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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year ago

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Nikola - part of the Magnus Monsterverse AU

What was I even truly being asked to do? Was I being used like Jonah had used me before?

I had no way to know that tonight, and I was too damned tired to think about it. And I still had to go to work.

Web Martin, I decided before I slept, was giving me a gosdamned raise.

Part of the Magnus Monsterverse AU.

AO3

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I almost forgot about my job.

I had a job! A job! One I’d stressed over! And I damn near missed it. I woke with my heart in my throat (whatever that meant for a man made of eyes) and sprang out of our bed so fast that I scared Martin half-invisible.

What followed was, according to the Eye, every bit as delightful as Tsukino Usagi running late for school in some anime called Sailor Moon, which I was vaguely aware existed as I scrambled around the room looking for business-worthy clothes, and by the time I was reaching for the door (stealing one more kiss from Martin, who was back to full-color, and so proud of me his cheeks were red), It had caught me up on all 18 volumes of manga and half the 200 episode series.

I didn’t really want any of that, but It was so damned happy about it that I felt bad telling It to stop. I finally did, though, when It projected to me the image of running down the street with a piece of toast in my mouth, which I absolutely would not do.

Fine, It whined, and fed me a silly science-fiction podcast following people in a space station orbiting a red dwarf star some seven and a half light years away from Earth instead.

This London was so different than I didn’t at first realize just where the bus was taking me.

It was just so damned quiet; no one spoke, not even in whispers; no one but me looked around, even though London was beautiful. Sort of in the way a mausoleum is, honestly: clean and stone and shadowed with ghosts of itself. I didn’t realize. I really didn’t, not until I saw we were driving past Battersea Park (Why was that the same name? How did that work?) and clocked just where we were going.

Owlwood Library sat in Chelsea, a few blocks from the Thames. It was a lovely building on the other side of Vauxhall bridge, near the embankment. A lovely Victorian structure, red brick and white stone, four stories and two towers and hell beneath the ground.

But it could not be. This was not the same place. It could not be the same.

The bus stopped.

A few people got off. I… almost didn’t.

I couldn’t let Martin down. I couldn’t… let this chance slip away. I leaped to my feet and staggered off the bus, breathing hard, snagging everyone’s attention because I was behaving like a loon, and then had to take a moment on the sidewalk, bent over, leaning on my thighs, just trying to breathe.

For an inner ear made of eyeballs, mine did a lovely job of making the world spin 'round. It was a coincidence, I told myself. My new job just happened to be in the same building as the Magnus Institute had once been. Ha ha, so funny, someone's idea of a joke. And after all, some things were the same (and never mind the utter madness of how many things had to be coincidences to make that so), so it couldn’t be related, it could not.

Could it?

The Eye wanted to show me and… couldn't. It fizzled. Sparked. Seized up? Froze like an old-school CRT monitor, blue and flickering. What? Why would…

The Eye didn’t do that. The Eye hardly reacted to what it saw, even with all this latest hyperactivity. The only time it ever just froze was in the face of—

Oh.

I stood slowly and looked at the building, looked at the building, LOOKED AT THE BUILDING, and saw the webs.

They were… everywhere. Everywhere. Blocking every window. Covering every door. Dangling, with little twirls as if in non-existence wind, brushing the heads and faces and unblinking eyes of every person who walked in and out of this place, and so many people did. So many. University students, mostly, but there were teenagers, and older academics, and the odd single parent looking for a good read. It was a busy place, and a happy place, and a stronghold of the Web, and I was two good, deep breaths away from just running down the street with a scream.

“Hey,” said Web Martin behind me.

I did scream as I spun. I’m sorry, Quiet London.

“It’s okay,” said Web Martin, holding out, of all things, a cup of tea on a little saucer. “You’re all right. No need to freak out.”

I stared at him. Through him. Oh, gods. He was full of spiders.

He sighed. “Jon. I’m not your enemy. We’ve been over this.”

��Don’t you dare fake impatience with me,” I snarled.

The act dropped. He smiled, looking like Annabelle Cane’s soul in Martin’s body. “Sorry. Force of habit; disappointment was usually the best way to get you to do anything.”

Oh, heavens. “Well, that’s not me anymore,” I said with far more force than I felt.

“Please come in. I promise this isn’t a trap. We couldn’t trap you, anyway; Jon, you could literally burn this entire web to the ground if you looked at it too hard. We are the ones in danger here, not you. All right? Come in so we can talk. It isn’t safe out here.”

“Did I even earn the job on my own?” I blurted, which was the dumbest thing in the world to say.

“Did you earn the original?” he said, deadpan.

Damn. That hurt.

His apology looked real. “Sorry, Jon. Please come in. We’re trusting you.”

And I must have been mad because the next thing I said was, “You’re paying me for my damn time.”

He laughed, and I knew, knew , I’d genuinely surprised him. “Of course! You really did get hired. Come on, now, let’s go.” He offered the tea again.

It was an Earl Grey with the most delicious scent, automatically calming, positively Pavlovian, and I inhaled for a moment, eyes closed.

The Eye was here. I was not alone. Not that It could do much to help me against the Web, but… I looked back at the building, then at Web Martin.

I looked at him. Looked. LOOKED.

He shuddered. “Wow,” he whispered. “That feels… not great?”

I’m sure it didn’t, because I saw him.

He was afraid of me, genuinely. He hadn’t lied. And filled with spiders or not, he… this was Martin.

Not my Martin, but he was Martin. He hadn’t been replaced with something else. This was genuinely him, with a different path, different choices.

My eyes pricked for a moment (yes, all of them ), and I wasn’t sure if they did in grief for the loss of the Martin I might have known, or guilt for refusing to see him as a person this long.

“Come on,” he said, relieved, because he hadn’t been sure how I’d respond (he… what? He what? ), and lead the way toward the Institute.

No, toward the Owlwood Library. Fuck.

It smelled exactly the same: books and cardboard boxes, cleaning material and that oddly earthy scent of old air conditioning installed in even older places.

The carpet was different. The marble was not. The office of Elias Bouchard was now a conference room and there was no Rosie guarding it. The door to the Archives still loomed, marked, EMPLOYEES ONLY, and I could not bring myself to see what lay beyond.

“Hi, Hannah!” Martin said quietly, waving at a researcher who waved back. “Mark coming today?”

“No, not today,” she whispered in returned, and smiled.

Martin shrugged it off and lead me deeper in.

I kept blinking. Between one blink and another, I could see more webs, or none. The place was just… full, but even I could see that some books were more wrapped than others, that to touch them would be to get web on your hand.

I wasn’t sure I could do this.

“You won’t be getting any on you,” said Martin, guessing from the way my own eyes were wide and horse-panicked.

“You got me the job,” I retorted.

"We’re well aware of what you’ll do to us if we upset you,” said Martin. “This is an attempt to invite you along, not do anything to make you upset.”

“Sure.” Wait, what had he said? “Invite me along to what?”

“Truth. And then, of course, your choices.”

“Oh, and you have no investment in those, I suppose,” I muttered.

Martin did not answer me until we entered a back office—a space that had, in my time, actually been divided into study rooms for our student population. Now, it was his space; books lined the walls, and maps, and he had lovely stylized things like globes and old portraits.

I stared and a lovely Victorian portrait of an older woman in mourning clothes, smiling knowingly at the painter. Her back was straight and her shoulders were squared; she looked like she knew exactly who was staring at her face from across time, and knew she could out-think them. “That… who is that?”

“Johanna Owlwood,” said Martin, “who founded this library in 1818 as part of a Cesarean outreach to the underprivileged who lacked the means for higher education.”

Cesarean. There was a whole bucket of nonsense I’d yet to upend. The Roman Imperial Cult was what lasted in this world, though it still ended up spreading Latin and Greek throughout, and—

“Have a seat, please. Let’s get your orientation out of the way,” said Web Martin.

“Wait a moment. Are you my boss?” I blurted.

Web Martin grinned.

“Oh, that’s simply unfair,” I said, trying to joke, and sat.

“Now, the pay rate and benefits are exactly as you saw in the paperwork you signed,” he said.

I hadn’t made it here the other day, though. “I didn’t sign any—”

Martin slid unsigned paperwork across, and I suddenly understood this was one of those conversations: time was a construct, and all that mattered was crossing and dotting appropriate letters.

“Fine,” I said, taking a moment to read it over.

“However, we’d hoped to discuss something that isn’t in your list of official duties,” said Web Martin.

“Out with it,” I said.

“You know something is wrong with this world.”

I sighed. “Nikola said so, yes.”

“The other Nikola. Would you like to question the other-other Nikola?”

“The… the one who’s imprisoned somewhere?”

