#second sketch page was based on the line something like... i hung stars in the sky only for you to throw them back in my face

[identityquest]

dtl sketches i forgot about

[starcrossedkaiju]

Kingslayer AU: Chapter Seven

This one is very nice I think you will like it. I call this the “Scott accidentally makes friends” arc.

Scott had just returned from a boring mining trip. Thankfully it wasn’t netherite duty this time. He was looking forward to sitting down after putting everything away when he looked out the window.

Martyn was perched on top of the walls, he seemed to be writing something. Scott’s interest was piqued. It was just after nightfall and cold out. He wondered what the other man was doing as he quietly opened the door of the Renchanting base. It was one in the morning when he checked the clock. There was time to spare.

The world was silent save for a chorus of crickets. It had stormed the night before and a thin blanket of snow preserved the land in tiny crystals. Scott did his best not to crunch the ice beneath his feet as he approached the ladder strung over the high walls.

Looking up, he saw that the sky was clear and brilliantly lit by the stars. A third quarter Moon hung in the air. Obfuscated by the only bank of clouds in the night sky.

He climbed.

As Scott approached the top, he wondered what he was even planning to do. He was going to talk to Martyn, then what. The whole Red Army was still walking on eggshells around him. Of course he didn’t mind. No, he wasn’t supposed to. He was a spy.

That’s what he told himself to sleep better at night.

Yes, ever since he’d started “intermingling” with the Red Army he had grown to admire their friendship. Not between himself and them so much as between each other. It was refreshing. Scott caught himself smiling along with their jokes, tapping his foot to the beat of whatever song was on the radio.

He didn’t dare laugh, or start a conversation, that would be out of line for him. Not yet. Not right now. When tensions were still so high.

Scott poked his head over the top of the wall. Ever so slightly, glancing at the deserted surroundings. He ducked down just enough so that Martyn wouldn’t be immediately aware of his presence. Still contemplating whether or not he was making a good decision.

“You know, if you’re aiming to be sneaky you should really think about investing in a hat,” Martyn’s voice shook Scott from his thoughts.

It also shook him from his perch on the ladder. He jumped in surprise and threw his hands up, conveniently forgetting about the rung he was holding onto.

“Well, this is it,” Scott’s mind said to him, at least his green life track record wasn’t too shabby.

A hand clasped around his wrist, suspending him in air with his feet braced on the ladder.

Scott stared wide eyed up at Martyn, who looked like he was contemplating letting him go. Then he pulled the other back to the ladder and sat back down.

“Uh, thank you,” Scott almost whispered. Pulling himself up onto the wall.

“Well it would be very hard to explain to Timmy,” Martyn replied.

“Jimmy,” Scott corrected, still looking at his feet.

“Timmy,” Martyn said back immediately.

Scott shut up.

“Major?,” Martyn looked over at him. Scott’s head snapped to attention.

“Jesus! Are you possessed?” He asked.

“No. I’m fine,” Scott assured. He didn’t want to admit to himself that the Hand made him nervous.

Martyn laughed at his expense, “calm yourself Major,” he clapped him on the shoulder.

Against his best interest Scott flinched a bit. Trying to laugh off his discomfort.

“What brings you out here in the middle of the night?” Martyn changed the subject.

“I- uh. I saw you up here,” Scott scooted a bit closer, swinging his legs over so that he was facing the same way as the other man. He looked over to see what Martyn was working on.

A book with plain pages was splayed across his lap, the page open was about halfway through the well loved sketchbook. The first half’s papers were crinkled and discolored from use. On the open canvas was a few disconnected sketches of figures that Scott didn’t recognize. Smudges and erase marks scattered the page.

“What’re you drawing?” Scott asked. Aiming to redo the icebreaker.

Martyn held out his art book so the other could see better, “these are just some sketches of people I used to see on TV. That’s Metal Man. I’m certain he wasn’t actually called that; but I can’t remember his real name,” he explained.

Further down the page was “Scarlet Witch,” then there was a drawing of Ren that neither of them mentioned.

Scott pointed to the last drawing, a bust of a superhero-looking man, “that one looks like you,” he observed.

“Mm, maybe a little?” Martyn replied with a bashful inflection.

“Yeah that’s totally you. He even has the little swirly thing on the chest,” Scott said. Martyn made a dismissive gesture.

“Aw come on. Like you never wanted to be a superhero,” he replied quietly.

Scott giggled. He wasn’t making fun of Martyn. It was just funny, a little, to see the Hand of the King up here doodling cartoons.

“I usually come out here to draw the sky. It’s different every night, always pretty,” Martyn flipped the page back to reveal a drawing of the night sky.

It took up two pages, landscape style, entirely pencil. The scenery even included some landmarks like the very top of Big B’s base. Scott noticed that Martyn’s fingers were covered in excess graphite from blending out the stars.

It was beautiful.

“Helps me umwind,” Martyn flipped a few pages forward to a blank spread, “you should try it,” he suggested as he put the sketchbook in the other’s lap.

Scott sat cluelessly. Staring at the page when he was handed a pencil.

“I’m no artist. Not like you are,” he tried to pass the supplies back but the other refused.

“Whatever you want. It doesn’t have to be the sky, it doesn’t have to be anything recognizable,” Martyn encouraged.

Scott nodded. He adjusted his grip on the pencil and positioned it above the page. It stayed there motionless while he thought.

Martyn had grabbed his hand on that ladder. He let him sit next to him while he was completely vulnerable, trying to get away from reality on top of the wall as long as he could. Martyn showed him pieces of his world. The world the way he saw it, the way he chose to preserve it. Remember it.

He shared it without question and now he was telling Scott to do the same. Show him a bit of his reality so he could understand.

This was a leap. Scott knew it, straight out of his comfort zone; and there would be no turning around, but something in the back of his mind screamed that he couldn’t keep hiding from people.

So a line showed up on the paper, followed by another. Scott pulled the image out of his mind and funneled it through the pencil, the foreground and then the background. A landscape that shaped itself across the whole page. There were mountains fading into blue against the skyline, he remembered, a river with a house on one of its banks.

A floating mass of land in the sky with vines hanging from the bottom, and a building on top.

Martyn didn’t say anything. It was like he wasn’t even there. Scott started drawing a figure to occupy the space. Reaching deep into his mind to see their face. Their faces. Soon instead of one person there was two, then three, then four. He drew every attribute and detail that came back to him.

Twelve people. He didn’t want to forget them.

When Scott finished he put the pencil down next to him. So Martyn knew he was done. He held the page up to study what he’d made, looking for anything he may have forgotten.

“That’s pretty cool,” Martyn complimented him.

“Really?” Scott asked.

“Yeah, I like that dude. The one with the wings,” Martyn pointed to where Scott had drawn a man gliding through the air with huge wings, holding onto his striped hat.

“I don’t remember his name,” Scott admitted. Mostly to himself.

“He had a name?” Martyn asked.

“They all did. I can barely remember their faces,” Scott replied, running his fingers over each of the people he’d drawn. An ugly feeling of guilt made a home in his chest.

“It’s a lovely picture,” Martyn said after a few seconds. He took the book from Scott and ripped a chunk of the pages out, “here,” he held them towards Scott. Including the one he’d been drawing on.

Scott was shocked that the other had desiccated his art book so quickly, but took the pages. He may as well.

“Use em’ however you like. I have plenty more,” Martyn instructed. He clapped Scott on the back again.

Scott flashed him a smile, hoping he didn’t look too much like an idiot, “Thank you,” he said.

“I have to go,” Scott jumped quickly back onto the ladder. He made it a few rungs down before pausing and returning to the top.

“Sorry for kicking you in… You know,” he apologized.

Martyn threw his head back in laughter, “thanks Major,” he replied.

“Bye,” Scott responded. He descended the ladder quickly and jogged to the exit of Dogwarts, fumbling with the doors and then trudging down the hill to make way for his flower forest.

“Remember to get a hat!” Echoed from behind him.

Scott turned around momentarily and nodded to Martyn on the wall, then continued into the trees.

[the-headbop-wraith]

3_40 Dream Scape

There was a road.  It went on for miles and miles, endless road among a forest of bare trees tangled against a half moon.  The wind strummed its lacy fingers through parched branches, what little grass mingled beside the road, sighed as it bowed low.  Stars dazzled the distant cosmos, as far beyond his reach as the end of the road he courted.  It was a territory he was out of practice with, roads he recalled well but he could not ponder on the specifics of his relationship with a road.  He set foot on the this subdued path and it replayed like a loop, no stone or shrub was ever the same, but the night always limped onward relentlessly.  An eternal night that kept him shackled to a land in the perpetual twilight; teased him with promises of a reprieve within a daybreak that always rose and melted back into dusk.  Half risen suns drowned in an inverted dawn.

