#strange things that I researched for this include how good seals are at smelling and actual wolf pack dynamics

[yersina]

concept: buddie supernatural au (the mythos. not the show.)

buck is like the werewolf coded character ever, so ofc that's what he is. he's a werewolf who grew up in a family of werewolves who never made him feel like part of a pack, so he’s trying so desperately to seek connection wherever he can get it. (no, that’s not right—maddie was always pack to him, but then she left with that vampire doug. she always smells a bit like blood now in a way that rubs him wrong, but she’s still staunchly, if tiredly, loyal whenever he nudges her about it, and it hurts to have the reminder that at the end of the day, he’s not her first choice. she’s still pack, she’ll always be pack, but there’s something broken and frayed there now that buck can’t poke at without wanting to break down, so he doesn’t.)

“you go, i go,” connor says, and buck hears pack, so he tags along.

“no man left behind,” the recruiter tells him, and buck hears pack, so he signs himself up for training.

“welcome to the 118,” bobby tells him, and buck still hears pack, but he’s long past trusting his ears.

but things get better. they get worse, first—he’s reminded that humans always find it easier to break bonds than werewolves—but then he’s hired again and saving lives and part of the team. and he has abby, who smells a bit like sickness and a lot like worry the first time he actually meets her, but she has a smile like the moon and always, always picks up the phone when he calls her.

(and then abby goes to europe, and she stops picking up the phone as often. buck doesn’t think of it as leaving him. he doesn’t. he doesn’t.)

the day that eddie shows up and buck catches a whiff of his scent, he’s... confused. the guy absolutely reeks of the sea, in a way that makes no sense if he's telling the truth about being in the army for several years before this. he should smell like sand and gunpowder, but instead buck is reminded of walks along the beach, and with a faint hint of fur and fish, too.

and then he sees the leather jacket that eddie hangs up in his locker.

“damn, this looks like high quality if i’ve ever seen it,” hen says, eyebrows raised, and they practically leap off her face when she catches both of them stiffening when she reaches for it. “oookay. i’ll just. go over there?”

“you brought it with you?” buck hisses at eddie when she’s out of earshot.

“you know what it is?” eddie narrows his eyes. “werewolf? vampire? fairy?” he sniffs the air and then snorts. “werewolf. got it.”

“don’t you have like a—like a box or something to keep it in for safekeeping? a safe?” literally anywhere other than the fire house.

“why don’t you leave my personal belongings to me?” eddie slams his locker door shut. “and the lockbox thing is a stereotype.”

great.

but then they pull a grenade from a man’s leg and they work in a kind of harmony that buck’s never felt before with anyone else on the team, the kind that makes his blood sing and howl in his veins, and eddie says “you can have my back any day” and buck, despite everything, still hears pack.

-

eddie keeps his seal skin with him because he’s had it stolen once. or—stolen is a strong word, it would never hold up in any human court, but instinct doesn't care about semantics, and he’d ended up married anyway. so he always keeps it with him, he always knows where it is, and if he can’t fit it on under or over whatever uniform he's wearing at the time, it’s going in his locker and right back on his person at the end of his shift.

buck still gives him weird looks for it from time to time, like he can’t quite believe that eddie’s willing to take his coat with him outside of his house at all, but he quickly accepts it as the status quo and at least stops questioning him about it. besides, it’s not as if buck’s completely innocent on the supernatural front either. eddie’s never seen any other werewolf take a work shift on a full moon, and even though buck practically vibrates through his shift, he makes it through the night without so much as a five o’clock shadow.

“skipped your pack run?” he asks when they’re all changing back into their civvies. he instantly regrets the question when buck’s shoulders hitch up around his ears in the very picture of uncomfortable.

“i, uh. i have you guys,” buck says with a painful looking smile. shit. “i’ll see you on wednesday, man.”

“buck—” and he’s gone.

he doesn’t even get the chance to work up the courage to ask what that was all about because shannon. shannon.

there’s a lot of anger and betrayal and misunderstanding tangled up in their relationship, but there’s love there still, too. and christopher. always christopher. but then he lets it slip that she’s back in his life now, and buck—

“you're fucking with me, right?” buck’s voice is so flat that it doesn’t even sound like a question.

eddie sighs. “buck—”

“she’s the one who took your coat, right? that’s why you married her? why you had to marry her?”

“buck, it’s not that simple—”

“and now you let her back in, easy as that? you're not even a little bit mad?”

“of course i’m mad!” eddie yells. buck flinches. “but i left her too. it’s complicated, buck.”

despite all the jokes that the rest of the 118 make about buck and his golden retriever, frat boy energy, he’s always been good at thinking on his feet and memorizing facts and putting the pieces of a mystery together. “she gave you back your coat,” he says slowly, like he’s turning the idea over in his mind while he says it. “that’s why you enlisted. you were running. you were free.” eddie doesn’t deny it fast enough. “eddie.”

“like i said. it’s complicated.”

buck shakes his head slowly, eyes wide and wary like eddie’s a stranger that he’s never seen before. “doesn't sound complicated to me.”

the bell rings. eddie’s never been so grateful for a three-alarm fire in his life.

see, the thing is, everything buck is saying is true. shannon is the one who ended up with his coat. eddie did enlist after she gave his coat back. but that ignores everything before and after and in-between. shannon didn’t purposefully take his coat or hide it from him either, and she’d given it back when eddie had been forced to explain when chris would be born with his own coat. and despite everything, despite the fact that he knew he loved her, knew he loved chris—he still chose to leave. he thought he’d been sending a message when he’d chosen something with a built-in return date, a quiet ‘i’ll be back eventually, i promise’ but apparently not.

like he said—it’s complicated.

the universe decides to take that as a challenge, as it always does. shannon, the tsunami, the lawsuit—it’s all so much, all the time, and eddie doesn’t really tune back in to the world until he’s trapped forty feet below the ground, surrounded by water and missing his goddamn coat.

“really?” he asks the muddy tomb around him. “now?”

but the water is an old friend, as always, and he’s much less likely to die of hypothermia or shock from the cold than the average human, so he grits his teeth and dives below the surface. when he crawls his way back to his team, it’s buck that greets him first, pulling him into a hug that’d be painfully tight to a human and smelling of wet fur and tears. “i wasn’t sure you—i knew you’d survive the water, but all the mud on top of you—”

“i’m here,” eddie says, because what else can he say? “i made it.”

he gets bundled up in a blanket and carted off to a paramedic to get checked out, but he doesn’t forget the way buck’s shoulders shook against his own.

-

eddie gets shot and buck falls to fucking pieces because that’s his p—that’s his fucking best friend and now buck knows what his blood feels like on his hands and in his mouth. and he follows eddie all the way to the hospital, all the way to the double doors that he’s never been allowed past, before he remembers—

christopher.

so he stays with eddie’s kid, takes care of him like he’s his own—like eddie would take care of him—and tries not to break down with every lungful of eddieandchris scented air that he takes in their house.

when buck gets that call from ana, he throws himself into action, tugging on a jacket with one hand and juggling his phone with the other so he can make sure that christopher will be safe at home with carla while he rushes to the hospital. to eddie.

ana’s presence hardly registers when he bursts into that hospital room and sees eddie on the bed. his scent is weak and laced with the smell of disinfectant and chemicals but his smile is still warm and alive and oh, buck missed him.

“h-hey,” buck stammers, pulling up short next to the bed. he’s not sure if he should or even can pick up eddie’s hand. can he touch? will eddie break? “i—i made sure that no one touched your stuff at the firehouse, your coat’s still safe, i promise, and—and chris is at home, i’ve been staying with him, making sure that he’s okay—did you know he’s been doing a good job in science class?—and i told carla to wait for a video call maybe, if you’re up to it, so—”

“buck.” and then all of the words spilling from his mouth come to a trembling halt when eddie puts a hand on his arm. “hey. breathe.” buck sucks in a reedy breath. “everything you did was perfect. thank you.”

buck’s exhale shakes. “yeah?”

the smile that eddie gives him could rival the sun in its warmth. “yeah.”

and then later, after eddie’s been discharged—

“you’re not expendable,” eddie says. “if i die, i want you to take care of christopher,” eddie says. buck’s blood is roaring in his ears.

oh.

oh.

OH.

all he hears is he’s yours too.

“eddie,” he chokes out. he dives for eddie, burrowing into his surprised embrace and wishing he could wrap his furry body around eddie and smother him with licks and kisses because human comfort just doesn’t compare sometimes. instead, he settles for tucking eddie’s face into the curve of his neck, right where buck’s the most vulnerable.

it’s not the same, he chants to himself, it doesn’t mean the same thing to him as it does to you, but that doesn’t matter over the triumphant roar of PACK in his veins. packs share pups. that’s the whole point of packs—so the children can grow up safely, surrounded by family. and eddie just gave him his.

he would’ve taken care of chris without the confirmation—already has been, really—but it feels entirely different to have the words out in the open, to know that eddie feels the same way. mine, he thinks with vicious satisfaction and something that feels a little too similar to relief, twisting his fingers tighter into eddie’s shirt. mine mine mine mine mine.

“thank you,” he whispers into eddie’s collarbone. “this means. uh. a lot. thank you.”

“hey.” buck can feel eddie’s confusion in the way his body doesn’t quite know whether to lean in or not, but it doesn’t make his voice any less warm. “i’m just making it official, yknow? i want someone who’d fight for him as hard as i would. and i know that’s you. it’s been you.”

“mhm.” buck’s hardly listening anymore. he just curls up and lets himself breathe out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. i’ve found them, he thinks. the missing pieces to my puzzle.

[fluideli123]

A Story

So, I’ve recently been inspired to write a story for Ninjago and I’ve only written the prologue since I wanna write it for everyone, people even not in the Ninjago fandom and all that. I’ve also been editing the hell out of it and listening to it from text-to-speech stuff because I just all of a sudden got really passionate about this story. I even have my co-editors editing it in their free time I’m so invested in this story. Anyway, I wanted to post the first chapter (Still being edited) here before I actually post it, because, well, why not? I havn’t posted in awhile and I’ve been working on this story nonstop for maybe, a week? I don’t know, it started out as a prompt and practice and than ended as a whole story with twists and stuff. So, I’m just going to leave below the line on what I have so far,  I hope you enjoy it?

The link if you just want to see this story is here: X

Cole's head softly nodded to the beat of the music playing loudly in his ears from a newly bought headset, continuously humming the lyrics from the songs by heart. The earth ninja had his back against his pillows with a notebook and pen placed on his lap doodling mindlessly. His mind was alive with thoughts and memories for an unknown amount of time.

Some days he would be with his team with no need to fight, saving people, and with no missions to complete. Other days where he had either enough time on his hands to sit down and lose himself in more than just additional training or had too much time than he knew how to deal with. He didn't know which was worse sometimes.

However, Lloyd had it the worst out of the whole team, he spent most of his life, if not all of it, fighting and training. Lloyd even lost his entire childhood to become the destined Green Ninja. Cole still felt sympathy over the day that Lloyd lost his childhood. Cole and his teammates, Kai, Jay, and Zane, met Lloyd when he was only nine years old. But one day, the whole team was turned into kids. An extinct Grundle was brought back to life to hunt them all down, leaving Lloyd to help them get back to normal since he was unaffected. Cole still remembered how he and his team members were in fear as the once extinct ninja hunter towered over them. It was a hideous creature with thin sharp teeth and razor-sharp talons, its scales were blood red, its body was littered in spikes, and long catfish-like whiskers on either side of its lips. They were all quivering in fear until Sensi Wu appeared with Nya, they were carrying a tea that they tossed over to the ninjas. This tea would reverse all the effects that caused them to turn into kids. But as Sensi Wu forewarned, the tea would also affect Lloyd, turning him older with the rest of them. Lloyd had heard this, yet, he still grabbed the brew and threw it at the monster, it turned to bones while the rest of them spontaneously aged older. He selflessly sacrificed his own childhood to save them, adding more weight to the things he already bared at such a young age. The kid could use a break just as much as everyone else.

Sadly, Cole doubted that would ever happen for any of them.

Cole frowned, his thoughts now souring his peaceful mood. He closed the notebook and placed it back in its proper spot, a drawer within his nightstand. Tidying up his pens, he sets them by the journal, closing the drawer before also pausing his music, taking off his headphones, and setting the two items on the nightstand.

Cole let out a sigh, closing his eyes and running a hand through his messy black hair. He was overthinking again, a byproduct of the peace in the world, as unfortunate as that was. The earth ninja stood up, stretching his arms above his head to work out the kinks in his back before making his way through the hall, trying to clear his mind before heading into the kitchen. As Cole stepped into the kitchen, he smelt the scent of strawberries and honey, noticing that the temperature was also mellow. What the earth ninja saw, though, was a sheen on a metallic body and the white of a gi with quick hands slicing something on the counter.

Only one name appeared in Cole's mind, one that was accompanied by a warm feeling in his chest and a small soft smile on his lips.

Zane.

The Nindroid faced Cole, his once focused icy blue eyes turning into their usual warmth as he beamed, realizing Cole had entered the room. Cole's own smile grew from the sight of Zane's smile, a swell in his heart forming, making the feeling in his chest rise. Even though Zane was the master of ice and a Nindroid, he had the most sunshiny smiles and had tender eyes, softening you from the inside out.

"Cole," Zane said, his words calm and witty with only a slightly robotic tone. "I see you've finally decided to leave your room. I was beginning to wonder whether you'd be trapped in there forever."

The earth ninja rolled his eyes as he made his way over to the ice ninja, becoming enthralled with the remark. Cole had recently been in his room more often than he was training, the team, for some reason, found that as something to make quips about. Cole would be lying if he didn't enjoy some of the banterings that would sometimes ensue, especially with Zane. He wasn't too good at understanding humor or joking, but when he did, it always made Cole chuckle, even if it wasn't something exceedingly funny.

"Oh, me being stuck in my room?" Cole answered, placing a hand on his chest dramatically, his words dripping in a little bit of playful sarcasm. "I could never! How could I ever stay in there without the most delicious thing ever made to keep me company? I, of course, need a cake to keep me thriving if I were to be trapped."

Zane shook his head a bit as Cole chuckled at his own comment, still smiling as he looked back at the strawberries he was cutting. Remembering the smell in the air and seeing Zane slicing the fruit, Cole looked over to the oven out of curiosity, seeing the light on.

"So, what are you making there, frosty?" Cole asked, looking back to the Nindroid and leaning to the side to peak over Zane's tall form.

"Strawberry Bread," Zane affirms as he places the knife down, lifting the cutting board to pour the fruits in a green plastic bowl. Setting the board down he quietly, says excuse me to Cole, who moves out of the way. Zane bends down, grabbing pink oven mitts in the process, and opens the oven pulling out a pink and golden brown bread. He stands up and places it on cooling racks on the counter, the opposite side of the stove where he was slicing the berries. The smell was sweet and had Cole's mouth-watering as Zane continued to speak. "Jay had spoken about how I cook so well that I should try making some more desserts instead of dinner foods. He suggested I start on something with fruit, so I did."

Cole nodded, sitting down at the table. Zane had always been the one to cook for the whole team after they realized how much everyone else's cooking sucked, and how the ice ninja's cookery was remarkably good. Zane could cook anything you wanted after he researched as much as he could on it, whether that be from books from the libraries in Ninjago City or from any digital device hooked to the internet. He liked to be informed and probably knew facts that no one else knew about, just because he enjoys learning things.

Zane has always been strange to everyone, even when Zane himself didn't know he was a Nindroid. It was just a feeling that Zane had given off. Of course, the team loved him like a brother, yet that didn't stop everyone from recognizing how different Zane was. When Cole, Kai, Jay, and Zane lived in Wu's Monastery, everyone would notice how Zane lived in his own world, while training. He would possibly bow at a wooden training dummy, or be utterly confused with expressions. Zane couldn't understand humor at all either, but Cole still found it often endearing, even back then when they annoyed him sometimes. 

Nevertheless, one time the whole team, including Sensei Wu and Nya, got in a food fight during supper. Zane had stood there watching them throw his food around, unable to understand why everyone was laughing and enjoying themselves. Cleaning up after the ninja's ruinous fight, Zane had left outside with all the wasted food and tossed it in the trash. Zane had told the team that while doing so, he had met a falcon sitting on a branch above him, the bird following his exact movements as the ice ninja felt an ease with the bird. Unable to explain it, the bird had appeared another day, guiding Zane to Lloyd's secret hideout when he was with the Serpentine, which were snakes that wanted to get revenge on Ninjago for sealing them underground. Zane had gone back to the Monastery after finding Lloyd's lair in the trees to notify the team.

Cole has known for a long time that he has feelings towards Zane, even if it just began as a physical attraction. But that didn't prevent Cole's emotions growing over the years, his attempts to try and repress his feelings and only focus on viewing Zane as a brother like he did everyone else, had backfired on him. He often caught himself daydreaming about Zane without meaning to. There were just so many things about Zane that Cole couldn't help but to like about the ice ninja.

One of the first things that Cole liked about Zane was his eyes, whether that was sappy or not, it was true. When Cole first met Zane, his eyes were more human-like, a dull icy blue, still soft and kind when he looked at his teammates and friends but also appeared to be inquisitive or searching as if trying to understand something or learn something when he looked at you. Cole enjoyed the color more than when Zane looked at people back then, especially when it was dark, and his eyes would look too bright to be human. Nowadays, Cole just liked everything about Zane's eyes, like how they were robotically inhuman. Cole adored how they always seemed to be vivid and definite than a typical human's eyes, no matter how intense the light was, they would be slightly brighter.

