#you’ve activated my tower card! { crack }

[fatum-praedixi]

Madea: ...I’m gonna kick his ass.

Someone: Madea no.

Madea: Madea yes.

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

@sicktember #1

Prompt # 1: Fever

Title: Damn Nick Fury

Fandom: Avengers/MCU

To kick Sicktember off, I'm starting with some classic Avengers sickfic. This is actually part of a longer work that I posted many moons ago on AO3. Still one of my favorite whump fics that I've written.

Clint Barton breathed slowly and deeply as he drew back his bow, sighting in his next target. He was so far unnoticed by the cultists they were fighting, perched high in a tree as he was. Below, Natasha was baiting and dodging them with ease, dispatching one every now and then to keep them occupied. Clint's task was to pick them off as she did so.

Another arrow met its mark.The archer sniffled wetly as he reloaded while cold water continued to trickle down the back of his collar. He had made Fury aware a day or so ago that he had a mild cold, as was his duty as an assassin. If he wasn’t at one hundred percent, his commander needed to know. However, Fury had insisted he and Nat take this mission, since no one else was available. The soaking rain they encountered when they arrived was unexpected. However, it turned out the rain had actually made it easier to obtain the objective of this particular mission. Meanwhile though, it was making Clint thoroughly miserable. Compared to other missions it was going quickly, but the five hour stakeout leading up to the current fight had not been pleasant in the continuous downpour, even up in a tree.

Wiping his nose on his shoulder, Cint again loosed an arrow. Only five more cultists to go. Then they could loot the bunker, get the map they needed, and go home. A drip of water hit him right in the eye, and he growled to himself, inwardly cursing Fury. He had started to shiver an hour ago, though he made sure his hands were steady as ever. He couldn’t wait to take a long, hot shower and sleep for at least twelve hours. He only needed to hold out a little longer.

The tickle in his throat had gradually become a low, irritating ache. He coughed softly. The sound did little to make his throat feel better, but it did make the nearest cultist look up at him. Before the man could do anything other than widen his eyes, Clint’s arrow ended him expertly.

Hawkeye sighed wearily. Four more to go.

~~~~~~~~~~

Thirty-six hours later, Clint and Natasha were relaxing on the couch in Avengers Tower. Natasha had her legs tucked up under her and was reading a book while Clint had his head pillowed in her lap with his arm flung over his eyes. Suddenly, his breath hitched warningly. Natasha lifted her arm in a practiced way to give him room to turn and bury his face into a tissue:

"HehyYIIZSHHhoo! hihtESHHHiew!"

She looked down at him with an irritated sound. "That is the third time you've sneezed in as many minutes. I'm making zero progress in this book. You're going to be finding yourself a new pillow in a minute here. Plus I'll kill you if you get me sick."

He sniffled wetly and blew his nose before replacing his head in her lap with a weak cough. "Aww, you would ndever kill mbe, 'Tash. I'mb the only one who puts up with your crap. But I'mb sorry. I can'dt help the sneezing. It's mbaking mbe mbiserable too if that helps."

She sighed in an annoyed way, but couldn't help looking down at him fondly. "You're lucky I know you well enough to understand what you're saying. And you're also lucky that it just so happens to be true that we tolerate each other better than most, so you're safe from assassination for now."

"Blame Fury. This cold wasn't so bad until I had to sid oud id the rain for hours." He sniffled thickly again, barely turning his head away as he followed it up with a cough.

Natasha made a face, swatting his shoulder lightly. "You're gross. Cover your mouth when you cough. And I don't *have* you let you lay here, you know. You have a perfectly comfortable bed only a short elevator ride away."

" 'm cold though. And if I go ubstairs there's ndo one to mbake mbe tea." He swiped at his reddened nose with the tissue, trying to look extra pitiful.

"You're extra whiny when you're sick. Not a good look on you, Hawk." She carded her fingers once through his hair. "And you're just cold because you're a little feverish."

Instead of replying, Clint halfway sat up again and brought a tissue to his nose, breath scissoring and nostrils flaring.

Natasha groaned as Clint once more exploded into a sneezing fit:

"Gihh-ESSHHshuuu! hehKSHHHshuu!" He coughed, then sneezed again: "ERRSHHhuh! Hih'EZSHHyue! --guhhh." Clint miserably rubbed the space between his eyebrows, slowly lowering himself once again to Natasha's lap.

"Apparently my partner has managed to catch the world's sneeziest cold. How did I get so lucky?"

Once again Clint was kept from replying as Natasha's communicator began to ring. She glanced at the screen, then at Clint.

"It's Fury," she warned.

Clint quickly sat up. She answered the device, turning it so they could both see. Fury's single eye met theirs, looking as serious and commanding as ever.

"Good, you're both here. Barton… your nose looks red. How are you feeling?"

"Aboud the sabe I guess. Sneezy."

"And feverish," Natasha said with a warning look at her partner.

"How feverish?"

"Ndot very. One hundred or so," Clint mumbled.

"That's… not ideal. But I don't have any other option… if at all possible, we need you both out in the field again ASAP. We've discovered a small Hydra base, but it's a crucial one. Some of their brainiest goons are posted there, working on something big. From some communication we intercepted, it sounds like their project is almost finished. I need eyes out there immediately. Recon only for now. Think you can handle that?"

The assassins glanced at each other. "We're good to go," said Clint firmly, though the sore-sounding rasp in his voice betrayed him slightly.

"I hope so. Don't disappoint me. I expect you in the air in an hour or less." With that their director ended the call.

Barton and Romanov glanced at each other once more, this time with a weary sigh from Clint before they stood and went to get ready.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Barton! What's your situation?"Natasha's voice crackled over the com.

"Being... chased by three. Heading... to the roof… of the base," Clint gasped around labored breathing.The metal steps made a sharp clanking noise as the archer sprinted up them, nocking an arrow as he went.

"Can you handle them on your own?"

"We'll… see...," he panted, sweat rolling into his eyes. "Backup… would be nice...."

"I'll be there as soon as I can. I've got 4 of my own. Hang in there, Hawk!" The line went dead for the time being.

"I'm gonna … kill Fury…," he mumbled breathlessly as he reached the roof. He darted to the far side of the area and spun around, taking a knee and aiming his bow at the stairway he had just vacated. The sounds of the three Hydra agents sprinting up behind him were unmistakable, but he was as ready as he was going to be.

"This was supposed to be... an easy recon mission, but noooooo…. It's another... full-on assault," he continued to mumble, trying to catch his breath as the shouting on the stairs got louder.

As an extra stroke of bad luck, it was pouring rain here too. Clint flipped the water out of his eyes with a toss of his head, his hair and clothes hanging on him limply. He hadn't stopped shivering since they'd gotten off the jet. His teeth were now chattering and his fingers were blue with cold. His throat was absolutely burning now, raw and inflamed, the pain exacerbated from running. He couldn't suppress a hoarse barking cough just as the first baddie poked his head through the opening. Clint dispatched him immediately, but the two still coming up were not dissuaded.

The second goon got lucky. Clint's hand slipped on the bow a fraction, and the Hydra agent got hit in the shoulder instead of the heart. The archer knew he was in trouble now. With trembling hands, he managed to kill number three with a final arrow, but the one he had wounded, by far the biggest of them all, continued to advance menacingly.

Hand-to-hand combat was evidently imminent. On any other day Clint could have made short work of this, but this miserable, feverish cold had him operating at around fifty percent capacity and falling. Clint pulled out his knives with shaky hands and another rasping cough. When his opponent was a foot away, Clint tried to leap up to get in the first hit. Instead he slipped and staggered, and the Hydra agent's fist, with all of his weight behind it, caught him in the ribs. Clint heard a dull cracking sound as he was flooded with pain, but he couldn't pause. He spun and ducked, trying to avoid the worst of the blows while trying to get in some of his own. At least ⅓ of his opponent's swings met their target though, and in minutes Clint was battered and bruised, barely clinging to consciousness.

He knew he only had enough stamina for one more try. In a split second, while the Hydra agent was off-balance winding up for another swing, Clint leapt once more, and at last his knife met its mark.

As the baddie crumpled to the ground, so did Hawkeye, wheezing weakly, every breath agonizing. He activated his com as his vision threatened to gray out:

"Roof... clear. Good...Nat?"

"All clear down here too. Mission complete. Nice job, Hawk. Let's turn this bunker inside out and go home."

"Mmph."

"You good, Barton?" she asked, concern suddenly in her voice.

"Gonna need... medevac… Won't… make it down… stairs…."

If Natasha replied, he did not hear her. He let his head fall against the cool, wet metal and let the grayness overtake his vision.

~~~~~~~~~~

48 hours later found Clint lying on a bed in S.H.E.I.L.D. medical with broken ribs and and a confirmed case of pneumonia. He was drifting in and out of consciousness from the drugs they were giving him, but his ears perked up when he heard Natasha arguing with someone nearby.

"He's stable. Not on oxygen. Fever is controlled. He can tolerate oral meds. There's no reason he needs to stay. I promise you, he won't recover while he's here. You need to discharge him home."

The haughty-looking orderly she was speaking with huffed angrily, muttering about shortness of breath and heart rate and changing oxygen requirements.

Clint let himself drift off again to the sound of their voices, trusting his partner to deal with the situation. A cool hand on his cheek awakened him a little while later. He blearily opened his eyes to meet Natasha's, for of course it was she that had roused him.

"We're busting you out of here," she whispered with a little smile. "They're bringing a wheelchair now."

"Thangk god," Clint groaned. "And thangk *you*, 'Tash. You're a lifesaver."

"Eh, you've saved my life plenty of times too. I think we're pretty even."

It took some maneuvering to get a very breathless, battered, and achy Clint out of the bed and into the wheelchair, but they managed it with minimal damage. Once he was settled in the chair, Natasha wheeled him away to their rooms.

Inside Clint's suite, they again had to coordinate getting him from the chair to his bed. Natasha was grateful Clint's pain tolerance was high, because she knew the transfer was far rougher without the assistance of the medical staff. He didn't make a sound throughout the process however, though his face was drawn in pain. As soon as he was settled though, he let out the breath he'd been holding in a rush, which quickly became a nasty coughing fit. He had trouble catching his breath for several moments even after the fit ended. He gasped and wheezed and clutched his ribs, sweaty and reddened and miserable. Natasha could only watch helplessly, stroking his hair to try to help him relax.

"Damn Fury," he croaked weakly when he could finally speak. "This fugcking sucks. "

"Language, please. But I can't argue with you there."

"I'mb gonna kill himb for sending me od thad mission."

"I think he got his just desserts since now his best archer is out of commission for a few months. But at least it seems like the sneezy part of your cold is better."

"You h- had to s- hih- say sumbthing, dih- dn't you?" Clint croaked, gingerly bracing his ribs as his breath scissored and his red nose twitched:

"Gih'tsschh! Ghhnxt'chf! Oh Fugck. Ow! Ow ow ow...." Clint groaned, gritting his teeth, eyes squeezed shut in pain. "Not doing that again."

"Yeah, stifling is probably not wise. Poor sick guy," Natasha murmured, carding his hair with her fingers as they waited for Clint's pain to subside.

After a moment, Clint opened one eye, looking suspicious. " 'Poor sigck guy?' Who are you and what have you done with mby partner?"

Natasha smirked as she sat on the edge of his bed. "Would you prefer I call you a whiny asshole?"

"Yes. Maybe. I dunno," Clint mumbled with a weary sigh and a grimace of pain as he exhaled.

"Well too bad for you, because right now *my* partner is sick and miserable and I plan to baby him at least a little until he's feeling better."

"Guess I'mb nodt complainig," Clint mumbled, stifling a cough, which only made him clutch his ribs in pain. "Hurts whed I cough. Hurts whed I try not to cough. Fugck me."

"Language, seriously. But what can I do to help? You need water, food, drugs, anything?"

"Nodt hungry or thirsty. Too sood for drugs. I just want to sleeb, 'Tash."

"That sounds like a good plan. I'll leave you be then. But I'll be back to check on you soon." She stood up right away, fussing around and tidying up his nightstand area before moving toward the door.

" 'Tash?"

She turned expectantly.

" 'm still cold," he mumbled thickly, looking pale and weary now.

Her face softened affectionately. "Well you're still running a fever, hotshot. You're gonna feel cold."

He groaned pathetically. She moved to his side once more.

"Aww, you're shivering," she murmured, stroking his cheek.

"Told you, I'mb freezing…."

She sighed, looking at him fondly. "Is this you trying to say that you need some extra body heat in bed with you for a while?"

He looked at her pleadingly.

"Okay, okay, no more puppy eyes. I'm coming. But if you get me sick--"

"I know, I know, you'll kill mbe. I'll try ndot to share."

"That's all I ask." She kicked off her shoes and slid into bed beside him, doing her best to jostle around as little as possible. They carefully arranged themselves so that Clint was tucked against Natasha, most of his weight resting against her, while her weight was against the stack of pillows behind them. This position seemed to cause the archer the least pain, and in fact he relaxed against her right away, his breathing deepening.

" I'mb sorry I'mb so warmb. You'll probably swelter," mumbled Clint sleepily.

"It's not the first time I've slept with you when you're running a fever, and I'm sure it won't be the last. As long as you're warm enough."

"Am now," he breathed, nearly asleep.

"Then that's all that matters to me."

[seertale]

Talking colors: PaperJam(PJ). Omni. Killer. Nightmare. Dream. Cross. Ink. Error. Stain. Hope. Fade.

Call It A Game Night.

They decided to have a game night together.  It had been forever since they’d last done so, so they figured it’d be a good idea.  Ink was helping Error set up the first board game, Life.  Dream and Nightmare were working on some food while Cross was looking for some other games stored in the attic.  They were in Nightmare and Killer’s mansion.  Stain came in with some nerf guns, Hope in tow with Fade, and an armful of bottles of alcohol.  Fade had their own armful, mainly because they owned the most alcohol and would be able to help everyone find something they liked.  They set everything on the kitchen counter and Fade made sure they had all the alcohol they’d brought.

“How much did you need?”

“It’s fine, I have a lot.  Besides, I know everyone’s tastes vary.  Do you want help with that food?”

Nightmare nodded, moving to let Fade join in helping them cook.

“Sometimes, I’m surprised that you became a rock star instead of a chef.”

“Well, do you blame me?  I picked up my first electric guitar at 12, I think I’d like to learn how to play it.”

“Whatever.  How are the spouses doing?”

“They’re doing good.  Nel’s out helping shop for baby stuff while I’m here.  I hope she doesn’t cook.”

“Why would you hope your wife doesn’t cook?”

“Have you seen how badly she burns her food?”

Nightmare just chuckled as he plated what he was working on and brought it out to the living room.  He set it on the big buffet table they’d set up for the game night.  As soon as Ink saw the food, he moved to take a bite.  Despite their past, he couldn’t help still being on good terms with Nightmare and would definitely admit to how good he thought Nightmare’s cooking was.

“Oh my god, Night, this is so good.”

Nightmare passed it off with a wave of his hand, “Just wait until Fade brings their food out.  They’re a better cook than I am.”

“Still.  This is really, really good.”

“Ya, ya, I know.”

Dream came out with his food next.  He’d spent all day roasting a ham since he knew how hungry everyone got while drunk.  Cross came down after with a few more games and, after setting them next to the now set out Life, moved to hug Dream.  Dream giggled a bit and hugged him back.

“Hey, Love.”

“Hi.  Having fun?”

“Oh, plenty.  Wanna try the ham?”

“Sure.”

Dream picked up a fork, taking a piece of ham and feeding it to Cross, who immediately hummed in appreciation, “That’s really good.”

“You think all my cooking is good.”

“Ya, but this is really good too.”

He giggled a bit before Cross led him over to the game table.  Fade was coming out with their food.  Stain and Hope had already sat down.

“Alright, who wants something to drink while we wait for arntul Omni and PJ?”

Multiple hands went up and Fade asked them what they thought they wanted before grabbing them.  They grabbed wine and whiskey glasses and poured things accordingly.  Killer quickly came with some cases of beer and set them down next to the game table.

“Sorry it took so long, a Karen was arguing with the shopkeep.”

“It’s alright.  Sit, Fade’s getting us some alcohol.”

Killer nodded and sat next to Nightmare, opening himself a can of beer as Fade started bringing drinks out.  Once everyone had their drinks, they took a quick portal to their house and came back with an alcohol-smoked turkey, just as PJ and Omni arrived.

“Oh, just in time.  We were just about to start,” Killer was shuffling the different decks of cards. “Want anything to drink?”

Omni shook their head, though looked at PJ.

“A beer for now, please.”

Killer nodded and got PJ a beer from the case.  They cracked it open as they sat and Omni moved to get a large plate of food for them both.  Fade sat down next to their adoptive dad, Stain.

“Ok, so we got the expansion pack so we could all play.  Everyone chooses a color.”

They gradually chose their own colors and started the game.

~~~

Everyone but Ink and Omni were at least somewhat inebriated by the time they finished playing Life.  Ink not being inebriated was a bit strange, seeing as he’d had at least fifteen beers and three glasses of whiskey.  Omni hadn’t drunk anything but they did munch.  PJ was leaning against them, waiting for the next game.  Stain, who'd already finished his last turn, was working on the next activity.  Dream seemed the drunkest, but he hadn't passed out yet, so it was probably fine.  After a moment, Stain came back with nerf pistols.

"There's enough for everyone to have one.  Who wants to play nerf hide and seek tag?"

Everyone was immediately in agreement.

"Alright, so someone is the seeker and carries a nerf pistol.  Every time a seeker finds someone, they need to be shot by the seeker or they aren't tagged.  If they are tagged, they then become a seeker too.  Anywhere is free game for hiders.  Who wants to seek first?"

Nightmare raised his hand.

"Alright," Stain handed him a nerf pistol and set the rest on the table. "If you become a seeker, pick one up.  Pops, count to 60."

Nightmare nodded and closed his eyes.  Shuffling could be heard.  Cross currently had his husband on his back, carrying him to a closet on the highest floor.  All the kids Nightmare had were being watched by Red and Blue at Ink's mansion since it had a surplus of rooms.  They had plenty of rooms.  He took Dream into the farthest room from the staircase, carefully setting him down in the walk-in closet.

"Alright, Dreamy.  You've gotta stay quiet or they'll find you."

"Is that bad…?"

"No, but you'll lose the game."

He nodded with a small giggle and Cross closed the door, going to find his own place to hide.

~~~

Knowing his husband really well, Nightmare was able to find Killer first.  He was hiding in the library, small enough to fit in the shadows of one of the towering shelves.  Nightmare just examined the shelves, debating on which one Killer was resting on, before letting off a bullet at random.  He heard a small, boney thunk and a whisper of an ow.

"Got you."

"Fine, you got me."

Killer started to climb down.  Nightmare moved a tentacle to help him.  He couldn't have his husband getting hurt.  Not since he was the only doctor that could fix him immediately.

"Alright, go grab a pistol."

Killer nodded and ran off.

~~~

Stain took a deep breath as he finally situated himself with Hope.  They were hiding in the tub in one of the bathrooms and it was obvious Stain may have to carry Hope once they were found.  Hope, having lower magic, was much more affected by alcohol, so even just a can was pretty much half a bottle of whiskey to him.

When Killer inevitably pulled the curtain back to reveal the two, he immediately became a put worried, seeing as Hope was heavily passed out against Stain.

“We should be alright… we can get him on the couch and we can get him water when he wakes…”

Killer nodded, simply shooting Stain and running off to continue what he was doing.

~~~

He quietly padded down the hall, pistol in his hand.  Out of all the places he would know Fade would hide, he could not, for the life of himself, find his adopted child.  Stain guessed he would have to look in different places.  His first place of search?  The kitchen.  Fade always loved the kitchen and, with how small they were, he wouldn’t doubt they’d shoved themselves in the pantry.  He took a quick peek… only to find out he was wrong.  They weren’t hiding in the pantry.  So then where were they?

They couldn’t fit in any cupboards.  But Stain’s partially inebriated mind definitely thought so, and he started searching the cupboard like he was raiding the kitchen.  Fade was in the cupboards!  Specifically, the cupboards under the sink.  Fade had moved it all to a separate cupboard and squeezed themselves in.  Stain quickly shot them and moved to help them out.

