiving room, which was all she needed, but also clearly all she would receive. Theoretically, she was allowed to roam the Kingdom. In practice, she couldn't go anywhere unless she had permission from her assigned bodyguard.

That would be Captain Nathaniel, who, she gathered, was considered experienced enough with Court protocol to know who she could speak to within the Palace and beyond, strong enough to take her down if she tried anything, and smart enough to know where she was allowed to go. He was also the only one who could tolerate her presence without gagging, if the faces of the people she passed was any indication.

To mitigate that effect, she spun herself a dress that covered her lower body completely. She looked like a wingless fairy wearing an extremely large skirt, if one didn't peer too closely at the feet under the hem. It was also long-sleeved and high-necked, giving the air of excessive modesty. Sylvia wasn't sure how immune the fairies were to her skin, which could be poisonous to some goblins but not others, and she frankly wasn't about to try to find out.

Captain Nathaniel's reaction to the dress was satisfying, at the very least.

The princesses were another matter. Sylvia had been surprised when they came to call on her almost as soon as she had settled in. They were both curious chatterboxes with bright happy laughter. Princess Dawn was very much what Sylvia had expected of a fairy girl: graceful and charming, if very young. Princess Marianne, however, was something else: opinionated, adventuresome, and surprisingly clumsy. The last, Sylvia would not have expected of a Fairy princess, much less the Crown Princess.

They were so sweet, though, those girls. As soon as they had seen Sylvia's dress, they immediately offered to send seamstresses to her, and gifted her with the petals the fairies used for their own dresses. Sylvia taught them old embroidery tricks in exchange. Dawn was thrilled; Marianne was curious, but such crafts were clearly not of interest.

As Ambassador, Sylvia was invited to some of the Council meetings that were considered relevant. They were generally ones that dealt with trade, although she had been invited to one or two specifically about border talks thus far. She accepted every invitation, and spent time in the archives otherwise, learning everything she could.

There was a lot of consternation at her first appearance. Angry councilors all but accusing her of spying, plotting evil, and destroying the kingdom. They demanded to know what the Dark Forest wanted, who she was really, what her true role at home was.

So far, she had only made gentle suggestions and made polite requests for more information, because she was to understand the lay of the land before she proposed anything radical, and she, too, understood the chaos and upset that changes could bring. She was rewarded with sneering lectures about the grand history of the Fairy Kingdom, to which she nodded and made notes of, and compared to what she knew, what she remembered.

She needed to do this. They had to get used to her at some point, and she needed all the ammunition she could garner. She could put up with all their aggressive posturing and interrogations.

What surprised her was Marianne, who, despite her father's admonishments, argued with the staid old councilors, oh how she argued-! They were worse than the Elders of the Forest, who at least respected protocol enough to capitulate to Bog when Bog had been young and similarly feisty towards them. Perhaps because they knew they were there to serve the Bog King and help him rule. They were old and cranky because they had to be, to push the King's decision-making integrity. (That stupid love ban was made without their input, which just went to show how wrong-headed it was.)

These fairy councilors just didn't seem to like a young spitfire. They muttered under their breaths about marrying her off as soon as possible, and prayed for a more... obliging king.

If anything, Sylvia determined that she should stick it out for Marianne's sake, at least. There didn't seem to be any other women on the council, and it was heartbreaking to watch the old men try to browbeat their princess down.

"You did well," Sylvia told Marianne during a recess, finally catching a moment alone with the princess.

"You think so?" Marianne asked, sounding a little fatigued. "It doesn't feel that way. Is it always supposed to be like this?"

"You will get better at this," Sylvia promised. "I don't know very much about your Fairy politics, but the Council will bend to you eventually. It's good you got started so early."

"Marianne!" King Dagda called from the other side of the room.

As the princess trotted off, Sylvia was accosted--she had no other word for how three old men were suddenly in front of her when she was trying to get more biscuits. She raised an eyebrow, looking around for Captain Nathaniel. "Gentlemen."

"Gobliness, you shouldn't be speaking to Princess Marianne."

Sylvia tilted her head inquiringly.

"We don't know what the Dark Forest is playing at, but know that we'll defend the Fairy Kingdom with our last breath."

"Don't you dare try to convert the princess to your filthy ways," another hissed at her.

She munched at her biscuit, saying nothing.

They glared at her, as if daring her to speak.

The recess was over. As they filed back into the room, Sylvia felt Captain Nathaniel beside her.

"Are you all right?" he asked in low tones.

She put a hand on his arm, and smiled. Still silent, she sashayed into the meeting, ready to take more notes.

She was descended of spiders, after all.

4: Family Secrets

It only took two months before Ambassador Sylvia was stir-crazy from being confined to the Palace. She picked a nice-looking afternoon when she felt reasonably sure very few people would be around to see her, and finally worked the courage to ask Captain Nathaniel if she was allowed out of the Palace, at least into some garden of some kind, because if she had to see more walls, she was going to build webs, and wouldn't that just terrify the staff, and she would actually do it.

To his credit, he didn't blanche, and laughed instead.

"I was wondering whether you were just a homebody," he admitted, still chuckling.

"I certainly am not," she huffed. "I just didn't know what I was allowed to do. I am practically a prisoner here, Captain. You forget that I am the only goblin on the premises."

He sobered a little. "I... I'm sorry, Madame Ambassador. I'll be a bit more forthright in the future in volunteering more information."

"That would be nice."

"There are some palace grounds. I'm afraid they're not that interesting on the ground--it has interesting rock formations for flying around."

"Ah, for fliers, then."

Nathaniel smiled crookedly. "Is that what you goblins call us?"

"No, it's what wingless goblins call those with wings. Surely you have people here without wings, Captain. Elves? Brownies? What do they call you?"

"Lords and ladies." Captain Nathaniel shrugged, his expression sardonic.

"Oh, you have a sharp tongue. I like that very much, Captain."

Captain Nathaniel had the grace to blush, and gestured gallantly for her to follow him. He politely refrained from flying off and showed her the appropriate staircases down.

The gardens were not much to look at, but they were green and colourful. Sylvia squinted at the sunny sky overhead. Without trees, the sunshine was rather strong. The rock formations, however, were very interesting. Not that Captain Nathaniel could tell her anything about them.

The sound of wood thwacking against rock caught her attention, and she approached it to see the Crown Princess, wielding a stick and attacking a rock piece. She put all her might into it, yelling every time she hit it.

"Your stance needs to be wider, Your Highness," Sylvia called.

Marianne yelped and fell backwards. "Madam Sylvia!" She got up hastily, running a hand through her tousled hair. "Uh... how long were you there for?"

"Not very long. Is this how you spend your lazy afternoons? I thought all you fairies napped in preparation for nighttime parties, or something."

"Well... it's the only time no one's around," Marianne muttered, kicking something. "Promise you won't tell my Dad?"

"Uhm." Sylvia turned to Nathaniel, eyebrow raised. "I feel I'm missing something here. Why wouldn't your father want you training?"

"Girls apparently don't belong in the army." Marianne made a face. "They don't fight."

"But that's... not... true? Even among Fairy Queens? Queen Eresdia fought with a spear in one hand and a broadsword in the other. Then there was the Army of Thorns which was comprised of all women. Also, Queen Melinda, also known as the May Fire Queen, was quite proficient with any blade from yea-short to yea-long." Sylvia used her hands to demonstrate the length. "I don't know what they were called, though. The memory gets fuzzy on that kind of detail." She noticed the two fairies staring at her, and put a hand to her mouth. "Oops."

"I... had heard of the May Fire Queen, and the other names are familiar, but never that they fought." Captain Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. "How would you know those things?"

"Ah, well." Sylvia scratched her head. "I suppose it had to come out eventually. A few, very few, species of goblins are born with the memories of the generations before. We call it foremother memory, though sometimes it is forefather memory." She tapped her cheek thoughtfully. "It isn't perfect, and some of us have completely different memories of the same events sometimes, because different people have different interpretations of the same thing, obviously! But I do have several foremothers who have battled the fairy queens in the past. Personally, even." She grinned at Marianne. "So you see, princess, whoever taught you that girls don't fight, are wrong. Even in goblin songs, the most fearsome foes have been fairy queens."

"A Living Memory. I thought your kind a myth." Captain Nathaniel pursed his lips, frowning. "This is information you should divulge to the King, Madam Ambassador."

"It just hasn't come up." Sylvia waved a hand. "Also it is never a good idea to tell kings this sort of thing. They usually try to kill you for it."

"Not fairy kings!" Marianne gasped.

"I assure you, Princess, fairy kings, and goblin kings. There are very few of us as a result." It was half the truth, but they didn't need to know that. Anyway, it made her sad to think about.

"So not all goblins are like you?" Marianne pressed further. "What other species of goblin can remember things?"

"Mostly us spiders, and the Swarm, of course. Bees have a collective consciousness, you know."

"Madam Ambassador," Captain Nathaniel firmly said. "You have to tell the King that you're a Living Memory."

"Or what," Sylvia scoffed.

"Or I will tell him myself."

Sylvia stiffened, taking in the grim line of her guard's mouth and the furrow of his brow.

He flushed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I understand that it's a--a family secret. But I have my duty to the King, too."

"I just told the Princess. Doesn't count?"

"Nice try. No."

"Ugh." Sylvia rolled her eyes. "Fine. Get me an audience with the King, and I'll tell him." She looked down at Princess Marianne. "Before that, though, perhaps, Princess, you need further instruction."

Sylvia relished the delight on Marianne's face, almost as much as she relished the long-suffering roll of Nathaniel's eyes as she browbeat him into teaching Marianne.

5: History Will Hurt You

It was inevitable, perhaps, that her lineage would spill out in Council meetings. Well, the King called it her lineage. She just called it a family thing. When she had told King Dagda, she had demanded political immunity.

A meeting about border talks, and just how much trade to let through. Sylvia had been focusing on deep breathing, because they were counting in terms of how many individual caravans should be allowed through per year, which was so asinine it was taking a lot of willpower to not scream, or get up and leave. Among her notes were goblin elders similarly grousing about trade and allowing fairies into the Dark Forest. Well, only two, because those were the only ones who cared enough to write her back. Captain Nathaniel vetted all her letters, so she couldn't even pour her frustrations out in paper to Auntie Griselda, or yell at Bog for not responding to her reports.

Perhaps she could have been more measured in her response, a bit more careful in how she replied, but hindsight was clearer than the moment.

"We must consider how this will affect our own economy," some windbag called Glaucus was pontificating. "In the height of King Samiel's reign, we allowed caravans to pass through, and that was enough to bring down the dynasty!"

Marianne had made a face. "But King Samiel was a peacekeeper, and the war following wasn't because of the trade caravans... it was a civil war between two noble houses-"

"Marianne." King Dagda had frowned.

Marianne, already worn down for the day, bowed her head. Sylvia wanted to smack the King. What was it with this generation of kings, she wondered. Why was she cursed with them?

"King Samiel's reign was the most prosperous in a ten-generation range. Nobody in the markets even cared about the petty civil war between House Nikel and House Reale, although there was a very good tragic play about it. I believe you call it Rome and Rosalind. The dynasty fell four generations after, because his great grandson was assassinated by a Duke. Big news. The Forest talked about the murder for weeks, because it involved a very interesting arsenic compound, or some such."

Sylvia stopped there, smiling at Marianne. "I think you have been a very good student, Your Highness."

"Hoo boy," she heard Captain Nathaniel, standing right behind her, mutter under his breath, too low for anyone else to hear.

The councillors, however, were aghast. "How would you know that?" Glaucus snapped.

"Madam Sylvia," King Dagda said, holding a hand up for silence. "While your Living Memory is useful, I don't believe what you've shared is relevant to this conversation, which is about the present time."

The hubbub flared up instead. A Living Memory -- right here? -- she's a Living Memory -- they're extinct! -- she must have read it somewhere -- can she even read? -- stupid thing to say anyway --

"Your Majesty, you may be right, but then, neither are Sir Glaucus' words, because he was the first one to bring up a king five hundred years dead." She took a moment to consult her notes on a more recent historical note. "Perhaps we should look to your grandfather's time, then, as a model? A single market, held every two years, right at the border. It lasted all the way until the Winter Famine of Three Seasons, and was simply never picked up again." Due to fairy resistance, she mentally added. Granted, the Forest Royals were never crazy about it either. Goblin commoners and elves liked it just fine.

"And you, what, remember that?" Glaucus sneered.

"I remember the festivals, yes, but not quite the dates, which I found in your archives." She folded her hands on the table to give him a serene smile. "I'm not stupid enough to think that you would take Living Memories seriously."

"Living Memories are extinct," he asserted.

She held her hands up. "Why, what a surprise. I must be some mass hallucination of this Council, then."

"Or you, Madam, are a fraud!"

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and steepling her hands. What did she know about this one? Ah, yes. "House Erendl hired one of my ancestresses once. She was working as a mercenary, internecine war and all that, a little under a hundred years ago. A drop of poison into the goblet of the patriarch of House Fyrel. She was so smug, because no one knew how she did it."

"What?" someone shouted from down the table. "Lord Norrel died of a heart attack!"

"Which threw the whole house into a tizzy, destabilizing the household and allowing House Erendl to offer aid, in the form of assimilating House Fyrel, and all of its assets, into itself." She smiled brightly. "That's from your history books. Now, my ancestress had been in the rafters of the dining hall and spit a bit of venom into his drink. Here's the good bit: if the hall still stands, there's a little scratch on the top western corner of the room, reading 'Latish was here' in fairy script."

That someone down the table gasped. "That... how did you... but Latish was a joke! He's supposed to be an elf!"