The second thing Cole liked about Zane was his hands. He remembered how perplexed Zane was when he inquired why Cole had been gazing at his hands strangely. Cole had stated that he had never felt hands so cold before, even though it was the truth too, it wasn't the real reason why he sat there blatantly staring like a fool. Cole just liked that even after all the labor of training and fighting, that the ninja's hands weren't rough and hard like you'd expect them to be. In fact, they were soft and smooth like delicate fallen snow that doesn't cling together and as smooth as a thick formed icicle hovering from the roof. Now, the only thing that has changed is that his hands are sleek instead of soft from not having his albino synthetic skin, more gentle when they touched things now too. It's something Cole constantly daydreams about more often than anything else, as much as that irritates him. He regularly tries to push away the intruding thoughts, but the skin on his hands and face always tingle, even after he snaps out of his thoughts and into reality. Like if Zane was the ghost instead, and he couldn't truly touch Cole.

Cole could go on and on, describing every little detail about how beautiful Zane was from the inside out. But, out of everything he can explain, there is one thing he cherishes about Zane over everything else he could ever try to describe. It's something even Cole can't always name sometimes, and it's just how Zane is, well, Zane. The Nindroid will invariably do something outlandish like randomly stop moving and sit there for a while doing something in his head, or till someone questions what the hell he's doing. It's the same thing when he'll spend hours talking about how absurd people's theories are on multiple topics or randomly start talking about a fact no one else asked to hear. Even if Cole couldn't understand what Zane was prattling about or thinking, Cole would listen anyway.

Cole shakes his thoughts out of his head before he looks at Zane as he takes off one pink oven mitt and grabs a spatula, stabbing at the sides of the bread pan, the tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration. As the earth ninja took notice to the sight of no honey on the kitchen counter, he opened his mouth to ask why it smelt like it too if it was strawberry bread that Zane was making. That was, however, cut short when Jay walked into the room, answering his question before it even left his mouth. The lightning ninja held a white platter in his hands that held crumbs, strawberries and what could, and hopefully be, smeared honey on it. He placed the plate down in the sink before turning to the ice ninja with a toothy smile on his face.

"You are so good at cooking, I swear!" Jay exclaimed before he looked to Cole and made his way over, almost bouncing in place. "Have you tried it yet, Cole? Because you should! Zane made a hell of a new dessert, and oh my gosh, it's so good! You have to try it!" Jay whipped his head back to Zane, who was smiling proudly from the comments Jay was shouting left and right, no doubt. "Did he already? Oh, come on, he had to at least have stolen some when you weren't looking!"

Zane shook his head in negative, triggering a dramatic gasp from the lightning ninja, who quickly turned his head back to Cole. He looked determined, and before Cole could add his two cents to the conversation, Jay took him by the arm and drew him to the counter where he had formerly been standing with Zane, and grabbed a slice of bread and shoved it in his hands. Jay let go of his arm and looked at him expectantly, a look that gave off a false superiority sometimes, as it did now. Cole just raised an eyebrow at Jay, who pursed his lips and placed his own hands on his hips. It reminded Cole of those Ninjago City mom's who was about to say "excuse me?" bitterly because someone cut in line or did something offensive to them. Cole snorted at the thought, giving in and taking a large bite out of the bread only to cover his mouth when his eyes widened, and a muffled surprise escaped his throat. 

The damn bread wasn't chewy or crumbled apart too effortlessly, and it wasn't bland either, it was right in the middle and tasted like the berry it was made with without being too sweet. If Cole was incapable of loving cake as much as he did, he would probably just go off and marry this dish instead. Actually, no, Cole should go off and marry Zane, who is capable of making not only this bread but also cake, which would make a triple-win scenario.

That thought knocked him back into the present, his cheeks slightly gaining color.

Jay laughed and patted Cole's shoulder as he swallowed down the piece of bread. Apparently, he was amused by his reaction to Zane's baking skills. This shouldn't be a surprise, he was a badass in the kitchen like in the battlefield, as stated before.

"What I tell you," The lightning ninja beamed at Cole as he continued. "It's good, isn't it?"

Cole rolled his eyes. "Well, yeah, duh, Zane made it, of course, it's going to be good." He looked over to the ice ninja, who was patiently slicing the now cooled batch, Cole witnessed Zane pull out of the oven before. "You really outdid yourself again, Zane." "Why thank you, I was honestly about to think that Jay was overreacting to not hurt my feelings on possibly not making the bread well." Zane replies as he places all the pieces of bread in a clear plastic container. "However, I believe I should put these away till after dinner. I can already tell you two might try to grab for more, even though Jay has already eaten quite a few."

A loud, “awe man, no fair” came from Cole as Jay crossed his arms and seemed to now be sulking. Zane chuckled as he closed the lid and placed the container on top of the fridge, out of reach from anyone who didn’t grab a chair, climb the counters or who were tall enough to grab it by themselves. Sadly, no one was as tall enough to reach Zane’s height completely without putting something under their feet to gain a few more inches. It seemed the bread was held captive for the time being. That reminds him.

"Wait, how many did you eat, Jay?" Cole inquired as he looked over to the ninja in question. Jay looked over at Cole with wide eyes, as if caught in a terrible act that shouldn't be spoken about.

"Uh," Jay looked around the room as if it was supposed to help him answer the question. "Would you believe me if I said two slices was all I had?"

"No."

Jay frowned before he crossed his arms and pouted like a young child, a quiet "damn it" being muttered under his breath before he lifted a hand with five fingers up.  Cole stared at the ninja's fingers. Why was he holding up-

Oh.

He burst out laughing as he high fived Jay's hand. "Oh my god, you couldn't have beaten my record! I can't believe you actually ate five!" Cole joked, Jay huffed again and stuck his tongue out at Cole, causing him to laugh harder.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up dirt boy," Jay poked Cole's chest. "I only did it because Zane's cooking is awesome, and it was just a warm-up to when I beat you at your own food game."

The food game Jay was speaking of was a competition between him and Cole about whoever beats the other's score on eating the most in one day, wins. Every month, there was a day that the person surpasses last month's score, or tries to and fails. If you retain or beat the score, the loser must do the other’s chores or buy them something out of their own pocket when asked. So far, the high score was held by Cole, with three plates of two giant full-sized flour tortilla cheese and bean burritos. The whole team, Cole, Zane, Jay, Nya, Kai, and Lloyd, all went out last month to Kai and Nya's favorite restaurant, Taco Loco Pequeño César's. It was there that he not only won that month for his game but also won a sombrero and cool black sunglasses from the restaurant to congratulate him on winning their eating competition. It was the best day to see Jay's face go red in anger and brood for the rest of the day, Cole just rubbed it in his face by walking around wearing the sunglasses and sombrero he won. Kai even taught him some Spanish words, specifically "gané" and "perdedor" to further torture, Jay. Plus, the only reason Jay wanted Cole to believe he only ate two slices of the bread Zane made today was that he has to be ashamed of only eating five pieces and thinking that could beat the burritos.

"Say whatever you want sparky," Cole said, poking Jay back. "You can't beat the master."

Jay scoffed, looking to Zane, who was silently cleaning up after himself. "Zane, come on, Cole isn't the master of eating, right? I mean, I've eaten just as much as him, right?"

Zane looked up from pulling on his household gloves, staring at Jay for a moment before answering.  "According to what I've witnessed, and from other information about both your eating habits. There is a twenty percent chance that you have eaten anything slightly near the amount Cole has consumed. Ten percent being-"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it, Zane, you don't have to hurt my pride more." Jay insisted, cutting off Zane with a wave of his hand in the Nindroids direction. Zane frowned before he turned away from the two, and moved towards the sink where he collected all the dishes. 

"I don't understand why you two believe the consumption of the most nutrients, is something to be made into a competition," Zane commented, his words less chipper than they had been moments ago. "You could harm yourselves by consuming too much that you get yourselves sick, or consume too much of a substance and damage yourselves."

"Well, then we'll have to be careful," Jay said, shrugging, walking towards a chair and sitting down on it, folding his arms on one of the legs placed against his chest.

"Yeah, plus, if we get hurt, it'll be our fault anyway," Cole chimed in, sitting on the table with his feet swinging below him as he watched Zane. "We're just a couple of competitive dumbasses."

Zane continued to wash dishes, silent. Cole sat there for a moment, wondering if Jay had interrupted the ice ninja a bit too harshly, that being the cause of the Nindroid’s silence. That was debunked, however, when Zane's shoulders fell as he let out a sigh of defeat. 

"I know," Zane replied, turning around and leaning on the side of the kitchen sink, a sponge in hand scrubbing a big white mixing bowl. "I'm just concerned for your well being, especially after Cole's appetite last month." He gave Cole a pointed look. "You could have gotten ill after devouring all of those burritos." 

Cole let out an airy chuckle as he brushed a hand through his hair, looking away from the look he was being given. Ah, yes, he almost forgot the lecture the ice ninja had given him afterward.

"You made a point there, I doubt Jay could eat that much without getting a major stomach ache," Cole noted, laughing at Jay's insulted face as he quickly looked back to Cole. Zane laughed too, a smile on his lips again as he turned away and placed the white bowl down on the other side of the divided sink with other soapy dishes.

Time flew after that, Cole had stayed in the kitchen with Zane and Jay since they had nothing better to do than talk, jabbing jokes at each other. Zane had spent most of his day cooking and reading a new book he'd gotten, named Sunrays of Serenity. It was a poem book that someone had recommended to him at the library one day, saying it was something Zane should read. It seemed to be something that the ice ninja could try and think about. Zane said it had plenty of hidden meanings and was chock-full of phrases, giving Zane material to analyze and ponder about, unlike the science and machine books he'd usually borrow. 

 Jay, on the other hand, had spent his day with his girlfriend Nya, building and brainstorming new ideas that they could work on together, or by themselves. The two were in love with constructing and understanding machines, and most of the time, worked well with each other, taking turns fixing things around the place and talking things out. The two were the perfect match in Cole's opinion, for more than one reason, of course, even if he did place a wedge in between them at one point. Cole's anger had gotten the best of him, creating one of his least proud moments, but one that he regrets every day.

It's also something Cole had recognized over the years when being with his team, actually, since Nya is stubborn and her brother Kai is short-tempered, Jay being the embodiment of an unpredictable explosion. Cole, however, he was just angry. That's all it was for him. The earth ninja wasn't headstrong unless it was necessary, he wasn't gruff, having things irritate him quickly and he wasn't inconstant. He felt angry from time to time, like an itch under his skin that wouldn't go away. It was often bothersome and only made him more upset when he realized the feeling. 

He wished it would go away.

The notebook he had been doodling in before, holds pieces of what he lets out of his anger, at least the ones captured on paper, that is. Drawing himself engulfed by green and black, or standing in a battlefield of fallen enemies, him standing above them all. Cole even once drew a picture of himself standing in front of a mirror, his reflection showing something dark and fiery on the other side, like a melted creature representing how Cole viewed his rage. The journal wasn't even for merely his anger. He had pictures of his family lying dead upon the ground, his team being a part of his family, while he kneeled with them, the only one alive out of everyone he ever cared for. His slightly better pictures, like when he drew himself treading on lily pads, the pastel colors, conflicting with his dark gi and skin, revealing his misplacement in tranquil environments. His happier pictures, which were always sweet, were drawings of his friends happy or doing activities. 

Ones where he drew Lloyd sitting in a field of flowers seeming serene, his shoulders no longer tense, his jaw no longer clenching and eyes showing no sign of the constant sorrow they hold. He had sketches too, like ones of Jay sitting over his workshop, tools scattered every which way. Kai and Nya asleep on the couch, her head on Kai's shoulder.

One of Cole's favorites by far, though, were the drawings of the landscapes of the places he's been to as a ninja. They always seemed to come out steady and how Cole had meant them to look, which is hard to do because there is something that comes out wrong each time. There would be times where Cole had paintings of his team where they're poses were wonky, their eyes different from the left, or he accidentally colored with the wrong color. But, the landscapes and places never had the same problems.

What was strange to Cole, was that he would have never guessed that when Sensi Wu had handed him the large red covered journal, when the group split up, that he would confide in it to express himself, when he didn't feel like training. Cole had usually just trained to let out all his emotions, not finding another outlet for them to flow. He was thankful to Wu for giving him another place to let everything go. It often helped him when he woke up from his constant nightmares. 

"Hey, ya'll," A familiar voice said, breaking Cole from his thoughts as he was listening to Jay think out loud about making a mechanical dog for him and Nya, instead of going out and buying a dog, and Zane informing him of what that choice would intel. The earth ninja looked to the doorway along with Jay, seeing white blonde hair and emerald green eyes, accompanied by a green gi. "The others were wondering if you guys started dinner yet, or not."

Cole didn't have an answer for Lloyd, he had been trying to avoid looking at Zane in fear of staring like a crush infused creep. But when Cole looked over to Zane, who was wearing a pink apron now, he was about to answer their leader without even looking up from the pot he was stirring, reading the poem book. When did he even start cooking again? Did Cole really get that wrapped up in Jay's talk on robo-dogs, and his own thoughts? Well then, at least he gets to eat soon.

"Dinner is not quite finished, but it should be in a few more moments," Zane stated, raising the scoop from the pot, where Cole sat, he could see baby shrimp, noodles, and various spices before Zane took a sip, tasting his soup. The ice ninja placed the spoon back in the large pot, he continued to stir as he picked up a salt shaker and added some salt. "I would recommend rounding everyone up and having them sit at the table. It should be done when everyone has a bowel ready and is seated properly."

Lloyd nodded his head in acknowledgment, gesturing for Cole and Jay to follow him. The two did instantly, joining him in the hall, Lloyd asked for Jay to go get Nya, and Cole to go get Kai, while Lloyd went to see if Sensi Wu and his mother, Misako, wanted to join them. Cole split from the small group, and after Kai, the fire ninja was likely blacksmithing locally at Herald's Shop, a place just down from where the whole crew stayed. Cole summoned his earth elemental dragon, Heath, and quickly made his way to the small shop, jumping off his dragon and into the shop without knocking, knowing Kai was most likely expecting someone to come in. 

"Hey there," Kai greeted, sticking a long metal thing into a barrel of water, steaming rising quickly, loud sizzling in the air around them. Kai had more long metal poles on one of his tables, each one having some sort of difference engraved on them that Cole didn't care to examine right now, but, even from afar, Kai's work was still beautiful. "Is it that time already?"

Cole cocked a crooked smile at the fire ninja. "Apparently so," Cole went over closer to Kai, who was taking off his blacksmithing wear, a pair of gloves, a dark apron, and a face protection mask. "Ready to leave your things here and get some food?"

Kai chuckled, picking up all the engraved poles and setting them to the side safely, including the one he had witnessed get placed in the barrel. After Kai cleaned up his place in the shop, he thanked the owner and said he'd come back tomorrow, the man just waving him off as he continued to read a magazine. 

The two made their way back to their home swiftly, talking about how they enjoyed being able to do their hobbies or favorite activities a lot more, but how much of a hassle it was to handle all that time given to them. As they walked into the hallway, Kai said that he had finished at least three of the poles the earth ninja had seen, telling him that they were going to be put up somewhere on or in their home. Cole found that impressive, Kai had been a terrible blacksmith before, his forges were, as Nya once stated, a wet spaghetti noodle. After regularly practicing in his free time, he rose up to the title of a blacksmith.

The rest of the day was spent with the whole team, Sensi Wu, and Misako after Kai and Cole arrived in the kitchen. All of them chatted together, the table crowded, loud, and noisy every which way. To Cole though it, was just one big family get together at the end of the day, talking their head off while enjoying food. It was comforting, to say the least, Cole was used to large group dinners, his father's job as a famous dancer meant big parties of all types.

Soon as the conversations died down and people were getting full, Zane took the job of picking up the dishes along with Misako, who helped him. People started leaving one by one, saying their goodnights, each one headed off for bed, soon Cole did too. Everything in Cole's life seemed perfect to other people's eyes, as it should have been, nothing but training, drawing, and family times. Sadly, that wasn't at all the case.

Not one bit.

[getthebutters]

Endless, Dry, Ashy, Sandpaper Skin? Stop Everything and read this!

If you're black, you've likely been worried about ashy ankles, elbows, and knees since you were knee high to a grasshopper. If you're brown, I know you likely know, too. If you're tan, olive skinned, white or lighter you may be confused but make no mistake, you get ashy too! But no matter what your skin tone, it's unlikely you know exactly what causes ashiness beyond dry skin. If you keep reading, you'll find out exactly what ashiness is, the cause, solution, and prevention. You're also gonna find out ashiness is a lot more complicated than you thought.

 What is ashiness?

Ashiness is an AAVE term that refers to the dull, ashen state skin can take on under some circumstances. For clarity, we’re referring to literal grey ash like from charcoal or burned wood. Typically, you'll see it all over after a hot shower, after swimming in chlorinated, hard, or salt water. Areas exposed to air are more prone to this than places covered by clothing. It's also common in strange places like webbing between fingers/toes, elbows, knees, ankles, heels, and even genitals.

You may not notice it unless you lightly scratch your skin if you have a lighter skin complexion. Give it a try. If your skin flakes slightly, or becomes lighter under your fingernails, you ashy my friend.

 What causes ashiness?

You might've guessed this but ashiness is a symptom of xerosis or dry skin. The research (which is sadly limited) says folks with “African genetics” tend to have this specific kind of xerosis which results in lightening of the outer most layer of skin. But I have a hunch that we only really notice it in darker skin. Silly scientists.

Each layer of skin and the flesh underneath are all different tones and colors resulting in your unique skin coloration. The inner most layer is where melanin and skin color is made. When the outer protective layers become thick and dry, it prevents light from getting through or reflecting off. And that is ashiness.

 Is ashiness a problem?

Yes, and a big one! Beyond aesthetics, ashiness and xerosis/dry skin in general is incredibly bad for your skin's long-term health. Unlike eczema, psoriasis, dandruff, or dermatitis, there's no infection, inflammation or damage being done to the skin directly. But, just like leather, dry skin is much easier to damage. In fact, when you do the scratch test, you're checking your skin's durability. You will even notice more discomfort when scratching dry skin.