“Yes.”

I sighed. “Look. I understand you have the need to make things complicated. I remember what it was like to talk to Annabelle. But I also know you can understand me when I say this: my tolerance for nonsense is, right at this moment, nearly as low as it ever has been.”

“Yes, we—”

“ No, you don’t understand,” I said. “I want straight answers. Simple. Clear. Few syllables. No trickery, no leading questions.”

Web Martin studied me for a long moment. I had the strangest impression; like gears made of web, turning in some colossal and complex machinery too intricate for me to understand. “All right,” he said. “I’ll try.”

We’d see. “I’m listening.”

“A god rules this world. It’s not a good god; it’s a cold god, and cruel. We believe it’s Eye-related.”

“Why?”

“Because it has so far seen, with complete clarity, every plan we’ve attempted, every investigation, and every try to get away from its influence.”

“That sounds aggressive,” I said, using the first word that came to mind. “The Eye doesn’t do that. It’s passive.”

“We said Eye-related for a reason.”

“And you intend for me to do… what, exactly?”

“An Eye cannot see itself,” said Web Martin.

“Uh-huh.” I crossed my arms.

“We believe you can uncover what’s really going on and help us to stop it.”

“What is it doing that’s so terrible?”

He tilted his head.

I pushed. I already knew the answer on some level, but I pushed. “London, at least, is clean and quiet. Crime rates are incredibly low. Tell me what’s so horrible about it all.”

“Guilt, Jonathan Sims,” said Web Martin, who had not blinked at all since agreeing to be honest with me. “It rules the world with guilt. Didn’t you know?”

I did.

I… I truly did. It wasn’t fear; but it was like the fear, driving things, controlling things, forcing people into boxes not meant for their size. It compressed human beings into shapes not right, sucked out joy, bled away hope.

Guilt.

And the moment—the moment —I forgave people, that god of guilt lost its grip on them.

Crew. The Distortion. Martin. Tim.

This wasn’t possible. Shouldn’t be; my word should not be enough to counteract whatever this other force had going. “The whole world?”

“Yes.”

I realized I was wringing my hands and stopped. “Only the one guilt-god? It’s not… there aren’t other cruel gods?”

“Oh, the Fears are here,” said Web Martin, “along with the quiet scents of the ones your Gerry disbelieved—love, mercy, all those things. But they’re balanced . They are as they should be; merely higher up the food chain, neither depleting nor depriving, simply existing as all things do. But this… this throws it all out of whack. We can’t feed as we ought. We are starved; and the fact is, Jon, that’s putting our patrons in… something of a bad position.”

I stared at him. “Will they die if they starve?”

“No. They’ll go mad and devour the world, is what they’ll do.”

He was right. Oh, gods. He was right. I knew it. Felt it. “But… all the other rescued avatars don’t seem to be starving.”

Web Martin’s smile wasn’t kind. “Well, that’s because—in spite of misunderstandings—our patrons do take good care of us. As long as we feed them, we who represent are cared for. Even though they are not receiving enough, we do. But that can’t last forever.”

When I’d told him to be blunt, I hadn’t expected this. “So you’re asking me to help undo something the Web can’t figure out.”

“We don’t need understanding, Jon. We need sight. That’s your department.”

“Why not ask someone else? Gerry, or…” But there were precious few people of the Eye here, weren’t there? Precious few. “Did Manuela avoid rescuing people connected to the Eye?”

“They don’t survive. Something destroys them while she brings them in.”

I stared. “What?”

“It’s quite awful. They’re torn apart, or… well. They tear themselves apart, is what it seems like to us.”

“Tear themselves apart?”

“As you very nearly did.”

I… had. Shame over what I was, what I had done. If not for Martin... “This isn’t what I expected.”

“You asked for bluntness.” Web Arthur shrugged. “Unlike Annabelle, I actually know how to do that when needed.”

“Can’t whatever this thing is see us now? Didn’t it see your machinations to provide me with gainful employment?”

Web Martin started giggling again. “Machinations.”

I sputtered. “Well, it’s accurate!”

“No, no, you’re correct, you just… manage to put such nefariousness into the word. Adorable.” He kept chuckling.

I glared denial. “Can you tell me anything else?”

“Ah, let me see.” He wiped his eyes. “Yes. There’s something of a resistance? It all has to be carefully done, since… well, being watched is unavoidable; but the thing is that this god, whatever it is, seems limited to guilt. Those who have slipped the yoke, as it were, can be recaptured, but if they manage to fight it off, they can be useful.”

“Do they know they’re part of a resistance?” I said, dry.

“Some of them,” he said with that still-surprising honesty. “Of course, they all think it has something to do with Manuela and Leitner.”

“Does it?”

“I don’t know.” Web Martin shrugged. "The Spider can’t really work with them, you see. They simply don’t react as predicted; they aren’t mappable. We have not been able to pull a single thread to get them to do anything with great effect. Are they working for this guilt-god? We don’t know. Is Sasha? We don’t… think so, though she’s certainly unintentionally complicit.”

“She believes guilt keeps us safe,” I said slowly.

“An effective lie, isn't it?” Web Martin shrugged magnificently. “Is there anything else? I have a nine o’clock I really have to take.”

I stared. “You have to tell me more than that.”

“We don’t know more than that. We have guesses, but nothing proven. Do you really want speculation?”

“I…” Blast. “Maybe?”

“Not yet, I think,” said Web Martin. “You’ll get overwhelmed. As it is, you have to put in a full day of work.”

Dear lord, was this happening?

“Oh,” he said. “I’d suggest trying to meet with Nikola tonight. She won't last much longer, now that her original is gone. Since you can portal, you can do that.”

“But I don’t know where she…” Except I did. Manuela’s mountain.

“If you come up with specific questions—”

“Which I will.”

“—then we will answer,” said Martin. “But there is the fear that giving you too much information will send you on some… damned crazy crusade.”

“Nonsense,” I said.

“We can’t really afford any broken tables, Jon,” said Web Martin almost gently. “Not this time.”

Oh, ouch. “Oh, there’s the manipulation,” I drawled. “Wondered where that went.”

He smiled like the sun rising, and absolutely conjured the feel of spider legs tickling under my skin. “Good luck.”

“Wait a minute. What am I even doing?”

“Today, it’s simple: go around the place, all four floors; find the carts with returned books on them. Return the books.”

“Don’t they need to be… logged, or something?”

“In a normal library, yes, but not this one.”

I sighed. “And for this, I’m being paid a livable wage?”

“You can actually shelve any book in the place without getting entangled. Quite frankly, you could ask for more.”

“Maybe I will ,” I said.

“Maybe you should,” he said, and smiled like the sun.

Someone knocked on the door. “Mister Blackwood? Your nine o’clock is here.”

“Thank you!" he called. "And thank you, Jon,” said Web Martin.

“Don’t thank me. I know you’re just tugging heartstrings again.”

“Maybe, but I do mean it. Good luck.”

Good luck , as it turned out, meant, Those carts are old and the wheels don’t work well and you’re going to have a time trying to steer them places.

I checked, too. The wheel brakes weren’t on. They were just… I don’t know. Maybe designed to move according to the will of the Web, or something, and my presence apparently cut that off.

I looked up books and shelved them, relying on the Eye to give me the Dewey Decimal information so I wouldn’t have to continually go back downstairs to the card catalog (which was not digitized, and I couldn’t decide if that made me happy or annoyed).

It was pleasantly mindless work. I have always loved the feel and smell of books, and as the ones I touched were mysteriously web-free, I got to enjoy them.

I got lost a couple of times reading a book before putting it away. You know. On the clock, because the Web can go to hell.

How much of what Web Martin said was true?

All of it , the Eye assured me, but that didn’t help. I knew the Eye was thinking in absolutes; not in shades of color, in the angle of a lie. This was not a true/false scenario. This had dimensions. I just wasn’t sure what they were.

The Web was the Web; the Spider couldn’t change her nature, so I knew this hadn’t been completely blunt. But… I think it was about as blunt as she could manage. The question was what to do about it. Who was this resistance? What on earth could they accomplish, given they could not go unseen? What were they resisting, anyway? Feeling bad?

Why hadn’t Gerry been invited? What the hell was I going to say to Nikola in an hour?

I felt stupid today. I’m sure it had absolutely nothing to do with being exploded at and impaled last night, not to mentioned helped by an iteration of my worst enemy. No, I’m sure all of that was totally incidental.

The Eye began feeding me internet programming about mental health and what stress does to the body. Yes, thank you. I don’t have a body. I have eyes in a sack. Thank you. I’m… I’m good now. Thanks.

It switched to “reality” programming following couples around who kept secrets from each other. Oh, what the hell? What?

