#probably the last line will be the “foster?” at the end of that chapter right before sophie tackle-hugs keefe

[the-way-astray]

on the bright side, this probably means shannon won't be able to pull a cliffhanger on us.

[multidimensionalguidance]

Love Reading: Pick-A-Card

1 2 3

Think of your current romantic life, be it a specific person or in general if you are single. Then, intuitively choose from left to right the picture that calls you the most.

I'll be sharing below your current love situation, information about your future spouse, and details of the relationship as well!

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Picture 1

General: six of pentacles, five of swords, judgment

Currently, you're realizing key aspects behind the importance of reciprocity, balance, and a healthy approach to conflict within relationships. It might be that in the past you were dealing with individuals who were generous from a financial perspective, but that had hidden intentions behind their action or heavy control issues. You might have been taken advantage of your generosity in some way. Genuine kindness comes from a place of enjoying the act of giving service/help to others, but we end up self sabotaging by creating false expectations or idealizing someone. Due to this occurring, your love life is currently undergoing a complete renewal, transformation, and process of "depuration" so to speak. You're reaching a milestone of lessons that hadn't been integrated properly until now and finally closing chapters on behaviors that you will no longer tolerate from others or even yourself. Stay open to being generous with your time and affection if you want to meet someone new, so long they do check all the right boxes, of course. Avoid trying to win at all cost or being argumentative, and put a pause on being overly critical of every little thing you don't like right off the bat.

Future Spouse: knight of swords, nine of swords, the lovers

Your fs definitely has air signs (Gemini, Libra, Aquarius) in their astrology chart, specially Gemini. They are direct, assertive, talkative, quick witted, brave, and sometimes impatient or impulsive. Someone who embodies a "hero" or soldier sort of energy. Definitely not scared of taking risks or going head to head with someone who's crossing a line. They might be someone who struggles with anxiety, negative thoughts, insomnia, or simply gets carried away easily by mental stress. Can they handle it well to the point of it not being too noticeable? absolutely, but when they are alone all it slips out like a storm. There's a good possibility that a lot of these feelings come from uncertainty in relationships or previous wounds. They are a romantic at heart and probably yearn for a relationship that feels pure and filled with good intentions. If you want a soul mate connection, then guess what? that's exactly what they want as well. They are also the type to LOVE celebrations of all kind and will show you how to have a good time. Socializing and enjoying environments that foster gatherings to have fun or share happiness will be very important to them. Overall, they are someone who truly wants to develop a partnership with the perfect amount of romance, desire, and sexual connection.

Relationship with Future Spouse: comfort, strength, creativity

You will both learn and experience situations of having more comforts, self care, and nourishment into your life. Both will indulge and enjoy relaxing at home, having a nice meal, wearing a face mask, and watching silly fun movie/shows. There will also be a need for cultivating resilience over any obstacles that might appear within the relationship. You will both become very mentally and emotionally strong together. You become a joint pillar that will create the foundation of a long lasting union. Is that all? Nope. You will both also engage in many creative pursuits and acts as well. Overall, there's a lot of beautiful experiences that will show you both how it feels to be properly supported, nurtured, and cared for in a relationship.

Picture 2

General: eight of swords rx, the star, the lovers

Anxiety, fear, and a bit of insecurity might have been moving in the background and inviting instability or misconceptions in the romantic department lately. This could be from whoever you're thinking, dealing with, or even from you. A lot is coming to light and you're being guided to hold your horses before setting anything in stone because you might not have all the cards at hand. You or someone else might be self sabotaging by ignoring their intuition. Now, there's a bright burning light of hope literally around the corner, so stop stressing, pleease. Even if things might have felt cloudy or foggy for a while, you're finally escaping and finding release from it. Whatever were the shackles that had you feeling trapped and with a lot of mental anguish are dissipating. You are ready to let go of any baggage from previous relationships, and choosing to have a more positive and hopeful outlook with a clear consciousness. There will be healing and progress coming your way, along with the possibility of rekindling a relationship that felt completely lost. There's a partnership showing up as a soulmate or ideal connection, and it's coming towards you after the shackles of what no longer serves you are left behind for good. There will be plenty of romance and attraction coming your way, so be ready for it. This is truly something you've been patiently waiting for. It required you putting efforts, and it’s already flourishing into your desired results and rewards.

Future Spouse: five of swords, five of pentacles, six of swords

This feels strongly like someone you already know or have some story with, yeah I know, that's not always what we want to read but I'm being dutifully honest. This person feels defeated, practically throwing a white flag at this moment. Although there's an underlaying energy of conflict, stress, and desire to fight back, the feeling of being left out in the cold and being broken up or separated is doing a number within them. They want to heal, change, and overcome the situation to move towards a better space. In a negative aspect, they are prone of running away sometimes when things get overwhelming, meaning being avoidant. If this is not someone from the past at all, then you'll meet them after they' are in the process or transition of moving away (alike you) from a conflictive and difficult situation in love. They might appear tense or have a cold aura, as if they are ready to fight opposition at all times. An all or nothing mentality that could lead them into unnecessary conflict if left unchecked. They understand what it requires to have the strength to fight and survive situations of struggle, rejection, feeling left out, or being financially ruined. They are resilient and know when to move forward to find peace and calmer waters. In either cases, if its a past spark or new flame, this person is probably coming from a different country or will have to do a journey/travel overseas to meet with you.

Relationship with Future Spouse: surrender, cleanse, magic

You will both learn and witness situation that will teach you to let go and stop forcing things to go in a certain way. This is of course an uncomfortable process, it hurts the ego, but ultimately leads us to feeling free from restraints. There will also be a lot of cleansing your energy and life that will occur when together, almost as if it was a necessary ritual to maintain balance. You will both feel that magical spark, and notice how easy things manifest next to each other. It's a very spiritual bond that connects the both of you, and there's an awareness of needing occult knowledge in order to elevate the relationship.

Picture 3

General: ten of wands, seven of cups, knight of cups

There seems to be a feeling of being restricted or hopeless about your love life at the moment or not that long ago. You have carried a heavy weight from dating or damaging relationships of the past. The types that initially felt too good to be true, and then made you realize with time that they were indeed too good to be true, somewhat illusory. Perhaps you've been busy with other aspects of your life, so romance wasn't on the top of your priorities, but not an aspect that was much better in comparison. Either way, major endings and closures are coming your way. There will be plenty of options within your selection and this might lead you to feeling unsure of which one is truly the best. You're being advised to meditate, trust your intuition, and not allow wishful thinking to cloud your judgement. They are likely to act as prince charming's, so be mindful of not being swept only by attraction and becoming blinded of their intentions. Either way, you will be feeling a strong soulmate energy, and this has a high likelihood of bringing a lot of emotional fulfillment. You will make the right choice no matter what happens, so just enjoy the ride.

Future Spouse: ace of pentacles, the fool, seven of pentacles

There's a fire sign energy surrounding this individual (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius) with a mix of earth (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn) placements. They are grounded, practical, and someone who manifests material abundance rather easily. Most definitely good at handling money and very career oriented. This feels like a new person who embodies a free spirited, open minded, curious, and positive energy. They will have a certain youthful spark in their eyes regardless of age. Now, despite the care free energy they can be calm and composed when needed. Your spouse will be patient with you and successful overall. They will work frequently and take risks occasionally when it comes to investments or projects. The type of person to put the effort, take their time, and casually reap their hard work. They also have an undeniable attractiveness, are charismatic, and often find themselves in the need of making important choices from the heart.

Relationship with Future Spouse: love, ideation, anxiety

You will both enjoy plenty of love and heartfelt moments within this connection so abundantly that you will feel keen to sharing it with others (family, friends, etc). There will also be plenty ideas and new projects that you will both create together, including creative endeavors. On the contrast of all of this, there will also be moments of anxiousness or being worried about how things will develop together. It might be that you both are keen to writing a script on how you'd like things to go and then feel overwhelmed when things don't go that exact way. Together you'll learn how to overcome these feelings and focus on the present instead.

[reginarubie]

“Vengeance is a double edged blade of one doesn’t remember that it doesn’t quite coincide with justice.” Might be too early to tell but so far, I’m really hoping she makes a great ally based on this line alone. Really want her and Sansa to get along even though it’s probably unlikely given the political states right now, but may be after everything is settled and if they survive, a potential match with dorne? Or like Ned fostering at the vale? Their kids could foster sometimes in winterfell and sometimes in dorne - wow look at me already jumping to the end! I can’t help it the writer in me is like, make a fan fic of a fan fic!! That’s how enamoured I am with your stories 😝😝

also Jon named Sansa his HAND!!!! Without context that sounds weird. Anyways, often Sansa is granted the title as lady of winterfell or princess but now also has another role!! Why have I never thought of this, perhaps I just knew they’d be king and queen eventually that I glossed over the steps to get there. Arya also being commander of his battle guard 🥹 bran maybe in a master of whispers?? Rickon please be alive and you can be the coin master because Sansa is hopeless with sum, just kidding Jon has been practicing in castle black for this moment 😂😂

There must always be a stark in winterfell, I wonder who will stay? Arya to hold down castle defences or will she go with Jon as commander of battle guard? Jon for his safety as king in the north or go to solidifying trust? Sansa like last time to keep things in order and as lady of winterfell, or will she join as the hand of the northern king? *whispers* would be solved if rickon was still here, haha digging for a spoiler

-mystic

Hi mystic!

You are really invested in Rickon aren’t you?

Also yes, Arianne is very headstrong but she’s highly adaptable and like the Starks she has quite the example. Both Doran and Oberyn were prime examples of her conclusion that vengeance is a double edged sword but she also learned from them to be fair and still be ruthless enough to do what is needed.

I think she’d either be a great ally or a dangerous enemy.

My lips are sealed, I won’t give ya any spoilers as to how the alliance will, if it will, come to be.

But ehi the new chapter shall be here soon, and we’ll see more of the North and of KL.

Sending all my love~G.

[sparkylilacs]

The Amazing Adventures of Spider-Kid! Chapter 13

Over the next month nothing happened and everything changed. The Smiths were given custody of a little one month old baby and since we had always insisted we wanted to stay together Beni was sent to the Garcias with me. I secretly wished the Smiths choked on all the stinky diapers. Harper the toddler’s mom got off probation and he left to live with her. Poor Sadie and Sally cried at the homecoming party we threw him. All I felt was envy and relief, for once someone was reuniting with their parent. One day a car wreck orphaned a trio of siblings which the Garcias immediately said they would take in. Making things much more full. Wanda who had been there temporarily the longest was relocated to, get this, the Tiptons. The nice old couple where I dropped the stucco piece on the husband's head. I'm sure they'd prefer Wanda's quieter ways.At the end of the school year, Hey and I had little time to talk, but when I thanked him on the way to the last day he nodded like he understood. He probably did since the only thing on the news was the Sandman hijacking the GMA performance even though we never discussed it ourselves. They even found old footage of him on the America's Star contest. It was really cringey and obvious why he was kicked off in the first tryout. At lunch once Hey randomly suggested," Next year, you should try out for the school paper. If that folder you made is anything to go by I think you'd be a great investigative reporter. I was considering joining too, writing a hobby column on my robotics. We could work together. It might be fun,"."You know maybe I will," I said back, then quickly changed the subject.With school out for the summer Beni and I had to go back to the foster center for a meeting to discuss any day camps or such (The ones they always try and have for the system kids. Usually cheap affairs, but bonus: free food) we'd want to sign up for. There I was sitting with the scratchy chair digging into my back again. Bored almost into a stupor when I hear a voice. It's muffled by the hallways but I get up to follow it anyway. "I'm going to get a drink," I say to Beni who doesn't look up from his phone and grunts acknowledgment. As I get closer I catch pieces of conversation, "And I realize you mean to be sincere. I'm not doubting you’re being honest. It's just not how things work around here. We have procedures,".

I don't recognize the first voice, but when I hear the second one say, "I understand. But I have their birth certificates right here can't we start with that and go from there?". I rush blindly down the hall crushing the tall man in a fierce hug. "You came back," I ask awed, my face half buried in his chest, “Why did you change your mind?”."You know," he says, pulling me back to look at me with the same yellow flecked blue eyes as mine, "Somebody told me once that just because things don't work out doesn't mean you quit trying. And sometimes you realize you need to get back up and try again,". I can hardly feel my face, I'm overstimulated with emotion, but I know my smile is a mile long.

Epilogue

And that's the story of how I discovered my dad was Spider-Man, ended up in foster care, grew into my own spider abilities, and got out of foster care to live in the apartment above my dad's camera and old photo restoration shop which he bought with money from selling the land Aunt May's house was on. I think they built a Quasarbucks there.I glance back over what I wrote on the laptop where I'm writing my story down to email Hey as he requested. Deleting the last line as irrelevant I can hear dad yelling at Beni's phone game upstairs. Things were a bit shaky at first but over half a year, and quite a few hours of gaming later, those two really get along. They're both pretty similar actually, super smart yet willing to waste time on pointless games they can never seem to master. I'm down in the shop manning the front desk. Next to the register is my old sock monkey, Stinky. Apparently dad salvaged him and some other more important things (Like our birth certificates. Which did help alot with the reinstatement process) from the wreckage of the house. I like working the register, it's the quietest place to write and hardly anybody shops here. Dad says it helps to not be very busy so nobody notices how often it's closed while he fights crime. Smiling at the screen I think everything has worked out so well, no loose ends untied. Just as the thought crosses my mind the door jangles to announce a customer. I look up to see a slim figure walk in with bright red curls.

The End?

[theowritesfiction]

As promised here’s my ask/revue of chapter 29. And to preface, the was amazing.

I read and enjoyed the last chapter. (29) Plus getting a glimpse into a conflicted Katara who is jealous but also doesn’t want her friend(s) ending up hurt was great to read. And have I mentioned that I love jealous Katara who wants Azula all to herself? Cause I love jealous Katara who wants Azula all to herself.

“Obviously, Katara felt terrible for even thinking about hooking up with Azula during this sensitive drama, but her heart had no way of denying what she wanted” - I admit I started smirking at this line. Odviosily I want best girls to get together, the road to get there (despite being bumpy at times) is also just so incredibly satisfying. I swear Azutara slow burn is one of the best things in this world. Though some times Azutara getting together quickly is also satisfying. Like in Juniperhill “The dievil you know”. Perhaps it’s a contradiction to like both, but I own to that. Azutara dynamics are just the gods gift to the world.

I also especially loved the moment were Zirin is complaining that Azula is talking Katara, Yue, and Suki a bit too much. And when Azula took her sarcastic remark as a good ahead to talk about the love (and lusts) of her life made me burst out laughing.

I laughter even harder when Zirin spells out what was wrong, accosted Azula about being too obsessed with Katara, Yue, and Suki (and Kya the budding Pai Sho Genius!) and stormed off. And Azula still didn’t know what the fuck she talking about!

Yes Azula do be honest with yourself. Katara is your preferred option every time. Please continue the introspection when Sober and hungover in the morning. Maybe you preferring Katara over anyone else has something to do with Zirin throwing wine in your face?

I smirked when exasperated Katara got out of bed to pick up drunk Azula.

Yue wanting to help Suki with her foster sister was really sweet. Kya wanting to burn the gifts is sad, but eerily reminiscent of Azula herself. It also reminds of the last chapter, which was amazing (as always) but also depressing. And I’m adult enough to admit that I was bawling in time with Kya and Azula in the last chapter.

Of course Azula found a bowling alley despite being drunk of her ass. Best girl is just that person ain’t she? Except when it comes to bowling itself, cause other best girls got her beat. Speaking of that I’m sure the tongue lashing that Katara gave was one for the history books. With Azula probably think of bowling alleys and how pretty Katara’s eyes are in the night, the whole time. Oh! And throwing up on her bowling ball.

Azutara adventure ending with peaceful walk in the night and violence against an unwanted pervert? Sign me up.

“Who knows," Katara laughed, looking like she was really enjoying herself”. My cheeks are starting to hurt after grinning so much this chapter.

Azula and Katara’s little conversation in the end was very sweet. Azula being determined to get Hakoda to the Fire Nation so that she could 1 see how her interacts with his children, and 2 see Katara’s smile as being reunited with the father she misses was adorable. As was Katara and Azula’s talk about having a “regular” sleep over. And the mental image of Katara tucking Azula in, or cuddling with her.

I’m glad Ty Lee wasn’t involved in the Blue spirits orgy. Sokka doesn’t deserve to be done like that. Though Mai being engaged to Roun Jan is bound to bring interesting happenings… also Mai is absolutely right. Zuko is a hypocrite that lacks introspection.

This chapter was awesome, and I loved all the sweet Azutara moments! I’m also glad for Suki/Yue. Both pairings deserve to be with someone who will love them wholly and utterly. Know we only need for Azula to get her out of ditch… easier said than done I bet! Can’t wait for the next update!

Hey, thank you so much for the review!

Indeed, we love jealous Katara. I think especially because Katara being such a sweet person, would feel very guilty for the way jealousy makes her feel, and I just love that kind of internal conflict for a character.

interesting that you would mention the Azutara dynamics and slow vs quick burn, because @juniperhillpatient and I were just talking about that recently, and coming away with the conclusion that it really depends on the circumstances in which we place our characters. sometimes driven by codependency they will come together very quickly, and sometimes when there's less pressure on them, slow burn makes a lot of sense. these girls are very versatile about their dynamics. <3

I always love it when a totally self-unaware Azula is gushing about her crushes. It's just something that fits her so well. :)

Yes, the drama with Azula, Yue and Kya was intended to be a bit of a tear-jerker, I'm afraid! Too bad for Kya, because she'll have to wait for another parental figure a little longer, but at least we're on the right track now that Suki and Yue are starting to bond more closely. Also, I'm sure she'll eventually have a lot of fun with all those expensive gifts.

I think with how tipsy Azula was, Katara yelling at her was pretty ineffective, so Katara probably didn't waste too much of her energy there. ;) But like... I just wanted them to spend some time together where their interactions weren't overwhelmingly dominated by lust. It felt important to show that they also work together very well on the level of friendship. Of course, the attraction is pretty obvious anyway. You can see that in how sweet they are with each other. ;)

Oh don't worry, Ty Lee might be a bit airheaded in this story, but she wouldn't cheat on Sokka. Also, I'm sure Mai is going to break off her engagement as soon as she slaps Ruon Jian awake XD and yup, I'm pretty sure Zuko will hypocritically throw a tantrum when he hears about the orgy

I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, and seeing some of the building blocks for more serious Azutara and Yueki relationships further down the road :) but I'm enjoying taking my time with it, so the slowburns will continue for some time still!

[tortoisesshells]

for ao3 wrapped: 7, 20, 29? :')

Thank you for the ask, kind friend!

7. If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

No song lyric titles this year, but surely I am in the top 5% of ao3 users shamelessly mining Emily Dickinson's works for titles.

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

Customs and Duties, probably, because I keep forgetting who knows what, who's been sent where, and what the names of all the Important Dead People in the backstories are? I could write these things in notes, but it's so much more fun to go plunging into the text because I forgot where I left Captain Hendricks, or how exactly Nibley was related to the First Lord, or what the name of Harry Penrose's last ship was. Also, for all my lack of progress this year, I did have the most self-indulgent chapter yet, in terms of the return of the hunting dog metaphors & talking about constellations to avoid discussing moral quandaries (and then having to talk about those problems any way), which has a primary audience of me, so I may as well get the mileage out of it.