Dry skin also prevents skin's natural functioning. Without retaining both lipids (fats/oils/butters) and water our skin can't exfoliate itself effectively. Layers and layers of skin impact on themselves becoming thick and impenetrable. This effect is most noticeable on our feet and palms - called calluses and corns. But it happens in patches all over the body and it stops your skin from keeping moisture or receiving the nutrients you may try to apply topically.

This is especially important if you suffer from a skin condition such as eczema, psoriasis, dermatitis, etc. Dry skin can exacerbate these issues and can even be the cause of it due to bacteria being able to get in because your skin doesn't have the moisture it needs. Your skin needs your help to keep repairing itself as it should!

Earlier I mentioned places like webbing between fingers/toes, elbows, knees, ankles, heels, and genitals are common problem areas: the skin is trying to protect itself from friction and damage - just like on feet and hands. 

 How to prevent ashiness?

Get The Butters is the obvious answer. But a more democratic answer is to cleanse, exfoliate, moisturize, and seal. That sounds complicated but it can be done in these simple steps:

 1.       Wash yo ass WITH a cotton wash cloth, hot water, AND soap. Washing with a cotton cloth adds a gentle exfoliation every time you wash, and soap captures all dirt and grime that inhibits proper skin function. Make sure to wash all your skin, including hard to reach areas and often forgotten ones like legs, behind the ears, between toes/fingers, gooch/taint. I mean every inch of you.

2.       Leave the shower and immediately apply an oil, lotion, butter, or Butters.

3.       Air dry or gently pat with a towel, DO NOT rub. Rubbing can add unnecessary irritation to skin.

 General tips:

1.       Wear primarily natural fabrics like cotton, silk, & wool. 

2.       Sweat more to clear your pores and restore skin pH. Make sure to rinse off the sweat and gunk though, not washing this off adds to more issues such as face/body acne.

3.       Consistency is key. Once you're on a roll, you will be able to skip a day or two and be fine. But try to stick with it as regularly as possible.

  If you're bougie like me, you can be extra, and I encourage that.

1.       Soak your skin in a bath or shower for a few minutes before washing.

2.       Wash with a cotton wash cloth, shower puff, or other utensil. Use hot water and your favorite Tres Butters Body Cleanser Bar. I really like the Daily Cleanser Bar because it has clay and charcoal for extra cleansing and skin softness. Make sure to wash all your skin. 

3.       Physically exfoliate rough areas with your favorite body scrub. I like the Coffee X Sea Salt or Black Ice scrubs because they smell and feel so good!

4.       Hit your skin with cold water for a few seconds to help stop water loss.

5.       Leave the shower and immediately apply your favorite Butters. Thicker is better. I prefer the Anti-Aging Body Moisturizer because it they Hyaluronic acid is gonna grab all that water and bind it to my skin for the whole day. But all Butters will seal it in and provide nourishment on top of protection.

6.       Air dry for a few minutes before getting dressed.

7.       Add your favorite parfum such as Devil Dick to your pulse points, since fragrance is also best applied right after a shower.

 Can't I just exfoliate it all away?

Well, kinda yes. It’s a combination of moisture & conditioning along with BOTH kinds of exfoliation that make things work best. You can't just scrub your way to healthy skin, you'll do more damage than harm. When you chemically exfoliate with acids like hyaluronic, citric, malic, & lactic, which dissolve vs slough off dry/dead skin, you're often being gentler and breaking down harder to remove areas of gunk. In fact, that's partially why using oils on your skin is so important they are technically classified as fatty acids. So, by themselves they help dissolve certain things on your skin.

See, I told you ashiness was more complicated than you thought. Share this post with someone who needs to erase their ashiness or who would find this interesting. Don't tell them which lol.

[aelaer]

So I have a request: A Stephen who, in the Canon compliant universe, returns to the Sanctum for the first time in 5 years, breaks down and is completely devastated and exhausted from everything that happened. And then a time skip, to Stephen now having moved on, in acceptance. He may still feel a little guilty, but is immensly thankful for intimately knowing the beautiful souls who sacrificed themselves and resolved to cherish and celebrate their lives with their friends and family.

So my goal for this was to keep it under 1500 words. I completely failed that goal.

But that is what I am going to attempt to do with my ask prompts (should I get any more in the future), mostly because I have three multi-chapter stories completely spiraling out of control (and a fourth that needs its last chapter completed) and I will never get my Stephen Strange bingo card done by November if I keep on writing these super long things for every square XD

I’m not terribly pleased with the ending but oh well. Nothing was coming for days and I figured I sat on this for long enough.

Fill for @stephenstrangebingo​ square ‘It’s not your fault’. Warning for canon compliance and my obsessive need to explain away plot-holes with magic-science for a few paragraphs before actually addressing the prompt :P

Title: Black TagRating: GenPairings: NoneWord count: About 3k

The sun was setting over a celebratory New York City when Stephen came again to the New York Sanctum after five years gone. The powers that surrounded the building muffled the cheers and shouts and crying out on Bleecker Street from all the locals, unaware that the man who had helped instigate all their suffering was within the neighborhood.

It had been well over thirty hours since he had come back with the rest of the Disappeared. He was done with giving his report to the other Masters of Kamar-Taj and done with his part in what immediate reorganization was needed for their order. They had finally let him go to rest; he was alone. Wong, for instance, was still settling things as one of those who had survived the Decimation, and still helping others come to terms with what had passed.

And now, now all Stephen could think of was bed. He had washed up a bit in Kamar-Taj, thankfully, for he did not know if he would have had the stamina to do it now. The Cloak more-or-less carried him to his room as his body trembled, complete exhaustion overwhelming his entire being. He fell asleep near instantly.

It wasn’t until twelve hours later, as the dawn broke through his (unnatural) window to an untarnished view of the eastern coastline, that his exhaustion had dimmed to weariness and his mind had time to sort through everything that had happened.

Stephen had not spent his five years gone idle; unlike most other souls that were caught within the Soul Stone due to Thanos, he had an awareness of consciousness due to his connection to the Mystic Arts that made him able to utilize his time, even if time was not something he could feel passing. In those five years he had drawn power from the Soul Stone, a continuous draw into his own spirit to prepare for what he had to do upon his return.

(He knew, of course, that the Stone’s housing was disintegrated into atoms back in 2018. However, its raw energy was not actually gone, just scattered like the rest of the Infinity Stones. The first rule of thermodynamics was something Thanos did not consider, or maybe he did not care so long as that power was not easily obtainable for some time to come. In the end, he supposed it really didn’t matter.)

When he came to on Titan once more, he spared a minute briefly explaining the situation to the others, then asked for complete silence as he got them back to Earth, and more; for he had taken his borrowed energy to send a mental message to all warriors across the universe that he had found within the Soul Stone: The one who sent you away for five years must be defeated. Prepare for battle.

And then he made portals. So many fucking portals, portals he had no business having the ability to create, portals connected to the locations of those warriors across the universe, portals created with the power of the Soul Stone accumulated over five years and fully spent over the course of five minutes.

It was a damned miracle he had anything left in him for battle, but the Soul Stone was unlike any power source he had ever used before, including the Time Stone. Channeling the energy of Infinity Stones was unique to the standard rules of magic already, but the Soul Stone’s power was— indescribable.

So he had been able to battle. To hold himself up. And to watch as people from all over the universe, both the newly resurrected and those that had lived in a broken world, were slaughtered by Thanos’s armies. Slaughtered and with no way to return, not this time; he had used the Time Stone once to reverse death, and he had paid the price with several (hundreds, thousands) of his own deaths.

But the fabric of reality surrounding the battlefield was already torn by the combined actions of both the Avengers and Thanos, and it would tear even further with the final sacrifice; to use the Stones again at that moment, even one, was to rip the threads of the universe to pieces.

And so the dead remained dead.

Even though Stephen knew this, knew the logic behind his actions, knew that in triage situations, some people got the black tag—  it did not stop his stomach from twisting into a knot as he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling and weighed down by the consequences of his actions.

In the silence and loneliness of the Sanctum, even while logic echoed in his head, guilt settled in the depths of Stephen’s core and began to make a home there.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Despite pretending everything was okay and despite going through the motions of his duties, the guilt grew into a beast that swiftly consumed Stephen’s being. He felt little need to eat and his sleep was plagued with new nightmares that caused him to work himself into exhaustion (and thus dreamless nights).

By the time Tony’s funeral arrived, he had lost several pounds and the raccoon eyes were becoming more prominent. A small glamour spell helped conceal that, but still Wong looked at him with thinly-veiled concern.

“Are you sure that the invitation was not just for you?” Stephen asked as he found a suit, miraculously still intact after years (literally years) of no wear.

“Of course I’m sure,” Wong said slowly, his voice carefully even. “You were mentioned by name.”

“Ah.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be ready in time, then.”

Wong was still looking at him with that expressionless and yet all-knowing look, so Stephen turned away and went to the ensuite bathroom to avoid uncomfortable questions. They didn’t have time to prod into that right now.

After all, it would be rather rude of him to be late to the funeral of a man he had black tagged.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

His lack of regular meals and general lack of care for eating was a new thing for him in this post-Thanos world (but he just didn’t have time for such trivial pursuits as food, not when he had five years to catch up on and a very damaged border between realities to monitor, to attempt to repair). Stephen got away with not really eating anything substantial for two weeks after Tony’s funeral.

Apparently someone (probably Wong) noticed this and the trend came to an abrupt halt. 

It started with the steward of the New York Sanctum. The steward’s role fulfilled the very real need of seeing to the general care and maintenance of the very magical and rather finicky building; it could only be fully overseen by a fully-trained disciple while its Master was dealing with the mystical threats in their part of the world. Stephen’s steward had been snapped into oblivion at the same time as he and was replaced with someone who spoke very little English. He remained at the post after the return of the Disappeared and generally avoided him, which was all well and good for Stephen. However, two weeks after the funeral, his steward was suddenly transferred to London (with no input asked from him either, the nerve) and the London steward came to New York.

His new steward was a woman: Italian, about sixty years old, five feet tall, and potentially the scariest woman he had ever met.

If anyone ever discovered his thoughts on the matter, they might wonder how that was possible when Stephen had been under the tutelage of the Ancient One. To him, she was the most powerful woman he had ever known, but he did not equivocate power with terror.

Ludovica Guerriero, on the other hand, was downright frightening. She seemed nice on first meeting; he learned she had come to be a part of the order a year after the Decimation, for all her children and grandchildren had been lost in that event (and with that story his guilt buried itself deeper into his soul). Unlike some of the new recruits who left for their families once they returned, Ludovica stayed on; she liked keeping busy and could ‘go visit the family whenever I want to, anyway’.

At first it was fine. Her first day there, she rearranged things her way while Stephen beat back some inter-dimensional boggarts and sealed a rip between dimensions in Guatemala. When he portaled back to the Sanctum, something that could only be called Italian was permeating the halls that led to the kitchen with a rich mix of smells. Unwittingly, his stomach growled.

He stepped towards the kitchen, then paused. He did not have time to sit down and eat if he wanted to finish his research before his body ultimately gave out on him. But as he started towards the stairs, Ludovica’s voice came to him with, “Doctor Strange? Is that you?”

Stephen sighed quietly and then called, “It’s me.” He took the few remaining steps towards the kitchen and halted at the doorway. “Smells good, Mrs Guerriero.”

“I’m glad you think so. I thought I’d do something special for my first night in New York for our dinner.”

Best to tell her immediately of his plans. “Actually, I—”

She continued on as if he hadn’t said a thing. “This was my nonna’s recipe. Parmigiana di melanzane with tomato, aubergine, the freshest mozzarella cheese; all ingredients picked up in my home town today.”

He blinked, momentarily sidetracked. “Sorry, uh, aubergine?”

Her brow furrowed. “Is that not the right word? It is melanzane, you know—” She cut herself off and pulled a stem with only part of the purple fruit remaining upon it. “This plant.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, that’s an eggplant.”

“Eggplant? What a strange name.” She started dishing out the bake. “Would you mind setting the table, doctor?”

“I…” he started in protest, but the look she gave him was so sweet and imploring and kind. It reminded him of his grandmother from when he was young. He exhaled slowly; so much for his plans. “Sure.”

And that parmigiana di melanzane was really fucking delicious. It had no right to be that good.

About a week later, when he realized he had somehow been corralled to the dinner table every night since her arrival (and was a couple pounds heavier because of it), Stephen Strange realized that, underneath that sweet exterior, Ludovica Guerriero was an emotionally manipulative mastermind that knew exactly what to say to get him to do exactly what she wanted. This was absolutely terrifying.

Stephen was going to kill Wong.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Despite the terrible emotional manipulation being forced upon his person regarding (incredibly delicious) food, Stephen somehow maintained the status quo with his duties for five weeks after the funeral. He would work himself to utter exhaustion and only then find some rest (though even with this method the nightmares came on occasion, when he was just not exhausted enough, in his opinion).

(The part of his mind well-versed in psychology laughed incredulously at that line of thinking. He told that part of his mind to shut up and mind its own business, then threw himself in his work again.)

But eventually it all came crashing down. Of course it did; that was his life the last… however many years. Two or seven depending on how one counted.

The most embarrassing part was the situation that ended up being the straw that broke the camel’s back. It was stupid, completely irrelevant, and shouldn’t have even happened, but here he was.

It went like this:

Ludovica was out for the day with her family in Italy, Wong was over to discuss things, and they were both hungry. Neither of them felt like cooking, so.

“What do you want to eat?” Stephen asked as his glamour spell transformed his robes to something more normal for New York. “Pizza? Sandwiches? Thai? Something else?”

Wong thought for a moment. “I wouldn’t say no to a tuna melt.”

Stephen stilled his steps; that sounded familiar. Why did that sound familiar? It was just a sandwich—

‘I’ll tell the guys at the deli. Maybe they’ll make you a metaphysical ham on rye.’

Stephen blinked and placed a hand against the wall to steady himself. He heard Wong say, “Stephen?” but it sounded muffled and distant.

‘A… buck and a half,’ Wong admitted.

He sighed. ‘What do you want?’

Wong clapped his hands together and followed him down the rest of the stairs. ‘I wouldn’t say no to a tuna melt.’

The crash of breaking glass and wood, emitting a sound loud enough to almost contest the car accident.

Bruce Banner. Tony Stark. Thanos is coming. Ebony Maw. We swore an oath to protect the Time Stone with our lives. Fourteen million, six hundred and five. 

One.

“…en. Look at me, Stephen. You’re in the New York Sanctum Sanctorum. You’re safe. The cloak wants to reach out to you, Stephen, but I batted it away until you can look at me. You’re safe.”

Wong’s words managed to break through the cacophony of madness splitting his mind and he gasped as he focused his eyes on Wong. At some point he had ended up on the floor. His heart attempted to beat itself out of his chest.

When they made eye contact, Wong said without breaking it, “You can rest on him, but get back if his heart rate increases.” Then he continued, as the cloak gently settled itself on Stephen’s shoulders, “Copy my breathing, Stephen. Inhale… and exhale. Good, just like that. Again, inhale… and exhale. Again.”

His breathing evened out and his heart rate eventually slowed to something approaching normal, and Stephen was finally able to manage words. “Where—  where did you—  learn how to do—  do that?”

Wong didn’t answer. Rather, he asked, “Can I help you off the floor?”

Still in a daze he nodded his acquiescence, and Wong took an elbow and forearm and hoisted him up with the assistance of the cloak. He led Stephen to one of the smaller, quieter parlours within the Sanctum and sat him down in a comfortable chair. “I’ll be right back.”

'Right back’ was certainly not immediate, but Stephen lost track of time and Wong seemed to return nearly instantly, this time with a couple fresh cups of tea. He did not attempt to give it to Stephen, but rather set it down beside him. Clearly he saw just how badly his hands were trembling.

Wong took a seat across from him and brought his own cup to his lips. He said nothing as Stephen further calmed his heart rate and the tremors in his hands became less prominent.

Several minutes of silence later, Stephen murmured, “Sorry.”

“I knew it would happen sooner or later,” was Wong’s answer. Stephen swallowed and said nothing. “You cannot continue going on like this.”

Stephen’s instinctive reaction was denial, but he could feel Wong’s eyes on him and his retort fell before it could even begin. “There’s too much to do,” he said instead.

“There always is,” was Wong’s reply.

The silence sat between them again when Wong did not expound further and Stephen battled against a myriad of emotions within his own mind. He tried to distract himself with tea, but the shaking in his hand was too prominent, too debilitating, so he withdrew it.

Another two minutes passed. “I have been given another chance in this world,” he tried instead. “All my efforts should go to protecting it.”

Wong eyed him expressionlessly. “Your efforts have gone above and beyond most. They have seen the resurrection of all life that was unjustly taken five years ago.”

“Those were not my efforts,” Stephen argued. “That was the Avengers.”

“And you set them on that path.”

The tremors increased. He swallowed heavily. “My efforts caused the entire universe to suffer for years. My efforts brought an intergalactic war to Earth’s soil. My efforts brought chaos and despair that led to so much death.” His voice broke on that last word and he turned his head away from Wong.

Wong permitted him a moment before speaking again. “I was told it was over fourteen million futures you saw.” A shudder ran through Stephen in reply. “At what point did you see this future?”

He swallowed. “Somewhere around four million.”

“And you searched another ten million after.”

His hands would not stop their violent shaking. He loosely gripped at the cloak and it curled around his hand. “I’m not—  I’ve done triage before,” he started. “Battle of New York. We didn’t have the resources to—  to save everyone. We had to pick our cases. Before the accident, it was one of the most difficult moments of my life.

“But this reality was—  it was too much to ask. There were too many black tags. I knew there… there were hundreds of millions of permutations. Maybe billions. But I could not sustain the strength needed to search further. I was not… not strong enough.” And to his horror, he felt tears falling from his eyes. He could not look at Wong.