We weren’t keeping secrets from each other. Fuck that noise.

(Or at least, I wasn’t.)

(I knew he wasn’t, either. Come on.)

I finished my shift and checked in with Web Martin. He handed me some paperwork to take home, an unbelievably fake smile, and a cursory good night.

It was getting dark out. I texted Martin: Want me to pick anything up?

Just you , he typed. Then a moment later, That didn’t come out right

I laughed, walking on a rapidly darkening street, phone in hand. I’ll see what I can do about that.

He sent a few emoji which were not public safe, and I walked with a grin and heated cheeks. What ridiculousness!

I had a lover, and he was… he really cared for me. That hadn’t happened before, any of it. I’d been friends with some cuddling with Georgie, but nothing like this. Even then, she’d… well. She’d liked me. She’d trusted me, which I managed to destroy completely; but she hadn’t really… enjoyed spending time with me?

I irritated her. My rants. My little obsessions. My... well. Neurodivergence, I suppose.

That thought took a lot of introspection. It seemed I didn't annoy Martin by just being me, and that in and of itself was more of a miracle than gods or monsters or any damn thing.

I needed to keep him safe. If Web Martin was right, and I had a unique chance to figure out what was going on with this world…

Oh, shit. I’d freed Martin from its grip. Was he in danger?

I stopped walking. It had grown dark enough that street lights littered the sidewalk with circles of dimness, and I really needed to get to the bus stop and go home.

Or.

Or, I could spy—which I hadn’t done yet—and see if Manuela was out of her mountain so I could go speak to Nikola.

Manuela had security in place; I remembered that. But I wondered if she’d thought to put it in the cell where Nikola was locked away.

Was I really thinking this? Making a plan to appear in close quarters with a monster who had actively tried to skin me?

I was thinking this. I focused.

The Eye showed me her cell, and it was through her own eyes. Looking down at her plastic body, at the rags she’d been permitted; at the nothing that was her day, a completely empty space apart from a single board attached to the wall like some godsdamned cowboy prison.

Nikola had fake moonlight. High on the wall apart from the door was a barred window opening to nothing—into the mountain—but it had light coming through it, aping the outside.

Why had Manuela done that? Enrichment was clearly not a thing. Why had—

The Eye… showed me: it is a mockery of hope. A mockery of the outside she’d never see again, a mockery of real life she would never feel on her skin, day and night changing place without seam, a reminder of what she would never be given as long as they deemed her unsafe.

Nikola was starving. And I was thinking of hurling myself into that cell. Was I really going to do this?

I looked for Manuela. She was at home, watching Brother Love season two, wrapped in a robe, holding a mug of hot chocolate.

Great. Now I felt bad for betraying her by doing this.

I need Manuela not to see this, I thought.

The Eye responded with one simple image: the lanky, slumping, teenage form of Callum Brodie.

There was an idea. First… I had to go home.

“Yes, I have his number,” said Martin, my Martin, who was so much better than Web Martin that I could just crawl into his clothes while he was wearing them and kip for a month.

“I need to talk to him.”

“Tonight?” Martin was baffled. The containers of Thai he’d picked up for us sat on the counter, opened and steaming.

“Yes.”

“Well.” He blinked. “All right.” He handed me his phone.

It was impossible not to catch glimpses of his texts.

Michael D. Apology already given and we

Mike C. Sure we can meet up how about the

Peter L. Anytime.

I forced myself to stop peeking and click the compose icon. (He obviously wasn’t hiding anything. He’d just literally handed me his phone, for crying out loud.)

Callum, this is Jonathan Sims. I apologize for using Martin’s phone to reach out to you, but I don’t have your number. If it’s all right, I need a favor this evening. Please let me know if you’re available. Thank you. -JS

Martin took it back, stared, and started giggling. “Really? Format grammar and everything. Jon, it’s text. ”

“It’s an introduction,”I said, just a bit defensively. “I have to make the right impression.”

“Oh, Jon. You’re ridiculous,” he said so warmly, so gently, and kissed my cheek.

“Ew?” said a cracking teenage voice to my right, and I jumped.

Callum Brodie stepped out of the shadows. Just out of the shadows, completely invisible to me, and then not, and I had a badly frightened moment that must have shown on my face, because he laughed. “Shouldn’t’ve been snogging, then, you didn’t want to get scared.”

“Take the piss out of someone else,” said Martin mildly. “Callum, this is Jon. Jon, Callum.”

“Hi,” I said, unable to see inside him, able to see him with anything but my very human eyes, and it was so very strange. I hadn’t just used my two basic eyes for so long, and hadn’t even realized it. He almost didn’t seem real. Flat, like a cardboard cutout of himself. “I have a favor to ask.”

“What do I get out of it?” he said.

“Um. What do you want?” I said.

“Way to bargain, Sims,” said Martin, the corners of his mouth curled.

“Oh, shut up. What do you want, Callum?”

He studied me. “Money.”

“Oh. I just got a job today.”

“Not that kind of money. A lot of money.”

“I’m not… robbing a bank for you , or something.”

Callum stared at me. Then he looked at Martin, eyebrows raised.

Martin shrugged, wearing a beatific smile.

Callum looked back. “I want you to find me things . Things only Eye-guys can see. Not robbing people. I’m not stupid.”

“I… don’t understand what you’re…”

“Lost treasure. Missing things. Overlooked paintings. Things like that.”

I scratched my head. “How are you going to handle provenance?”

“Not your concern, Pupil Boy.”

Martin lost it, just for a moment. “I am so calling you that.”

“Don’t you dare,” I said back, equally unserious.

“You’ll do it?” said Callum.

I checked with the Eye. “Looks like it’s possible,” I said. “All right. I suppose so, but not open-ended. Three things.”

“Sure,” said Callum, who clearly thought he’d gotten the better end of the deal (and probably had), and then said what they all say: “I killed you in my world.”

“Yes, yes,” I said.

“You tried to see through the dark, and you couldn’t. It ate you.”

“I think you mean one of the things inside it ate me,” I said, pedantic. “One of the lightless beasts, or whatnot.”

“No,” he said with a little shrug. “The Dark ate you. Really enjoyed it, too. Gave me a real boost.”

“Oh,” I said.

A deeply awkward pause… happened.

“Callum,” said Martin, chiding gently.

“Fine,” said Callum. “What do you need?”

“I need Manuela Dominguez not to notice that I am visiting her special lab in the Alps.”

“Done,” he said.

I blinked. “What do you mean, done? It can’t be done already.”

“It’s done. What, you think I don’t know where she is? You think I don’t know how to hide something stupid like a visitor from her system?” Callum said.

I stared at him. “You’re… efficient.”

“I fucking destroyed my world. Yeah. Efficient’s the word,” said Callum. “Four things. For being rude.”

Martin chortled.

I could sort of see why. Callum was abrasively winning, somehow. Bleh. “Sure. Four things.”

Callum smiled. Like a shark. “Do whatever you gotta do. I’ll keep you out of sight the whole time you’re there.”

“Thank you.” I kissed Martin quickly.

“Ew,” said Callum, who watched eagerly nonetheless.

“Be careful,” said Martin.

“I will make sure we’re safe,” I said, nuzzling him once.

Then I opened a portal and stepped through.

I made it sound so easy. Opened a portal and stepped through. As if it didn’t involve narrowing my mind, opening my gaze; somehow seeing across hundreds of miles and through a mountain of solid stone that had supposedly been protected against this very thing. As if it didn’t involve telling reality to open, to part, to fold so that I could step from my London flat into her Switzerland lab. I couldn’t explain how I did this if my life depended on it, and it frightened me, because what if I couldn’t hold on to this instinctive skill?

The fear made it stronger, of course, and faster than I was ready for, I’d arrived. And oh, gods, I couldn’t see shit.

Okay. Okay; no, I could see, but the same way I saw Callum: strange, two-dimensional. It felt like I could only move in one direction across a flat plane.

Her door skewed, a trapezoid, but I found my way to it, reached through it somehow (don’t think about it, Sims), and walked inside.

Nikola Orsinov was deeply startled to see me.

Oh… oh, she was not well. Her feet and hands had both been melted off; there was no paint left on her, anywhere. The ringmaster's uniform was shreds of red, unrecognizable on her mutilated manikin body.

In spite of all that, her shock was palpable. She sat up, joints creaking, plastic squeaking. “Archivist?” she said in a broken-music box voice.

This wasn’t right. She was being tortured. This was… inhumane. This was monstrous. I didn’t care what she had done. This was…

I had to be out of my mind. “I know you’re a copy.”

We were still for a long moment, she and I, staring—one without eyes, the other whose sight was flattened by the Dark.