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

She went to Jed Foster with her concerns, and was not too much surprised by his acerbic response: “Are you this surprised when the rains arrive in April, Nurse Mary? Or, if I may dabble in plain Yankee with you, when the sap begins to run in March? We are in an army hospital. They send us, among other things, their dying.” “These men were not dying,” Mary insisted. “The difference between ailing and dying is a very thin one, then.” “Does it seem right to you? Two deaths, sudden, and silently in the night?” “Nurse Mary,” he began, with an aggrieved sigh and an appraising look, as though he were counting out the yards for the artillery barrage of his words, “Our Little Napoleon may be reluctant to commit to the contest, but we still have not seen the end of Williamsburg’s wounded, or Eltham’s Landing. I account it a great favor on the part of the Universe when there are only one or two deaths overnight – and I am sure the orderlies and the grave-diggers do, as well.” (from men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves)

AO3 Wrapped: Writers Edition

[bonesandthebees]

Reading ch 10 immediately after ch 9 was nice. 9 flowed into 10 really naturally and the tone of 10 was a great balance to 9

I'm beginning to see this as a sort of "us against the world" narrative. Not in the traditional sense of everybody is out to get us, because Tommy & Wil obviously have some people by their side (such as Techno). It's also very different from typical us against the world stories, because of how complex each and every relationship in the fic is. What's giving me that feeling is the fact that Tommy & Wil are set apart from everybody else due to how hard it is to understand their bond. Sometimes the world around them aligns with their goals and treats them well. Other times... well, last chapter.

This alone time together was much needed.

The way the conversation was approached says a lot about how Wilbur thinks about his past. Some parts of the conversation seem relatively easy for him. Like talking about the foster homes. Then some things make him uncomfortable - he keeps trying to beat around the bush of his time as the Pythia and Tommy keeps prodding for that info (very in character). That's when he starts putting up walls.

I think that his past, before he became the Pythia, was not very traumatic despite its difficulty. Obviously it was distressing - people process distressing things in different ways. Some things are traumatizing for some, while they don't turn into such big issues down the line for other people. Wilbur might be experiencing some trauma from that era that I either don't notice or I'm attributing to his time as the Pythia. Either that or becoming the Pythia kind of masked some of the issues he had developed/replaced those issues with worse ones

I wouldn't be surprised if being on the streets made the process of becoming the Pythia more intense/worse. He may have been more susceptible to the messages the previous Pythia was telling him due to the fact that he had never had a proper role model before. Maybe if he had more positive influences before becoming the Pythia, the idea of being the pythia might have been something of a performance instead of what happened - Wilbur fully believing that being the Pythia is the only identity he has. That's all speculation though.

Back to the conversation itself. Tommy's comment about how he likes the current Wilbur is probably going to be something that really sticks with Wilbur even if he doesn't want to admit it. I like all the humorous bits and the worldbuilding features - ofc this world would have alcoholic gasoline. That tracks. It sounds absolutely vile but I am not surprised that it exists in this universe

It goes without saying that the ending was a very important moment. Adds to the theme of trust that's been developed between the two of them. The last line was something that was inevitable. Wilbur and Tommy have been so close to fully understanding each other this entire time, but just a little bit too far. I don't think this line means that they do have that full comprehension. This is another huge step in the right direction

I'm wondering what might happen next. This fic feels very unpredictable at times - keeps me at the edge of my seat. I have a feeling that something bad might happen next chapter. Based on your end note I'm thinking that it's going to be another big shift or development. As I said though, it's really hard to predict where this is going.

So my only real prediction - the one that I'm at least somewhat confident about - is that the "us against the world" tone is going to continue (of course with all the caveats and nuance that I described earlier). Essentially, I think that Tommy and Wilbur are going to continue to face problems with each other.

-🔥

oh thank you I'm glad it was a natural feeling flow!! ngl I kind of wrote it in an exhausted haze but I'm really happy with how it turned out lmao

yes it definitely plays into an 'us against the world' kind of narrative. not in the typical sense like you said, but because everyone else is such an outsider to the strange dynamic they've developed. the trust and understanding that shouldn't be there, but is anyway.

it's definitely easier for wilbur to talk about the parts of his life that feel more 'separate' from where he is now. ie: when he was in the group home and then living on the streets he was in a very different situation than he is now as the pythia. also, if he talks about becoming the pythia, he knows tommy is going to criticize aspects of it which is just something he doesn't want to get into. he doesn't want to give tommy any 'fuel' per se to criticize pythian tradition. because the more he picks at it, the more he's going to be forced to recognize how fucked up it is, which isn't something he wants to do

yeah the thing is, while his time on the streets was definitely difficult, it wasn't nearly as damaging to his psyche as becoming the pythia was. pretty much all the bullshit with being the pythia overshadowed any issues he might've had from that period of his life, so while it wasn't easy to be a kid on the street, he's able to talk about it a lot more than anything involving his role as the pythia.

also while I get where you're coming from, I don't necessarily wanna say that wilbur was more susceptible to losing his identity to the role of the pythia than other people would be. because the kind of trauma he's gone through has happened to every pythia before him for generations now. even if the other pythia had better childhoods than he did, the traditions and the institutions are designed to break down their identities and turn them into hollow vessels because that's their purpose. so sure, maybe wilbur fell into it a bit faster than someone else would've, but they all would get to that point of losing their own identity eventually because that's what the system is designed to do

oh yeah he definitely doesn't wanna admit it but that comment is gonna stick with him for sure

lmao glad you like the worldbuilding eli birdfeet mentioned I should have a cyberpunk version of moonshine and moontane is what I came up with it's very fun

yeah the last line wasn't meant to convey that they have perfect comprehension of each other now. they definitely don't. but they're on the same page with how their dynamic works. it was a silent acknowledgement of "we both care about each other even though we have no reason to"

you'll have to wait and see what I have in store for the next few chapters :)

tysm loved hearing your thoughts as always flame!!

[disorganizedkitten]

We'll Take Our World By Storm Chapter 1

Harry Potter | 2021 | 6,085 | Ao3 | Masterlist | Next

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has educated more than seventy percent of the last three centuries’ historical figures. Foster siblings Harry Potter and Fay Dunbar-Black are beginning their first year there this fall, and they have plans. They’re not the only ones, though, and it seems like all plans have one kink in common - Harry’s twin brother, Connor; known for not dying when he should’ve. [or at least, known for being caught not dying.] Connor would like to go on record saying he’d love to stay out of this too. Between suspicious teachers, learning magic, the castle trying to murder their Ravenclaws, and Harry’s biological family trying to reconnect after ten years, everyone is busy. At least one thing hasn’t changed: the Wizarding World won’t know what hit them.

I think the beginning is always the hardest point to find. In this story especially, finding the beginning, the start of it all, is a rather arduous task.

 Why would I say that? Because everyone who’s even marginally important has their own motive. Their own beginning. And their beginning was caused by the actions of someone else who had a beginning of their own, and so on and so forth until keeping them all straight is a titan’s job.

 Which is probably why Narrators are in such high demand.

 I know which beginnings I will use for this story, but before we get there, I’d like to tell you about some of the other beginnings I could have used.

 Many pieces fall into place years before our beginning.

 Some will say this started with an injured elf, and his Master’s dedication. A surprising thing, for commonly it goes the other way.

 This beginning is one of my favorites, as it led to a wonderful finish.

 Others of my kind will snarl that it started with a burning wardrobe and then-misplaced distrust. It’s true that Tom proved him right in the end, but I dislike that answer because they never tell us why the distrust came.

 Hate for things not yet done is a terrible thing.

 Some who have lived through our story can claim it started with witchcraft that shouldn’t be, the backlash of a spell that doesn’t follow any rules we know. Of course, they only say this after the finish line has been reached, because when the girl arrives out of time she doesn’t know of magic. She knows of more important things, though -- She knows of chaos, ruthlessness, and family.

 A few say it started with three brothers; brothers who were too powerful, too curious, too dangerous. Sadly, most of these few overlook the most important bit. These brothers were too loving; they loved the world and each other so, so much.

 Enough to look death in the face and say Not Yet.

 Some will tell you it started with four great friends who wanted safety for themselves and their futures. Friends whose names went down in history alongside their home. Four friends who, like the brothers, fought and bled for and against each other, determined and caring till their end.

 (Four friends who were ripped down to three).

 Others still will claim it started with four boys sharing a dorm. And here again, the cycle repeats. When their story stagnates and slides into another, there are three holding each other up. I don’t like this cycle, which may be one reason I like my story and its beginning best.

 You see, some, - many, - bonds aren’t meant to be broken, but wounds can be sutured.

 Another can claim it started in a dreary playground, where a boy told a girl about magic. Their friendship, built on secrets and similarities, seemed like it would last forever.

 It didn’t. I can’t say I rooted for it.

 Some claim it started years later, in a train compartment and with a friendship forged on stubbornness and an odd conversation about treason. As if anyone uses the word treason anymore.

 A rare few, so few I hear their voices like whispers on the wind, claim it started in a hospital. I ignore them. Nothing starts at birth, just as few things end in death.

 Many, those I like, will tell you it started with an experiment gone wrong in a basement, and a mother who was lost too early. I don’t know if this started anything, but it did affect a lot of things. You must understand, some abilities don’t have a baseline because they don’t have a point of reference.

 An achingly large group will tell you it started with a prophecy, which is just… ugh. Prophecies aren’t there to start stories, they guide them.

  And many of the aforementioned will also waffle and say it started with a failed massacre. (Whether there’s one survivor or four, it’s a failure.)

 I could tell you how macabre I find that, but there are rather a lot of failed murders where we’re going, so I suppose I shouldn’t.

 As I said, there are many beginnings out there. Others claim it started with a letter, or with blood on the sidewalk, or a soft question under a tree. A threat to a young celebrity, maybe, or sharing a compartment on the train. A professor-murderer turning to dust under a child’s hands. Screaming from warnings ignored. Whispers against walls while children with quiet eyes observed.

 I find if we were to follow those theories, it wouldn't have started with any of the mentioned events. No, it would have started with the following acceptance. 

 The last claims I’ll mention are those from the people who claim it started when magic was first born. This is conceited, and yet it’s true. What is magic, if not intent and imagination? What are stories, if not the same?

 I’ve walked you through many of the other beginnings that will grow to be important, however vaguely. I’m afraid if I took you through all of them, we’d never reach our story. But if you pay attention, and perhaps review these passages here and there, they should clear up nicely.

 My favorite beginning is a bit more of a middle.

 On Wednesday, July twenty-fourth, nineteen-ninety-one, the day begins rather normally for a number of people. Assuming you aren’t utterly annoyed by my last set of openings, I’ll give you a few more quick ones before expanding upon my favorite.

 In a castle on the Scottish highlands, an owl wings away one day after its brother and moments after its friend, delivering a letter to a small muggle town. Eight months ago this same owl took nearly the same route, delivering a near-identical letter to the same house.

 In Potter Cottage, the man of the house heads to work while the woman reads. Their son sleeps in, having been up late last night practicing spells in secret. His letter will come today, delivered by the friend of our first owl. But he doesn’t need a booklist to get a wand.

 In number ten, Magnolia Crescent, an adult cracks open a door to check on their children, only to find both asleep, one over a book and the other on their back, sharing a pair of blue earbuds. The adult smiles and moves on.

 Within a wizarding mansion known as Chamois Hills, the heir is ensconced high in the library, despite the hour. Has he slept at all? Probably not.

 In Casa Di Cianuro, a child wakes up with a heaving chest and a black tongue. He doesn't remember going to sleep.

 In number eight, Magnolia Crescent, most of the tenants are sleeping, like many others. Magic was washed from this house six years ago, but sometimes those living there can still see something off. The hallway’s just barely too long, and the four year old is trying to figure out how they know that.

 (There’s an extra bedroom, sometimes).

 Back across the country, in a once-Selwyn Townhouse known as Tannis Villa, a child wakes up to tapping from one of the owls mentioned earlier. His school letter came yesterday, but the important letters, the one from his friends and brother, are coming today.

 In number four, Privet Drive, a woman cooks a large breakfast for her larger husband and son, cooing all the while. Their manners are atrocious, but she loves them anyway. They’re her only chance for a normal life.

 Now let’s hop over again, because in a territory off to the west of London, (or so I assume. Maps are a little… wrinkled here), there are two children laying on a bedroom floor. They’re in the middle bedroom, on the second story, of number ten, Magnolia Crescent.

 Harry Peverell and Fay Dunbar-Black are both asleep. Very typical, I know. Probably in the top fifty ways to start a story. I like this moment of peace, because it gives me a slow moment to let you meet our characters. And believe me, you’ll want your slow moments. Chaos dogs many a waking step.

 Hadrian Peverell, or Harry Potter, where most of the world are concerned, is ten only for another week. His skin is brown, excluding the marks of unnatural black. He has four as of today. A simplistic lightning bolt across his right cheek, a static edged circle on his left shoulder, a ragged near-triangle on his back, and a small line near his brain stem. The last mark is hidden under his hair at the moment, since he’s asleep on his stomach, using his arms as a pillow while the book he was reading six hours ago lays just to the side of his head.

 Harry’s hair is black, and the pieces still in the braid are nearly collarbone length. His sister braided it two days ago, and the flowers have been removed, but the braid hasn’t. The flyaways give a bit of a halo effect.

 He’s dressed in blue pyjamas that fit, contrary to many stories where someone with his name and some of his traits appear.

 Fay shifts, just barely, at this point. She looks a lot like her brother. Her skin is a pale brown that would match his if only a few shades deeper, and her hair is just as deep of a black. Her pyjamas are purple and black, and unlike Harry, she meant to fall asleep. It’s obvious in the way she’s on her back, shifted so she can share Harry’s earbuds and still be comfortable enough for sleep, and by the blanket that’s under her arm. Her hair is loose, and snarling something fierce. This is where the most obvious difference between the siblings will be seen; Fay’s hair is calmer than Harry’s when loose. She takes after her mother as much as he takes after his father.

 They both sleep like the dead, unmoving aside from their breathing. Sometimes that stutters too.

 Fay’s papa leans his head into the door, a soft smile on his face. Adrian Dunbar is a stark contrast to most of this family. Pale and blond, scottish to their indian, iranian, and latina, the biggest commonality he has with them is long hair. That’s never stopped him from loving his children, though by the standards of some, only one of them is really his. Adrian has never pretended to care. They’re his on paper and in heart, and that’s what matters.

 Adrian moves on, now that he’s assured himself that neither of his middle kids are missing, despite one bedroom being empty. There’s a three year old in the room beside Fay’s, who he checks on next. Ian’s parents had been killed in a car wreck two days ago, and the Dunbar-Black residences were looking after him until a safe permanent placement could be found

 Ian is also asleep, so again Adrian moves on. The lone room across the hall holds sixteen year old Caspian Ellington, who’s been with them almost as long as Harry. He’s awake, and drawing. Adrian knocks on the doorframe once, and Caspian looks up enough to wave and wish him a good morning.

 From there we follow Adrian to the end of the currently short hall, past the bedroom at the top of the stairs, and down into the main house. He walks past the living room, which is empty, past the cupboard under the staircase, which he can see into since they removed the door years ago. Into the kitchen, where his wife is glaring down at the pancake griddle.

 Vivian Dunbar looks over and smiles. “Morning, love. You get enough sleep?”

 Adrian shrugs, coming up to stand beside her. “I hope so. Carl said the tox screen and the metal residue were enough to match a suspect, so it should be over until I have to go to court again.”

 “So not enough sleep, but you’re fine with that because you got justice instead?”

 Adrian laughs and bumps noses with his wife. “Got it started, at least. The kids are all still asleep. Any word from Reg?”

 “Not yet,” and although Vivian’s tone is wry, it’s my job to tell you she’s hiding worry. Vivian’s best friend, Regulus Black, returned to a terrible place two days ago, on an investigative kick. The last time the three of them got together in that place, Regulus was nearly killed.

 “He’ll call Kreature if something happens,” Adrian says. His tone is solid, but he’s just as worried. Last time, Regulus didn’t. “He wouldn’t leave the kids.”

 “Of course not,” Vivian agrees, as if it’s obvious. And it is; if anything can be said for Regulus Black it’s that he cares for his kids, as many as those are. She’s reassured by the statement anyway.

 They continue on for a little while, spending a lazy summer morning together before having to go their separate ways for work that doesn’t end by the season. Adrian still has to complete the autopsies for Ian’s parents, and Vivian works with Regulus in CPS.

 But before they split, they’re joined by the kids. Fay leads the way, her hair loose but brushed straight and dressed in a denim dress over leggings. “Morning Mama! Morning Papa.” She greets her parents with hugs.

 She’s followed by Harry, who’s carrying Ian. He’s dressed in a graphic-t under a flannel and jeans, and his hair still hasn’t been redone. Ian’s in plain blue and white, wide blue eyes smiling under red hair.

 The last in is Caspian, brown eyes smiling, with a pencil tucked behind his ear and poking out of dark hair.

 “Well if it isn’t Thing Three,” Adrian grins, greeting him with a forehead kiss.

 “Dadri. Did you find the cause of death?”

 “Not as such, but I found something. Tell you when it hits the court. My bet is on poison, though.”

 Harry grins, moving to cut a pancake into smaller pieces for Ian. “We certainly do love poisons.”

 “Poison and acid are not the same thing!” Fay and Caspian chorus.

 Vivian laughs. I won’t explain the inside joke yet, but I will tell you it is one, and it concerns melting enchanted metal.

 By the time Harry has his own breakfast plated and begins eating, the last to do so since he’s on toddler duty this meal, Cadmus has returned and descended softly onto his tier of the dining room perch. Harry clicks his tongue, and the dark owl moves to settle on his bare forearm. “Hey buddy, what did Nev say?” Cadmus screeches an owl affirmative. “All good things? Good.” Harry bumps his nose to Cadmus’ beak. “Can I read it?”

 Cadmus sticks out his leg in response.

 “Thanks, Little One.”

 Cadmus alights, and returns to the perch. Noctua looks down at him and chirps. Cadmus returns the sound, and Vivian tuts her own response. “Not during breakfast, please.”

 Noctua screeches again, high and short, but both owls listen.

 Of course, magical post owls are very smart, so it isn’t at all surprising that they can follow commands. Due to being both magical and extremely intelligent, Cadmus and his fellows only appear when convenient, unless a letter is exceedingly urgent. Often post owls greet their charges or recipients at breakfast, as correspondence will always be a good way to open a day.

 “Did he like the Calendar?” Fay asks around a strawberry. Even I do not know where the strawberry came from, as she is the only one with any. Some things are not worth the narrative stress. 

 “Let a guy read, Faerie-circle.” Fay stuck her tongue out, bouncing in her seat. Harry unfolded the letter and started reading around eating. “He says thank you, but it hasn’t been long enough for the calendar to really start working so he hasn’t mentioned the fun features.”

 “Heck yeah!” Fay shrieked, pumping a fist into the air.

 “Yeah!” Ian agreed.

 Caspian reached over and ruffled the kid’s hair. “Would you like more food, Ian?”

 “No.”

 Conversations slowed down for a little while, but picked back up when another owl, this one tawny, slammed into the kitchen window.

 “I wonder how many hits it takes to kill an owl?” Harry said.

 “Or a concussion?” Fay countered. “Can owls even get concussions?”

 “If an animagus gets a concussion as an owl, will it carry over when they transform back?” Caspian asks, flicking his fingers. A fissure of black smoke reaches out and shatters the window, allowing the owl inside. “Think it’s from Dad?”

 Noctua screeches in displeasure at the mere idea of her human using another owl.

 “Hush, baby,” Vivian says, leaning backwards to pet her soothingly. “Why don’t you open it, Caspian?”

 “Looks like a ministry owl,” Adrian says as Caspian follows Vivian’s instructions. “More likely Amelia.”

 Caspian hums confirmingly as he reads through the blue-inked letter. “She’s confirming the count for dinner tomorrow. Think Dad’ll be back?”

 The table was quiet. Harry watched black smoke curl around the letter. No one was willing to say what they were all thinking.

 Vivian broke the silence after a minute, moving out of her seat. “I’ll write her back, let her know we haven’t heard from him. Do you three have any plans today?”

 “Harry’s supposed to get his Hogwarts letter,” Fay said, taking the subject change and running with it. “And the new Scooby-Doo is supposed to be on this afternoon.” Meanwhile, Harry and Caspian were having a silent conversation made up mostly of grabby hands and making faces.