“Stephen. Stephen, look at me.” Reluctantly, after a brief moment, he turned his face towards him. Wong’s steadfast look was blurred by the unwanted tears. “You are the strongest man I have ever known. What you did no other human being could have accomplished.” Stephen’s gaze lowered. “And you must remember: you saw the paths of the future, but you did not control its course. Everyone had their own free will to make the choices they made; they knew death was a real possibility, but they chose to fight.”

Another shudder ran through his entire body and he felt the cloak increase its pressure against him ever so slightly. He placed his face in his trembling hands and just tried to get a grip.

He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Stephen,” Wong muttered.

His tenuous grasp on his emotions completely broke. Another full body shudder ran through him before an ugly sob broke past his lips. Once it started, it was as if a dam had been broken; all his grief and guilt released itself then, the all-encompassing pain overwhelming his entire being. Even as he wept and mourned everything that had been lost, the cloak carefully curled about him and Wong remained a silent, steadfast presence at his side. His hand never left his shoulder.

And with the brick wall he had put about his heart finally breaking down, Stephen began to take his first steps towards recovery.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“Oh, Doctor, you have mail.”

Stephen looked up from the tome to stare at Ludovica. “Mail? As in… from the mailbox?”

“Where else does mail come from?” she answered with a soft tut. He took the envelope from her and she left the study.

He frowned at the address. Upstate New York. What was in upstate New York? He carefully opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

Oh. They finished rebuilding the Avengers compound. And… a celebration. A memorial, for Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, and all those who gave their lives over a year ago.

And he, Wong, and any sorcerer who wished to attend were invited to celebrate their lives.

Stephen’s eyes grew distant for a moment as his mind went back to that day. The ache was still there, but it did not consume him anymore. It had joined the other poignant, bittersweet reminders of days past, of those gone but still within living memory.

He softly exhaled before standing to head down the hall to Kamar-Taj. He was sure there were many who would be interested in attending, and to remember those gone so that they would not be forgotten.

——

A/N: Someone with the dedicated duty of basically babysitting Sanctums while their Masters fight off things was lovingly borrowed from keshwyn on AO3. Her series of one-shots around this figure are super super super gorgeous, go read them. Wonderful character development (I’ll write a proper fic rec soon)

(had to save it as jpg because for some reason it’s not letting me save as a png on photoshop atm? ugh)(and formatting should be fixed double ugh)

[takadasaiko]

Second Chances Chapter Eleven

FFN II AO3

Chapter Summary: Pepper and Peggy take Morgan into town to give the boys a chance to sort a few things out. It does not go as hoped.

Chapter Eleven

The moment that Pepper had taken Morgan and Peggy into town Tony had slipped back to his workshop. With Cap there he didn't have to worry about keeping Howard where he could see him and could fully focus on the task at hand. He wanted a good handle on what they were looking at before dragging the kid into it. The deeper he got into the formula, though, the more he was convinced he needed someone more geared towards chemistry to help get this done quickly. Peter was a good choice. Possibly the best choice. Heaven knew the teen was always eager to help.

With a quiet place to work and no distractions to speak of, Tony didn't surface from his research until hours later. He checked his messages to find one from Pep with a photo of Morgan covered in ice cream wearing that shit-eating grin that Pepper swore she inherited from him and a quick message saying they were having fun and not to wait up. He felt a smile tug at his own lips and rubbed at his eyes, checking the time. He'd been late on every meal that day. Why should dinner be any different?

He was met by the sound of laughter and the smell of food as he stepped into the house. Dark brows drew together as he followed it in to find Howard perched on the kitchen table, feet on the stool in front of him and a beer in his hand, and Cap mid-sentence about something that had to do with a man named Phillips. Behind him on the counter was the evidence that the super soldier had raided Tony's kitchen and there was something in the oven. "Whatcha doin'?" the younger man drawled, effectively redirecting both of their attentions on him.

"Hey, you were so caught up in the Pym Particles that I threw something together. Hope you don't mind. The girls said they'd be late."

"Got the message," Tony answered slowly, his smile a little hesitant. It was weird. His dad and Steve hanging out at his place. It was weird.

Howard hopped from his perch and moved to the fridge like he was perfectly comfortable in the space. He pulled a third beer out and slid it across the table between them. "Cap makes a mean shepherds pie. Didn't Dugan eat a whole one once?"

"He did."

"Damn that man could eat," Howard chuckled. "And drink. He came out to my place in California once and I had to restock after he left."

Cap grinned at that. "I can picture it."

Howard turned, motioning to the beer Tony hadn't touched. "If you tell me these are Pepper's I'm gonna call you a liar. I can't picture that woman drinking beer."

Tony snorted a laugh at that one, finally taking the offered drink and he popped the top off. "In all the years I've known her I saw her drink one and I think that's why I haven't seen it since."

"Wine fan?"

"Martini."

"Classy," Howard said with a grin, and motioned between Tony and Steve. "So, I bet you guys have some good stories."

"Remember the part where we're limiting your knowledge of your future?" Steve pointed out and Howard snorted.

"Are you telling me there's a current-day me running around out there? Hell. I'd be over a hundred years old. C'mon. Something from after I bit the dust?"

Tony rounding the table to find a place to lean, his early morning starting to wear on him, and he shot Cap a look. The blond man shrugged. "There was about a year in there that we all lived and worked out of Stark Tower in New York City after Hydra…. showed back up on our radar."

"Those bastards just don't take the hint, do they?" Howard grumbled and Tony was halfway to making the comment when Steve shot him a glare and cut him off.

"It's been years. Drop it."

"It doesn't get old."

"It really does."

"What's that?" Howard asked and Tony flashed Cap a grin.

"Nothing. Just giving Cap hell."

"Some things never change," Steve murmured, but his tone bordered on affectionate. "What about one of the stories from when you flew us over occupied Europe? Tony said he hadn't heard about you with the Howling Commandos."

"I'll make a mental note to fix that failed choice," Howard promised.

"I heard some," Tony said and motioned at Cap. "Most of them were just centered around you."

"Probably because they bailed out at the jump points," Howard offered as Steve turned to grab the food. "Poland was the only one I was on the ground for."

Steve stiffened at that one and Tony tilted his head curiously. "Okay. Now I have to ask."

"Then I'm going to need something stiffer. Your liquor cabinet was locked though."

"We do have a five-year-old," Tony reminded him as he walked over to the cabinet and tapped the code in. He reached for a bottle of bourbon in the back. "So what's the story?"

"Howard crashed the plane. Only reason he was on the ground with us. Where are your plates?"

Tony pointed to the shelf as Howard shot Steve an offender look. "The blown engines from nazis shooting at us might have had something to do with it. I dare you to find another pilot on the planet that coulda made that landing."

"Maybe Tony," Steve offered. "He brought a quinjet down when I thought we'd finally had it once."

"Hey," Tony snapped, looking over at him. "You said you didn't question me for a second."

"Apparently my poker face is getting better. Who's hungry?"

Tony knew what Cap was doing, and as much as he knew he should probably fight it he couldn't seem to drum up the willpower. There was something nice about sitting around eating and having a drink or two with his father as a man he had come to consider a close friend, despite everything that had happened between them. He took a seat at the table and caught Howard's eye. "So how'd you bring it down?"

He didn't think he'd ever seen Howard look more excited than he did in that moment.

                                                     ___________

Peggy hadn't been sure exactly what she expected from her afternoon out with the Stark girls. Afternoon bled into evening, though, and she found herself enjoying every moment of it. Pepper was everything Peggy had thought she might be at first glance and more. Clever, poised, and confident in everything that she did. She was just as comfortable talking about her family and the way that they were raising Morgan as she was the approach she took as the head of Stark Industries. If Howard realized yet that his company was in his daughter-in-law's hands rather than his son's, she wasn't sure, but she was certain that they seemed to be very capable hands.

The town was full of little shops and places to duck into. The boys had scrounged some relatively decent clothes for her to wear in the past week, but Pepper helped her find something she was actually comfortable in. Vintage, she called it, but Peggy felt more comfortable in them than she had since she'd arrived.

Between fittings and different shops - including ice cream and a trip to Morgan's favourite toy store - she and Pepper swapped stories about expectations at their places of work. The ginger woman laughed thinly as she told a story about one of Stark Industry's oldest board members who had popped off to Tony when he'd appointed her CEO. There was some slight about her capabilities and a lewd insinuation about how she got the position. Tony'd had his say, Pepper told her. Tony always had his say, but Pepper had found her own moment to make it absolutely clear to the man exactly what she brought to the table. And then she'd proved it every minute since then.

"Different generation, same men," Peggy groused as they walked through the town square, Morgan running off the sugar rush from the ice cream just a few steps ahead of them.

"I hope we get a little stronger, a little wiser with each generation," Pepper said quietly, her gaze on her daughter. "We can only build off the women that have come before us."

"A lot's happened since my generation," Peggy confirmed. "Every inch was a battle in the SSR. Strangely enough, the battlefield felt more accepting than the aftermath."

"Next time she's on-planet, we need to introduce you to Carol. Before she was Captain Marvel she served in the Air Force. I think you'd like her."

"I'm sure I would."

"Mama, I'm hungry," Morgan said, twirling to a stop in front of them. "Can we have cheeseburgers?"

"What about pizza from that nice little place a couple of streets over."

"Okay, but don't make Aunt Peggy eat the gross stuff. I want to keep her."

Peggy felt a smile tug into place. "Do I get the seal of approval then?"

Morgan turned a look on her. "Yeah, I guess so."

Pepper held a finger up as she dug her phone from the pocket in her dress. That left a pair of bright brown eyes staring up at Peggy, all of that five-year-old Stark curiosity hyper-focused. Peggy offered her a smile. "So I'm Aunt Peggy, am I?"

"You're Uncle Steve's girlfriend, right? I think that makes you Aunt Peggy."

"Well, technically not, but I suppose we'll let the technicality slide if you want it to." She motioned over to the bench on the side of the street and took a seat. The little girl joined her enthusiastically. "Do your parents bring you here often?"

"Sometimes. People like to ask Daddy a lot of questions and he doesn't like it."

"What kind of questions?"

"How he got the stuff on his face," Morgan said, motioning to the right side of her own face. "Lots of other things too. Stuff he doesn't like to talk about."

"Your daddy saved a lot of people, didn't he?"

Morgan looked down to where she was swinging her feet. "I guess so."

"And he came home to you. Not everyone gets that. You must be a very special little girl that he fought so hard to get back to you."

"Yep," she answered and Peggy laughed at that.

"Modest too. You must get that from your grandfather."

"What's modest?"

"When we get back to your house, why don't you ask Howard that? Tell him your Aunty Peggy said to."

"Okay."

Pepper ended her call and started back towards them. "Sorry, Stark Industries has this massive expo coming up that I'd… completely forgotten about, which I was not actually aware I was capable of. I guess having your husband's father travel forward in time and crash with you will do that."

Peggy perked. "What kind of expo?"

"Oh, it's a thing that Tony likes to do. Howard started it, actually."

She thought that might have been it. Peggy smiled brightly. "The Stark Expo, isn't it? I never had the pleasure of going, but the boys told me all about it on one of our outings. Sergeant Barnes said something about a flying car?"

"Mama, Mama, can I have a suit for the expo?" Morgan demanded and Pepper gave her a tight smile like she'd been put on the spot.

"We'll see what Daddy can put together, huh?"

"Can I fly?"

"No."

"Can I shoot beams?"

"You can pretend to shoot beams?"

"Okay!"

Peppery was chuckling at that as she turned her attention back towards Peggy. "It's a big event where inventors all over the country show off. Honestly, the last time we did it it was Tony's ego gone wild. This time… I think it came from the right place. It's the only reason I didn't put my foot down." She motioned and Peggy stood so they could start walking again. "Things have changed a lot in the last few years. Half the universe's population was literally snapped out of existence, and then back in. The adjustment one way and then the other within just a few years has been hard. People need something good to focus on."

"I think it's a lovely idea," Peggy said. "I'd love to go."

The other woman flashed her a bright smile. "I think you should. And who knows, maybe tonight will be good and we can even bring Howard along if he's still here."

"I hope so. Howard is… many things. Certainly not all of them good, but he tries. I can't imagine a world where he'd do any less with Tony growing up."

"I wasn't there. All I know is what Tony's told me, and he…. Wants to believe that. I think he has trouble believing it sometimes, but he wants to."

Peggy made a small sound of acknowledgement. If anyone could bring the two men together, it was Steve. She had to hope things were going well back at the cabin.

                                                    ___________

Peter had thought that Fury might be driving him to some Manhattan SHIELD location, but they hadn't stop until they reached an airport. He had hesitated, but Fury hadn't cared. He didn't get a say as the SHIELD director had handed him a headset and ushered him onto a helicopter.

By the time it was all said and done the sun was sinking in the sky and they were landing a structure that had come up out of the ocean below them. Aunt May was going to kill him. Hell, Mr Stark was going to kill him. He'd warned him about Fury. Told him to turn around and walk away if the man ever approached him. He was pretty sure that this wasn't what his mentor had had in mind.

"Raft Prison," Fury explained through the headset and Peter's attention jerked back around towards him.

"Did I do something wrong?" the teen managed and the older man tilted his head, eye narrowed. He didn't look amused, exactly. Peter wasn't sure he really could get a read on him.

"I want to show you something."

They landed on the helipad below and Peter hesitantly jumped from their ride. Wind whipped around him, the waves crashed against the structure, and his senses were in overdrive. He jumped when Fury put a hand on his shoulder, guiding him.

"Uh… so what is it that you wanted to show me?" he managed as Fury leaned down, lifted his eyepatch, and a scanner took a reading of his blind eye.

He straightened and motioned for Peter to follow. "It's been almost a year since the Avengers managed to snap half of the universe's population back into existence."

"Yeah. I was one of them."

"So was I." He kept walking and Peter had to scurry to keep up. "So was Hill and plenty of others. Some not so great."

They approached another door at the end of the hall and he granted access. Inside was a room full of monitors, computers, and people. If Peter had to place a bet, he'd say they were probably SHIELD agents, even though this was supposed to be a US government owned facility. From what he knew, anyway.

"This facility holds the worst of the worst. Maniacs."

"Isn't this where they put some of the Avengers when the Sakovia Accords were signed?"

"Yes it was. If it can hold Wanda Maximoff, it can hold most anybody." He paused, and Peter questioned if it was for dramatic effect. "Most anybody."

"Director Fury, sir, I'm not sure why I'm here."

"When Banner used the gauntlet to snap everyone back, he didn't just snap the good guys home. The bad came with us." The monitors flickered without Fury even asking them to. A collection of names and faces, some captured, some at large appeared on the screens. "We've spent the last year rounding up who we could, but it's not enough. We need the Avengers."

Peter blinked hard. "Okay… I get that. That makes sense, but why am I the only one here?"

"Stark is out of commission. If it's by his own choice or not doesn't really matter. He's made it very clear in the last year that he has no interest in coming back to the Avenger Initiative, and I suppose the man's served his time."

"Cap's back," Peter offered before really thinking it through. Oops. Maybe Fury didn't know about that. Shouldn't know about that. Shit shit shit….

"With friends. You think they hid that from us?" the spy asked with a shrug. "He's distracted. Romanoff is… gone. Barton refuses to come back. Thor has disappeared into space from what I hear, and Banner has settled into a life as far away from this as he can get. We need someone dependable. Stark thinks your dependable."

"Then why isn't he asking me?"

"He's not. He doesn't know you're here." Well that might have been one of the more honest things to come out of Fury's mouth. "But that doesn't matter. What matters is this -" he motioned at the monitors - "and what's out there. It's time for a new generation to step up. Are you ready?"

"I'm fifteen. Don't you want someone… I don't know? Older? That's been doing the whole superhero gig longer than I have?"

"You're the one Stark trusted when he needed someone. The one he was willing to risk time travel to bring back. You're special, son, and we need you."

Peter swallowed hard, looking back towards the monitors and all of the names of all of the bad guys that hadn't been caught, dangerous faces staring back at him.

                                                    ___________

Howard's grin split wide open as Tony nearly rocked off the stool laughing. "No," he chuckled. "No way."

"I swear I said it."

"And no one can counter it because everyone that was with him is now dead," Steve pointed out.

"Because I make the best kinds of friends," Howard countered. "The ones that come get you when nazi bastards take you hostage."

Steve chuckled at that, shaking his head and taking a long swig of his beer. The other two were feeling it by this point and he wished he could too. Then maybe he could shove back that guilty twinge that kept cropping back up in instigating this. To be fair, he hadn't kept refilling Tony's glass. That was all Howard. He seemed determined to help his son catch up to the happy state he was already living in. "I swear, you and I remember this story so differently."

"How so?" Tony pried.

"Howard seems to remember the funny parts, while I remember the fact that one of my closest friends nearly died."

"Oh, I did not nearly die," Howard groused.

"You were unconscious when we found you. Shot it the back. Did you forget that part?"

"Oh yeah," Howard chuckled tipsily. "That hurt like hell. I mean, you guys said it did, but still... "

"What happened?" Tony pressed again, his expression more concerned now.

Howard waved him off. "They told me to stay put and I didn't. It was fine. I had a clear path out, or would have except for that one kid. Couldn't have been more than eighteen. Maybe younger. I had him talked down until he decided to take the shot when I was halfway outta the door."

"I never knew you'd gotten shot."

Howard leaned forward from where he was sitting on top of the table, his fingers touching just above his hip on his back. "Yep. .38 slug. Revolver." His expression sobered a little. "That armor of yours… How well does it keep a round out?"

"These days it does. I mean, it's not impenetrable, but a bullet's not going to break through. The Mark I wasn't as well designed, but what are you gonna do in an Afghani cave?" Tony took another swig of his bourbon.

That caught Howard's attention. "Afghani cave?"

Tony coughed against his drink and set it down. "Yeah… That's, uh, how all this started."

"Okay, kid, your turn. Tell us a story."