“How did you fit in there?”

“I’ve always been small.”

"Still.  Wow."

They just nodded and went to get a nerf pistol.

~~~

In the meantime, Killer had found PJ and Omni.  It hadn't been hard, since Omni had agreed to make out in the room they were hiding in while waiting.  Now, they were teamed and hunting for others.  Their first go-to would've been Ink since he was usually easy to find depending on the person.  But even then, years of Ink having learned how to hide made him even more dangerous for the seeker.  They paused their search for him when they heard a yell and realized that it probably wasn't a good idea for Ink to be hiding from Nightmare.  They quickly followed the yell.

Nightmare had Ink restrained, mostly because Ink had gone defensive and currently had his hatchet in his hand.  He was struggling to be let go and PJ set their pistol down to comfort their dad.

"Dad, calm down.  It's ok.  It's just hide-and-seek.  No one's gonna hurt you."

"H-How do you kn-know…?"

"Has Nightmare actually hurt you…?"

That's right.  It was Nightmare.  Not Dark.  He hadn't been hurt.  It was just a game.  Ink took in a breath and Nightmare carefully set him down.

"Sorry…"

"It's ok… I'm just… not gonna play for now…"

Nightmare nodded and PJ picked their pistol up again, going with Omni and Nightmare to find the last ones hiding.

~~~

Error now knew why Ink always felt so safe hiding under the bed whenever he got scared.  It was small and cozy and it would be hard to get him out without lifting the bed or him getting out himself.  Despite that, he held his breath when he heard a couple of sets of footsteps and a door open.  Someone was searching the room for him.  It was Stain and Fade.  There was the sound of something being set on the desk in the room before the bed creaked, being lifted up.

"Good morning," a nerf bullet hit him smack-dab in the forehead and he giggled a bit, moving to carefully push himself out.

"Why hello there."

"Did you sleep well?"

Error stood, "Very."

"Dad's downstairs on the couch next to Hope.  Otherwise, we found Cross and we're gonna gang up on Dream."

"I think I'll go to Inky.  What happened?"

"Got a bit scared by Pops, but he's ok."