 “I need to go to the library,” Harry says, looking away from his cousin-slash-brother to glance at his aunt. “I’ll probably walk.”

 Caspian grins sharply and hands the unopened second letter to Adrian. “I don’t have anything planned.”

 “Purple ink, Uncle Adrian?” Harry asks, tilting towards the table.

 “Mhm,” Adrian hums, reading the letter. “It’s an offer for the research project I wanted to try, in conjunction with one of their cases.”

 “A good offer?” Vivian asks, returning to the table with a pen.

 “Seems to be.” He stands up, kisses his three kids’ foreheads, ruffles Ian’s hair, and kisses his wife full on. “I’ll floo her now, see what’s what. Come get me if you need anything?” He takes the required minute to take care of his dishes before leaving for his lab. I would hope I don’t have to tell you he enjoys his job, and is nearly always willing to take a case.

 The case in question isn’t important right now, but it does give me a nice segway. The tawny owl that brought the letter came from Amelia Bones’ office in the Ministry of Magic. Ministry owls are trained differently than casual post owls. These owls care nothing for convenience, only time management. While they’re wonderful for proving owls are magical, it does make sending messages after arriving to work a little awkward. Amelia had been at this for years, so she knew when to send them off so they could at least pretend to be considerate.

 Vivian sends Noctua with their response, and the dark speckled owl takes a little more time to return to the Ministry. She is not a Ministry owl, but she is both smart and fast.

 Noctua slips across air currents like the professional she is, and once she finds the owl window, she glides inside and past the ministry owls.

 Noctua is both professional and a metaphoric queen, and she considers only two owls worth her time. Cadmus, because his owlet is her owlet's nestling, and Albert, because he was smart and cared more for his nestlings than he did about retirement. Any other owls, especially the Ministry's unbonded and inconsiderate owls, aren't worth the dust off her wings.

 She screeched in warning when one of the unbonded owlets dive bombed her, and then she swooped to the side and into the building itself.

 Honestly.

 This trip of hers took about three hours, so when Noctua landed in the auror's office, Amelia was on her way back from the field. She ruffled her feathers importantly, and glared at Walnut. Walnut's owlet was a big, fusty human who looked like the egg-father of Cadmus’ owlet, and Noctua did not like that. Human parents were supposed to keep their chicks in the nest for much longer than owls, and the fact that the fusty human had never come to see his chick was wrong. Noctua knew her owlet made his nest out of human chicks who had been harmed by their parents, whose owls and other protectors failed.

 That meant Walnut’s owlet deserved his eyes pecked out. Noctua hadn’t done it yet because she was a Black owl, and knew better than to attack with so many witnesses.

 Amelia and the fusty owlet entered the room together, and Noctua rustled to get Amelia’s attention. Amelia’s nest of chicks includes Albert’s owlet, and Amelia helps Noctua’s owlet find safe nests for other chicks. Amelia is okay.

 Amelia notices Noctua as she walks past, and holds up her arm for Noctua to alight to. Noctua glares at the fusty human, but stays in her place on Amelia’s arm. He breaks off when their conversation ends, and Amelia is finally able to turn to Noctua.

 “Thank you, Noctua,” Amelia says seriously. “Will they need a reply?”

 Noctua screeches a negative as Amelia pulls the letter away from her foot. Amelia reads the letter as she moves into her office, and when she finishes she looks over at Noctua and hums pityingly. Amelia pets her head, and decides to reply anyway. 

 Vivian,

  Thank you for letting me know. See you tomorrow evening, the girls have missed you guys.

 (And remind Adrian to sleep. The cadavers aren’t going anywhere.)

-Amelia

And for the second letter, well, it’s as much for Noctua as it is for Amelia. She has no doubts Regulus told Noctua to stay with the others unless they needed to contact him.

 Regulus,

  You’re worrying people again. If you need an investigative team, I have benched agents who would love something new. Please don’t miss dinner - Delphi might cry. She’s been trying to read that book on the mind arts since you left, and I haven’t been able to answer any of her questions.

 Susan’s joined Delphi in trying to learn, but I don’t know if it’s actually helpful. Hannah got her hair colored, too, and between that and Delphi’s tendencies, I think they’re plotting to make Susan’s match.

 That said, nothing is truly going haywire on our end. If the choice is between you home safe or you home soon, I can guarantee that despite our worry, we’d all agree safe is better.

 Call for backup if you need it.

-Amelia Bones, DMLE

 When Noctua takes the letters out, she ends up in the lift with the fusty human. Noctua considers it, and then takes the deplorable step to land on his head. His hair is puffy and messy, and unfairly soft. Rat bones like him shouldn’t have downy hair. Walnut looks and her and hisses, smart enough to know this isn’t a cease-fire. Noctua chirps back lightly, and gets Fusty to softly tell off Walnut for being rude.

 Noctua considers this a win. When the lift reaches her floor, she pees on his head and takes off. Fusty swears behind her, and Walnut hisses again.

 As Noctua leaves, I’m going to stay with Fusty.

 Firstly, you should know his name is actually James. James Potter, and he’s an auror, but before that he is a friend, a husband, and a father.

 The second thing you should know, is that Noctua is both biased and misinformed. Not completely wrong where the facts are concerned, but the conclusions she drew were incorrect.

 James is headed home early today, because today is the twenty-fourth and his son is supposed to receive his Hogwarts letter today. That gives them a little over a month to schedule a supply run, but most parents take their child to Diagon on their birthday, not the day they get their letter. James and his wife, Lily, are planning to go today in the hopes that it will help mitigate the crowds.

 Augusta Longbottom, a friend of Lily’s, offered to take the Potters with her when she took her grandson yesterday, (I believe I mentioned him earlier? Neville’s his name.) but the Potters refused. They wanted this milestone to be done properly, despite their son’s fame.

 Ah. Do you have questions yet? I hope so. By now, James has arrived outside his own door, so it’s time to answer some of them.

 Not that I’ll actually tell you anything this time.

 No, that wouldn’t be nearly enough fun.

 James opens his door and enters the entryway. After the explosion that destroyed their cottage the first time, they moved in with his cousins for a short time while repairs were being made, but returned when they could. Lily refused to leave the site as a memorial, and after a few years people stopped coming to gawk at the once-battle ground. 

 The two-story, four-bedroom cottage is all they need for their small family, and despite their ability to live lavishly, none of them want to.

 James is greeted first by his son, Connor Potter. Connor has light brown skin, hazel eyes, and dark, bird’s nest hair. His glasses are basic, round wire frames, and beside his father, he nearly looks like him in miniature. The easiest difference to see, beyond age, is how James’ skin is darker. Another one is the rune carved into Connor's forehead; sowilo, or a lighting strike. While James has scars - you can’t work in a firing zone and avoid them - none of them are this stark or shapely. Connor barrels into James for a hug, which is easily and enthusiastically returned. “Did you get it?” James’ voice is loud, bright with love and enthusiasm.

 “I got it!” Connor agrees with a bright smile. None of them really doubted that he would get his Hogwarts letter, but it’s still very rewarding to hit the milestone that almost every important wixen in Britain reaches. Hogwarts, once a refuge for any wix in need, is now prestigious, and the Potters have attended for centuries.

 While they’d never admit it to Connor, after their scare with Harry (and see, now is one of those moments where I as a narrator wish the characters had my brand of omniscience, it would solve so many problems) Lily and James both looked into other options. They’re glad to not use them.

 “That’s great! Congratulations, Bucktooth.”

 “Dad,” Connor whines. It’s an old nickname, and like most of the Marauder nicknames, it’s obvious if you’ve known the subject.

 “You’ll be gone for months,” James whines exaggeratedly. “I have to get in my dose of teasing before you leave.”

 “Ulch.” Connor makes a face.

 This is when Lily Potter catches up to them. She’s white, with a dark red bob and bright green eyes. As a teenager, they were interesting, but now they’re eye-catching. They’ve glowed so many times that the excess light seems to stay just behind her irises.

 “Don’t tease him too much, Jamie,” she nudged her husband with a grin. “He’s outgrowing it, remember?”

 James huffs in mock offense. “All the more reason to get in as much as I can!”

 Connor rolls his eyes and pulls away from the hug. “So can we go yet? Please?”

 “After lunch, Bucktooth,” James reminds him. Connor huffs, but lets them leave the entryway/living room and migrate to the kitchen. Conversation stays trained on Hogwarts; the supply lists, stories of Lily and James’ glory days, the best secret passages and the perfect place to place pranks against the Slytherins. And, of course, “Don’t forget to write us either! I want so many details I feel like I’m the one going to school.”

 Connor starts laughing at that. When he calms down, his next question is slightly pointed. “Is Uncle Moony joining us?”

 “Last I knew,” Lily says. “We’ll meet up in the Leaky Cauldron.”

 “Awesome.”

 The three Potters eat quickly, and the only thing that holds them back from leaving right away is a letter to the Weasleys, since Connor forgot to send one out earlier. They send Walnut; Connor will buy an owl of his own today, but they haven’t needed two before now.

 I’m tempted to follow Walnut, but while the Weasleys are incredibly important for a multitude of reasons, I know you won’t need to meet them today. You’ll meet them plenty soon, I promise.

 Instead, I’m going to break the rules of time-space for what is going to be the first of many times. It’s a narrator’s right, you see, to tell a story as we see fit. Now, if you’ll follow me back a few hours to when the Potter household received their letter from Hogwarts, I can tell you three very important things.

 It arrived with an owl. One of the many magical owls I mentioned earlier, trained specifically as post owls, but also trained to be unbonded. This was a Hogwarts owl. They were a common barn owl, much like Walnut. They stayed only long enough for an acceptance note to be written, and to take a drink of water. After that, they took to the skies again, and returned to the castle.

 This is important because once this barn owl reached the castle and delivered the letter, the letter was put in a pile with many others; including the acceptance letter from Harry Potter.

 Not that the Potter letters are the only ones in this pile. They could be, if one Minerva McGonagall opened letters every-day, but she also had a life to live, so it’s understandable she couldn’t.

 The other letters in this pile include notable names like Theodore Nott, Neville Longbottom, Sue Li, Tracey Davis, Susan Bones, and Stephen Cornfoot.

 I could take you to see any or all of them, if I were so inclined. Instead, I’m going to find Noctua again.

 This darling speck of darkness in the sky has long-since alighted upon the shoulder of her owlet, as being convenient in this instance is more to the owl’s liking than the human’s.

 Regulus Black, however, takes the arrival of his owl with minimal panic and a smile for his darling. “Good afternoon, Noctua. How are things at home?”

 She chirps an affirmative, not wanting Regulus to worry. He runs his fingers over her crown, the speckled feathers soft.

 “I’m glad. What’ve you brought me?”

 She sticks her leg out to give him the letter from Amelia, and he takes them both off. He sorts them quickly and reattaches Vivian’s.

 He smiles at Amelia’s letter, the unsubtle updates on some of his kids and the clear offers. They’re colleagues, professionally, and friends otherwise.

 The area he’s in is near Mappleton (I think. Again, I must apologize - magic makes everything a little slippery, including landmasses and landmarks.) and hasn’t been much help in his research project. The only thing he was able to find was an old fire site. Once there was an orphanage and a church, with some apartments flanking them. Now there is a large hotel.

 “A gas fire,” the few locals who remember the change say.

 A mission, a raid, Barty’s journals say.

 ‘Revenge,’ Regulus thinks. ‘Covering his tracks.’ Finding records of the children who were raised here was slow going, since he had yet to find any surviving members of the administration. Or any surviving family of even one administrator.

 And the library. Goodness. The library. Regulus was a Slytherin and proud, but his Ravenclaw side (the little voice that's all that remains of his once best friend) wants to dive headfirst into the challenge of finding anything useful in that mess.

 Instead he's trying to figure out what coded method of organization is used before he tries to find the information he needs. It's not working.

 Since, when we found him, Regulus was walking through the town on his own, leaving the library to find one of the quaint muggle restaurants that was specific to the area and might truly benefit from him eating there, it was easy for Noctua to find him.

 And, more important to both the story I've been tasked to tell and Regulus' investigation, being in the open instead of his hotel when Noctua appeared will be what finally gets Regulus a clue.

 Not yet though.

 First, Regulus reaches the small ice cream and burger shop. It's not until he's almost at the door that he remembers it's a muggle establishment, and therefore would probably not take too well to owls inside the building. Noctua has been perched on his shoulder since she found him, so he just has to turn his head to look at her. "Would you mind waiting outside, countess?"

 Noctua looks at him, yellow eyes hard, before taking just a second to preen his hair and take off. He smiles at her, and continues on his way.

 The building is small, and offers both booths and bar seating. Regulus takes the bar, and chats with the old man behind it.

 It's an odd thought that this man would be barely older than his father, had Orion Black lived, when he looks decades older than Orion had.

 Once Regulus has eaten, save for the meat he will give Noctua, he clears his small area, thanks the man, and deserts the place. His conversation won him nothing but goodwill and an appreciation for combs, but in the twelve years since he last investigated something like this he has learned to be grateful for that too.

 Regulus offers the food to Noctua as soon as he is accessible, holding it in his metal hand because he knows his owl to be violent sometimes and he does like his remaining fingers. Noctua takes it like she's winning a contest, nearly hitting the concrete behind Regulus before looping around and swooping up to land on his shoulder. The metal doesn't climb all the way up to his shoulder, but she does land on the same arm.

 A few steps back towards the library, Noctua nips his ear and huffs.

 "And what do you think I should tell them?" Regulus asks, picking up on her meaning well enough. "I'm safe just like I promised, but there's been no progress beyond confirming what I already knew?"

 She coos an affirmative, and starts preening his hair.

 "We're all codependent, aren't we?" Regulus' last question is less of a question and more of a resigned statement. Noctua keeps preening, like he’s a baby owlet.

 There's an old lady at the door to the library when they get there. Regulus smiles at her, and turns to ask Noctua if she can wait outside until he has a response letter, but before he can get beyond Noctua's name, the lady is talking.

 "You are one of them, then?"

 "I beg your pardon?" Regulus turns back to give her his full attention.

 "There was a boy like you here once. Years and years ago. Sadistic. A devil child. They say he returned to burn the orphanage and kill those who tried to tame him."

 Regulus swallows. It wasn't untrue.

 "Oh yes," the lady continues on, wispy hair fettered by sudden wind. "I tried, I tell you. But it wasn't enough. He came back from that school every year darker, quicker to lash out."

 "They taught him bigotry," Regulus says softly, a confirmation. “Taught him that the only way to earn respect was through fear.”

 “Did they teach you that too?” The woman asks.

 Regulus’ answering smile is wry. “They tried. And it worked, for a little while.”

 “You don’t have the look of vileness,” she remarks shrewdly. “They failed?”

 “I saw how far I was going, and when I defected I met people who taught me better.”

 She nods, sharp and serious. “Then you are looking for something.”

 “Yes.”

 “I will help. What do you need?”

 Regulus looks at her, really looks at her, considering. “They say Tom Riddle liked to collect trophies. I want to find and destroy them. I need the names of those he grew up with.”

 “You have

questions.”

 “Yes.”

 The woman smiles. “I’m Loretta,” she says suddenly. “Follow me.”

 Regulus grins, but Noctua nips his ear. He sends her an unamused look. “May I send a letter, first?”

 “Do as you must.”

[janecrockeyre]

scum villain is a greek tragedy disguised as a regular tragedy disguised as a comedy disguised as a danmei

this is going to be long, and this is only PART ONE.

a.k.a, Analysing the plot of Scum Villain’s Self Saving System through Aristotle’s Poetics, because I Have Mental Issues

Part One: Introduction and the Tragic Hero

Scum Villain’s Self Saving System is a tragedy disguised as a comedy, unless you’re Shen Yuan, in which case it’s a mixture of a romance and a survival horror. It's a fever dream. It's a horrible, terrible book that made me feel new undiscovered emotions when I finished reading it. 

The thing is... SVSSS shares characteristics with some of the most famous tragedies in the West, such as Oedipus Rex, Medea, Antigone, the Oresteia... if you haven’t read these, I’ll explain everything. But the gist of my argument is this: SVSSS is the perfect tragedy. In triplicate. 

Tragedy as a genre is old as balls and so it has meant slightly different things to different people over the last few thousand years. I'll be focusing on ancient Greek tragedy, which was performed at the yearly Festival of Dionysus in Athens during the 500-350s BC (give or take a hundred years). Aristotle, when writing about this very specific subset of tragedy, had no idea that one day Scum Villain would be written, and then that I would be using his work as a way to look at Shen Qingqiu’s Funky Transmigration Mistake. Anyway!

Greek tragedy greatly influenced European dramatic tradition. I have a lot of opinions about white academics idolising and upholding the classics as the "paragon of culture" but I'll withhold them for now. I have no idea if MXTX has read Greek tragedy or not, so don't take this as me saying they are writing it. 

In my opinion, tragedy is a universal human constant. We are surrounded by pain and hurt and none of it makes any sense, so we seek to process that pain through drama, art, literature, etc. We want to understand why pain happens, and how it happens, and try to make sense of the senseless. The universe is cold and cruel and random. Tragedy eases some of that pain. 

On that note: Just because I am analysing Scum Villain through a Greek lens doesn't mean that it was written that way. I'm pasting an interpretation onto the book when there's probably a very rich and deep history of Chinese tragedy that I just don't know about. If you ever want to talk about that, please, god, hit me up, I would love to learn about it!! 

Anyway, tragedy. MXTX is excellent at it! Mo Dao Zu Shi? Painful dynastic family tragedy. Heaven Official's Blessing? Mostly romance, but she managed to get that pure pain in there, huh? 

But in my opinion, Scum Villain holds the crown for the most tragic of her stories. MDZS was more of a mystery. TGCF was more of a romance. Neither of them shy away from their tragic elements. 

Scum Villain would fit right in between the work of Sophocles, Euripides and Aeschylus. How? Let me show you. Join me on my mystery tour into the world of "Aristotle Analyses Danmei..."

Part One: The Tragic Hero

What is a tragic hero? Generally, Greek tragic heroes are united by the same key characteristics. He must be imperfect, having a "fatal flaw" of some kind. He must have something to lose. And he must go from fortune to misfortune thanks to that fatal flaw. 

There are two (technically three) tragic protagonists in SVSSS and all of them are tragic in different but formulaic ways. Each protagonist has their own version of “hamartia” or a “fatal flaw”. 

Actually, hamartia isn’t necessarily a flaw - rather, it is a thing which makes the audience pity and fear for them, a careful imperfection, a point of weakness in the character’s morality or reasoning that allows for bad things to happen to them. For example, in Oedipus Rex, the king Oedipus has a “fatal flaw” of always wanting to find the truth, but this isn’t exactly a flaw, right? Note: this flaw can be completely unwitting, as we see with Shen Yuan. It can also be something that the protagonist is born with, some kind of trait from birth or very young. 

Shen Yuan

Shen Yuan’s “hamartia” is his rigid adherence to fate and his inability to read a situation as anything but how he thinks it ought to be. He believes that Bingmei will grow into Bingge, and it takes several years, two deaths, and some truly traumatising sex to convince him otherwise. 

Shen Jiu

Shen Jiu’s fatal flaw is his cruelty. It is his own sadistic treatment and abuse of Binghe which directly leads to his eventual dismemberment. This is kind of a no-brainer. Of course, it isn't all that simple, and as an audience we pity him for his cruelty as much as we fear it because we know it comes from his own abuse as a child. This just makes him even more tragic. Delicious. 

Luo Binghe

Luo Binghe’s fatal flaw is a complicated mix of things. It is his position as the “protagonist” which compels him to act in certain ways and be forced to suffer. It is his half-demonic heritage, something entirely out of his control, which sets in motion his tragic reversal of fortune when he gets yeeted into the Abyss. He also, much like Shen Yuan, has the propensity to jump to conclusions and somehow make 2 + 2 = 5. 