Tony shot Howard a look before giving in. "About fifteen years ago - sixteen, I guess? - I was on a demo out in Afghanistan for a new missile I'd designed. Jerricho. It was the highlight of Stark Industries then and I wanted to show it off, so I went in person." He stopped, and Steve thought he was trying to work through the haze he must have been feeling by this point to make sure he didn't give anything too time-altering away. "I was taken by a group of terrorists and built my first suit to get out." He pulled the collar of his shirt back to show a small scar barely visible through the scarring the stones had left on him. This one looked like it could have been left by a fragment of a bullet. "Only so much you can do with scraps. One made it through. Granted, that was after one of my own missiles went off right in front of me and filled my chest with shrapnel." He tapped the ARC reactor. "That's how I got this at first."

Steve pursed his lips, struggling with if he should ask the questions battering around his mind right then. He'd never heard Tony speak anywhere close to openly about his time in Afghanistan and SHIELD's files were thin at best on it. What had happened in that cave was between him and the ghosts left behind and Steve would have been lying if he said he wasn't curious. Finally he gave. "When you got home?"

"Oh no. In the cave," Tony acknowledged and Steve felt his chest tighten.

Howard reached forward, even as Tony pulled back instinctively. "Let me see?"

Slowly, carefully, Tony undid the buttons of his shirt to show the ARC reactor. Howard leaned in to study it. "In a cave?" he demanded, and Steve thought he was having just as much trouble wrapping his mind around it. "Is this casing here? How deep does it go?"

"Deep enough."

"How the hell did you survive that?"

"I've been told I'm a stubborn bastard."

"No shit."

Tony chuckled roughly at that, his fingers moving over the smooth casing over the reactor. "I had it taken out a few years ago. The shrapnel removed and the casing filed down so that they could put a plate in place and graft some skin over it. Left a hell of a scar, but it was… a promise to Pepper. One I didn't make good on, really. With the exception of nearly dying to save the universe, I've done better at that."

It was Steve's turn to make a small sound of amusement. Leave it to Tony to make a statement like that. Whenever he needed to use something he'd done to make a point, he waved the feat around like a banner. If he were honest, though, if he was laying it out without his usual flair, he waved it off. He'd saved them all and he made a joke about it.

"You've got a good one there," Howard murmured.

"You've got one on the way."

Steve looked over and Tony's expression was distant.

I don't care. He killed my mom.

The words rang out in his mind like he were voicing them right then and there. He'd never met Tony's mom. Never knew her, but he knew Howard, and a woman that was able to balance him out had to be on par with Pepper or maybe even stronger.

Howard gave a real, honest smile at Tony's statement. "Got a good kid on the way as far as I can tell too."

Tony snorted at that, leaning heavily against the table. He winced and Steve couldn't help but notice how he was clenching and unclenching his right hand like it was hurting him. "Wish you'd voiced that over the years," he said softly.

Oh no. No no no. This was exactly what Tony had wanted to avoid. This right here. It was what he was trusting Steve to stop.

The blond cleared his throat. "Tony, have you heard from Peggy and Pepper?"

Howard didn't seem to catch the drift. "What'dya mean?"

Tony looked up, his expression torn as he shook his head. "You don't know. You're not him."

"But I will be. If you tell me I can -"

"You can't fix it," Tony snapped. "You can't fix my screwed up childhood or the fact that I thought you hated me for years. You can't change that, Howard, and even if you could…. Maybe you shouldn't."

"Tony, I had a non-existent at best relationship with my old man. Why wouldn't I do everything I can to make yours and mine better?"

"Because I am who I am because you screwed up," Tony growled and Steve saw Howard physically flinch back at the words. "I was a screw up because of you and because I was a screw up, I ended up in Afghanistan. Because I was in Afghanistan, I became Iron Man. Because I became Iron Man, I saved the world. Not once, but twice. You take me out of the equation and Thanos wins. I fought too hard, I gave up too much to let that happen. I -" He stopped, the grimace pronounced now as he doubled over on the stool, and Steve leapt forward to steady him. "I'm fine," he snarled.

"You don't look fine," Steve murmured softly, not willing to be pushed away. He was worried Tony would tople if he did. The closer he got, the more worried he was. He was paling quickly, his right arm failing him and he was growing more agitated because of it. "Tony?"

"I haven't tested it," he gasped out.

"Tested what?"

"The Extremis mix with a lot of alcohol."

Steve sighed. That would have been good to know.

"Drop the judgement," the dark haired man snapped.

"I'm not… Tony, I'm worried about you. Do I need to get you to a hospital?"

"No, I'm fine. FRIDAY?"

"Scans show your within safe parameters, Boss."

"See?"

"Barely."

"Shut it, FRIDAY."

"Okay. Fine, but let's call it a night, huh? It's late. The girls will be home soon and you -"

"Yeah. Sure. If Cap says it, must be a good call."

Steve did his best not to feel the sting of the sharp retort. He was in pain. That much was becoming more and more obvious. He had to give him space. "You need help getting upstairs or can you make it?"

"I've got it," Tony growled, pushing himself off the seat.

Steve watched, forcing himself to remain where he was as the other man made his way unsteadily towards the stairs and up each one with increasing effort. "Hey FRIDAY?" he asked quietly when he thought Tony was out of earshot.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Could you let me know if he needs help?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Thanks," he huffed, turning back around to the dishes. Might as well clean it up. Tony hated a mess left out.

"I don't know what to do."

Steve turned, finding Howard sitting with his shoulders hunched over.

"I always know what to do."

"This is different."

"I get it's complicated, but I can fix almost anything given time, but this…. I'm not sure I can fix this, Cap. Was I really so bad?"

"I don't know, Howard. I was in the ice," Steve acknowledged softly.

His friend sagged against the table and Steve reached out to put a hand against his shoulder. He couldn't help him. He couldn't help Tony either. The whole thing was a mess.

                                                    ___________

He hadn't given Fury an answer one way or the other. The SHIELD director dropped him back off in Queens, his lego set in hand, and Peter climbed the stairs to his apartment numbly. He'd texted Ned and promised he would explain first chance he got, then he'd texted Aunt May who had not been quite as understanding. At least she'd calmed down by the time he got home and he found her curled up on the couch with a book in hand.

"Hey," he greeted hoarsely.

"Hey yourself. Everything okay?"

"I…." He winced, not sure how to answer that. "I don't know yet."

"Was that Mr Stark that stole you away this afternoon?"

"No. It was… someone else."

"One of the other Avengers?"

"Sort of? I can't…"

She stood, crossing the space between them and suddenly he was being pulled into a hug. "I don't like this, Peter."

"I know, Aunt May."

"But I can't stop you either, can I?"

"Uncle Ben always said that if you could help, you should. I can - I have- done a lot of good."

"And someone wants you to do more, don't they?"

"How did you…?"

"Because I know you," she said with a wink. Her smile was strained and she leaned in and kissed his forehead. "I can't stop you, but I need you to be careful. I need you to be smart."

"I know."

"If you can't tell me about it, talk to Mr Stark. Maybe he can help."

"I'm worried," he confessed softly.

"About what?"

"That if he gets in the middle of it that he'll get hurt again."

Aunt May pulled him into another hug, this one crushing. "He cares about you. As frustrating as that man is, he was willing to give up everything to bring you home. That has to count for something." The teen nodded against her shoulder. "Go call him?"

"Okay," he managed and turned back to his room, tossing the bag down and digging his cell out of his pocket before he took a heavy seat on the bed. He pulled in a deep breath and clicked Mr Stark's name from the speed dial before he could talk himself out of it, holding the phone up to his ear.

It rang once. Twice. Again and again until -

"You know who I am. Leave a message."

The line beeped, signalling Peter to start talking, but he hung up instantly. Aunt May was right. Mr Stark did care about him. He had risked everything to bring him home, and it was because of that that Peter couldn't tell him. He couldn't risk him coming to the rescue like he always did and getting hurt again. Or worse. This time, Peter had to protect Tony.

                                                    ___________

It was late by the time they got home. Morgan fell asleep in her booster on the way back and Pepper had to carry her into the house. "You and Steve are welcome to stay over," she murmured softly to Peggy. "It'd be too late when you got back to Brooklyn."

"Isn't Howard already taking up your guest bedroom?"

"We have two."

They made their way further into the house to find Steve crashed out on the couch. Okay, Peggy could have the spare bedroom to herself. She seemed perfectly alright with that and Pepper sent a very sleepy Morgan upstairs to brush her teeth before bed so that she could get the other guest room ready. Fresh sheets in place and everything set up, she turned to head to bed herself.

"She's my granddaughter."

Pepper looked around at the sudden voice and found Howard sitting at her kitchen table, a bottle of bourbon much more empty than it had begun at the beginning of the evening. "Yes she is."

"I knew that. I mean, here -" he tapped his temple - "but somewhere along the way it actually settled into place. Tony's not just the kid that I will have. He's already been there. Everything's set in stone for him. No changing it."

Oh. Something had happened. Something that she hadn't expected. "You can't change the past just by traveling to it."

"No you can't," Howard Stark chuckled. "You're smart. I see why Tony loves you."

"I'd like to think it's more than just that."

"Yeah."

Pepper frowned a little as she inched forward. "He loves you, you know."

"I messed up."

"You will." He looked up, his expression hurt and she offered a small smile. "Every parent does. I have. Tony has. We all do. It's what we do with that that matters."

"I don't want to be my father."

"You won't be. You'll make your own mistakes, just like Tony makes his." She glanced towards the stairs. "What'd he say?"

"That I screwed him up…. But it made him who he was, and if I changed that he wouldn't be who he is. Who he thinks he needs to be."

That sounded like Tony. "Tony will be Tony. He's…. This is a crazy world we live in. A world that, apparently, has multiple possibilities and branches of the universe that splinter off in every direction with each decision we make. One thing I'm sure of is that Tony remains who he is in every one of them. I've known him too long, through too much to believe anything else."

She found Howard staring at her and she reached forward, a hand on his arm that she hoped was comforting. "Just know that he comes around eventually, and he knows you did your best."

"I didn't get that from him tonight."

"Well, he's human. And when he drinks he acts like an idiot. It's the worst time to ask him about how he feels about things." Howard snorted a soft chuckle and Pepper smiled. "Get some sleep. We'll see you in the morning."

"G'night, Pepper."

She turned, pausing only briefly to check on Peggy who was crouched down next to a half-asleep Steve Rogers on their couch and waved goodnight before making her way upstairs.

Morgan's room was empty, but she had a pretty good idea where the little girl had snuck off to, and she was right. She lay curled up next to her daddy in the king sized bed and snoring softly.

Tony, surprisingly enough, wasn't asleep yet.

Pepper inched her way closer and caught his attention. "Hey."

"Hey," he answered back, his voice raspy.

"I hear you had a rough night."

"I drank too much," he admitted softly. "You pissed?"

"You planning to make a habit of it?"

"No."

"Then I'll let it slide this once." She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You okay?"

"Everything hurts."

Pepper pulled back at the quiet confession and she saw the strain in his expression. She reached down, hand brushing against grey-flecked hair. "Just a sec, okay?"

He mumbled an acknowledgement and she moved to change quickly into a t-shirt and sleeping shorts. He wasn't asleep when she came back and she curled up against his back, her arm around his middle and she felt him take hold of her hand, their daughter on his other side curled up against his chest in the same way. Pepper relaxed against him and pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. "Any better?"

"Yeah," he breathed and she tightened her hold as much as she dared. They would have to deal with the fallout in the morning, she knew, but for now they could sleep.

                                                    ___________

TBC

Notes: So... this turned out longer than expected. Nearly 6K long. Glad I didn't try to combine it with the last chapter.

I feel like I should mention that I have not actually seen Far From Home yet, so while I have a vague understanding of what happens in the movie, I don't know the specifics. I just haven't been able to bring myself to watch yet. All that to say, if something in this story doesn't line up with FFH, that's why. It is an AU, though, so there is that.

Next Time: Peter struggles with his decision and plans are made for the Stark Expo.

[mistyandmatt]

Kauai Arrival to the not so big island of Kauai!!!! What this island lacks in size, it definitely makes up in character! We arrived to gusty winds and cloudy skies. I say this as to preface the next thing that’s coming. Unfortunately, although our big jet from the Big Island made it in fine, it was decided that our little plane tour/lesson was probably best left for another day lest we get bounced around and stare into the clouds for two hours. We rescheduled for two days later which turned out to be a much better idea, so we then had two days to explore the island before our sightseeing adventure from the sky. We promptly picked up our little convertible from Enterprise and then went back to the airport to retrieve our bags (in reverse order you see, due to the quick switch over to our next flight, our bags ended up on the next flight over. Since we knew we may be touring the west side of the island with friends in the coming days, we decided to knock out the north/northeast side of the island from Lihue until the road ends at the Na Pali coast. In case this is your first introduction to the Na Pali coast, this is an area that does not have passable roads through it, much like the Darien Gap in Columbia. It is possible to cross on foot, but not by car, the terrain has provided a formidable opponent to the earthmover. We ventured to the last beach at the end of the road (see attached photos) and got a couple of great shots of this amazing topography. As we made our way back towards Lihue, we stopped at a couple of dry caves along the way. We ventured in for a few photos and continued on to Hanalei Bay. We walked out on the lone fishing pier and saw several people learning to surf on the smaller waves that had been subdued by the shelter from the open ocean. Our next stop was the Kilauea lighthouse where the price of admission was covered by our national park pass. It would have been worth double just to see the waves break on the large pockets they had scooped out of the cliff sides over the previous millennia. This is a great point to bird watch and whale watch. We saw several species of birds there which seemed quite different from anything I’ve seen in Oklahoma. Although I must admit I’m not much of an aviary connoisseur, this was pretty impressive. We also saw whales playing a ways off shore, but no breaches this time. As we continued around the island, we passed many awesome beaches and resorts including Princeville, which we understand is the more “uppity” part of the island (read: golf courses & private runways, which is a bit odd since I don’t know of anything that will land on that small of a runway that will make the pacific crossing, but who knows??). As we rounded the east side we stopped by our hotel, dropped off our bags and made our way to the Gaylord Plantation to take part in the ultimate Hawaiian touristy party, the luau. We attended the Luau Kalamaku, which we were told is the best luau on the island to go to. The luau takes place in a large open tent like structure and given the rainy weather, it kept everyone dry. I was pretty impressed with the whole show as it seemed as though everyone was genuinely having a good time, including the performers. I always hate going to events where I feel like it’s a bit of a sideshow/exploitation of cultures, but this seemed more like a big party that was enjoyed by all. I can’t say I learned a ton about Hawaiian culture there, but in hindsight, I don’t think this was the point. The luau is really just a big dinner party with a cultural show that contains a bit of Hawaiian history and context. Misty even got up on stage and tried to learn how to do a hula dance of some sort. Saturday started with our rescheduled plane ride around the island, as we arrived at the airport, we met our pilot, Doug McDuff. Low and behold, Doug was a 1970 graduate of Putnam City High School and entertained us with stories of his football glory days. Real nice guy, good tour guide as well. The skies were still a bit cloudy, but looked reasonable on the northeast side of the island (around the Na Pali coast) where our goal was to be able to see the shoreline of the impassable parts of the island by air. After going through the clouds on the southwest coast of Kauai, we made our way slightly into the Waimea Canyon. We weren’t able to fly too close to the waterfall that is known for it’s appearance in the movie, Jurassic Park, solely because the clouds kept us as bay. Around the west side of the island we passed the Kauai Coffee Plantation (FYI-this plantation grows almost 60% of all coffee sold in the US, who knew?) and continued up the west coast until the Na Pali coast was visible. This was the view we were waiting for and it did not disappoint. Seeing the serrated mountains from the top of the island through the clouds and all the way into the ocean, all untouched by most of civilization was pretty breathtaking. Our journey in the small plane ended as we rounded the last point and made our landing around 2 p.m. local time. We highly recommend anyone who visits Kauai to take a plane ride (not a helicopter tour) to see the entire island. We used Wings over Kauai (I had researched these folks for months before we decided to go with them) and the experience was top notch. Bruce, one of the flight instructors at the school isn’t a big fan of Facebook (self disclosed), so he likely won’t see this, but we wanted others to know the experience was excellent, definitely 5 stars! Around the south end of the island we decided to make a stop at a couple places to sample the local cuisine for lunch before we went to a few landmarks on that side of the island. We stopped at the Koloa Fish Market for the Hawaii staple, Poke. Let me tell you....this stuff is awesome. It’s basically a sashimi salad. I tried two different varieties, a spicy Poke and a Korean style Poke. The spicy definitely won that battle, but both were amazing. I only wish it were available back at home. Misty wanted to go and try Puka Dog, a strange hot dog place she had scoped out on Facebook. It’s basically a hot dog sized pig in a blanket with special local sweet and savory mustards and sauces. It’s definitely worth the stop as it’s another must eat, but it’s not quite to the level as “I NEED THIS AT HOME” as the Poke is. We forged ahead to Poipu and Shipwreck beaches where there were some spectacular views, partnered with sea turtles and monk seals. The local wildlife conservation groups stand guard for the napping seals on the beach and tether off small sleeping areas so gawkers don’t get too close and bother them. Unbeknownst to me, the specific seals on the Hawaiian islands are a species specific to the island and are endangered. After the wildlife viewing and a bit of hiking to get to the great views, we ventured up to Spouting Horn, and areas where the waves have carved out a small cave with a hole in the top. When the waves crash into the shoreline this unique formation creates what looks like a geyser coming out of the rock. It’s a pretty neat thing to see, I’ll add a few photos here so you can see it as well. As Misty has noted, she’s been in recovery mode of this crazy sickness she had for several weeks now. Unfortunately, when we visited Mauna Kea on the Big Island, she started to have some sharp back pain (like you get with pneumonia) when we went to higher elevations, likely culprit, pleurisy. So for four days she pushed through the pain and carried on, but no trip would be complete with one last trip to the urgent care to make sure all was well (and to verify I didn’t need to quickly trade her in for a different model to make the rest of this international trip with). She survived, no trade in needed. While she was in the urgent care, I made a short run around town to find a Hawaiian shirt, I noticed that the little convertible we were in may also be in need to some “urgent care” as it was starting to smell a bit like syrup, and I didn’t have any pancakes on hand at the time. I proceeded back to the Enterprise by the airport, also not far away at this point, and dropped the car back off for repairs. Seemed as though a water pump seal had seen better days, but not to worry, they had a little Jeep to give us in exchange. on us so that we could continue our journey the next day. As the evening set in, we had the chance to meet up with a previous co-worker of MIsty’s at a restaurant in town. Huge shout out to The Oasis on the Beach restaurant, let me tell you, this place has ridiculously tasty food and drinks. First we sampled their house made Mai Tai, which was the best we’ve had yet! We then moved on to a main course of local, freshly caught fish and island-raised steak, both were just amazing. Between the Poke at the fish market and the fish and steak at this upscale eatery, we have definitely been culinarily spoiled by the island of Kauai!!!! We will be coming back to this island, guaranteed! As we settled in for the night, Misty’s friend offered to give us a personal tour (by car) around the west side of the island the next day, taking us to all the greatest spots only known by locals. On that note, off to bed in preparation for another day filled with new sights to see and great experiences to be had!