By his impression roads were not meant to be this way. A new purgatory, fresh kindling to tend his carefully guarded heat, something about the air stirred him, made him slink deeper into the nuance of wandering.  There was danger in testing boundaries; around him deep within the woods there remained zones he was not welcomed.  But the road was modern and it had cut deep through the earth decades prior, a mile more.  He could always turn back, that was a choice preference.

In the shrouded distance something awaited.  It wasn’t there but it was, he knew it just had to be there ahead somewhere and the sense of it needled at him.  Abruptly the sensation abandoned him altogether but by then it didn’t matter, he knew something tangible was there though he could not see it clearly, but he would arrive on it in due time.  There was no hurry, how long had he been waiting?  It was there and it would not leave, if he wouldn’t allow it.

Even when the sharp slit of light hit the amber edge, he couldn’t hasten his pace.  He could scarcely believe what it was that he had come upon, and the sight of it briefly stumped him.  There. THERE!  

He did not go toward it immediately, but kept his guarded distance on the road and studied the slate of color, the self-proclaimed title that read out on its side MYSTERY SKULLS, bright colors exploding in his mind as if a maelstrom of colorful spectrums had never before been witnessed by his eyes. It was here, a van.  THE Van.

The acuity of ownership, of belonging failed to taint him as he moved closer to the inert vehicle.  It was a place, a mobile station that he had once shared in, yet it was a separate entity from himself.  Another identity.  Nevertheless, he reached his hand out as he neared, but faltered.

__

The rest stop was fifty miles out away from the nearest city, in the midst of jagged rocks speckled by sparse trees and stiff grass stalks.  Several groupings of rocks blocked visual of the main road that bypassed the stop, the road itself was practically deserted but for the stray car that happened by.  

Its late morning and the rising sun moves to hover behind a cluster of impacted rock that rests at the base of a high hill.  A figure picks its way toward the utmost point of the mammoth boulders; its rich pelt is silhouetted by the bold yellow orb trembling behind it, a glossy red sheen coats the ends of its fur.  It turns its head and focuses on the figures far below, seated upon a brick wall that chaperon’s visitors toward the interior of the large, gray stone building.  Red eyes narrow and sharp teeth poke through the sides of the muzzle, the figure draws back its head and unleashes a loud yawn.

Cool wind prickled the ridge of fur that lined his shoulders. Mystery finished his yawn, as he stretched all the way down until his toes reached the edge of his perch and his chest was nearly touching the cool rock under him.  He sat down and put one back leg to work, going to town on the bent and frazzled fur that had tucked into the edge of his ear.  That felt too good, and he nearly couldn’t stop himself. Somehow, he managed.  And picked himself right up and shook out his coat, his collar rattled in that amusing way it did that let everyone know he was just a dog.  Plain and simple.

He adjusted his spectacles with a wrist and once again turned his attention, onto the surviving members of his pack.  If he wanted to he could listen and be aware of what they were saying, but the topic was nothing crucial, remedial chitchat. They could do without his company for a while longer.  He snapped his ears high and raised his snout into the breeze and sniffed.  Leaves, roots, elk, some kind of feline – nothing to fret over.  In these areas a case of abandoned beer or some other rubbish dumped by disrespectful guests, was the vilest threat that could be conjured.  A shame that good people were far in-between and few, if any.

Mystery let his eyes linger a little longer on the two on the wall, talking.  Satisfied, he began to pick his way down the backside of the boulders and crept back into a clutter of trees.  No one was calling for him.  They’d be fine for a few more minutes.

“We’re def. safe, since he only takes victims at night,” Vivi was saying.  The computer was working again.  Nearly fifty-two hours on the road, both batteries gave it up ages ago.  Now was a good time to stop and charge them up. Except…  “I’ve never heard of attendants with sleeping quarters.”

Arthur sat on the same wall several meters away from Vivi in the direct sunlight, and doodled in his ‘company’ notebook.  “It’s his job,” Arthur grumbled back.  Vivi was on the case, and her enthusiasm was becoming a national emergency as far as schedules were concerned.  “We’re miles away from the nearest town, it’s the system around these parts.”  Arthur directed his pen Vivi’s way, and slapped his hand down when his sketch pad began sliding off his lap.  “He’s a government employee.  That’s all.”

“No one looks that pale, ever,” Vivi said, hardly focused on the editing of the document.  A half eaten ‘Texas sized’ cinnamon bun sat on its gooey wrapper, all of this perched on the side her knee; the snacks only companion was a bottle of iced coffee and a bag of popcorn (a ‘light’ snack).  Vivi was ravenous when it came to her excessive sugar intake. “Unless he was some kind of vampire, but he’s out in the sunlight.  Can’t be that, nope.”  The rest stop attendant had given them a wave as he wheeled his beaten metal mop bucket away on the sidewalk outside.  What little hair was upon his gray scalp was scraggly, his arms were boney and his clothing hung over his knobby shoulders; he sort of… slithered on his gelatinous brown work boots.  “How long do you think cadavers can keep for?  You know, people bodies?  You know that stuff?”

Arthur gave Vivi a lopsided grin that revealed the teeth along his cheek.  He coughed and tugged his vest a little more around his chest; no matter what Vivi said, it did keep him warm.  “That’s not a thing I keep track of.  I know how long a person can retain if they’ve drowned in icy water, but not post living stuffs.”  He heaved over and snatched his notebook before it hit the cement below.  With a smooth rocking motion, Arthur reseated himself firmly on the wall and flipped the page of the notebook over with his thumb.

The rest stop had a few external sockets under the roofs eave, near the glass doors that led into a visitors lobby where the bathrooms and concession stands were.  The laptop was hooked up to one outlet, and a separate charger for the laptops additional battery was hooked up to the next outlet, while Vivi had the phones hooked USB hooked to the laptop.  They’d save time, and Vivi swore she could finish the reports with this last charge.

“You’re working too fast.  You use ‘down’ instead of ‘done’ a couple times,” Vivi mentioned, while pointing to the screen (as if Arthur could see from where he was).  “Do you make these errors on purpose?”

“I’m an engineer,” Arthur muttered, with a shrug. “A little gratitude, thank you.”

“Excuse me Mr. inspiration only hits at four fucking in the morning,” Vivi taunted.  For a few minutes she worked in silence, ticking at the keyboard on her lap.  She sighed, and shifted the position of her legs dangling along the side of the walls edge.  “If only,” she whined.  She set the cinnabon onto the keypad where she typed.  “If only this place had wifi, I could check if there have been disappearances along the road here.”

The pen Arthur had been using just leapt from his hand and rolled across the ground.  “Geez, Viv.”  Arthur tossed his notepad aside and hurried to reclaim the pen, before it rolled down the ramp.  “I think I’ve had enough with disappearances for a while.  Getting in too deep like that.  I guess I shouldn’t… talk like that.”  He examined the pen as he returned to his perch, a little closer to Vivi now.  For a short while Arthur sketched in his note pad, a lot of his work was in pen and the bitter odor of the ink hovered around his head.  Vivi was quiet for too long, and this caught Arthur, he stilled his hand from marking the page.

“I never really thought about this,” Vivi murmured. Her hands rest on the keyboard, her thumb picks at one of the keys.  “Misplaced souls, lingering.  That sort of thing.  Maybe it’s just something spirits are compelled to do?  I might be thinking this the wrong way.”  She met Arthur’s eyes and frowned.  “Did he… wander like this before?”

Arthur ducks his head from Vivi’s gaze and puts some meager lines into the side of one diagram and traces it, making the line thick. He shakes his head.  “He didn’t… there wasn’t a reason for him to.”

Vivi resumes typing, laboriously slow now.  “Makes me anxious,” she mumbles.  “Like one day he’ll just keep walking.  Won’t stop, doesn’t think—” Her voice caught, and Vivi swallowed a bit.  She took a swig of her coffee drink and took a deep breath.  “Kind of gets lost.  What would we do?  What?” It takes a second or two for the silence to get to Arthur.  He sets his pen aside.

“Sometimes, y’know.”  Arthur reaches up and touched the back of his neck, and nearly bites his tongue.  “Sometimes, he gets overwhelmed.  It happens. People do that all the time… it’s practically natural!”  Vivi wraps her arms around her middle and frowns.  “Look, hey.  He won’t get himself lost.”  Arthur scoots closer and sets his hand on Vivi’s shoulder.  She doesn’t move but her eyes follow him, and she smirks at the edges of her mouth.  “He won’t do that to you again.  Even if…” This time Arthur is the one to choke, and he has to lean back and look away.  “Even if you have to hunt him down or something.”

That wasn’t what he meant to say, but Arthur didn’t want to tempt… unsavory ideas.  He drew his hand back and gripped at the edges of his empty sleeve with his fingertips.

__

There was so much scenery to see, always different, never the same.  It made the hours on the road tolerable, it was part of what made the travel exciting.

Vivi had her camera with her, she rolled down the passenger window to take some shots of the hill valley below.  The sky on their side was clear, but miles away low cloud cover and a thick fog had trampled the fields in the distance below, highlights of sunbeams accented bellowing flurries and vapor.  Cold air rushed through the open window, despite it whistling through uninvited the interior of the cab retained a comfortable, warm temperature.