Error nodded and went to find Ink.

~~~

Nightmare put a finger to his lips as Cross led the way.  They were all locked and loaded.  Once they got to the room, Cross went over to the walk-in closet door.  He put his hand on the handle and carefully ripped it open.  They were all quickly met with Dream's shrieking laughter as they fired everything at him.  Once they were all out of bullets, Cross moved to check on him while the others picked up the bullets.  He pulled Dream gently against his chest and Dream started to drift to sleep.  He hadn't had alcohol in forever, so it wasn't surprising.

He picked up his husband and took him downstairs to rest.  Error and Ink had set up Monopoly while waiting.  Cross sat at the table, holding Dream in his lap.  After a minute, everyone else took their spots to play.  Killer made sure Hope had something to drink upon waking.  Dream had easily fallen asleep against Cross.  Cross just smiled as they played.

~

Dream was passed out for about an hour before he started to wake up a bit.  The game was still going and he seemed confused since Killer was now yelling at PJ for making him go bankrupt.  Ink laughed a bit from next to Error.

“Monopoly, the game that tears families apart.”

Dream giggled a bit and Cross looked down at him.

“Well, hello there, Dreamy.  Sleep good?”

Dream nodded and moved to get up.  He was kinda hungry.  Cross let him stand, watching him go over to the food table and get himself some turkey.  He seemed content as he sat down again, this time next to Cross, and ate.  Once he was done, he went to put his dishes in the sink and seemed to just completely disappear.  Cross was a bit concerned but kept playing.

~

15 minutes after Dream disappeared, he came back, holding one of the nerf pistols.  He pointed it at Nightmare, the banker.

“Gimme the money.”

Ink was starting to laugh.  Nightmare didn’t respond at first, earning him a nerf bullet to the nose.

“I said gimme.”

Once Nightmare seemed to process what Dream meant by money, Nightmare took a one-dollar monopoly bill and gave it to Dream.  Dream pretty much threw the pistol down.

“Crossy, we’re rich now!”

Ink burst out laughing and Cross stood, hugging Dream.

“That’s great, Dreamy.  Now, why don’t we get you some water and go home?”

“Ok!”

~

This is based on a roleplay with @star-gamerxox

It was an idea we came up with but never got to inact so I had some fun(it's 2206 words, fite me-). It's been in the works for well over two weeks.

Credits:

Nightmare and Dream belong to (insert name everyone knows and I don't wanna say)

Cross belongs to jakie95

Error belongs to loverofpiggies

Ink blongs to comyet

Omni belongs to cereusblue

PaperJam belongs to 7goodangel

Killer belongs to rahafwabas

Hope belongs to pepper-mint

Stain belongs to nimaruu

Fade(a technical fusion but not quite) belongs to me(seertale)

Nel(laya) is the wife in Fade's poly, mentioned as the one they hope doesn't cook, and belongs to @star-gamerxox

[jojosbizarreblog]

Let Down Your Crystal Walls

2 //3// 4

Chapter 3: Tongue Tower Twister

Well, being on a plane was certainly a lot more lackluster than she realized. After the tense car ride and ticket-checking, the group settled themself comfortably on the plane. Kyogen had managed to snag a window seat next to Avdol and was staring out the said window at the clouds passing by. Jotaro and Joseph were napping in the seats behind her and Kakyoin behind them. Avdol was reading a book and Kyogen lamented not bringing any with her. 

Avdol piped up, not turning from his book. “You have a very unique Stand, Wind-san.”

Kyogen glanced at him. “So do you, Avdol-sama.” 

The male closed his book and retrieved something from his pocket “You don’t have to be so formal, Avdol is fine. But as for appearances, Stands come in all sorts of different shapes and sizes. I’ve never seen two alike Stands before.”

Kyogen hummed thoughtfully and started comparing her Stand’s feature to the others that she glimpsed. Sharpnote seemed to be the only one with extremely simplified facial features, its eyes being upright rectangles and mouth being a simple triangle, incapable of displaying any facial movements. Compared to Star Platinum who looked like a human, minus the flowing hair, purple body, and the chiseled muscles of a Greek god. “Yesterday was my first time seeing any Stands besides Sharpnote.” 

“That’s interesting... Stand users are attracted to each other, and Sharpnote is pretty friendly too.”

Kyogen shrugged. “That’s just the way he always is.”

“Hm. While Stands are influenced by your fighting spirit, they also act out based on your innermost emotions.”

Kyogen glanced at him. What was the man trying to get at? “And?”

“Nothing, it’s just you’re very different from your Stand.”

She frowned and stared at the airplane seat in front of her. “Some scars run deep.”

“I see. You are a girl of mystery, Wind. If you would indulge me for a moment, I would like to try and read your fortune.” He presented the pack of Tarot cards to Kyogen.

Kyogen huffed but reached for it. Just as she was about to pull out a card, the plane rumbled and she looked up. A buzzing was heard echoing throughout the cabin. She paused and handed the cards back to Avdol as a huge beetle drifted into the aisle she and the group were at. Jotaro was the first to get out of his seat, being the closest to the bug.

“Be careful,” Avdol warned Jotaro as the teen got ready to catch it. “I’ve heard there is a user of a bug Stand that likes to rip out the tongues of its victims.”

The teen didn’t reply. “Star Platinum!” Jotaro called, the spirit manifesting and taking a swipe at the bug, who dodged.

“I-I can’t believe it!” Avdol exclaimed. “It’s faster than Star Platinum, whose speed and precision are such that it can grasp bullets!”

That put Kyogen on high alert as she stood up from her seat. This was not good.

“It has to be a stand,” Kakyoin muttered. “That bug is a stand! Where is he? Where is he hiding?”

Kyogen scanned the plane warily. She wished she had her knives with her, but they were packed away in the bag under the chair.

The bug hovered above them and began to foam green froth at the mouth. “It’s attacking!” Kakyoin yelled.

A slimy needle erupted out of its mouth and hit Star Platinum’s hand. It drew blood and the protrusion retreated back. Kujo had a wound on his hand mirroring his Stand.

The protrusion launched forward again.

“Jotaro!”

“Jojo!”

A crackle filled the air. The needle was hovering three inches from Star Platinum's open mouth. A wall of crystal held it back, shielding Jotaro and his stand from more damage. Sharpnote revealed itself from behind the wall and Kyogen twitched. She barely knew these people, and yet...

Joseph said, “Sharpnote was able to stop it from hitting Star Platinum’s mouth but…”

“Since it tried to bite off Jotaro’s Stand’s tongue…” Avdol murmured. “It must be him! The Tower Card of the Tarot… The one that depicts a Stand suggesting destruction, calamity, the end of a journey, Tower of Gray!”

What?

“The Tower of Gray commits mass murders, making them look like accidents,” the fortune-teller said, placing the heel of his palm over his forehead. “The airplane crash that happened last year in England, causing 300 deaths, is thought to have been its work. I had heard rumors, but it seems he’s working with Dio!”

Star Platinum reared back and soared over Sharpnote’s wall, unleashing a barrage of punches and screaming ‘ora’ as it aimed for the beetle. Or, where the beetle was, as its mouth needle broke free off the crystals just in time to dodge the attacks.

“I-It’s so fast!” Avdol stuttered. “It dodged all of that, not only the single hand but the two-fisted rush of blows!” 

Kyogen heard laughter as she called Sharpnote back, the wall of crystals shrinking as the Stand disappeared. “Even if you were to have ten guns shoot bullets from one centimeter away, they would not be able to touch my Stand!” The mysterious user said. “And you couldn’t kill my Stand with a bullet anyway.” A new needle emerged from the beetle’s mouth. 

Strangely, Kyogen noted that all the other passengers were still asleep despite the racket they were making. She couldn’t find a single soul who was awake. The beetle disappeared and reappeared behind a man, laughter emitting from it as it slowly dropped behind him. Kyogen let out a hoarse cry as it erupted from his jaw and plowed through the other passengers in front.

Blood spurted from them and Kyogen flinched when some splattered near her, thankfully stopped by the wall of crystals and her Stand. She stared in shock at the scene in front of her. The beetle had all the corpses’ tongues on its mouth needle. Bile rose up from her throat and Kyogen clasped a hand to her mouth. She could still see it when she shut her eyes, dark, crimson blood, and limp, bloodied flesh.

The voice cackled. “Bingo!” He cheered. “Got their tongues! And my objective…” The beetle flew to the wall and began writing on it with the blood. “Massacre!”

Kyogen had to squeeze her eyes shut to prevent another bout of nausea, trying to preserve the remnants of her composure. She was beginning to hate planes as well and it seemed like Sharpnote shared her sentiment, shifting back and forth tensely next to her.

From beside her, Avdol yelled, “I will burn it to death! Magician’s Red!” 

A flaming, bird-headed behemoth emerged from Avdol, ready to fight. They were held back by Kakyoin. “Wait!” He called. “Wait a moment, Avdol!”

The heat died down as Avdol paused and the Stand was brought back to him. A rickety old man straightened from his chair, rubbing his eyes. “It’s so noisy,” he grumbled. “I wonder what all the ruckus is.”

Kyogen and the group tensed as the beetle floated closer to him. “Sir,” she began cautiously. “Please do not move out of your seat.”

The old man didn’t seem to be paying attention to her and stood up. “I guess I’ll go to the bathroom…” he said. He paused and Kyogen grimaced as he swiped at the blood on the wall. “What’s with this slimy stuff? M…A…” The rest was cut off by a scream as he began backing away from the wall. “I-Is it blood?!? Blood!”

Kakyoin moved as the man got closer to him. “Atemi,” the male said as he struck the man in the back of his head. Said man promptly collapsed. Sharpnote moved beside him and carefully dragged the old man away from the aisle. “We have to defeat it before the other passengers panic. But, Avdol, an active Stand like your Magician’s Red could make the plane explode. And Jojo, if your power were to put a hole in the fuselage, it’d be a catastrophe. My quiet Stand,” Kakyoin whirled to face the beetle behind him, “Hierophant Green is most suited to defeating it.”

“Heh, heh, heh. Kakyoin Noriaki, eh? I’ve heard all about you from Lord Dio. Stop. If you know that your Stand is quiet, there’s no point in challenging me. You cannot catch me with your speed.”

“You think so?” Kakyoin asked. His Stand appeared next to him with its hands facing each other, one upright and one pointing down. “Emerald Splash!” Kakyoin called. Green liquid burst forth and exploded from the Stand. Kyogen’s eyes widened when she saw the glimmering emeralds in it. Sharpnote had an attack very similar to Hierophant Green’s Emerald Splash, although it had some changes. 

The beetle had no trouble dodging it, so Kakyoin yelled for Emerald Splash a second time. He would need help. Sharpnote clunked his way in front of her and tilted his head back, waiting for instruction. Kyogen nodded and whispered, “Diamond Rain.”

The Stand nodded and turned back. Sharpnote inhaled. A burst glittering crystals exploded from the Stand’s mouth, spreading across the area where the beetle was. It wasn’t prepared for the sudden attack from a different angle and got nicked a few times. However, the insect righted itself and continued dodging. “Fools!” It cried. “You seem to think you can hit me if you fire enough shots, but you’ve barely hit me at all!” 

“This isn’t good! Even with Wind’s help, it’s still dodging with speed!” Avdol cried. 

The needle protrusion shot from its mouth and cracked open Hierophant’s mouthpiece, blood emerging from both the Stand and Kakyoin himself. 

“Kakyoin!”

Said boy fell to his knees with his Stand and Kyogen dove to prevent him from hitting the floor. She grunted as most of his bulk rested on her and thanked the fact that his stand was incorporeal at the moment. Kakyoin propped himself up with her and Sharpnote’s help.

“My speed is on an entirely different level!” The beetle buzzed above them. “You’re way too slow to get a bingo! And Kakyoin…” It zoomed closer and foam began to froth at the corner of its mouth. “With my next attack, I’ll stab your Stand’s tongue with this Tower Needle and rip it out! And then I’ll rip out the stupid girl’s tongue!”

No, Kyogen gritted her teeth. She wasn’t going to allow it to touch Kakyoin nor his Stand. “Diamond Rain,” she muttered. Sharpnote inhaled and launched the attack again, chunks of crystals shooting at the beetle. 

“Don’t you get it??? Once this rips your tongue out, you’ll go mad from the pain!” It dove at them.

Kyogen let loose a low growl and tried to drag Kakyoin back, but paused when she saw his stand. Hierophant’s feet were spread out on the ground, worming its way underneath chairs. She was confused about what was going on as Kakyoin said, “What? If its tongue is ripped out, it’ll go mad from the pain?” He straightened, taking his weight off Kyogen. “My Hierophant Green?” 

The needle from the beetle shot at them and two things happened at once. Sharpnote shifted to cover them as green tendrils shot from the surrounding areas and speared through the beetle. “What?!” 

“If it rips you apart, it’ll go mad alright… from joy!”

Pained sounds escaped the beetle as it trembled in its suspended state. One wrong move would mean the end. Now that the bug was immobilized, it was safe for Kyogen to pull herself up as Kakyoin did the same. She dusted her school uniform off, thankful that it was still clean. Kakyoin's plan became clear and she cursed at herself for not realizing it sooner. “Hierophant’s appendages had already slipped beneath the sheets. Didn’t you realize I was trapping you there with the Emerald Splash?” 

The bug twitched and got pulled into bits as the appendages yanked it apart. The old man that Sharpnote had moved to a chair jerked up, screaming. A dark imprint of a beetle began to appear on his tongue as it blackened and split apart. Kyogen looked away as blood spurted from his head and he went limp. She didn’t know how to feel. Relieved that the danger was over, conflicted that she’d sent Sharpnote to aid this man, nauseated by the things the man did.

“So that old geezer was the Stand user?” Kakyoin asked. He took out a handkerchief and wiped at the blood running down his chin. “A repulsive Stand usually has a repulsive user.”

The group gathered around the dead man’s body, although Kyogen went back to her chair and collapsed in it. She was mentally exhausted from the event and wanted to find some semblance of peace in the form of sleep. Hopefully without nightmares. 

Kakyoin stared at the man and messed with the end of his hair strand. “It doesn’t appear that he has Dio’s flesh bud in his forehead…” Kakyoin mused. 

Avdol sat back down next to her after draping a sheet over the body. The other three chose to stand in the aisle. “From the start, Tower of Gray was an evil Stand that killed tourists, making it look like an accident only in return for payment. I’m sure Dio was able to use him because he was easily bought, and blinded by greed.” 

Kyogen was slipping in and out of sleep until her body tilted and hit the wall. She straightened up and groaned inwardly. Sleep would be so nice right now.

“Something’s wrong,” Joseph said. Kyogen growled underneath her breath. “I could be imagining it, but it seems like the plane is flying crooked.”

“It is crooked, Joestar-sama,” Kyogen mumbled. 

The older man jolted. “I-It can’t be!” He began to make his way to the front of the plane. 

The rest of the males shared a look and Kyogen screamed silently as they began following Joseph. The girl plodded along after them, her blank face a little more dead-looking than before, and her ponytail mussed up from sleep. She couldn’t quite see what was happening as they reached the door to the cockpit because of how absurdly tall everyone was. Sticking her head out from behind Avdol, she saw Kakyoin with two attendant ladies in his arms. He seemed to be murmuring comforts to them and Kyogen raised an eyebrow.

Kakyoin gently pushed them aside to make way. The cockpit door was wide open as she stepped in after Avdol and bore witness to the scene before her. The bodies of the pilot were all slumped over, their tongues missing from their mouth. 

Joseph went up to the controls and bent down, looking at them “It’s falling,” he said. “And the autopilot’s been destroyed as well. We’re going to crash!”

Kyogen decided at that moment that she really hated planes as well. There was a loud splat behind her and ugly laughter. Kyogen whipped around, face twisted into a scowl when she saw the old man. 

He was somehow alive and walking, although he looked worse for wear. “I am the Stand that holds The Tower card which suggests accidents at the end of a journey,” he declared, pointing a finger at the group. “You will not reach Lord Dio! Even if you survive this crash, you are 6,213 miles from Egypt! Those who swore loyalty to Dio will pursue you every hour of the day! There are Stands in this world that you can’t even imagine. Lord Dio is the master of Stands! He has the power to reign over them, you bastards will never reach Egypt!”

Kyogen turned away from him as he fell down into a pool of his own blood. The attendant ladies gasped in fear as they saw the old man’s body.

“You’re definitely professionals,” Jotaro said, settling himself onto the pilot seat next to Joseph. “It’s a good thing you didn’t scream, that would have been annoying. Now, I have a request. This old man is going to emergency land this plane on the water. Go put life jackets and seat belts on all of the other passengers. “

“G-Got it!” They both bolted away.

Jotaro turned to Joseph. “Old man,” he said to Joseph, silently asking the question they all had on their minds.

“Well… I have experience with propeller planes. But Jotaro… this is my third time. Have you ever heard of someone being in a crashing plane three times?”

Kyogen’s legs got weak as she sighed forcefully through her nose. Planes, national public enemy number two on her list.

“I’m never going to ride on a plane with you again,” Jotaro said. “You three, grab our belongings and get buckled up. It’s going to be a rough ride.”

Kyogen didn’t wait to hear it a second time and gingerly stepped around the bloodied body in the hallway. “Come on, Kakyoin, Avdol. We need to grab our stuff from the overhead baggage and get ready to land.”

The other two followed her and they passed the attendant ladies frantically handing out live vests. Kyogen snagged three and passed the other two to Avdol and Kakyoin. They reached their seats and Kyogen waited for Kakyoin to pass down the baggage, being too short to reach the overhead compartment herself.

“I’ll take either Mr. Joestar’s or Kujo’s bag,” Kyogen said. “I have the least baggage to carry.”

“Are you, sure?” Kakyoin asked. “Avdol and I can carry them.” “Yes.”

Kakyoin passed a black duffle bag to her and Kyogen sat down with it. She pulled hers from the under-seat compartment and settled down. Her hands trembled as she buckled the seatbelt and Kyogen’s heart was pounding. She squeezed her eyes closed. Jeez, she just faced off against an assassin but she was more terrified of an airplane crashing? 

A warm hand settled on her shoulder and Kyogen snapped her head to face the person. “It’s okay, Wind.” He soothed. “The plane has safety precautions which will make a water landing much smoother.”

Kyogen gave him a stiff nod. 

All she could do now is to wait.

[dishonoredrpg]

Congratulations, PAYTON! You’ve been accepted for the role of THE TOWER with the faceclaim of RODRIGO SANTORO. What poetry could I write about Feivel? He is, at his core, a worldly man, has seen much, knows plenty, and still finds himself entrapped in a world which he feels he cannot possibly belong to. There is such a human quality to him in the way he shifts and turns just to keep himself alive; your concept with the mirror was especially fascinating -- he has a charm to him, but is it a charm that he’ll be able to stomach later on down the line? I also vastly appreciate your willingness to step out of the box and explore a character you’re not as familiar with; I can really see your affection for him here, and I’m excited to see what you bring to us with him!

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

NAME: Payton or Paypay

PRONOUNS: She/her/hers

AGE: 27

TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: My timezone is GMT-7. I anticipate being active on the dash (as in posting starters/writing responses) typically between 4-6 days a week, with 4 being more typical. Writing is a pretty big component of my self-care and allows me a creative outlet to use some of my energy, so I will be on frequently. 

ANYTHING ELSE?: I know this is a second application picked from a small handful of skeletons that still remained, but I wouldn’t be applying for another skeleton if I wasn’t just as excited and dedicated to what I could bring to the group with this skeleton as I was with my first application. At first I was pretty bummed and told myself if I couldn’t get back into a very excited state I would just kind of let it be, but the more I worked on this application the more excited I got about the skeleton and the character I was building out from it.

IN CHARACTER

SKELETON: The Tower

NAME: Feivel Asturias

FACECLAIM: Rodrigo Santoro, Chris Hemsworth,  Joel Kinnaman

AGE: 42

DETAILS: What about this character interested you? Who are they to you? This can be as long or short as you want it to be, in whatever format you prefer.

I suggested this to you during our conversation during which you gave me feedback for my previous application, but The Tower’s skeleton is a big old jump away from characters I’m used to playing. Out of the skeleton’s that were left, I found The Tower’s to be quite compelling and likely the most challenging role to play for me. But I like challenges! Challenging is fun. I think in terms of my own development as a writer, playing a character that feels like such a departure from what I’m used to is a great way to stretch my creative muscles and really push myself to think deeper into the choices I’m making for my character.

Another component I like about The Tower is their history as an explorer. I would like to see story-telling be a strong component of their characterization because they have so many lived experiences. Given the setting, it’s likely he would be one of the most if not the most well-travelled roles in the group. His lived experiences would take him to the ends of the earth that his contemporaries only dreamed of, and I imagine he would be all too eager to recount the stories of his youth (only slightly editorialized… okay, fine, with some pretty significant embellishments). I imagine his life has led him to present as rough around the edges, as a survival tactic, as a leadership strategy, and as a mode of self-preservation… but when he gets to talking, when someone really gets him in his lane of story-telling he takes on an air of slight warmth and overwhelming nostalgia. He also absolutely adores young people, which is discussed a little further elsewhere in the application (one of the plot points if I’m not mistaken).

I am also very interested in toying around with his current role as an antiquarian--because who doesn’t want to make up a whole bunch of mythical items and historical artifacts and lore? I feel like not only would I be able to use him as a method to contribute to the general story line, but it would be a great way to explore some world building within the parameters you’ve set for the group.

I also think that the skeleton suggests that The Tower would be willing to take some risks, which would be interesting to play out. The fact that they were willing to play dumb in front of the king until it was clear playing dumb meant certain death, they take a chance: they try to bargain for their life, and it works. As an unofficial advisor, they view their stakes as being slightly less high than someone officially in the post, so they take risks: they combine a healthy amount of tact with speaking their mind. They see a monarch unhappy in her marriage and desperate for release, so they take a risk: they stand a little too close, brush the back of their hand against hers as they pass in the hallway, and find themselves in a full blown affair. I think taking risks would be an inevitable character trait of The Tower, who likely feels lonely for adventure and too big for their body now that they find themselves land-locked.

The actual card of The Tower also relates strongly to the history I imagine for Feivel and what I would assume could be a turbulent future given his affair with the queen and potential shifting alignments. I see “Tower upright: Sudden change, upheaval, chaos, revelation, awakening” relating to his arrival in Tyrholm and the killing of his men and consequential end to his way of life/loss of freedom. “Tower reversed: Personal transformation, fear of change, averting disaster” makes me think of his need to navigate the court and avoid what could be certain disaster if the affair with the queen became known to the wrong people as well as his perceived need to tiptoe around The Sun.

Something of interest to me regarding the typical depiction of this card is the image of the card itself. One website’s information on the card stated: “A stone tower is struck with lighting and lit in flames, two people jump from the tower presumably to their deaths. An image of chaos and destruction is painted.This lightning/subsequent fire enters in through the top of the tower and knocks off the crown. The people jumping accept that they do not know what awaits them when they fall - but it is certainly better than burning in the rubble of the tower.” I find this really compelling because I think that if Feivel was present for the event Mini wrote for Kithri’s para sample (and Mini makes that headcanon) or if Feivel sees or perceives Septimus mistreats his wife or perceives King Septimus as cruel in other ways it would be relatively easy to radicalize Feivel. Feivel knows he’s coming in hot on his expiration date, and even if he isn’t on the brink of death and he’s just feeling a little run down, I think he would really struggle to accept a land-locked existence where he’s essentially prisoner in Castle Tyrholm, and might, as the card depicts, run headlong into certain doom rather than accept the alternative if he found a cause worth self-destructing for.

BACKGROUND:

You are born on high seas, the ocean so ingrained in your identity that you could scarcely tell the difference between the waves of a storm battering your ship and the untamed beating of your own heart. Your childhood is composed of tangled memories of stern looks, rope burn, aching muscles, calluses, stolen goods, and the sound of splintering wood. The smell of gunpowder from the cannons found a permanent home in your nostrils and you lived with a constant sensation of breathlessness between the battles and seascapes that colored your days.  Your early years are like the ocean itself; ever-moving, unforgiving, and constantly threatening to pull you under in its cruelty if you so much as dare to be still for even a moment.