[thesteveyates]

‘F’ is for Uffa Fox

‘F’ is for Fairey Atalanta.

Blog time : well, it’s mid April and just going into week 4 of this strange life.  As far as my own boat and sailing life are concerned the boss is keeping a good eye on WABI”’ and has had the hatches open to air the boat out for me.  Obviously i’m not out on the water and not writing any new material based on my own boat.  In blog life all i’m working on are the new posts for this series as all of the posts that i was working on in the spring are now out there.    My own life is probably about to change radically if things work out as i expect they will ; that’s because i’m now back on the temporary/emergency register and it looks as though i might get deployed to the emergency Nightingale hospital in London…that’s obviously going to be the ‘hot’ zone.  If that works out well then i’ll be working on my own next boating project while i’m away and i can take more time over the next designer in this series.

In this post for the design series i’m really just looking at one design from one prolific designer, sailor and all-round total English eccentric ; Uffa Fox.  The boat is the highly unusual and funky looking Fairey Atalanta designed by the late Uffa Fox in 1955 alongside Alan Vines ; an executive of Fairey Marine.  The boat was then mass produced using some radically new building techniques between 1956 and 1968.  Many Atalanta’s still exist today, many have been restored and there is an active owners association.

Right at the start of this post i have to point out that all of the photographs i have used come from other sources and not my own files ; most of them appear on the Atalanta owners association website or found during a general image search.  The title photograph also, is of a very modified deck/coachroof version which i think looks great and very different.

Uffa Fox…..Yachtsman and designer.

I regard the late Uffa Fox as the most important and influential small boat designer ever, at least from the narrow perspective of British designers : i place him above other brilliant designers of small sailing craft like Maurice Griffiths and William Fife for example because he took the design and construction of small craft in completely new directions.    Later on in the design series i hope to be able to show how later designers like David Thomas and  Jack Laurent Giles, and then modern designers like Keith Callaghan all owe a lot to Uffa Fox’s radical new designs.

As i re-read biographies of Uffa Fox he comes across as a brilliantly eccentric man who managed to be both at the centre of a very conservative and traditional yachting community based around Cowes on the IOW , at a time when it was an important ‘Royal’ yachting venue and centre of the English yachting world, and at the same time being a maverick and radical designer.   He was for example closely connected to the British royal family at play, regularly sailing with or crewing for HRH Prince Philip and the young Royals , often in his or their Dragon class racing yachts.

In 1938 Uffa Fox designed the first of several International 14 racing dinghy’s, the most famous of which was ‘Thunder and Lightning’, the radical feature of the new designs being their ability to plane rather than just being displacement hulls. The International 14 class was then, as it is now, a development class and that same boat not only planed downwind in a breeze but could generate a lot more power upwind because of another new device….the trapeze…..instantly banned as being ‘unsporting’ until a few years later. Now of course the International 14 is a double trapeze boat and still very quick even when compared with more modern dinghy designs.

Fairey Marine and the Atalanta.

Fairey Marine Ltd,  was a boat building company based on the River Hamble near to Southampton on the Uk’s south coast.. The company was created in the late 1940s by Sir Charles Richard Fairey and Fairey Aviation‘s managing director, Mr. Chichester-Smith. Both were avid sailing enthusiasts along with Chichester-Smith’s good friend and former Olympic yachtsman, Charles Currey.  Fairey Aviation of course was the company responsible for designing and building wartime aircraft such as the Fairey Swordfish, which, even as an ‘obsolete’ carrier based biplane managed to stick a torpedo up the backside of the Bismark which led to that ship’s eventual sinking only 8 days into her one and only wartime mission !

As the war drew to a close Fairey and Chichester-Smith both decided that they should produce sailing dinghies utilising techniques that had been employed in the construction of aircraft. Charles Currey was recruited to help run the company when he came out of the Royal Navy. The world air speed record holder Peter Twiss joined Fairey Marine Ltd from Fairey Aviation in 1960 and was responsible for development and sales of day-cruisers. In 1969, commanding the Huntsman 707 Fordsport, he took part in the Round Britain Powerboat Race, and included among his crew members, Rally champion Roger Clark. Boats were primarily designed by Alan Burnard.

In the early years, thousands of dinghies were produced by Fairey Marine including the Firefly, Albacore, Falcon (dinghy), Swordfish (dinghy), Jollyboat, Flying Fifteen, 505 and International 14‘s along with the much smaller Dinky and Duckling. Later on in the 1950s they produced the larger sailing cruisers, the Atalanta (named after Sir Richard’s wife), Titania, Fulmar and the 27-foot (8.2 m) Fisherman motor sailer (based on the Fairey Lifeboat hull) along with the 15′ Cinderella (outboard runabout)/ Carefree (inboard runabout), and the 16’6″ Faun (outboard powered family cruiser).

By way of a side-line here, Fairey were using very similar techniques to the ones developed by the De Havilland company which used the extraordinary (for then) concept of building wooden framed and skinned aircraft…and that resulted in the fastest wartime fighter/bomber cum recconaisance plane ; the famous Mosquito.

Fairey Swordfish.

Personal interest.

Many readers will be aware that while i really like my little Hunter Liberty i could really do with a bit more waterline length, more space (volume) , more sailing ‘power’ and while keeping the Liberty’s ability to sail shallow rivers and dry out level at the end of the day.  Some readers will also know, because i wrote several posts, that i did a serious search for a slightly larger and more capable boat and that one group of boats that i found were the post IOR designs of around 25 feet with lifting keels : the Dehler 25, Evolution 25 and Super-Seal 26.

Both of us went to see the Dehler and both almost instantly didn’t like the boat, the Evolution 25 that i had in mind disappeared off the market and i couldn’t afford the larger Parker Super Seal although i think it might have made a good boat.  The boat that really might have worked for me was the again slightly larger Kelt that i photographed in Wareham :

There was however one complete outsider in the mix and that was the much older Fairey Atalanta and one did come up on Ebay at about the same time ; i don’t remember now why i didn’t go and see it because it was only ‘just down the road’…ie about a hundred miles away !.     Going way back, at least 25 years, when i first started thinking about owning my own boat in my post Whitbread race era i was talking to a yacht designer about what i was looking for in a boat and he told me about an Atalanta sitting in the yard somewhere behind Proctor spars place in the Hamble.

I was greatly intrigued so i went and saw the boat and yes, it had a lot of what i wanted and it was just about inside my budget except that it was in poor condition and it smelled very nasty inside…..i’m pretty sure there was some unhealthy wood in that one.  I spent some time working up a budget for the potential rebuild and what i came up against straight away is the huge base cost of having a boat like that in a shed anywhere in the Hamble where covered space seems to be charged out by the square inch !.  On top of that i did some research about repairs to an Atalanta hull and it does seem to be a more specialist job than a ‘normal’ ie carvel, wooden boat.  The reason for that being that the whole hull is hot-glue laminated from Agba veneers in a large oven !.

I liked the basic concept and the actual boat though so i always kept it in mind for ‘maybe one day’ : today i still greatly admire the Atalanta and iv’e since seen some very nicely refitted ones.  The size would still be about right, i could live with the layout , especially by converting the aft cabin to a large double + berth and i still love the funky looking 50’s shape.  Given that these boats were first built in the 1950’s iv’e always fancied having one that was ‘born’ in the same year as me (1958)…..not the most intelligent or logical reason to own a boat but hey ….it’s me we are talking about !

The Atalanta file.

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  Here’s one for sale via the Atalanta owners website .

https://atalantaowners.org/f14-noggin-sale-2/

Funky, Foxy, Fairey. 'F' is for Uffa Fox 'F' is for Fairey Atalanta. Blog time : well, it's mid April and just going into week 4 of this strange life. 

[thesoulofinnocence]

Sweaty Hounds

“Well now. This is an interesting event.”

Najimi stood, in his workout clothing with a towel over his shoulder, in front of the benches at the gym down the street from him. Frozen, and standing only two feet from him, was someone who very much wanted him dead. Someone with red hair and a now unbound chest which confirmed Lycan’s previous thoughts long ago.

Vatten, was not flat as a board.

She wore a loose t-shirt and her rag pants that had been tied up to reach only her knees. Also her long crimson hair was tied back into a ponytail and tucked nicely on her neck.

“Y-You do not go to the gym. I have watched you for months, not once have you entered here. I-I thought... d-did you follow me?”

She had absolutely no idea how to handle this situation, should she make a move for his throat or run out embarrassed? Luckily for her, Lycan had absolutely no idea how to handle it either. He just stared at her for a moment and then sighed.

“How do you even know what a gym is, how do you even have a god damn membership here? There is so many things wrong, I’m sure you don’t even have a license! Let alone money and a credit card. Christ how did you even understand them, everyone here only speaks Japanese!”

“I-I have, wait I don’t have to answer that question! You’re my enemy! I won’t willingly give you information! Do you think I’m some type of fool?”

“You’re wearing a loose shirt near a bunch of gym equipment, yes you’re a fool. Everyone here, including me, wears tight shit because it makes it easier to move around. Also, you know, tight shit won’t get caught in a machine and get you hurt.”

“Ha! A human machine won’t do any real damage to me!”

“No, but it’ll reveal that you’re not human and make you unable to come here again. Why don’t you drop the high and mighty shit, chest balloons. I didn’t follow you here and I’ve no intention of starting anything. I live too close by.”

Only then did Vatten realize she was leaning down slightly and revealing a little too much. She quickly shot up, cheeks growing pink, and covered herself with her arms.

“W-WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE LOOKING?!”

“That tattoo but you can think I was checking you out if you want. Wasn’t. I still think you look, and smell like shit. Besides I knew the moment we fought that you were binding your chest. By a lot too. I could see the pressure that part of your body was under.”

Lycan turned and moved into the area next to where Vatten had been lifting weights. He dropped his towel onto the ground and started deciding how much to go with. It had been a long time since he had actually worked out, this was a strange thing to re-learn.

“Why couldn’t I sense you?”

“You were looking for a hound of flames, not a half-Soul. My powers are locked away by a seal my brother put on me. Don’t get excited though. Piss me off and I can easily burn through it.”

“..Even still why would you share that information?”

“I’m not afraid of you, and I can’t lie so. Unlike you who won’t even share truly pointless information like how you can go to a gym, I don’t give a shit. Longer my powers are locked away too the less shits I’ll give.”

Vatten looked away from him for a moment to check around them.

“What does that mean?”

Lycan just gave her a blank stare.

“Tell me how you can get into a gym, afford it, and then I’ll tell you.”

Vatten sighed.

“I have researched the mainland for a long time before I left, I knew money would be required for many things. Before I left I took with me many valuable gems that are common on our island. The first thing I did when I got here, even before finding you, was locate someone who could give me a fake identity. That way if I am stopped by anyone requesting such information I can present it. The same man who gave me my identity introduced me to a buyer for the gems. He gave me a large sum of money and that is how I am able to use this gym. Even on the mainland I must be in top physical shape, and there are no good hunting spots around here. I also know about gyms because.. I read a magazine.”

Lycan raised a brow.

“And who taught you how to use the machines?”

“The.. T-The nice man who works behind the counter showed me the basics and a few people have helped me out. A-As for how I can speak to anyone, learning languages is easy for our kind. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Not really, I studied my ass off to learn Japanese and English. So you went through all of this trouble even though you planned to just kill me? Why need a fake identity for a quick stab and run?”

“You’re a hound of Brann, I knew it would not be that simple. Besides, I did not seek your death in the beginning. I thought of doing things peacefully but you and that.. bitch, annoyed me. Always plan for a longer stay than expected.”

“You sent three people to kill me, how is that peacefully? The little runt and then the two little guards or whatever they were to you. Even if you wanted to see if I was who you think I am, not the best way. If you had just come to me, before all of that, and asked I would have showed you whatever. I desperately wanted to find out what I was. Now though, don’t give a fuck about my species.”

Lycan attached the weights he wanted and then sat down at the bench next to Vatten’s. He brought his arm up and started to stretch, making sure his body wasn’t going to immediately get sore.

“They were my personal guard, and my best friends. I sent them because they were the strongest men I knew.”

Vatten looked down to the ground and spoke quietly. Lycan looked over at her for a moment and then let out a sigh. He cracked his neck and then moved his hands to the bench.

“The longer I’m without my flames, the more my other energy becomes my primary. Its a cold, empty, energy and leaves me the same. No matter what I do I won’t be able to avoid the change so I’ll just have to fix myself by then. I don’t wish to be emotionless again, its a horrible feeling. Looking at someone you know you love and just feeling.. dead.”

The high hound blinked when he finally told her what she had asked before. A small smile forming but she quickly forced it away, hid it so he couldn’t notice. Though he already had. She turned to face where she had been working out and coughed.

“Perhaps I did make the worse choice when it comes to getting into contact with you. I cannot take it back though, and I doubt you’ll accept any apologies. After all I hurt the woman you seek to spend your time with, I’d think you won’t forgive that. However.. I’ve grown to like this gym. The people are nice.”

“I won’t forgive it, but I’ve been pretending to be a human here for a long time. I won’t let go of that just to make a move on you. I fight dirty, I’m ruthless, and I hate most people but I am selfish too. I won’t give up my human experience just to satisfy blood lust. You’re free to continue going here, but I won’t stop either.”

This time Vatten smiled and didn’t try to hide it.

“Why are you nice to someone like me?”

“I’m not nice, I just don’t care. Though if you do go after her again, after whatever I did to you last time, you won’t make it out again. Try to kill me as much as you like until I either end you or you give up. But only me.”

Vatten blinked, a bit annoyed that he valued that bitch’s life much more than his own.

“What do you mean, ‘whatever I did’, do you not remember?”

“Now. I won’t go sharing all my secrets.”

Lycan ended the conversation with that, he turned to his bench and laid back. Beginning to work out but it was clear that he was keeping an eye on her. Vatten could feel his gaze even though his eyes were locked on the bar being lifted above his head. All of the energy he held, flames or not, was focused on her. If her blood lust spiked or body moved in a dangerous way, he would be ready.

But..

Vatten did not make any such moves.

She simply returned to her station, and began lifting as well. Her mind now raced with curiosity though as she questioned if he remembered. The towering wolf of flames he had become.. the ultimate blessing, was it not in his mind? Why wouldn’t it be? She now held the same strength as him but now questions had to be answered. If she were to make a move, then they never would be.

Also, part of her still did want this to end peacefully.

[baronessblixen]

It's not X-Files, but can I please ask you to do "I think you missed your calling," for Frasier & Roz?

This is not how Roz imagined it.

Alice begged her repeatedly, for weeks, to spend her birthday in this new, spectacular indoor playground. So Roz spent a good amount of time researching the facility and coming to the conclusion that it was in fact a wonderful idea. There was a birthday special that included a cake and entertainment for the children. No cleaning the living room, Roz marveled. She called in and the date was set. Never before had she felt so calm before her daughter’s birthday.

Until the day actually happens.

Six children, including Alice, run around screaming. Cake is being thrown and other parents stare at her, silently judging, and taking their offspring elsewhere. Roz tries to calm down Alice, who is the leader of the pack. Her daughter, wearing a tiny, pink crown, nods solemnly. She summons her friends and tells them something. They all nod. Except that children have the attention span of a squirrel; one jump on the big trampoline conveniently called “Troubleshooter” and they’re all back to their childish squealing.

“Miss?” Roz turns and stares into the face of a female employee wearing a pink shirt telling Roz that she is ‘always here when you need help’.

“Are you here all alone with these children?” She doesn’t specify who 'these’ children are, but Roz sees Alice waving at her, and she can’t think of a clever comeback at the moment anyway. So she nods.

“Uhm, do you need any… help? I know children can be a lot,” she giggles and Roz decides she has no idea how children can be; she is barely out of childhood herself, “We’re happy to send over a trained kindergarten teacher for a small additional charge.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Roz begins and sees the grin spread out on the girl’s face, “but my husband will be here soon and he’ll be all the help I need.”

“Oh, of course. Of course. If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.” Her pink complexion turns darker, almost tomato red, and with a small, awkward nod she finally runs off again. Leaving Roz cursing to herself. Of course there’s no husband. Or even boyfriend. She should have said friend. A friend is coming to help! For a moment she considers going over to the employee, who is watching her closely now, and this day is turning out bad enough. She doesn’t need a strange woman (who is so much younger than her) to feel sorry for her. No. All Roz has to do is come up with a plan. It’s not like she doesn’t know men, after all. None of them are really husband material. And if she called any of them and asked them to pose as one… there is no way this could work. There’s only person she can think of.