The radio bubbled with music, mostly it picked up static this far out from reliable towers.  Around every hour Lewis would flick his hand towards the radio and shift the channel to a weather station, listen to the broadcaster drone out a forecast, then flipped the channel back to the former station.  Whenever the backlash of static buzzed across the radio, Vivi would pause from sightseeing to shoot Lewis a curious glance.  Lewis would smile her way, and Vivi would return the warm gesture, and go back to her comfortable little spot by the window watching the thunderhead pass.  

It was cozy this way, being sealed up in their dry little shell.  Miles away sleet swirled across the roads, the air would be mercilessly cold and brutal. The roads they kept on remained free of water or hazard; the pavement wound around bends and across metal bridges, and cut through a small town built into the hillside.  They stopped for overpriced gasoline, restocked on some supplies, used the facilities, and off they were again.

In this segment of the endless road Mystery took occupation of the cooler back, while his companions stayed crammed in the front seat.  Arthur needed a change of environment and sat in the passenger seat, with Vivi crammed between him and Lewis.  Arthur updated a separate report and Vivi invested as much time as she deemed tolerable, in editing and assembling the joint document portion.  She took frequent breaks to lie back on the seat and just stare at the stars.  It eventually got to the point where she was nodding forward, and Lewis was trying to keep her head up with one hand, least he condemn her face to smash onto the keyboard and do unredeemable damage.  Arthur saved the document before Vivi could break the laptop, once this was all done Vivi retreated into the back with Mystery.  There was bumping and a groggy whimper, before Vivi had nestled down herself. Lewis lowered the radios volume, and drummed silently on the dashboard as he scrolled through the stations for something instrumental.  He could perhaps coax a station from somewhere distant, that should be possible for him?

The hours remained tranquil while the craggy road whirred on and on, its extent inexhaustible.  White pools dotted the landscape around them, the high beams of the van would occasionally glitter over frost on trees that hovered beside the road; the world was different in the headlamps of the van.  Different in the lights of this vehicle, the van.  

Traffic picked up or trickled out as they arrived, and abandoned the larger towns in turn.  On the open road fellow travelers became scarce, and the beauty of the night could be witnessed.  The stars receded to the vibrant colors of dawn, runny maroon light crept over patches of thick woods, a pale fog rippled among the bare segments of meadows and open farm fields.

Lewis glanced over the headrest and checked the back. Vivi was curled up in a sleeping bag, with Mystery tangled up in the same blanket and Vivi’s arms.  It didn’t look like Mystery minded.  “When was the last time you slept?”  

Arthur twitched somewhat to the sudden, even faint voice, when it alit on the close quarters of the cab.  He relaxed after a moment but said nothing.  He pulled the edges of the blanket tighter around his shoulders and shifted his legs.  Lewis hardly moved at all, except to accommodate some sort of body posture or to make room for Vivi.  It kind of unnerved Arthur.  “Before we stopped, yesterday,” Arthur mumbled.  “I sleep when I’m ready.”

“You’re not tired?”  Lewis reached up to the overhead visor and flipped it down.  “Not good for you,” his voice echoed, warning.

“I feel all right.”  Truthfully, Arthur hadn’t slept the previous day either.  “It’s beautiful, the colors.”

“Yeah.”  Lewis picked at the sunglasses in the cup holder.  He didn’t want to push Arthur a whole lot.  “I really messed up, huh?”

Arthur thudded his brow on the cold window and watched his breath fog over the glass.  The lights of some town they bypassed, sparkled in the distance with paling colors.  “Lew, when I… not that.  Um.” He reached up with the blanket, and began wiping little sections out of the fading haze in the window.  “I’ve had a lot on my mind, lately.”

Lewis’ voice hitched, like it popped into the radio and out. “Hm.  Since when don’t you?”

“Heh.”  Arthur’s medicine was in his bag in the back.  It didn’t help a lot with his throat, but he liked to think it kept him awake.  A series of low whimpers came from the behind them, it was probably Mystery.  It was hard for Arthur not to feel sorry for the hound.  A random thought trickled into Arthur’s head, and he snorted with the chuckle.  Lewis looked his way, maybe startled but he didn’t inquire. “Sorry,” Arthur snickered.  “I was thinking of something.  Do you remember that one case, the one where I was begging Vivi:  “Please, please.  Save the villains?’”  Arthur gagged a bit as he sniggered, his nose stuffy.

SAVE the villains?  Lewis couldn’t picture any of them actively making an effort to save those kind of people, if he was rolling on recounted experience.  He shook his head.  Nothing specific came to mind.

“It was the one in the state park that was closed to visitors, and the archeologists… lemme think.  I know… villains, it sounds really hokey, but I panicked,” Arthur mumbled. He rubbed his thumb on the edge of his blanket.  “It was kind of a neat job.  Sacred artifacts disappearing from a just as sacred temple, no solid evidence to who the culprit was, no suspects; I think the lore went that the local god – this bear demon thing – was showing up to punish trespassers.  That thing was terrifying, actually.  It showed up and scared the students, none of them could figure out how or where it would vanish off to.  None of this ringing any bells?”  

Lewis cocked his brow at Arthur.  “I don’t see how that would make you laugh.  Though, there must’ve been something that happened…?” He waited for Arthur to continue.  For a while Arthur sat staring out the window, collected, watching the sun tease gold tendrils through a low hanging haze.

“Something about rival archeologist camp, stealing artifacts to sell off to highest bidders,” Arthur said.  “It took us a while to make progress… those guys.  They figured a way of using the ancient aqueducts to get around, but they were like a maze and people had… gotten lost in them, a lot didn’t make it out.” Arthur went silent when Lewis picked up the sunglasses and put them on his face, effectively blotting out the bright gleam of his ember eyes.  Arthur folded down a little more in his seat, fingers tugging on the pinned sleeve of his shirt.  The thing that always shocked him about that case was the nightmares.  Arthur didn’t dream a whole lot about the demon bear, but he had a lot of those wandering dreams.  The ones where he stumbled into the underground water tunnels, and got lost forever in the dark, the cold.  He shuddered.

“Did Vivi… well, Vivi always does the Vivi yes thing,” Lewis replied.  Once she got an idea in her head, there was no telling what would happen.

Arthur nodded.  “Y-yeah.”  That’s how it went.  Vivi did the one thing the group was not supposed to do, and ran off on her own without a word to anyone.  Inspiration struck, and she was going to slap it back or something.  Thankfully she had not disappeared into the aqueducts beneath the temples, Mystery found her scent easily enough and it led deep into the pine forest.  “There was this little hidden road way out there,” Arthur continued.  “Almost washed out and tricky to hike.  We sort of ‘commandeered’ one of those little off terrain golf carts they had for the tourists.  I can’t believe we did that.”  Arthur maneuvered his arm a bit under the blanket.  He wasn’t cold, but it helped him to have something covering his shoulders.

“Are you sure you didn’t catch this on TV or something?” Lewis said.  “I think I’d remember dealing with a demon bear and artifact smugglers.”

“This was one of our cases,” Arthur insisted, through a half yawn.  He quieted when Vivi murmured something in the back, probably shifted.  It didn’t make sense that Lewis would be the one unable to recall the case, he was the one that was gung-ho about scouring the woods until they found Vivi.   Not that Arthur wasn’t impartial to turning the entire forest upside down to find their lost teammate (and leader), in fact he was more afraid of losing her than the possibility of running into the demon bear out there.  It was a crisis.

“It was hard keeping up with Mystery,” Arthur went on, softly.  “We did find their camp though.”  The smugglers operation was well organized, and they had old military jeeps that they were loading up with acquired artifacts.  That wasn’t the problem though, the problem was that they did find Vivi was there but she was unconscious.  “And you… lost it.  It was spectacular.”

“¿Es de verdad?  Not making this up?” Lewis inquired, once more.  “I can see Vivi charging off on her own and getting into trouble, maybe. Usually though, you’re the one that gets nabbed.”  Lewis raised a hand up to his plush hair, presumably to smooth the pompadour back but stopped.  Briefly Lewis glimpsed his palm before he set his hand back onto the steering wheel.  “You stop to look at something shiny, or it has moving parts.  You— but you, well, you don’t pay attention a whole lot when you should.  De la solapada.”  It wasn’t a challenge to get them all separated, especially if something big and disputably hazardous was chasing them.  Lewis had never really given that consistency any sort of consideration, until now of course.  Huh.