"Latish is not an elf name, come on. It is a very spider name." She leaned back. "But let's be honest here, how should a northern spider know about such a specific family joke here in the Fairy Kingdom?"

"This meeting is adjourned. We will table the consideration of caravan trade until next fortnight," King Dagda declared. "Madam Sylvia, stay."

Sylvia stayed still as everyone else in the room filed out, outraged whispers abounding. Marianne insisted on staying too, but King Dagda shot her a quelling look.

Finally, it was just her, and maybe Nathaniel was behind her, she didn't care to check, and King Dagda.

"Madam Sylvia, we... appreciate... your support of our daughter."

Oh, the royal 'we'.

"However, we would rather not have her outbursts encouraged at meetings. Not to mention that flagrant display of your Living Memory." He frowned. "We are at peace now, Madam Sylvia, and we would like to keep it that way."

"Of course, Your Majesty. Sparking a feud anew would be... awkward."

The king nodded. "We will request your advice in the future. Be assured that your presence remains most welcome at the table."

He was a very bad liar, this king. "Your Majesty, if I may ask..."

"Yes?"

"What do you think of the goblins, and of the Dark Forest?"

He blinked at her now, blank-faced. "I, well..."

Dropping the royal 'we'. He must have been very surprised.

Sylvia watched as he fumbled through some platitudes about the two kingdoms co-existing in peace for the last several centuries with no trouble, and she wondered if he genuinely believed that. It was hard to know what the memory-less knew about the past. Did he genuinely think that the barely-contained disgust that his fairy council had for her and her kind was because goblins were truly less civilized, prone to violence, and hideous? Or was he willfully blind, purposefully ignoring the Purging Century, when fairies burned down the Forest to create the Kingdom they called the Bright Meadow, hunted down goblins to decimate them? The memories swirled in her mind's eye, unbidden. There had never been any healing for the foremothers.

When he was done, she nodded.

"Good day, Madam Ambassador," the King said, and rose from his seat to leave. She waited until he had closed the door behind her before she, too, rose (though not from a chair; the advantage to being a spider was that she didn't need a seat. She just rested on her belly).

Captain Nathaniel had been behind her all along. "That was the most exciting thing I've witnessed," he said, good humour playing at his lips. "I think I'm in the wrong line of work."

She gave him a wan smile, still overwhelmed by the whole thing. Shouldn't have asked the King that question, she thought. But she had to know. Had to find out, in order to decide how to best proceed.

The fairy guard held an arm out to her. She regarded it a moment, brow knitting in confusion, then relaxed. It was a peace offering, a gesture of solicitude. She took the arm, aware of how thin it was in her hand, how fragile, how easily her talons could cut through his skin. It was easy to forget he was a fairy sometimes, since he stood tall even among fairies. As he led her back to her rooms, passing by fairies who looked at them askance and greeted him with a question marks in their voices, she let herself be a little sad. For all her Living Memory--what a joke of a title--it didn't seem to make a bit of difference here.

He opened the door for her, and she brushed past him to get in, wanting more than anything to lie down.

"Madam Ambassador," he said suddenly as the door was closing.

She stopped, inquiringly.

He took a moment to find his words. "I thought... it was very kind of you to defend Her Highness the way you did."

"That is what we are supposed to do for the young, Captain."

"Of... of course." He snapped a salute. "Good afternoon, Madam Ambassador."

6: Letters

"To His Majesty, the Bog King of the Dark Forest, under whose shade we may ever find shelter,

"I respectfully request a response to my latest reports on the possibility of a market on the border between the Dark Forest and Bright Meadow. I am given to understand that Elder Abrax and Elder Johan have expressed their full support of the idea to you.

"I look forward to your answer.

"Your humble servant."

She hoped he choked on his guilt.

"Dear Aunt Griselda,

"I am so, so, so sorry that I have not written you all these months. The Fairy authorities have apparently been withholding your letters from me all this while! Also, I have a guard who reads all my letters, which is so embarrassing, and I was so mad so I didn't really want to write anyway.

"I am also sorry to hear that my dearest cousin, who I love with all my heart but who I am definitely still angry at, continues his 'ban on love.' I utterly agree that it is a singularly foolish idea, but what can be done, he's the King, or so he made clear to me before he sent me on this mission. I gather that he continues to ignore your admonitions, but I don't think any word from me is going to help any.

"The Fairy Kingdom is something else! There are all sorts of rules here that are obviously very new, or at least I don't remember them at all, nor even my foremothers. There are five different forks at the dinner table, and ten different colours to signal one's interest in the opposite sex. None of which I am allowed to wear, because I am a goblin, after all, and am not supposed to be interested in fairy men. I had a very snooty protocol minister tell me this, and you will be proud of me for my response: 'your ancestors had no problem mating with mine back in the day.' I am still very pleased with this answer, and I thought I would share.

"The princesses are adorable, and they make my stay worthwhile. Such open hearts. Their best friend is an elf, even, from a nearby village. He visits them often, and they play together on the palace grounds. It's quite the sight, and apparently a source of consternation. The elder girl is a fiesty one, so full of fire and big ideas for what she wants to do as Queen. The Councilors, who are all elderly men struggling to remain relevant in this day and age, are trying to snuff her out. I am going to support her the best I can, but I worry for the child. She has few fairy friends, and among her peers, she does stand out a bit strong, not because she's a princess.

"The winter was terrible. The fairies 'huddle' for warmth during the cold season, which means to say all the fairies pack themselves into the castle and live in extremely close quarters for several months. It was an awful experience and I am still recovering. They said they're the traumatized ones, having to deal with my spider-legs, ha! Thank goodness for spring! I am going to hibernate next year.

"I run out of parchment now, but I will try to keep writing. Is Bog really having the primroses cut down on his side of the border? People are talking about the fearsome Bog King who has imprisoned the Sugar Plum Fairy and banned love. I have had to bite my tongue more than once in the face of certain concerned queries.

"Do keep writing, auntie dearest! Your letters do my heart such good!"

She considered making a saucy remark about her bodyguard, because his usually-sallow face is so becoming with a blush. However, he had to maintain a professional distance, and he hadn't really done anything to deserve the discomfort of a goblin flirting with him.

"Dear cousin,

"Your reputation is making my job difficult for me this side of the border.

"Stop it already.

"Your loving cousin."

That was probably not the wisest note to send off, but it felt good.

"To her wonderful highness, Princess Marianne,

"What a lovely note you sent! I am so touched by your concern. Yes, it is indeed a cold, as I am unused to your weather here. Your architecture is so drafty! But the doors hold and I am not unlocking them until I have recovered fully. Even if you did break it down, you will not be able to get me out of my web, anyway.

"Do not worry for me! I am resting well, and we spiders can go for quite some time without food if we have eaten a great deal beforehand. Captain Nathaniel has done his job very well in this regard. I hope your father promotes him.

"I know council meetings are very hard on you, but they will get easier over time. Have courage, highness! Remember, you are their Crown Princess and your words carry a weight they can only dream of."

She slipped that under the door out, knocking for Captain Nathaniel to pick it up and deliver it. Then she crawled into the large cocoon-like web she made to completely encase her for the next few days. She would have to make something for Nathaniel, though, because he had walked in on her as she made it and she had been so frenzied in the process she almost ate him. That had not been her finest moment, and thank goodness it was Nathaniel and not anybody else. He was hard to throw off, that one. Sylvia respected that.

"Dear Auntie Griselda,

"So much has been going on! Princess Marianne finally made her official debut into fairy society and it was a very grand celebration. She still keeps her treasured talents a secret from her father, and there is something so awkward, so straining to watch. She needs a mother figure! I wish you were here. You would know just what to say. I have foremother memory, of course, but that is not the same as having raised my own child. I am doing my best. Channel me some of your spirit!

"However, why do you insist on inflicting Bog on these poor girls you keep mentioning to me? Any girl who'll willingly put up with that surly temper is not fitting Queen material, Auntie. That said, if you find a woman willing to challenge him to a real fight, let me know. I'll defy his edict to return and watch that.

"I do believe that over time, my presence in this Court has made something of a difference. The princesses are unafraid of me, and this is setting the tone for many of the people who see them regularly. There is talk of letting me leave the Palace grounds, even, to visit the nearby towns and villages. I will not lie: the idea does make me feel like an exhibit, but the princesses are such sweet girls, so curious about the Dark Forest. Do talk to Bog about a possible visitation from the Fairy princesses, Auntie, because they will not stop asking, and I promised them I would try.

"My former bodyguard, Captain Nathaniel, no longer watches over me. He has been replaced by a rotating company of protocol advisors. I even have an elf secretary, which is a strange feeling. All these years, I've always played secretary to Bog, and now here I am with my own secretary! I do believe this is Marianne's--Princess Marianne's--influence. She is small, but mighty.

"In your next letter, I wonder if you could slip me some herbs from the Dark Forest to cook with? Or at least make some tea? Fairy food is nice but it is nothing like food from home. I would say that I'd kill for a good meat jerky but that might alarm the person who vets my letters."

She didn't say she missed Captain Nathaniel, because the last thing she needed was for Aunt Griselda to take an interest in her nonexistant love life, even from afar.

But she missed his quiet presence a great deal. Incredible how calming he was, compared to the other fairies who nervously stuttered every time she answered the door.

"Dear Councilor Nathaniel,

"Thank you for the congratulations and well-wishes on my new house. It is strange to think of it as a home--it is still, in my mind, on the wrong side of the primroses. You are, of course, welcome to visit it anytime you like, so long as you give me prior notice.

"It is now my turn to tender you a hearty congratulations on being appointed to the legislative council. I am still trying to understand what it means, being from a foreign land with a very different form of government, but I am sure you are well-qualified for it.

"I look forward to your future accomplishments as councilor."

That was strangely awkward to write. She fiddled with the last line for a long time. Glancing at the wastebasket, she cringed at the drafts: ones where she accidentally still called him "Captain," ones she thought perhaps sounded too intimate (no one read her letters anymore but it was still embarrassing, though she wasn't sure why), ones that sounded too formal. What was the right balance of warm and professional?

The house, right on a brook between Sunny's village and the castle, was large, larger than the houses in the village, which made her feel awkward. These common folk, who have lived here longer than she ever did, living in much smaller, modest homes. She didn't deserve the house she got, she mused. But it was spacious enough for her needs, maybe too big, but that was filling up with the projects she was filling her time with. More weaving, more music, and more paperwork.

From her highest window, she could see the Dark Forest, the huddled trees beckoning to her. She tried not to look at it too often. The pang in her heart wasn't worth the view.

7: A Spring Ball

Councilor John was a portly fairy man who was from a merchant family that had bought its way up the ranks. He had recently been appointed to the trade council, and was one of the very few--well, maybe the only one--who openly supported trade with the Dark Forest.

He was also a bit of a windbag, which Sylvia politely tolerated even though she would like nothing more than to just go home. An hour in his company was quite enough to tire her out for the rest of the evening. But Sylvia had no other company at the ball, so she allowed him to monopolize her time. It wouldn't be the first time a social function like this one was occupied by business for her.

The Spring Ball was otherwise lively: Marianne was the life of the party, sweet and happy as she flew among the other young fairies in the upper half of the room. The older folks sedately mingled on the floor, talking shop, drinking wine.

"Good evening." They turned to see Nathaniel, standing ramrod straight as if he were still a soldier, though there was a slight relaxation to his stance.

Sylvia smiled, relieved to see him. "Councilor."

He nodded his head, returning the smile. "Madam Ambassador, it has been a while."

"Busy, busy."

"Councilor," he said to John. "Might I renew my acquaintance with Ambassador Sylvia? It has been a while since I saw her last, and you see her practically every week."

"Of course, Councilor," John said, looking vaguely amused. "Nothing like the company of an intelligent woman, eh?"

Nathaniel guided her away with a gentle hand on her elbow, towards a quieter corner of the ballroom. "You looked like you were about to faint there."

She laughed. "My hero. I might have." Then she softened, taking in his face. There were a few more lines than she had seen there before. "How have you been? I was... surprised to discover that you were no longer working with the castle guard." Disappointed, more like, and even moreso when she heard he had requested the transfer.

"Adapting to council life has been a little hard," he admitted. "But it was time for a career change, in no small part thanks to you." He grinned at her, which made him look years younger.

"Me?"

"I joined the guard to defend the Royal Family, as you know. Watching you at council, defending our princess, made me realize that that was where the true work is at."

"Why..." she was speechless, and put a hand to her mouth to hide her pleasure. "It, uhm... it must be a different world for you now."

"Oh yes, one with a few more freedoms, like this one."

"Like what?"

He glanced to the orchestra, then smiled at her. "A dance, Madam Ambassador?"

She blinked. She had seen the fairy dances, and Marianne and Dawn had taught her the steps, because of course they would, but no one had ever asked her before. "You realize I have eight feet, which raises your chances of getting your feet stepped on?"

"I also know your feet are set very far apart from mine, so I think we'll be fine."

"Also that you can't twirl me around?"

"Madam Ambassador, if you don't want to dance, I shan't take offense. We can take a mooonlit walk instead."

She drew a sharp breath. "Councilor." She held out her hand. "Let's see if you can lead as well as you flirt."

He could. It was a simple waltz, with no embellishing movement, quick enough that her skirts swished, slow enough that they fell into a comfortable rhythm and chatter.

"Are there no dances in the Dark Forest?" he asked.

"There are, but not quite so formal like this. The formal ones are often solo performances designed to attract mates." She grinned. "And thus only danced by men." She thought his grip on her hand got a little tighter, and amended. "There are some groups with their own dances. We spiders do fun things with webbing."

"It must be a sight to see."