“Pick up the phone, Frasier.” Roz mumbles as she listens to the dial tone. Finally, when she’s just about ready to smash her cell phone against one of the colorful, most likely soft, walls, he picks up.

“Yes, hello.”

“Frasier, I need your help.”

“Who is this? Hello?”

“It’s Roz.” She rolls her eyes. After working together for so long, you’d think he recognized her voice.

“Oh hello, Roz. How can I help you?”

“I need you to come to Alice’s birthday party and pretend to be my husband.” There’s a moment of silence and Roz wonders if maybe she should have phrased it differently. Or maybe eased into it. The employee is staring at her, though, and the children are jumping around high on sugar. Roz doesn’t have the time for long-winded explanations.

“Are you drunk, Roz? Where are you?”

“I’m at Alice’s party and no, I’m not drunk,” she wishes she was, though, “and I need your help. These children are monsters.”

“One of them is your child, Roz.”

“Not today she’s not. She’s all high on sugar and thinks she’s some kind of princess. I need your help, Frasier. Can you please stop being an idiot and get over here?”

“What if I have plans?”

“Oh, but I know you don’t.”

“How would you know that?”

“Frasier, you TOLD me yesterday. You kept going on about how you don’t have any plans for today and how Niles never has any time for you anymore now that he and Daphne are together. So get your ass over here.”

“Ask me nicely.” Roz hears the smile in his voice and she regrets calling him. She really, really does.

“Frasier…”

“You know, I might not have had plans yesterday when-”

“Frasier, could you PLEASE come over here and help me out? Please?”

“Of course, Roz,” he chuckles, “I’ll be there soon.”

When Frasier finally arrives, Roz is consoling one of the children, crying loudly, and with bits and pieces of cake everywhere on the tiny body.

“Do you need any help?” He asks immediately crouching down to the crying girl. Seeing him, she only cries harder.

“Can you hand me another napkin?” Frasier picks up two from the table, dabs them with water, and returns to Roz’ side. He hands her one and together they help clean the girl, whose tears subside. She gets fidgety, ready to rejoin her friends.

“Why don’t you sit down a moment, Carol?” Roz asks the girl, who is twitching like a seal now.

“No, wanna play.” Roz, who has puke all over her own clothes and probably on her hands, is not ready to fight a little girl and nods. The girl runs off, squealing, and Roz hopes she won’t throw up again. Especially on one of the other children.

“I see why you need my help.” Frasier stares at her breasts, she thinks, only to remember that that’s where Carol got sick over her. Of course. Without a word, Frasier picks up another few napkins and the water bottle. He hands both to Roz who mouths a thanks. She tries to get it all off, but a soft brown stain remains on her blouse.

“This is the worst birthday ever, Frasier.”

“Alice seems to be having fun.”

“I’ve already been told that the kids are too loud. They’re too loud, Frasier. This is a place designed for children and I’ve been told to control them.”

“They don’t seem out of control.”

“They’re probably tired now.” Roz sighs. Ever since Frasier has walked in, the kids have visibly calmed down. They’re still jumping around; looking like tiny bouncy balls in the distance. They’re no longer screaming, yelling or fighting. They’re just normal children.

“Thank you for coming, though. They basically told me I needed a kindergarten teacher by my side. I said you were coming. I’m sorry.” Roz feels exhaustion run through her, tiring her out. She’ll never set foot into this facility again. Ever.

“Mommy, we’re hungry.” Alice hops over, her friends in tow. “Frasier!” As soon as the little girl sees him, she throws herself into his arms. He catches her easily enough and hugs her.

“Happy Birthday, little one.”

“Did you bring food? We’re all hungry.” Alice informs him.

“Hm, I think they have food here.” He turns to Roz and she nods. “We’ll just tell the nice ladies over there that you guys are ready for dinner.”

“They’re not so nice ladies.” Alice whispers to him as if it were a secret. Frasier pretends to be shocked, entertaining the children, who all giggle happily. Roz uses the moment to go over to the help desk and order the food. She and Alice picked chicken nuggets and Roz can only hope this won’t end in some food fight.

With Frasier at the table, the children are the most well-behaved little monsters Roz has ever seen. He tells them this and that story, makes funny noises and once even breaks into song. The girls, delighted, clap along and giggle.

After dinner, Frasier lets the girls show him around the playground and even lets them talk him into going down the slide. Roz watches them, amazed mostly, and even dares to look at the employee. She, too, seems flabbergasted, but when she catches Roz’s gaze, she smiles at her. Finally, after an eternity, the children are picked up one by one.

“I had such a good time.” Little Carol waves goodbye and Roz just stands there. Alice takes her hand; it’s so tiny, warm and mostly sticky. Making her daughter happy, maybe this has all been worth it after all.

“Ready to go home?” Frasier asks Alice, who nods up at him. She takes his hand, too, and together they leave.

“I hope you had a fun time!” Roz fakes a smile and walks faster. Outside, she takes a deep breath. No more sweetness mixed with the faint smell of vomit and other unmentionable things. Just air. Roz is surprised to see that the sun is still shining; to realize that it’s still early in the day. Alice sways with exhaustion and Frasier picks her up.

“Where’s your car?” He asks, his voice soft. Roz can’t answer; Frasier and Alice standing there, in the sunlight, like a picture perfect moment in a life she isn’t leading.

“Roz?”

“Oh right. Follow me.” They make their way over to the car in silence. All around them are children, some of them running, some clutching their parents’ hands, unsure of what to expect inside. Roz is no longer sure what to expect either. This is not how she imagined any of it.

“Here we are.” Roz says loudly when they get to her car. She opens it and Frasier puts a sleeping Alice inside. Her crown tips sideways and he adjusts it with a gentle smile on his face. Has he always been like this? Roz wonders.

“Do you need me for anything else or can I go and enjoy my Saturday?” Oh yes, that’s the Frasier she knows.

“Go ahead. I can deal with my own kid.” She replies defensively and immediately regrets it. He has been a great help today. She watches as his hands dive into his coat pocket, obviously searching for his own car keys.

“Hey, I think you missed your calling,” Roz blurts before he can say goodbye and leave her there alone. He raises his eyebrows in confusion, “you know, with the children.” It just doesn’t get better. She’s never had problems talking to Frasier. Until now.

“What are you talking about?”

“You could have been a kindergarten teacher,” she goes on, “You’re so good with children.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No! Geez, I’m trying to say thank you for today.”

“You’re not doing a very good job of it.”

“Well, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He basically bows his head and Roz rolls her eyes.

“I meant for coming to help out.”

“Again, you’re welcome. Just don’t ever call me a kindergarten teacher again.” His smile betrays him, though, and Roz can’t help and smile back.

“I hope your Saturday isn’t completely ruined.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll think of something to salvage it.” Again, his eyes dib lower and Roz remembers her blouse.

“I better get home, shower, burn these clothes and contemplate what a bad mother I am.”

“You’re not a bad mother, Roz. Children can be a lot.”

“That’s what that girl said.” She mumbles.

“What girl?”

“The one who told me I couldn’t handle it.”

“You did handle it.”

“No, I called you.”

“You asked for help, but you handled it.”

“Thank you, Frasier. Honestly, I mean it. If you ever need a favor…” Roz is going to regret it, she knows, but she doesn’t stop herself. Frasier offers her a genuine smile and a nod.

“I won’t forget.” He winks at her and it might be the weirdest thing Roz has seen him do.

“All right, you better leave now. Go and enjoy your Saturday! Go!”

“See you Monday, Roz.”

“Yeah.” She watches Frasier walk away, completely frozen to her spot.

“Ewww, mom look, that lady has puke on her boobs!” A kid yells before it’s dragged along, the mother blushing and hurrying along. Roz sighs. What a day. Oh, what a day.

[whalepunkpublishing-blog]

Pakakatautchiigniq #1

Uvlaalluataq! Good morning!

Welcome to the first of many Pakakatautchiigniq or Mischief-Maker Mondays. The purpose of this and future Pakakatautchiigniq posts is to create system-agnostic monsters that incorporate elements of Indigenous and Inuit folklore, language, and mythology for fellow DMs or creators to bring to their stories and tables.

Aside from providing lore, these posts will also include a scenario overview and d10 tables for PLOT HOOKS, RUMORS, ENCOUNTERS, TREASURES, and NPCs for further context and flavor. Feel free to cannibalize as much or as little of these creations as possible.

The format, structure, and generally everything about these posts is subject to change as I figure out how best to present things in the future!

Edit: Originally, this post was scheduled to drop last night but I’ve switched blog sites. Future Pakakatautchiigniqs will drop every Monday from this point on! 

AUKSALAQ THE THAW-BEAST

Monstrously gaunt. Whalebone tall. Dessicated by time but preserved by a glittering crust of bone-dry rime replete with runic sigils that walk and slither across its skin like larvae trapped between two panes of frosted glass. It wears many faces: grinning, frost-bitten masks imbued with a strange and treacherous beauty. When it speaks, its words fork and rattle in the rhythmic, singsong purr of the sorcerous dead. Long, six-fingered, and frail, its hands move along the invisible skin of the world with the sleek grace of a spider trembling the threads of its web.

It does not hunt. It toys. Luring villagers into its many, many lairs with stolen voices and promises that are warm to the ear but cold to the touch. Reshaping itself to meet the eye of the beholder. Shedding its skin like the pale, many-faced cicadas that flutter and scream in wintry heights of the Taimmagniq Mountains.

It is, at its phylacterial core, a child. Effortlessly cruel. Innocently vicious. Clever, but not ingenious.

ABILITIES

Steals the faces and voices of the dead.

Freezes, then melts all that it touches.

Travels between ice cellars and burial-mounds by slipping beneath the skin of the world.

Riddled with ancient diseases, once sealed away by time and ice. Infects by touch.

SCENARIO

Industry despoils the far north. Glaciers, giants, and beasts now live on the verge of extinction. The violent and ceaseless winds of change have reshaped the north, preempting a pandemic thaw that is unleashing the plagues and monstrosities once trapped or sealed beneath the permafrost. One village, Qalluvak, lies on the forefront of the thaw and is being terrorized by a now-awakened beast that once existed only in legend.

PLOT HOOKS 1d10

You were raised in Qalluvak but left for the soft summerlands to pursue fame, education, or glory. A relation, close or estranged, has been stolen by the Auksalaq. Their spirit calls out to you in your dreams, foretelling your return to Qalluvak.  

You are a member of an expeditionary force sent to relieve the surviving members of the previous expedition to the village of Qalluvak.

You are a failed adventurer following your childhood dream of seeing the northernmost edge of the world before you die.

You succumbed to the cold during your travels and have been spirited to the village of Qalluvak by unknown means.

You attended a lecture by a tribal-scholar from the village of Qalluvak regarding the dangers of industry in the far north and have travelled to disprove their claims.

You are a monied entrepreneur saddled with outrageous debt. You seek to carve your name into rim of the world and turn an outrageous profit on its many ventures.

You are doomed monster hunter seeking to end your once illustrious career with one last hunt.

You are a hard-bitten vagrant, following rumors of simple villagers offering a chieftain’s ransom in exchange for the head of beast that most likely does not exist.

You are a penny dreadful author seeking new tales of the quixotic macabre and have spent the last of your royalties to tour the far north for inspiration.

You are a plague doctor doggedly following reports of strange and virulent illnesses blossoming in the thawing north. Your colleague has succumbed to one such plague while performing clinical trials in Qalluvak. You must settle his affairs and secure his research.

RUMORS 1d10

All the ice cellars in Qalluvak smell of rot but curiously none of the foodstuff stored in the cellars appear rotten.

The elders of Qalluvak believe the Auksalaq can only be killed with weapons hewn from ivory and dipped in whale oil.

Some say that the Auksalaq is not a monster, but a man. An outsider that ventured north to spirit away children for some dark, unknowable practice.

There is a children’s story about a childless widow that tamed the Auksalaq with a song. The tale was transcribed by a missionary, but the missionary went mad shortly thereafter and now lives as a bedlam trapper far north of Qalluvak.

Children whisper that the Auksalaq visits them in their dreams, promising them a future filled with laughter and games. It wears the face of their recently dead, but speaks with the voice of a child.

The local anatkuq ( shamans ) attests that the Auksalaq can be trapped in a circle drawn with blood and whale oil.

Village dogs have gone mad with fear do everything in their power to flee Qalluvak.

Despite the cold, all the snow that falls over Qalluvak melts away at nightfall. Outside of Qalluvak, however, snow drifts and gathers alarmingly quick.

An illness plagues Qalluvak. Mushrooms the color of rust and bone sprout on the hands and feet of those afflicted. They spread and multiply when removed, regenerating overnight.

There is a rumor that the Auksalaq fears its own reflection, but only when it is refracted in an ulu or skin-cutting knife.

ENCOUNTERS 1d10

The whalebone graveyard that lies on the outskirts of Qalluvak thaws and overflows with rot despite the midwinter cold. When searched, an abandoned ice cellar can be found beneath a whalebone shrine to Tammau, God of Lost Things. Inside lies the Auksalaq, despoiling a corpse with its loathsome touch.

A bed-ridden child afflicted with cancer of the brain, when questioned, reveals that the Auksalaq visits her at night while she dreams. At the stroke of midnight, the Auksalaq slithers out of the ice cellar beneath her house and slips into her room, wearing the face and shape of her dead aaka ( grandmother ).

A warm, noxious fog blankets the village of Qalluvak. The voices of the dead cry out in the pale dark. The villagers plug their ears with tundra cotton and slick their window frames and doors with a mixture of blood and whale oil. The Auksalaq moves through the fog. Waiting. Laughing.

The village longhouse is burning. The smell of blood and whale oil sours the cool night air. Inside, Pisugruk, a disgraced watchman has cornered the Auksalaq in the communal ice cellar beneath the longhouse. His hoarse, smoke-addled cries for vengeance and help tear through the village. If searched, the longhouse and ice cellar will reveal the half-melted corpse of Pisugruk and the Auksalaq will emerge, wearing Pisugruk’s smoke-singed face.

If all ice cellars in Qalluvak are collapsed, flooded, or sealed the entire village will be swallowed into a massive sink-hole that feeds directly into the labyrinthine lair of the Auksalaq. The lair is a maddening network of brachial passages that twist and wind deep beneath the earth. It is filled with noxious fog, luminous rot, and fungal, rime-encrusted corpse-orchards.

North of Qalluvak is a gun-fortress garrisoned by missionaries, mercenaries, and industrialists. Beneath the fortress lies an abandoned ossuary walled in by ice. The curse-etched bones of the Auksalaq’s mortal body are interred in a whalebone sarcophagus. If touched, the sarcophagus will melt away, forcing the Auksalaq to inhabit its body. To the peril, or relief, of those trapped within the ossuary.

A trail rot, blood, and snowmelt veers into the northern wilds. If followed, it leads to the malformed remnants of the Auksalaq’s latest victim. With their dying breath, they cry out that “the Auksalaq cometh”. The thaw-beast bursts from an embankment of snow, bringing with it a cloying, tepid mist.

A child wanders the treacherous mountain pass leading to Qalluvak. She speaks of the Auksalaq and its lair far beneath the earth. The thaw-beast comes for her in the dead of night, luring her outside of camp with the voice of her dead mother.

Missionaries have been vanishing on the road from Qalluvak to the gun-fortress north of the village. A detachment of mercenaries have encamped alongside the road to investigate the disappearances. If joined, the earth beneath the encampment will thaw and collapse in the night and the Auksalaq will rise out of the earth to kill the outlanders.

A horrible stench wafts up from beneath the local tavern. Beneath the tavern cistern lies an ancient ice cellar where the true owner of the tavern rots. The Auksalaq emerges, wearing the tavern owners face.

TREASURE 1D10

An ancient spear carved from the Spine of the Auksalaq. It melts all it touches.

The hollowed out Skull of the Auksalaq. It allows the wearer to reshape their face into a beguiling facsimile of someone they know that has died.

The Hide of the Auksalaq. Can be shaped into a cloak or layered over armor. Protects the wearer from the cold, natural or magical.

If eaten, the Heart of the Auksalaq, attached to its mummified ribcage by a fungal sac, grants the devourer the ability to summon a noxious mist that only they can see through.

The Tongue of the Auksalaq, when consumed, allows the devourer to speak in the voices of the dead. Their natural voice, however, is forever lost.

The Eyes of Auksalaq, if boiled in a mixture of whale oil and blood, create a poison that will cause any creature that comes into contact with it to freeze and then melt into a ruinous mess.

The curse-etched Bones of the Auksalaq, when affixed to armor, protects the wearer from the cold and necrotic trauma.

The Hand of the Auksalaq, if strung as an amulet, compels any Auksalaq encountered in the wild to answer three questions and perform one favor for the wearer. After the questions are answered and the favor is performed, however, the wild Auksalaq will return to its usual state of violent non-compliance.

Deep in the Auksalaq’s lair lies an ivory ritual knife. This knife cuts through the skin of the world and allows the wielder to travel between any ice cellars in the region.

Hidden in the abandoned ossuary where the Auksalaq’s mortal body lies, a time-worn doll gathers dust and rot. This doll, if stolen, causes the Auksalaq to obey the thief’s every command. If cut open, the doll will spill out a sordid collection of ancient baby teeth.

NPCS 1d10

Magia, a one-armed skinsewer and chieftess of Qalluvak. Her daughter was stolen by the Auksalaq.

Pisugruk, disgraced watchman that has turned heavily to the drink. His wife left him after he failed to slay the Auksalaq and avenge their stolen children.

Qimmiq, a retired adventurer and dogsledder that maintains the village kennel. She has gathered a few rumors about the Auksalaq together and is preparing to launch an investigation of her own.

Utqiaan, an overworked healer. Understaffed and trying to contain the recent outbreak of strange illnesses brought on by the presence of the Auksalaq.

Tavra, an eccentric, melancholic tavern-owner. Once known for his charm and hospitality, Tavra has been become strange and miserly as of late.