“There was no intriguing machinations to tickle my fancy way out in the boonies.  This time, I stayed with the group,” Arthur grumbled.  “One of the times I don’t get kidnapped and you conveniently forget. It used to be one of our favorite cases too.  We took a lot of pict— Mmm, there was a lot of folklore and exploration.  Vivi got caught up in it, I guess that’s why she took off like that.”  Arthur also didn’t want to mention he was kind of taking it easy after having stitches put in from another incident.  He felt like a burden on this case.  “She loves that stuff.  Anyway, you saw her there, so you bombed the heart of operations and went after those guys… some of them even had guns.  I was terrified.  You - Fucking berserker mode:  Unlocked.”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth pulled back in a grin, and he elevated his hand like a sort of table.  “I was under a jeep, and when I looked up at the commotion I see you with a camp fire at your back.  You grabbed this big cast iron skillet, the really big thick ones that weigh fifty pounds. You went all Star Wars on them – except it was a skillet and not a light saber – and grabbed part of this tent in your other hand.”  Another little giggle burbled out of Arthur as he interchanged hands, between pantomiming Lewis elected weapons.  “Skillet, tent, and when you started taking down those guys, they started to panic and most were trying to book it.  Mystery, he snagged some sort of sacred urn thing – it was kind of important later, but they thought he was gonna eat it I guess, a bunch of them were chasing him all over the camp.  Utter chaos. This was going down, and I caught up with Vivi and was trying to wake her up.  I kept saying… “‘Vi.  Vi. You gotta wake up now, sweety, the villains need saving.’  I didn’t know what else to call them, kooks?”

The music cuts off as the radio buzzes with static; it makes Arthur twitch in his seat.  “Oh wait,” Lewis said.  “I think… weren’t they trying to get the bear demon out there too, when all of that was happening.  They wanted it to – I dunno – mortal combat with me, so some of them could splint with the artifacts they could.”  He direct a finger at Arthur, and smirked.  “Usted. Puedes echar poco, you sabotaged the engines, didn’t you?”

Arthur made a gesture with his hand and tugged the blanket back up over his shoulder.  “Anyone could do that.  I just did it without getting caught… for once.  The movies make it look simple.”  He pulled himself up to look in the back and check on Vivi, still sleeping.  “It was either you or me, but I wasn’t about to trust you sneaking around.  They’d be like, ‘Oh, an eclipse!  The end is neigh, we should have never finagled with the sacred burial site.  Wait-wait, no.  What is that?’  Then I’d be the one with the skillet light saber and a tent flag.  Was that your plan?  Or did you just improvise?”

“My story was gonna be, ‘I’m the new guy for the bear suit.’”  Lewis turned the volume down when the station chewed the static.  He was sure he wasn’t responsible for that.  “Admit it, it could’ve worked.  If it worked and they put me in that suit, I would’ve been unstoppable.  ‘Dangit. Another guy didn’t read the instruction manual.’  I would‘ve warned them I needed extensive practice beforehand, but they could film me and it’d get Vine famous.”

Arthur sniggered in his throat.  “Vine famous?  Oh, you hit your head there pretty hard, huh?”

Lewis reached a hand up and brushed aside some of his bangs and touched his forehead.  “Jeez, you nearly fainted.  I told you it wasn’t bad, head wounds just have a nasty habit of over bleeding.”  He swept that hand across his chest and straightened out his ascot.  “Ruined my favorite shirt though.”

“Dude.  Dude. Spoiler.”  Arthur held out his hand and paused.  Lewis looked Arthur’s way and waited for him to continue.  “It was identical to all the other shirts you own.”

“It was new, that’s the key difference.”  Lewis stiffens a bit, and kind of tilts his head when he looks at Arthur again.  He fidgeted, slipping his hands up to the top of the steering wheel and tightened his grip, the plastic crinkles in his fists.  Lewis checked the back, then returned his eyes to the road.  The asphalt glistened with tones of cinnamon, transparent purples and deep blues ripple as the light singed the darker tints.  A thin mist hung over the tarmac and coiled through the shrubbery nesting beside the road.

“You could have done part time for the Fred Fazbear’s,” Arthur mentioned.  A chuckle lingers in his throat, Arthur winds up wheezing into the fold of his blanket. “Traumatize the little kids.”  A little shiver coils up Arthur’s spine.  He turns to a quiet Lewis.  “Um… that demon bear suit was infinitely less terrifying than those animatronics.  Safer too. They would’ve adored you. Especially your sisters, they always love it when you bring home a souvenir.”  Arthur snapped his mouth shut, his teeth made an audible click.  Lewis was absolutely silent and somehow, it was more unsettling than a disinterested Lewis.

Arthur sank down into his little ball and rested his cheek on his knee.  He pretended to sleep, even if he didn’t want to.  There was no way getting around it.  There were many things that even a skilled mechanic couldn’t fix.

__

The candles lit at his passing, the flame twinkles briefly before the crisp draft of the hall snuffs the light out completely.  A deep, impenetrable black fog hovers in the depths of the corridor, but at his approach it coils back, receding further back through the seclusion that he cannot reach.  This arrangement seems to benefit them both, but he is careful not to hasten his pace.  There is little to see at all, only a hall and a hall, continuous.  It felt like he had traveled it for years, though he knew that was impossible.

There came a corner and around its side was a staircase. His hand slid across the polished banister as he moved by, gaze focused up into the dank shadows above and their secrets.  Roots slithered down from the upper steps; the barest shimmer of candlelight gave an eerie sheen of red to the barks thin veins.  It was difficult to make out but he was almost certain there were branches too, bent and curved down from the ceiling.  That didn’t make sense, they did have trunks.

A black rock coated the floor, smoothed and polished by centuries of rolling water droplets.  The room he was within felt confined, a small table stood beside him with a small candle atop; there was nothing else.  The light the candle offered did little but provide a small parachute of illumination, there were still walls but no more corridors leading nowhere.  It was just a room, a large suffocating room filled with dark.  Someone had traveled the world over twice, collected up all the unsettling shadows that they could wrangle, and stuffed them into this room.  It was oppressive.

From the coarse murk surfaced a wall, an unremarkable wood wall.  At its base rolled up a corroded metal rail track that disappeared beneath the wall. There was nothing else of interest in these odd features, he knew he had seen it before somewhere and that’s why it was here.  The candelabra on the wall flashed with instant radiance, and faded in the same breath as he kept on his way without pause.  He should’ve felt something for the brief snuff of light, but he was numb to it. His whole sense of self felt drawn back, displaced.  It was that same sensation as slipping into sleep, but without losing awareness.  He swayed.

A door slipped in under the sudden pulse of another candle.  The flame steadied and the door stayed where it was, in the wall, watching him.  It felt like the door was watching him, waiting for some kind of action.  Its surface was chipped and tinted red, a black etch was burned into the upper half. From it came a kind of foreboding regret, the sensation of it was so strong he had to pull back from the edge of the candles dome of light.  It was something almost physical, almost visible.  He waited listening to the distant hum, his own heartbeat, on the stale air.  The door awaited his decision as patiently as any regular door would.  

Without further hesitation, he reached for the tarnished handle, it didn’t need to turn, the door opened smoothly and he crept forward. Another room, smaller, he couldn’t tell. The door hissed shut against his palm and he chanced a look back.  A candle sparked beside his shoulder, its light illuminated the glossy surface of a black pool at his feet.

“You fell,” said a voice.  “You fell, and I pushed you.”  

When he spun back, there was no one.  Across from him was a corridor, a lone candle blazed atop the desk by the wall.  He rushed in its direction, and towards the light.

[unholyhelbig]

Always incredible writing! Can't get enough of your storytelling and I'm sure many others can agree. Keep up the amazing stories. Prompt idea for ya since I've just been Netflixing tons of movies after work lol: Movie Tulip Fever, oldtimeAU Beca is a lowly painter who has been hired to paint a portrait of a wealthy man and his new much younger wife. She has married him to support her family. They fall in love. Btw the movie was pretty shitty lol, but I thought it would be a fun/diff idea for ya!

[A/N: Thank you so much! This movie would have been so much better if it was gay… Anyway, this is a big prompt so I could only fit so much into it. This is longer than I usually do. So if you guys want to see a part two, send me an ask about it!]  

The candle gave a soft light to the crowded room. It was an arc of brilliant yellows that was cut with a horrid orange. However, the two colors worked together in an almost therapeutic way- one tiny combination of wax and wick giving a new life to the smallest room in the house.

That was no feat; the mansion was massive- coated in royal reds and cobalt blues. Nothing was spared when it came to Garret Beale. His family being ahead of all the trade on their small island- often taking a page out of the colonist’s books and resorting to working with the men of the sea. Men who pillaged and brought back three times what this home was worth, only keeping a small portion of it to get the great law of the king off their flame-heated trails.

He was a handsome man, one with charming stature and the best-assembled clothes. Garret carried himself as such- royalty that didn’t have a true bloodline, but enough to get everything he desired. Including the woman who stood with a hard stare in front of him. His deep Irish eyes were scanning over her figure, taking in the small stature that she carried. In fact, she reminded him of one of his men; not a nationally regarded painter.

She wasn’t traditional, a pair of grey slacks and a black shirt hugged her figure, her eyes almost as dark as the midnight sky. Different colors of paint popped against the fabric; it made her look more like a street beggar than anything. But he had seen her work- seen the way she made use of the canvas and vibrant colors given to her. She was an artist, one like no other.