As well as having their respective “flaws”, all three protagonists match the rough outline of a good tragic hero in another way: they are in a position of great wealth and power. Even when you split the different characters into different “versions”, this still holds true. Yes, Luo Binghe is raised a commoner by a washerwoman foster mother, but his dad is an emperor and he also ends up becoming an emperor himself. 

Yes, Shen Jiu is an ex-slave and a victim of abuse himself, but Shen Qingqiu is a powerful peak lord with an entire mountain’s worth of resources at his back. 

Shen Yuan is a second generation new money rich kid. 

Bingge is a stereotypical protagonist with a golden finger. Bingmei is a treasured and loved disciple with a good reputation and a privileged seat by his shizun’s side. 

In a tragedy, having this kind of good fortune at the beginning of your story is dangerous. Chaucer says that tragedy is (badly translated into modern english) “a certain story / of him that stood in great prosperity / and falls out of high degree / into misery, and ends up wretchedly”. If we follow this line of thinking, a good tragedy is about someone who has a lot to lose, losing everything because of one fatal point of weakness that they fail to address or understand. 

If we look at Shakespeare, this is what makes King Lear such a fantastic tragic protagonist. He is a king in control of most of England, who from his own lack of wisdom and excess of pride, decides to split his kingdom apart to give to his daughters, favouring his murderous, double crossing progeny, and condemning his only actually filial daughter to death. He loses his kingdom, his mind, and his beloved daughter, all because of his own stupidity.

This brings us to:

Part Two: Peripeteia

This reversal of fortunes is called peripeteia. It is the moment where the entire plot shifts, and the hero’s fortunes go from good to bad. Think of it like one of those magic eye puzzles, where you stare at the image until a 3D shark appears, except you realise the shark was always there, you just couldn't ever see it, waiting for you, hungry, deadly, always lurking just behind that delightful pattern of random blue squiggles. 

Each tragic hero has their own moment of peripeteia in SVSSS, sometimes several:

Shen Qingqiu

In the original PIDW, SQQ’s peripeteia presumably occurs when he finds out that Bingge didn’t perish in the Abyss but has actually been training hard to come and pay him back. There’s really not much I’m interested in saying here - as a villain, OG!SQQ is cut and dry, and the audience doesn’t really feel any pity or fear for him. As Shen Yuan often mentions, what the audience feels when they see OG!SQQ is bloodlust and sick satisfaction. There is also the trial at Huan Hua Palace, which I will talk about in Shen Yuan’s section. 

Shen Yuan (SQQ 2.0)

One of SY’s most poggers moment of peripeteia is the glorious, terrifying section between hearing Binghe for the first time after the Abyss moment, and getting shoved into the Water Prison. 

“Behind him, a low and soft voice came: “Shizun?”

Shen Qingqiu’s neck felt stiff as he slowly turned his head. Luo Binghe’s face was the most frightening thing he had ever seen.

The scariest thing about it was that the expression on his face was not cold at all. His smile wasn’t sharp like a knife. Rather, it showed a kind of bone-deep gentleness and amiability.”

This is the moment of true horror for Shen Yuan, because he knows what happens next: the plot unfurls before him, inevitable and painful, and he knows that death awaits him at Luo Binghe's hands (lol). Compare it with the bone deep certainty with which he faces his own downfall during the sham of a trial later in the chapter (I’ve bolded the important part):

“In the original work, Qiu Haitang’s appearance signified only one thing: Shen Qingqiu’s complete fall from grace. [...] Shen Qingqiu’s heart streamed with tears. Great Master… I know you’re doing this for my own good, but I’ll actually suffer if she speaks her words clearly. This truly is the saying “not frightened of doing a shameful deed, just afraid the ghost (consequences) will come knocking”!”

After the peripeteia is usually the denouement where the plot wraps up and the threads are all tied together leaving no loose ends, but because this tragedy isn’t Shen Yuan’s but the former Shen Jiu’s, it’s impossible to finish. 

Shen Yuan cannot provide the meaningful answers that the narrative demands because 1) he doesn’t have any memory of doing anything, and 2) he wasn’t the person who did them. Narratively, he cannot follow the same path as the former SQQ because he lacks the same fatal flaw: cruelty. 

This is why Binghe doesn’t kill him - because he loves him, rather than despises him. And this is why Shen Yuan has to sacrifice himself and die for Luo Binghe in order to save him from Xin Mo: because the narrative demands that denouement follows peripeteia, and SQQ’s fate is in the hands of the narrative. 

(Side note: I believe that this literal death also represents the death of OG!SQQ's tragic arc. The body that committed all those crimes must die to satisfy the narrative. SQQ must die, like burning down a forest, so that new growth can sprout from the ashes. After this, Shen Yuan's story has more room to develop instead.)

It must happen to show Bingmei that SQQ loves him too. And this brings us to Bingmei.

Bingmei

Bingmei has two succinct moments of utter downfall. The first is a literal fall - his flaw, his demonic heritage, leads his beloved shizun to throw him down into the Abyss. From his point of view, SQQ is punishing him simply for the status of his birth. He rapidly goes from being loved and cherished unconditionally, to being the victim of an assassination attempt. 

He realises that he is totally unlovable: that for the crimes of his species that he never had a hand in, he must pay the price as well: that his shizun is so righteous that no matter what love there was between them, if SQQ sees a demon, he will kill it. Even if that demon is Bingmei. 

The second moment is when SQQ dies for him. Again, from his point of view, he was chasing after a man who was struggling to see him as a human being. Shen Qingqiu’s death makes Bingmei realise that he has been completely misunderstanding his shizun: that SQQ would literally die for him, the ultimate act of self sacrifice from love: that SQQ loved him despite his demon heritage. 

Much like King Lear holding the corpse of his daughter and wailing in sheer grief and pain because he did this, he caused this, Bingmei gets to hold his shizun's cold body and cry his eyes out and know that it was his fault. (Kind of.)

(Yes, I’m bringing Shakespeare into this, no I am not justifying myself)

Maybe I'm a bit sadistic, but that scene slaps. Let me show you a comparison of scenes so you get the picture. 

Re-enter KING LEAR, with CORDELIA dead in his arms; EDGAR, Captain, and others following

KING LEAR

Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones:

Had I your tongues and eyes, I'ld use them so

That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever!

I know when one is dead, and when one lives;

She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass;

If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,

Why, then she lives.

[...]

 KING LEAR

And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life!

Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,

And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more,

Never, never, never, never, never!

Pray you, undo this button: thank you, sir.

Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips,

Look there, look there!

Dies

Versus this scene in SVSSS: 

Luo Binghe turned a deaf ear to everything else, greatly agitated and at a loss of what to do. He was still holding Shen Qingqiu’s body, which was rapidly cooling down. It seemed like he wanted to call for him loudly and forcefully shake him awake, yet he didn’t dare to, as if he was afraid of being scolded. He said slowly, “Shizun?”

[...]

Luo Binghe involuntarily held Shen Qingqiu closer.

He said in a small voice, “I was wrong, Shizun, I really… know that I was wrong.

“I… I didn’t want to kill you…”

PAIN. SO MUCH BEAUTIFUL PAIN. Yes, I know Shakespeare isn’t Athenian, but he was inspired by the good old stuff and he also knew how to write a perfect tragedy on his own terms. Anyway. I’ll find more Greek examples later.

This post was a bit all over the place, but I hope it has been fun to read. Part Two will be coming At Some Point, Who Knows When. This is a bit messy and unedited, but hey, I’m not getting paid or graded, so you can eat any typos or errors. Unless you’re here to talk to me about Chinese tragedy, in which case, please pull up a seat, let me get you a drink, make yourself at home.

ps: if you want to retweet this, here is the promo tweet!

[magic-is-something-we-create]

Hey!!! Random ask time bc I wanna learn more about everyone’s WIPs!!!

What’s your current absolute favorite thing about your primary WIP? It can be a teeny little detail, a massive part of the plot, a character, anything. What is it, and why??

Hi!! Thanks for the ask, I hope I can help curb the boredom a bit <3

I got a bit carried away, so I hope you don't mind, and I absolutely will not judge if it's a bit much to respond to/take in!!

My primary WIP for the last several years has been The Millennium Saga, and right now, my favorite thing(s) about it have to be a lot of the action and horror scenes!! They've gotten big reactions out of beta readers, and whenever I go back to read what I've written for ~motivation~ I tend to find myself lingering on them because I'm just... so proud of them. Especially the dream/nightmare sequences and the multiple instances of plant/natural horror <3

Something entirely different that I'm super proud of with Firebreathers specifically is how, now that I've done a lot of editing, the foreshadowing for later on in the series has solidified so well.

For instance, towards the end of the first draft, one of my MCs decided to take a hard left turn where I didn't expect - what was supposed to be a relatively simple attempted assassination (and reveal of a mind control subplot) ended up with them literally seeing/meeting a Goddess in a feat of prophecy thought to be dead for a millennium by the rest of the world.

That MC was never supposed to be a Prophet until the moment I let them take the reins. Their brother was supposed to be the only one, and it wasn't going to be revealed for probably three books that that magic wasn't dead. But they decided to become Important in a whole new way, and because of that...

I got to put the exact thing the Goddess told them during their Prophecy into the dialogue of a scene literally 100k+ words earlier in the book. I put it in a moment that, until editing, was meant to be an entirely metaphorical vision of that particular Goddess on a Priestess' visage.

The wider worldbuilding implications of that in particular have opened up for exploration now that I've finished book two, and I'm really hoping that at least someone on a reread will notice that single line, because hoo boy. It's that kind of foreshadowing and implication scavenger hunt I want to foster in any kind of community my books build, because that's the kind of stuff I enjoy most in fandom.

There's some other fun foreshadowing things I've managed to include that I'm also super proud of, like, say... the fear of a sibling bleeding out/dying when people with similar features suffer injury -> a reveal in book two that said sibling did die and was resurrected by the very person who was scared of it before. Also, specific chapter titles mimicking the titles an Important Person holds, and signalling that the narrators of those chapters are immortals -> one of those chapters not being from an immortal at the time, but one who becomes immortal later on, and that narrator is the villain they're trying to stop from doing that.

Also, because I got to write that villain's POV chapter, I learned a lot more about why they're Like That™, and thus got to display the specific traumas of those who already interacted with them way better on the second edit! Which makes me feel very accomplished and ~intentional~ as a writer, which is a rare thing because I pants almost everything I write 😅

I will end this here for now, simply because it got way longer than I thought it would/wanted it to, but I hope I helped entertain/distract!!

[redrobbingabank]

Syndicate Foster AU Chapter One

No one knew much about Philza Minecraft. Ranboo was pretty sure that that was because Philza Minecraft wanted it that way, and what Philza Minecraft wanted, he got. 

Not in a bad way. The man was a good one, an oxymoron in the world of rich people Ranboo saw on the news when he bothered to watch it. He didn’t come up often––that’s what happens when you choose not to be known––but Ranboo had yet to see him wrapped up in any sort of scandal.

The list of unknowns about Philza was long to anyone outside his circle, and for Ranboo, it had just gotten longer. As he sat in the chair outside the social worker’s office, purple backpack hugged close in his lap, he couldn’t get the question out of his mind: Why in the world would some billionaire choose to foster a teenager?

Fostering anyone was enough of a question. Fostering a sixteen year old, only two years away from ageing out, was downright baffling.

Ranboo picked at a hangnail. It didn’t matter how he turned it over in his head. It just didn’t make sense. The whole thing felt far too weird, and not nearly real enough.

He looked past his worn out sneakers to the hallway around him. The linoleum floor was peeling where it met the wall, and the wall’s paint wasn’t faring much better. Everything was the same shade of grey, like snow when it turned into slush. Through the confused haze filling his mind, Ranboo hoped Philza’s house had some sort of color.

The door opening next to him made Ranboo jump. His social worker stepped out first, followed by Philza. Ranboo shot to his feet, swinging his backpack over his shoulder.

Philza smiled at him. “You ready to go, mate?” He was shorter than Ranboo. Ranboo did not like being taller than Philza Minecraft.

He nodded silently. Philza had a manilla folder in his hand. Ranboo’s file, holding everything the system needed him to know about the kid he was fostering. Ranboo had never actually gone through it himself. He’d never had a reason to, but now, knowing someone else had seen it, he was curious. What did it say? Did it list his problems? If it did, was his insomnia one of them?

His social worker smiled at him. “You’re all set, Ranboo,” she said. “I hope you have a good experience.” The last part was quiet, meant for Ranboo alone. There was no reason to plant doubt in Philza’s head about his parenting skills.

Ranboo felt his throat closing up. He’d never been around Ms. Parks much, past the times she handled his movements between houses, but she was still the most constant figure in his life. “Thanks, Ms. Parks,” he said tightly. 

Philza gestured towards the elevator. Time to leave again, to go blindly to a new home with no idea how long it would last. Tightening his grip on the backpack’s strap, Ranboo led the way in and pressed the button for the ground floor. They were quiet on the way down, on the walk through the lobby, out the doors, and to the black limousine waiting out front. Philza gestured for Ranboo to get in first, then sat down across from him.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he asked, nodding at the backpack.

Ranboo, who’d become a little transfixed by the striped green bucket hat Philza hadn’t taken off since… ever, actuall, now that he thought about it, scrambled to answer. “I––uh––yeah.” He glanced down at the bag self-consciously. Was it not enough? Was he supposed to have more?

Philza didn’t look mad at him. He just smiled and said, “We’ll go get you some more stuff soon, then.” 

Ranboo froze. “Oh, you don’t need to do that, Mr. Minecraft, it’s fine, really. I don’t need anything else––”

Philza held up a hand, and Ranboo fell silent. “First, you can just call me Phil, mate. Second, I want to. We need to get you a uniform for school too, and a laptop, I bet.”

A laptop? A uniform? Ranboo was starting to wish they’d told him what being fostered by Philza Minecraft would involve. “I’m sorry… a school uniform? Why do I need a uniform?” Panic started climbing in his throat. He’d assumed that he’d just be going to the same school he’d attended for the past few years.

Apparently, Phil planned differently. “You’re going to go to Kinoko High School,” he explained. “It’s where Techno and Niki go to school. Speaking of, are you ready to meet them? Do you have any questions?”

Technoblade and Niki Nihachu, Phil’s two adopted children. No one knew where they’d come from. The two were unrelated, but shared the same shockingly pink hair and hatred for the media. Unfortunately for Ranboo, that hatred cut off his mental profile there. Everything else on the internet about the two was speculation and rumors. Actually… 

“Is it true that Niki punched a reporter once?” he asked tentatively.

He’d been worried Phil would get defensive. It wasn’t really his business, after all, what the Minecraft children did. But, much to his surprise, Phil laughed. “It is,” he said. “But the reporter had it coming. She’s really very nice when you get to know her, as long as you’re not a dick.”

Naturally, Ranboo immediately began going through everything he’d ever done to see if he’d committed some terrible atrocity that had slipped through the cracks in his memory. He was tempted to ask what exactly the reporter had done, just to compare it to his life, but decided to leave it alone for the day, and offered a weak chuckle of his own to match Phil’s.

“Techno’s a good kid too, of course,” Phil added. “Just… they’re both a bit quiet. They’ll probably give you plenty of space.”

“Oh.” Ranboo bobbed his head, hoping it would suffice as a reaction. It was actually a relief to hear that he wouldn’t be expected to integrate into the role of sibling immediately. The day was already making him tired, and the feeling only intensified as he looked ahead to his arrival at the house. House? He suddenly realized he didn’t know where Phil lived.

“Where are we driving?” he asked, looking out the window. It was all the same buildings he knew, rising above eye level into the sky. Secretly, he hoped for a house somewhere a little away from the city. A big backyard sounded cool. And a dog. A dog would be nice.

Alas, it wasn’t meant  to be. “Pog Tower,” Phil said. “We’ve got the penthouse at the top.” The route they’d been driving towards the center of the city suddenly made sense.

“Oh,” Ranboo said, and sank a little farther into the seat cushions. Not that he wasn’t grateful. It would be better than the monotones of the group home, at least. Maybe they had a cat, or a fish. It would be great.

His time to convince himself of that dwindled even faster as the limo pulled into the semicircle drive in front of the tower. Big plants lined the sidewalk and stairs, flowy green leaves going all the way to the big revolving glass doors. Ranboo had the sudden feeling that his stomach had dropped into hell and left the rest of him behind.

His legs felt like nerveless attachments as he got out of the car, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder. Phil walked around the car and stopped next to him. He glanced at Ranboo. “Ready?”

Considering how much he felt like an ant right now, Ranboo was getting very scared of how much time he was going to spend at the top of this building. What if he fell out a window? How long would it take him to hit the ground and become a grease spot?

“Yeah,” he said, and cringed. His voice had gone up an octave.

Phil gave him a sympathetic look. “Let’s go, then,” he said kindly, and led the way inside.

The lobby was even nicer than the entrance. The floor was all marble tile, spanning what had to be at least half the bottom floor of the tower. A receptionist sat at a kiosk-desk-thing in the center of the room. It had a top made of smooth black glass. Behind her, an elevator with gold-looking doors taller than Ranboo was centered in the wall.

Phil walked past the receptionist with a smile and a nod, which she returned. On his way past, Ranboo tried to mimic the greeting, but it ended up as an awkward ducking of his head. The receptionist smiled anyway. She was paid to do that.

Just that small screw up made the trip to the elevator feel like an eternity. It was an astronomical relief when the doors shut, Phil leaning forward to insert a key into the slot beside the switchboard and press the button that would take them to the top floor. 

“You don’t need to talk to anyone if you don’t want to, when you’re coming in,” he told him when he straightened back up, slipping the key back into his suit pocket. 

“Oh. Cool.” In Ranboo’s head, he sighed loudly. It was probably just him, but he felt like living on the tower was going to take a lot more social interaction than he was used to.

The elevator ascended fast enough to give Ranboo the free-fall sensation of a roller coaster before slowing down and stopping with a pleasant ding!. Ranboo had time to exhale once more before the doors were sliding open, and he was greeted by a living room bigger than the cafeteria at the group home, currently occupied by two teenagers arguing over a binder on the glass coffee table. At the elevator’s chime, they abruptly cut off. The girl slammed the binder shut, and they both turned to face him.

Niki Nihachu and Technoblade looked as similar as they were different. Niki came up to Techno’s shoulder. She had on a black sweater and jeans, pink hair falling loose around her shoulders. Her build was that of a distance runner’s. Ranboo vaguely remembered some old photo posted of her at a track meet.

Technoblade had a pair of thin-framed glasses and grey sweats. His braided hair was long enough that when he’d spun around, it whipped over his shoulder. Dark bags hung under his eyes, though they were sharp and analytical as he looked at Ranboo. The crumpled Monster cans next to him offered an explanation.

No one spoke for an uncomfortable amount of time. Finally, Phil waved. “Hey guys, this is Ranboo.” Ranboo felt a piece of his soul shrivel up and die.

Techno and Niki looked at Phil. They looked at Ranboo, then looked at each other. Then, the two lifted their hands and gave him a perfectly synchronized wave. Were they sure they weren’t twins? “Hey, Ranboo,” Niki said.

“Um. Hi. Did you guys practice that?” Ranboo asked nervously, clutching the backpack’s strap tighter. 

“Yeah,” Techno said, grinning. Ranboo felt slightly less scared. “We thought it was funny.”

Ranboo bobbed his head wordlessly. What could he say? If he’d been watching and not scared out of his mind, he’d agree. 

“Guys, maybe avoid the pretending to be psychically connected for a few days,” Phil said.

“This happens often?” Ranboo squeaked.

Niki shrugged. “Pretty much, yeah.”

The pair hadn’t moved from in front of the coffee table, both in positions that prevented Ranboo from looking at the binder they’d been fighting over. He glanced between the two, but their faces betrayed nothing except for calm friendliness.