As you enter your teenage years, the treatment you receive only becomes harsher. You are no longer only responsible for chores around the deck, but you are brought into roles of responsibility where a misstep can be the difference between life and death of a crew member. You participate in your first ambush, and it terrifies you how easy it is to drive a blade into another body and how hard it feels to draw it back out. But letting that deter you is not an option. The stakes are high, and the sting of every slap and lashing’s meaning is two-fold. Corporal punishment is a daily reality of your life, the best way a motley crew of pirates knows how to instill discipline. And beyond discipline, you know you’re the next in line for leadership and as a leader you must be unyielding. Your father is preparing you, and the way you see it the crack of his leather strap against your back is the only way he knows how to say he loves you.

You are seventeen when you inherit your father’s ship, his death a sudden and brutal blight that stains a corner of your mind you avoid with vermillion and a mix of pain and resentment. Your mother died long before, when you were no older than six or seven. The closest thing you have to any memory of her face is the memory of her running her fingers through your hair to soothe you to sleep. every time the sea breeze rustles through your hair it evokes her memory. You keep it long and unkempt for that reason alone, though if anyone asks it’s a matter of convenience. It is unbecoming of a captain to display such vulnerabilities as sentiment and weakness—or at least that’s what your father before you conditions you to believe. You quickly realize you see leadership fundamentally differently than your father. Where he asserted authority by means of dominance and violence, your approach values brotherhood.

You find yourself establishing a Brotherhood of Asturias. You name your clan in honor of your ship. Later in your life, you will name yourself in honor of your clan—not as a badge of honor, but as a reminder of your shame. No one would accuse your clan of reformation. To anyone outside of your fold, you’re just as ruthless as your father. You’d still burn the world to the ground for the promise of glory when the flames died down. But within your kinship, you develop a sort of honor code. Your commandments are as such: honor those who honor you, betray no other lest your life be on the line, help the needy if it helps yourself, to kill an innocent is the most mortal of sins, and you shall not advance yourself at the harm of others. Your reputation does shift, but only slightly. Rather than pillagers and barbarians, you are seen as a ruthless treasure hunter.  

For the next fifteen years, your reputation precedes you. You travel to the ends of the earth in search of the relics of the old gods and to reclaim the wonders of the world. It isn’t easy work, but the payoff makes it worth it. You accumulate wealth with nowhere to spend it, but the sense of power of merely possessing the rarities and finery you have is enough. And you love the camaraderie and catharsis. By your mid-thirties, you are grizzled and scarred. Your body aches from the strain of your journeys, but your mind is somehow light under the sheer weight of the stories you have to tell. Your life is spent fast, but if anybody asks it is spent well.

Finally, aware of your limitations and content with your life of misdeeds, you select your successor and one final mission. You view it as a training exercise to cement your decision: both to lay down your arms once and for all and that you’ve chosen the best and brightest to take your place. You set sail to the remote island of Calamity in search of an item of lore, so simple that the common man would pass it over without a second glance: the Mirror of Ouroboros. The mirror is a small, handheld curio of impossible value. The reflector itself is a small, obsidian mirror that upon first consideration seems harmless if not impractical. However, upon looking in the mirror its magical virtue presents itself by revealing three truths about the user, each of them as destructive as the next if the user is without fortitude of mind. You recover the mirror with little consequence along the way, and you are reassured that your decision making was sound. You are resolved to your fate and wary from travel, you drift off to sleep easily after your final ransacking.

You are dragged from your bed by a pair of hands as cold and harsh as death itself. The mere touch is enough to pull the breath from your lungs. You don’t recognize her at first, but The Sun will haunt your nightmares for the next several years, and in a much more present way haunt your days as well. You are thrown before the king, your crew not far behind. But it is toward you who the king directs his ire. He demands the mirror, and you bite back at his entitlement. You tell him you don’t have any such item, and he knows you are lying. You tell him the mirror is no creation of his god, the Undying One, and as a result it shouldn’t be any interest of his. It’s the wrong answer. You realize it’s the wrong answer when you hear a squelch from behind you, and the sound of a body drop to the floor. The groaning is easily recognizable as your second in command, slaughtered as result of your folly before they even had their real chance to carry on your legacy. The world mutes, but you’ve seen this scene before. There is nothing but a loud ringing in your ears, but you know The Sun is working down the line of your men behind you.

Your hands shake as you pull the mirror from your breast pocket, and you consider looking into it. Surely the madness is a better fate to resign yourself to than to live with your indirect responsibility for your brotherhood’s death. For another moment, you consider allowing the king to look into it, to exact your revenge without needing to so much as lift a finger. Instead, you slide the mirror across the floor, still safely contained in its cloth shroud. You hear your voice warning the king of the mirror’s power, that with patience and research it could be the key to turning his kingdom into an empire. You tell him that more relics exist across the span of the globe, some of them here on the continent of Markholm. You’re bargaining for your life, despite the fact that according to your very own honor code you no longer deserve it.

For some reason, the king lets you stay. You know this is more a strategic move on Septimus’ part than an act of mercy. You are hardly a free man. You yourself know that not all prisons have bars. Yours doesn’t, but you’re locked in a cage all the same. Your wild heart rails against your fate at first, but your tired body cannot keep up. You slowly resign yourself to your circumstances. You spend your day lamenting and licking wounds for months, giving Septimus advice through gritted teeth and refusing to recognize kindness from anyone around you. You are like a cornered dog, but you damn well know better than to bite the hand that feeds.

Slowly, the dagger in your heart loosens and you move through the stages of mourning your freedom, your crew, and your former life.  This doesn’t mean that your life in Tyrholm is easy, but you start to recognize areas of comfort. The Empress shows you a modicum of kindness, and you cling to it. The way you see it, the pair of you mean little more to each other than a pair of warm bodies at first, but it’s a momentary distraction the both of you welcome. The way your rough, calloused hands catch on the silk she seems herself to be spun from reminds you of your place, it stops you from being careless enough to leave fingerprints. You stop yourself from getting emotionally attached--no one ever accuses you of being a wise man, but you know better than to shit where you eat. The Moon gravitates in the perimeter of your attention, and you wonder what she wants from you, though she never seems to ask for much. The Sun also exists within your gravitational pull, though you wish she wouldn’t. You have nothing but enmity for her, an emotion you know is futile but that you can’t seem to put away.

The one thing you take seriously is your role as advisor. Septimus strikes you as mad and simple, a ruler grounded in dualism and individualism. Your belief in brotherhood and the collective clashes with Septimus’ harsh reign, but you can stomach it given your years spent under your father’s thumb. You yourself are never treated with particular cruelness after you are added as a member of the court. A part of you cares how everything shakes out, even though your body tells you it might give out before you see things through. Another part of you only cares about slowly convincing Septimus to give you a longer leash to try to convince him to dispatch you for one last adventure or two.

PLOT IDEAS:

You’ve Got Your Reputation and Your Good Intent (The Emperor): Feivel was not exactly a willing addition to the court. With death as the only alternative, joining up with Septimus looked like a good choice, but in the skeleton it doesn’t suggest that The Tower ever develops any sense of loyalty or admiration for King Septimus. In fact, in the connection section with Judgement, it suggests that The Tower finds the world they find themselves stuck within to be “horrible”. Given I want to incorporate captaining a ship as part of Feivel’s past, he would chalk up the state of the world to mediocre leadership. Further, The Tower is smack in the middle of the triangle depicting attitudes and loyalties. He doesn’t have much skin in the game, but he kind of gives a shit. I have to imagine that given their travels, The Tower would have a stronger concept than Septimus of how the other side lives, how people perceive things, of even surface level diplomacy, who seems to make decrees and decisions at a whim. Knowing that The Emperor is the next in line for the throne, I imagine The Tower would want to see the heir equipped with more of a holistic outlook rather than a self-interested, dualistic approach. While it sounds like Septimus is the one who likes to be regaled with stories of adventure and daring, I imagine Feivel might try to impart some sort of wisdom about different perspectives, universal truths, and interest in the plight of fellow man. The Emperor has probably never experienced life outside of the castle walls, certainly never outside of Tyrholm where many valuable lessons for a future ruler wait to be learned. But Feivel struggles with putting his meaning into words, he isn’t some educated member of the court, he’s a rogue in nice clothing. There is no underlying agenda aside from expanding the young heir’s worldview--but the danger of saying the wrong thing, of the slightest slip up in the tone of voice being read as a criticism of King Septimus makes the line between good intent and treason a tricky one to walk.

Suffer the Fools (The Moon): Feivel enjoys young people tremendously. Youth tends to couple with ambition and vigor. This is also part of why he even wants to bother trying to impress some of his lived experiences on The Emperor. Based on the connection written in The Moon’s bio, it seems like The Moon would be eager to listen to those very same stories. The Tower is depicted as a cache of information regarding other civilizations, the old gods, history, antiquities, magic, and tales of their own youth. I think in talking to The Moon about these stories and being listened to, a friendship would be forged and from that friendship, trust. Feivel understands thieves' code, he can pick up the dynamic in most any room he walks into, he knows history, he recognizes value when he sees it, navigation and survival in the wild is a given… but all of this was learned through oral tradition. Books were of little value on a ship, education wasn’t valued in his lifestyle. In his previous station, Feivel couldn’t have cared less, but now it’s developed into a soft spot. What does it say of a king if their antiquarian and unofficial advisor is illiterate? I think that if Feivel developed trust with The Moon, he would be willing to share this vulnerability asking them to write correspondence for him in a pinch and potentially how to read and write. I think this vulnerability might help lead The Moon to ask the questions they have about magic as discussed in The Moon’s connections.

All’s Fair in Love and War (The Empress): I am interested in exploring the connection listed in The Empress’ bio depicting the affair between The Empress and The Tower. It is not really mentioned in The Tower’s bio or in the main body of The Empress’ bio. I am interested in exploring Feivel’s motivations in this affair. Is there genuine affection that Feivel feels for The Empress, or does he see her as a pretty treasure of the king’s that makes for an interesting conquest? If there is genuine affection, how does he deal with the jealousy or perceived mistreatment of The Empress as a wife? Additionally, there could be a number of interesting consequences for the affair to deal with as far as jealousy, not being able to bit his tongue regarding Septimus’ attitude about his wife, or even the secret of the affair becoming more widespread. I think the affair could also complicate the way that some members of the court and group see Feivel. They could potentially misread the affair, whether it’s a matter of the convenience of the two just acting as warm bodies for one another or if it develops into a full blown emotional affair, as Feivel tries to step into a role of power or exploitation. It’s also some pretty damaging ammunition against him if he crosses the wrong person.

Mirror of Ouroborus (The Sun/The High Priestess): One of the things I would look forward to adding to Feivel’s character and the group as a whole is sort of building out the world with some mystical items. In this case, I think it could be fun to toy around with the item that landed Feivel on King Septimus’ agenda in the first place. This is a plot I would build out with either of the two more experienced necromancers. The item I have in mind for this plot point in particular would be called the Mirror of Ouroborus, an ancient, magical artifact the most of the world either doesn’t believe exists or has already forgotten. The mirror itself is a small, obsidian mirror that upon first consideration seems harmless if not impractical. However, upon looking in the mirror things begin to complicate. When looking in the mirror, it shows its user three truths. The first truth is easy to swallow: the reflection morphs into the user at the epitome of their potential, in their greatest state of glory. The second, the reflection morphs into what it is that stands in the way of those accomplishments, whether its an internal or external force. And third, it shows the essence of the user as they really are. Each of these reflections manifest as a simultaneous, momentary vision, but the mirror itself is dangerous. The lore surrounding the mirror depicts the third reflection driving everyone bold enough to stare into the mirror mad, incapable of swallowing the truth about themselves and the inherent flaws of humanity. However, who better to look into the mirror than someone numbed to even the most base emotion? Though it’s unlikely Septimus would put something as valuable as a master necromancer on the line for anything less than a guarantee. I would imagine in this plot, Feivel and either The Sun or the High Priestess would be tasked with unraveling the mystery of the Ouroborus Mirror for its eventual use.  

If You Stand For Nothing, What Will You Fall For (General): Check out the triangle of alignment and who is smack in the middle but The Tower? I think this presents a few interesting concepts. There are so many different components of the skeleton that could suggest many different ways for his allegiance to be pushed and pulled. If he has a personal rather than transactional relationship with The Empress, her alignment of general tolerance of King Septimus might pull him toward anxiously waiting out the king. Then again, it might have the opposite effect if Feivel ends up having very spiteful feelings about the Empress being stuck in the marriage. I envision most of the connections listed on the bio slowly dragging Feivel’s alignment toward the bottom left of the chart. I want to explore Feivel’s character with a moral alignment of true neutral as well, which I think would create a lot of interesting dynamics given Feivel seems to be starting from a place of general neutrality as well. I would be very interested in seeing what, if anything, could radicalize Feivel given his starting point.

Through Terra Incognita: Feivel is not exactly a member of the court by choice, but rather quick wit and Septimus’ whim. I would argue that Feivel sees himself more as a prisoner of the court than actually free. He was brought to the court by force, and he’s essentially kept there out of fear of the Sun. Sure, there are perks. He probably is all about that food, a nice bed, fancy clothes, and a comfortable place to rest his tired bones… but just because he wanted a rest doesn’t mean he isn’t restless. It might be interesting to have Feivel be dispatched by Septimus to retrieve some sort of treasure or antiquity with another character or maybe even two. This item could potentially be central to the plot if it interests you to invest in the plot in that way. I think this could be an interesting way to interact with Judgement (religious relic?), or potentially The Hermit or Strength. However, I’d be happy to make this plot work with whoever might be interested even if they aren’t listed there. Fievel is probably incredibly eager to go on any sort of adventure and get out of the city, so he would jump at the chance to go on such a quest, even if he clashed with his travel companion every step of the way.

Brave, Intrepid, and Then Some: If you do not recognize the lyrics used as titles (here and the plot point above), the song “The Trail We Blaze” from Dreamwork’s masterpiece The Road to El Dorado is big inspiration vibes for Feivel and his adventurous side. He knows he is never going to be the marauder he was before his years in Tyrholm, but there’s a spark in him that can’t quite go out. I think something to feed into this, and his general world knowledge, would be to develop a sort of “wonders of the world” for Markholm. Something I think that might be interesting to do is to pick a few characters and try to create artifacts, locations, etc. that are sort of drawn from or inspired by these characters. Perhaps they would not be significant to the plot, but I think it could be a fun concept to build out Feivel’s experiences.

CHARACTER DEATH: I think given some of the pies he’s stuck/will stick his finger in there’s a pretty real chance he might piss off the wrong people eventually (Septimus, Reynaud, Naenia given his fear of her) whether that be by him making a false move or his affair moving from a bit of an open secret to a full blown scandal. Also, he’s lived a rugged life, which I’m sure has taken a toll. Given the parameters you’ve set up to support players if there’s a character death and the context of this character I’m comfortable with it.

WRITING SAMPLE

Another restless night, and Feivel found himself roaming the halls of Castle Tyrholm with the company of his faithful hound, Gunport, at his side. It was the sound of the wind whistling outside his sleeping chamber’s window that kept a good night’s sleep at bay, the sound reminding him of those wind whipped days out at sea that built him into the man he was now.  He lobbed a ball down the corridor lazily and got some mild entertainment watching the hairy beast chase after it with gusto before bounding back to its master’s side and pushing the slobbery toy into his hand. But even the momentary distraction couldn’t hold back the feelings that he was now more a ruin than a man.

His father had died valiantly in battle, though the skirmish itself could have been avoided by better planning. Even so, his father had died with his reputation intact, ruthless to the end. Feivel himself had quickly built his own mythos around himself, even if it was not as cruel as his father’s. He knew the Clan Asturias had gained a measure of renown, enough for King Septimus to know of their accomplishments, and as the captain of the ship Feivel himself was the figurehead of the legend. On nights like this, he would retract his steps and try to pinpoint the exact moment he had gotten too far ahead of himself or too comfortable. He knew what his father would say, that his downfall was the direct result of trusting anyone but himself. Some nights, Feivel felt that conclusion was correct. On other nights, he surmised that his fate was inevitable. For years, he had wondered how legends were brought to their knees. Now he knew he was little more himself than some exotic game King Septimus had cornered and would eventually mount on his wall like the other trophy animals in Castle Tyrholm’s gun room.

The candlelight flickered from further down the hall, and both Feivel and Gunport stood aware, their two sets of wild eyes pointing in the direction of the disturbance. He wondered vaguely if someone else was being kept awake by the ghosts of their past, or if perhaps it might have been the growing sense of restlessness that had been building behind closed doors and in whispered conversations throughout the castle. He had only been a member of the court for a handful of months, but he knew what the early stages of insurrection looked like. This was something he altogether aimed to avoid, more than convinced that the king would be able to put an end to any treason before it truly started.

It surprised him to see the queen passing through the hall, and for a moment he felt his presence was inappropriate. Life in Tyrholm had come with a healthy dose of culture shock, to say the least. He had cleaned up well, this was true, but he knew he was far from noble. His manners had provided ample fodder to mock him in his first months in the court, and the stiff clothing he had been given felt like it choked him. Perhaps it was his station in his office that made him feel most like the butt of a cruel joke, the books that lined the shelves and his pot of ink and paper virtually useless. He had wondered for a while how long King Septimus would humor him after he realized his master of antiquities couldn’t so much as write his own name. Luckily enough, he had proven himself entertaining enough to listen to that when he was called upon it was almost exclusively in person. Whenever the need to write was unavoidable, it was no trouble to intimidate a servant or page into writing it for him. It took little more than a menacing glare and the simple lie that he preferred to dictate his response rather than be saddled with the chore of writing his message himself.

As The Empress approached, Feivel bowed. It was practiced to look natural, as if he’d been bowing to monarchy all his life rather than copying the other members of court over the past few months. He also took grain pains to make the motion as fluid as possible despite the strain it caused his lower back. “Your Majesty,” he greeted, “I apologize for disturbing you this evening.” He tossed the ball away again, figuring someone of her stature had little interest in being near such a creature. The dog took off again after the ball, springing clumsily down the long hall.

“It’s quite alright,” Queen Calliope responded in a muted voice. She lifted a slim, graceful hand that caught the moonlight as she gestured before them. “Perhaps you would walk with me?”

Before Feivel had much opportunity to respond, Gunport had asserted himself into the situation. The dog pressed the ball into the palm of the queen’s hand, wet nose, slobber, and all. It was the habit of a well trained dog to return whatever it was fetching directly into the hand of it’s master, but Gunport was friendly and apparently wanted to extend the invitation to play to the queen herself. Embarrassed by what he assumed was poor manners, Feivel became somewhat nervous and hoped to escape the interaction without insulting Queen Calliope. He turned his attention from her hand to her face to respond, but his answer was delayed slightly as he observed her unassuming beauty; the smoothness of her skin, her piercing dark eyes, the way her silk-like dark hair framed her face and swept against her shoulders, and the delicate shape and hue of her lips. He was a man who recognized finery when he saw it, and what held more value than the wife of a king?

“Another night,” he mumbled, staring at the toe of his boot rather than in her eye. His voice was gruff, a bit terse as a force of habit. “When I don’t have the hound with me.”

Accepting his answer, the queen lifted her hand to pass the ball back to Feivel. He extended his hand, accepting it from her, unintentionally brushing his fingers against the back of her hand. The contrast between the two did not escape him, his own hand rough with work next to her unmarred skin. Her skin was smooth and cool compared to the warmth and calluses of his own hand. He let the touch linger for a moment before his eyes met her own. She didn’t seem disturbed by the touch, which even if unintentional was an insult to her station. Queen Calliope placed the ball in his open hand before bidding him goodnight with a soft, amused smile. “Another time then, Feivel. May the Undying One bring you safely to another day.”

“Another time then,” Feivel repeated, holding the ball up as if it were some secret known only to the pair as he walked backward toward his quarter. He tossed the ball over his shoulder with a roguish grin, his eyes trained on Queen Calliope. Only when she turned his back on him to continue on her way did he turn away from her.

EXTRAS

I want to plot out what the affair looked like, from start to current state, with The Empress’ player, so I’m not taking my writing sample as gospel. It just seemed like the most natural thing to write because I think the connection with another person in Tyrholm he established with The Empress was probably a turning point in his mourning process/ability to accept his current station as basically a glorified prisoner in Castle Tyrholm and to engage more with others.

Inspiration Blog (There are three pages, you gotta click the last little dot with a sort of square to get to the next page)

[inked-foundry]

A Stone’s Throw Away

“Will you cut it out with the shenanigans or not?”

Hecate propped her chin in a free hand, the other still furiously playing with the spring. “You were the one who came here with such vile accusations, Bonnie dearest. Have you considered that your little factory fails by your own fault?”

Bonnibel would have ichor on her hands if this idle chatter didn’t halt. She grit her teeth and demanded in a low tone, each word punctuated with pause, “Answer the question.” 

“Alright.” Hecate shrugged, and that put an end to her incessant shifting. “I’ll agree to your little deal—if I can have tea with you this noon. It gets awfully lonely around these parts, and I rarely ever see mortals.” She ran an eye over Bonnibel. “Let alone ones with as much spirit as you.”

Want to read more? Click to see be low the cut!

If Bonnibel had to convene with deities to return to business as usual, then so be it.

Despite having hiked the distance from the city—all the way across the outskirts, and up the hillside, into the dim cave that Hecate was rumored to reside in—Bonnibel refused to fall to pause for rest. She stood. And she stood and stared into the darkness, and sought out the goddess.