"Oh, it's marvelous." She sighed, suddenly homesick. "On spring evenings, right after the rains, we challenge each other to dance on the webs without disturbing the dewdrops."

"No music?"

She laughed softly. "Councilor, our webs are also instruments." She didn't think about it often. Wearing skirts meant hiding access to her spinnarets. "Do you play?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid my physical skills are limited to combat. Are you still giving Princess Marianne secret lessons, by the way?"

"Occasionally. I try to meet with her once a week. She's easily distractable, which does terrible things for her footwork."

"A shame. She seems very capable. Perhaps I'll join you sometime."

She smiled. "I think Her Highness would appreciate that."

As the song ended, they walked off the floor, his hand on the small of her back as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Someone waved to him from the side of the room, and before she could say anything, he was leading her there, too.

"Donna," he greeted the waving fairy woman, one in a clump of four other fairy women. "Madam Ambassador, may I introduce my sister and her friends, Karen, May, Olivia, and Rain."

"Madam Ambassador," Donna said, her face unreadable. It was clear to Sylvia that the sister expected Nathaniel to not bring the goblin ambassador over. "Nathaniel, is this the goblin you were guarding last year?"

He nodded.

Sylvia stuck out a hand. "A pleasure."

Donna seemed to recover her sense of courtesy and took her hand, if hesitantly. Sylvia asked them all their houses, families, and took careful mental notes on who had which expressions.

They were all married, these women, no Spring debutantes. Sylvia felt she ought to be relieved to be around women her age, but their faint air of arrogance left much to be desired. They were friendly enough, and gossipy enough that when Nathaniel walked off to fetch a drink, they pressed in eagerly.

"Nathaniel hasn't danced with a woman in ten years," Donna said, much impressed. "We're all very shocked, because we were convinced he joined the castle guard to be around men."

Sylvia was caught very short by this sudden turn. "Councilor Nathaniel and I have only recently renewed our acquaintanceship. I haven't seen him in a year."

"Even during winter?"

"I hibernate in winter, Lady Donna." That wasn't strictly true, as winters in the Dark Forest weren't quite as bitingly cold. Still, Foresters got a lot of sleeping done in winter. Spring was a period of extended morning grouchiness as a result. "The first winter I joined the Huddle, but the second year I needed much needed time alone." She smiled faintly. "I'm sure everyone appreciated my absence."

"Oh no, Madam Ambassador!" This was Karen. "Some of us were actually quite worried for you! We had to have the elves check on your residence."

"Is it true that everyone goes naked in the Dark Forest?"

"Is it true that the Bog King has imprisoned the Sugar Plum Fairy? How did he do it?"

"Is it true that goblins have--"

"Is it true--"

Sylvia managed to stutter her way through some of the most awkward and possibly also most offensive questions she had ever fielded. So much for women being more genteel than men here. But her good grace must have done something, because eventually they moved onto her dress, and invited her to their embroidery circle.

When Nathaniel came to extricate her with ostensibly another dance, she almost fell into his arms in relief. "I'm leaving right after this," she gasped.

"That bad?"

"I mean, they are nice, but I'm not used to talking so much! And I thought the princesses were chatterboxes!"

"Oh no, don't you know, Madam Ambassador, chattering is the default mode of a fairy?"

She glowered at him. "Are you trying to make me hate my job, Councilor?"

8: Duo

Crown Princess Marianne of the Bright Meadow was in love. Dawn told Sylvia one day as they said embroidering together. "She met him at the Spring Ball, and he danced with her all night. Do you think I'll meet someone at the Spring Ball?"

It was hard to remember how small Dawn had been just a few scant years ago. "Life holds no such promises. Watch your lines."

Sylvia tried very hard to like him, but within a month, she decided she hated him.

She couldn't tell Marianne, who was so happy, beaming on the young man's arm at every function, nor Dawn, who would probably just tell her sister. So she ranted at Nathaniel instead.

"He is a blithering idiot! And dragging her to his level. She barely talks at council now, and everytime I look at her notes she's doodling his name somewhere. I get that it's young love, but come on. And he encourages this! Marianne doesn't need to go to council, because when he is King, he will handle it! Marianne doesn't need to worry her 'pretty little head' because when he is King, he'll take care of her! It makes me want to gag!"

Nathaniel, in turn, leaned back in his chair and looked up at her, because she was pacing on her ceiling. There was too much furniture on the floor. For a flier culture, there was a lot of floor furniture, she felt, so she paced on her walls and ceiling instead.

"I asked her to bring him to council meetings, and he apparently refused! And she sees nothing wrong with that! How can you claim to want to be King and then refuse to at least participate in the conversations which Kings are supposed to be in?"

"It's only been two months, Sylvia. Give them time." Nathaniel picked up his report again.

"It only takes a single blow to ruin a masterpiece," Sylvia lamented. "Look at my cousin. He used to be smarter, until one love affair ruined him, and possibly for life."

"I thought you said the Bog King was always recalcitrant, and surly, and uncooperative."

"Yes well, he at least used to be able to see past his own nose. And Marianne's form has gotten sloppy, just so you know. I'm no soldier, and even I can see that."

"You underestimate your skills."

Sylvia finished ranting and crossed her arms, taking a deep breath.

"How is your cousin, by the way?"

"Still an idiot."

By this she meant, and she knew Nathaniel understood, that the Bog King had not written her any letters beyond official responses to her reports, terse notes on what he agreed with and what he did not want to see. They were far and few in between, but given that fairy councils dragged business on forever and a half, Sylvia couldn't really blame him.

"What do you think of the young man, anyway?" She finally calmed down enough to walk down the wall and sit at the table, pouring herself a cup of tea.

"Well... I was surprised, honestly. Roland had never really struck me as anything but military. His talk about being King seems to be more about wanting to be a match for Marianne than actual qualification for the job." He sipped his own tea. "But then, love matches aren't really about qualifications, are they?"

"They are, for royals."

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow over his teacup. "Then why aren't you married to the Bog King?"

"You're adorable. Are you implying I'm qualified to be a royal?"

"Implying? I feel I am outright stating."

"Ha!" Sylvia rested her elbows on the table. "Spiders aren't really suited to being royalty. There have been two spider queens in the past, but they abdicated. Too much dealing with people. Too much pressure."

"But advising the King is enough pressure? How is that much different from being Queen?"

"It's a different set of responsibilities. Being Queen would have required too much personal proximity that interferes with advising the King. This much we agreed upon."

Nathaniel blinked at her. "You, ah, were involved with the Bog King?"

"Of course I was," she snorted. "We were best friends growing up. It was inevitable that we'd be dating at some point. But we were... closer, when we weren't romantically involved." She smiled pensively. "One day he'll meet someone, and she's going to be a lucky girl. If he finally snaps out of his ridiculous broody mode of life."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, broken by a hesitant question. "And you? Do you ever hope to find someone?"

Sylvia took a moment. It wasn't as though she had never thought about it. It was just so complicated.

"You don't have to answer that." Nathaniel picked up his report again.

"No. I mean." She sighed. "It's difficult, for my people." She looked into her tea. "My people are called widows, you know?"

"As in... the spiders who eat their husbands?"

She nodded. "It has definitely happened. It was definitely a thing. But that's not the real problem. It's our skin. We're venomous, and our skin is sometimes poisonous to people. Not everyone, but some. And... and mating is a difficult thing for us. Because exchanging fluids is difficult. The more likely widows conceive from a mating, the more likely the mate wastes away and dies from poison."

After a moment, Nathaniel leaned over and poured her more tea. "Is that why there are so few of you?"

"Yes and no. There are fewer of us because... because of the Purging Century." She drank her tea, watching his reaction carefully. "Do you know of it?"

He shook his head.

"You call it the Clearing For the Field," she said quietly. "I... none of my foremothers... ever like to think of it. But we remember."

He held her gaze steadily, and the lines around his eyes deepened with sadness.

She took a deep breath. "That, and coupled with the fact that most of us don't want to be widows... we just end up... not having children." She laughed a little. "It's a little hard to do. It's no fun to have sex with someone who you'd want to kill anyway, but when it's someone you do want to be with, what can you say? 'I want to have your children but there is a fifty-fifty chance you'll die'? That probably isn't healthy for a relationship. And it's not good for the children either, who will remember."

"There are no memories of mates who loved and gave themselves up willingly?"

"Those are the worst memories. Ruined husbands. Wasting away. Why would anyone want to inflict that on a loved one willingly?"

"Another reason to not be with the Bog King, I imagine."

"Ha. No. His line is actually immune. Long line of kings and queens who survived poisoning by ingesting it and making it part of their blood. It would be my luck the one person I know to be safe would be someone I can't be with." She shrugged. "Luckily it's not a priority anyway. That was another thing Bog and I differed in."

He nodded.

It occurred to her, then, something someone else had said. "What's your story, Councilor Didn't-Dance-With-A-Woman-For-Ten-Years?" She lowered her head to rest it on an arm.

He mimicked her shrug. "Not a priority." At her interested stare, he gave a small laugh. "I'm not joking. I simply don't feel the need, nor the desire. I aesthetically appreciate beauty, I suppose, but even during spring, when we're supposed to be at our most frisky, I simply don't get the urge."

It was her turn to fill his cup with tea.

"It's not that I never want to, but it is not necessarily tied to specific persons. And of course, one cannot cultivate any kind of physical affection with another without the expectations of... well."

"Mm. It is nice to cuddle. That is one thing I miss."

"How do you know if you're venomous to a person, anyway?"

Sylvia thought for a moment. "It depends. Some people get a rash when they come in contact with us. Others feel sick afterwards. There have been cases of people just keeling over and dying. They don't call us the clan of poison kisses for no reason."

He reached across the table, and touched her teacup. "May I?"

Her gaze flicked between his face and her cup. "It'd be your funeral, but I'd rather you not die in my house. It would be terrible for foreign relations."

"I'll fly out if I start feeling ill. Deal?"

He didn't die that night. Nor the next. Nor the next. She didn't know why he insisted on taking that risk, but she appreciated it.

Sylvia was comforted by the fact that she had one person in her life who seemed to dislike Roland as much as she did, though they weren't the only ones in the court who didn't support the match. Nathaniel also winced as the knight burst into song publicly, frowned as the Crown Princess squirmed in embarrassment and delight, and sighed as everyone gushed about how adorable the romance was. Eventually, though, it was clear that Nathaniel also hated Roland, but for some other different reason.

A visit to a blacksmith, Nathaniel giving the excuse that he wanted to fetch something on the way to the palace. There was a training barracks nearby, and they spotted the princesses and some friends giggling as they hovered at the top of the fence, looking in.

"I thought I should keep my hand in. Council meetings make me feel so soft after," Nathaniel was saying as he walked in.

The blacksmith was an elf, large and robust for his people, who grinned as he saw the fairy and the goblin walk in. "Councilor! Madam Ambassador! Welcome!"

"Master Kor. Is it done?"

"Yes it is! For a while, actually. I wasn't sure when you wanted it, but, here." The blacksmith unwrapped something and handed it to Nathaniel. Sylvia, standing behind him at the door observing the girls, didn't notice at first, until he touched her shoulder.

"Here."

"Hm?" She registered that he was holding a weapon to her.

"You favour the staff. I thought you might want one of your own."

"Sorry, what?" she realized she was being very slow on the uptake, but the staff was a beautiful iron with filigree designs on both ends, twining around like wisps of mist.

Or spiderwebs.

She gingerly took the staff, weighing it in her hand, her mouth open in a silent "oh." She almost missed Kor handing a sword to Nathaniel.

"Does the weight suit you, Madam Ambassador?" Kor asked eagerly. "Councilor Nathaniel only gave me the one you used for practice, but it's not the same thing."

"Want to try it out?" Nathaniel nodded to the training barracks.

"You realize that we don't use swords in the Dark Forest for a reason?" she drawled, letting him drag her by the hand to the gate. Past the grate she could see young soldiers practicing with each other.

Dawn's voice pierced the air. "It's Sylvia!"

Sylvia waved the staff at them. "Your Highnesses. Girls."

"Are you duelling the Councilor, Sylvia?" Marianne called out enthusiastically. "Can we watch?" She climbed over the wall now, dropping in front of them. "Is that a new weapon? Can I see?"

"Of course you may. Hold that for me a moment, please." Sylvia dropped the staff into Marianne's eager hands. "Now be aware, Councilor Nathaniel," she said as she started undoing the front buttons of her dress, "that you are about to fight a goblin." She threw off the dress, and her rightmost leg kicked it to the corner. "In case you needed a reminder of what you're up against," she told him at the sight of his raised eyebrow. It had been a while since she'd gone about without a dress.

"Madam Sylvia!" Dawn almost shrieked. "It's going to get dirty!" She swooped down to rescue the dress.

The soldiers in the barracks had stopped, wide-eyed. Roland flitted over, flinty-eyed. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! What're you up to here, Councilor? Goblins not allowed in the barracks! We're supposed to be keeping them out!"

"The Ambassador has political immunity, Lieutenant," Nathaniel said, shrugging off his coat. "And we shan't be long."

"I'll leave as soon as I kick his ass," Sylvia promised, and the girls behind her laughed. She held her hand out to Marianne, who gave her back her staff.

"Captain."

"Pardon?" Nathaniel asked.

"I'm Captain now."

"Oh, that's nice." He drew out a little hourglass from a breastpocket. "Your Highness? Would you mind very much timing us?"

"Oh, I'd love to!" Marianne held out her hands as Nathaniel tossed it to her.

"Marianne!" Roland pleaded.

"It'll be fine, Roland! It'll be fun! I've never seen them fight each other before!" She grinned up at him. "Ready?" she called, holding up the hourglass.