“She told you,” said Nikola.

“Yes. I’m here to find out what you know about guilt.”

“Are you? That’s lovely! I don’t believe you.”

Of course she didn’t. “What have they done to you in here?” I said.

“You, the arbiter of that which exposes, which sees and reveals, wish to learn about guilt?” she said, and her laugh was terrible. It sounded like ping pong balls rattling together, as if they’d been dropped down the stairs.

“I’m hoping I can stop it,” I said.

Nikola could not stare. She had no eyes—but that which was within her could most certainly see. I found myself pinned, peered through, seen by that which must see clearly in order to erase and replace it with itself. I was… this was…

This was a god , and anyone who’d called me one was full of shit.

“I see,” said Nikola. “You think you can restore the balance? You?” She stood.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t… even think. Felt like I was held in a hand made of knives, and it hadn’t skinned me yet, hadn’t pierced, but with the slightest twitch, it could.

She stopped in front of me, pretending to see, letting the other see. “You could, I think… but might it be more fun not to let you?” Her stump pressed into my chest and

fingers she had fingers though they were not visible

They pressed into my skin, and—“I’m torn, Archivist. I’m so very hungry, and you’re right here, and delightfully afraid. It’s like you’re a little Cornish pasty, steaming and ready!”

For one second, just one, she had me. Terror—a lifetime of it, before my bizarre millennia floating in nothing—settled into all its familiar place, refitting its fingerprints to the bruises it gripped into my soul.

The Eye showed me Martin.

A glimpse, lying beside me in our small bed, too close, smiling in the morning light; sleepy-eyed, utterly relaxed, mine.

Oh, fuck this creature. “ Don’t touch me ,” I said, and I don’t know where it came from or how it worked, but it thrust her away with the same trembling force my forgiveness.

But this was not forgiveness.

Nikola cracked back from me into the wooden board that was her bed and collapsed there, limbs askew, clacking and creaking and inhuman. She laughed.

And then from her issued a… sense. Sentence? Communication that was not in words.

Maybe you can do it

She didn’t say those words. That which looked through her at me said those words. The godsdamned Stranger itself regarded me, and Nikola stood down. “She would never tell you to ask me,” she said, stolen voice box creaky like her limbs. “I take it she is dead.”

“Yes. She’s dead.”

And this Nikola’s whole form… shuddered , making a sound like a failing bridge. “So then it's done! I am no longer needed.”

She was falling apart. “I need information!” I snapped. “What, you’re going to just… die?”

“How can I die when I’ve never been alive, Archivist? What funny things you say,” she said, and I—

could see

Exactly where she was being held together, and the threads of unreality were being pulled away, and I

held

them fast.

That which looked through her unpainted face groaned.

“Tell me what you know, Nikola Orsinov,” I commanded.

“It controls,” she moaned, “needs to control… to keep all… where it thinks they belong. It does not allow… chaos. ”

What?

Oh.

Oh… that made… sense to me.

Sense in a horrible way, sense in a way I did not want, like feeling the beauty of the Vast, or the joy of the Distortion, or the relief of the Lonely. Keeping it quiet, keeping it shamed , meant no one would do the worst things, or very few would. It meant saving people. It meant calm.

But was that actually saving anyone?

No. It wasn’t. I knew that. Saving them at the expense of their joy was not saving them at all.

It was becoming hard to hold Nikola together. “Do you want to live?” I asked her.

“I don’t live, silly Archivist,” she said.

“Answer me.” I could make her do that.

She shuddered, rattled. “I want to be released from this form. I won’t truly die, Archivist—but I can be untrapped.”

Fuck Manuela for doing this. This wasn’t right. I don’t care what Nikola did, how many lives she’d taken; we were supposed to not be the monsters here. “I release you,” I said. “And… I forgive you, too.”

She fell apart. Clattering, legs rolling under the board, arms plonking to the ground and rocking just for a moment. Her head rolled all the way to my feet, where it landed, looking up at me.

Impossibly, there was some paint there, after all. I’d swear it was a smile.

I don’t know what I did, by doing that. Maybe I made things bad. I don’t care. This hadn’t been right, and I…

I was angry .

I opened a portal and stomped back home.

Martin and Callum both did a double-take and stared.

“It’s done,” I said.

“Jon?” said Martin as if unsure.

Great. What was wrong now? “Of course, Jon. Why? Do I look like someone else? Did the fucking Stranger…”

“Jon, you’re glowing,” Martin said.

“I… think… uh,” said Callum. “You’ll pay when you can, probably.” He took two steps back and into the Dark and was gone.

I looked down at myself. I wasn’t glowing. “What?”

“Jon, you… you look radioactive.”

And suddenly it hit me. Sometime during that time in Nikola’s cell, I’d adapted to the Dark. seen in three dimensions; seen fully, comfortably, no longer restricted by whatever Callum cast over us.

Damn. I’d done it again. “Glowing?”

Martin nodded.

I tried to stop doing that. “Still?”

Martin nodded.

I waved my hands. “Fuck!” I declared.

Martin took a step. “You’re warm,” he whispered.

“Warm!” I said the word like it offended me.

He stepped closer, and very, very carefully, reached to touch my hand.

Immediate relief. I hadn’t known I was hot, hadn’t known I was burning up like an underground fire, but I was; and from him, coolness, relief, isolation spread over my skin like a healing balm, and I welcomed it.

I could have fought him fought the Lonely's kiss, but why? For a moment, I was all alone, alone in the world, in an ocean of mist and silence, and it was bliss.

Then I was in his arms, trembling, knees weak. “Oh,” I whispered.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “Doused it. Whatever it was. Don’t know how, but… but it worked.”

It worked because I’d wanted it to. Oh, gods. I clutched him, feeling weak as a kitten. “She’s dead. The fake. Died as soon as she knew the original was gone.”

“So you didn’t get a lot of answers, did you?” he said.

“No,” I sighed. “I didn’t even get to learn how the original Nikola got here.”

ALWAYS HERE , the Eye told me.

Sure. That made sense.

“Come on,” he said. “Full day of work, running around inside of mountains, blowing up enemies… I think you’ve done enough, yeah?”

I laughed. “When you put it that way.”

I let him drag me to the bathroom, washing off the grime, the sweat, the workplace . I let him take me to the living room, where I sat on the sofa like a dropped shirt, limp and barely awake, and let him feed me leftover curry.

He made a fuss over the fingertip bruises on my chest, where Nikola had pushed in, somehow. I hardly cared about them.

I cared about him. “Too good to me,” I kept mumbling.

“Oh, hush,” he mumbled back, and got me to bed.

I was exhausted. I had to do most of this again tomorrow? Somehow? Why in blazes had I gotten a job, again?

Martin was already out, eyelashes moving with his dreams, breathing softly.

What was I even truly being asked to do? Was I being used like Jonah had used me before?

I had no way to know that tonight, and I was too damned tired to think about it. And I still had to go to work.

Web Martin, I decided before I slept, was giving me a gosdamned raise.

#tma #tma fic #the magnus archives au #tma au #jonathan sims #nikola orison #martin blackwood #callum brodie #web martin #magnus monsterverse

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booksandchainmail · 3 months ago

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oniisama e, episode 15

ok, so there are 200 students in their year, which is more than I expected: I thought of Seiran as a small, insular school, but that's as large as my own highschool class (though they do have fewer years). So the demand is for Sorority members to be in the top 25%. This is going to sound heartless, but that honestly sounds reasonable to me, the whole point of this group is that they're meant to be elite

I like that Tomoko is being realistic when reassuring Nanako. Don't worry! I'm sure you'll just barely meet the qualifications!

This post-exam Sorority scene is hard to watch, it's such an exercise of social control, they could (and should!) have done this privately, but Miya really wants her own elite circles to watch how easily she can cast someone out

Also, not giving a second chance is stupid. It's one exam! Stuff happens. Even if it was based on overall grades instead of exams this would be harsh. Put her on probation, let her improve the next time round, and in the meanwhile you'll have her desperate to please, and if she makes it you win her loyalty. Also you don't look like so much of an asshole.

Giving her a chance to resign rather than be kicked out is clearly meant to be gracious, but the way Miya does it is just twisting the knife

Yeah!!! Nanako taking a principled stand! This won't work, of course, but the thought counts

Oh shit did Nanako not realize Miya is the reason she got into the Sorority. I thought that was fairly obvious, but I get to see scenes Nanako doesn't I guess. Though I disagree with her here: I don't think that's an unfair way to get in! This is already an arbitrary selective group, there's no objective criteria it's just how much the senior girls like you. Getting enough favor from the queen of the school that she supports you is a valid way in!