Muttering a curse, she reached into the fur-lined pocket of her winter coat, plucking out a matchbox. Striking a stick, the meager alcove came into a somewhat better light. 

Bonnibel had expected a roughly hewn alcove of rock. Instead, the entire place was smoothed over with the hand of an artist. From the few uneven ledges, flowers bloomed from the cracks, a mossy lattice forming a rustic bedding on the ground. But ahead was a basin formed by the sparse pieces granite and marble that were free from foliage.

Taking a step forward, Bonnibel caught her own reflection in the water of the rocky dish. Emerald eyes upon a face framed with auburn curls stared back. Beneath her visage, trinkets from gold coins to rings rested beneath the surface. All of them caught the light that straggled into the cavern, shining faintly with lost hope.

Muttering, Bonnibel reached into her opposite pocket, running a thumb over the baubles she’d brought with her. A single spring from the loom. Bolts from every corner of the factory floor. Payroll from a skilled worker that had been out on sickness for days, then weeks, then months.

All of it, she ripped from her pocket, and flung into the water.

Not even a splash. Something poisonous and heavy formed behind her sternum.

“You cause me this much trouble, yet you can’t even deign me with a reaction?” Bonnibel burst, halfway between a laugh and a cry. Her shoulders squared, contracting with unspeakable rage, her mouth drawn into a grimace. “For the love of all things that are holy, it’s not as if you godly sorts have better things to be doing!” The cave remained silent. The waters failed to shift. A soft wind weaved between the flowers, their ensuing ruffling like laughter. Somehow, even nature itself was making a mockery of of her. 

It was a useless endeavor. Of course the goddess wasn’t going to answer; hell, it was a joke that Bonnibel had believed they listened, for the briefest period of time. Whatever had gathered in her chest loosened, let itself be carried in her blood, weighing down her bones. There were better ways to return to normality.

Ways that would keep her more on schedule.

With a sigh, Bonnibel dusted her hands on her coat, and turned heel to take her leave.

She’d made it to the mouth of the cave when an impossibly even, impeccably confident voice chimed from behind, “Those are awfully strong fighting words for such a small lady. I’m frankly impressed.”

Hecate. Bonnibel spun around swiftly enough to make herself dizzy.

The goddess (or deity, or demon, or spirit, or whatever these creatures could be), carried an elegance to her, despite leaning against the curved wall of the cavern. Between her fingers was the spring of the loom. She turned it in her hands, entertained as if it were some new toy, though the rest of her was buzzing with activity, an unseen electricity. 

She towered over Bonnibel, in both aura and form.

But the small lady merely quickened her breath, balled her hands, and started her approach back into the cave. “You did this to my business. You did this to me.”

“This is my fault?” Hecate chuckled. Her eyes widened—eyes of utter gold, pupils no more than rectangular pits. And she encroached on Bonnibel in return. “I don’t even know who you are, dearest.”

Bonnibel stayed her ground, but glanced the goddess up and down. Nothing about her has human composure. Unruly pale hair had curled around a set of horns, as proud and decorative as a crown. Below, her legs were that of a goat’s, each movement punctuated by the click of a hoof, barely muffled by the moss mat. And still all so confined to the earth, remarkably caprine yet composed.

“My name is Bonnibel Petra, and that lynchpin spring broke free from a mechanized loom yesterday. It happened last week, too. Production has slowed to an absolute standstill.” She straightened her back, tried to cross gazes with Hecate, tried to even the ground. “So as the Goddess of Chaos, this is indeed your fault.”

“Chaos,” Hecate reiterated. A smirk drew across her face, flashing the gap between her front teeth. She took a seat at the edge of the stone bowl. “Is that what they’re calling me nowadays? I used to be the Goddess of Magic, y’know.”

Bonnibel’s fists curled further inward, fingernails cutting crescents into her palms. She didn’t have time for this. She’d already put time aside to haul her rear up to this desolate hillside; she couldn’t sit and talk shop when she had a business to return to. Couldn’t when she had an appointment with Cade Rockwell this afternoon. When there was a when to each word.

“Will you cut it out with the shenanigans or not?”

Hecate propped her chin in a free hand, the other still furiously playing with the spring. “You were the one who came here with such vile accusations, Bonnie dearest. Have you considered that your little factory fails by your own fault?”

Bonnibel would have ichor on her hands if this idle chatter didn’t halt. She grit her teeth and demanded in a low tone, each word punctuated with pause, “Answer the question.” 

“Alright.” Hecate shrugged, and that put an end to her incessant shifting. “I’ll agree to your little deal—if I can have tea with you this noon. It gets awfully lonely around these parts, and I rarely ever see mortals.” She ran an eye over Bonnibel. “Let alone ones with as much spirit as you.”

Tea. All a deity wanted was an afternoon tea. The same time she was supposed to meet up with Cade Rockwell. There was no way she was simply giving up a business opportunity like that. Whims couldn’t determine a person’s path, especially the whims of a literal iteration of chaos.

She could go on with a shambling production floor. “Forget my offer,” Bonnibel spat. A pain was forming in her jawline from all the scowling. “You’ve got enough flowery words for a full garden. Keep it out of my afternoon arrangements.”

She promptly turned heel to resume her exit. And she kept going until the cave was behind her, the sunlight awash over her head. Until she could see the city and all its smokestacks in the distance, with its flurry of business beneath what should have been clear blue skies. Until she was wading in soft grasses and Hecate was behind her—

Bonnibel yelped when she tripped over nothing. She tumbled forward, barely holding out her palms in time, scraping her chin into the dirt. That was nothing to say about how muddied her coat and slacks were. With a grunt, trying to ignore the stinging of her joints, she rose and glanced down to see what had caught her loafers.

The goddess was laying in the grass. Somehow, she’d gotten ahead of Bonnibel. She’d downright appeared out of thin air. If this was what a goddess did for entertainment, then it was best to avoid tea. Only heavens knew that she’d do for real chaos.

“So my Bonnie dearest doesn’t enjoy poetry and flowery words. I can work with that.” Sitting upright, Hecate held out her hand to present the loom’s lost spring. Then she crushed it in her grasp. But when her fingers unfurled, a camellia appeared. “Perhaps you enjoy flowers themselves?”

A twitch formed under Bonnibel’s eye.

“Gritty looks from a lovely lady. It’s an honest shame, but I won’t prod a golem. Though your gall to come all the way here in the first place is intriguing, so I’ll have faith that you’ll seek me out again.” Hecate pressed the flower into her palm, and when her grip unfurled once more, it had been replaced by a stone engraved with gold. “Just in case you ever desire my incomparable amity from henceforth, simply throw this little token as far as you can.”

Bonnibel only examined the stone’s etching, the floral pattern it created. The maze inside the simple shape. “I doubt I’m going to make deals with devils anytime soon.”

“Just in case,” Hecate reiterated with a wink. Then she tossed the stone into the air, letting herself fall back to the ground. And she disappeared into the grass—simply fell through the earth, leaving no trace.

Which left Bonnibel alone, with nothing but the clouds above and the calling card before her. Like hell she was going to throw it. Hecate wasn’t worth another encounter, no matter if she was willing to offer the deal again. 

At least the trinket would serve as a good paperweight, a consolation for wasted time.

Before she began heading back, Bonnibel dropped the stone in her pocket.

* * * 

It was clear that Maxwell Alder was pacing the office long before she had returned. He was utterly flustered, from papers stacked upon the clipboard he carried, to the accident reports that had begun piling up on the desk. In his hand—

Bonnibel sighed heavily, removing her coat. “Don’t tell me.”

“Another lynchpin spring,” Maxwell blurted, dropping the clipboard to the tabletop. With a free hand, he pushed round glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. “This is a royal mess.”

“Clearly,” Bonnibel muttered. 

She slumped into the seat, draping her coat over its back, reaching into its pocket. She plucked the stone out, sparing it the decency to glance at its engraved design once more. Had it shifted since she’d last seen it?

Bonnibel rubbed her eyes. She was exhausted from rising too early. Her schedule was the way it was for a reason. Going out of her way for Hecate was an idiotic idea to begin with. With a grumble, she dropped the stone atop the accident reports.

Maxwell sat on the edge of the desk, and despite his narrow figure, his presence felt suddenly too heavy to put up with. “Miss Petra, with all due respect, you look like you could use some sleep.”

“I could’ve used that time for sleeping instead of visiting that damn well useless being that calls herself a goddess.” Bonnibel leafed through a few of the reports, each one more bizarre than the last. She blinked blearily, raising the fine print to her eyes to assure the papers were correct.

Until Maxwell gently rested his fingers on the stack. “You truly sought out Hecate?”

Bonnibel pored over his question in her head. It was unbelievable that she actually went out of her way to speak with Hecate. Although she stumbled over her words at first, she eventually recounted what had happened on the hillside, the events becoming corporeal to her as she spoke. Though with the way Maxwell’s expression paled, it was clear he was thoroughly shocked.

“Well, I don’t advocate for making deals with folks with questionable motives, but it is a fun opportunity.” Maxwell smiled, contradicting the stress lines forming at the corners of his face. “Few people get the opportunity to speak with the local deities, and rarely over something as civil as tea.”

“If I ever accept such an opportunity, it damn well better be with a god of profit.”

Maxwell shuffled his feet, as if kicking up courage, before suggesting, “If you’re this worn, it might be best to halt production for a day. It would give you a chance to lay down. Maybe even speak with Hecate again.”

“I’m not setting aside another moment for that woman,” Bonnibel hissed, all while fumbling for a pen. She couldn’t waste time looking for menial things, so why hadn’t she left it in its usual spot? “Especially not when I have to meet up with Cade Rockwell this afternoon.”

“Mister Rockwell.” Maxwell came to an icy standstill. “Isn’t that soon?”

Bonnibel felt her lungs frost over. The business was already in physical shambles. She couldn’t be losing track of her time table, too. Swatting Maxwell’s hand from the clipboard, she immediately flipped to the bottom page. There was the correspondence from Cade Rockwell. Ripping the paper from the bottom, she ran through its contents.

He was right. It was soon.

There was a clock over the door. Thirty minutes to noon.

“I’m going to be late.” The words barely left her mouth. Her throat closed up, and each second her eyes remained upon the timepiece, it became harder to breathe. “Maxwell, I’m going to be late.” 

Some spirit possessed her. She’d called ahead for a cab; it had to be here by now. One hand shot for her coat, the other desperately scrambling for her wallet, if she’d even left it on her desk. Whatever she found, it ended up in her pocket. She may’ve given directive to Maxwell to grab her briefcase. All she knew was that she was running. Out of the office, down the narrow staircase, between the massive looms, along the walls lined with bolts of fabric. All of it went by in a dull silver and gray blur. Out—she needed to get out.

The cab should’ve been here by now! She’d planned ahead. At the very least, she had that. Always had that. The schedule would prevail, she would make it to Cade Rockwell’s, she’d be able to forget the Hecate incident.

After struggling with the massive factory doors, she called to Maxwell, and the two of them somehow pushed aside the steel barrier. Bonnibel nearly fell to her knees she’d given so much force. But she got back up, bolting out of the building, onto the sidewalk where she had to push through other pedestrians.

Like mercy given form, the dark cab was still parked just down the street, glossy and elegant and perfect. Bonnibel’s shoulders dropped and she eased into a calmer pace. Everything would work just swell. Though she glanced over her shoulder, just in case. And evoking a similar comfort, Maxwell was just catching up to her, briefcase in hand.

Good. She hadn’t needed Hecate. All of this was a hiccup.

She turned around—to find the car lurching forward, and her stomach moved with it. The driver couldn’t have given up one her yet. But as she picked up her speed, hollering to Maxwell to keep up as she elbowed passerbys, the vehicle did the same. And she couldn’t get there quickly enough. And the car was already racing down the street, disappearing over the horizon like a shard of onyx.

Bonnibel came to a stop in the dead of the street. Others continued their swift strides around her, but the world may as well have quit turning. Of course this would happen. When the world was against you—when a goddess was against you—of course this would happen.

A hand rested on her shoulder. “Miss Petra, maybe we can reschedule for another day.”

Not another day, and never another day. They would stick to the plan.

“There should be a service terminal down the road.” Bonnibel resumed her footing, despite the ache in her ankles, the ache in her heart, in her head. And Maxwell better have been following. “We’re hailing a cab if it kills us.”

So she pushed onward down the street, through crowds of people who just wouldn’t move swiftly enough. People who seemed downright determined to stand in the way. But she kept pushing forward, through the wall of winter coats and disgruntled mumbling, concrete sidewalks disappearing behind her stride. 

A metal arc came into view, encompassing the street. She was right! There was indeed a terminal, and she’d be getting to her appointment with Cade Rockwell on time, and Hecate could sew those cunning lips of hers shut. Even the hustling population about her seemed to thin out.

Until she ran straight into a construction barrier.

Bonnibel cursed, only saved from falling over by a pair of hands encircling her stomach. She glanced backwards to find Maxwell holding her upright, a distinctly concerned look on his face. Though his gaze was kept ahead.

Before them, laborers in garishly bright vests and overalls were fixing a dent in the paved road. A dent, and a crack, and a venting pothole in paving that should’ve been stronger. Slowly rising, Bonnibel took in the whole environment. Of course the crowds had lost their density; the whole terminal was encompassed by safety walls. No one could get in.

And no transit could get out.

“Miss Petra,” Maxwell murmured. He let Bonnibel go gently, but kept ahold of the suitcase the whole while. “We’d best get back to the factory and shut down for the day. You need rest.”

This couldn’t be right. Maybe the appointment letter was wrong, and she had penciled in this meeting for the correct day. Maybe the crew would clean up construction in a few minutes—and the terminal was still functioning, and she’d make it there, and… and…

Maxwell’s voice was too distant. “Bonnibel, you aren’t well.”

Or she could vault across the construction zone right now. It was concentrated around one particular issue, anyways. She’d just bolt through, find an active cab, and be on the other side of the city in no time. Though she’d have to save time to get back on schedule. Using one hand to support herself over the barrier, she rifled through her pocket with the other. She’d still have to pay the cabbie, and her wallet should’ve been in there somewhere.

“Bonnibel!” 

Maxwell was already gone. The workers hollering warnings were already gone. But she seemed to carry nothing. Hell, was her wallet gone, too? Finally inside the terminal, she began to march forward, and searched the opposite pocket.

There it was. Bonnibel plucked it from her jacket—

Only to see Hecate’s stone. Only to see the fault that goddess had in this all.

Bonnibel had a running start. A scream ripped itself from her throat. Her arm flung forward, a foot rammed into the barrier, and the stone flew. It flew over Maxwell’s head, into the crowd, and thudded against the concrete at the bottom of its arc. And the stone didn’t even have the decency to skip. It just stuck to the ground like the weight of the world.

Hecate couldn’t even give her enough respect to spare physics.

Standing upright, whatever spark inside Bonnibel had gone out, leaving her limbs heavy as lead. She could barely feel relief when a cab rolled up along the sidewalk. But it was there. It took a frustrating amount of time and a small breakdown, but at least some cabbie had heard her cries. With sluggish movement, she maneuvered back onto the civilian’s side of the construction wall.

Patting Maxwell on the shoulder, she headed for the cab’s door. Except she didn’t get an opportunity to grab the handle. From the other side of the cab, hinges creaked as the driver stepped out. Each step punctuated with a click.

Bonnibel deflated—letting Maxwell catch her—as Hecate rounded the hood.

“You couldn’t even last a full day without me, Bonnie dearest!” As Hecate made her way to the pavement, she snapped, and the car door slammed shut on its own. And the car engine revved itself up as well, before the cab performed a turn and drove off without anyone behind the wheel.

Maxwell stumbled almost as miserably as Bonnibel.

Hands on her hips, Hecate gave him a once-over. “Maxwell Alder, if my information is correct. Though I believe you won’t need to worry a moment more about your superior, Maxie, given she’s just invoked my calling card.”

Bonnibel only tensed with fervent rage, a full pulse forming behind her eyes. She’d willingly thrown the damned stone! It took an awful amount of willpower to stand back and watch as Hecate leaned over, plucking the talisman from the street.

Maxwell got to his own feet, dragging Bonnibel with him. “She knew my name.”

“And you appear to know who I am. It’s a small world, lad.” Hecate tossed the rock between her hands, focused more on her little juggling act than the conversation she was holding. “But it’s lovely to see you finally come to your senses. I’ve actually got a lovely box of earl gray on the backburner.”

Hecate finally tossed the stone over her shoulder, and she made contact with those gleaming, mischievously gold eyes of hers. “The deal still stands, if you want it. A single afternoon tea for a lifetime without worries.”

Bonnibel was at the very bottom. She had been scratching at the walls of this pit when she could see the light, but now she was lucky to not have gone blind. There wasn’t anything else to do. When the world worked against you, the only thing left was to join the forces that made it turn.

“Fine,” Bonnibel grumbled. She peeled herself from Maxwell’s support, kept her spine stiff, and begrudgingly held out a hand in a show of compliance. “I’ll play your little game. One afternoon tea, and you make all of this come to an immediate end.”

Hecate raised an eyebrow. “All of what, precisely?”

“All of this. All of the broken screws and springs in the factory,” Bonnibel began. It was a struggle to keep her voice from shaking, to keep her hand outstretched. “All of the late appointments, all of the missed cab reservations, all of the damned services terminals that have been shut down.”

“You’re deeply mistaken.” Hecate shook her head with sympathy, but that insufferable grin remained on her face, a portrait of sadism. “I haven’t caused any of these incidents, Bonnie dearest.”

The corners of Bonnibel’s eyes began to prickle. “Then what the hell am I agreeing to?”

“Exactly what you want.” Hecate leaned over, patting Bonnibel’s head. “You just don’t know what that is yet.”

These arguments weren’t worth it anymore. Bonnibel hardly questioned her intuition when she jabbed her hand into the empty air between them. Just complete the deal. Just get this miserable day over with. It didn’t matter who was causing the trouble in the first place—only that Hecate could put an end to it.

There was an unspeakable catharsis about them when Hecate extended her own hand. They shook on it, though Bonnibel barely felt the weight of her own complacency. All she knew was that Hecate bleated contentedly.

“Glad to see you come to your senses, Bonnie dearest.”

With that, the goddess turned heel down the street. A mist seemed to crawl up from between the few members left of the crowd, and when it lifted, Hecate was gone. 

* * *

If Bonnibel was going to let that beast into her apartment, the very least she could do was make her home presentable. She’d donned one of the few dresses she’d owned, put out two settings atop a tablecloth (directly across from each other—like hell she’d take her eyes off Hecate), and cleaned the whole place. Particular attention was given to the cabinet that ran parallel to the dining room table, given it was packed with silver candlestick holders and glass art and stoneware. All of it heirlooms, all of it graced by generations of hands, and all of it going to be proof that a Petra would not simply roll over for momentary desires or incidents.

Bonnibel cringed when a knock landed upon the front door, echoing like a death kell across the entire apartment. It wasn’t even noon! Yet she managed to draw in a breath, remind herself it would be only a few hours, and strode to the door. She got atop her toes and glanced through the peephole.

That golden eye stared back.

Bonnibel jumped back, but after coordinating her wits and her pride, she reminded, “You’re about twenty minutes too early, Hecate. Our deal was at noon, so come back when I asked you to arrive, like a polite deity.”

“Where’s the fun in that, Bonnie dearest?” The door shuddered, Hecate likely leaning her weight on the fixture. After a moment’s pause, she sighed and added, “It does get lonely up on my hill, and you’re frankly fascinating company. Having a few spare minutes with a friend never hurt anyone.”

Bonnibel could already feel a pounding in her head. “We’re not friends.”

“Shame you think that way, but we indeed are.” Hecate knocked again. “C’mon, Bonnie,

Folks are beginning to stare. Honestly, you think these people haven’t seen a goat-legged goddess in this part of the city!”

“There’s a little something called common courtesy. I planned for twelve, you come in at twelve,” Bonnibel insisted. After Hecate knocked again, she added, “There isn’t even a kettle ready.” “I brought everything, Bonnie dearest, if you’ll let me put a flame on the stove.”

Only a few hours. A few hours too long. But deals were deals, and Bonnibel had already informed Maxwell to cancel everything from today’s original plan. Muttering a few expletives, she turned around to find a set of keys. Though she paused when the knob trembled by itself. A few pops sounded as the tumbler moved, and the door flung open.

Hecate burst into the room, donning the most obnoxious paisley suit to ever be sewn, a camellia poking through the lapel. But as promised, she had a wicker basket on her arm, overstuffed between an elaborately painted teapot and a sickening amount of sweets. Though Bonnibel couldn’t get a decent look. Immediately, Hecate was buzzing about the place. She swept herself into the dining room, dropped her basket, and bolted back into the kitchen. A snap of her fingers and a flame was dancing on the stove. She set the pot down and was turning around once more.

Into the kitchen, and back out. Into the dining room, and back out. Bonnibel could barely get a word of caution in. She was as good as stone welded to the floor. Hecate was getting too close to the stovetop, was pushing the place settings out of the way, was coming precariously close to the heirloom cabinet.

A crash from the other room. Bonnibel grit her teeth and finally chased after Hecate.

Behind the set table, the cabinet had been flung open. Most of the heirlooms had stayed put, dusted until shining—barring a painted stoneware plate, the intricate brushstrokes designating flowers shattered into a petal storm of shards. Bonnibel could hardly remember who had passed down that plate. All she knew was that she was supposed to pass it down as well.

And Hecate had stopped that.

“Oh, accidents are bound to happen in life,” She tutted. Bonnibel would’ve ripped the goat’s head off if not for the fact that she reached into her vest, and from an interior pocket that was clearly too small for its contents, plucked a broom and dustpan. “The question is whether or not you make something of it.”

  After collecting all the shards, she made her way to the back of the room. Bonnibel tried to follow a path of logic—if Hecate had a sliver of respect, she was placing it elsewhere to piece the plate together. The more likely answer was that she simply planned on tossing it out. But there wasn’t any rubbish bin in that direction. Instead, the goddess leaned the broom against the wall. With a newly available hand, she undid the lock on the back window.

Bonnibel’s heart dropped.

“And we ought to make this little incident but dust in the wind, Bonnie dearest!” With a tilt of her wrist, Hecate dropped the shards of the generations-touched plate. They fell with the weight of lead. And they fell, past the other windows, past the other fire escapes, to the street below.

The kettle whistled like a train arriving from hell.

How dare Hecate come into her abode. How dare Hecate destroy and maim and tatter everything with a sense of valor to Bonnibel’s life. The deity—the downright devil—had gone out of her way to upset the factory, and by being let into a personal space, had ruined further plans from before this time by decimating something meant for descendants.

The cry of the teapot was still trying to burrow into Bonnibel’s head.

“You don’t look amused. That frilly old plate couldn’t have been that valuable.” Hecate propped her chin between her thumb and forefinger. She shook her head, elaborating, “I thought this would be far more fun for the both of us. But I am still rather curious about you as a person, so I’d like to see you make a choice.”

Bonnibel had already made a choice to let Hecate into her house. And she already hated that decision. Anything else that this overgrown farm animal could offer wasn’t worth it, anything that—

“Either we can stick to our original agreement…” Hecate waved a hand towards the  table setting. Then, she gestured to the window. “Or we can take a slight detour to go catch your heirloom before the crows get to it.”

Stick to the plan, or spare the sentimental.

“It’s your choice, Bonnie dearest.”

Stick to the plan, or get out of this ridiculous deal.

Bonnibel balled her fists and spat, “I never wanted you in my apartment to begin with. Of course I’d rather go salvage a piece of my family history!”