Nathaniel took his stance, and Sylvia checked her talons. "Anytime."

"Go!"

Despite Sylvia's relaxed opening stance, she met Nathaniel's sword easily. Twisting her body, she kicked at his legs with three of her own, almost throwing him off balance. He caught himself with his wings, landing blows. She jabbed and parried, he returned the blows with full force.

Propelling himself with his wings, he landed a solid kick to her front carapace. She slid backwards, her hind legs keeping her upright, swinging the staff wide to parry his next blow coming at her side, and kicked him back. He flew up, preparing even more momentum.

She flung a hand from her spinnarets and threw a thread up at his feet, snagging him and pulling.

The girls gasped as she soared up while he fell, her legs wrapping around his front. She pulled the staff up to his neck, and he stopped it with his sword, uncomfortably close to his own nose. He spun higher and around, trying to throw her off, but her legs bit into him tighter. Too far above for anyone to see, she let one hand go of her staff, wrapping a hand around his neck.

"In the Dark Forest, you'd be dead," she whispered into his ear as she curled her fingers and dug her talons into his neck. "Should have worn some armour, Councilor."

"Time!" Marianne called from below.

"Well, if I die tonight, you will have sex with me, right? Something to remember me by," he breathed, not really winded.

"Ohhh, you, Councilor, are a true flirt!" She let go of his neck. "Can you get us down? I could let go, but the ground looks hard and I might sprain a foot."

He was laughing as he lowered them down. She jumped off his back, grinning as she took her dress from Dawn.

"A tie!" Marianne proclaimed.

"No, she won," Nathaniel said off-handedly, rubbing his neck. "Sharp claws."

"Really? We didn't see."

"That's the point, Your Highness." Sylvia buttoned up, Dawn helping her adjust her skirts over her back legs.

"Can you see it now, though?" Nathaniel pointed to his neck. "I might have to raise my collar." He touched the little red crescents. "That stings."

"Let me see." She brushed her fingertips over the scratchmarks. "Hm, I did get you good."

"Madam Sylvia, your dress has a splotch!" Dawn complained. Sometimes she was a bossy mother hen of a thing.

"That was the coolest thing!" The crown princess was clasping her hands together as she gushed. "Councilor, will you show me how that kick is done?"

"Now now, Marianne!" Roland exclaimed. "Why would you need to learn that for?"

"It looks cool!"

"Babycakes, I'll do it for you if it means so much to you."

"You'll teach me?" Marianne's excited squeal went up two octaves.

"Uh, no... no, I mean that--"

"Your Highness, if you'd like to stop by my house a week from now, Councilor Nathaniel can teach you that move." Sylvia fussed with Nathaniel's collar, helping him hide the clawmarks.

"Can I come too?" Dawn asked. "I finished a piece I'd really like to show you."

"You are always welcome, Your Highness," Sylvia said fondly.

Behind them Roland made an unhappy noise as he stalked off to his soldiers.

"That was really something!" one of them exclaimed.

"A whole new fight style! We gotta find some goblins to spar with sometime."

"That's disgusting," Roland sputtered. "I mean, yeah, it'd be interesting and make us better fighters, but still disgusting."

Sylvia watched Marianne draw in a sharp gasp, and even Dawn had gone still. Nathaniel started walking towards the soldiers. "Nathaniel, no-" She sighed. "It's not a big deal."

"It... it kinda is," Marianne muttered, embarrassed. She scratched the back of her head uncertainly. "Insulting a foreign dignitary can be grounds for arrest. I'll... I'll talk to him."

"Can you?" Sylvia asked, then paused to think of the implications of the question that the crown princess had definitely caught.

Nathaniel strode back, his gaze flinty, mouth set in a thin line.

"That really wasn't necessary. I've heard much worse."

He shook his head. "I know. From private citizens. But Roland is wearing his uniform, and saying that as a ranking officer. He needs to watch his mouth. He needs to learn," he continued, raising his voice, "especially if he wants to be King!"

"Enough," Sylvia said quietly. "Councilor, I don't need more gossip about me from your defense."

He frowned down at her. "It's a little late for that."

And that was how Ambassador Sylvia found out that apparently she and Councilor Nathaniel were, in fairy words, a thing.

9: Apology

"Roland says sorry."

Sylvia pulled the thread up, and made another knot. "For what?"

"For... for insulting you the other week."

"Captain Roland insulted me many times the other week. Which particular insult is he apologizing for?"

Marianne sighed, dropping her face into her arms on the table. "I am so sorry. It's just... I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Your Highness. You're not the one making the insults, are you?"

It was a rare afternoon that Sylvia got to spend time with just the Crown Princess. It wasn't for lack of trying. When she wasn't in meetings, or studying, or performing some public function, Marianne spent her free time with her intended, Roland. He was off on some border patrol right now, and Marianne followed Dawn down to the elf village to visit Sunny. The two of them were off pulling some prank, and Marianne called on Sylvia instead.

"Did he apologize to you, by the way, for insulting your sword?"

"What? He didn't--" Marianne frowned, then sighed. "He didn't insult my sword."

"He said, and I quote, 'what a cute little thing,' which I think implies that he doesn't take your weapon seriously. Which, I might add, you haven't been practicing with lately. You know you're naturally clumsy, Your Highness, that's why you need practice." Sylvia stopped and sighed herself. "Now it's my turn to apologize. I shouldn't be lecturing you like this. You know it better yourself."

"No! I mean, you're right, I should be practicing, it's just--Roland really doesn't like me swordfighting."

"But you love swordfighting!"

"But I love him too! Isn't loving a person worth more than loving something like swordfighting?"

"No," Sylvia said flatly, foremother memory gauging the situation and recognizing that this needed an intervention. "It's not worth it to stop doing something you love, many things you love in your case, just for a man." She ran a finger through her hair, trying to think of what she could say. "Especially when he's not giving up anything for you."

"He's going to be my King. That's got to be worth something." Marianne was pensive. "He's giving up an easy life to be my King."

"He's not exactly broken up about that," Sylvia replied dryly. "Marianne, I just... I dislike seeing you like this. You shouldn't have to apologize because the guy you love is screwing things up. You should be with someone who makes you feel proud."

"I am proud!" Marianne frowned. "I'm so, so unbelievably proud. I mean, look at him! He's so perfect!" She allowed herself a dreamy smile. "I can't believe how lucky I am to be with him sometimes. Don't you... don't you ever feel that way about Nathaniel?"

"Marianne, don't switch the subject." Sylvia put her sewing down. "You are the Crown Princess of the Bright Meadow. You are brilliant, visionary, and compassionate." She reached across the table to take Marianne's hands. "You wouldn't be the first woman in the world to be worn down by a man blinding you with his charm, but believe me when I say, he's lucky to have you, not the other way around. He will be elevated above his peers. What do you stand to get?"

Marianne gave her an uncertain look. "Love?"

Sylvia sighed. "I'm sorry. I just. I know you love him. It just burns me to see that he doesn't really support your ideas, and he's to be your king. And politically, that's a problem for me, because you know how hard it's been to even get the council to even consider trade with the Dark Forest. And personally, that's a problem for me, because Roland doesn't like goblins, and I'm not about to get some magic spell to make me something else." She decided to change tactics, and turn the topic to something that would pull Marianne out of her morose mood. "Speaking of Kings, I finally heard from the Bog King, and he's agreed to the border market."

"He did?" Mariane's face completely lit up.

That's more like it. Sylvia nodded. "As long as the Fairy Kingdom arranges it, that is. Remember, the last time it stopped was because the Fairy Kingdom refused to help put it up."

"That's so great! I'll ask Sunny if we can get the elves to help, too."

"They'll be more likely to benefit, so that would be nice."

"Could we have a festival of it, maybe? Like a party? That would be so much fun!"

They pored over a map, to determine the best spot for a market. Sylvia would have to write for permission for the exact spot, since it was supposed to spill over. Griselda could help spreading word about the market, too. Finally. Finally they were getting somewhere.

King Dagda's reaction, as Sylvia expected, was rather lukewarm. He recognized the benefits of the border market, but seemed less than concerned about organizing it.

"This will be Marianne's project, Ambassador. I trust you will help her with it?"

She nodded. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"And notify Captain Roland, since it's his responsibility to secure the border."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Tell Captain Roland," the King said again patiently, "because we'll want to make sure it's kept orderly."

"Is Your Majesty implying... that the border market will have increased crime rates because of its proximity to the Dark Forest?" Sylvia asked, eyes narrowing.

"That will be for Captain Roland to determine," King Dagda snapped. "It's his job as future King to judge what's best for the people!"

Sylvia drew herself up. "It is also Princess Marianne's duty and judgement, and she is the one inheriting the throne. When did the Fairy Kingdom start ignoring birthright over marital ties?"

"Do not presume your Living Memory trumps my decision, Madam Ambassador." King Dagda paused, and sighed wearily. "I... We apologize, Madam Ambassador. It has been a long day."

"Of course." It was mid-afternoon.

"And... I understand your... misgivings about Captain Roland. He is not as open to increased contact as my daughter is, I see that. But... he will be my son-in-law, and I have to support him."

King Dagda was lost to her. She recognized that immediately, even without the insight of foremother memory.

Nothing would stop her from celebrating this one small victory, though. Years after arriving in this weirdly stuffy kingdom, with its incomprehensible rules and systems, its distasteful caste system, its petty noble houses, and its bickering councils, something was finally happening.

There would be dancing, Marianne declared. Dawn was thrilled, even moreso when Sunny made arrangements for a concert.

For the first time in years, Sylvia met goblins again, and she wept.

"Sorry," she muttered later to Nathaniel as he spurred the dragonflies on. She knew she was saying it to his chest, since she was sitting on the leaf they were riding on, clinging to him, but she was so exhausted she couldn't stand anymore.

"For what?" he asked, keeping his voice light.

"Being a sobbing mess out of everything tonight. Taking up so much space on this leaf. Introducing you to goblin beer." She thought a moment. "Actually, not the last one. Your face was the best face."

He laughed. "You've nothing to be sorry for. You were so happy tonight. It's the happiest I've ever seen you, I think."

"What, am I usually a sad person?"

He nodded, staring straight ahead. "I don't know if you've noticed, but sometimes it looks like your Living Memory is weighing you down. If not, then your exile. Tonight was the first time I've ever seen you look like you had nothing on your shoulders."

"You must not be paying attention to me when I'm knitting."

"You know what I mean."

"Well, sorry anyway."

"For what, now?"

"I'm so tired I can hardly think straight. I might eat you when I get home."

He stroked her hair. "That's all right."

When they arrived at her house, she stumbled through her door while he let the dragonflies go. She was still fumbling her way--stupid furniture!--when she felt him grab her under her arms and carry her to her bedroom. They fell into her web with a soft oopf.

"Have I thanked you for your service, Councilor Nathaniel?"

"You may have."

"I shall do it properly tomorrow. Good night, Councilor."

"Good night, Madam Ambassador."

10: Aftermath

Ambassador Sylvia was dressed in red at the wedding of Crown Princess Marianne to Captain Roland of the border guard. She wore it out of spite, because spider widows wore red to signal that they had eaten a husband. (This had not been the case in three centuries, but she liked the detail.)

She stared straight ahead, because at one point Councilor Nathaniel had whispered to her that she was glaring at the groom in such a hostile manner it might be misconstrued. They were standing in a small cluster of people who decidedly also did not like Captain Roland, and had vocalized their disapproval for the gadfly guard more than once in public. Their criticisms were varied: he was an upstart; he was from a minor house; he was frivolous; he was a bad influence on the princess; he would be a disaster of a king.

Sylvia agreed with the last reason, although her main reason was more personal. Through careful inquiries and through watching Captain Roland's behaviour around Marianne when she and Nathaniel were present, she was thoroughly convinced that Roland was purposefully steering Marianne away from anyone who would talk some sense into her.

She had attempted to spend the last winter in the Fairy Huddle to try to stop this disaster of a wedding from moving forward. It did not go well, since everytime she had tried to approach Marianne, she would be stymied by Roland's warbling. She overheard him bragging about becoming King by snaring the Crown Princess and it took everything to not stomp him into the ground. Nathaniel spread his own careful whispers--such a subtle man--which almost got Roland into trouble with the King, but the satisfaction didn't last long.

It was especially hard to watch the couple interact. Watching him downplay her achievements unless it made him look good, watching him pay her backhanded compliments that reflected back onto him, listening to him declare public affection for her. And Marianne, so young, so dazzled by it all.

And here they were. She was going to watch, as so many foremothers had, a young woman give herself to an unworthy man.

Nathaniel had an arm around her waist, at her request because she didn't think she could stop herself from killing Roland if she had to go. But she was here nonetheless, because she wanted to support Marianne's decision--this was Marianne's decision, and she had to respect that. Foremother memory told her that trying to steer her away from it would only destroy any rapport she had built with the princess, and if this marriage had to happen, she needed all of it.

A kiss on her ear distracted her. She frowned up at Nathaniel. "What was that for?" she hissed.

"You looked like you could use a distraction."

She took a deep breath. "I suppose I do at that."

The wait seemed to take forever. The crowds started whispering.

"Is she all right?"

"Where is she?"

"What could be taking so long?"

Sylvia wondered if she should be feeling relief. Instead, something cold in her heart growled.

Dawn flew in then, overhead the crowd and straight to her royal father, standing at the altar with Roland. She glanced around nervously and whispered something.

"What?" King Dagda's soft gasp echoed throughout the hall.

"Just what I said, Daddy."