Saga, a tribal-scholar obsessed with bringing an end to the industrial boom in Qalluvak. Will soon be “silenced” by the mercenaries of the gun-fortress north of Qalluvak.

Brother Theone, an outlander missionary driven to madness and trapping. Lives alone outside of Qalluvak.

Billious Corpus, monied outlander industrialist and financier. Funded the construction of the gun-fortress and hires adventurers and mercenaries alike to garrison it with their lives.

Father Ignacious, outlander missionary and archpriest. Oversees all missionary work in the region and works hand-in-hand with Billious to “secure their theocratic investures” in the north.

Gibbet, the outlander leader of the company of the tattooed mercenaries and scoundrels known as the Hangmen that garrison the gun-fortress. Has a reputation for fits of violence and animal cunning.

[irenewendywode]

Kinesis, Chapter One

Myrdu was deep in the flow of data analysis, right on the breathless cusp of an insight that would change the landscape of Avla’s interplanetary knowledge, when his broodmate popped into his work room for an unannounced visit.

More than forty years, even as Avlans measured, and Atur’s timing was just as impeccable as when they were boys. No one but Atur could make that sound coming down his hallway, boots treading heavy and unfailingly steady.

“What do you want?” Myrdu asked impatiently, turning away from his screen.

“I came to ask you to rejoin the ranks of the Avlan military,” Atur answered.

“Of course you did.” When Myrdu was halfway to cracking open all the secrets of Mimica communications streams. He barely kept from rolling his eyes. “And what makes you think it will appeal to me any more today than it did last time?”

“I merely hope,” said Atur. “And I can offer you a higher position. Better pay.”

“No,” said Myrdu.

“You know the fleet needs you,” said Atur. “Please.”

Myrdu gave him a flat look. “Perhaps,” he said, “but do I need it?”

“I know you, Myrdu. You won’t be happy until you have a project you can devote your talents to.”

“I have a project.” Myrdu gestured to the screen in front of him, on which the progress of his latest decoding effort was displayed.

“I mean a real one,” said Atur.

Myrdu glared.

“Something that suits your talents,” Atur corrected himself. “Not just a challenge, but something important. You should be winnowing out hidden viruses, saving the Avlan fleet’s computers from the Cewri’s underhanded attacks.”

It was difficult to say no to an older broodmate, Myrdu mused, especially one who had always been able to beat you up. Doubly so if the man in question had grown up to be a skilled diplomat, and triply so if he was elected chairman of a coalition that spanned dozens of worlds, including your own.

But Myrdu was damn well going to try.

“And who determines importance?” he asked. “You, as always?”

“I believe you should see the truth of this too,” Atur said. “You’re so smart, Myrdu. Smarter than me, in most ways. When will you accept that this is a dead end?” His eyebrows furrowed, and he shifted his weight with his impatience. “We know what Mimica do.”

“You mean we know what they’ve done in the past,” Myrdu corrected.

“Yes. Fine. What they’ve done in the past. They don’t think like us, Myrdu. They aren’t like us.”

“Is that so terrible?” His own daughter was unlike anyone else on Avla. Always would be, no matter how hard she might try.

Mimica, though, weren’t even humanoid. Atur could be right. Maybe.

“The Mimica could be great allies,” Myrdu persisted, “if we could trust them. And if not, if this research points the other way… well, then, ‘know your enemy’ is just as important with them as with the Cewri, or any race in the Imperium.” Atur knew full well how much of Myrdu’s value as a force against the expansion of the Imperium lay in his ability to collect new knowledge about them and their member species. Why not use the same tool to gain insight about the Mimica?

“You could waste your whole life trying to make sense of those signals. They’re most likely meaningless, if I am to believe my advisors.”

Myrdu snorted. “I know the markers of organized, lingual communication when I see them, Atur. There is something here to make sense of. I’m right on the edge of finding it.”

Atur pondered this for a long moment. “When you’re done, I want you back at my side.” His voice softened. “The Cewri’s attacks are unrelenting. My xenotechnical experts do their best, but none of them are you.”

Myrdu had forgotten to account for how Atur’s eyes could be huge, liquid gray pools.

Myrdu sighed. “When I’m done,” he agreed, “I’ll think about it.”

◈

The last tweaks to the decoding algorithm were finally finished. Myrdu put it in place and hit the button that would begin processing the transmissions. Then he could sit back and wait for the results. Myrdu’s hand hovered between the two snacks in his bag. There were plain tiru seeds, but also a wrapped crispcake in case of emergencies. It was a comfort food he indulged in rarely, but today felt like the day. He just had to be extra careful not to drop any crumbs. The palace folas chased after sweet things with abandon, and if they started foraging in the lab, the disgusting things might start chewing on the wires.

Small, creeping things that got into places they shouldn’t and spread who knew what ailments were one of Myrdu’s least favorite things.

Myrdu couldn’t handle any more delays. Atur had been gone for a couple of hours, but the weight of his impatience still lingered in the air.

Myrdu let the sweet smell of the herb-infused crispcake chase it away.

This was a good day. All his research might finally be coming to fruition. Nothing else mattered. Myrdu looked forward to finally learning something about the mysterious and often vilified Mimica species.

The results began to blink on the display. Myrdu leaned in.

The numbers that came out of the filtering program were in distinct sequences, repeating in varied combinations. Myrdu’s brain lit up.

These were codes. These were intelligible codes. Myrdu held his breath, looking hard, trying to be sure. He’d never imagined that something so clear would come out of the results, not so soon. He had expected to find a pattern of thought, an unknown language that would take years to make meaning of. But he recognized these codes.

He knew them intimately.

He dropped his crispcake, fingers shaking.

These were Cewri codes. These were the communications between member species of Avla’s greatest enemy. No one but full members of the Imperium were privy to the meanings of these codes.

Myrdu had achieved unequivocal results. He had learned something for certain about the Mimica. No scientist could hope for more.

Myrdu knew the Cewri. He knew the Imperium they commanded. He’d been there beside Atur, running digital interference while Atur fought them with more tangible weapons.

Myrdu had nightmares about the brutality of the Imperium’s Scythe forces in battle. Their strange, unwieldy bodies, their huge, hooked claws. The way they killed without a second thought.

While Myrdu had had doubts about the Mimica, there was no question in his mind as to where the Cewri stood.

Their two most feared enemies had joined forces, pooled their strengths. The Cewri’s malevolent intent was driven outward by all the tools at their disposal, and now that included everything the Mimica could do. This discovery might well spell doom for Avla and every world under Avlan protection.

The full force of Myrdu’s exhaustion hit him at once. With shaking hands, he meticulously shut down his equipment and closed his lab for the night.

Stumbling out into the glowing greens and blues of the courtyard’s evening lights, Myrdu made his way further into the heart of the palace. This could not wait for the morning report. He had to tell Atur what he had learned.

Myrdu’s footsteps on the stone floors of the palace, in the silence of the evening, sounded loud and booming, like cannons. It was jarring, but he just needed to get there. Hand off the weight of his discovery to someone else.

After that, maybe Myrdu could have some manner of rest. The job was as good as done—his part of it, at least. They had their results. The nobles could decide what needed doing about it all.

The largest question had been answered.

But as soon as he thought that, there was the niggling sensation that he’d forgotten something. He hadn’t forgotten to turn off the light or sweep up the remains of his crispcake. No. Something… big. The more he tried to bring it forth, the bigger he realized it all was.

Thoughts, memories—years of them.

Hanni’s children, taking the form of puppies for the first time, tumbling over their siblings, wiggling and biting each other’s ears. A cascade of gemstones catching the light as they were poured out for substance practice. The ocean flooding up over him as he took the Mimica’s ancestral cephalopoid form.

How did he know all this? Who were these beings to him? Where were these memories from?

His steps slowed as he tried to get a hold of this influx of information, make sense of it. His curious mind needed to know what it had lost. Why. His reality was spinning apart, everything was coming loose, and he struggled to catch it all and pull it back together.

There was a lifetime, there. More than a lifetime. A world. A galaxy.

For a moment, then, he saw double in his mind’s eye. In xir mind’s eye. Myrdu, the Avlan citizen, the life he had lived for the last four decades of Avlan time. His daughter. His work. His loyalties.

And… someone else, who was him and not him, as an actor is not their role. Okka. The Mimica. An earlier life on a wildly different world, at once bizarre and intimately familiar.

This new self—this older, deeper self with a different language and body and name—was still Myrdu. Alien, but still him/her/xem. Okka remembered creating Myrdu, becoming Myrdu, stepping inside of him and sealing up the cracks. But now the walls were breaking down.

Xir mission here was over. The question xe had come here to ask had been answered, and xir memory blocks had fallen away. It was time to return.

It was jarring. Myrdu’s mothers and broodmates were part of a culture which fostered a distrust for anything or anyone not bipedal, not humanoid. A distrust of anything like what Okka now knew xemself to be.

A cephalopoid. A plotter. A spy.

Xe was one of the enemy.

What would Atur think? What would he say, what would he do? The prospect was terrifying. But that terror was small in comparison to all xe felt.

The largest element was the sense of belonging that came with the memories of being Mimica. It was tangible and immense, like a warm blanket that both enfolded xem and stretched to the horizons. And it was within reach.

I want to go home. I want to go where I belong. I want to return to the Collective.

Okka felt for those connections, systems away but so close now. Those signals that Myrdu had studied, that reached across the sky, carried the Collective across the galaxy. They’d all be waiting for xem to rejoin.

So xe reached.

But there was something odd. Something not quite right. A chill down xir spine. Okka stopped xemself, coming up against the residual mistrust of the different, the other, that xir Avlan identity had in spades. Clinging to that mistrust to combat the pull to rejoin the others. Xe realized that there might be questions xe did not want the answers to.

Xe remembered how Myrdu had felt, mere minutes ago, when those codes had come into focus like a figure walking out of a thick fog. A figure that resolved itself into an enemy.

Mimica were a clear threat to everything Myrdu held dear. The Cewri codes in their transmissions had been clear. There might be danger, or lurking evil, where the new warm memories told xem was only love and safety.

A lifetime of xenophobia, patience, and scientific study let the Mimica who had been Myrdu cling to what Myrdu knew for a little while longer, just long enough to stop that headlong plunge into everything xe remembered loving.

The science had told Myrdu that the Mimica were the enemies of Avla.

Myrdu listened. Okka listened. Opened xemself to the sound/feel of the Collective without letting xir mind touch theirs.

Something was wrong. The warm vibrations of the Mimica Collective weren’t reaching out to greet xem; instead they were cold, still, and somehow vacant.

Silent. Silent like death. Silent as Creepers.

Xe wrenched xemself away, shut down xir ability to reach out across space as xe always had.

No.

No! It couldn’t be. The personalities that were xir parents, xir siblings, Jerra, Hanni, their children, everyone in the Collective crushed to nothing in the stifling fist of the Imperium’s mind slavery… No, it couldn’t be. But if it were true, Okka could not reach out. Could not let xemself do what xe most urgently needed. To be home. To be connected. To be one.

Xe would be just as lost to the Creepers as the rest of xir family. Imprisoned, helpless.

Breath left xir currently humanoid lungs in a rush. The Collective was lost. Xe knew it now. That familiar thrumming of love, of life, at the back of xir mind was gone.

Xe realized xe was sitting on cold stone, and did not remember when xe had ceased to stand, but it didn’t matter now. Perhaps nothing did.

They were all gone.

Okka could not go home. Okka could never go home.

Xe had come here to find a definitive answer to one question. Was it possible to get the Avlan nobles to give the Mimica another chance as allies? Would the Avlans ever be persuaded to at least hear them out?

Xe had expected to work for many years more. To work until the answer became “yes.”

The Collective had made no plans for the answer to come out “no.”

The Avlans were at least sensible enough that if the answer came up “no,” there would be a reason. The Mimica hadn’t planned for this eventuality because this eventuality was unthinkable.

What Creepers did to thinking beings… Xe’d seen it before, in other species, the lifeless eyes, the stiff and mechanical motions. A thinking being made into merely a body, a puppet only moving with the pulling of its strings.

Okka felt as if xe’d been abruptly dropped into the worst of all possible nightmares.

Everything had shifted. Everything was cold and unfamiliar and strange. On this world, and on others.

Shaking in this suddenly-alien humanoid body, Okka sank to xir side on the stone floor, and wept.

◈

On Earth, Waverly Kemp was dancing.

Not with anyone in particular, or for any particular reason, although he enjoyed excuses to do so. No, one of the most powerful men in the tech industry was wiggling his butt around in his boxers just because it was a beautiful morning, and he could.

No one else quite kept in step with him, after all.

Well, there was Toto. But Toto had been built for it: His aluminum chassis had four legs with a generous range of motion, and he could wiggle his behind with the best of them. And his brain…

Kemptech had been consulting with Boston Dynamics on advanced learning software for their robots, and Waverly found the project interesting enough to get deeply involved himself, rather than leaving the bulk of the work to his employees. Somewhere along the line, something magical had happened, and Toto had come alive.

Waverly had set out to build an assistant, and he’d wound up with a friend. Since he needed both desperately, he’d run with it.

He twitched a finger up in suggestion, and the next song that came across the speakers was a faster tempo, trumpet notes tumbling over each other in their haste, urging motion, urging dance.

This was when Waverly Kemp felt alive. He moved, and with every little twitch or waggle, his little world moved with him. Toto read his motions and followed along, bobbing his head/hand, shimmying across the floor. The rest of his computers were customized in the same kind of way but less complex, and they responded quickly and obediently to his touch to bring up the files he wanted, adjusting here, testing there.

Toto and Waverly were family. Neither of them could quite pull off being human, or adults, but they tried. They helped each other.

The music faded down in volume. Waverly looked at Toto. The bot gave a subtle little shrug/wiggle, which was code for ‘David is coming, and he doesn’t look happy’.

Waverly didn’t know what he’d do without Toto. Toto had saved Waverly’s life when David had broken up with him. The worst part had been that they’d still needed to work together. So much of what kept Kemptech up and running was David.

There was a chirp from the door as David walked in. Waverly braced himself.

David Miller was the same cutie he’d been when he and Waverly had first met, dark brown hair with that hint of bright copper shining in it, cheeks dusted with freckles and just overall geeky and lanky and amazing. The years and the familiarity hadn’t taken away any of it. Now that David knew how to dress himself to best advantage, it was even more devastating. It hit Waverly all over again every single time.

Even more so when David was annoyed. He was annoyed now. As with everything, it was clear on his face.

It always made Waverly want to heckle him, to see more of that lively emotion. But they’d established some ground rules, over the years, and that was absolutely out of bounds.

Remembering that fact killed the last of Waverly’s happy buzz from what should have been a really satisfying dance interlude. Waverly pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Ugh, I hate it when you bring that face in here, now that I’m not allowed to poke it.”

“If you’d act even vaguely professional, maybe you could avoid this face.”

Waverly turned wide, innocent eyes on his HR director. “I don’t recall doing anything particularly unprofessional recently, Davey. I mean that honestly. Cross my heart. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He really didn’t.

“Your interns?” David prompted.

“I recall them,” Waverly said.

“You fired all of them!”

“I also recall that,” he admitted.

“What the hell was the problem this time, Waverly?”

“All these interns are trying to be me. But badly. Nothing that’s original. Nothing that’s them. They’re of no use to me. Go out and find me someone trying to be themselves.”

David sighed. “All of them, though?”

Waverly shrugged.

“What about Chuck? He had ideas. Opinions. He wasn’t worried about ingratiating himself.”

“Chuck? Really? His go-to insults were… hideously uncreative.”

“You’re judging him by the creativity of his insults?”

“His default put-down was ‘fag’.”

David was quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’ll give you that one,” he conceded. “But Pete! Pete was perfectly polite. Clearly he didn’t want to be you.”

Waverly shook his head, looking at his computer. “Didn’t trust him. He was too polite. I couldn’t piss him off, and that pissed me off. Anyone that polite is hiding something.”

“Some people are just nice!” David exclaimed, exasperated. “I thought Pete was nice. Waverly. You cannot fire someone for being nice.”

Waverly rolled his eyes. “I didn’t fire him. I just… transferred him. Away from me.”

David stepped close to Waverly and tugged his chin until their gazes crossed. “At a certain point this stopped being about the interns and started being about you.”

Waverly pulled away and stomped across the room. “That’s ridiculous. I reserve the right to enjoy the company of the people I work with. I’m the boss. Is that too much for the boss to ask?”

“Listen to me,” David said more quietly, not trying to approach him. “Listen to what I’m saying. I’m trying to help you. This isn’t about what you need from your interns, professionally speaking. I don’t even think it’s about whether you like them or not. You’re perfectly capable of getting along with people when it suits you. I think this has gotten personal.”

Waverly was well and confused now. “What are you even talking about?”

David bit his lip, looking across the room at Waverly before speaking again. “Waverly… you’re trying to find another me. You’re trying to find someone who has that same dynamic with you that I had back in the beginning. Even if that’s something you can find? That’s not going to work any better than people trying to be you.”

That… might have been a little true. Waverly missed those days. He missed David. What they’d had, or what Waverly had thought they’d had. He wanted work to be like that again. “Why not?” he asked.

David took a breath, and his eyebrows went down. “Because sooner or later everyone realizes they deserve better than someone who treats people the way you do!”

“Then why are you still around?” Waverly spat. He turned away. He hated when things got like this. David was a friend. The best head of Human Resources Waverly could ever ask for. Waverly didn’t know what he’d do if he lost David the rest of the way.

“Waverly,” David said, low and concerned, “I know you. I care about you. You’re my friend. I know you’ve come to respect me professionally. But what we had to go through to get here? It was not a good scene. It hurt both of us a lot.” He sighed. “Sometimes you have to adapt to people instead of making people adapt to you.”

For once, Waverly was left without words. His emotions were too big to fit into such limited containers.

Okay, yes, but how?

How do I treat people? What do I do wrong?

How do I do better?

(x)