She gave Hecate no chance to formulate some smarmy response. Pushing the goddess aside, she marched out of the dining room, all the way to the front door. Ripping her coat from the rack, she was halfway buttoned-up when a hand brushed along her elbow.

“Where are you off to in such a rush?” Hecate mused.

“To the street,” Bonnibel explained, albeit with little breath. Something about the whole situation had her full of adrenaline. She was finally out of this ridiculous deal, finally breaking free of something. “Maybe I’ll be able to lose track of you on the way.”

“You have to be bluffing. My company is unparalleled.” Hecate tutted. Her gentle touch turned into an iron grip around Bonnibel’s forearm. “I can show you a more efficient path.”

Before Bonnibel could open her mouth to protest, she was flung across the apartment yet again. The barest scream escaped her throat, only able to watch as Hecate jumped upon the dining room table. Then proceeded to leap right through the window—never once loosening her grip on Bonnibel.

Bonnibel Petra shut her eyes tightly, only hearing the rush of the wind over the rush of her heartbeat. The way the shards succumbed to gravity played in her head over and over and over. She continued to follow that same path.

Hecate would be the literal death of her.

Bonnibel never felt pavement scrape skin. Nor did she feel consciousness slipping away. She was allowed to simply open her eyes and find herself cradled within Hecate’s arms, the goddess floating mere inches above the sidewalk. Above the stony shards of heirloom. Bonnibel stared at them a few moments, hardly noticing when Hecate’s hooves settled upon the ground.

“Sometimes you just have to skip stones, Bonnie dearest.” Hecate outstretched her arms, giving Bonnibel space to descend. “They can skim the surface, or they can sink, but you never know how many ripples can be made if you never give it a throw.”

Still focusing on the ground. Bonnibel wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at: a destroyed heirloom, or scattered flowers. She’d never noticed the plate when it was on the shelf. But when it had been taken off, its purpose disturbed, it suddenly had much more interest to it.

“And you, love, have been so wrapped up in scheduling—” Hecate leaned over, collected all the shards in one curved hand, and crushed them in one gesture. But when her hand opened once more, she revealed a bouquet of camellias, lovely pink and deep red and alive. “—that you’ve tossed a stone right into your clock.”

Bonnibel shook her head, gaze still downwards. “I don’t get it.”

“Tell me, if you’re willing,” Hecate stepped past Bonnibel and kept heading for the street corner, holding the delicate flowers to the light. “Just who has been messing around with the lynchpin springs in your looms?”

Narrowing her eyes, yet somehow still being drawn to follow by some new form of curiosity, Bonnibel answered, “As the Goddess of Chaos, it’s clearly been you.” “And if it’s been excessive enough to drive you to visit me, then your factory must have been deteriorating for quite some time.” Hecate paused in her stride. Glancing over her shoulder, eyes catching the light despite being in the shadow of the building, she mused, “So when did you bring in a mechanic?”

The camellias never wilted, but Bonnibel’s heart of ice and silver fractured. 

In a bare whisper, she admitted, “I never did. There was no way to pen it in.”

“And what was so important that you couldn’t make time?” Hecate mused. Despite the angles of her face, something soft appeared in her expression. Her pale hair was in its usual tousle, but its messiness was suddenly far more appealing. She removed a camellia from its brethren and tucked it behind a horn. “What was so important that you couldn’t let your laborers take an extraneous day off for a moment’s rest, that you couldn’t simply reschedule your meeting with Cade Rockwell?” Bonnibel wanted to crush those flowers. Needed to ruin them, all the way to the stem.

The pot of tea was still crying from its perch upon her stovetop. She ought to get back to the kitchen, finish this little tea party she had agreed to. Hell, she ought to cut off the whole deal and return to her original plan.

She ought to. But nothing said she had to.

“I want to break our deal.” She outstretched her hand fully, not the slightest reservation.

Hecate raised an eyebrow. “Do you now?”

“I never would have met the most annoying goddess I know if trouble never came my way.” Bonnibel shrugged, feeling a previously unnoticed weight falling from her shoulders. “A tad of chaos will be interesting.”

Hecate’s grin became impossibly wider, the gap between her teeth increasingly imperfect and unnerving and yet all so endearing. She clapped once, but the sound echoed across the nearly empty street. “My dearest Bonnibel Petra, you delightful little stick in the mud, I was beginning to believe you would never ask.”

The two interlaced fingers. Tension that had been drawn taut with the air itself faded.

“Now toss me like a stone,” Bonnibel demanded.

Hecate laughed, turning heel and bolting ahead. And Bonnibel skipped after.

[chemicalmagecraft]

The Gamer Hero, Deku Chapter 27

A/N: Completely totally random fun fact: Five-card Mao is a fun card game where you're not supposed to tell people the rules, except for, I believe, the fact that if you win a round of Five-card Mao you may create a new rule for the game.

xoxoxo

After getting back from Yuuei, the first thing I did was show my mom the paperwork Shuzenji-sensei gave me. We cried tears of joy together and hugged, then she signed it and I decided to go talk to Kacchan. I figured it'd be a good idea to fill him in on my new powers.

"You can what?" Kacchan asked.

"I can copy Quirks now," I answered. He stared at me for a while. "Are you okay?"

He sighed very loudly. "You know what, why not? You can copy Quirks now. Cool." He stuck out his hand. "How do you do it?"

I grinned and made sparks from my hand. "It's a little finicky, though a bit less thanks to an exploit I found out about, but if I fulfill the right conditions I get a copy of a person's Quirk that I can 'buy' from a new menu."

"And those are?"

"I think it's supposed to be just from either beating someone in a fight or potentially from quest rewards, but one of the rewards for the sports festival quest I got was a choice of two Quirks from a pool limited to people from Yuuei. One of the Quirks I picked was a copying Quirk, which thankfully gives me a copy too."

Kacchan nodded. "Yeah I remember that guy. Kind of an asshole. So what was the other one?"

I felt a sting in my eyes as I activated it. My hair felt weird, and while I couldn't see them I assumed my eyes were glowing red. "Try to use your Quirk."

He snorted. "I know what Aizawa-sensei's Quirk looks like, asshole." I laughed and turned it back off. "So you just... have a bunch of Quirks now?"

I shrugged. "There's a limitation. If I have too many Quirks out then it lowers their effectiveness. But yeah, I have a bunch of Quirks now. I got the Quirks of the past One For All users, there are the two I just said, Super Regeneration from that Nomu thing that I bought because it's a passive boost to healing, the Quirks of everyone I beat in the tournament as another quest reward, and my cat's Quirk, which I tested Copy on."

"Damn. And knowing you, you got some other stupid good thing during the sports festival."

I nodded and pulled out my phone, using Technomancy to turn it on and open my pictures without actually pressing any buttons.

"Showoff," Kacchan muttered, then looked at the picture I took earlier. "Is that a fucking tower?"

"Yup. I got a new spell called Imaginary Architect after that last attack in our fight."

"When you threw fucking swords at me?" Kacchan asked.

"Because I threw fucking swords at you. It's an improved version."

"How the fuck is an entire tower an improved version over being able to make some swords?"

"Now I can make anything out of magic, if I have enough power."

He thought for a moment. "Yeah I guess that makes sense."

I switched to the second photo where the tower was dissolving, the only indication that I was interacting with my phone the blue, circuit-like lines that glowed to life on it and my hand when I did. "And this is what happened when I stopped using Imaginary Architect. Pretty, right?"

Kacchan nodded. "Yeah, it kinda is. Don't suppose you've got enough of an understanding of it to teach it to me yet?"

I shrugged and made a small sphere. I tossed it into the air a bit, then dissolved it mid-throw and replaced it with a small cube. I tossed that cube around a bit, added spikes to it, then dissolved it. Next I made a lab coat with a lot more concentration due to how complicated it actually was, actually making it around my body. I managed to make it a lighter shade of blue than the other IA constructs, but in the end it was only almost white. It did, however, behave exactly like a lab coat made of cloth should, down to how it ripped when I pulled one of the sleeves off. Even breaking a part of the construct didn't destabilize it, which was a failing in most Quirks and spells that made temporary objects. Even my Skill Grimoir worked like that. It was that self-contained... "Yeah, I think I should have a good enough grasp on it now. It's a bit complicated, though."

"This isn't gonna be like Meditation where it just doesn't work, is it?"

I shook my head. "No, from what Todoroki told me Meditation has an aspect to it that my Quirk reproduces automatically."

"How the hell'd he know that?"

"Apparently he can sense magic."

Kacchan twitched. "How the shit does he do that?"

"Beats me. Still, the biggest hurdle to you learning Imaginary Architect should just be that it's really complex. You might want to start out with Bound Blade first."

He sighed. "Ugh, fine."

xoxoxo

I spent the rest of the day (and night) switching between grinding both Imaginary Architect and Item Enchantment and reading up on basic architecture. Around midnight, I decided to check out the hero news. I opened up the website I normally used for hero news (not even using my hands, Technomancy was fun) and scrolled through the articles. One caught my eye.

Pro Hero Ingenium Critically Injured by Hero Killer Stain

"That was what you overheard, wasn't it Sonia?" I asked. She nodded quietly. "Well, thanks for giving me a heads up. Come to think of it, I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell me anything you hear about that you think I might need to know? Nothing personal about other people, unless you think they're going to get hurt or something, but stuff like explosions or villainous plotting?"

She smiled. "Yeah, I'll do that!"

"Thanks." I clicked on the article. Yeah it did not look good. "I don't need to tell you to keep an eye on Iida, do I?"

"Nope."

"Thanks..."

I was glad that I was using Technomancy to use the computer, because that freed up both of my hands. My left hand started to glow green with Healing Hands and my right hand glowed purple with Draining Hands to give it something to heal. While I was at it I switched Super Regeneration off. I didn't know if I would be able to help with Iida's brother at all, but it was a reminder of why I got Healing Hands in the first place. I wanted to heal people, and Healing Hands still had its limits even in the nineties.

xoxoxo

I stopped practicing my new skills around noon of the next day to check out one final thing that I had gotten recently that I wanted to mess with. Enlightenment had recently leveled up enough to unlock its next ability:

Allows the user to access their own subconscious mindscape through Meditation.

It would probably be more obviously useful if not for the fact that The Gamer already prevented any form of tampering to my mind, but at the very least it changed Enlightenment from (Passive) to (Active and Passive), meaning that I could hopefully level Enlightenment up at least slightly easier by exploring my mindscape.

I created a perfectly generic object with Imaginary Architect, automatically enchanted with that one slowfall enchantment I'd stumbled upon earlier (though not the floating one), and used Singularity on it. I floated over the construct with my legs crossed in the stereotypical meditation pose and pulled it into the air, adjusting my pull on it when it was halfway between me and the ground so that it just hung there, my 'gravity' pulling on it as much as Earth's. I closed my eyes and let my skills guide me deeper within my own mind.

xoxoxo

I felt like I was falling backwards for what somehow felt like both an instant and an eternity at the same time, scenes from my life flickering in and out of my vision. After that interminable time, I found myself in the foyer of what looked like a hero museum. It felt familiar, and from the looks of it combined some elements from some of the hero museums I'd been in before, though maybe with some other aspects as well. I suppose that made sense, it was my mindscape after all...

The central figure of the foyer was a larger-than-life statue of All Might in a triumphant pose raised on a pedestal.

...

...

Fair enough...

The statue had a spiderweb of large cracks on it, exactly where the real All Might's wound was. "I know this is my mindscape, but is everything in here going to be so on the nose?" I muttered. I shrugged and picked one of the hallways leading out of the foyer at random, one labeled 'Magic,' and walked through it.

"Whoa," I said. The giant room on the other side looked something like the library of a medieval fantasy magic school, instead of the museum theme of the foyer. The walls were lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves packed with books, there were moving models of various moments scattered around the room, an ornate pedestal with a large book in the middle with a large spiral staircase around it, and balls of light floated around the ceiling to provide light. I walked over to the closest model. It was the tower that I'd made yesterday. As I watched it dissolved like it had when I stopped supplying it with energy, then reappeared after a few moments. I walked away as it looped itself and examined another one. This time it was the flurry of blades that I'd used to finish off Kacchan. Not all of the models were mine, though most of them were, but every example was an example of magic that I was impressed or amazed by. For example, Kacchan and Uraraka's fight, the time I destroyed Todoroki's iceberg, the cavalry battle, the first time I cast Halcyon Wing, those shenanigans with Yang, the Wild, Wild Pussycats' cat spells I'd seen on TV that one time, my fight with Nomu, that one time Kacchan pulled me out of Illusion Barrier to punch me in the face, my first time using the elements with Kacchan, and the first Mana Bolt that started it all were among them. It was nice to see them all memorialized like that, even if it was only in my own head.

After I was done looking at the pretty displays, I checked out a section of one of the bookshelves. It had a label on it, 'Lightning,' with little lightning bolts on it. I pulled a book out at random and opened it to a random page. Most of the text was garbled for some odd reason, but I could make out one passage.

Lightning Bolt

A simple lightning spell. The user gathers electrical energy with lightning mana and shoots it in a burst at the target.

It was almost exactly what my own skill entry for Lightning Bolt said, but without the cost and everything. I frowned and flipped through the pages. I couldn't make out any of the other entries, but to be fair I didn't know too many lightning spells. I really needed to fix that, and with the other elements too. I closed the book and it flew back into its spot with just my intention to return it. I thought about Lightning Aura and Lightning Embodiment, and a dash-like lightning spell I'd made with the hope of creating a flying lightning spell called Arc Step. Those were my other three major lightning spells, so they should probably be somewhere in the lightning bookshelf. Again, my thoughts caused the books to move on their own. Two books pulled themselves out of the bookshelf and floated in front of me.

I plucked one of them out of the air and opened it to a random page. It had Lightning Aura and Lightning Embodiment on it, with one spell in between them. I stared at the passage. It was almost like it was constantly shifting, like some sort of selective but cripplingly bad dyslexia, but I felt like I should know what it was. I almost caught a glimpse of it... I checked one of the other passages that I couldn't read. I didn't have that feeling of recognition, but I still caught a flash of what it might be. Filing that away for later, I turned my attention back to the familiar passage. What could it...

Maybe a lightning version of Kacchan's Fire Ignition? As I thought it, the shifting of the slowed to a stop. The description was still a blur, but I could at least read that I was right.

Lightning Ignition

Maybe it was because I knew what the spell was, but didn't know it? If that was the case... I put the lightning books back and summoned an air book. Yup, Air Aura and Air Embodiment were there with their descriptions, but with a passage for Air Ignition in the middle that I couldn't read the description of. I put them back and looked at some of the other sections of the bookshelves. Aside from the elements, there were several books on healing, enchantment (apparently Elemental Aura and Elemental Ignition, but not Elemental Embodiment, were enchantment-type, plus my buff spells), illusion, offensive, defensive, sensory, movement, mind, summoning, and even more books of magic. There were so many books, most of them almost completely indecipherable. I supposed it represented the sheer scale of what magic could do. Heck, there were even a few bookshelves that I couldn't read the titles of.

After looking through a few books, I decided to check out the book on the pedestal in the middle. For it to be in the middle of a library full of magic, it had to be something impressive, right? I approached the pedestal and... it was just an oversized version of the Skill Grimoir. The pedestal had a counter on it that looked like it was showing me how many Skill Fragments I had at the moment. "Status," I said to check.

The menu didn't open. I frowned. "Menu." Nothing. "Skills." Nothing. "Skill Grimoir?" The giant Skill Grimoir was summoned to my hands, not the one that I could make from my Quirk. I guess it made sense, Quirks being a part of the body, that even if part of my Quirk affected my mind I couldn't use some parts of my Quirk within my own mindscape. Heck, now that I thought about it the only part of my UI that was still was the minimap. "Does that mean my magic won't work?" I asked myself. I created a simple little Magelight and added it to the floating lights. I cast the spell, yes, but even though it felt almost exactly like it did when I did it in real life, it didn't feel like I used any energy in it. "Weird."

I shrugged and looked at my Skill Grimoir. I wondered what it would look like to use it in here. I clearly could, otherwise why would the pedestal have an SF count on it to make up for the fact that I couldn't check my status screen? I flipped through the book for a skill that I wouldn't mind using SF on. There was a decently cheap skill called Shock Sphere that I was fine with. I confirmed the purchase. The words peeled off the page as usual, but when they dissolved into light they didn't go directly to me. Instead, the light split and streaked over to books in the lightning and offensive bookshelves. There were no text boxes, but I knew how to use Shock Sphere when the last of the light entered the books. I summoned both books to see that yes, there was a completed passage for Shock Sphere in them.

"That's... something..." I muttered. I guess that the books were a representation of my skill list? I moved onto the last feature of the room, the staircase. It was made out of floating strips of the same stone-like material as the flooring, but with small bits of red carpet on them. I walked up the staircase to see what was up there. The staircase was long and the tower that it went up was hollow, meaning that I could fly around there with a lot of room if I felt like it. The room at the top of the staircase looked like... maybe it was supposed to be the top of a wizard tower? The large room was circular, with eight large windows that lined up with the cardinal and ordinal directions on my minimap. There was an empty bookshelf, some tables, and a few training dummies and targets by the walls in between the windows. Creepily enough, the space outside the windows was just a blank white void...

I jumped out the window to see what the outside looked like, but realized when I tried to use Float that my copied Quirks weren't working either. I fell for a few meters in surprise before casting Halcyon Wing. The base of the tower was just a part of the circular staircase, instead of the library at the bottom. I tried to fly under the tower to see what would happen, but bonked into a perfectly white floor. There weren't even any shadows, which made sense when you considered the fact that there was also no light. I looked around the white void.

"I wonder what this is supposed to be?" I muttered. "Maybe it's supposed to be something like visualization of magic? I can use my magic in here, plus there were those dummies, so maybe I can use this place like a training ground for my magic. It'd be a bit nicer if it wasn't just this blank white void..." I had an idea. "If this is all in my head..." I closed my eyes and imagined the forest I used to play in as a kid. Soon the image in my head felt almost real and I realized that my eyes had opened at some point. I flew back up and surveyed the new forest. It probably wasn't exactly accurate, even aside from the giant wizard tower that stayed in there when I replaced the void, but it was still a forest in my head.

I flew around the forest for a bit, seeing how it looked. It kind of looked like it was randomly generated with my memories of the forest, because it didn't look like it was exactly the same as the real thing. Certain areas seemed to repeat too. I also checked what would happen if I destroyed a tree or something. It just smashed like a normal tree. Not sure what I expected to happen there. After that, I wondered if I could create NPCs in there. I imagined a ring of bokoblins, like from Breath of the Wild, around me. Before they could attack me I tested out my new skill on them. Shock Sphere, fittingly enough, reminded me a bit of the electric lizalfos from Breath of the Wild. At least, that electrical explosion that they could do. A sphere of lighting magic centered on me enveloped the bokoblins, causing them to convulse. When I ended the spell (which seemed like I could continue it just by supplying more MP), they all fell down and faded out of existence. I hoped it wasn't that deadly in reality...

With the training grounds tested out, I flew back into the tower and jumped down the stairwell. I didn't even feel any impact when I fell on the floor, and the floor didn't look damaged either. I got up and finally walked through the exit hallway of the magic room. I suddenly found myself back at the foyer of the 'museum,' standing exactly where I had been when I first entered my mindscape like I'd teleported there.

"That was interesting. Let's see another room." I walked up to a hallway, which had a sign that said 'Memory Lane.' This time, the room was just a long hallway with paintings hung all along both sides. On the left side I saw memories that were, generally speaking, negative. Fear, anger, sadness, every picture evoked emotions like that in me. Meanwhile every memory on the right was positive. When I looked at the left side it felt like it was longer than the right side, but when I looked at the right side it felt like it was longer than the left. Only when I didn't focus on either side and just stared down the middle did I see that the two sides were equal.

Does that count as a metaphor? I feel like that's a metaphor.

I kept my hand on the wall of happy memories as I walked down the hallway. My hope was that it'd serve as a reminder not to linger on the bad memories. As I walked down the hallway reminiscing, I noticed that some of the memories on the happy side were also on the negative side, just in a different light. I got to the end of the hallway having only cried a few times. Like the last room, exiting it brought me back to the beginning.

I looked at the hallways around the foyer, wondering what else could be in them. "One more," I promised myself, and went through a hallway labeled 'Heroes.' The large room was filled with statues and pictures of various pro heroes. The ones I admired more had more prominent statues, with All Might's being the centerpiece of the room. I noticed with pride that while there was a statue for Endeavor, it was destroyed. Only the legs were intact, with the rest of him just being a pile of rubble with demeaning graffiti on it.

However, I quickly noticed that there was something completely out of place near the All Might statue. A party of seven, who by the way I had never seen any of before, sat at a cheap folding table in cheap folding chairs. And because this was in my mindscape I apparently couldn't see their titles. There was a man with long white hair, a woman with a short, spiky ponytail that kinda reminded me of a pineapple, a blonde man with red eyes, a white-haired man with a large scar over his left eye, a bald man wearing an opened leather jacket with no shirt under it and a pair of goggles on his forehead, a black-haired man in a coat with a collar so high it covered his mouth, and a motherly-looking woman with a beauty mark under her mouth. It looked like they were about to play some sort of card game.

The man with long white hair, who looked like he was the dealer, shouted "Five-card Mao is not in session!" and threw a card at the man in the coat, who was the only one holding his cards. The man picked the card up and added it to his hand, which was currently about twice the size of the others'. The long-haired man said "Five-card Mao is not in session!" again, and threw another card at the other man. They repeated this several more times, the white-haired man's shouting getting more exasperated each time. Soon the man in the coat was holding all the cards.

"I win," he said smugly.

"That's not how Five-card Mao works!" the white-haired man protested.

"How does it work, then?" The man looked through his numerous cards.

The white-haired man slammed his hands on the table, rattling his five cards. "I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO TELL YOU!"

"Then how are we to play the game?" the man asked smugly as he set most of the deck down.

The white-haired man sighed. "You figure it out. That's supposed to be part of the fun..."

"Um..." I said, and all seven of them turned to stare at me in unison. "What are you people doing in my head?" I asked.

"The kid's here," the bald man said. "How is the kid here?"

The motherly-looking woman got up. "I suppose some introductions are in order. Sorry for alarming you, Midoriya. We're... the past users of One For All, the Quirk you have now. My name is Shimura Nana."

"Oh," I said. "So I guess One For All takes some kind of copy of the user's mind?"

The bald man shrugged. "Probably something like that. Name's Daigoro Banjo. Sup."

The man in the jacket nodded. "Hikiishi Jiroku."

"Hello, Midoriya," the scarred man said. "My name is Honenuki Shikotsu."