I like that it's not just the main three, all the upperclasswomen seem to have pretentious nicknames

how dare a first year come into this bar, this is where the seniors smoke and drink! I'm sure there's a less elegant place where they only serve beer for the underclasswomen

I like that Mariko's moved on from trying to cut out Tomoko in order to be Nanako's only friend. I think it's probably that she's realized it won't work, and that being friendly and welcoming gets her a lot of points with Nanako, but I like to think that they're also starting to become friends as well. Mariko needs a non-obsessive social circle

Even if Miya is telling the truth that Nanako was voted into the Sorority, her approval was absolutely what got those votes

huh, we never really did get a reason why Miya was so interested in Nanako. Is she just that pretty? Interesting that out of the three older girls, Miya is the one who is actively drawn to Nanako

oh wow she's coming on strong

I've been reading a big coffee table book on queer film history, and Nanako in these scenes looks a lot like this androgynous boy in a sailor suit from one of them

Nanako, between everything with Mariko, and everything with Kaoru and Sainte-Juste, you've got to know what lesbians are at this point. Stop being confused!

how the fuck did her shirt tuck in that quickly. what anime magic is this and where do I get it.

I really do like the clothing/character choices in this anime. Nanako was very bland from a design standpoint at the beginning, but now we're getting more into the androgynous features and masculine clothes that I've liked on other characters in this show. She honestly looks like the soft old-school shoujo male lead in a few shots this conversation, with the collared shirt and her hair drifting shorter.

Honestly? Good on Nanaya for getting out of all this

and of course the flower is a lily

#oniisama e #dear brother

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kibumkim · 1 year ago

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I remember there were these paper doll things that u needed like a whole emulator to run them and I had like 200+ sailor moon ones and like I was like 12 anyway they gave tuxedo mask a dick and balls when u took his clothes off instead of just like…underwear like they did everyone else and they made him blush and shit when u took them off and I’m 12 so I thought this was hilarious and I was immediately like let’s show my mom and she did not find it funny. She did not find it funny at ALL.

#makotxt #I still remember her being like “WHY THEY GIVE HIM NUTS ITS A DOLL

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silverior968 · 2 years ago

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First attempt at a DND character! (More info after ID)

[Image ID: A digital character sheet featuring 3 drawings of a half-elf DnD character with light ash-blonde hair that is wavy and half-up. Her skin is light tan with some freckles, and her eyes are cyan. She has a gentle smile. In the first drawing her outfit consists of a comfortable white long-sleeved shirt with a wide neck, old rose colored shorts and white socks. On her left leg she has a sock suspender made of brown leather, and on her light leg she has a knee brace made of the same material. Next to this drawing are 4 blobs of color, representing her parents’ color pallettes. Her father’s colors are ivory and blond and her mother’s colors are tan and gray. The next drawing is of her with her adventuring clothes, consisting of a teal tunic with waves embroidered on the hem and neckline. Underneath she has a white shirt with puffy, rolled up sleeves and gray-brown trousers. Her tunic has a rope for a belt, tied with a sailor’s knot. She has dark brown boots with dark string tied around the ankles, and brown gloves with dark string around the wrists. She has a small decorative apron with juniper branches embroidered on it. She also has a dark blue hooded cape with two fishing hooks used for clasps. The last drawing is her from behind, showing her hairstyle. Some of her hair is tied up with rope and a turquoise piece of seaglass. On the right side of the drawing is the text “Måge-Lyn”, “half-elf”. Below the text is a close-up of her pupil. / End ID]

I finally managed to make some sort of design for her! She’s actually a repurposed old warrior cats oc, her old name was Ashdrizzle and she was my first warriors oc. I’m not into warriors anymore so I’m starting the long process of repurposing my old characters (I had over 200 lol). Måge-Lyn is her new name, it’s danish for Seagull-Lightning. She lives by the sea and I imagine her parents would be the type to name their child after nature-related things they like. She’s a druid and she really really likes the sea. Also, since she’s a repurposed old character, she has a nice backstory going already.

#dnd #dungeons and dragons #dnd character #original character #oc

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faux-fires · 1 year ago

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From the "40 Questions — Meme for Fic Writers": 7, 28 and one of your choice!

Thanks Holly! For the 40 questions for fic writers meme:

#7: Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

this dumb fucking joke from my dragon!fai/kurogane fic, Your Princess is in Another Castle. it's like 10 years old and I don't think anybody following this blog (except my fav scrublord, @mikkeneko) was in it with me, but i still smile to myself reading this fic and if u can't smile at ur own fic, what else is it FOR:

"Oh my god," Kurogane said, automatically, because like most dragons Ashura wasn't wearing any clothes. His knees suddenly felt very weak. "Um," said Fai, his glib tongue seeming to have deserted him. "Hello?" "Can I go?" Yuui asked Ashura. Despairing it was, then. At least he wasn't naked. It was a low bar to meet in terms of presentation, but so far two of the six people in this room weren't making it.

#28: Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

Easy peasy! #1, montparnasse, because i adore their poetic prose (as exemplified by the intro to my fav of their fics, the Hawkebella On Southerly Winds):

Once, lost-but-not-lost on a windless night at sea, Isabela told a young sailor, “You’ve got to live like everything can hurt you.” The sailor, new and green as a beansprout, said it was sound advice. She didn’t understand that it was not. It was fact, like iron in the blood.

#2, Spicyshimmy - handers fandom will know why, but i love their clever playing around with tone, their Hawke characterisation is so fun and sad, and Fareweel Regality remains one of my fav unreliable narrator stories. I also enjoy their larger ensemble pieces particularly in the Mass Effect fandom.

It didn’t take Bethany long to corner Garrett in the den, after he’d seen both the seneschal and Saemus out with a wink and a nod and a sigh of relief. ‘What on earth was that all about?’ she demanded, eyes alight with pure irritation, the mark of a truly loving sister. ‘Do you want the viscount’s son to think there’s madness in our family? Because that’s certainly how you were acting tonight.’ ‘Better madness than magic, I’d think,’ Garrett said.

And last but not least, #3, mikkeneko, my favourite scrublord. she can be ur angle:

"Hawke, what's going on here?" Merrill took in the scene with wide green eyes. "What did you do?" Hawke's expression was insufferably smug. "I found out how to use the Mirror of Transformation to make extra copies of myself," he said. "And... viola!" "That's the instrument," Varric muttered out of the side of his mouth.

... she can be ur deville....

"Promise me," Kurogane insisted. "I promise," he said. "I'll... do what I have to, to stay alive." So that you'll have something to come back to.

... but mostly, she's ur mikke.

Somewhere lost in the clouded annals of myth, in the vague spaces beyond the edges of the map where only dragons lie, in places unknown and untread by mortal feet, (do not pass Go, do not collect $200), in just such a dim and murky place, resides a tavern. This mysterious inn can only be reached by -- "How did you lot all get here, anyway?" Wei Wuxian asked. "Unmapped tributary of the River of Souls," mumbled Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Ninth Saint to the Serve the King Undying, the Reverend Daughter of Drearburh and Heir to the House of the Ninth. "Secret paths of Yggdrasil," murmured Loki Laufeyson, Shape-Changer, Sly-One, Wizard of Lies, Thief of Giants, Foe of the Gods and Forger of Evil. "Experimental portals powered by the Elder Blood," said Yennefer of Vengerberg, court mage of Aedirn, hero of Sodden, refugee of Nilfgaard, mother of Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Lady of Space and Time. "I mean I came here on a donkey, but your things are cool too," said Wei Wuxian.

And ladies' choice, #1: Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

happy endings. eventually. 😎

#writing meme

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delux2222 · 2 years ago

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Born in England in 1682, as a sailor Benjamin Lay witnessed the brutality of the slave trade first hand. The experience guided him towards an early embrace of abolitionism, especially after witnessing a slave commit suicide to escape abuse. Benjamin eventually settled in the British colony of Pennsylvania, where he scandalized his fellow Quakers with intense public protests and acts of “guerilla theatre” against slavery.

Barely four feet tall, with dwarfism and a spinal condition known as hyperkyphosis, “Little Benjamin” (as he called himself) once stood outside a Quaker meeting in the snow… barefoot and with no coat. He positioned himself in the gateway leading to the meetinghouse, ensuring that each congregant would pass by him. When they expressed concern for his health he responded that slaves had little protection against the elements, and that the congregants should show the same concern for them. At a large annual Quaker gathering, Benjamin gave a fiery anti-slavery speech grounded in Biblical verse. He ended by plunging a sword into a Bible he had hollowed out, which contained an animal bladder filled with blood-red juice. Blood appeared to spray out of the Bible. Benjamin further shocked the audience by proceeding to splatter slave-owning Quakers in the congregation with the Bible’s “blood.” The message was clear: supporting slavery was akin to murdering the Word of God.