"But that's ridiculous! You can't just... cancel a wedding, on the day of!" At the collective gasp that went up in the room, he looked around, and went back to an angry whisper.

"No!" Dawn's whisper was insistent enough to be heard. "She said the wedding's off! I don't know why!"

King Dagda turned to Roland, as if the groom could give an accounting of his bride's sudden behaviour.

Roland gulped, and gave his best reassuring smile. "Your Majesty, I'm sure it was a misunderstanding. Pre-wedding jitters."

"A misunderstanding that would lead to a cancelled wedding?" Dagda, at least, sounded suitably skeptical.

A series of images flashed through her face, then. "He has done something," Sylvia growled under her breath.

Nathaniel gave her a sharp look, and several members in their coterie also turned.

"Look at that face. The face of the guilty. He has done something to hurt her." She knew she wasn't being very loud, not loud enough to be heard at the front, but also that she shouldn't be saying anything.

Unfortunately, a nearby councilor who did not share her sentiments overheard, and turned to frown at whoever was saying that. "Don't be ridiculous. Princess Marianne has always been flighty--"

"You shut up. How dare you insult a princess of the realm." Sylvia took a step forward and felt Nathaniel's arm tighten around her waist, restraining her. The councilor had recognized the source of the voice, and was quickly paling. "How dare you insult your own princess, who is to be your sovereign. Have some respect."

"Patience, Madam Ambassador," Councilor John murmured. "It's not like you have any proof."

"I am Living Memory, Councilor. I know the face of guilt. I have seen it many, many times before, with enough hindsight to recognize it when it is right in front of me."

The whispers were already roaring into an upset hubbub. King Dagda raised his arms for quiet, to little avail. "Princess Marianne is unwell. We will postpone this wedding to a later date. Thank you for coming."

"Your Majesty, there's no need to cancel!" Roland tried to salvage the occasion. "Maybe I should just go talk to her? I'm sure it's just a minor thing! You know how Marianne gets." He turned to Dawn.

King Dagda also turned to Dawn.

Dawn was squinting at Roland with extreme prejudice. "She was crying really hard and doesn't want to see anyone." She didn't even bother whispering her reply.

"I'll talk to her--"

"She doesn't want to see anyone."

Sylvia took a step towards the altar, but Nathaniel gripped her waist harder. "Are you going to make a scene?"

"You heard Dawn. He made her cry. He hurt her."

"And we all bleed with her. But are you going to make a scene, and will it help?"

She stopped short. She did want to make a scene. It would be utterly satisfying. She ran through the possible scenarios in her head. Yell at Roland publicly, and incur King Dagda's wrath, with possible punishment. Marianne would still be hurt. Don't tell at Roland now, stew in silence, and maybe destroy something afterwards. Marianne would still be hurt.

She settled for fuming quietly at Nathaniel. "I hate it when you're smarter than me, you know that?"

"I'm sure you do," he said soothingly, carefully ushering her out. "Let's go get some tea and celebrate this cancellation, shall we?"

The wedding day was a holiday for the kingdom, and it was abuzz with news of the cancelled nuptials. Nathaniel's house was closer to the castle, and by the time they got there, there was a small gathering of gossips in the parlour.

"Sylvia!" Donna almost shrieked as soon as she sighted the couple. She practically ran over to them to drag them over. "Nathaniel! Did you know? What happened? Surely you must know, Sylvia, you were all but accusing Captain Roland in the hall!" She practically pushed Sylvia down to sit next in the most available space between the ladies' chairs.

Sylvia shrugged. "I have no proof, as was pointed out to me earlier."

"But you have an inkling? Do tell! What does your Living Memory suspect?" Donna shoved a cup of tea into her hands.

She sighed, feeling theatrical. Donna and her friends weren't her favourite people, and she suspected they talked about her behind her back. But they could be useful here... "Well, she probably found some proof he didn't love her. Could have been anything, really. Found some love letters, or saw another woman's things among his, or something equally dramatic."

This caused an outburst. "But he was always so affectionate!" "Couldn't stop singing about his love for her!" "They looked so happy together!"

"Ladies, you and I are old enough to know that sometimes lovers are not true to you, no matter how it looks." Sylvia took a sip of tea before she continued. "Besides, I thought this one was obvious, anyway. Surely you heard him bragging about becoming King? Why does a man in love need to do that?"

"Well, I never! What bad taste!" And the group descended into outrage.

"And he never supported her," Nathaniel added mournfully, placing a supporting hand on Sylvia's shoulder. "What kind of King doesn't support his Queen? Especially a King marrying into the throne? Always seemed to me he had his own agenda."

"You never trusted him, Nathaniel! Especially with your pro-goblin politics!"

A crowd of gasps, and the whole group turned to Sylvia, wide-eyed.

"Considering Princess Marianne's desires for diplomatic relations with the Dark Forest, a marriage to Captain Roland would have totally undermined her," Nathaniel said, sounding offended.

No one looked like they heard him, though. Sylvia didn't move, just looked around the room, wondering if she was supposed to do something in the sudden silence that descended. Were there such awkward moments in memory? She couldn't think of anyway.

"Uhm. I, uh, like Councilor Nathaniel's pro-goblin politics." As if to make her point, she patted his hand on her shoulder.

Nathaniel took her hand. "Donna, we'd love to stay and chat, but we came to pick up a few things and were going to call on some of the other councilors to discuss some matters. Hope you don't mind."

There was a rhubarb growing behind them as they left the room, but one question made them quicken their pace.

"Have they set a wedding date?"

A few more calls, a few well-placed words here and there with people sympathetic to the princess, respectful of Nathaniel's standing and well-aware of Sylvia's status--not just as a Living Memory, but also as occasional confidant of the princesses--and they ended their day at Sylvia's house, feeling pleased with their work.

They avoided talk about a wedding date and spent a marvelous night sleeping soundly. Sylvia had been convinced that two-legged creatures wouldn't be able to get in and out of her hammock web easily, but Nathaniel rolled in and out of it with ease, and he was warm and soft. He was also very vocally appreciative of it, favourably comparing it to the flower beds of the fairies regularly. Their sleeping arrangements were made all the more pleasant with the realization that neither of them were morning people.

So the knock on Sylvia's door at dawn was an unwelcome thing. For several moments, neither moved, though they were awake and knew it.

When the knocking got more insistent, Sylvia sighed and pushed herself up. "I'll get it."

"No, you're naked, I'll get it, who knows who's at the door."

"You're also naked."

"I have a robe." He used his wings to push himself off, which also had the effect of pushing her back down.

Sylvia considered the wisdom of letting him open the door when the whole neighbourhood knew whose house it was. While they didn't advertise their relationship, and they were not necessarily secretive, but it wasn't common knowledge that Nathaniel regularly slept over either.

"Councilor Nathaniel!" greeted a very unexpected voice. "I, uh, good morning!"

"Uhm. Your... Highness?"

Sylvia sat up with an oath. "Marianne?" She stumbled out of the bedroom and knocked over several pieces of furniture to get to the front door. "Marianne!"

The Crown Princess stood there wearing a white dress tattered at her knees. Her black boots were scuffed, and her hands gripped a training sword. "Uhm. Hi."

Her eyes... Sylvia was alarmed at the blue-black surrounding them. "Did someone hit you?" she exclaimed. "On both eyes?"

"What? No! No, I did this. It's... it's just berry juice. I was trying something new."

Both Sylvia and Nathaniel sighed in unison. "But what are you doing here? It's... so early! Don't tell me you want to train right now?"

Marianne bowed her head. "Uh. Not now, I was going to wait until Councilor Nathaniel got here, because I didn't realize that he was here."

"Is this a girl talk thing? Should I go?" Nathaniel asked.

Sylvia plucked at the sleeve of his robe. "Yes. Get back to bed or get dressed and leave us be. Come in, Your Highness, I'll put on some tea."

11: Outpouring

"You were right," Marianne said into her cup. "About Roland. About everything. I should have listened to you."

Sylvia made a sympathetic sound. "You were in love. It happens. You can't blame yourself for what he did wrong."

"But I should have seen it coming," the princess insisted. "And I... I knew. I knew something was wrong but I was just... so happy. He was like the sun, and I just... I got burned."

It was still too early in the morning, so Sylvia let sympathetic silence settle in.

Marianne burst into tears. Large tears ran down her face as her small body shook with such violence Sylvia stood up in alarm. Quickly, the goblin ran around the table to put an arm around the fairy princess. "It wasn't your fault, Marianne. It was never your fault. He chose to do whatever it is he did. He hurt you. You were in love. That's not a bad thing."

"If it wasn't bad," Marianne yelled, her voice piercing in its pain, "then why does it hurt so much?"

"Because... it was real for you."

"Why wasn't it real for him? Why wasn't I enough for him? What's wrong with me?" The wails were louder now, full of anguish.

"There's nothing wrong with you."

"There must have been! Why didn't he love me if there wasn't something wrong with me? Why did I fall in love with someone like him?"

"Because you, Your Highness, have an open and warm heart, which he chose to take advantage of. It has nothing to do with your wrongness."

"Of course it does," Marianne retorted, even through her tears. "I know what they say about me, Sylvia. I'm not a good princess. I'm too loud, too rough, too demanding. I'm not soft enough, I'm not sweet, I'm not gentle, I'm nothing a fairy princess should be. And I thought... I thought I found someone who thought I was."

"You found someone who pretended you were the fairy princess that you are not, Your Highness," Sylvia said softly. "Not someone who saw you for the fairy princess you are."

An oath from the back of the house distracted them. Something rolled on the floor of the kitchen and someone picked it up and fiddled with it.

"Nathaniel, aren't you supposed to be at a meeting?" Sylvia called.

"Running late. I'll take the backdoor out. You ladies carry on."

"There's a council meeting today? Why wasn't I told?" Marianne sat up.

"Because you were supposed to be on your honeymoon today," Sylvia said dryly.

"Guess that's not happening." Marianne fiercely wiped her face dry wth the back of her hands. She took a deep breath. "I'm going to it."

"Are you sure? Shouldn't you take a break?"

"No." Marianne frowned. "I'm going to be the fairy princess I should have been. I've wasted so much time already. Councilor Nathaniel!"

"Your Highness?" Nathaniel stuck his head into the dining room from the kitchen.

"Kindly escort me to the legislative council meeting."

Nathaniel threw a slightly-panicked look at Sylvia, who nodded seriously. "Uh. Okay. I mean! Of course, Your Highness."

Crown Princess Marianne threw herself into her work with a ferocity that made people nervous. Her supporters were pleased to see her new no-holds-barred approach, and if she got more unpopular with the elder councilmen, it didn't seem to matter, because she went toe-to-toe with them to push her new initiatives through. She hid her hurt under a mask of efficiency and wore off her angry energy through training.

When King Dagda summoned Sylvia, she had hoped it would be about finally opening talks with the Dark Forest. Unfortunately, she had probably hoped for too much.

"What has happened to my daughter?" he demanded as soon as the servants left them alone. "What made her into this?"

Sylvia stared at him, astonished. "I... why would I know that?"

"I know she went to see you after the day of the wedding. I need to know." His face was the pleading one of a broken father, desperately wanting to understand. "What could have done this to my little girl?"

"A broken heart."

"But that was a misunderstanding!" King Dagda burst out. "If she would just listen to Roland, let him talk to her--"

"That would not be wise," Sylvia cut him off. "When Captain Roland is likely the source of the hurt."

"But what did he do?" He narrowed his eyes at her. "I know you had no love for Roland. But you didn't have to poison my daughter against the man she loved to get what you wanted!"

Sylvia blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"What did you do? Why is she like this now?"

"I have done nothing. As for why she is like this now, perhaps you should be asking her."

"She won't tell me what happened! She won't tell me what's wrong!" He sighed. "I have never been that close to her, but... I am still her father. I don't understand why she won't talk to me." He glared at her. "But she speaks to you. So I can only surmise that you know."

"Ah." Sylvia sighed. "Actually, I don't know. She never told me."

"Never told you..."

"No. I never asked. If she wanted to tell, she would have said something. I only have my suspicions, but beyond that, the mind of Her Highness is beyond my ken."

"Then tell me... with your Living Memory, what you can know of my daughter's hurt. Tell me how I can restore her to what she was."

"You can't," she said bluntly. "She had her heart broken, and you can't make a heart un-broken again. That's not how it works. You give her time and space to heal, let her find her own way."

"I am asking you for help!"

"I am giving it to you."

"Is this how you served the Bog King? With inactionable advice and evasion?"

Sylvia rose to her full height, towering over the fairy man in his chair. He shrank back from her.

"Guards!" he cried.

She started walking to the door. "I'll see myself out," she said curtly.

She swept out the room in high dudgeon, stewing her way down the corridors of the wretched castle with its high ceilings and narrow hallways specifically designed for fliers.

"Sylvia!"

She stopped short at Nathaniel's voice. "Councilor," she bit out as he approached, his face full of concern.

He took her hands in his. "What happened? I was told that you were in an audience with the King."

She winced. "It didn't go well. I walked out on him."

"You what?"

"He wanted me to tell him what happened to Her Highness and didn't like what I had to say."

"Councilor Nathaniel!" a page flew to them. "His Majesty demands to see you. Now."

"Me...?"

They exchanged glances.

"Now, Councilor."

"What about?"

"He didn't say."

"I'm going home," Sylvia said softly. "I'll see you later."

Later did not happen. Ambassador Sylvia was under house arrest for conspiring against the Crown. People could come to see her, but were discouraged from doing so under threat of being accused of the same. No one could tell her what happened to Councilor Nathaniel. She was left to wring her hands as she paced her ceiling.