The blonde man waved at me. "Hello," he said with a small Russian accent. "I am Sokolov Kyousan."

The woman with the ponytail smiled at me. "Hello, Midoriya. My name is Kaizen Futaba. It's nice to meet you."

Finally, the white-haired man got up and shook my hand with an apologetic grin. "And I'm the reason you're in this whole mess, sorry. Shigaraki Ichigo." I gasped. Come to think of it, he looked a bit like that hand guy, Shigaraki Tomura, if he wasn't so... crusty. He winced. "Yeah, like that hand kid you fought. I think he might be my nephew, but I kinda don't like the idea of my brother procreating. He wasn't a very good brother and I doubt he'd make a great father either. You can call me Ichigo, by the way. I understand if you wouldn't want to call me Shigaraki."

"Um... So if you're all here then where's All Might?" I asked.

"Oh, he's in the closet," Shimura said.

"I knew it!" I said.

"Oh no, I meant that closet," she said, pointing to a literal broom closet in one corner of the room. Why was that even there? "Toshinori's openly bi, or at least he was in school."

"Oh, so did you know him when he was in school?" I asked. "Or I guess you would know anyway if you were in his head too..."

She nodded. "I did end up in his head eventually, but I was his teacher at Yuuei."

"Wait, why is he in the broom closet? I asked.

"See, the thing about that is..." Daigoro said. "Maybe it's best if you see for yourself."

I shrugged and walked over to the closet door. I could see something under the crack, but it didn't look like a pair of human feet... I opened the door, revealing a hazy yellow silhouette that was roughly All Might-shaped, but didn't look like an actual person. He didn't react to me opening the door. "Oh," I said.

"Yeah, he kinda creeped us out after a while, so we just stuck him in the closet," Ichigo said.

I waved my hand in front of his face. He didn't react at all... "Is he... conscious?"

"We don't think so, or at least we hope not," Honenuki said.

"We don't remember our times as that strange half-shadow, but at the same time most of ours were short," Hikiishi informed me. "At the very least, he doesn't react to anything and won't until the real Toshinori dies."

"I see," I said. That was kind of disturbing... "So are your real souls in here? Is that how it works?"

Sokolov shrugged. "It's best if you don't think think about it, existentially."

"Okay," I said, closing the door. "Would it be possible to get another chair for me?" I asked. "Actually how did you get those chairs?" I turned around to see that there was an extra chair right next to Ichigo. "Right, mindscape." Ichigo patted the empty chair.

I sat down as Ichigo shuffled his cards really fancily. I didn't even know you could do some of those those things to shuffle a deck of cards.

Or it was just mindscape logic...

"So do you wanna play too, Midoriya?" Ichigo asked me.

I nodded. "Yeah, thanks." When he dealt my cards I almost picked them up, but remembered the whole thing with Hikiishi and stopped myself.

"Five-card Mao is now in session!" Ichigo said as he flipped the top card of the deck over, the two of hearts. "I figured we'd do this in the order of what bearer we were, and we could say a bit about ourselves to Midoriya. I'll start." He placed the eight of hearts down on top of the first card. "I was the first bearer. Our enemy, All For One, is.. was my brother. He kinda snapped when our father killed our mother, which to be fair was pretty dang traumatic, but that doesn't really make anything he did cool. We had a few arguments, he locked me in a room for months, then he tried to control me by giving me a powerful Quirk. Still don't get what his plan was there, even with the chance of brain damage. Plus I mean even then we already knew that Quirks could be genetic, so he should've figured I could've been even a little bit more compatible with his Quirk than some random schmuck, so-"

"You're rambling again, Ichigo," Kaizen interrupted him.

"Right. Thanks, Futaba-chan," he said. I guess they knew each other. "So yeah, I used the Quirk he gave me to escape him and join what may have been a precursor to those pro hero organization things, though obviously without the overt government support. Speaking of, I think that's when you come in, Futaba-chan."

Kaizen nodded. She put down the eight of diamonds before speaking. "I was Ichigo's sidekick. He took me under his wing after he couldn't dissuade me from being a hero and showed me ways to use my Quirk that I would have never thought of. When he was on his deathbed I promised to continue the fight against his brother and was the first to have One For All passed to me. If I may, Midoriya, I would like to advise you to not underestimate the power of my Quirk, Mending."

Sokolov nodded. "My turn." He put down the three of spades.

Ichigo picked up the card, took a card off the top of the deck, and tossed them both to Sokolov. "Bad move. Try again."

Sokolov grunted. "What about this, then?" He put down the seven of diamonds. "My mom lost her Quirk to that bastard Hisa-"

Hikiishi threw a card at him. "Watch your language, there's a kid present."

Before Sokolov could pick up the card Ichigo swiped it up and threw it and another card at Hikiishi. "That's not a rule," he said.

Hikiishi picked the cards up, took another one from the deck, and threw all three at Ichigo. "You said can make new rules if you win."

Ichigo glared at him. "I'll give you that one, but only because I agree with the rule." He turned to Sokolov. "Continue."

Sokolov nodded. "My mom lost her Quirk, so I decided to melt the brain of the person responsible. I suppose if we're saying what our Quirks are, I should say mine's Fear. Luckily Kaizen got to me before I could get to him, and she made me her successor."

Honenuki threw his card down next. Seven of spades. "Believe it or not, but I used to be one of All For One's allies. Was born into it, actually. In fact, the Quirk you got from me, Skeletal, was a combination of my birth Quirk, Spike Growth, and a Quirk called Bone Armor. One day, though, I made the... well, not mistake, but I questioned him." He tapped his scar. "How I got this. Kyousan saved my as- life and I didn't really have anywhere else to go, so he basically adopted me."

Banjo slammed down the jack of spades. He shrugged. "Honestly I became a hero because I was bored and liked using Blackwhip. Don't know what Honenuki saw in me, but to be fair he was dying and the other guy was an even bigger jerk. Not really much to say."

Hikiishi looked at his cards for a bit. "I was always good at using my Quirk, Magnetize. I was heavily encouraged to become a hero, so I went with it." He put down the jack of diamonds. "I suppose Banjo saw promise in me when we worked together, because he gave me One For All."

Shimura played the queen of diamonds. "I also became a pro hero because of my Quirk, Float. Well, I really did want to help people too, but having a Quirk that let me fly played a factor in my becoming a hero too. I only ever met Hikiishi a few times before I... well, when he gave me One For all he was about to die. I became a teacher after that, hoping that maybe my successor would be spared the traumatic circumstances of my getting One For All." She laughed wryly. "I'm honestly not too sure I was able to do that for Toshinori..."

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," Hikiishi muttered.

"I don't blame you," Shimura assured him. "Now it's your turn Midoriya."

"Okay," I said. I looked at my cards. If I understood the rules right, the only card I had that would work was the queen of hearts, so I placed it on Shimura's card. "My name is Midoriya Izuku, as you know. I think the Quirk I was born with was actually Singularity, but it's really weird and didn't even show any sign of being there until a few months ago, when I got The Gamer. I know I'm not very experienced, but I hope to make you all proud."

Banjo grinned at me. "You're doin' great already, kid!" he shouted.

"Yes, I'm proud to call you my successor," Ichigo added with a grin.

The rest of the former bearers echoed the sentiment. I laughed and rubbed at my suddenly wet eyes. "Thank you."

xoxoxo

A/N: Sorry about dumping a bunch of names on you at once, bit that was kinda the only way I though of for how this could go down...

Also sorry for the kinda long wait. I had writers' block for a bit with the OFA scene and then had an awesome idea for the card game that unfortunately involved reading a lot about the minor tarot arcana (I know it was a minor detail, but I thought it was really cool and I just kinda go wild for tarot motifs okay). By the way if anyone's looking things up, remember that most playing cards are the same rightside-up as upside-down so it could be either upright or reversed ;3. Plus I had a lot more irons in the fire that I had to tend to.

Elemental list: Midoriya: Halitus, Dune, Rayne, Blaise, Juniper, Mifuyu, Raimon, Iggy, Sonia, and Claude Bakugou: Pyra and Leaf Tokoyami: Corvo Uraraka: Nebula and Ion Hagakure: Lucy Tsu: Bubbles Aizawa: Charlie and Cassiopeia All Might: Seth O'Scope

[jvlicns]

julian amante , twenty - three , cis male , THE TOWER .

amusing , candid , resourceful , petty , cataclysmic , arrogant.

first of all HELLO !! im z. 25 / she+her / pst. im thrilled to be here and honestly a little shocked ?? my app was a rushed MESS but im so happy the admins understood my nonsense !! 

this is going to be a lil long so pls bear w me. im going to break it down into sections and eventually make an entire bio , but this will do in the mean time !

connections are here , & my discord is zvvf#1885 ! 

* tw for mention of drugs & alcohol

. . .

TAROT ━

the tower represents chaos , destruction , & upheaval. this change is usually sudden & unexpected -- & not always good. the tower itself is a symbol of ambition , but in this card we see it built on faulty premises & false beliefs , all of which are no longer useful.

the ruin of the tower is inevitable -- necessary for growth & groundbreaking renewal. it’s time to break out of the old ways.

AESTHETICS ━

cracked asphalt , bloody knuckles , tangerine sunsets. the smell of freshly cut grass . still , slow mornings. a neat row of fire ants , climbing up your bedroom wall. broken stained glass , an overgrown field. tears of laughter , the only you’ll ever shed. 

money in a yellow envelope , guilt in your eyes , pressed flowers , a string quartet , corruption , loss of morals , student debt , a yellow light , darkness , hellfire.

THOUGHTS ━

" you’ve got your orders & that’s enough. you don’t know who’s telling you to throw your classmates off the scent , but you’re getting paid to do it. maybe your moral compass would stop you if you didn’t struggle so much in the financial department , but hey. you’re doing what you have to do to survive. if only you didn’t have to go against your better judgment for it. "

GENERAL ━

assigned to REYNOLDS house 

fourth year -- senior .

currently working at the corner store as a cashier .

scholarship student -- 2.3 average gpa .

athlete , st. cade’s lacrosse team .

BACKGROUND ━

grew up in a small town in arizona , in one of those unfinished suburbs that ran out of funding halfway through a government project to “ upgrade ” that was met with widespread disapproval. it’s all empty pools & dirt lawns , a patchwork neighborhood of old houses mixed in with the new. 

former golden boy who peaked in high school : star athlete , prom king , voted best smile. eternally toeing the line between CHAMPION  & DIRTBAG.

well - liked , but known for being something of a hell - raiser. out every night , hungover every morning. it was less obvious back then -- he could easily brush it off as simple youthful rebellion , rather than a real personality defect.

his first taste of alcohol was in seventh grade. a summer night , with the sun retiring for the day but leaving her kiss on the still - warm pavement. his world -- previously filled with sunday school , tense family dinners , & 24 hour marathons of professional passive aggression , was forever changed. finally , the boredom slipped away. & not just that ! this was actually FUN. 

but for someone with zero impulse control . . . a door opened , & he never managed to close it.

from a young age , his parents were always involved in the church. they attended every sunday , no excuses. 

this lapsed as the years passed & the amante family found it more & more unpleasant to be in the same room together , but his parent’s beliefs never wavered. religion was used as a weapon in their home -- to shame & guilt. they claimed love , preached tolerance. what they practiced , however , was the opposite. as he grew older , julian managed to weasel his way out of most of their theological outings. he gained some freedom , in addition to the ire of his family. their disappointment in him grew from a tiny acorn to a mighty oak.

his parents had their own issues , long before julian came along. a marriage between two irreconcilable people. the love they should have shared mutated into something twisted , something that they could give only to their son. it was enough for them to feed him , clothe him , & put a roof over his head. anything else was simply asking too much. 

despite coming from a low - income family , things have never been particularly DIFFICULT for him. sure , they struggled. he’s lost count of the times the power got shut off , or the water. but julian was the type of kid who could charm teachers into bumping his grade up to a 71% , despite the dozens of half - finished assignments & failed tests. he didn’t really have to try -- they just wanted to help him. ( pity , perhaps ? he turns a blind eye )

he coasted through school. one of those natural athletes that coaches & admin treat like celebrities , focusing all their attention on a teenager they have high hopes for. higher hopes than he had for himself , in fact. 

julian never had dreams , not a plan for his future. all that stubborn arrogance fooled them : he’s spent the better part of the past seven years stalling. cutting corners & taking shortcuts , desperately avoiding reality.

he never expected to even leave his hometown , let along attend a prestigious college on a full ride lacrosse scholarship. somehow , he played enough games & passed enough classes to qualify for an opportunity that would pluck him from his sad , tragic storyline & deposit him on a shiny path to success. a fresh start. 

he didn’t want to go. fought endlessly about it with his parents , his friends , himself. his place wasn’t at some hoity - toity school , surrounded by do - gooders & the conscientious. julian may have a knack for delusion , for spinning a story that suits him in whatever moment is passing. but he’s smart enough knows what his future holds : drinking himself to an early death in the very house he was born in. you can’t fight fate -- but you can surely postpone it.

in the end , it’s the boredom that convinces him. he’s said & done just about everything he can here , exhausted all the options he cares to consider. made plenty of enemies , as well as friends. built & burnt bridges. 

the expectation of his teachers , his parents , were choking him. it’s foolish to think that this might be the way out – he’ll never change. but why not have some fun , while he’s still here ?

st.cade’s was a treasure trove for julian , filled with endless opportunities to amuse himself. despite his placement in reynold’s house & the mandatory church shit ( a part of his scholarship’s stipulations ) , it hasn’t been bad. another social scene for him to invade , conquests to be had , fights to provoke. the first few years were amazing : an intoxicated blur of his own little slice of this world. 

he lives in the moment , greedily gathering every experience he can. nodding off in class , smoking behind the greenhouse , collecting all the free alcohol he manages to sniff out.

he’s learned this : a loud laugh & bravado can get you far. but now , his actions have finally caught up with him. the school is threatening to terminate his scholarship , to pack up his bags & send him on the first train home. & while he has no idea what to do , he knows he can’t go back. god , no. 

even without what’s keeping him – the enticing mystery of helena’s disappearance , his friends , his freedom. he just can’t stand to go in reverse ; it would mean facing the consequences of every mistake he’s ever made ( & there are quite a few ! ) 

he’s a shark – he has to keep moving. 

that first letter came soon after the school - wide assembly. small , neat type. direct. there was no mincing words , the sender made it perfectly clear : this is his only option. if he wants to maintain this lifestyle , this is the way. so he burns the letters , following their instructions. almost relieved to be given direction. it’s a respite in the current disarray – something he used to enjoy , but now just feels exhausting. he’s the band , humming away as the titanic sinks. not my business , he thinks. but he’ll drown all the same.

PERSONALITY ━

he’s an asshole but a F U N asshole -- that makes it palatable , right ?? 

not a dumbass , but the lack of impulse control + arrogance could have fooled me ! his intelligence is only hinted at , invisible unless you’re looking : reciting keats from memory , listing off all 79 of jupiter’s moons. remnants of past & fleeting obsessions.

 has to actively undermine his own common sense -- for the laughs , of course !

selfish ; his needs & wants come before anyone else’s. a childish habit , yes , but one he’s been unable to break. ( not that he’s tried )

vacillates between aloof & dramatic. you can count on him to stir some shit up -- he adores chaos & just can’t keep his mouth shut. petty , to a fault.

he’s hot - shit & he knows it ; well aware of his pretty face & statuesque build. julian’s never been afraid of using it to his advantage , or even just reminding anyone around him of just how cute he is. ( listen up 5′s , a 10 is speaking ! )

 has a strong aversion to authority. “ don’t tell me what to do ! ” . . . * quietly takes your advice when you’re not looking * . . .

the good parts of him are buried deep. his loyalty , his gentleness. a warm heart that can easily empathize , but chooses not to. julians pursuit of superficial gratification blinds him , warping his reflection like a funhouse mirror.

aggressive & unrelenting. this could be channeled into something of a work ethic , if he cared enough. instead , he uses it to get what he wants. whatever that might be.

curious as a cat with nine lives , he won’t hesitate to ask the question everyone’s thinking. that bluntness is almost appealing , as long as it’s not directed at you. this makes him somewhat of a good listener , even if he’s only paying attention to satisfy his own nosiness. 

he’ll literally fight for the ones he loves. there aren’t many of them , but the sentiment stands. years of sports have taught him the value of teamwork , & he has yet to shake it. once you endear yourself to him , there’s no going back.

despite everything , julian manages to be a charismatic little firebrand. he’ll guarantee a good time , he just won’t help clean up the mess.

FUN FACTS ━

can fit his entire fist in his mouth

has The Loudest Sneeze Of All Time

once bit into an apple n saw a WORM inside so now he hates apples w a passion

right handed , but taught himself to be ambidextrous during the summer between fifth & sixth grade

promptly forgot he was ambidextrous & never uses his left hand

has surprisingly neat handwriting

can fall asleep ANYWHERE

likes country music ( will never admit it , tho )

his mother used to read him poetry , so he’s lowkey Very Into It

can’t carry a tune for shit , & his impressions are a w f u l. his british accent is just a cheap dick van dyke imitation , & his australian accent is what the british one SHOULD be

[animebw]

Binge-Watching: Haikyuu S3, Episodes 1-4

It’s time for the final battle! In which we crest the mountain peak, two very different strengths face off, and Karasuno’s quietest crow finally opens his beak and screeches for all the world to hear.

Hall of Champions

There’s nothing quite like the feeling of standing on top of the world and looking down at how far you’ve come. When you’re just starting an activity out, it can feel impossible that the long, painful process of drilling it into your soul will ever amount to anything. You’re standing at the foot of a mountain, peering up at the peak hidden behind the clouds, uncertain if you’ll ever be able to stand here. But climb you do regardless, step by step, growing more and more confident as you go, and if you play your cards right, you’ll have reached the summit before you even realized how close you were. This is true of storytelling as well; the best stories, the ones that stick in your memory and refuse to let go, build so naturally from their starting point that by the time they’ve reached their absolute heights, you’ve felt every ounce of the effort it took to get there. Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood began with two brothers searching for a way to fix their fractured lives, and little by little, it sprawled outward into a genre-defining adventure that set the gold standard for epic fantasy anime. Gintama literally starts with its heroes as street-level slummers, doing odd jobs and menial labor in the gutters of a city, and by the time Gintoki and crew are doing battle with doomsday Death Stars and immortal avatars of destruction as their city explodes around them, it’s expanded into such a titanic story that you can’t help but let it bowl you over through sheer magnitude. The humblest beginnings, if treated with care and allowed to bloom at their own pace, can give birth to the tallest, most breathtaking flowers.

Karasuno’s path to the finals has been a long one. They started weak and compromised, nothing special and nothing anyone would give a second look to. But they fought time after time, match after match, learning and growing and getting better with every tentative step. They won, they lost, they won again, they rebounded from defeat stronger than ever, and they just kept flying higher and higher with each passing moment. And now they’ve arrived on their biggest stage yet, facing down their most powerful foes yet, in their most intense, definitive match yet. Karasuno vs Shiratorizawa is, at least for now, the climax we’ve been building towards. It takes place in a gym packed full of spectators and side characters from throughout this show’s history, even Hinata’s old middle school classmates returning from the first episode to cheer him on. The match is set to last a full five sets, longer than they’ve ever contended with before. Shiratorizawa is a towering foe with enough raw power to completely overwhelm them. This, my friends, is what it means to stand in the hall of champions. And with a truly epic OP to set the tone just right, you can feel every ounce of the journey that’s brought us here culminating in this incredible zenith. This is going to be the match to remember Haikyuu by, a distillation of everything that makes this show so damn special splattered over a stunning ten-episode showdown that pits all our heroes have been fighting for against an opponent who they could have never hoped to challenge fifty episodes ago. And just two sets in, I am still so ungodly hyped to see this battle play out. Fly high, Karasuno. I can’t fucking wait for what comes next.

The Meaning of Strength

Of course, a good final battle is nothing without a worthy final foe, and Shiratorizawa certainly fits that bill. What’s cool about them as opponents is that their teamwork manifests in a very different, far more selfish way than we’ve really seen before. Aobo Johsei was such a touch nut to crack because Oikawa helped them all come together as a single force, fighting as one collective hive and pooling their strengths to make every blow as solid as they could. Shiratorizawa, by contrast, is all about individual strength. It’s nowhere near as well-oiled a machine as Aoba Johsei, and there’s nowhere near as strong a bond between its players. Instead, it relies on its high points being so overwhelmingly high that no amount of teamwork could hope to stand against them. They aren’t the tightest-run ship in the sea, but their loci of power are so incredibly supercharged that they’re able to steamroll their opponents with sheer force regardless. Ushiwaka’s spikes are devastating and almost unsalvagable. Satori’s blocks are almost impossible to escape. And what’s worse is that they’re using techniques and attributes that aren’t common, and thus Karasuno isn’t equipped to deal with. Ushiwaka spikes with his left hand, resulting in very different momentum and angles. Satori’s blocks rely on incredible guesswork that’s all but impossible to predict. Karasuno doesn’t just have to respond to this incredible power, they have to learn an entirely new muscle memory to do so, forcing their bodies to work against what they’ve been prepared for and course-correcting their very training in the middle of the match itself. That’s a terrifying challenge to overcome, a level of overwhelming strength we’ve never seen before on this show. It’s no wonder so many teams crumble before Shiratorizawa; they’ve pretty much been built to be unstoppable.

But that’s not gonna stop our boys from trying.

Because if any team has a shot at breaking through Shiratorizawa’s incredible, unique strength, it’s the team that’s proven the most adept at adapting to whatever challenge it’s faced with. Karasuno is still young, with weak spots that can be exploited, but there’s no better team than them at adjusting on the fly and finding a way around whatever wall they’re facing. Takeda makes a good point about the nature of Haikyuu’s matches; they’re essentially an exercise in constant evolution. Both teams react to the other’s strategies, working to close down their point-scoring avenues while breaking through their defenses, new barriers and gaps constantly opening as everyone’s tactics respond to best take advantage of the others’ deficiencies. Shiratorizawa’s coach has been able to circumvent that by stacking his team with so much raw power that as long as the ball can funnel to those choke points, there’s no level of adaptability that could hope to stop them from scoring. But what if they could? What if there was a team so good at this tactical evolution that they could even overcome those incredible strengths and render them useless? That’s the one kind of team that seriously has a shot at stopping this unstoppable force in its tracks. And that kind of team is exactly what Karasuno’s trained itself to be. It takes Nishinoya a full set to adjust to Ushiwaka’s spikes, but once he gets the hang of them, he’s able to control their destructive power enough to render that advantage moot. Hinata and Kageyama’s super quick remains a powerful weapon that never fails to throw opponents off their guard (and make me cheer with delight, because god damn it’s such a good last-minute save). Slowly but surely, Karasuno is putting the same level of pressure on Shiratorizawa as they’re putting on them. Now, it’s only a matter of who cracks first, and if those cracks can be repaired.

But we don’t need to wait to find out. The first cracks are already starting to form in Shiratorizawa’s foundation. And the source of their pain, the star player who’s managing to keep Karasuno afloat despite all the odds stacked against them, is the last person you’d ever expect.

Full Moon