“Well,” Phil interrupted the silence, stepping to the side, “Your room is upstairs. I can show you where it is, and you can hang out up there or down here until dinner. It’s whatever you want, really.”

Thank god, an opportunity to hide. Ranboo almost led the way to the stairs, but stopped himself. “Sure,” he said. Then to Techno and Niki, “It was nice meeting you.” Was that okay to say to new siblings? It was probably stupid.

Niki grinned. It was a sharp expression on her face. “Nice to meet you too.” She and Techno watched Phil and Ranboo until they were at the top of the stairs, then turned back to the binder and started arguing again in whispers. Ranboo resisted the urge to glance back. 

At the top of the stairs, Phil led him down a short hallway and stopped at the second door on the left. “Since we weren’t sure what you like, we left it mostly plain,” he said. “We can decorate it and stuff soon, though.”

“I’m sure it’s great how it is,” Ranboo said.

“Nah, it’s boring. I want you to like it.” Phil stuck his hands in his pockets. “Anyway, we’ll be around. If you want to hang out or need anything, just come tell one of us. You can do whatever until dinner. I’ll send Techno up when it’s ready.”

“Awesome.” Ranboo gave him one last smile and waited in the center of the room until Phil left, closing the door behind him. He sighed. Dear god, that was exhausting. Maybe he’d actually be able to sleep tonight.

There wasn’t much to do on his own. Ranboo set his bag down on the dresser and tossed the sets of clothing inside without much care how they landed. Then, he launched himself onto the bed and just… kind of laid there.

He wasn’t even sure what to think about. The house? How big it was? How it actually seemed kind of like a home, and not some rich person’s museum-slash-autobiography? Whatever Niki and Techno were arguing about? They definitely didn’t want either Ranboo or Phil to know what it was.

Ranboo closed his eyes. Purple spots floated behind his eyelids. Sometimes, he liked to try to watch the patterns, but it usually ended with feeling like he was free falling through the void.

A knock on the door jolted Ranboo out of sleep. “Yeah? Uh, come in?” he called.

The door creaked open just enough for him to see one of Techno’s eyes. “Dinner,” he said.

“Oh. Awesome.” Had it really been that long? Ranboo wasn’t really hungry; he’d actually rather go back to sleep, or whatever had made the time pass like that, but he stood up anyway. “I’ll be down in a second.”

“Awesome.” Ranboo thought he saw Techno flash him a thumbs up, but then the guy was gone, muffled steps walking down the carpeted hallway to the stairs.

Ranboo stretched his arms over his head and groaned quietly. Dinner. He could do that. He could do that, and then he could go back to sleep and be done with people for the day. Slowly, he shuffled over to the door. Just eat dinner and sleep.

Phil made dinner. Ranboo wasn’t expecting that. He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t expecting that, but it was probably related to his general impression of rich people. He cringed a little at how clearly wrong he was, at least about this family. Especially because Phil had made mac and cheese.

It was freaking good mac and cheese too, he thought as he ate, carefully watching the others to make sure he wasn’t eating the wrong way. So far, he was doing well.

The four of them sat at a big table in the kitchen. Niki and Techno sat next to each other across from Ranboo, who was alone next to an empty chair. When he first saw it, he thought maybe it was Phil’s, but then Phil had taken the seat at the head of the table. Through the entire meal, Ranboo’s gaze was drawn to the chair and the question if someone was missing from their group. 

“So, Ranboo,” Niki said casually, like they’d been friends for a while and this wasn’t the first conversation she’d ever initiated with him. Ranboo looked up and put down his fork to make sure she knew he was listening. “You start school the day after tomorrow, right?”

Ranboo glanced at Phil for confirmation before nodding. “Yeah.” He was actually doing his best not to think about it. Everytime he did, his heart sped up unpleasantly and his knee started bouncing and a lot of thoughts he didn’t have space for crowded his mind. He was eternally grateful for Sunday tomorrow, giving him a bit of a reprieve before he was thrown into it.

“I thought we’d go shopping tomorrow.” Phil joined the conversation with such ease that Ranboo almost stared. “We need to get you your uniform and some supplies. I also thought a new backpack would be nice. But if you want to stick with the one you’ve got, that works, too,” he added quickly.

Ranboo thought of the seam starting to rip on one of the straps. “No, a new bag would be awesome.”

“Great. It’s settled. Techno, Niki, do you two want to come?”

The two shared a glance and nodded. 

“Alright. We’ll go to the mall at ten tomorrow, I think. Does that sound good, Ranboo?” Phil asked. Everyone was suddenly watching him. Ranboo nodded quickly, if only to make them stop.

“Did you get your schedule yet?” Techno asked, looking at his plate instead of Ranboo.

“No.” Was he supposed to have one?

“We’ll get it tomorrow with your other things,” Phil told him.

“Oh. Okay.”

When dinner was finished, Techno and Niki were the first to get up. “We have homework,” were their parting words, and then they were out the door with a surprising lack of sound. The silence held until their doors closed a few moments later.

Phil set down his fork and turned his attention to Ranboo. “I’m gonna head off too, mate. The office called, and they want me to head in for a few hours tonight. Unless you need me to stay?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Ranboo rushed out. Time alone would be good. He always found it easier to breathe when there were less people in the house.

“If you’re sure,” Phil said, standing. “Techno and Niki will help if you need anything, and my numbers are on the coffee table. You should probably put them in your phone anyway.”

Ranboo imagined the battered old model he had upstairs. The corner was bashed in from being dropped a few too many times, and the 5 button was fickle. He cringed a little at the thought of showing it to Phil.

“Will do,” was all he said. Then Phil, too, left, and Ranboo was alone in a kitchen in a new house with no real idea what he should do, except that he wanted to leave Niki and Techno alone.

With that in mind, he went to bed. Or, not exactly. He went to sit in bed with his legs crossed, hunched over his journal as he wrote everything that had happened that day down. It had been a long time since he’d lost a day, but that did nothing to remove the fear that at some point, he would.

A strange bang sometime later made Ranboo jump. He checked the digital clock on his nightstand: 1:15 am.

The noise reminded him of a window being shut, and for a brief moment, panic flashed through him like lightning. What if someone had broken in?

But that was impossible. They were at the top of freaking Pog Tower. Just to reassure himself, Ranboo got up and looked out his own window. The distance from himself to the ground made him close the curtains. Yep, no one would be scaling the building. He was fine. He was safe. 

Ranboo looked at the journal, still open on his bed. The moment when he’d gone from writing to staring blankly at the pages was a mystery. He sighed, closed the journal, and put it back in its place at the bottom of his backpack. He had to go shopping tomorrow… well, technically, today. Sleep would be a really great idea.

Not that saying it would make it happen. 

Nevertheless, Ranboo climbed into bed. This time, he got under the covers and made his eyes stay closed. The suggestions ran through his head: count, tell yourself a story, take deep breaths. None of it ever worked.

Sometimes, Ranboo really wished it did.

[stephspurs]

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction - BONUS MOMENTS

PSA: To all new readers, you don't have to read the series (link below) to understand this, however it would help so that you can understand the preconceived emotions behind the chapter!

The Proposal | la proposta

warnings; none word count; 1703 writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter. link to fic masterlist here

13th July 2024, Germany

Amelia and Ben had found themselves experiencing a slight bit of deja vu. The night before the final match of the UEFA European Championship, Amelia was sat in her hotel suite, finalising her preparations for the following evening. A rematch between the Three Lions and The Azzurri. Who would have thought that three years after the last final, the same two teams (give or take a few players) would be in the exact same position.

The difference this time, Amelia had more to think about than just her brother’s feelings. Her relationship with Ben had grown throughout the 3 years that they had been officially together. Countless family holidays shared together, and with each other's respective families had since become a thing of the past as they had successfully managed to merge both the White’s and the Chilwell’s together to create one big happy family. Ben had asked Amelia to move in with him only a year into their relationship, and although outsiders might think it was fast the couple could only disagree with them. They took each stage of their relationship as it came and when it came, just the two of them how it should be.

6 months after moving in together they had adopted a dog together from the local animal rescue centre, a black Labrador called Maverick who was bi-lingual and responded to both English and Italian, much to Ben’s dismay. Amelia began teaching both of her boys (Mav & Benj) simple words in the language of love  and Ben had a harder time retaining it than the pup. Nevertheless, he loved hearing Amelia’s voice when she spoke to him in Italian and it was something he hoped he could hear every day for the rest of his life.

Amelia had continued her role at Chelsea FC as a tactical analyst for the first team, and Chelsea had honored their promise to the girl to allow her to work in depth with the academy talent which is something she found very rewarding and the part she loved most about her job. Of course she loved being around her friends and helping them achieve their dreams but there was something about fostering youth talent that made Amelia really proud to be in the position that she was, to help these young kids from all walks of life make it in the big scary world of professional football. The smile on their faces when they get a call up to an older division, the tears shed by their parents as they wave them off to go and live with their host family nearby Cobham facility, the same eyes that leak a whole different set of tears as they sign their first professional contract with the club - it makes it all worth it.

Something that was eerily similar to the last time Amelia was sat in her hotel room the night before the European Championship Final is that she was, once again, the tactical analyst for the Italian National Team. This time, however, there was no knock on her door with Federico Bernardeschi on the other side waiting to bring her to the English National Team’s base so she could have it out with her brother and Kyle Walker. Thankfully, her relationships with all of the England team had remained intact but that was largely due to another no-contact ban being enforced between her and the Three Lions. This meant that she hadn’t had a chance to talk to any of her friends, let alone her boyfriend Ben, in three weeks. It was painful for both parties, but necessary to ensure that there was no untowards activity or information being shared.

When Amelia was first offered the job she had sat on it for days before making a decision to rejoin the national team. Ben had actually been the one to push her to accept it, it was only something that would make her life better and he didn’t want her to miss out on any opportunity that came her way - even if it meant that the two of them had to be apart both physically and digitally for 3 weeks. That was the thing that held Amelia back from accepting the position on the spot, she would miss the person that became her right hand man. But Ben’s encouragement made the last few weeks easier, and also made Amelia realise just how ready she was to give herself to him...officially.

Marriage had been something that they had both discussed prior as a natural conversation between two people in a relationship that they could see was obviously heading in that direction already, so it was something that was always in Amelia’s mind. She had found herself at florists buying flowers for their dining room table and absent-mindedly thinking about the perfect wedding flowers for her bridal bouquet. However much to Amelia’s dismay, Ben was yet to ask her the most important question of her life and these three weeks apart have made her more desperate than ever to become Mrs Chilwell.

14th July 2024, Signal Iduna Park, Dortmund Germany

A torturous 90-minute match of football later and the Azzurri had done it, back-to-back UEFA European Champions. The only goal of the match coming from her midfield-maestro Jorgi, which was the direct result of a misplay from Declan Rice meaning the ball fell at the feet of Jorginho as he was directly in front of the goal, Jordan Pickford was no match for the beautifully crafted strike which isn’t anything towards Pickford, no keeper was stopping that ball from going in - it was just that good.

This time however, she was the one being consoled by her brother. The pressure of the situation getting on top of her, 3 weeks of no contact with Ben & seeing him for the first time out on this pitch but not being able to kiss him was getting to her, the knowledge that she was again partly to blame for their heartache. Her brother had seen the look in Amelia’s eyes when the whistle blew and the entire bench of the Italian team ran onto the pitch to congratulate the players, she had remained behind. Wrapping his arms around his little sister as she sobbed into his jersey because she was too empathetic for her own good was not how he predicted the outcome of the evening at all, but he was glad he was there for her. Pulling away from her, he tidied up her face and sent her on her way out to the pitch to wrap her Italian friends up in the hugs that they so well deserved, fully aware of the events to follow the wrap up awards ceremony that same night.

______________________________________________________________

I found myself standing in the centre circle at the Borussia Dortmund home ground, with an Italian flag wrapped around my shoulders and confetti all over the floor at my feet. Looking around at the fans who had stayed behind so they could meet their idols, I could not believe my luck in this world.

“I hope you’re not considering a job out here in Dortmund, Mils? I possibly couldn’t be away from you any longer” Ben spoke from behind me, pulling me out of my trance. I whipped my body around at lightning speed and launched myself at my boyfriend, my soul mate.

“Ben” I whispered into his ear as he lifted me from the ground, feet dangling at his mid shin and my arms wrapped around his shoulders so tightly as if to convey all of the hugs we had missed out over the last few weeks apart.

“Mils, I’ve missed you so much.” He said back to me, expressing the exact same sentiments as I possessed. He put me back on the floor and began to push me away from him, in my desperate attempt at a longer hug I wrapped my arms around his torso and pulled myself back in.

“No Mils, I need to see your face as I do this.” He laughed, pushing me off him again and taking a step back from me.

“Benj, what are you doing?” I questioned him, not really believing my own thoughts as to what was about to happen.

“Amelia, my brilliant Amelia. The past three weeks have done nothing but made me realise I never want to spend a day without you again. There are many ways to be happy in life, but all I need is you.  You are my sunshine, you make me unbelievably happy, you make my good days great and my hard day's worth it just to see your smile in our kitchen at the end of it. Your brain is the most beautiful thing I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and I hope our future daughter turns out exactly like you so that I have another you to love.”

Ben had descended to one knee as I stood before him, both hands raised to my face to cover my shocked by bright smile and both eyes stuck directly on his own. I hadn’t noticed the crowd of our closest people begin to gather around us to watch the show.

“So in front of God…” Ben nodded his head slightly, I turned my head to see he was referring to Paolo Maldini and shook my head with a little giggle which was copied by everyone else around us.

“...our family and closest friends I want to ask you the question that I know you’ve been patiently waiting for - will you marry me?” Ben pulled out the most perfect ring from a box that I hadn’t even noticed in his hands.

Dropping myself so that I was crouched and on both knees in front of him, I grabbed his face with both of my own hands and pressed the firmest kiss to his lips. My tears ran down my face and probably all over his, he kissed me back. They say a picture says a thousand words, and while I hoped that at least one of our friends had managed to snap a few of this moment, my kiss said only one word...Yes.

[jackoshadows]

Why did Jon Snow refuse the offer of Winterfell from Stannis?

Read Jon XII, A Storm of Swords. An entire chapter dedicated to Jon’s though process on why he refuses Stannis’ offer.  To make it easier I will highlight the relevant parts:

He sat on the bench and buried his head in his hands. Why am I so angry? he asked himself, but it was a stupid question. Lord of Winterfell. I could be the Lord of Winterfell. My father’s heir.

It was not Lord Eddard’s face he saw floating before him, though; it was Lady Catelyn’s. With her deep blue eyes and hard cold mouth, she looked a bit like Stannis. Iron, he thought, but brittle. She was looking at him the way she used to look at him at Winterfell, whenever he had bested Robb at swords or sums or most anything. Who are you? that look had always seemed to say. This is not your place. Why are you here?

The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell’s muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins.

You can’t be the Lord of Winterfell, you’re bastard-born, he heard Robb say again. And the stone kings were growling at him with granite tongues. You do not belong here. This is not your place. When Jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. The weirwood was the heart of Winterfell, Lord Eddard always said . . . but to save the castle Jon would have to tear that heart up by its ancient roots, and feed it to the red woman’s hungry fire god. I have no right, he thought. Winterfell belongs to the old gods.

Thorne and Marsh will sway him, Yarwyck will support Lord Janos, and Lord Janos will be chosen Lord Commander. And what does that leave me, if not Winterfell?

Ygritte wanted me to be a wildling. Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do I want? Would I sooner be hanged for a turncloak by Lord Janos, or forswear my vows, marry Val, and become the Lord of Winterfell? It seemed an easy choice when he thought of it in those terms . . . though if Ygritte had still been alive, it might have been even easier. Val was a stranger to him.

I would need to steal her (Val) if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister’s son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly’s boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We’d find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance’s son and Craster’s would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me.

And finally:

“Gods, wolf, where have you been?” Jon said when Ghost stopped worrying at his forearm. “I thought you’d died on me, like Robb and Ygritte and all the rest. I’ve had no sense of you, not since I climbed the Wall, not even in dreams.” The direwolf had no answer, but he licked Jon’s face with a tongue like a wet rasp, and his eyes caught the last light and shone like two great red suns. Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre’s. He had a weirwood’s eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they’d found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow.

He had his answer then

Jon thinks he could become Lord of Winterfell and make Ned proud. He thinks Ned and Robb would want him to restore Winterfell. He thinks of Ygritte and Val - how he could make a life with Val. He thinks of his precarious situation at the wall - with Thorne and Slynt wanting to get rid of him. He thinks of Sam and Gilly and Mance’s son.

This is important:

When Jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. The weirwood was the heart of Winterfell, Lord Eddard always said . . . but to save the castle Jon would have to tear that heart up by its ancient roots, and feed it to the red woman’s hungry fire god. I have no right, he thought. Winterfell belongs to the old gods.

Stannis precondition for  making Jon Lord of Winterfell is that he has to burn down the Winterfell Godswood and convert to the Lord of Light. Burn down the Old Gods. And Ghost returning at the end of the chapter is what reminds Jon of the oaths he made before the Godswood, his duty to the NW and the Old Gods of the North.

The direwolf had no answer, but he licked Jon’s face with a tongue like a wet rasp, and his eyes caught the last light and shone like two great red suns. Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre’s. He had a weirwood’s eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they’d found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow.

He had his answer then

To reiterate, Jon does not refuse the offer of Winterfell from Stannis for Ned, Catelyn, Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran or Rickon. He does not refuse Winterfell for love of his family.

He does it because of sworn oaths to the Old Gods.

There is only one time over the entire 5 books that Jon makes a very important decision because of love for family - specifically one member of his family. And that’s when he breaks his sworn oaths at the tail end of ADwD to go save Arya from Ramsay Bolton. And yes, he is pretty much walking a thin line throughout the book by helping Stannis and sending Mance out to get Arya - but the end is where he decides to go attack Ramsay as Lord Commander.

So yeah, Jon’s arc is about overcoming societal biases and doing right and leading as just a bastard. It’s about not giving into his selfish impulses and envy unlike his character foil Theon Greyjoy.  

But Jon is also a character who wants to wield power. He wants more because all his life he’s been told he cannot have it by virtue of his birth.

You can’t be the Lord of Winterfell, you’re bastard-born, he heard Robb say again.

Imagine how he is going to feel when Robb then makes him KITN?!

Would Jon refuse being Lord of Winterfell when the same offer is made to him by his beloved brother Robb? Who does not demand that he burns down the Godswood? Who has legitimized him as a Stark? A Jon who has been assassinated by mutineer NW brothers and who has always wanted Winterfell? Who wants an united North to face the threat of the Others? 

It’s okay for Jon to want to rule Winterfell. He does not have to accept the circumstances of his birth - because those circumstances are unfair and unjust.

And yeah, Jon’s not going to be endgame king. There’s a good chance he ends up in the Lands of Always Winter at the end of the series. At the same time, this does not mean that his narrative arc and journey does not include climbing that ladder as high as possible, to the very top. There’s a reason GRRM spend 13 chapters on Lord Commander Jon Snow being a savvy politician, strategist and leader in ADwD.

Jon Snow is going to be ruler of the north sometime during the next two books and Robb’s will is there for a reason.

GRRM SSM, August 2000

Q: I have a question, since Robb actually  legitimized Jon and named him his heir for Winterfell and the North  before the Red Wedding (granted no one knows about this and is still  alive or free, the Greatjon knows as does Edmure, but I dont see them  getting out of the Twins any time soon and Catelyn would probably die  before telling anyone) does this make Jon’s rejection of Stannis’ offer  moot?

A: Edmure and the Greatjon are prisoners, true… but you are forgetting  the envoys that Robb sent to Howland Reed… Galbart Glover, Maege  Mormont, Jason Mallister… they are all alive and free... As to what is and is not moot… the key point is, only a =king= can legitimize a bastard……

[beewolfwrites]

And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter One: The Edge of a Diving Board

Hello everyone!