A shy knock from the back of the house caught her attention. She thought it was the back door, but it was the small delivery door instead in the corner of the kitchen. Made specifically for the elves who couldn't reach the door knobs of her main doors, it wasn't always locked, but she hadn't been expecting anything.

She opened it. "Master Sunny! What are you doing here? The perimeter is guarded!"

"Here to deliver some food and goods!" Sunny said with bright cheer. He held bags in his arms. "Princess Marianne insisted I come check and make sure you're okay. She would have come herself, but she couldn't get away from her schedule."

"Have you heard from Nathaniel?"

"Apparently also under house arrest." Sunny looked around, and then whispered, "Dawn says she spied on his meeting with her Dad. Said he wouldn't agree to testify against you."

"So there is to be a trial, then?"

"Don't know. Might not come to that. Marianne is arguing against it."

Sylvia shook her head. "There's only so much she can do."

"Keep your spirits up, Madam Sylvia! Like I always say, don't worry about a thing!"

She patted his head. "You're sweet. Best be on your way now."

There were letters. She sorted them into separate piles: official business from people who hadn't yet realized anything was wrong; letters of accusation, often unsigned; letters of support, sometimes also unsigned; personal correspondence with no political content whatsoever.

A fortnight passed with few visitors, no real news, until the sound of dragonflies buzzing over attracted her attention. There were too many for a company call, and elves didn't tend to travel in packs like that. She ran to a window to see a small army in the sky.

Ugh, no, an international incident. Where were they going? The palace? Ugh, of course... not like the goblins knew where she lived. And was that...? Her heart sank at the figure in the center of the formation.

She banged on her front door. "Send for Princess Marianne immediately!" she yelled. "The Bog King approaches!"

She saw him several hours later, after she was humiliatingly dragged to the castle by two fairy soldiers who picked her up by the upper arms and flew her overhead without a care for her person. As she was shoved into the throne room, she saw King Dagda, and the tall dark person of her cousin.

"What is the meaning of this?" Bog growled, and she wasn't sure at who.

She wrenched her arms free of the fairy soldiers' grips.

To his credit, the Bog King swung to King Dagda, fury in his face.

"Bog King," King Dagda began, "she is a prisoner of the Fairy Kingdom--"

"I know what you've told me. And I have told you, the Dark Forest is responsible for its own." Bog stamped his way to her, leveling a glare at the soldiers. They backed off. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"No," she snapped, because she had expected a better reunion than this. "No, I am not all right." She could feel her voice going higher, and she didn't care. "Five years. Five years I've been in this miserable field working myself to the bone to cultivate trade relations, being met with resistance at every juncture. Five years of insults, gossip, criticism from every corner, and complete silence from my king and only family, five years! Five years, and now I'm under house arrest, accused of a crime on the basis of rumours, against a sovereign to whom I have done my utmost to appease, I have no news about the man I love, and my own king and cousin is asking me if I'm all right! No! No, I am not all right!" She was full-on yelling straight into the Bog King's face, raising herself to her full height so she could go nose-to-nose with him, and practically spitting at him as she stabbed a finger at his chest. "You banished me! For a thing I did not do, may I add! And I am now under house arrest! Also for a thing I did not do! How dare you treat a widow of foremother memory this year!" She swung to King Dagda. "And you! How dare you disrespect Living Memory like this! I have done nothing against the Crown, and maybe you should be a better father to your child rather than throwing accusations at foreign dignitaries!"

Princess Marianne and Princess Dawn chose that moment to barge into the throne room. "Dad!" "What's going on!"

Dawn gasped. "Madam Sylvia! Are you all right?"

Marianne, however, stomped her way to her father, hands on her hips. "What in all the fields is this!"

"The Bog King is here to retrieve the ambassador," King Dagda said evasively.

"What?" Marianne spun around, finally noticing the dark monarch in the room. "But--Sylvia didn't do anything wrong!"

"I'll be taking her home regardless," Bog rumbled. "Given the hostile environment."

Marianne paused. "You're the Bog King, aren't you? Sylvia has done great work in the time she's been here! She can't leave now!" She swung around to her father. "Especially not on conspiracy charges! She's done nothing!"

"I have it on good authority that Sylvia has been undermining crown authority among the ranks of the noble houses," King Dagda said, face reddening. "She's dangerous, and I won't have a goblin bring down this kingdom."

The Bog King snarled as he took a step forward. "Are you accusing my cousin of being a liar?"

"Whose authority?" Marianne demanded.

King Dagda seemed to shift uncomfortable under Marianne's gaze. "Darling, it's for your own good."

"Who?" Marianne's voice was hard, grating, dark.

"Captain Roland has uncovered a conspiracy among the councilors. He is rounding up guilty parties as we speak."

"Captain Roland," Marianne said in a low voice, practically a growl that mimicked the Bog King's, "is a liar. You can't trust him."

"What am I to think, Marianne?" King Dagda asked, pained. "This goblin comes to our kingdom, and suddenly you're being difficult and you change and you end your engagement without reason. How can I believe that she hasn't done anything?"

"I had a reason!" she yelled. "You didn't need to bring anybody else into this! You didn't need to arrest anybody! If there was a conspiracy, that would be Roland's fault!" She drew back a little, hands at her mouth trembling and tears at her eyes. Then she visibly steeled herself. "He never loved me. He was just using me."

King Dagda sat forward on this throne. "Marianne...?"

"If you send Sylvia away now, because of something Roland said... I'll leave too."

"Marianne!" Dawn gasped, flitting to her sister's side.

"I don't understand," King Dagda gasped.

"You said it yourself. I'm difficult. I'm different. I'm unique." Marianne put her hands on her hips. "I'm not the perfect fairy princess you want me to be, and you'll round up my friends and supporters on the say-so of the cheating, chattering, power-hungry, pig-headed son of a--"

"Is this family drama usual here?" Bog asked Sylvia.

"You're one to talk," Sylvia snarled at him. "Is this the case then?" she asked King Dagda sharply. "You're allowing a soldier to arrest whoever he thinks is a conspirator... because you trust him over your own flesh and blood?"

"No! I am trying to protect my family!"

"How is it protecting us when you won't even listen to us, Daddy?" Dawn pointed out. "We've been trying to tell you that Sylvia's innocent for days now."

"EVERYBODY BE QUIET!"

Everyone gaped in the wake of the Bog King's roar.

"I don't know what is going on here. But your house is not in order, King Dagda," Bog rumbled. He turned to the princesses. "It would seem that you have a crisis of authority on your hands. I remember when my own father went mad, as kings must eventually do. That is when the heir must step up, to prove themselves worthy of the throne and unwilling to be pushed around."

"That's not how it's done here, but your, ah, solidarity is appreciated," Marianne said wryly. She straightened. "You're right, though. There is clearly a cadre of conspirators trying to undermine my authority before I even take the throne, and it's time for me to deal with it. Dad?"

"Yes, dear?" Dagda asked, sounding weaker than before.

"Do you trust me? Your own heir? To make decisions that best benefit the kingdom?"

King Dagda hesitated, clearly dreading her next actions. "Yes," he finally said. "I do."

"Then I call for Captain Roland to immediately stop his search for so-called conspirators. I order that all current conspirators under arrest be released."

"Oh thank goodness," Sylvia sighed, rolling her eyes.

In short order, Crown Princess Marianne took over, not quite named Regent but close enough, with King Dagda pleading illness. Ambassador Sylvia was released. The Bog King agreed to stand down and take his army back to the Dark Forest. Together they were escorted back to Sylvia's house, and the goblin army buzzed around them, resting on the field by the brook.

"We have to return home, and in case civil war breaks out, I don't want you here," Bog told her as soon as they were inside.

Sylvia paused for a moment, then went back to boiling water for tea.

"I know this isn't the best time to recall you... you clearly have affection for the two princesses, but after all that happened, I don't feel safe with you staying."

"You felt perfectly safe with me being here before, back when I was practically the only goblin the entire Fairy Court had encountered in a hundred years."

Bog cricked his neck. She hoped guilt was giving him a neckache. "I know. But things change."

"That, they do, because some of us fight for it."

"And I see the results. You've done fine work. Consider your return your reward."

Sylvia smashed a cup on the floor. She swung to Bog, eyes narrowed as she prowled towards him. "Is that it? Five years, and I just--pick up my life and go home with you as if nothing happened? How dare you. How dare you! Damn you, where have you been?"

"Are you done?"

"No." And she slapped him.

He staggered back from the force, and touched the corner of his mouth. "I should--"

"What, punish me? You did that, for five years! You sent me away from home! And I have done just fine without you. Where will you exile me to next, Bog King?"

To his credit, his eyes softened. He sighed deeply, and took her trembling hands in his. "I did wrong, cousin, and I am sorry. I ignored your counsel, and rather than face up to what you had to say, I sent you away so I wouldn't have to listen. I sent you to a place I knew to be hostile to our kind for a task I myself deemed impossible. I had no excuse, and perhaps there'll be nothing to earn your forgiveness, but know that I am sorry. I am so, so sorry."

"Free the Sugar Plum Fairy."

"Of course."

"Permit trade delegations and royal visitations."

"Most assuredly."

"Open the borders."

"Well, we have to negotiate that, what with deciding--" He stopped when he saw her glaring at him. "Certainly."

"Overturn your ban on love. Let me have mine."

He opened his mouth, or maybe he dropped his jaw, she didn't know and didn't care. "Shouldn't that depend on my meeting him?"

"I'm not asking for your permission," she told him sourly.

He still grimaced.

"Just because you've sworn off love, Bog King, doesn't mean the rest of the world has. Life moves on. I don't actually need your blessing, just as you don't need my forgiveness. Suck on that, if you will."

A loud growling chorus outside drew their attention. Sylvia looked out the window to find the goblins surrounding the house snarling at the sky. She went outside, to see a fairy hovering above, taking in the scene. He didn't look too perturbed, more like scanning the area for something. She would recognize those mottled brown and grey wings anywhere.

As soon as he saw her, he flew down, alighting in her arms, gathering her in his. He rubbed his thumb between her shoulder blades, breathing in the scent of her hair, and she nuzzled the crook of his neck. For a moment, everything else faded away in a rush of relief.

"You're all right," she whispered. "What happened?"

"House arrest. Just like you. I'm fine. I suppose they released you as soon as they saw the goblin army approaching."

She huffed. "Not before my cousin got into a shouting match with the king. Princess Marianne is in charge now."

"Yes. It's going to be a few... very exciting days, if not weeks."

"I shall be sad to miss it."

He drew away from her. "What?"

"I have been recalled." Her voice was soft, and her fingers idly played with his collar.

He touched his forehead to hers. "You've been wanting it for a long time."

"Not like this though. What will I do without you?"

"You will carry on, as you always have."

She ran her hands over his face, memorizing its feel under her fingertips, on her palm, his breath on her skin.

"Surely foremother memory has given you that fortitude."

"Foremother memory doesn't define who I am or what I feel. I'm not my foremothers. This... this pain will be mine, because every such pain is unique, never felt before."

He captured her hand as it ran down his cheek, kissing it and keeping it there. "I will come visit as soon as I can, then."

"Even if you might get eaten?"

He shrugged. "You've tried before, and I like to think I survived that." He smiled. "Otherwise the last four years have been a good dream. It is not so hard an afterlife, falling in love with you."

"Such a flirt, Councilor," she retorted, but there was no bite.

"Madam Ambassador, you are the one with irresistable charms."

The Bog King snorted, and Sylvia turned to see him leaning on the doorjamb, arms and ankles crossed. He gestured to Nathaniel with his chin. "Is that the one?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Mind your business, cousin." And she went back to holding Nathaniel close, until it was untenable to ignore the crowd of curious goblins around them, and a joining crowd of equally curious elves in the further distance.

Fall passed. Sylvia spent a lot of it visiting friends and family. Many of her kind were solitary creatures in pockets of the Dark Forest, so not seeing each other for long periods of time was normal, but they had all heard of the unusual circumstances of her exile, and were unbearably curious as a result.

Winter came and went. Sylvia spent a lot of it brooding.

As soon as spring arrived, warm enough to leave the castle and her coccoons, she took to the highest tree and wove a web to sit in and wait for a pair of brown-grey wings.

He found her as though he caught her scent through the forest, grasping her tightly in his arms and swinging her around mid-air as she laughed, and then they breathlessly fell into her web, making wordless promises to each other.

12: A Wedding Party

It was a rapidly-changing fairy government that Sylvia returned to, not as ambassador, but as part of a royal visit. The fairy princesses had visited her a fair number of times over the year, and Sylvia had to keep Griselda busy to keep the queen mother out of the negotiation room where Princess Marianne and the Bog King conferred at length over terms and provisions.

It would not do for them to be intruded upon. Although once in a while Dawn would whisper that yes, the two had gone out to stretch their wings, and it was safe to not distract Griselda anymore. Sylvia pressed a finger to her lips if anyone seemed to want to comment on how the Bog King gazed overlong at Crown Princess Marianne, or remark on the smile that played at Crown Princess Marianne's lips sometimes as the Bog King made conversation that might have been utterly boring otherwise.

Her house in the Fairy Kingdom was kept neat and tidy by Nathaniel in her absence. They announced their engagement at a quiet dinner held at her house, which pleased everyone in attendance (and upset some others because they had not been in attendance for the momentous occasion). The wedding itself they held at the border market on a calm midsummer evening.

They dispensed with the usual officiant and elder, calmly reciting promises to each other in front of an audience. But the Bog King surprised them when he approached, tokens in his hands.