During his life, “Little Benjamin” wrote over 200 pamphlets, condemning animal cruelty, imprisonment, and capital punishment. He singled out slavery, however, not merely as a cruel practice… but a demonic one. Benjamin Lay’s language was uncompromising: those who practiced slavery bore the “Mark of the Beast,” and were responsible for creating Hell on earth. He fiercely called out his own Quaker community to take a stand and expel all church members who owned or traded in slaves. Benjamin Lay also boycotted the slave-labor industry by making his own clothes. In 1738, a printer he had befriended published his book “All Slave-Keepers That Keep the Innocent in Bondage, Apostates.” It was the most militant anti-slavery tract to date. The printer was Benjamin Franklin, who kept his own involvement anonymous.

In his later years, Benjamin Lay embraced a self-sufficient and hermetic lifestyle, living in a cave out in the Pennsylvania countryside with a constructed entryway to protect from the elements. He filled the cave with books of poetry, theology, and history; spun his own flax clothing; kept goats for milk; gardened; harvested from fruit trees he had planted; and made his own honey by attending to an enormous beehive.

In 1758, when the Pennsylvania Quakers passed a resolution disciplining any slave owners and traders, Benjamin exclaimed “I can now die in peace.” He did so the following year. Decades after his death, Quakers would rise to the forefront of the abolitionist movement: many of them kept images of Benjamin Lay in their homes as a source of inspiration.

This story is part of a project to mobilize White people for racial justice, by providing examples of what White antiracism has looked like throughout U.S. history. You can learn more about the project here: https://burnett-lynn.medium.com/white-antiracist-history...

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saving-word-crawls · 3 months ago

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Pride Festival Crawl

By: emeraldtapestry

Pride Celebration Crawl

Welcome to the Pride Celebration crawl. We are going to get ready for and attend an LGBTQIA+ pride festival! There will be some self-care tips and reminders throughout the crawl, but you can use them or refuse them as you see fit. Not everyone’s self-care looks the same.

Ah, good morning. The sun is just rising and it’s that day today, Pride day! It’s time to get ready.

First, it’s time to pick out a pride outfit. You open your closet and push your regular clothes to the side. Perfect. You’ve found your collection of Pride clothes. Follow the directions for each item you add to your outfit:

Top: - Plain shirt that says “love is love”: 100 words - Ripped sparkly tank top over a rainbow undershirt/bra: 200 words - Rainbow fishnet top: 300 words Bottoms: - Jean shorts with a rainbow belt: write for 5 minutes - A floofy rainbow tulle skirt: write for 7 minutes - White sailor’s pants with painted rainbow polka dots: write for 10 minutes Accessories: - Rainbow knee high socks: take a three digit challenge - headband with springy hearts: Write your age times 10 words - Neon fishnet stockings: roll a d100 and write that many words - Multicolored light-up bracelets: Write 10 words times the amount of bracelets you want to wear - A rainbow colored velvet scrunchie: Write 80 words in recognition of the 1980’s

Now that you’re dressed, it’s time for breakfast. Check if you need a snack break . Once you’ve finished your breakfast, you’ll want to text your friends and let them know you’re ready to meet up and head over. Pick 1 or more friends you’re meeting up with and check their phone numbers in your cellphone. Write as many words as the last three digits of their phone number(s).

Phew, it took a long time for them to text back, it’s not your fault you’re such a morning person. Pack up your things and get ready to leave. Don’t forget to slip on your shoes before you head out. What shoes are you adding to your already fabulous Pride outfit?

flip-flops: Take some deep breaths for your fantastically breathable footwear

High tops: Give yourself a high-five for what you’ve accomplished already

kinky boots: Take a break to watch this Raise You Up from Kinky Boots here: - YouTube 1

Time for some public transportation. Joy. You head out the door, down the street to the bus stop. The bus is late. Because buses are always late. Write for 10 minutes while waiting for the bus. Unless it’s currently raining where you are. Then write for fifteen minutes because time feels extra slow while waiting for the bus in the rain.

You get on the bus and smile at the driver. They smile back and you get a good feeling. If it has been raining, of course it clears up as soon as you step inside the bus. There are plenty of empty seats because you’re at the edge of town. Take one and have a seat, popping in your headphones until you get to your friend’s stop. Write for the duration of your favorite song. Bonus points if you leave the song on while you write.

When your song is over, you’ve reached your friend’s stop and they hop in. You compliment their Pride outfit and strike up a conversation about memories of past pride events. Write fifty words for every year you’ve gone to a Pride parade or event, as you reminisce with your friend.

As you get to your stop, the decoration of the town has begun to show. You admire the rainbow flags lining the streets waving in the breeze, making you feel proud and safe here. Time for a rainbow challenge:

Black: Warm up with a quick hundred words Brown: Jump in with a three digit challenge Red: Write 300 words, one hundred for each letter in “red” Orange: How many different kinds of fruit do you currently have in your house? Write that number times 50 words. Yellow: Take a pause to make sure your writing space is getting enough natural light/head out into the sunshine for a few moments, or make sure you have enough lights on to feel bright and peppy if it is nighttime. Green: If you have something green within arm’s reach write 100 words, if not, write 300 words Blue: How many miles (or km) are you from the ocean? Write that many words. Purple: Write for the length of the Purple Rain video, you get to decide whether you have the sound on or not. (It’s 7:57 minutes if you want to just set a timer) Prince - Purple Rain (Official Video) - YouTube

You’ve been sitting for quite a while on the bus, so it’s time for some stretches. Do whatever type of stretch feels comfortable to you for three minutes.

When you’re done stretching, you feel good and it’s time to head to the registration table at the start of the event area. You duck under a huge balloon arch with balloons for every color of the rainbow. People are strolling around in various rainbow ensembles and you take in the crowd with a sigh, it’s good to fit in for the day. When you reach the table a kind volunteer looks up and grins. They say hello and ask you to write in your details on a registration sheet so can get emails about future events and be entered into a prize drawing that will take place later that day. You agree and write down your details. Write as many words as the number on your street address. (For example 123 North Street, write 123 words).

You follow the flow of traffic to the next table where nametag stickers and pronoun pins are scattered about. You write your preferred name on your name tag and search for a button to add to your ensemble. If you don’t take a pin, just skip to the next step. Taking multiple is fine too.

You take a she/her pin: write for five minutes You take a they/them pin: write 200 words You take a neopronoun pin of some variety: roll 2d20 and multiply it by 10words You take a he/him pin: do a three-digit challenge

Adjusting your newly pinned (or pin-less) shirt, you check out the fliers they have available. You take a few that look interesting and, looking over your shoulder and making sure your friend is with you, you head into the event area. There are a plethora of booths to choose from and you decide to just start with the first one and then make your way around the festival. The first booth is face painting. You’re feeling festive and your outfit would match so nicely with a little flair that you decide to go for it.

You get an ombre unicorn design on your cheek: Write for 5 minutes while you wait You decide on rainbow football stripes under your eyes: Write for 2 minutes while you wait You get an elaborate design with sequins, rhinestones, and glitter on your whole face: Write for 10 minutes while you wait

When the artist is finished you thank them and smile at your reflection in the mirror they have attached to the tent pole. That’s just the extra sparkle you needed. Your tummy is rumbling and it’s time for lunch. There are plenty of booths to choose from. Where do you head?

- A vegan eats, whole foods smoothie and wraps bar : Do a take-one leave-one challenge - A gourmet mac 'n cheese truck: Do a dare challenge - The Indian food buffet booth: Do a three-digit challenge - A hamburger and hotdog grill: Roll a die and multiply it by 100

You take a break on a park bench to enjoy your lunch. It’s so delicious. In fact, it’s so good you go and compliment the person running the booth and take a business card. Once you’ve finished it’s almost time for the parade to start. Getting a spot where you can see the parade route is a little crazy. Do a fifty-headed hydra to find the right location with the best view.

Check out this article 25 Essential Gay Pride Songs: Rolling Stone Editor Picks – Rolling Stone 1 Pick out 5 songs and either write to them or sprint for the length of the song/video as the parade goes by.

The atmosphere is boisterous as the last float comes by your location. You dodge and weave your way out of the crowd and back towards the green. Write 100 words three times, one for each time you apologize when you accidentally bump into someone on the way towards the green.

After all that, you’ve worked up an appetite and the smells of the food area is incredibly appetizing. You head over and get a snack, or maybe a couple.

- A street corn stand: sprint to 150 words - The rainbow cotton candy machine: sprint to 200 words - A pretzel cart: sprint to 250 words - A rainbow shaved ice cart: sprint to 300 words

Your snack is tasty and satisfying. Take a 5 minute break while you enjoy it.