So I haven’t used my Tumblr account in years, but I recently binge watched Alice in Borderland not too long ago and like any sane person, I realised that it was pretty darn amazing.. and that Chishiya was hands-down one of the best characters in the show.

 So while I'm still riding the AIB wave, I decided to dig out my old Tumblr and write something! 

This is just the first chapter, and you can find it here on AO3 too. To be honest, it’s probably better on AO3 because the formatting is a little funny on here. 

I’ve written it in first person, but avoided giving the main character a name, so it can either read as a Chishiya x OC or as a reader-insert depending on how you prefer :) 

Please let me know what you think, and if you do read it, thank you!

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It was David Foster Wallace who put it best. The world was one big queue leading up to a diving board. You took your place in line, climbed the rankings, and once you got to the top? The end. Process over. Because that’s how life really is: breathe, work, jump off the edge. You fulfil a function and then you’re gone forever.

At least, that’s how I’d always seen it. But the Borderlands changed all of that. Suddenly I was being pushed towards the edge of the diving board when I had thought I was still in the queue.

It happened all at once. I had been in an apartment, laughing over drinks with my brother and his friends. It was our first time in Japan, and we were only visiting for a four-day summer trip. I had only been allowed to go on the premise that he was there. Looking back now, I wish we had chosen Brussels or Amsterdam.

The last time I saw my brother, he was laughing with his friends as I closed the bathroom door behind me. I had turned to the sink, taking a moment to splash cool water on my face.

And that was when the lights went out.

‘Power cut’, I muttered, fumbling around for the door handle and re-entering the living room.

The apartment was dark and cold. I was alone.

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Tokyo almost looked beautiful without electricity at night, like a ghost city paused in time.

‘Hey!‘ I yelled through the empty streets. ‘誰か’ Anyone?

My Japanese was limited at best, but I had to try. I had to find someone. There was no way this could’ve been a prank. A whole population doesn’t just vanish into thin air, it’s simply not possible.

‘Hey, Is anyone there?’ I tried again.

As if on cue, a light cut through the darkness. I couldn’t help but squint at the large white screen projected across a desolate building. I couldn’t read any of the kanji, but there was one word that stood out clear as day.

GAME

What is this? I asked myself.

Suddenly, the screen changed, this time sporting an arrow pointing to the right. I tried to read the hiragana, but it seemed there was no need. Another light appeared in the distance, glowing ominously over the tops of buildings.

I guess I have to go that way, I thought. Perhaps there’s some kind of big event on and everyone’s gone to watch.

I made my way to the source of the light, which turned out to be an old furniture store. In this sea of darkness, it was as if the electricity had pooled entirely into one two-storey building.

There can’t be an event in a place like this. Where is everyone?

On a wall was a smaller sign with an arrow pointing into the store.

GAME – こちらです

Hesitantly, I followed the arrow up the steps leading to the door. Inside, the hallway was fully lit. The walls were decorated with mirrors and printed canvases, their price tags and sale stickers still attached. Passing beneath an arch that led into a large room, I heard a tiny bleep. It was almost inaudible, but I knew I hadn’t imagined it.

As I peered around, looking for the source of the noise, a voice spoke.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’

I jumped, turning on my heels.

Leaning inconspicuously against a wall, a man was staring at me curiously. He was wearing a sleeveless grey top and looked to be in his thirties. He didn’t look like it, but perhaps he was the shop owner?

I stepped forward, intent on asking for help. However, I must’ve moved too quickly in my excitement, as my arm wavered, knocking a tiny vase with an artificial flower off a table.

It rolled across the ground, but before I could apologise and pick it up a neon red laser cut through the vase, leaving a singed hole in the plastic soil.

‘I told you not to do that,’ the man repeated, huffing.

I stared, wordless, at the destroyed flower. Lasers? What the hell kind of game was this?

‘Newbie, hm? This’ll be easy.’

It was a new voice this time. Another man, slightly younger, was reclining back in an armchair. I hadn’t noticed him until now as his green shirt blended into the furniture fabric.

‘A foreigner, too. How lucky,’ Green Shirt said.

My mind scrambled to piece together what Japanese it could.

‘すみません… 何がこれ？皆んながどこですか’ Excuse me, what is this? Where is everyone?

Green Shirt raised a brow, whereas the first man huffed once more.

‘It’s a game. You’ve just got to follow the rules.’ He gestured his thumb to a small side table where there were a several phones lined up. ‘You need to take one before registration closes.’

On second inspection, I noticed that they were both clasping phones tightly in their hands. Maybe this was part of the game? Approaching the table, I picked up a smart phone, finding that it sprung to life immediately with a face recognition screen.

‘FACE REGISTRATION IN PROCESS.

PLEASE WAIT FOR THE GAME TO COMMENCE’

A timer on the screen began to tick down from two minutes. Around me, I could feel the two men watching my every move. They seemed to be sussing me out, although I couldn’t figure out what for. Surely, since everyone in Tokyo disappeared, we should all band together and find others.

‘REGISTRATION CLOSED. THE GAME WILL NOW COMMENCE.’

This time, the voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once, as if through an invisible sound system. I looked around at the ceiling, trying to find the speakers, when I realised that at the back of the room all of the furniture had been moved aside to make way for a large circular table and four chairs. In the centre of the table was a stack of cards.

‘GAME – RUMMY

DIFFICULTY – FOUR OF DIAMONDS

TIME LIMIT – ONE HOUR’

Four of Diamonds?

I looked at the phone in my hand, where a picture of the aforementioned card flashed up. None of it made sense. And what did playing cards have to do with this?

The first man and Green Shirt both got up and made their way to the table at the back, leaving me no choice but to follow. They seemed to know what was going on better than I did. The three of us each took a seat, only I chose to a sit as far as possible from the other two. Judging from the deck in the middle of the table, we’d be playing a card game, and I didn’t want anybody close enough to see my hand.

The overhead voice continued.

‘RULES –

PLAYERS MUST COMPLETE A SINGLE GAME OF RUMMY.

THE OBJECTIVE IS TO CLEAR ALL CARDS FROM YOUR HAND. THE FIRST PLAYER TO CLEAR THEIR HAND IS THE WINNER.

THE DECK HAS ALREADY BEEN SHUFFLED.

PLAYERS MUST DESIGNATE ONE PERSON TO BE THE DEALER.

TURNS ARE TAKEN COUNTER-CLOCKWISE, FROM THE LEFT OF THE DEALER.

EACH PLAYER STARTS WITH SEVEN CARDS. AFTER THE CARDS HAVE BEEN DEALT, THE FIRST CARD IN THE DECK MUST BE TURNED OVER AND USED TO START A SEPARATE DISCARD PILE.

PLAYERS MUST ALWAYS DRAW ONE CARD FROM THE PILE, AND DISCARD ONE CARD PER TURN.

PLAYERS MAY PICK UP A CARD FROM THE DISCARD PILE, HOWEVER YOU CANNOT DISCARD THE SAME CARD IN THAT TURN.

PLAYERS MUST CREATE SEQUENCES OF THREE TO FOUR CARDS ARRANGED BY EITHER NUMBER OR SUITE. IF A SET OF THREE OR MORE CARDS IS CREATED, THE PLAYER MAY CHOOSE TO LAY IT DOWN IN FRONT OF THEM.

PLAYERS CAN ADD TO OTHERS’ SEQUENCES PROVIDED THEY HAVE BEEN LAID DOWN ON THE TABLE.

ACE MAY ONLY COUNT AS ONE.

JOKERS CAN BE USED IN PLACE OF ANY CARD.

CLEAR CONDITION – BE THE WINNER.’

Okay, I thought, mulling it over. Okay…

I hadn’t understood most of what the voice had said, but I could pick up enough that I figured it was just a game of standard Rummy. I had never played the game before, and I only knew of it through John Steinbeck’s characters. But I had played something similar, a card-melding game that my parents had taught me when I was a small child. I’d played it countless times, and I knew it like the back of my hand. Sure enough, these rules were slightly different, but it was still a card-melding game, all the same.

I looked up at the two men opposite me. They appeared confused, despite their attempts to hide it. Green Shirt gazed at me curiously, then smirked.

Oh…

‘A foreigner, too? How lucky.’

His previous words rang in my memory. Judging by the way the two men were looking at me, they were both counting on my inability to understand the rules. They were assuming I had no idea how to play, or even what rules were just read out. And yet, the brief glimpses of confusion in their expressions told me everything: they had never played a card-melding game before.

So they’ve already decided that they have the advantage?

I tried not to smile.

‘Do you know how to play?’ the first man asked me.

I paused, considering how I should answer. I didn’t know exactly what the stakes were, but judging by the laser I had just seen, losing the game couldn’t be good. In any case, I decided to keep my cards close to my chest.

‘このガームは知らない.’ I’ve never heard of this game before.

I was aware that my Japanese probably sounded like it came straight from a textbook, but in this situation, I couldn’t care less.

The first man nodded. He looked at Green Shirt, and said, ‘I’ll be the dealer then, if that’s okay?’

Green Shirt just shrugged and sat back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. ‘Hurry up then. The clock’s ticking.’

Sure enough, my phone displayed a timer which read 57 minutes. I didn’t want to find out what happened if we didn’t have a clear winner by the time it hit zero.

The first man picked up the deck, dishing out seven cards each before returning the stack to the centre. He took the first card and turned it over on the table, beginning the discard pile. Picking up a card from the deck, the first man began his turn.

I didn’t pay attention to what he was doing, as I needed to focus on the cards currently in my hand.

King of Spades

Three of Hearts

King of Diamonds

Five of Clubs

Ace of Hearts

Nine of Diamonds

Eight of Clubs

It wasn’t bad. Or at least, it could’ve been a lot worse. The two kings stuck out immediately as a potential meld. I could certainly build around them. However, another thought came to mind. If Rummy was anything like the game I had learned as a child, it meant that players could add to each other’s melds once they were on the table. In that case, I would have to avoid creating sets of consecutive numbers within the same suite, as a three-card combination in this kind of meld would leave two openings for the others to get rid of their cards, rather than just the one.

Glancing up, I noticed it was Green Shirt’s turn, promptly ended as he threw an Ace of Spades into the discard pile.

That meant it was my turn next.

I eyed the Ace he just discarded and remembered hearing the overhead voice say something about Aces. But there was no time to think about it; the other two were watching me closely and waiting for me to pick up a card.

I reached out to the deck.

Seven of Diamonds.

Technically I could’ve used it in conjunction with my nine, but it was too risky. I didn’t have time to wait around in hopes of picking up an Eight of Diamonds. Plus, I’d already decided against consecutive sets.

I tossed it into the discard pile.

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

The game continued for longer than I would’ve liked it to. The clock was ticking, ticking, ticking, and now read 17 minutes.

So far, my hand had started to come together.

King of Spades

King of Diamonds

King of Hearts

Nine of Diamonds

Nine of Spades

Five of Clubs

Ace of Hearts

I could’ve laid down my kings on the table. But there was only three cards in the meld, meaning one of the others could add the remaining king from their own hand. Across from me, neither of the other two had laid down any cards, and until they did, I couldn’t add anything to their melds either.

Green Shirt then took his turn and picked up a card. He glanced once at me, then threw a Nine of Diamonds onto the discard pile.

I must’ve regarded it a second too long because Green Shirt then spoke up.

‘You’re collecting Diamonds, aren’t you?’

I tried not to smile.

‘どうして知っているのですか’ I asked, playing along. How did you know that?

‘Because you always stare at the cards whenever I discard a Diamonds one.’

He must’ve gotten the wrong end of the stick, because whenever he discarded a Diamonds card, my heart sank. The last thing I needed was a Diamonds card.

‘I’ll try and keep a poker face from now on,’ I muttered.

Green Shirt frowned in response and checked the timer on his phone.

Nine minutes.

Nine minutes until game over.

That’s 540 seconds I had to land a good card.

Come on, I thought. Please be a nine. Please be a nine.

I picked up a card from the deck. It was a Two of Spades. I discarded it immediately.

In the back of my mind, I was starting to panic. Judging by this whole setup, we were playing for our lives. After all, what kind of game would have an invisible barrier that kills those who try to back out?

The first man threw away a Six of Clubs. Green Shirt stared at it and scowled. He must’ve been looking for extra cards to add to his meld on the table.  

By now, the two men were starting to become antsy. The first man kept scratching his eyebrow, whereas Green Shirt kept dragging his nails on the table in impatience.

He picked up a card from the deck, then grinned from ear to ear. He proudly lay down a consecutive suite consisting of the Seven and Six of Clubs and a Joker used to represent a five.  

Carelessly, he tossed down a Nine of Clubs.

My heart jumped, and adrenaline shot through me.

He still thinks I’m collecting Diamonds. That’s why he tossed it.

My hand shot out and snatched up the card from the pile before Green Shirt could figure out his mistake. And figure it out, he did, because his eyes widened slightly.

I looked at him squarely.

‘I have something to confess,’ I said in English. ‘I lied. I’m not collecting Diamonds.’

Green Shirt’s smile dropped. He didn’t understand, but he would soon enough. The thing about Jokers is that they’re always a double-edged sword.

Laying down my new trio of nines, I reached over to Green Shirt’s meld and inserted my Five of Clubs, swiping his Joker for myself.

He made a noise of protest, whereas the first man watched on with disbelief, as if hoping that his intuition was wrong.

I added the Joker to my two Kings, creating a new meld which I down on the table.

Their faces told all. They had no idea that Jokers could be swapped. Even though I hadn’t understood the rules outlined at the beginning, it was evident that this was a rule that hadn’t been mentioned.

Watching them shake their heads, wide eyed… it was like watching a penny drop.

‘ごめんなさい,’ I said.

I’m sorry.

I threw the Ace of Hearts onto the discard pile.

The two men shot out of their seats, yelling frantically. I tried to tear my eyes away, but couldn’t, as two lasers pierced through the ceiling and struck them where they stood.

The two bodies crumpled to the ground, and all was still.

‘GAME CLEAR – CONGRATULATIONS!’

I don’t know how long I remained seated in my chair, but I felt that if I moved, I would collapse too. Swallowing, I took two fingers and pressed them to my jugular, feeling for my pulse.

I had won. I was still alive.

I was still here.

The phone on the table beside me flashed with a message. According to this game, I had a four-day visa, whatever that meant.

It didn’t matter though, all I needed right now was to sleep.

Rising unsteadily, I cautiously approached the where the invisible barrier had been. For all I knew it was a one-way system, and I didn’t want to make a stupid mistake after all my effort in the Rummy game. So, as a test, I picked up a tiny vase and threw it across the entrance.

Nothing.

It was like the lasers had just disappeared altogether.

Tentatively reaching my fingers through, I deemed it safe, and made my way back down the hall to the store entrance. I didn’t know where to go, or how to live in a world like this, but if books and movies had taught me anything, I needed to make some kind of camp, perhaps even head to a food store to collect some supplies –

I stopped.

On a small side table near the entrance doors, a card lay facing up. The Four of Diamonds. The same Four of Diamonds that had flashed on the screen on my phone. The game’s difficulty.

But when did it get here? Perhaps someone had come by whilst I was still playing.

Shrugging, I pocketed it and stepped outside into the ghostly darkness of Tokyo. Behind me, the electricity in the furniture store shut off completely.

Whatever kind of games these were, I had a feeling they were only just getting started.

[wellhellotragic]

These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal  3/4

Summary: It’s not her fault. She’s still new and doesn’t know. He’s not flawless. Not anymore. He’s got scars, ones she’s seen first hand. Ones she helped tend to. His body is covered in them. There’s a thin red line where he took a bottle to the face during his early beat cop days. There’s another angry red mark on his torso from where he was stabbed with a knife in his ribs. The one where he had his hand slammed in a locker as a teenager has long since faded, only the barest hint remaining, only visible in just the right lighting.

There’s two oval scars now too. One in his stomach and one on his chest. Those are from the worst day of her life.But none of those scars compare to the ones he carries on the inside. The self-inflicted cuts he makes to his soul never quite healing over. He blames himself.  It’s not his fault.

There’s a scar on her soul now too. One he left. A piece of her heart forever missing.

Rating: Mature (mostly for language)

A/N: Guy, I suck so hard core. I don't even know how I let so much time lapse between chapter 2 and now, and then to really top off my suck-o-meter, I realized that there's going to have to be a chapter 4 because I can't fix what I've done so easily. Not realistically at least. I promise, and happy ending is coming though, and it won't take me another 8 months to get it up. I hope to have it up and finished by the weekend.

The AO3 version

It’s been a hell of a night. She’s not sure where exactly it falls on her list of worst days ever, but it’s in her top five. It has to be. It’s not the worst, that honor is saved for the night she almost lost Killian, but it’s still up there. She’s spent hours now going through all of the details over and over again with Graham and Lance, her story never changing. Getting poked and prodded by EMTs, despite telling everyone that she’s fine.

She’s not, but they can’t stitch up her insides.

David, her partner, on the other hand has a bullet hole in his leg. Better than his head though.

She’s not even sure if she can fully reconcile everything that happened. She and David were investigating the death of a low profile importer, a nobody, interviewing some dock workers that had found the body. Some gruff looking men who easily blended in with the usual fishmongers and cargo sorters.

But they weren’t. She realized it just a second too late, right before a bag was pulled over her head. She fought like hell, but she was at a disadvantage. From what she heard, David had put up a fight as well, but in the end, it was useless, and she lost consciousness with a sharp blow to the head.

She woke up strapped down to a chair with David the same a few feet beside her. She shouldn’t have been surprised, Jefferson had always given her a bad feeling, but she never actually thought he’d go dirty. She certainly never expected to be facing the wrong side of his department issued sidearm.

Even now, everything is still a blur. Graham assured her it’s the shock, that it’ll fade once the adrenaline wears off; that everything will clear up after a good night's rest. She’s not sure about that though. It’s four in the morning now and the adrenaline seems to be hanging on for dear life still and she knows she's not going to rest any time soon. Humbert offered to drive her home but she declined, choosing to wait for August to finish wrapping up his report.

She’s not sure what time it is when they finally arrive at her apartment. The battery in her cell phone died ages ago. Neither of them even make a move for the fridge, choosing to bypass the beer she keeps stocked for the hard nights. Instead, the two of them move in silence to her room. She plugs in her cell before crawling in bed next to him, like when they were kids in Ingrid’s foster house. She’s not sure who’s comforting who at this point, but she knows that she just needs to be with family.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She doesn’t, but she knows she needs to or it’ll eat her alive. She’s tried that once already and it ended up with her almost having a complete nervous breakdown and a three week leave of absence with daily Archie sessions.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

It’s true. So much has happened in the last twelve hours, there’s no one easy to pinpoint place to begin. So August goes first. He fills in the blanks that he can, so that she might be able to piece together the rest. He tells her about Killian sending him undercover, about Jefferson and missing drugs and money. How Jefferson was helping to conceal evidence that would link Walsh and the Nikko empire to a wide distribution of pixie dust.

Some of it is just speculation, that Jefferson must have figured out they were closing in on him and that’s why he went for Emma, and David was probably just collateral damage. How he most likely picked Emma because he knew how much she meant to him , and while he didn’t say Killian’s name specifically, the implication hung over her like a heavy cloud.

“Before you got there, he told Killian to choose. Between me and David I mean. To pick which one of us would live and which one would die. And then he just started laughing and screaming in this crazed voice that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget.”

It was the single most terrifying thing she’d ever heard. The mania that accompanied it. She already knew that it was going to haunt her for months to come, if not longer.

It’s a real Gracie’s choice. Gracie’s choice Killian. GRACIE’s CHOICE!!!

She felt August shift next to her.