"I bring you blessings," he said softly, only for them to hear. "I bring you the benediction of the Northern Spiders, and I bring you the benediction of the Southern Scorpions. I bring you the benediction of the Swarm." He let each token fall at their feet as he recited the names of the clans and goblin families that delivered their private blessings through the King. "And I gift you my blessing, blood kin, recognition of the royal line, and promises of loyalty to yours."

She hadn't quite forgiven him just yet, but she gave him a small nod in acknowledgement, and leaned forward a little for the kiss he laid on her forehead.

Their first dance was with each other. Bog claimed the second dance with Sylvia, to the oohs-and-aahs of several goblins. Dawn took to the floor with her best friend, Sunny.

"Who would have thought that the almighty Bog King could dance so well?" Marianne laughed at the edge of the dance floor to Nathaniel.

"Surely Your Highness must realized by now not to underestimate him." Nathaniel grinned. "May I have the honour? Since my bride seems to be occupied at the moment."

Marianne gladly took his hand, and they chatted about a council motion as they swirled about the dance floor, until they almost bumped into Sylvia and Bog.

"I'd like to dance with my new husband again," Sylvia declared loudly as soon as she was within earshot of Nathaniel. "Swap partners?"

Griselda cackled--loudly--and almost ruined the moment as the Bog King shyly took Princess Marianne's hands. The nervous tension in his body bled out within a few moments, though, as they kept on dancing and conversing as if they did such a thing every day. If they seemed to dance much closer than was perhaps appropriate, no one said a thing.

"Think they'll have a happy ending, too?" Nathaniel asked softly.

Sylvia kissed his clever mouth. "Oh, love, there are no happy endings, just happy transformations."

#fanfic?#strange magic #maybe #idk anymore #fun though

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canaliculi · 8 years ago

Text

Radio Star

Welcome to Night Vale

Station Management/Cecil Palmer; mentioned pre-Carlos/Cecil Palmer

NC-17: dub con, aphrodisiacs, broadcast molestations, tentacle sex

It's Listener Appreciation Week at Night Vale Community Radio - a historically perilous time for broadcasters. Particularly so when fans aren't careful with their postage.

The door to management’s office creaked open. Thick, dark smoke rolled out, spilling across the station’s floor and obscuring the well-worn tiles. Cecil eyed this event carefully, but the bright “ON AIR” sign was due to flicker to life at any moment, and the imminence of death becoming ever so slightly more imminent was no reason to shirk one’s responsibilities.

And one, single Door opening was no reason to panic.

From his viewpoint in the glass recording booth, it didn’t look like the paint had begun to peel in slender crackling curls off the walls, so, that was a good sign. Maybe a freak breeze had blown the door open, and this had nothing to do with management at all! After all, one of the interns had been doing building maintenance this week, which had mostly consisted of the poor young man oiling every door hinge, every desk drawer (did those need oiled? Cecil, and he assumed, the world, did not know), and all the ominous, ever-turning gears within reach. Of course, this did not fall inside the regular scope of practice for interns, but ever since poor Terrence, the intern, had fallen into the oil pit that had appeared on the lawn of Marcus Vanston’s private mid-week getaway house his upper extremities had been replaced by dark, indistinct limbs consisting of constantly dripping, slippery ooze. Great for lubricating doorways, not-so-great for working with expensive radio equipment or handling anything paper.

So, yes. That was probably it. Most likely. The Door, previously rusted shut with a long dried, brown and flakey liquid, had just undergone too much upkeep recently, and, being unused to such things as responsible homeownership, had simply slid open on its own. Without the knowledge or consent of the beings who resided beyond its stone carved form. Assuming that the smoke – which still continued to flood the hallway, having reached knee height and now accumulating upwards towards the ceiling – was not corrosive or poisonous in some unforeseeable manner, an intern was probably already on their way to just, gently tip that door shut again. Cecil was halfway to convincing himself that this was the case when the “ON AIR” sign buzzed on, casting a dull yellow sheen across the bubbling surface of the smoke.

“When one door closes, another door, somewhere in your house, opens – and who knows what’s lurking behind that one,” Cecil said, slipping into his role as the Voice of Night Vale with the ease of a parasite slipping into a second skin. Really, it was his first and only skin, as he never could truly stop being the Voice. “Welcome, to Night Vale.”

The instrumental opening was coming to a close when the light hanging nearest to management’s office began flickering. Cecil watched it flash on and off with suspicion and growing mistrust, but that was how he watched most things.

“It is Listener Appreciation Week here at Night Vale Community Radio and I, for one, could not be more pleased!” The flickering grew more intense, both in frequency and in number of light bulbs flashing. The entire hallway was having an epileptic fit, but the obscuring smoke was, actually, quite helpful in this situation. “We’ve been fielding listener suggestions and tips left, right, and double left all week and, frankly, most of them were awful! You should have put more thought into this. And that last one? Pretty embarrassing stuff! I can’t believe you thought that would be a good idea!

“Also, I would hate to start something like a city-wide manhunt, but one of you out there has been using writing utensils. I’m not going to name any names, but I think it suffice to say that it is someone you know and love, very much. The very last person you would expect to betray you, the one person you believe that, in this life, you can trust the most. A person that knows your deepest, most intimate and incriminating secrets. If this person is capable of so blatantly violating bans are that in place solely for our protection, why, dear Listeners, I think that begs the question… what else is this person capable of?

“Now, I know better than most how inconvenient some of these bans from City Council have been. Just the other day, I was talking to Carlos - perfect Carlos - our resident scientist whose hair, I must say, is growing back quite nicely.” Cecil was looping a dangling wire around his index finger as he spoke, completely absorbed in his memories of said scientist and also completely missing the way the bulbs in the hallway had begun to crack and explode. “I mean, it’s kind of at that in-between stage, where you know someone has gotten a haircut, and it’s sort of growing out, but you can tell they don’t really know how to style it yet – Listeners, I’m not usually one for the scruffy, unkempt look, but Carlos the scientist wears it well!”

A tentacle darted through the dense, roiling darkness of the hallway and slapped against the glass of the recording booth. The spider web of hairline cracks that splintered out from its impact site formed the words GET TO THE POINT. Cecil cleared his throat.

“Anyway, I was talking to Carlos and he mentioned how much easier things would be if most forms of standard writing utensils weren’t banned. I said, uh huuuuhh, and he said that while most mundane charting and frantic, terrified note taking could be replicated with a tablet, it just wasn’t the same. There was something intrinsically missing from the process that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Touch screens and styluses weren’t banned, he continued, so it isn’t so different from using a pen and paper, but…

“And then, he trailed off, offering only a shrug and a very non-committal hand wave.” Beneath his desk, something snaked itself around Cecil’s ankle and he flinched bodily. “I-I nodded, and told him that we all lose something small and intrinsic to ourselves every day, usually without acknowledging or even so much as noticing this loss, until we have lost so much that we find ourselves hollow and aching inside, with no idea as to what we are aching for, so, I was happy he was cognizant of his own forfeitures.” The something around his ankle had become the something around his leg, coiling upwards around his pant leg. “Listeners, if perfect Carlos, with all his sciencing and postulating – if he can avoid the use of writing utensils, well, so can you!”

Thin streamers of jet black smoke were trickling in through the cracks in the glass, and were curling upwards into the room from crack between the floor and the bottom of the door. Cecil thought about taking his shirt off and stuffing it beneath the door, but both of his legs were now ensnared by something that he wasn’t quite ready to check out just yet. Oftentimes, Cecil had found, the solution to an issue was simply ignoring the existence of said issue entirely. Denial was an essential skill to cultivate in Night Vale.

“In other news, nothing at all strange or unexpected or kind of wet and slimy – nothing like that at all is happening currently in the station.” Perhaps in response to his talking about them, or perhaps in an unrelated and coincidental manner, the twin tendrils coiled around his legs tightened dramatically. “N-Noooope. Nothing like that at all.”

The things around him were cold and damp, soaking through the fabric of his slacks where they twitched and pulsed against him. They had wound high enough to clench around his thighs, their tips flicking at the upper curve of his hipbones. Cecil still wasn’t sure how they had managed to squirm between his legs and the seat. It wasn’t entirely comfortable, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, and his skin felt kind of prickly and warm where the tentacles’ viscous fluid was seeping into his clothes. In fact, his whole body was feeling kind of prickly and warm.

“In actual news, Old Woman Josie reports that the inhumanly tall, winged creatures who are definitely not angels, and who all go by the name Erika, have been having some, uh-” More tendrils blossomed from, somewhere, and wound around his arms. Up close, the liquid they were coated in smelled sickly sweet, like road kill left to bake in the afternoon sun. Oh, and cotton candy! One of the tentacles trailed across his cheek, leaving a sticky smear behind. He felt heat rush to his face, and his brain felt foggy. “Sooooome issues with the water heater. She didn’t expand, or tell us why she thought this was news worthy, but, there you go!”

Cecil gulped, and hoped that didn’t count as unapproved sponsorship. With a touch more force than was strictly necessary, Cecil loosened his tie and collar. It was so. Hot. In this booth. Was it the booth? Was it always this hot? Was it the biting and acrid smoke that was now starting to build up inside it?

“Personally, I don’t see why she needs hot water,” Cecil said. His voice was trembling. “Why do any of us need hot water? We are in a desert, Night Vale!” When – and how – had he lost his shirt? Tendrils were sliding up and down his arms, so slick and cool in sharp contrast to his overheating flesh. He sucked in a shaky breath as two more tentacles began groping up his chest, circling around his waist and cinching tight. The thin, tapered end of one slinked around his throat. It squeezed ever so lightly, just enough to make his already dizzy head swim, and Cecil let out a groan. “I mean, hot water, right?” It came out deeper, a bit more derisive than he had truly intended.

His breathing had gotten a little faster, a little shallower, and he was squirming in his seat. He was burning alive, a raging fire pulsing through his arteries, in the delicate capillary tangles so close to the skin and in the thick vessels so deep inside him, a fuse struck from both ends. Each sweep of the tendrils over him brought him a scant moment of blessed relief, swiftly followed by even brighter sparks of heat, so that he was left gasping and striving for their constant touch.

There was a dull, hollow thunking, and the end of the tentacle wrapped around his neck pressed up against his chin. Cecil blinked groggily but allowed it to tilt his head upwards. He licked his lips and wondered if there was some way to tempt the tendril closer. The thunking continued and Cecil focused on its source. The thin white cracks on the window of the recording booth had reformed themselves into the words KEEP GOING. He felt a bone tingling shiver roll down his spine in a heady wave.

“Oh, yes, do keep going.” All the tendrils – wrapped around his arms, his legs, his waist, his neck - clenched in warning. “With the, uh, news! Of course. The news.” The tentacles relaxed and Cecil felt a fresh surge of whatever strange, dripping liquid they were coated with rush across his skin. It soaked into the fabric of his slacks and probably the chair, and dripped off his bare skin to patter on the floor like the quiet whispering of rain.

“The Sheriff’s Secret Police issued a statement earlier today, concerning the you-know-what, located, you-know-where, in which they detailed that everything is… fine. Just, terrific, really, thanks for asking.” Every long, lingering stroke of the tendrils up or down his skin sent electrifying bolts through his body, pooling low and molten in his stomach. “When questioned further, they said oh, you know, things are just… totally normal. Nothing to see here.” His hips were twitching and he kept shifting his weight back and forth, searching for some kind of relief. It was taking all his concentration not to stutter his way through the report.

“And when pressed about the low, continuous buzzing coming from the you-know-what and the mysterious and unidentified bones strewn about you-know-where, they slid on their standard government-issued gas masks and released a container of tear gas on the gathered reporters. An officer, hovering overhead in a blue, unmarked helicopter and shouting through a megaphone, said everything. Is. Under. Control. Before dropping another canister of tear gas on the dispersing crowd.”

The idea of tear gas assaulting his senses should have been a nice, refreshing douse of arousal-dampening irritant, particularly since the black smoke was already drying out his eyes and making it difficult to take in any deep breaths. But the tendrils around his legs had other ideas, and their ends suddenly, deliciously slipped between his thighs, wriggling wetly against his clothed and straining erection. A reward for a job well done, he assumed. Cecil dug his teeth into his bottom lip, making a weird, almost pained noise low in throat. His hips jerked upwards, or tried to, but he was held firmly in place by the tendrils wound around the rest of him. A whine may or may not have escaped him.

“L-listeners, remember what I said earlier?” Cecil was squirming in his seat. “About the station? About how it was definitely not the site of strange, or unexpected, o-or slick and, uh, distracting events?” His back was arched as he strained forward, trying to press himself into the teasingly light touches while his limbs were solidly anchored in place. “Well, that was-” The rest of his sentence, which Cecil had planned to be something like ‘not quite accurate,’ was replaced by a muffled and unintelligible sound as the end of a tendril slithered into his mouth.

His first reaction, thanks to the preparedness lessons of his childhood in the boy scouts, was to shake his head and reel back, but there wasn’t far to go and the tendril wasn’t attached to anything corporeal enough to escape. The thick, clear fluid it was covered in was disgusting on his tongue, and it spilled down his throat without him even needing to swallow. It seared all the way down his esophagus, hot and burning like ice in his stomach. It reminded Cecil of nights spent trying to forget, and he inanely wondered if he was going to remember any of this.

And at all once he relaxed. He pressed his tongue against the thick, intruding thing in his mouth. It felt like coated rubber, like some kind of dense and durable skin stretched taut overtop of delicate, blubbery insides. Made slimy and slippery by that, that liquid, that secretion, that whatever-it-was! Which, now that he thought about it, didn’t actually taste bad at all. It was… good! It was… really good! Cecil’s cheeks hollowed out briefly as he sucked at the appendage, moaning appreciatively as a wave of that fluid was released in his mouth and he swallowed down as much as he could. The tentacle itself followed, slipping down the back of his throat effortlessly, until he could feel it from the inside, straining against the tight rings of his throat, stretching it obscenely and he would have reached up to stroke its bulge, pressing up and distending his skin, if only his hands and arms and limbs weren’t tied so thoroughly down.