Next you head to an area with various art installations that have to do with Pride. First, a giant chalk board is displayed where people can write good things and positive affirmations about themselves. Take a moment to write a list of five things you love about yourself.

Someone has donated an old car to paint. You decide to sign your name. Write 50 words for each letter of your first name.

Someone has held a sidewalk chalk art fest of lgbtqia+ activists. You admire each of them. Look up your favorite lgbtqia+ rights icon and the last two digits of their birth year times 10 words to honor them. *optional post a picture of them and a quotation of theirs on your social media. If you can’t think of one, here’s an article with some suggestions: https://www.globalcitizen.org/en/content/lgbtq-pride-activists-advocates-johnson-milk/ 1

Next, you decide to do some booth shopping. There are tons of options. Pick at least 3 of the following booths to stop at and follow the directions. For bonus points check out every stall!

A local ceramics artist who makes sets of rainbow mixing bowls: Write 300, then 200, then 100 words for the nesting bowls A local queer-friendly tattoo artist showing off examples of their work: Write the number of tattoos you have times fifty words (or would like to get if you don’t have any or only have a couple) A queer couple that has a dog rescue organization: Sprint to 250 words as you give them a donation A spray paint artist making galaxy paintings: Get as many words as you can in 5 minutes A rainbow novelty goods booth with everything from hair extensions to umbrellas: Roll a d100 and multiply it by 10 words A queer kids rights group with some awesome tweens running the table: Take a dare challenge A national voting rights booth with free pens: Write 100 words

After checking out the booths, you see some lawn games no one seems to be interested in, but you are because you’re cool. So you and your friend hop on over to play some. The first lawn game is corn hole. You throw three bean bags. For each bean bag you throw, sprint to 200 words. If you can do all of them in less than ten minutes, you win! The next game you play is giant connect four. Write for four minutes. If you get over 200 words, you win! The final game you play is hula hoops. See how long you can write without pausing whatsoever. If you manage to get more than 2 minutes, you win!

If you won three times you get a freebie and don’t have to do anything else. If you won twice, write an extra hundred words just because. If you won once, write an extra 150 words to give your friend props for beating you. If you lost all three times, write an extra 200 words to cheer yourself up!

It’s been a long time booth hopping and you’re ready for dinner. Take your pick:

- A taco truck: Do a three-digit challenge - A tent with gourmet grilled cheese and fries: Do a dare challenge - Duck into a local sushi place: Do a take one leave one challenge - Pizza slices: Sprint for five minutes

It’s getting chilly. You spot a couple huddled under a rainbow flag for warmth. That’s the perfect souvenir for your day at pride and it will warm you up too while you wait for the prize to be announced at the closing ceremony. You ask your friend to save your spot on the grass and head off to find the right booth. When you do, there are tons of flag options to choose from.

You choose a rainbow flag: do a three-digit challenge You choose a trans flag: write 400 words You choose a nonbinary flag: write for 10 minutes You choose a lesbian flag: multiply your age time 10 words You choose a bi flag: write 200 words You choose an asexual flag: write for 7 minutes You choose a pan flag: write 500 words You choose one of the other designs: do a take one leave one challenge

You head back to the green and plop down beside your friend. You wrap yourself up and you chat together for a little while. When the announcer comes on you listen to the announcements and list of sponsors. Then they get to the good stuff, the prize drawing. As the crowd does a drumroll, do a fifty-headed hyrdra. If you succeed you are the winner of the prize!!! Congratulations, you get a makeover at a local queer clothing, hair, and style place! If you got between 300-499 words, your friend one and you are super happy for them! If you got 299 or below a stranger wins, but they seem really stoked, so you are happy for them too!

After the prize reading, you honestly kind of tune out the rest of the announcer’s words, heading off towards the bus station with your friend. It’s been a long day and you both decide to head home. You join a bunch of other festive, sleepy people on the bus and settle in for the ride home. Write for ten minutes at your own pace to cool down.

You get home and slip off your shoes. Write 100 final words to take a shower/relaxing bath to end the night.

CONGRATULATIONS You made it through pride! I hope you enjoyed yourself! You are perfect just the way you are! Happy nanoing!

#long #extreme crawls #word crawl #word crawls #pride crawl #pride word crawl #pride #lgbt #lgbtqia #multiple routes #variable

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brinefathomcaves · 5 months ago

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Aug 6: The Hellhound’s Crew

The 19 sailors who crew the Hellhound are sea-cursed, a type of undead bound to a sailing vessel. They cannot leave their ship—if they set foot elsewhere or even fall into the sea, they immediately vanish, only to reappear on the main deck in 1d10 days. (The crew consider doing this to be rude and lazy, a way to shirk one’s duties.) Nineteen is a small crew for a ship the Hellhound’s size, but being undead who can work without rest somewhat makes up for it.

The Hellhound was Barnabas Brimstone’s ship 200-odd years ago, and the crew was transformed upon his death and have been sailing the Sunless Sea since then. They believe (correctly) that a specific piece of treasure buried on Tombstone Island can free them, but finding a specific island is no simple task in this sea, and none of the mortals they’ve enlisted to help them since then have survived retrieving it.

Despite not being good people, the crew are helpful and hospitable to mortals they take aboard, because they understand that such people are their only chance to break their curse and move on to a real afterlife. Any crewmate who behaves contrary to this—say, by stealing from a passenger—is heavily punished.

Notable People Aboard the Hellhound

Cpt. Jawali Ghiraa (M, fire genasi): Charcoal skin, shoulder-length hair and thin mustache made of blue flames. Brimstone’s former quartermaster, took over after Brimstone’s death. Cultured and well-spoken for a pirate. Inherently smarmy, even when he’s not trying to be. Eternal believer in the crew’s chances for freedom.

Eddington “Ed” Nergru (M, half-orc): Black half-shaved hair, lots of piercings, always fidgeting with something. Ghiraa’s first mate and gunner (his original job). A know-it-all and braggart, especially with mortals. Has a lot of opinions about how to find the treasure for someone who can’t leave the ship.

Gitrude “Rusty” Rustfall (F, dwarf): Gray-brown beard and close-cropped hair, peg left leg made from the ship’s own wood. Cook-turned-quartermaster. Glum, cranky, a real downer. Always the first to assume that a plan will fail. Likes to show new mortals all the clothes and trinkets from all their predecessors who didn’t make it back to claim them.

Drur The Putrid (M, orc): Bald, wears as little as possible except for a necklace of bird bones, mushrooms occasionally sprout from his skin. A druid and healer, mostly works as a seaman now but can still make gross but effective potions and salves. Nasty sense of humor, prone to practical jokes.

Mismaia (F, tiefling): Purple skin, ram horns barely visible in curly black hair, large garnet in place of left eye. Brimstone’s former first mate, tried to take over after his death but lost out to Ghiraa. Now a midshipman. The two genuinely hate each other, and she always disagrees with him on principle. Rest of crew treats her insubordination like a silly joke; she hates being patronized like that too.

#brinefathom caves #brinefathom caves level 4 #megadungeon #dungeon23 #dungeon24 #dungeons and dragons

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maguro13-2 · 10 months ago

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Shattered Hero ~ Origins of the Ink Demon : Episode Maka Pt.23

"Flame Core Zone"

[Flame Core ~ Volcano ~ - Tomoya Ohtani, Yasutaka Kume]

Maka : So where are we going?

Moirai : To where?

Grim : At this volcanic region that is a part of the 200 year crisis. We don't know why the Solaris Incident happened in the 06? But more importantly, the fact is Flame and Darkness don't mix.

Homura Akemi : Solaris, the name of that so-called sun God or God of Time, is actually a little flame that was used for experiements. And the the Duke put the blame on humanity for it's causes! Or otherwise that the fault of Solaris's madness was the duke's fault. Soleanna had no reason to mess up 2006 and this was the company's fault.

Grim : Not surprisingly, you a relative to the ferocious Time Eater, had some orders left within you, if you could easily fix 2006's mistake, then Sonic 06 will never happened and all traces of the evidence will be wiped clean. When it comes to dimensions and timeline, The Time Stones might work in it's natural time. But one's thing for sure. That entity that killed Shinra and his people including his beloved Iris, it's actually the parent that gave birth to your powers?

Moirai : Which makes Drawcia the mother.

Maka : Drawcia?

[World of Drawcia - Jun Ishikawa]

Homura Akemi : Yes, that woman. The one who gave life to me after I was created after the Time Eater years ago. Drawcia is a witch and she owns a science company in Tokyo called Drawcia Family.