“I’ve seen your work,” Garret said, quite dramatically as he leaned backward in his seat. It creaked and groaned in irony. A man with that much wealth should have a better place to sit. Maybe there was some semantic value, but the woman didn’t question him. Instead, she lifted her chin, keeping her jaw tensed. “it’s good.”

“Just good?” She finally spoke, lifting her eyebrows. She leaned heavily on his hand-crafted desk, annoyance sparking within her stomach. He had more money than he knew what to do with; Beca running her fingers over the carved edge. It was done well. Better than his chair. “I mean no offense, Mr. Beale, but I have spent years studying under masters of artistic ability. You’ve pulled me from sea two weeks ago, for what? To design your walls?”

“Garret, please.” He seemed unphased by her annoyance. The man knew that she wasn’t happy, practically being pulled onto his family’s property. She agreed, having to travel weeks to even get to the home. He offered up a project, one that peaked her interest. “If I wanted to have my walls recolored, I would not send word for you, Miss Mitchell, have a seat.”

She drew in a soft breath, that skeptic look still in her deep stare. However, she eventually lowered herself into the chair pushing at the back of her legs. It was cold against her spine, making her swallow back a shiver uncomfortably. She waited patiently, despite questioning the man’s privilege.

“My wife,” he drew in a long breath, “She is quite exquisite.”

Beca pressed her lips together in a frim line, instantly finding discomfort in the man’s words. The whimsical look in his eyes solidifying just how much he cared for this unnamed woman. A small smile played at the corners of his expression. “I have yet to find someone who is talented enough to capture her beauty, which is why I called you.”

“To paint her?” She eased out, “I paint what I feel, Mr. Bea- Garret.” She corrected herself last minute. “There is no rhyme or rhythm to my work. It’s near impossible for me to construct something when I feel nothing.”

“Ah,” he leaned forward, pressing his elbows against the desk. “I assure you, Miss Mitchell when you see my wife it will be highly unlikely that you won’t feel a thing.”

She gave him a jarring look. This man was quite clearly in love with this woman. So much so that he would invite a near stranger into his home to paint a fine picture of her. He had apparently done so before, many times, but was never happy with the outcome. Men, she was sure, men who drooled and didn’t focus on the task at hand. Maybe that’s why he hand-selected her. It couldn’t’ just be based on her work. He was a picky man.

“Are you insisting that I should fall for this woman?”

“No, of course not.” He waved his hand dismissively “I merely suggest that you form a bond with her before you even sit down to draw your first stroke. I’ll pay for it all.”

She lifted both brows, her head resting on her hand as she kept her fingers on her lips. She watched him carefully. “How so?”

“You can stay here, for as long as you need. I certainly have the room to spare.” He stated plainly. “I just require that you spend time with my wife enough to know exactly what I need to be portrayed in her portrait.”

“Her essence,” Beca said as more of a statement than a question. “Not just the way she appears to the human eye.”

It was interesting, something Beca had never done before. She was more into taking an edge of charcoal and sitting on the bow of a boat- sketching the way the waves ate at a flat-lined shore. But if this woman, whoever she was, took so much captivation from the world, then it would be a certain challenge.

“Do we have a deal, Rebeca?” He held out his pale hand, firm and strong.

“It’s Beca.” She took his grasp in hers, squeezing it with force. “And how could I say no?”

The warm spring day changed the atmosphere in the usually dark house. There seemed to be no such thing as vibrant yellow, and unforgivable violent the night before. Beca having an uneasy sleep in one of the cold master bedrooms. It was far from comfortable- but still too fancy for her taste.

She woke up to a long ray of sun pressing against her gaze, birds chirping incessantly on the balcony. The stone balcony that was warmed by the very star that stirred her from her snooze. Regardless, she pulled herself from the clutches of the duvet, flinching as her bare feet hit the cold floor.

Begrudgingly, the talented artist slid on a pair of black pants and a loose fitting white shirt- not ever bringing more than that with her. She was fairly simple, hating the wire corsets and edged dresses of the time. They were too heavy and nice for her to paint in.

After lacing up a pair of brown leather boots, Beca made her way to the kitchen of the house. It wasn’t too far, Garret had set the place up like a maze, although, she was at the edge of it. He gave her a half-hearted tour before fleeing from the property himself, claiming of some business he had to do. It was close to three in the morning, there was nothing he could busy himself with at that hour- but again, the woman didn’t question his generosity.

She was close to the service quarters, residing in the same sector as the staff; she was staff. Having been hired for a job. To paint a wealthy man’s wife in exchange for room and board. Part of her wanted to drag it out to its full extent, the other part hating the idea of spending one more minute in this place.

A sickly-sweet scent coated her lungs the moment she walked into the kitchen. It was large, set up and built like a room from the Spanish colonies; complete with deep yellow walls and terracotta tile with intricate suns and moons. Natural light seeped in from the grassy courtyard. It was good work, just like Garret had said, no expense spared for his family.

There was a woman leaning heavily over a mass of dough, she was tall, almost tall enough to bump her head on the chandelier, it hung low enough. Flour coated her fingers and clothing as a strand of dirty brown hair fell from the bun on her head, sweat forming on the woman’s brow.  She glanced up with deep charcoal eyes at the change in atmosphere.

“Oh!” She let her folders fall back, moving her eyes down her smock as a certain heir of heat pressed against her cheek. She reached for a dish towel. “I’m sorry Miss Mitchell, I didn’t see you there. The dining room is right through the left corridor.”

This woman, whoever she was, looked petrified. Like she had done something wrong against the curiosity of the young artist. Beca having noticed the same thing as she cocked her head to the side slightly- like a lost puppy.

“I’m not looking for the dining room.” She stated simply from the doorway, trying not to scare the taller woman off. She was young, a simple look of amusement finding a way to her face. “You know who I am?”

“Of course.” The stranger let out a soft breath, pushing the base of her palms into the moldable dough. “Mr. Beale often hires new artists to tackle capturing the enigma that is his wife. Many of them leave after the first few days. They’re not very social.”

Her slate eyes flicked up towards Beca, almost as if asking a question.

“I’m not either,” She relented, a small smile on her lips. “But I know proper manners. I take it none of them have ever been back here?”

The woman grimaces, shaking her head as she struggles to blow the strands of stray hair from her gaze. She was becoming more comfortable with the conversation, with the presence of Beca in general. This was her kitchen, the woman knew not to overstep her boundaries.

“Never, Miss Mitchell.” She held back a snort. “Wouldn’t give the staff a second glance. A bit like Mr. Garret himself, if I might add.”

“Beca is fine.” The smaller girl said, shoving her hands in her pockets as the woman gave her a kind smile. She was different than the rest of them, actually making conversation and not attempting to rush the other way. She made eye contact and didn’t hold her shoulders along the straight edge of a metal plate. Instead, she looked calm and collected. Strong, even. “And you are?”

“The chef.” She answered on instinct.

“I figured that.” Beca elicited a small laugh. “I meant your name.”

“Oh,” she stilled her movements, a genuine smile finding it’s way to her flour specked face. “I’m Stacie Conrad.”

The Conrad’s were a fun group of people, a family name that Beca recognized almost immediately. She had met a man in the Pacific with the same surname, almost the same features as the chef that stood in front of her; a strong and seducing fella with a great sense of humor. If this woman was anything like her bloodline, Beca would get along great with her.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Stacie.” Beca reached out to shake the woman’s hand, reaching over the island, not hesitating a bit as the taller girl produced a powder covered one instead. She shrugged sheepishly- taking it regardless, Stacie’s mouth falling open. “What’s a little dirt?”

“Ah,” She nodded softly “Miss Chloe will love you.”

“Chloe huh?” The name rolled off of the artist’s lips. It was the first time that she had actually heard it. She was always proclaimed as Garrets wife, or even the woman no one could really paint. But she hadn’t met Beca yet. “Do you have any idea where she is?”

“You two haven’t met yet?” Stacie raised a pointed eyebrow.

“I got in around three last evening,” Beca explained, following that ashy stare towards the courtyard. It was a feat in its own; large hedges shielding the home from the outside world, lush green grass coating the full area, even a tall tree that produced bright fruit like that of a flame. Yellow and sharp. “Mr. Beale took me right to my quarters. After a tour, of course.”

“A fine man that’s proud of his home.” Stacie grimaced, stepping away from her task as she rounded the large counter. She was just as tall as Beca though, both of them turning towards the large doors, leaning heavily against the island as they stared out into the yard, Stacie crossing her arms over her chest. “Every morning, you can find Miss Chloe out here.”

“Reading?” The tiny girl still couldn’t see much but the yard- assuming the woman of the hour was situated on the other side of the large tree, back against the bark as she perused some ancient form of literature.

Stacie scoffed. “You wish.”