It withdrew in one smooth motion, leaving Cecil coughing and licking at his lips. Licking at the long, elastic string of saliva and mystery fluid that stretched between his lips and the tapered end of the tentacle. He tried, mindless, to follow, and thrashed against the loops pinning him down, groaning a wordless plea. That dull thunking came again, and he glanced up to the cracked glass. More words in thin, spidery, splintering print were there, but his vision was swimming. He focused instead on the void-black darkness that resided on the other side of the glass, pressing in like water on the sea floor, leaking into every crack and crevice, the glass – his only bulwark – on the verge of bowing and snapping.

Cecil caught a glimpse of his own vague reflection in the darkened glass and shuddered unpleasantly.

The tapping came again and this time Cecil could pull himself together enough to read the words. THE NEWS, it proclaimed, THE NEWS. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way his blood sang at the rough scratch he felt in his esophagus. He twisted his body as much as he could in the tentacles’ wet and unyielding grip.

“Uhhh…” he said intelligently. “Where was I?” A voice – or many voices – or not a voice at all, whispered behind him ‘the station.’ “Oh! Yes! The… station. Everything is great, here! Here, at the station. Yup.” He rolled his head back, leaning into the touch of a soaked, dripping tendril as it pet against his hair. Cecil shivered as he felt cool, viscous ooze dribble across his scalp. The fluid matted his hair and rolled in thick globules down his neck, down his cheek. The third eye flickered open, but it was pretty out of it too, when all was said and done.

“Oh! Heeeere’s something!” Every inch of him was drenched and dripping. Every. Inch. “It seems that Old Woman Josie’s water heater issue has caught the attention of everyone’s favorite scientist, Carlos! Isn’t that… something!” Cecil bit the inside of his cheek. Everything smelled like honey and blood and brimstone. Sweet and rotten and biting. “He’s heading over there right now, to do some sort of science, I would imagine! And all without the use of writing utensils, Steve Carlsburg.”

Even with the added, distasteful thought of Steve Carlsburg on his mind, Cecil couldn’t help but to sigh wistfully. “Apparently, Old Woman Josie – or perhaps her tall friends, who are totally not angels, you guys – or perhaps just her faulty water heater, have become the subject of Carlos’ scientific inquiry.” His heart was already pounding at an alarming pace, but Cecil was mildly certain he felt it speed up even more so. “Can you even imagine? Being the subject of such focused, intense scrutiny? Helping out both science as an over-arching ideal, and a beloved member of our small community?”

A different kind of heat blossomed in his stomach, thinking about Carlos. It was strange to say, and therefore Cecil didn’t say it out loud, but it felt less… synthetic than the fire that had all but consumed his body over the course of the show so far. His brain felt as though it was melting into a fine, still kind of gritty and poorly mixed slurry, and yet it managed to conjure images of Carlos looming over him in his crisp, white lab coat, a wild curiosity (and something else) smoldering in his dark eyes, his perfect hair slightly messed but still perfect, and what if these weren’t slippery, otherworldly tendrils wound about his limbs but some sort of this-worldly restraint, used to keep track of unruly volunteer test subjects and-

“C-Citizens of Night Vale, this is not an emergency, but I take you now to an emergency broadcast of the weather!”

Cecil went to flip the small red switch on the soundboard that would kill the live feed from his mic before remembering that his arms were still bound motionless from shoulder to wrist. Well, less remembered and more jerked fitfully against his captor while letting out a choked off sob. The tentacles in their collective consciousness were thoughtful – one flared to life like a dark sunspot in the air near the soundboard and flicked the switch off for him. And then slightly less thoughtfully, as one they hoisted Cecil into the air and deposited him with a grunt and a heavy thud onto the cool tile floor.

“Oh, please,” Cecil moaned. He twisted his wrists around to palm at the tendrils he could reach, and they in turn dragged his arms up over his head. They coiled tightly, drawing his arms close and tying together them from wrist to elbow. “Please, please, please.”

He didn’t have the brainpower left to be ashamed of his general lack of verbal finesse. His focal point was rapidly narrowing to his poor, neglected cock that strained against the soaked fabric of his breeches (and less pleasurably, against the hard line of his zipper). His heels slipped against the slime covered tiles of the floor as he kicked in an attempt to gain some sort of leverage. The surface of his skin was so hot, or maybe it was whatever junk was underneath it that was so hot. Carlos would know.

A strangled cry was torn from him as clever and surprisingly dexterous tentacles wormed their way under the waistline of his pants. They might have undone the zipper as well, he wasn’t really sure, but when had he ever been sure about anything? They yanked his slacks down all the same, leaving them tangled in a sodden pile somewhere around his knees and he moaned wantonly as thin, loose loops slinked around his cock. His back arched almost violently off the floor and he cracked his head pretty hard on the tiles but Cecil could scarcely notice. It was like a livewire had been attached to his dick, all sharp, buzzing electricity tearing through his body at the barest touch.

“Nnnggh,” he said through clenched teeth, and it was probably more begging than saying, but without syllables or vowels or anything to help distinguish it as English, it could just as easily be mistaken for demanding. Cecil thrust his hips weakly upwards, unable to gain any traction. The tendrils around his cock remained stubborn and limp, refusing to give him any sort of friction or relief. His pulse was bounding, his head was swimming, and he bucked pathetically, helplessly in the grip of the tentacles. “Please, please, I-I’ve been good, haven’t I?”

That could have been the right thing to say, or not. Either way, Cecil was flipped roughly onto one side and his pants were pulled the rest of the way off. His body shivered in the cool air of the booth, and his skin stung wherever it came into contact with that fetid, coiling smoke, still leaking in from the door. None of it was enough to quench or distract from the roiling heat inside him and he wriggled his body in a manner that he could only hope was tantalizing to sentient masses of tentacles and exhaust.

Of course, it was quite hard to judge things such as intent or interest or even wretched, bone shattering loathing, which Cecil believed he could spot from a mile away – these things were difficult to ascertain when your compatriot for the moment was nothing more than fuzzy, stinging smoke and bullish, intrusive limbs. Either way, and that is to say, regardless of intent, the thing lifted his leg into the air, spreading Cecil in a manner that on any other occasion would seem vulgar. Instead of feeling shamed – certainly, that would come later – Cecil whimpered and murmured hazy platitudes. His lower back bowed and then arched, as he felt the sweet, wet touch of a tentacle upon him.

When it squirmed its way inside him Cecil almost sobbed with relief. His hands scrambled at the smooth, rubbery surface of the tendrils that bound him, his fingers and nails unable to find purchase. It worked him open slowly, so slowly, careful and meticulous, its movements alien in nature. Cecil let out a long groan. His hips stuttered as he tried to thrust himself back to meet it, but he was kept pinned precisely in place. Cecil wanted it so badly, oh, no, he needed it. This creature, this thing knew what he wanted so why, why wouldn’t it just-

Cecil let out a long groan, a wordless monosyllabic expression of pleading. Pleading wasn’t even the right word, was it? Was there a more fitting synonym, something that encompassed the desperate yearning in his chest, bottomless in his stomach, that writhed and hitched and robbed him of breath? Cecil couldn’t think of one, couldn’t think of anything. He could think of nothing except the way the thing inside him moved, deeper and deeper and so utterly inhuman.

And then it withdrew in a smooth, quick motion, his insides screaming in protest at the abrupt emptiness. It thrust back inside him and set its pace, unhurried and clinical. Clinical, like a scientist? His thoughts drifted endlessly towards Carlos, even as Cecil purposefully steered them away. It felt, well, wrong to think of Carlos now, no matter how badly or fervently he might wish for the scientist to be here. The tentacle rammed itself into him, measured, precise, detached. No matter how Cecil whined and squirmed, thrashing in his binds, the tendrils around him held steadfast. The pace inside him never changed, brutal in its consistency.

“Nnnnngh, please – oh, harder please,” dripped off his tongue, Cecil hardly even aware of his own words, his lips and tongue forming desperate words. None of it made any difference to his treatment. He was held prone and spread, unable to pull away or push back into the tendril fucking him. All he could do was accept whatever was thrust upon him, and pray for mercy.

Mercy, of course, as a vague concept and an unreachable abstraction, offered Cecil nothing in this situation. Every nerve ending his body felt alight with an untamable fire. His skin, his very being was burning alive, so unnaturally hot, and the tentacle inside him was icily cold, sending shivering waves of goosebumps prickling across his flesh on every push inside him.

Perhaps something he did – some mindless twitching of his body, some numb plea from his mouth – perhaps something made a difference. The tentacles began to drag him forcefully across the floor, down to greet the tendril slamming deep inside him. Cecil found himself crying out on every firm, body shaking shove. He felt so full, like the tendril was stretching him completely. He wouldn’t be surprised if its tip came crawling up the back of his throat, wriggling out between his clenched teeth. It didn’t, of course, but the pace became faster, rougher, everything slick and hot and cold.

His muscles clenched tighter and tighter, heat pooling down between his hips. Each thrust rocked his body, wound some coil within him. Cecil bit harshly into the curve of his bottom lip, his entire body trembling and on edge. Every gasp of air he dragged in became trapped in his chest. His skin tingled and prickled and rubbed smoothly across the slimy surface of the recording booth floor.

Gods above, the thing buried so deep inside him started writhing, undulating like a sea slug, or something more appealing, like a ribbon in a strong breeze. And it pressed against him, more importantly, pressed against a point inside him that had Cecil’s vision whiting out, had him throwing his head back, arching his back in a painful jackknife that had some distant portion of brain wondering if he was about to pull a muscle. There was some pathetic, desperate, wailing keen in the sound booth, and Cecil couldn’t even string together enough syllables turn it into words or pleads or anything more than a base, animalistic cry for more.

The thin tentacles around his dick started moving, swirling around the head of his cock, slurping up and down its length. After the extended teasing – torture – Cecil could only toss his head from side to side, his hips twitching, fingers curling around the tentacles still binding him. Everything rushed together, blurred. Everything constricted, squeezed, tensed, every muscle, every blood vessel. Every thought in his brain fled except - yes, yes, oh masters, yes and finally, finally -

Cecil moaned as the tension inside him snapped. A rushing tide of relief. The tendrils milked him thoroughly, still wrapped around his cock, still positioning his body like a doll’s, still slamming into him over and over, until he was thoroughly overstimulated and groaning for an entirely different reason, struggling with loose, sore muscles against their titanic grip. They squeezed around him, harder and harder, until he went limp in their grasp, shudders rippling through his body.

The tentacle inside him gave one last, painful surge and then withdrew in an abrupt jerk that left Cecil reeling. As if that was the cue they had all been waiting on, the other tentacles dissipated. His limbs dropped to the floor like they were made of lead. Little drops of the ooze splattered up from where his arms and legs fell into puddles. Cecil laid on his side, stunned and blinking.

He rolled onto his back, wincing at the spark of pain moving incited. The black smoke that had crept into the booth began to coalesce. It formed roughly the shape of an envelope, and then it was an envelope, crisp and white and singed at its corners. Its top had been carelessly torn open. It fluttered through the air and landed in the thick slime coating his chest, sealing itself to his skin.

Cecil gave himself a moment for his stuttering heart to kick back into its typical, regularly irregular rhythm. Outside the glass of his booth, he could see the smoke retreating like a storm rolling off into the distance. The light bulbs hung dark and limp and broken. An intern would have to fix that. Gingerly, Cecil eased himself up onto his elbows. He peeled the envelope off his chest. It had been soaked in mysterious secretions so thoroughly that it was nearly translucent, but he could see it was addressed to –

Oh, no -

Station Management.

Well that answered that question, didn’t it? He slipped his fingers in the envelope to retrieve the missive, face scrunching as he unfurled the damp and curling paper. The contents revealed a fan letter -no, worse, a listener suggestion, long and rambling but with one oft-repeated line that explained, well, most things.

Cecil’s sexy voice, the letter cooed, squealed, begged for over and over. More of Cecil’s sexy voice. Cecil himself could feel his eyebrow twitching in annoyance. He had to anchor himself on the sound board to get back to his seat, his tremulous legs unable to hold his weight. Sitting wasn’t the most comfortable endeavor, either. And now that the strange, falsely induced heat had evaporated like morning dew, all Cecil felt was gross and slimy and cold. He flicked his mic back on and using as few fingers as possible, hefted his headset towards one ear.

“Well, another crisis has been averted – or perhaps not averted, but weathered, as some crises must be. I was not at liberty earlier to tell you, dear listeners, what was truly happening here at the station. There was something strange and unexpected occurring, and it was slick and distracting – so distracting that I was forced to abandon my journalistic integrity and redirect you all to the weather report!”

Cecil sighed. “Listeners, this appreciation week is for you! An expression of our, well, appreciation! And you are appreciated! We want to fulfill your requests, we want to take your tips and suggestions into account, we want to improve your listening experience! But this will not happen if you address your letters incorrectly!”

Perhaps in emphasis, Cecil’s fist clenched around the offending, drenched letter in question. “Remember, Night Vale, every mistake you make, every minor indiscretion you commit, carries unspeakable – and, I might remind you – completely avoidable consequences.

“Stay tuned next for the quiet yet vigorous sounds of lemon-scented scrubbing, and the deep, unflinching feeling that you will never truly be clean again. Good night, Night Vale. Good night.”

#f!tag: WTNV #status!tag: complete

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