Grim : Drawcia Family, the science corporation that was founded by Drawcia the Sorceress! The same company that modeled Death the Kid after Shinra Kusakabe his grandfather. Rumor has it, they've been keeping the world alive in a secret relationship with mankind. Drawcia was the sorceress that tried turn Planet Popstar or Dreamland into a painting, a painting that she calls it "World of Darkness and Despair". But she was stopped by the heroes of Dreamland and was reincarnated into a human being that is the founder and owner of science corporation Drawcia Family. So that's how Death the Kid existed, he was created just get himself killed by Dracula's servant death and trapping his within a portrait becoming nothing more than a collection of King Boo's prisoners that led the servant to Dracula becoming Death the Kid himself in a disguise. He would get the heartless attention so that the Lying could spread even further. But if Dracula's servant signs that peace treaty to Ashley's people, Death will come out of a sheep's clothing and enslaves them forever! I cannot let that happened!

Homura Akemi : Even though, the Men of Shinra's influence that everyoned mentioned had the nerves to make everyone stubborn and keep "Truth" out the public eye in all of secrecy. And they I am right, the heroes and villains of Soul Eaters have been arrogant for a long time and are finally able to witness the eyes of truth from their very own eyes due to the efforts of these witches in law called detectives. You are the Death God Mobius, Grim the Hedgehog. You got to make someone a "real" Shinigami than that Shingami posers or they call him ruler of the cosmos. That sounded like Sailor Moon would say for a Shounen wannabe!

Grim : Ohhh! You're right. Just before as you know it, It's like that the dokeshi named Shotaro has been Shinigami this entire time and Dracula's servant ordered him to protect the devil's legacy and continue to spread the lying from Shinra Kusakabe. If Shinra and his people would able to seek the truth from us, he would make Maka and everyone sorry for how they feel about the lying.

Maka Albarn : Me? I didn't know about the "lying". I was the fool that everyone was into the lying of Shinra Kusakabe, everyone was under his influence, including the friends that I forget to meet. And now thanks to Inky she-devil, she was not the Maka Albarn everyone knew and she took it all away from me! Justice my ass, courage my ass, what part of a hero that it doesn't understand "Heroes" and their stories? Why the story of Soul World is just false? Should I become hero in a better story or not!? I never forget that the efforts of Black star, Death the Kid, and me was never combined. We never combined our efforts as heroes who wants to protect the legacy of a hero who reaches the end of his or her tale! For your information, I don't know any Black Star or Death the Kid, I never met those guys as chidlren! We would've become the perfect trio that we forged with the power of the devil's legacy! I was alone, frustrated and nothing to save the world! I destroyed everything! I am a lone girl who was never alone until I meet Makoto again one day!

[Epilogue 1 (in-game) - Hideaki Kobayashi]

Moirai Albarn : Sister. You mean don't even know who Black Star and Death the Kid are, they are the guys that you forged a trio. A trio that is team of three that shared the efforts, you forging link between friendship. If you could've make friends with everyone, you are never alone, you're the same Maka Albarn as we know it. So maybe you and Soul could've been a great as Hero and sidekick, no wonder why Shinra's man-made son wanted you to be the hero of the story. If there is no trio of heroes to be a part of the story, then a trio will be separated by parting ways where they could never meet again. So you see, forging a duo or trio could be the strength of teamwork and friendship, but the power of friendship is nothing more than a single trope that has been used in every book. Just before you know it.

Maka Albarn : I...You're right, sister! Even tho that I have never forged a trio of heroes and friends. I'm still the same Maka Albarn, the real Maka Albarn!

*RUMBLING+IBLIS ROARING*

Maka Albarn : Huh? What was that noise!?

Moirai Albarn : It's coming from over there! (points to the Volcano that is erupting)

[Flame Core's theme resumes]

Homura Akemi : Everyone! Head straight to that volcano! Amaterasu's son might be in there!

All : Right!

Maka Albarn : Amaterasu. The first pillar that Shinra knew, you crazy she-witch.

"Meanwhile before..."

Black Star : Listen up. I have no idea and no intentions on telling you! Scram before I'm gonna crack your skull like an egg!

Daroach (possesed by Dark Nebula) : You hardly don't understand, do you, boy? This is the reason that I am giving you this for the last and 412th time. Where is the gate to the underworld so that I can may get back there and conquer the planet in all of the darkness for your demise and despair.

Black Star : So what? You want a demise, I'll give your demise. (spits on Daroach) There! How do you like them apples!? Maybe you won't tell! If you really think that I am ever such a dorky fella that wants to be popular in Japan, You just gotta make a statement about it from the Ohkuboverse!

Daroach (possessed by Dark Nebula) : Oh really? Does the Ohkuboverse look like this to you!? (shows a photo of the Shadow Realm)

Black Star : Wait a sec. So the Ohkuboverse is...

Daroach (possessed by Dark Nebula) : That's right, fool! The author was deceiving you to think that the Ohkuboverse is real, Protecting the peace, spreading lies about the evil forces, hahaha! Fool! All of those were just nothing but falses in the story that you were in and Shotaro the Dokeshi himself has fooled you all just let you protect the legacy and spread the lying by the likes of you youngsters.

Black Star : Wait a minute. So all of this was just to spread a lie? Shinra lied to my face? What does lying have to do with saving the world?

Daroach (possessed by Dark Nebula) : Getting the Heartless' attention to destroy and overthrow the legacy that pesky teenagers like you would protect it as heroes of the so-called Soul World, a world that is nothing but deception from the minds and influence of Shinra Kusakabe.

Black Star : Shinra Kusakabe did all of this? But you got it all wrong, I was only here to become a warrior that lives in the darkness. No wait! A warrior that is born from...[determined] Alright, I admit it! We meisters were under his influence, Shinra did it, Shinra created Soul World and we were nothing but a dirty liar! We lied, we lied to everything, okay! I lost my parents to a god damn Heartless infestation cause they wanted overthrow legacy and Tsubaki the girl that I just met was with another guy that is a Phantom from one of the members of the Phantoms of Society! For me? I'm just a filthy outsider with no home and I was used to protect Shinra's legacy, the legacy created about 1000 years before half of the Ohkuboverse was completely destroyed by the Time Eater calling it a Facade! It's all a lie! Everything we know in Soul World is a Lie! I'm nothing more than a pawn in a corrupt game by the devil himself! I'm just a dude from Japan, a dude from Japan that makes me a Naruto wannabe! I used to be a fan of the legendary ninja Recca before that ramen-eating chowder head took everything away from me! Stole everything from Recca and I wanted to become a swordsman like any other shinobi does, but then Naruto took that away from me! This is the reason that we can't have nice things to Shounen Jump! We the beings of Soul World are losers and were just kids letting you know that being a hero is a dangerous job to do! Please, man! You gotta believe me!

Daroach (possessed by Dark Nebula) : Alright. I'll give you a fair notice from this transgressions of Shinra himself. Perhaps this should you teach a lesson for being an arrogant airhead for not speaking into the truth. (summons a dark keyblade)

Black Star : Wait! What are you planning on doing that!?

Daroach (possessed by Dark Nebula) : Oh, this? This heart of a being which has the power to summon keyblades. I learned from the Great Keyblade war, that these are humanity's defenders, Keyblades are the true essence of nature itself! And you my friend that the Mabuki aren't. It shall do the lying just the way that you went on lying to everyone into the unknown lying of Shinra Kusakabe, and the despair that gave humanity shall be the only keys to open the hearts to darkness.

Black Star : Look! About being the world's greatest assassin, Okay I was being too stubborn for protecting Shinra Kusakabe and I was under the influence of this guy. We could work this out. Are you sure that you want Tsubaki to tell about this, she could easily open her eyes to the truth! Let me go, ya cheese-eating bastard! I'll give you many cheeses as you want! I'll give you a burger with cheese or how about give you plenty of mozzarella sticks with marinara sauce and blue cheese dip for those wings!

Daroach (possessed by Dark Nebula) : Cheese and sauces? (chuckles) That's comedy gold for ya, boy. But I'm not talking about the food, I'm talking about the dangers that lurk for your heart. But I promise that you'll never find out the truth that the Maka you knew has led you astray. And you won't.

Black Star : No, please! Have mercy on me! I got a girl named Tsubaki and she is chosed to be wife in the future!

Daroach : Sorry. the Gods of this planet have mercy and you don't. An as a matter of fact, the girl named Tsubaki that you loved...does not love you anymore. So, Goodbye, farewell, and amen.

Black Star : (screams) NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

*DBZ SFX : SLICE+STAB!*

"BLACK STAR HAS BEEN DISPOSED..."

Master Hand/Announcer : GAME...OVER!

~ Act 23 : Legacy of Drawcia ~

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