Beca threw her an odd glance before turning her attention back towards the area. Struggling to focus her hearing. She had been so focused before- not paying much stock to the little patch of outdoors. She noticed the taller woman first, at least she thought it was two women. Both in form fitted white suits- mesh masks over their faces. Fencing.

This woman who everyone raved bout was battling it out loudly with another, stepping gracefully against the grass, unlike any high-class girl that Beca had seen before. Both grunting as the metal of their foil’s clanked with each fluid hit. The shorter of the two took a step out of bounds, her partner not sparring a second.

“Avertissement” Beca scoffed under her breath, shaking her head.

“Aubrey never plays fair” Stacie spoke without tearing her gaze away from the pair. “I’m sure she does it to keep Chloe on her feet. You fence?”

“I used to.”

The two burst into laughter, muffled by the door that separated their spectators. Each woman panting with a purpose as the taller of the two removed her mask first- face red from the labor as she struggled to catch her composure. Stacie cocked an eyebrow at the blonde, cheeks maintaining their rosy complexion. “That’s Miss Posen.” She informed the small girl. “I swear, Chloe and she are joined at the hip. Protective, that one is.”

Aubrey went to remove her chest guard, but Beca didn’t have the attention span to continue watching the blonde. Instead, she focused on who she deemed to be Chloe. The mask was removed, a bout of coppery locks fell against her shoulders; she shook her head trying to free them from the heat of the island day. Her own chest was heaving, cheeks a bit red as she tucked her weapon beneath her arm. An angelic smile pressed close to her lips, a thin layer of sweat coating her collarbone.

“You’re drooling, Beca.”

“What?” The brunette snapped her mouth shut, dragging the back of her hand across her cheek, checking to make sure she was in fact, not drooling. Stacie was right, she could catch flies the longer she stood there, each passing second, she stared at Chloe made a heat press near her core. “I was doing no such thing.”

“Hmm,” Stacie nudged her new friend. “There is a reason they call Chloe Beale unpaintable.”                              

[mrevaunit42]

New on the job (Spiderman Homecoming au)

Hello everyone Mr.E here and yes I am finally done with the spiderman homecoming au. this has been haunting me to write it these last few weeks and it is done. IT IS DONE AND I AM VERY MUCH TEMPTED TO MAKE THIS A STORY BECAUSE ME AND MY GOOD FRIEND @hains-mae collaborated  on this and Did a lot of world building.

Yes I’ve gone off the deep end if you hadn’t noticed from my drabbles but oh well. I’ve embraced my insanity.

so a few notes on this story. Yes this is loosely based off the spiderman homecoming movie but not completely. Spiderman and Iron man exist in this universe. As of this moment, those are the only two MCUs really in this universe because there’s just not a lot to work with without making this a giant cross over and honestly, i rather keep it smaller and not add every avenger ever. 

Second, for the identity of Iron man, it’s a secret. I’m going back to the original comics where no one knows who Iron Man is and as far as anyone can tell he’s Tony Stark’s bodyguard using a suit tony made for him after being captured and all that jazz. So in this universe, Tony Stark is played by teenager canon Tom (who is human in this version) and Iron Man is his bodyguard. 

Star is MJ from the homecoming because I love her attitude in the movie and it’s really a nice change of pace for writing the magical princess. Seriously it was too much fun in the drabbles and it is too much fun here. also Ferguson is Ned but not ned because hidden plot reason. He’s basically ned the friend and not ned guy in the chair. 

the last thing thing i really need to talk about is the villain in this story. Honestly, I’ve been playing overwatch, I love playing the new character doomfist and I honestly just wanted my own villain with a giant robotic arm so i do what i do best: poorly design my own.  It’s not anyone from Star vs, completely original so there’s no secret identity to figure out there. 

finally the story. This takes place early on in Marco’s career, a few months after being bitten by the spider and he’s trying to prove to the city he is an actual hero like his idol Iron man *Who has some renown at this point* 

That’s it for me. Have an amazing week, i hope you enjoy the story. there is a lot more to it that me and mae came up with and if you like it, let me know. check her tumblr out for some awesome sketches of this au. I Might do more because I had a blast writing this. take care everyone!

notification squad: @artgirllullaby @hipster-rapunzel @nerdymetalhead @minthia-ren @thefandombytes @isolated-frequencies 

Marco couldn't keep the smile off his face as the video played, a muted spectacular of self reflective glory that he felt immense pride in.

“Man” Marco murmured disappointingly, squinting to get a better view of the multicolored blur that darted in and out of frame “I wish this dude had a better camera phone, I can't see...”

“The board, Mr. Diaz?”

Marco gulped, slowly closing his laptop while Miss Skullnick threw the harshest glare she could muster his way.

“Umm, I'm sorry Miss Skullnick” Marco uneasily replied “I was...a little distracted.”

“I would've never guessed” she answered sarcastically

Marco could feel his ears burn as the class snickered.

“If you're done daydreaming about you crush..”

“Hey!”

“...whatever” Miss Skullnick completely ignored his outburst “Could you please solve the problem on the board?”

Marco studied the problem carefully, making sure to factor everything in and double check his work to ensure he didn't suffer another embarrassment so soon after being called out by the teacher.

“It's 9.” Marco said confidently.

Miss Skullnick grimaced unhappily as she grumbled “Correct Mr. Diaz but next time pay attention or I might decide to send you detention because you're annoying me.”

“Yes Miss Skullnick” Marco muttered as the bell rang, freeing the students for lunch.

“Dude, bro! I have never seen you more distracted” Marco's orange topped best friend Ferguson teased as the pair made their way to their usual spot in the cafeteria “Except maybe when Jackie's within line of sight. Checking out her page again?”

“What? No” Marco scoffed “I was just checking out that new hero on the block, you know Spiderman?”

“Ooooo” Ferguson nodded before giving an indifferent shrug “yeah, I still think that's some sort of media stunt. Hollywood's gonna probably drop the trailer next week or something.”

“Media stunt?” Marco questioned incredulously as they took their seats “The dude was climbing up walls.”

“Blue screen.”

“Blue screen?! He was climbing up real walls. LIKE A SPIDER.”

Ferguson rolled his eyes “Oh poor gullible Marco, you'd believe anything, will you? Get real man all that footage was obviously faked. Some random videos of him saving cats or helping old ladies cross the street and you're ready to believe in anything. Besides, no one wants to see a movie about some dork who got bitten by spider and somehow got super human powers. It'd never sell. Now a man dressed like bat, that I 'd watch.”

Marco gave Ferguson a deadpanned look as third person joined their table.

The boys shared a concerned look while Star Butterfly began to make herself comfortable.

The resident quiet loner with a snarky attitude was dressed in her usual attire: Most of her blond hair done up in ponytail while a small curtain of it covered a part of her face with a red devil hairband sitting on her head. A simple ribbon tied around her neck and a single spiked wristband. She was wearing a black and white striped shirt covered by a black blazer jacket. Her skirt was a seafoam green sporting a koala wearing an eyepatch stitched into the fabric. And the look was completed with her black as night combat boots for extra badness.

“Umm....can we help you?” Ferguson asked slowly.

“Nope” Star replied, quietly digging into her school mandated lunch.

“....So are we like friends now?” Marco carefully questioned.

“Psst, I don't I have friends.” Star said with a casual tone.

“Then why are you hanging out with us?” Marco rose an eyebrow.

“Seriously Star” Ferguson chimed in “What's your deal?”

Star smugly stared their way “You two are like the perfect anti-social haven. No one would even come near you two.”

“hey!” Marco cried out indignantly before noticing the wide berth the entire room had given them, a perfectly circular boundary between their table and everyone else “...hey...”

“oh lighten up” Star leaned in closer, gesturing with her fork playfully “You got me, that's something.”

Marco let out a tired sigh “You are seriously confusing me with your statements right now.”

“Good” Star beamed “Get used to it.”

“Wait, I'm confused” Ferguson motioned with a hand to stop everything “.....are we friends?”

“No Ferguson” Marco answered “we're not friends, we're just some sort of barrier between Star and any sort of social interaction she might be forced to deal with.”

“hey” Star shot back with a serious tone “Don't call me Star. Only my friends call me Star.”

“...then what do we call you?”

Star pursed her lips for a moment, face scrunching up deep in thought

“Bfly” she finally decided on “Call me Bfly.”

“Bfly?” Marco repeated “What are we in second grade? That is the lamest thing I ever heard.”

“YEAH!” Ferguson agreed before a thought suddenly came to him “Oh Marco, my lego Red 5 X-wing is coming into today. 1,559 of pure space combat. Wanna help me build it?”

“Psstyeah” Marco giving a content head nod in response “you know it.”

Star stared blankly at the two beginning to excitedly chatter about what was the most efficient way to form the legos and how fast they think they could manage it.

“Nerds” Star scoffed

“You know it” Ferguson gave a cocky nod.

“Yeah! Oh shoot” Marco snapped his fingers “I can't right after school.”