“Gracie was his daughter. She died while he was undercover with a Southie Gang. Killian was undercover with Cruella at the time. It was a freak accident, a gas leak and the house went up in flames, but he was convinced that she was killed by one of the De Vil boys. He told me once that he knew Killian had given him up as a snitch to prove his worth. The De Vil’s had nothing to do with the Southie boys, but he’d twisted it up in his mind. I never thought he’d do anything about it though. It was just crazy drunk venting one night.”

She knows August. Knows that he’s blaming himself for what happened tonight, but she ignores it. Nothing she says will stop him from tormenting himself, and she’s not done.

“I told him to choose David. He has this whole perfect life, you know. An adoring wife and a new baby, all of these people that would miss him if he were gone. I told Killian to save David, and I-” She hates how small she feels when she cries, but she can’t hold back the tears. “He gave me this look. He’s been cold, but this was something different. There was just so much anger in his eyes.”

And that’s when she breaks. Knowing that hated her was one thing, but watching him train his gun on her. Seeing the pure darkness in his eyes. She doesn’t know how to voice it to August, but she knows that if August hadn’t arrived when he did, she knows he would have done as she asked. That he wouldn’t have had to think twice about it. And it’s that knowledge that sliced open the last piece of her heart that had been hanging on by a thread, even after all that time.

August holds her through the tears, until she finally exhausts herself enough to sleep. And so she drifts off, completely unaware of the new voicemail alert waiting for her.

________________________________

The February air is cooler on the water and he kicks himself for not bringing a heavier jacket. It’s been ages since he’s been out on this boat, and time has helped him to forget everything except for the things he wishes he could. Liam always used to tease him, so much so that Killian would reject any offers of warmth from his brother just to prove a point. He wasn’t some silly kid that needed to be minded anymore. He was capable of doing everything on his own, except for bringing an extra coat. He forgot everytime, and today was no exception.

Luckily for Killian, the spare that Liam kept on the boat just for him is still in its place, folded neatly in a small storage locker below deck. It hits him in the gut a little, that Liam could be so right about some things and incredibly wrong about others.

It’s eating Killian alive, not talking to his brother. Not being able to express himself because despite everything Emma has done for him, Liam still doesn’t approve of her. Liam often still thinks of him as the teenage boy, awkward and desperate for approval from anyone that will give it to him, even if it means getting taken advantage of.

He’s not that kid anymore though. He isn’t letting his crush steal his essays and letting her claim this as her own. He isn’t using all of his hard earned money to buy her jewelry that she’s just going to pawn for cash later. He isn’t following after Emma like a lost puppy dog.

He’s in love with her, and he has a sneaking suspicion that she feels the same way. But at this rate, he’s never going to get Liam’s blessing, the only approval he needs anymore.

He shouldn’t be thinking about this now. He really shouldn’t. Not when he and Liam are sitting in a rented dilapidated loft across from an abandoned fabric warehouse waiting for the Canal Street Cutter to emerge. There had been a lot of chatter that morning about where he might be hiding and Liam assembled teams throughout South Boston hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

Emma and August were stationed about eight blocks over. Lance and Arthur were on the edge of South Boston and Waterfront. Other teams were scattered, but too far away to get to if they needed assistance.

Killian had tried to tell Liam that it was a bad idea to spread everyone so thin, but the elder Jones brother had been instant and headstrong as ever. It would have been a career making arrest, and Liam, ever aspiring to be more just wouldn’t let that chance pass him by.

“I just think that you have other obligations that require your attention right now.”

“If this is the bros before hoes speech you can just save it.”

“Killian,” The exasperation evident in his brother's tone, “you know I detest such vile language. It's crude and you are better than that little brother.”

“What obligations?” He has to quash his desire to correct his brother’s description of him.

“I just think that you are meant for so much more in this life and I worry that you gave up so much when you left the narcotics division to follow her into homicide. You were a rising star there and now you’re having to cut your teeth all over again.”

“It’s not as if I’m starting all over. For God’s sake Liam, I just made Lieutenant. But there’s more to life than a job.”

His brother takes his gaze away from the binoculars to turn to Killian.

“Look at father and all of his vices. It strayed him from the path. But you, Killian, you persevered and now everything you've wanted is in your grasp.”

“This isn't the same thing and you know it. Emma isn't some pathetic man’s addiction. Liam, I'm in love with her.”

“Killian,” Liam pauses, taking a deep breath. “She's a distraction. Think of all that you’ve accomplished in the year that you were undercover. You brought down an entire crime syndicate. You did that without her taking your attention away.”

“I didn't bring the De Vil family down because ‘we’ were apart. I did it because we were ‘apart’ and I knew the only way I'd be able to see her again without putting her in harm's way would be to find the evidence and make the arrest.”

“Fine, if you need another reason, have you thought about working directly with her, or even over her in a supervisory position? Have you considered how your personal relationship with a subordinate could affect your judgment?”

“It’s not-”

Liams sees movement in the distance, cutting off Killian’s rebuttal, but his view is obscured so he motions for Killian to follow him, to leave the safety of their little room. They stay silent as they walk downstairs and head out a propped-open door leading to an alleyway. They had to wind through hallways to get from the loft outside and now they’re further away from the warehouse with no cover.

Killian even tries pointing out how visible they are, but Liam shuts him down, determined to close the case. He’s halfway sure that Liam’s trying to prove a point about how Killian can’t be successful and be in a relationship with Emma. He’s seen it before, the way professional jealousy destroys couples. But Emma’s not like that. She wouldn’t see his success as her failure.

They try to skirt the perimeter and he knows he should keep his mouth shut, this just isn’t the time, but he’s just so frustrated that he can’t keep holding it in.

“Please don’t make me choose between you.” It’s an angry whisper, more to himself than anything, and even though he did his best to keep his volume low it’s still enough that Liam’s heard and turns back to him, missing sight of the empty beer bottle at his feet.

The glass battering against the gravel echoes through the night as they both stay silent, waiting to see if they’ve been heard. The air is still around them, and Killian thinks they just might have lucked out.

And then he hears the gunshots ring out.

Liam is on the ground before Killian has time to register what’s happened. He runs to Liam, but gets knocked to the ground before he can get to him. His body hurts and he can see blood covering his hand from where he just touched his abdomen. He’s always heard people say that the shock blocks out the pain, but they must all be liars, because the longer he lays there, the more the pain intensifies.

It takes everything he has to pull himself behind a dumpster, half crawling, half slithering like a snake.

The shock eventually did kick in though, because even to this day he has no memory of radioing in for help. Just the vague memories of Emma leaning over him. The look in her eyes as she tried her best to hold back tears.

The same tears he fought back the night he left Boston, like the coward he was. But Archie was right. He needed to get his head on straight, to distance and center himself. He had to leave, for her.

He’s still wrestling with the guilt. He talked about it with Archie, how she begged him to kill her and save David. And that he actually considered it for about two full seconds. Not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t want her feeling the way he did. The burden of knowing that someone else was dead, and knowing that no matter how good you are, how hard you try, that you’ll never live up to them. He didn’t want her hating herself the way he did. Didn’t want her to destroy herself like he had.

But then something snapped inside of him and rage bubbled up. The audacity of her to beg him to kill her. For her to try and force that decision on him, with no regard to him or his feelings.

It was at that moment that he finally realized what he’d been doing to her ever since Liam had passed away. He finally understood the choice she’d been forced to make that night. And he knew - he knew that despite it all - he could never live with himself if he’d chosen anyone but her. That he couldn’t let her go just like she didn’t with him.

The only thing that saved him was Boothe. In the moments that passed after August arrived, while the two of them tried to wrestle the gun away from Jefferson, he felt the weight of Liam’s death wash over him. And then he heard a shot ring out and there was nothing but panic. Panic and guilt.

It felt as though ages had passed as he searched for Emma in the smoke filled room. The SWAT team had moved in at some point, but he’d been too focused on fighting off Jefferson to notice. He pushed through the sting in his eyes and the tightness of his chest as he looked for her, but all he saw through the haze were armored cops everywhere.

It wasn’t until he was forcibly escorted outside the building that he saw her, saw that she was safe, and then his stomach turned. He ran around a corner away from all of the prying eyes, and for the first time in his career, he gave in and let the night overcome him.

It’s been nearly a year since that night and he’s been running ever since. Some days are better than others. The anger is mostly behind him, but some nights he still wakes up in a sweat clutching his bed sheets, ready to fight. But there’s never anyone around to take a swing at, because he’s all alone. He’s pushed away anyone that ever mattered and isolated himself on that damn boat.

He thinks of Emma, wonders if she’s moved on or not. He’s too cowardly to call her, partly because he has no idea what he will say if she answers, but mostly because he’s terrified that she won’t answer. So he broods. He takes to the local bars as he sails the coastline and drinks a little too much before stumbling back to Liam’s boat alone. It’s a wonder nobody’s robbed him yet for what a careless sot he’s been.

Tonight is one of those nights. He’s made his way down to Florida and back, only a few hours away from Boston, and his demons are screaming again. He’s hoping against all hope that the rum in the tumbler across from him will help quiet them. Just holding the small glass in his fingertips helps a bit. A placebo of sorts. He doesn’t want to be this man anymore though. This pathetic lonely human. He doesn’t want to feel this way anymore, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. Archie said that him realizing it was a good first step but he’s not sure if he agrees. He’s called Archie a lot over the last year. Somehow doing therapy over the phone as the boat sways back and forth under his feet has helped to ease his hesitancy. There’s something about knowing that he can hang up at any time if he wants, and that no one knows. No one will judge him.

They don’t talk about Emma, not in present tense at least. They’ve had conversations about the way he’s treated her in the past, about his complicated feelings for her, the way it’s all shaped him, but they never talk about her now. He’s not sure if it’s because Archie doesn’t know if he’s ready for that, or if Archie knows something that he’s absolutely not ready for.

Archie is here tonight though, the rum is.

He’s still twirling the amber in his hand as he hears the familiar scraping of a nearby barstool against a wooden floor. There’s a scent that follows, a floral perfume that doesn’t match with the musk of the dive bar. He doesn’t look at her directly, doesn’t need to when he can see her from the mirror behind the bar. Her top is low, flashing more skin that it’s covering. She’s closer than he thought.

“Is that for me?” She’s bold.

He’s reminded of those early days on the force, when he wouldn’t even have to talk to a woman. When he could just flash her a smile and she’d be on his arm heading out the door to her place. He’s not that guy though, he’s salty and cynical, and the look he flashes her is closer to a smirk.

“Excuse me?” “Well, you’ve been toying with it for almost twenty minutes. I just thought maybe you were waiting for me to walk into your life.”

Was he this bad at picking up women?

“Look, I’m not trying to be rude, but I’m not in the mood for woman.” “So you’re gay?”

It’s a good thing he hasn’t started drinking yet because he damn well might have chocked otherwise. He doesn’t get a chance to respond though. The bubbly blonde that served him his rum has returned with a spray bottle in hand. “Mary of Mothers. Didn’t I already have you escorted out of here tonight, Teresa?”

“Bite me, Tinkerbelle.”

The girl behind the bar might be all of five foot tall but there’s a beast inside her that towers over any man in that bar and before he knows what’s happening the bartender is drowning the girl in what smells like stainless steel cleaner and the words coming out of her mouth would make any Navy man blush.

The girl ends up running away and Killian isn’t sure what to make of any of it. He’s broken up bar fights before, but he’s never seen anything quite like that.

“Sorry about that. I know this little bar might not seem like much, but it’s all I’ve got and I’ll be damned if I let the likes of her selling her body in here.” “Oh, she wasn’t-” “Trust me, where you had agreed upfront or not, you would have been light whatever cash you have left in that wallet before the night was up. And I’ll bet you dollars to pennies you would have had a lovely little itch or two down there.” She nods her head towards his crotch before switching the subject like she hadn’t just implied the poor woman from before was an STD ridden whore. “So, I haven’t seen you here before. Where you from?”

He’s not sure how she’s disarmed him so quickly, but he finds himself telling her all about himself over the next hour. Business has slowed down and her other barmate seems to be more than capable of handling the few strays still walking in.

She makes him laugh too with her feisty spirit. It’s been far too long since he’s felt at ease like this. They talk and talk. Not about much in particular, just random conversation. She bought the bar about six years ago, and tells him about how it’s let her build the family she always wanted and never really got. She’s carved out her own little place in the world and he envies her that. The way she can just lay her whole life bare to a complete stranger while he can’t even talk to the people that know him best.

The night rolls on and it’s time to close up. He half expects that she’s going to invite him upstairs, to the little apartment she mentioned earlier, but she surprises him. She’s done that a few times tonight, but this one hits him in the gut. “So, what’s her name?”

This time he actually does chock on the water she’s poured for him.” “I’m sorry, what?”

“Killian, in the last few hours, you’ve told me your entire life story, everything from your shitty father to your arrogant brother, your job, your leave of absence, but you haven’t mentioned a girl one single time. You’re holding back, which means there’s something to hold back.”

“You don’t know that. I could be gay.” “Um, ya, I saw you check out Teresa’s rack earlier, definitely not gay. So what’s the deal.” He doesn’t want to talk about it, but he doesn’t want to be rude either. So he gives her as little as possible, but she sees through him. In fact, she actually asks him what the hell he’s waiting for as she pushes him out the door.

He doesn’t really know what he’s waiting for to be honest. He’s wanted to go back to Boston, but there’s just so many threads he left unravelled when he left.

[milstrim]

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 4: Uninvited

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter’s not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he’d always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

---

Peter didn't really wake up the next morning, because he hadn't really fallen asleep last night. He'd been incredibly tired, but his hair hadn't been able to lay flat and he hadn't been able to block out the overwhelmingly disgusting smell of Mr. Fowler's closet. He'd been it the entirety of the day and even throughout the night when Mr. Fowler stomped into the room and passed out on the bed. The lilting stumbles in his steps made Peter think he'd been drunk and had likely forgotten about the kid trapped in his closet.

So he hadn't really slept, but his eyes had been closed--the darkness of his eyes was better than that of the closet--until the door had finally swung open, allowing Peter his first full breath in almost a whole day. The dankness of Mr. Fowler's room was a thousand times better than the closet. An arm had grabbed his own, pulling him roughly to his feet and out of the closet. His legs had ached with the disuse, but he'd stumbled to his feet nonetheless.

"Are you going to talk back to me again, son?" Mr. Fowler had asked, a horrible pleasantness to his voice. Peter had shaken his head. Something had been shoved into his hands, and he'd fumbled only to realize it was his wallet. "There. The card doesn't work anymore, so you can have that piece of shit back. Now get out of here."

"O-okay. Thank you," he'd said, stumbling out of the room and into the bathroom that he'd been deprived of for almost twenty-four hours. Once he'd finished and washed his hands, he'd searched through his wallet.

His few crumpled bills had been taken, but the pictures stuffed inside had been left alone, and the black card had sat crammed in a pocket. He'd grabbed it with fumbling fingers, brows furrowing. It didn't work anymore? Had the man maxed it out? Peter had swallowed, a pit forming in his stomach as he thought about what the hell he'd bought to do that. Probably a lot of alcohol had been his guess.

He really, really hoped that Mr. Stark couldn't see his purchases.

After a quick shower, in which he'd had to sit down his vision had swam so much, he'd rushed out the door with his beaten up backpack swinging off of his shoulder. He knew he probably should have stayed to check on the other kids who'd had to listen to the fight last night and might need help with homework, but the teenager couldn't stand to be in that house for any longer. Everything smelled like Mr. Fowler's awful closet and he just needed to be out in the bright Sunday sun. He wanted to find just a little comfort in his shadow that he'd been deprived of the night before.

So he'd changed into his suit and swung around for most of the day, flipping for some overly excited middle schoolers and directing an old man from Ukraine visiting his son who lived in Harlem and ignoring the pain in his stomach. When there was a lull in the late afternoon, he strung a web between two buildings and just did as many daring flips and handstands as he could. It was a feeble attempt to distract himself from the events of the past few days.

Hits and threats from Mr. Fowler were nothing new, in fact, they were a staple in the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, but last night had been different. He'd never been trapped like that in the group home. He'd always had a lot of free reign as long as he operated within the curfew and got his chores done, but yesterday was like someone had flipped a switch on that, and he was still reeling from the terror.

Or that could be the hunger eating through his stomach. Peter stopped flipping on the web for a moment, instead laying down and balancing himself on the thin string as his stomach growled so hard he flinched. He wouldn't even be getting anything today. When did his grounding end again? He was pretty sure it was Thursday, but he wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Fowler extended it after last night. Maybe he could stop by Ned's and get a granola bar or something.

The teenager looked down at the ground to stare at Mr. Stark's shadow, blinking as he realized it was no longer clothed in normal attire, or a sharp business suit, but rather the larger outline of what he could now identify as the Iron Man armor. He narrowed his eyes, wondering what the man must be doing. Probably something really important.

Peter sighed, moving to sit up, when a sound made him pause. He cocked his head before finally turning in the direction of the mechanical whine to make out the Iron Man suit flying towards him.

Huh.

He tried to feign disinterest, laying back down on the web and placing his hands underneath his head as the suit landed on the nearest building rooftop and Mr. Stark stepped out, but Peter couldn't lie to himself about how excited he really was to see the man.

"Hey, Mr. Stark," he greeted from the web.

"Hey, kid."

"Um, thanks for the letter." Please don't ask about the card. Please don't ask about the card. "Are you sure about the phone, though? I mean, that thing looks like it could cost as much as a house."

"Keep it, kid, I gave it to you for a reason," Mr. Stark said, waving him off. Peter watched him warily as he sat down on the edge of the building, shuffling nervously. Peter smiled to see the man very clearly out of his element, as if he would let him fall anyway. "So, how's your day been?"

Peter shrugged. "Fine."

"No hangovers or anything?" Peter froze. "Can you even get drunk? Cap can't."

The teenager hesitated before answering. It was either 'I bought a bunch of adult stuff with your credit card' or 'My foster father bought a bunch of adult stuff with your credit card.' He wasn't sure which one was better, but there didn't seem to be much to win from lying, not that there was much to gain from telling the truth either.

"I don't know," Peter responded honestly as he sat up on the web to stare at the shadow on the ground. The imitation felt more comforting than the real thing at that moment.

"You don't know? You bought three hundred dollars of pure liquor."

"Three hundred--Oh, jeez. I'm really sorry, Mr. Stark."

Mr. Stark blinked at him for a second before his gaze softened.

"You didn't buy any of that stuff, did you?" Peter shook his head. "Who? Andrew Fowler?" A moment. A nod. "Okay, I'll just deactivate that card and give you a new one."

"No, it's fine, Mr. Stark," Peter said, pulling his wallet out of his hoodie pocket and showing him the black card. "He gave it back. I think he was annoyed that it was, like, maxed out or something."

"Well, it is most definitely not maxed out--there's a lot more than three hundred on that, kid--but I'm glad you got it back."

"Thanks."

There was a minute of awkward silence before Mr. Stark rolled his shoulders and sat up straighter.

"So, no tower yesterday?"

Peter suddenly remembered the little note at the end of his letter. He shrugged bashfully, mumbling, "Yeah, sorry, uh Mr--Mr. Fowler kept us pretty busy yesterday. Chore day, so."

"Wanna stop by now?"

Peter looked up at him in surprise. It was a wonder this man didn't hate him yet. The foster parents Peter had before Mr. Fowler had gotten sick of him pretty quickly, or just hadn't been very attached in the first place, while the majority of his teachers regarded him with either pity or disdain at his situation and record. As far as Mr. Stark knew, he had an accident-prone, snotty teenager as a soulmate whose favorite pass time was to be a juvenile delinquent.

And yet, the mechanic regarded him with a soft smile. A little strained, but welcoming nonetheless. It unfurled something in his chest.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Yeah!--I mean, sure sure, that'd be fun." Mr. Stark gave him an amused smile as the teenager stepped off of his web and onto the roof of the building. With a quick glance and a rare smile, Peter leaped off the roof, enjoying the way Mr. Stark yelped in surprise. Peter called, "Beat you there!!"