“You can't?” Ferguson parroted

“Yeah, I'm...” Marco paused as excuses began to churn in his head “I'm working on getting an internship. You know, for college credit. But hey” he quickly added “I should be able to work on it after dinner. Swing by around 8 and we'll start on it then. ”

“After?” Ferguson shook his head “No, no, no senor Diaz. It is Taco Tuesday and there is no way I am missing authentic Mexican food from your parents. I'm coming before and joining you for dinner.”  

“Fine” Marco hung his head in defeat “But you're cleaning dishes.”

“I am a guest, you are cleaning dishes my friend.”

Marco shook his head in mock annoyance when he caught Star staring at him, a flicker of worry in her oceanic blue eyes.

“Yes St...Bfly, what are you staring at?”

The concern vanished in an instant and was replaced with her usual uncaring gaze.

“Trying to figure out where you got an internship” Star answered “Last I checked, the school didn't get any offers from any of the major companies and I doubt you have any connections on the inside to land an internship.”

“How would you know Star?”

“I just do Marco. Unlike you, I do my research.”

“I'm looking into it” Marco said with a hint of finality as he rose to his feet, lunch tray firmly in his hands “and I'm sure I'll get one in no time. I am funny....”

“Debatable” Star chimed in.

Marco frowned and looked to Ferguson for support only to find his best friend nodding in agreement.

“Yeah sorry muchaco, you're not that funny.”

“Ferguson!”

“What?” the orange haired teen threw his hands up defensively “it's not my fault it's true.”

Marco rubbed his eyes, trying to ignore Star's smug smirk.

“I think I'm funny” Marco went on “I'm smart, I have good grades and have a clean record. I, Marco Diaz, am....am...am...”

“Ammmm?” Star gestured for Marco to get on with it.

“Uh oh” Ferguson scratched his cheek nervously as he stood next to Marco “Yeah he's stuck.”

“Stuck?” Star couldn't keep the disbelief out of her voice “What do you mean stuck?”'

“Jackie” Ferguson answered simply, motioning to the far side of the room.  

Star turned around and sure enough, there was the only thing existence that could ever stop Marco Ubaldo Diaz in his tracks: Jackie Lynn Thomas dressed in the usual skater girl attire.

“So how long is lover boy gonna be like...?” Star pointed Marco's dazed, goofy face.

“Until she leaves. Always gets a little brain dead around her.”

Star glanced at the frozen teen “A little?”

Ferguson shrugged “Okay, a lot.”

“I'm going to go” Star got to her feet “Tell loverboy he needs to stop staring. It's creepy.”

“Will do” Ferguson gave a mock salute.

Star couldn't decide if a weirded out stare or simply walking away was a more appropriate response.

She opted for the walk away.

Marco let out a relived sigh as he ducked and weaved through the sea of students that poured out of the classrooms like an uncontrolled torrent.

“Excuse me” Marco called out “Coming through. Oh come on! I know you saw me. We both know”

“Marco!” Ferguson called out, pulling his best friend into a smaller, less occupied hallway “Dude, what's the rush?”

“I told you.”

Ferguson stared at him blankly.

“The internship? Trying to find one? My whole entire future on the line. Come on Ferg, weren't you paying attention?”

“Honestly? No, not really.” Ferguson said with a straight face.

Marco resisted the urge to throttle his friend “You know what, just be at my house around 7, stay for dinner then we'll work on the X-wing, okay?”

“Gotcha Marco” Ferguson clicked his tongue and gestured with a finger gun “7 it is.'

“Cool, thanks!” Marco shouted before taking off at full speed down the hall.

Ferguson stood there, completely confused to why Marco had just thanked him.

Oh well, if it was important, he would've remembered.

Marco frowned and grimaced under his costume as the city went on with its usual business: Cars were honking, the overlapping chatter of millions of people filled the air as the clack clack clack of trains rumbled nearby. A normal day in the big city

and it sucked.

“Well this was a waste of an afternoon.” Marco grumbled to himself “Seriously 4 hours on duty and not a single major incident. Some stolen bikes, lost grannys but nothing! NOTHHING! How am I supposed to be a hero if there aren't heroic things to do?”

Marco glanced down at his makeshift hero outfit: His red hoodie tucked under an equally red sweater vest with messy and uneven black lines threaded into the center and  vaguely shaped in a form of a spider. A red ski mask under his hood and pair of goggles from his parents last ski trip to protect his eyes (and let him see through the harsh glare of the afternoon light). Completing the look were his old black dress pants, his regular everyday sneakers and a pair of mismatched blue gloves. He really wasn't feeling the gloves but he felt like he needed some sort of blue on him.

He really had to work on his costume.

“It's the costume right?” Marco spoke out loud apprehensively “It's got to be the costume. What do you think?”

The bird stared confusingly at the young teen before taking flight, leaving Marco without a response.

“Gee, thanks” Marco muttered sarcastically “Some help you turned out to be!”

“HELP!” A panicked voice cried from the street below “SOMEBODY HELP!”

Marco snapped out of his stupor and peered downward only to find people scattering in all directions while cars violently overturned and tossed about.

“How did I miss that?” Marco scolded himself as he leapt into a dive, the rush of air and blood thundering in his ears.

He shot his web shooter towards the next building over and pulled himself into a swing, rapidly gaining speed as the ground drew closer.

With a flick of his wrist, Marco snapped his hand free and launched himself into a forward flip, gracefully sailing through the air and nearly tumbling off balance when his feet sunk into the roof of a car.

“Man!” An older voice shouted at him from the street “That's my car!”

Marco glanced about and found himself staring a very angry old man gesturing wildly to the teenage hero.

“Oh man” Marco replied , twisting and turning anxiously as he tried to figure out a way to solve this problem “Dude I'm sorry, I-I didn't...”

“What?” The old man yelled “Think this car belonged to somebody. Man, whatcha you think you doing falling off roofs and swinging around recklessly.”

More screams filled the air alongside the sound of groaning metal and cracked glass.

Marco motioned to the source of the commotion “Dude, I got to go.”

“Man, you got to get better at this part of the job. Landings are important.”

Marco quickly got off the now cratered car and onto the street, hands still raised defensively “I'm still kinda new to this.”

“It shows.” The man shot back “Now go deal with that.”

Marco broke into a run, eager to get away from the trouble he accidentally created.

“Well” Marco murmured to himself,  stopping at the sight of a single man who just stood in the middle of the road “Out of the frying pan and into the fire. HEY BIG GUY!”

The person's head perked up upon hearing the teen's shout and glanced backwards to find a costumed guy waving at him, gesturing for them to come over.

The person turned around and Marco suddenly wish they hadn't

Normally he would've made a snide remark about how funny their choice of outfit had been, even for New York standards: Several stop signs bent and welded together forming some sort of chest armor, half of a car door wore as some sort of shoulder guard, arm and knee pads comprised of metal sheets, a pair of shades and scarf obscuring the person's face from view with a long trench coat that obviously was added for dramatic effect and two air compressor tanks strapped to their back with tubes connecting to their legs and...other arm.

Speaking of the other arm, that's what made Marco paused. The other arm that had been blocked from view but it wasn't now: It was massive in scope, comically huge. It wasn't a singular color but rather varying hues of colors and shades of rust covered metal that gave it a very Frankenstein monster vibe. He could hear the clicking of joints, pistons and various other metallic working under the surface as the thick, metal fingers flexed threateningly.

“Did you call me?” The person's voice was muffled by the scarf.

“Umm....Umm yeah.” Marco replied timidly “I...I noticed wave of destruction and you my man seem to be at the center of it.”

“I'm a girl.”

“Oh” Marco nodded “Sorry I couldn't tell with the...umm whole Mad Max thing you got going on there....”

“Awesome” she replied, a hint of happiness in her voice “I'm really glad. I wanted to keep my identity a secret so...”

“Yeah, yeah it totally work. So...umm...what's with...?” Marco motioned to the cracked pavement and flipped over cars.

“They were in my way.” The girl pointed behind her “I'm about to go rob a bank actually.”

“Umm cool. Could you not maybe? It's kinda of a crime.”

The girl used her normal hand to mockingly scratch her covered chin “I dunno. I really like money and I kinda need it.”

“Hey I totally get it” Marco agreed “but I really need you to just not do that so...”

Thwoosh.

The girl blinked in surprised as she found her regular hand constricted and wrapped tightly in some sort of webbing.

She glanced back at Marco

“Do you really want to do this the hard way?”

“Not really but that tone tells me that's what is going to happen anyway.”

“Smart.”

A harmonious clacking of gears and pistons rumbled as she pulled back her massive metal arm, almost like she was preparing to jab at Marco from 10 feet away.

“Look” Marco took a step forward “It's a nice arm but there's no way....”

There was loud woosh of pressurized air being released and the girl rocketed forward towards Marco without warning.

Marco stumbled backwards, caught off guard as the girl drew closer, a sudden rush of air current propelling her fist directly at his face.

Marco regained his balance and dove out of the way just in time to avoid the hurtling chunk of metal that narrowly knocked his head off.

The girl dug her boots into the ground, digging deeply into the asphalt and cracking the pavement as she slowed to a stop, almost falling face forward to the floor from the sudden shift of momentum.

She whirled around in time to see Marco lunge at her, arm outstretched outward as a string of that webbing came sailing for her.

She rose her arm quickly and the webbing caught harmlessly on the metallic surface.

“You're really fast with that” Marco groaned, pulling at the string as hard as he could “Harness with a joints?”

“Among other stuff” The girl answered, straining to pull herself free of his grip. This scrawny guy and this web-like substance were stronger than they looked.

Marco looked about, trying to figure some sort of way to gain leverage when he felt a sharp tug on his web.

“Uh oh” Marco muttered as he was thrust violently through the air.

The girl pulled her arm back, dragging the unsuspecting hero towards her. With a grunt of effort, she clawed forward, swiping at her hapless that came her way.

Marco let go of his webbing and released another at a streetlight, pulling himself upwards and just barely avoiding the melee attack.

“Geesh” Marco hung upside, watching the girl steady her footing and glance his way “That can't be street legal.”

“What gave it away?” The girl replied jokingly “The fact it's made out random scrap.”

“So you're kinda of my first real villain and I feel really jerky if I just called you girl or something. Got a name?”

She pursed her lips “I was thinking going with Junkhead. Cuz...” she motioned to her arm.

“It's got some promise but I would've called you Junker” Marco pulled himself onto of the post “Or Gauntlet. You know...because the armor.”

The girl nodded in approval “Gauntlet. I like it. And what do I call you?”

“Spiderman” Marco replied

“That's a Spider?” Gauntlet leaned forward “I thought that was....actually I don't know what I thought that was. It looks like a bug splat.”

“Hey!”

“Like you're gonna be Spider Dork.”

Marco eyes popped out of his sockets as Gauntlet roughly ripped the streetlight from the concrete and tossed it away with Marco still ontop.

Marco leapt off the flying piece of New York City Property and landed gracefully onto the sidewalk below. Instinct screamed danger but by the time he regained his bearings, a massive row of metallic fingers connected with his stomach, knocking all the air out of him and sending him scraping the sidewalk viciously 20 feet away.

Marco coughed violently as he tried to refill his depleted lungs. He wearily grasped at a nearby car and struggled to lift himself to his feet.

He faintly hear the sound of metal being crunched and torn but he couldn't make heads or tails of what it could mean. He was too busy trying to catch his breath.

“Catch Spidey” Gauntlet called out, giving a sloppy pitcher's throw in his direction.

His instincts screamed at him, alarms went off in his head as he glanced towards Gauntlet's way only to notice the violently spinning car door coming his way.

Marco bent backwards, planting one hand firmly on the ground to steady himself as the projectile passed overhead, showering Marco in chunks of metal and glass debris before slamming into the side of a building with a mighty thud.

Marco pushed himself up and flipped backwards as Gauntlet closed the distance, swiping at him once more hoping to catch him off guard.

Marco landed on his feet, crouching low as the villain stood there, flexing her fingers.

“Getting tired Spidey?” Gauntlet asked.

“Not at all” Marco stood “But I think you might be running a little low on air.”

“Me?” Gauntlet gestured to herself, trying to keep her breathing steady “Not on your life.”

Marco smirked under his mask as he quickly flicked his wrist and shot another web towards his foe.

Gauntlet was quick in reacting but her arm wasn't. It sluggishly rose, trying to block the attack but this time it hadn't been fast enough. The web sailed past and approached Gauntlet's scarf, ready to pry it off

She reacted the only way she could: She twisted her body and cut downward with her arm, intercepting the web midair but leaving her back completely exposed to Spiderman.

Marco saw his chance. With another quick flick, he shot at one of the compressor's on her back. The web latched on with a satisfying thunk and Marco pulled with all his strength.

Gauntlet swore under her breath as she felt herself being pulled backwards but there was no time to complain about her mistake. She fought against the webbing as she placed her metal arm on the floor and pushed back. She gave herself a smug grin as she felt the tension of the string snap while she flew backwards.

She unsteadily landed on her feet but dropped into a fighting stance. Something felt off. Something had change. She felt lighter, almost like....

She could feel the blood drain out of her face as she saw Spiderman cockily wave her air compressor at her, gesturing if he should give it back.

Gauntlet weighed her options: with only one air compressor, her speed would be dramatically slowed and eventually fail all together. Even if she did beat the pest, she doubt she could take on the police or even continue onto the bank. No matter how this played out there was no way she could come out on top.”

“Surrender” Marco called out, causally tossing the near full container over his shoulder “There's no way you can win.”

Marco could practically feel her glare from behind her goggles, the cogs turning in her head as she weighed her options.

Gauntlet opened her mouth to speak when something glinted in the distance. Smoke trailing behind a red and gold blur. She squinted against the harsh sun when a chill formed in the pit of her stomach.

Spiderman watched a Gauntlet furiously fixed her fingers, her face still behind the scarf and goggles.

“You win this round Spider but next time, I will splat you.”

Marco blinked in surprise as she bent her knees, looking skyward as if about to fly. He run forward with a dull, tight ache filled his back and paralyzed him for a moment.

A moment was all she needed as Gauntlet's arm hissed and with a single punch, flung herself high into the air. She disappeared from view as she hopped over an entire building and the sound of broken cement could be heard 2 blocks over.

Marco could feel the adrenaline of battle end and his body ache wearily. Even if he wanted to go after her, he would've just been too tired to try.

Marco plopped onto the floor, resting his body when something shiny approached him, the sun glinting off its surface brightly.

Marco's eyes widen when he realized he was staring at the one, the only Iron Man, the tech hero and bodyguard to Tom Lucitor, heir to Lucitor Industries and creator of the suit.

Marco scampered to his feet, trying to keep his nerves calm but how could he?! He was meeting his hero. HIS HERO. Not in a dream, here in real life! FOR REAL.

Iron Man looked over the battered Marco, eying him carefully “Are you Spiderman?”

“Yes” Marco said a little too quickly “I mean...Yeah that's me. I'm the Spiderman. Well it's just Spiderman.”

Iron Man nodded “Good work kid” he told him in his heavily robotic voice “Go home. I'll clean up the mess here.”

Marco opened his mouth to argue when he felt a wince of pain course through his body.

“Trust me” Iron Man told him with a hint of pride in his voice “You did good. Go home kid.”

“Thanks Iron Man.” Marco eagerly waved goodbye “it means a lot coming from you. If you ever need me, just let me know.”

Iron Man said nothing as Marco made his way around the corner.

Marco let out a sleepy yawn as his phone shrilled at that he gotten a new text. It was 11 o'clock at night according to the time stamp. He swore if Ferguson was going to complain about how much lego Luke Skywalker did not look like Mark Hamil again, Marco was going to shave his head bald.

Marco groggily rubbed at his eyes, trying to read the message through blurry eyes but he didn't recognize the number. Nothing rang familiar about the area code or the following seven digits and the message contained within was even more confusing.

'Meet me on roofs'

Another shrill, another message

'*Roof, sorry autocorrect.'

Who could that be?

Marco stood, yawning loudly while slipping on his sneakers.

Normally this would've been a bad idea but he was Spiderman and he just took on his first real villain and WON! He was feeling pretty bad ass right if he did say so himself.

Marco softly opened his bedroom window and climbed onto the fire escape that hung off the side of the apartment. Marco shook the sleep out of his eyes as he climbed higher, the icy cold New York night freezing him awake.

Marco made onto the roof only to find a familiar metallic figure waiting for him.

“Marco Diaz?” Iron Man asked carefully, making his way over to the now awestruck teen.

Marco nodded dumbly

“The real identity of Spiderman?”

Marco froze, his heart stopping mid-beat

“I-I....what? Who?” Marco began “Whose that? Is that that costume freak that goes around, thinking he's a hero? Because that's...that's not...”

“I followed you home. You should really think about changing somewhere more private. This rooftop is pretty low.”

Marco hung his head in shame “I should've thought of that. Wait” Marco stared curiously at the armored hero “Why are you here?”

“To recruit you” Iron Man stated matter of fact “You saw. More villains are on the rise and we heroes need to stick together. And your suit isn't exactly battle approved.”

“Me? A hero?” Marco whispered breathlessly

“You are one, right?”

Marco could hear the prodding tone underneath the layers of distortion almost like he was trying to goad him.

“Yes, I am” Marco gave a confident nod.

“Good” Iron Man's chest opened, splitting apart as the figure within took a step outside, stretching their arms high towards the sky “because I've been thinking I might need partner sometimes.”

Marco's face fell as he recognized the true identity of Iron Man, his all time favorite hero and idol.

“Tom Lucitor?! The rich jerkbag teen?! You're Iron Man?!”

Tom wiped nonexistent dirt from his suit “Duh, who else would it be?”