He did not, in fact, beat Mr. Stark to the tower. To be fair, the man was in a suit that flew faster than a jet and Peter was only propelled by physics and muscles.

The teenager watched from a short distance as the Iron Man suit paused in front of a higher point in the tower, faced him for a moment, and then dove through the window. He raised an eyebrow, but doubled down in catching up to the man, only barely managing to swing himself high enough so that he wouldn't have to crawl his way up more than a couple of stories.

Finally, just a few minutes later than Mr. Stark, he rolled through the window and landed hard on the floor just a little unsteadily, not that he cared in the slightest. There were much more interesting things to care about in that moment.

"Whoa..."

"You like it?" Mr. Stark called from across the lab. Peter nodded dumbly, staring, widemouthed, at the state of the art equipment decorating just about every inch of the room. There were cases of Iron Man armor lining the walls, robots rolling around--he managed a laugh at one with a dunce cap sweeping the ground with a broom inefficiently--and tables filled with projects Peter couldn't even begin to dream of. "You can take your mask off here, kid. No one's going to see you."

Mr. Stark's voice pulled him back to reality, drawing him further into the room hesitantly. He glanced at the man, but realized dimly that his spider sense had finally calmed down. This wasn't the danger he'd felt after being fished out of the lake, or the feeling that had been following him since, it was a normal calm mixed with just a hint of nerves.

He tugged his mask off.

Mr. Stark stared at him, a soft look on his face, before finally tearing his gaze away when Peter shuffled uncomfortably.

"Sorry, kid," he apologized. "Didn't mean to freak you out. Just..."

"Just what?"

"It's just nice to see you, Peter."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he just offered the billionaire a strained smile and stepped over to the desk the man was standing at. He felt more than a little out of place, but his curiosity overwhelmed his discomfort as he glanced over a shiny metal case held lightly in the billionaire's hands in interest. Mr. Stark tapped it when he caught the boy looking.

"This, kid," he said, sliding it over, "is for you."

Peter caught it effortlessly, his fingers light and hesitant as he glanced from it to Mr. Stark, his head down.

"I can't accept this, Mr. Stark. You already--"

Mr. Stark interrupted by reaching over and pressing something on the case. It sprang open, spooking Peter enough for him to take a step back but holding his attention as he caught sight of the bright red fabric. The eyes were what really caught his attention, looking unreasonably cool and intimidating. Peter mumbled, "This is the coolest thing I've ever seen."

Mr. Stark chuckled. "Good thing it's yours."

"It's--" He gaped at the man. "Mr. Stark, I really can't accept--"

"Too bad," he interrupted. "It's a gift and it's rude to turn down a gift. So, there's a bathroom right over there if you want to try it on. Give it a whirl?"

After a moment of hesitation, he closed the case, thanked Mr. Stark, and headed to the bathroom to change.

  ---

When Peter stepped out of the bathroom in the new suit, Tony couldn't help but frown. He covered it up as quickly as possible, but the sentiment still remained as his eyes roamed over the kid. He was muscular, sure, but he was so thin that it practically hurt. The teenager's ribs were practically there just for him to count and worry about. He filed it away for later as Peter turned to look at him, the mask's eyes narrowing.

"Looking good, hotshot," Tony said. "How's it feel?"

"It's awesome, Mr. Stark," Peter responded, his hands held out in front of him as he tapped the webshooters. "It smells like a new car!"

Tony couldn't help his laugh. "If you think that's cool, just wait. Friday, Babysitter Protocol."

"Babysitter--" Peter cut off with a confused yelp as his suit lit up blue, the AI in his suit supposedly greeting him. The kid cocked his head. "Oh, hi. Nice to meet you too."

Tony turned away, letting the kid and the AI get acquainted as he pulled out his phone and ordered a few pizzas. Five might be enough. Steve had always eaten a lot, and even if he didn't manage to burn through the best pizza in the city, the kid could definitely use leftovers. He entered the order and shifted back to observe the kid again.

"--uh, Liz? No, no, that's weird. How about Karen?" A moment as he waited for a response. "Fun. Nice. Cool, this is so cool."

Tony smiled, unable to tear his eyes away from the kid. His soulmate. His little shadow. 

Peter turned to look at him after a few minutes, muttering a quick goodbye to the AI--Karen, he guessed--before tugging the mask off again. There was a hesitant smile tugging at his thin face. Much too thin. How many pizzas would it take to get the kid back to even a semi-healthy weight? Probably way too many.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Stark," Peter said. "I really can't thank you enough."

"Please, you can thank me by not thanking me. Pepper says my ego's already a little off of the charts." Peter laughed and Tony couldn't help his grin. "Wanna stay over for dinner? I ordered pizza."

Peter hesitated, but after a moment he answered, "Alright," which was so much better than the kid regarding him defensively or looking like he was constantly on the edge of running away again. And, as it turned out, Peter fit more easily into his life than he could have thought.

In barely thirty minutes, the kid was sat beside him at a desk filled with vials of web fluid and pieces of Iron Man armor, an old, frayed hoodie of Tony's slipped over the suit, and a stack of freshly baked pizza laid out in front of them. Peter sat in the chair next to him as the mechanic ran through the schematics of his suit, hanging on every single word.

"...most of the framing is between the protective layers of your suit, completely waterproof by the way, if you ever get yourself into another lake. You also have a parachute if you pass the three thousand feet threshold."

Peter glanced over his shoulder in surprise. "There's a parachute in this thing? How?"

Tony tapped his back where he knew the spider logo was. "A magician never reveals their secrets."

"Did you compress all the air out of it? Or build it into the wiring on the patch on my back somehow?"

"Both are true." He took a bite of pizza. "You're pretty smart, huh?"

Peter ducked his head with a shrug. "Sorta. I can figure out chemistry, but that's about it."

"I don't believe that for a second, but we'll stick with the modesty for now." Peter huffed out a laugh, spinning the hologram of his suit and staring at it in complete adoration. It dragged a smile onto Tony's face.

Peter had a sort of ruggedness to him, a desperate scrappiness, but it was embarrassingly easy to see that that wasn't all there was to the teenager. His rambles were fast and excited, his scarce smiles adorably bright and always lighting up his doe eyes. There was a kind of spark to Peter that Tony couldn't explain, and, though he was sorry that the kid was saddled with him, he couldn't have wished for a better soulmate.

Apparently, five pizzas ended up being a great number, because Peter ate everything Tony offered him. He was practically a human garbage disposal, though much more polite. Tony was glad that the kid was filling up, but it made him seriously question how much he was getting at that group home. After letting the kid get comfortable for about an hour, he voiced it.

"Do they feed you where you live, kid? I swear, you just put down over ten thousand calories."

Peter paused on the slice he was eating, swallowing before putting it back on the plate nervously, and Tony immediately regretted ever opening his big, fat mouth.

"Yeah. They--Mr. Fowler feeds us fine. Just, enhanced metabolism, so." He shrugged. It was said so nervously that it felt like an outright lie, but Tony left it alone.

"Okay. Good to know. Just make sure to use that card whenever you get hungry, kid. I'm not having my soulmate starve."

At his mention of being soulmates, Peter glanced over his shoulder to stare at their shadows. Right now they almost looked like their own shadows, mirror images of each other, but if you looked hard enough you could see the slight difference in hair texture and the distinctive widths of their shoulders.

"It must've been weird," Peter said. Tony glanced at him in confusion. "Not having a shadow. You didn't get one until I was born, right?"

"Oh. Yeah," Tony agreed. He swallowed as he admitted, "Thought I was broken for the longest time. It was the best day of my life when your tiny little baby shadow appeared at my feet... What about you? Always had a grown man following you around, huh?"

"That sounded creepy, Mr. Stark." Tony just grinned cheekily. "It was nice, actually, always having you there. Like--like a guardian or something."

"And now you've got the real thing." Peter rolled his eyes and Tony pointed at him. "Ah, there's that good ol' sass I was looking for. I was afraid I'd lost it."

"Uhuh. You're kinda weird, Mr. Stark."

"Right back at you, little shadow." Peter smiled at the nickname before glancing out the window where the sky was a deep russet red. "Time for you to head out?"

"Yeah. I've still got some homework to do."

The two stood up and walked over to the window. Peter moved to take the hoodie he'd been wearing off, but Tony stopped him. "Keep it. I've got plenty."

"Oh, thanks, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm so generous. Have fun with the suit, kid, I'll see you soon."

"When?"

Tony paused, looking over at the kid who had only just begun to pull the mask over his head, hopeful eyes staring at him. He desperately wanted to tell the kid he'd pick him up from school tomorrow so that they could hang out in the lab again, but he knew he genuinely didn't have any time. He'd been putting off packing for a few too many days.

"After we move. I'll pick you up from school on Friday. We can go explore the compound together. Sound good?"

Peter nodded. "Yep. Real good, Mr. Stark."

"You can call me Tony, Mr. Parker," he joked.

Peter pulled the mask down and jumped out the window with a call of. "See you Friday, Mr. Stark!"

Tony's shoulders shook with laughter.

  ---

Friday. Peter couldn't wait for Friday. With a burst of excitement and energy he hadn't had in a while, Peter flipped in the air and let out a WHOOO! only catching himself at the last second before flipping back up.

"Wow, this suit is so intuitive!" he exclaimed, shooting another web.

"I am glad you think so, Peter," Karen responded, shocking him so bad he nearly let go of his web. Oh, yeah, he'd forgotten he had an AI now. Man, Mr. Stark was so cool. "I am currently taking feedback for the suit's systems in case anything needs to be changed on Friday. Would you like to rate the suit's webshooters?"

"Oh, full eleven out of ten, Karen. It's great."

"Thank you for the feedback, Peter, I have sent a note to Mr. Stark."

"Oh." Peter blushed. "You didn't have to tell him that, Karen."

"Why not? He has asked for feedback."

"No, it's not--" He cut himself off, sighing as he flipped himself into a large arc. "I just don't want to bother him. He's already been so nice to me."

"Mr. Stark has asked for feedback, Peter."

"It's not the--it's not the feedback, Karen," he tried to explain.

"I do not understand."

He spluttered and then sighed, waving it off. "Whatever. It's fine, Karen, just forget it."

"Of course, Peter. Would you like me to show you the quickest route home?"

Peter hesitated. He did have a lot of homework to do, and Eric probably needed help with his reading, but he had to swallow down fear at the thought of being in the same room as Mr. Fowler again. It was irrational--it was so stupid--and Peter knew it, but he couldn't stop the way his hands seemed to shake and his entire body quail.

"Actually, let's take the scenic route. Really test out the suit, y'know?"

"Of course, Peter. Planning now."

A blue line appeared on screen, leading Peter back to the group home. He muttered, "So cool."

Spider-Man was only halfway back to the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, finally across the bridge and back into his home territory, when his spider sense went off again. He immediately glanced down at his shadow, which had lengthened as the sun set, for some kind of comfort or guidance. But of course, there wasn't one. It was just a shadow.

A little put off by the shiver that had run down his spine, he attached himself to the side of the building, staring out over the street. Nothing too out of the normal. People hurrying on the sidewalk, cars honking down the street, and shadows following along aimlessly.

"Karen. What's going on?"

"What do you mean, Peter?" the AI asked.

"It's just--there's something wrong. Maybe--" At a second shiver up his spine, Peter turned to look at where his senses were directing him at the ringing of a bell.

It was a small bodega, its door swung open as two men stepped inside in unreasonably thick coats for the warm weather. He narrowed his eyes, and the suit zoomed in with him, scanning the men before they disappeared through the door.

"What's the time, Karen?"

"7:30."

"Alright, we're good then. Plenty of time." He swung over to the bodega, attaching himself to the wall above the door, out of sight of the occupants inside. His senses had yet to calm down, so he assumed that he was right about this being a robbery. "Ready to test out the suit, Karry Berry?"

"I am always ready, Peter."

"Y'know, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

"Does that mean I should assign you a nickname too?"

"Definitely! Think about it for a moment and get back to me after we do this," Peter exclaimed in an excited mumble, straining his ears to hear whatever was going on inside. There was the tense calm of nothing for a moment, and then a shuffle and a squeak followed by a spike in his senses. He muttered to himself. "Finally."

He kept his ears strained on the actions going on inside, dropping down in front of the door quietly to watch what was happening. There was a teenager at the register, her hands fumbling with the register while the two men from earlier in their dark coats pointed shotguns at her. He could see tears streaming down the girl's face, clearly terrified.

Peter crept forward, picking up on the muttered conversation inside.

"--just open the register, keep it quiet," the closest man said in a raspy voice. "Hand everything over nice and quick."

"It's--it doesn't open," the girl cried. "It doesn't open unless a purchase is made and--"

The man flinched forward. "Do I look like I care? Just open it!"

Finally having heard enough, Peter placed his fingers against the door and pulled it open as quietly as possible.

Ding!

Peter froze. Heads turned. Curses flew.

The superhero darted forward as the gun pointed at him, firing a shot that missed him completely as he dove behind a grocery aisle of gummies and pregnancy tests. Bodegas really were something. Peter crouched down, muttering under his breath, "Fuck that stupid bell."

"Would you like me to alert Mr. Stark to your predicament?" Karen asked.

"What? No! I can deal with this, Karen, just watch."

"I like the new look," came the voice of the man that had shot at him. "New government sugar daddy or something?"

Peter blanched. "I really wish that that would stop being people's first assumption. People can be platonic y'know!"

There was a scoff and the sound of something warping. Peter's eyes narrowed, peeking around the grocery shelf and then immediately ducking back. The man, the one who hadn't shot at him, had pulled out a large and glowing weapon that looked incredibly similar to the one that had been at the ATM robbery. Man, he was getting really sick of those things.

The teenage girl had looked okay, shivering behind the desk and thankfully not making any moves to alert the police, as far as he could tell anyway. The last thing he needed was cops showing up in such a tense situation. And his first time using the new suit! That would be just plain embarrassing.

"Platonic or not, I don't give a shit," Normal Gun Man said. "A new look isn't going to change your situation. So either come out, or we shoot you."

"I don't know if you can shoot me while I'm back here soooo."

There was a click and a squeak. "Yeah? What about her?"

Okay. So that was a little different.

Without hesitation, Peter stepped out from behind the aisle shelf, his arms raised half-heartedly in the air. The two men had ski masks over their face--not quite as fun as the Avengers masks, but it'd do--but he could still see the honestly nervous smile of the man holding the gun. Clearly he hadn't expected the arrival of Queens favorite vigilante.

"Good to know that you can comply," Normal Gun Guy said. Alien Gun Guy had the weird blue gun pointed at Peter, but the shotgun was still directed at the worker. He chose his target.

"Not really."

With a flick, he webbed the shotgun and slammed it into the wall. There was a startled scream at the same moment his hairs stood on end. Peter only managed to jump forward before he was encased in a blue light that gave him quite possibly the worst headache of his entire life. He hated the feeling of that stupid thing. He didn't quite know what it was, but it felt like something out of The Incredibles. Like Syndrome and shit.

"Ugh! This thing is so weird!" Peter complained in a warped yell. Alien Gun Guy gave him a brutish look and then swung him through the window.

Peter grunted as he crashed through the window, wincing at the clinking shatter of glass that broke under him, but, surprisingly, none of the glass managed to grab at him and slice through his skin, even as he was shot across the street from the force of the alien weapon, only stopping when he thudded against the wall. He groaned as the air was forced out of him.

At least the suit had kept him from getting cut.

"Ugh... The hell." The teenager shook his head, forcing himself back to his feet, clinging to the wall for just a moment as he blinked out dizziness. Remembering himself, he turned back to the bodega across the street, panicking when his head pounded. That wasn't from being hit, that was his spider sense.

The men ran out of the door, hulking along a cash register and a handful of cigarette packs, but the teenage girl had yet to leave and his head only pounded harder. Spider-Man dashed across the road, leaping through the already broken window, his breath catching as he caught sight of the purple thing sitting on the ground in the middle of the bodega. It whined, louder and louder.

Bomb. Bomb!

Peter's head shot around so fast he physically winced, but he caught sight of the teenager behind the counter. Working on instinct, he jumped over the counter as the whine reached its apex, wrapping his arms around the girl and pushing himself between her and the bomb. He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as possible, gritting his teeth.

The world shook and she let out a surprised cry into his shoulder but didn't let go. Peter barely managed to hold down a whimper of fear. Be brave, be a hero. Be brave, be a hero. He could do it. He was fine.

He was fine.

Peter blinked his eyes open, moving carefully to peer over the counter.

"Dammit," he muttered. The rest of the windows had shattered, and just about every product in the store had been knocked back and now littered the ground. A tile fell from the ceiling, making him tense his shoulders. They'd gotten away. Some hero he was.

"I have a nickname for you, Peter," Karen said in his ear. He frowned in annoyance. Well, he had told her to tell him once the situation was over.

"Great," he snapped, stepping over the counter, his boot crunching on the glass. "What is it?"

"Peter-butter!"

"...Okay that's actually pretty good."

  ---

After double checking that the cashier was alright, Peter had fled the scene, cursing himself for how bad it had gone. Nobody had died, but that wasn't really the standard he was looking for. If anything, he'd really just made everything worse. Stupid, Parker, stupid!

The teenager sighed, dipping into the dark alleyway where his backpack had been left earlier. He grabbed it from under the crate of boxes where he'd hidden it, pressing the spider emblem on his chest, allowing the suit to cascade off of him. Frustrated, Peter ripped the mask off and untangled himself from the fabric at his feet, stuffing the items in his faded blue bag and jumping back into his own clothes, and, after a moment of hesitation, slipped into the hoodie that Mr. Stark had given him.

He pulled the bag over his shoulder and buried his hands into his pockets as he stepped out of the alleyway and back onto the streets in the direction of the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys. His brows were furrowed and his face squished into a deep frown. He couldn't believe he'd been given a superhero suit by literally Iron Man and he'd screwed it up immediately. He chittered nervously at the thought of Mr. Stark seeing what had happened at the bodega and realizing just how shit of a superhero his soulmate was.

As he was debating the likely-hood of Mr. Stark taking the suit back and never talking to him again for his screw up, his phone buzzed. Hesitantly, Peter pulled it out to find two texts waiting for him. One from Ned and one from Mr. Stark.

He clicked on the one from Ned first. The text app opened up to show Peter a grainy picture of him in his new suit followed by Ned's message of 'Excuse me??? tf is this?? tell me everything rn or im going to die'

Peter smiled faintly, making a mental note to call his friend in a few minutes. With a deep breath, he clicked on Mr. Stark's message.

Mr. Stark: I saw the news. You okay?

Peter blinked. He wasn't mad? He chewed on his lip as he sent a response, 'All good. Sorry I freaked you out.' 

Mr. Stark texted back almost immediately, 'No problem. Just glad you're good. Text ya later, kiddo.'

And that was that, Peter supposed. No...no nothing, really. He'd expected a lot more resistance or opposition from the billionaire, but he wasn't mad that he hadn't gotten any. He was about to call Ned when his phone buzzed again.

Mr. Stark: 'P.S. You can talk to and text Karen through your phone. Knock yourself out, Peter-butter.'

Well, that was embarrassing. But still kinda cool.

With a shake of his head, he finally dialed Ned's number. His friend only picked up after two rings with a breathless greeting.

"Yo, what the hell is up with that suit? Did Mr. Stark make it for you? Are you super hero buddies now!!? Officially his sidekick!!?"

Peter smiled, shaking his head in amusement as he stopped at a streetlight. "Yeah, Mr. Stark made it for me. It's cool right? It even has an AI!"

"It has an AI!!? Please, please, tell me you'll let me look at it."

"Duh. Yeah, you can look at it. We can go to your house after school." Peter thought for a moment, thinking of the alien weapons. He'd messed up today, probably disappointed Mr. Stark, but if he could take the whole operation down... "Besides, I need your help with something."

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8