Tsukishima has long been the most reluctant character on Karasuno’s entire team. He’s been the most reluctant to make friends, even more so than Kageyama’s grumpy ass. He’s been the most reluctant to devote himself to the sport. He’s been the most reluctant to let himself get invested, in any way, because he could never shake the feeling that all the effort such investment would require would never be worth the payoff. That it would all blow up in his face and leave him sorry he ever tried. He looks at his teammates and their enthusiasm, especially Hinata’s reckless determination, and the only question he can think of is, “Why?” Why work so hard for something so meaningless? Why put so much of yourself into a pursuit with such high risk of failure, something that could never pay back the effort you expend? But as hard as he tries to not care, part of him can’t help it. Part of him can’t help but feel jealous of Hinata, of Kageyama, of everyone sweating out there on the court and pushing themselves to their limits just to get one more point it. Part of him can’t help but want to fight just as hard, just as furiously, and achieve something just as inspiring should everything miraculously click into place. And the series has gone on, that nagging voice has become harder and herder to ignore. He doesn’t want to be overlooked. He doesn’t want to sit out of the spotlight. He doesn’t want to be, as Satori taunts him, “the normal guy” anymore.

Kei Tsukishima wants to fucking throw down.

And as the match drags on, every agonizing point landing with either a gasp of relief or a gasp of horror, that inner determination starts to take off like never before. It super-charges his mind, quickens his thoughts, and forces him to act on his one incredible talent: his perception. Tsukky sees the flow of battle like no one else on his team, observing the big picture and all the moving pieces as one complete entity. He can see what points matter, what face-offs might end up deciding the whole game, where the trend seems to be leaning and how it might be encouraged down that path or away from it. And once he starts putting that perception into practice, it becomes clear that something truly remarkable is happening. Tsukky returns Satori’s own point-scoring blocks right back in his face. He slows down powerful attacks with one-touch blocks that allow the rest of his team to pick them up. He sets connection after connection, opportunity after opportunity, giving his team the chances they need to overcome Shiratorizawa’s power and blow through their defenses. He interrupts Shiratorizawa’s flow and stops them from carrying any sort of hot streak. He wears down on them little by little, piece by piece, weighing the pressure down on them more and more by waylaying their best attacks. Throughout the entire second set, his analysis and redirection allows him to pretty much carry all of Karasuno on his back. And slowly but surely, you realize that for the first time ever, the spotlight is shining directly upon the one person who always pretended he never wanted it. For the first time ever, Tsukky is the fighter at the center of it all. For the first time ever, this is his match to lose.

And then, the critical moment finally comes. Shiratorizawa, run down by Tsukky’s persistence, finally lets their frustration outgrow them. An attack finally comes in a little lopsided. Ushiwaka’s spike finally arrives right where he needs to to be.

And with a single adjustment of his arms... Tsukky shuts him down.

Ushiwaka’s killer spike, the spike that’s been destroying Karasuno since the start of the match, is outright blocked.

The second set is won for Karasuno after a lengthy deuce by the determination of a kid with glasses who finally got the opportunity to destroy his opponents’ most terrifying weapon.

And Tsukishima, bathed in the hot stadium lights, the savior of the moment... finally breaks free.

Sweet. Buttery. JESUS. That might have legitimately been the single best moment of the entire show thus far. It’s awe-inspiring. It’s jaw dropping. It’s a visceral cry of victory that erupts from the depths of your soul and explodes in a breathtaking apotheosis. It’s the climax of a character arc fifty episodes in the making, and it made me all but leap out of my seat cheering. He made it. My boy MADE it. He overcame the self-imposed doubt holding him back and burst forth like a rainbow phoenix, blazing hot and bright for all the world to see. In a single roar of triumph, Tsukishima culminates in a blaze of passion that burns his cold exterior away and reveals beneath nothing short of a true warrior, willing to put his all on the line for the sake of achieving something remarkable. And it ends the second set on the most epic, fist-pumping cheer imaginable, a fireworks display that sets the entire sky aflame with its brilliance. Holy fuck, you guys, that was incredible. That blew me off my feet and had me stifling my screams behind a closed fist. Tsukishima has officially shot up the ranks of my favorite characters in this show, right up there with Yachi and Kageyama. God, watching him finally come into his own was one of the most viscerally satisfying moments of the entire franchise. And I can’t wait to see how far this passion takes him now that he’s finally let it loose.

This is the promise of the final showdown. This is the reason why starting at the bottom makes the climb so rewarding: because these are the kinds of firecrackers you can set off when you finally reach the peak. Karasuno is flying higher than it’s ever flown before, and the result has the potential to make this season the best season of Haikyuu yet. Can it pull it off? Of course it can. So let’s hope these wings only keep taking us higher and higher until we’re finally soaring among the stars.

Odds and Ends

-”I’m impressed you were even able to give it to him.” Yyyep, I ship it.

-”You’re embarrassing us, so stop screaming!” Something about the super-intense lighting is really making this bit.

-”And that’s exactly why you don’t have any friends, Kageyama.” DAAAAAAAMN

-Oh god, I’m getting PTSD flashbacks from my high school days again. You can’t force kids to cheer, Veep, you’ll only embarrass them.

-”I see your bangs and your words are still cool as ever, Tsutomu.” God dammit I’m gonna end up loving them too aren’t I

-I love all the personalized ways the Karasuno boys high-five their coaches as they go onto the field.

-Oh my god, this ED is amazing.

-”CALM DOWN GUYS!” oh my fucking GOD Suga

-”No one scares me more than Oikawa for the time being.” And thank god for that.

-Christ, I always get so nervous when they look like they’re about to puke.

-”Just as I planned!” askjdhasd fucking hell Tanaka is your face okay

-”I MADE A MISTAKE!” Good GOD, this guy.

-”I knew all of Karasuno’s first years pissed me off, but you take the cake!” “Thank you.” YES RUB IT IN HIS FACE TSUKKY

-”Victory!” “Not yet, we still need two more points.” askdjahsd you literal dork

-God, dumps are such a bitchy method of scoring points. I love it.

God, we’ve still got three more sets to go. I’m not gonna survive this season, am I? Well, see you next time!

[wall-krawler]

Spidersona Week! Day 5: Archenemy (Minor ish spoilers)

“Every hero has an opposite. The yang to the yin. The antagonist to the protagonist. Basically the big bad pulling the strings behind the curtain. And even though I’m a newbie I was no exception to this universal rule.”

Marcus recalls the many times he’s gotten laid out by Peter’s original rogues galley. Electro fried his brains once, sandman got himself all cozy in Marcus’ boots, and even Mysterio gave a strong right hook with floating boxing gloves. But those were joke villains, they never actually tried to kill him until he met Tombstone...

“L. Thompson Lincoln. Pale skin, sharp teeth, and a strange taste for dark suits. He’s the white shark who runs illegal activities while playing dolphin with the press. He’s fooled the whole city with donations and forced smiles but they weren’t enough to fool me.”

Marcus had taken notes on the whispers he heard throughout the city. The goons too scared to say the name of the man they feared. It took multiple nights and a few torn up bars to figure out who was in control of the underground businesses. With Peter worrying about Fisk Marcus figured he’d take down Lincoln and prove his worth. If only he knew it wouldn’t be easy...

“With a name like Lonnie I thought he’d be easy pickings. A pale guy in a suit shouldn’t be able to handle someone with spider strength. But I learned the hard way that Lincoln didn’t enjoy playing games.”

🕷🕷🕷🕷

The penthouse was nice. Large open living room, a piano in the far corner, and expensive paintings hung all along the walls. Marcus expected something fancy but this wasn’t what he envisioned.

Scaling up the building was easy and getting inside the home was even easier. The window was simply unlocked, meaning Lincoln must feel pretty comfortable in his own home. But when Marcus though he’d gotten in without tipping anyone off the main doors slammed open to reveal two beefy guards. They wore matching suits and carried some type of batons. Apparently they were the sparking kind.

Marcus glared at them but easily avoided their random swings, using his lean body to slip through the gaps between themselves. But not wanting to fool around Marcus quickly grabbed one of the men and webbed his hands together before throwing him towards the ceiling, firing more webbing to keep him up there. As for the second guard Marcus flawlessly jumped over him just fire two more Web lines at their back. As he was coming down he used his momentum to pick the guard off his feet and harshly slammed him into his stomach, knocking him unconscious.

“I’m not here to put the kids to bed. I want to know where Lincoln is.” Marcus demanded the first guard after jumping to the ceiling to start questing the outmatched goon. But before the man could get a word out a more deeper but calm voice spoke up, drawing in Marcus’ attention.

“You know I do take appointments. I dislike making people search for me.” Lincoln walked out from a corner with a blank expression. Unlike the guards he wore a more sleeker and expensive black suit. The rings on his fingers shined as the light reflected off them. Even from on the ceiling Marcus could tell this man was tall.

Abandoning the webbed up guard Marcus dropped to the ground to crouch a few inches away from Lincoln. “Yeah, and I dislike having to chase goons down on a weekend but here I am.”

Lincoln’s expression didn’t change as Marcus sassed him. His patients was one of his best traits. “What do you want Spider-Man?”

“The thugs on the streets gave you up, they revealed the true crime lord you keep hidden behind those fancy suits.” The young hero tried to make himself sound older and intimidating but it wasn’t exactly working the way he wanted. Even as he stood up to face off against Lincoln he realized that being 5’10 wasn’t really that tall. “I want you to cut all ties with the criminal empire. Including ones with Wilson Fisk.”

Lincoln actually reacted to that in a subtle way. He raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised that Marcus would know about their secretive partnership.

“This is the only warning I’m giving you Shark Bait. Back off or I’ll take you down.” Marcus clenches his fists and steps closer, letting himself become fully serious.

Lincoln’s sharp teeth pop out as he clenches them together, a glare forming onto his face. “I’ve been called many things throughout the years,” he too steps forward which makes Marcus take a step back, “but my favorite is Tombstone.” And with that being said he lunges at Marcus!

Even with spider sense going off Marcus wasn’t quick enough to avoid the right hook that had him seeing stars. Even as he stumbles back two more hits blindside him enough for Tombstone to kick him across the room.

Landing on a couch Marcus eyes widen as he sees Tombstone lift the entire thing up just to throw him across the room again. Luckily though he springs off the furniture to go into a swing, sticking out both his legs to kick the larger foe. But instead Tombstone grabs both his legs out of mid swing and slams him against a wall, sending cracks trailing up it. Without wasting time Tombstone did it again but this time slamming the poor hero right on top of the piano.

“I’ve had tougher men threaten me. Every single one of them thought they could cap me.” Tombstone released his grip on Marcus to tower over him yet again, cracking his knuckles. “The only thing they had in common was how they perished by my hands.”

Marcus winces but gets the energy to fire a shot of webbing into Tombstone’s face, blinding him for a hot second. With a strong push he’s able to jump out of the dent his body created in the instrument and deliver a more successful double kick. Tombstone falls into a wall and Marcus uses the opportunity to get in a few of his own hits. He gets in one good hook and uppercut before Tombstone slams his head against Marcus’.

“You just don’t get it kid.” Tombstone rips the webbing from his face before delivering a ground pound on Marcus, dropping him onto all fours. “I’ve gone toe to toe with the real Spider-Man and he’s never defeated me.”

Marcus tries to throw a punch but it’s caught by Tombstone easily. He squeezes hard enough to cause the hero to yell out in pain but not enough to break it. After all, this was the warning.

“Agh...shut up, I can beat-“ Marcus was interrupted by Tombstone heel kicking him through the air just to be stopped by the patio’s glass doors.

With body going numb Marcus simply went limp when the villain grabbed him by the neck and slammed him against the glass door, causing it to crack on impact. He would have lost all the air in his lungs if Tombstone wasn’t squeezing his neck so tightly.

A small grin forms when Marcus claws at Lincoln’s arm, trying hard to escape. Like a trapped bug. “Stick to the sidelines kid. Rough up a few bullies and save cats from Trees. Because as far as I can tell, you’re out of your league.”

With one last grunt Tombstone pulls Marcus back and slams him through the glass doors, shattering it into a million pieces. With little effort he tosses the young spider into the night sky to let him tumble through the air. He watched until the darkness swallowed up the defeated Spider-Man...

🕷🕷🕷🕷(Headcanons)

- Tombstone just as danger as Wilson Fisk. Due to playing the “victim” card the public doesn’t suspect illegal activities to be linked to him.

- Tombstone’s very daughter is secretly a villain as well, following in her fathers footsteps but not becoming as ruthless.

- His daughter actually has a minor crush on Marcus (whaaa spoilers)

- Tombstone doesn’t have the unbreakable skin like Luke cage but he is in fact overly strong and durable.

- Tombstone did in fact take down peter multiple times but out of respect he did hold back on doing violent crime. He’s now strictly a business man avoiding getting too much blood on his hands.

- Marcus only goes after Tombstone because he wants to help his mom rest up on some very draining cases.

🕸🕸🕸🕸

A/N: Sooo Tombstone has always been one of my favorite villains. Every since I was a kid Lonnie Thompson Lincoln was the coolest pale faced-leather wearing mercenary ever. I only began to love him more after the spectacular Spider-Man cartoon which I based this version of him off of. Except here he’s more violent and deadly, matching Fisk’s brutality while keeping his calm personality. But in the end I can only thank @spideymultiverse so much for making this week amazing. You’ve helped me construct this Spidersona with your prompts and that’s the best thing ever. I hope everyone reading this enjoys the story, I wouldn’t be anything without you guys.

[fatum-praedixi]

someone: *makes a comment about being blind*

madea: ...would you like to say that again, but slower.

[diinofayce]

Like A Whisper In The Night - 18

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC (Layne Hardin) | Word Count: 3.3k | Warnings: Swearing. Like, lots of swearing. | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | MASTERLIST

Layne stood rooted to the spot as her mother in her Pepto Bismol pant suit ripped Layne away from Bucky and the reporter and crushed her in a furious hug. Her perfume was sharp and over powering and clashed terribly with whatever scented hair spray she had caked into her bleached blond hair. Layne kept her arms firm to her side before finally breaking out of her stupor and shoving her mother off of her.

“How did you guys get here so soon?” Layne asked hoarsely casting a panicked look back at Bucky and Susanna.

“What do you mean? Did you know we were coming?” June Hardin asked, her perfectly drawn brows knitting in confusion and looking back at her husband and eldest son who only barely shrugged in response.

“I mean, SHIELD agents were only sent out to you yesterday. Right?” Layne asked turning to look at Bucky and readjusting her knit cap to make sure her enhancer was covered.

Bucky shook his head, looking carefully between his girlfriend and her family. “They were set to fly out this morning,” he corrected.

“This woman said your name is Layne Hardin? Ms. Hardin? Can you tell me the nature of your activity with The Avengers?” The young reporter shoved his recorder back in Layne’s face and she blinked at him in surprise.

“You know what kid? Do you have a card?” The reporter nodded frantically and shoved his hands in his pockets trying to fish out the card for his news outlet. “If you scram, I’ll make sure you get first dibs on a one on one interview after Tony Stark and Pepper Potts call their news conference.”

“There’s gonna be a conference? Would you really do that?” the boy asked, his voice managing to crack still in excitement. Layne clocked him in at late teens since the card he handed her claimed he was an intern. He pushed his large glasses back up his nose and Layne nodded at him. He smiled brightly and left her standing with her family.

Layne turned back to her parents, looking hesitantly at her smug face. June licked her hot pink lips and fished a newspaper out of her Louis Vuitton purse to hold up in Layne’s face. It was the Star Tribune, the number one magazine in the Twin Cities, and on the front page in big black letters was ‘DOROTHY FRONT WOMAN, ALCOHOLIC TO AVENGER?’. Layne’s jaw dropped as she took the paper from her mother with shaking hands, the portrait on the front was of the scene around the laundry van on Hennepin Avenue, but zoomed into where Layne was standing with Wanda and Natasha. She handed the paper back to Bucky who had approached to stand against her back. His blue eyes moved over the headline, creases furrowed deep into his brow, and he examined the picture for a moment before folding it up and shoving it in his back pocket. June made a noise of protest but Bucky’s cold gaze stopped her dead.

“You three will need to follow us to a conference room,” Bucky demanded, his tone of voice leaving no room for argument…not that it ever stopped June Hardin.

“And just who do you think you are to command us?” she asked, her hands on her hips, Layne’s father squaring up behind her with Michael hanging out in the background - his disapproving glare never once leaving Layne.

“Most people know me as the Winter Soldier, ma’am. Now if you’ll please come this way.”

Layne’s family bristled at Bucky’s introduction. June pursed her lips while Jack stood himself up to his full height, puffing his chest out in what Layne was sure her father thought was an intimidating stance, Michael shifted his glare from his little sister to the ex-assassin that was beckoning them forward.

“I will not ask politely again,” Bucky said, his voice dropping an octave and his eyes piercing into the three of them. They startled and moved forward, June catching her daughter’s arm and pulling Layne along with them to the elevators. Susanna hung back with Bucky, who pulled Thor close to him. “Go tell Tony and Steve immediately. Ms. Sweet, you’re with me.”

Thor nodded, sensing the importance of the matter and headed to the elevator that him and Sue came down on. Susanna looked at Bucky with worry in her eyes.

“This is going to be a disaster,” she said hollowly.

“I’m not worried about them. I’m worried about her,” Bucky answered softly just before they joined the Hardin family in the elevator.

~*~

Layne watched as Bucky led them all down the hallway with his signature murder-strut and into a conference room where he slammed the door behind him causing Layne’s family to jump slightly. He motioned for them to sit, but none of them did, instead choosing to swarm Layne.

“Why didn’t you tell us you’re an Avenger?!” June.

“Where in the hell have you been the last five years?” Jack.

“What were you thinking leaving the university?” Michael.

Layne took a step back, her hand raised to her chest in overwhelming shock, as her eyes flitted wildly around at the faces in the room. She opened her mouth to speak, but her mother cut her off again.

“Why did you say agents were coming out to see us?” June asked stepping towards her daughter.

Layne opened her mouth again but her mother continued.

“Is it because you’re an Avenger and we have to be moved to a safe house?”

Layne opened her mouth again.

“Because I am not willing to alter my life because you decided to make a stupid decision with yours,” June continued.

Layne clamped her mouth shut. The buzzing in her ears took over anything her mother was saying it was high pitched and reminded of her of the time she took over Greg Andrew’s body. It felt like a large rubber band was being wrapped around her chest and her breathing was becoming restricted, shallow, and fast paced. She licked her lips, barely registering Bucky reaching out for her before she sent a burst of mental energy through the room in a shock wave.

“Enough!” Layne shouted stomping her foot like a child, her hands balled into fists at her sides. Everyone’s hand flew to their chests as they tried to still the fluttering of their auras. Bucky and Susanna merely cleared their throats in discomfort whereas her family looked at her terrified.

“They’ve turned you into a monster,” Layne’s father sneered and Bucky immediately stepped forward.

Susanna reached out and wrapped a hand around Bucky’s elbow, holding the towering super soldier back but he shook her off with a grunt. “Don’t you dare call her that,” Bucky spat eyeing the man up and down. Bucky was afraid of a lot of things, not that he would ever let it on, he was afraid of Hydra, he was afraid of wrecking his relationship with the people in the tower, he was afraid of losing Layne, and he was afraid of being the beast the media still occasionally painted his as. He was not, however, afraid of the sixty odd year old man in front of him because while Bucky was a cool one hundred years old he certainly didn’t look it.

“Don’t you fucking talk to me, you dirty Commie son-of-a-bitch,” Jack Hardin spat.

“Dad!” Layne gasped, but Bucky waved her off. He was used to it by now. Bucky looked closer at Jack and noticed the yellow tinge to his eyes and skin and wondered if he was just a barrel chested, beer gutted old man or if it was bloating. The man was killing himself slowly and didn’t need any help from Bucky in that regard.

“Don’t you defend him, young lady. You’ve embarrassed us enough pretending to be a superhero, what qualifications do you have? We’re bringing you home.” Jack shook his finger at his daughter and Layne immediately shrunk under him. He was right, Layne knew he was right, her father always had this ability to know exactly what to say to cut you to the core. He could look at someone and find their greatest insecurity and prey on it.

“FRIDAY, where is Tony Stark and Captain Rogers?” Bucky asked.

“In the elevator now, Sergeant Barnes,” she answered.

Layne’s family looked up trying to find the source of the voice, but Jack scoffed.

“You have the audacity to still go by Sergeant? After you betrayed your country? You should be ashamed.” Jack condemned and Layne finally stepped forward putting herself between Bucky and her family. Layne could handle her father’s vitriol, she could handle the disapproving glares because she’d gotten them all her life, but she would not stand idly by and let her family insult the one person who Layne knew had done everything in his power to not be a terrible person.

“You have no right to talk, Daddy. You spent six years mopping decks off the coast of Norfolk. What did you do with your military career? You certainly never saw combat, you were never captured and tortured. You shut your damn mouth and show some respect to your superior officer,” Layne glared at her father. Her mother gasped and Michael took their mother’s hand, patting it reassuringly.

It was when her father stepped forward, the back of his hand raised to smack some respect back into his daughter that Susanna stepped forward and caught the man’s wrist in a crushing grasp. Layne let out a huff of frustration and cast a look to her friend who with a stern look of her own acquiesced and let go of the man, pushing him back a smidgen.

Tony and Steve entered the room briskly, Tony looking a little out of breath having probably come all the way from the labs, but Steve looked ready to rumble. No doubt both men were told of the intense situation Layne’s family was causing and they cast their eyes around the room warily, feeling the tension that hung in the air.

“More of this dog and pony show? Layne, we as your family deserve to speak with you one and one and get the answers we are looking for,” Michael finally spoke up, stepping forward and straightening out his tie.

Out of the entire Hardin clan, Michael was the only one with any height on him. He stood at an impressive 6’2” but was unfortunately still scrawny as a twig. His hair was just as curly as Layne’s and Daniel’s, but he kept it cut short and it was starting become heavily sprinkled with grays. His face was clean shaven which would normally youth him a little bit, but the wrinkles and bags around his eyes counteracted it.

“What answers do you need?” Tony piped up, ever the diplomat.

Michael got their mother’s blue eyes instead of their father’s warm brown and they rocketed over to the billionaire. “If we’re safe, if our families are safe, against whatever forces Layne decides to blindly throw herself at.”

“Dr. Hardin has been an invaluable asset to our genetics department and nothing more. We needed her expertise on a few on location missions and no recourse should come to you or your family due to it. We haven’t even released her name to the press,” Tony diffused calmly, smoothing his tie and readjusting his tie clip. He plastered a tight lipped smile that didn’t reach his eyes on his face and flicked his gaze between Layne and her family. Layne looked at him like she knew it was a lost cause and his smile fell to a confused frown.

“Her banshee of a mother ruined that,” Bucky growled and June let out an offended gasp while Layne and Susanna both let out an unladylike snort of laughter. “The local paper in Minnesota also printed this.” Bucky pulled the newspaper out of his pocket and handed it over for Tony and Steve to look at.

Tony adjusted his red tinted glasses on his nose as he read over the headline. Steve frowned while Tony made a disapproving tsk. “Well, I will have Pepper run a press conference to squash any of this.”

“We know that Layne is…odd, you obviously know that too. My brother Daniel was the same, Lord only knows where he is,” Michael continued despite his parents protests. “Stop it, the both of you, there is no way they don’t know about them.”

Steve looked at Layne, he had come from the gym and his black tank top was sticking to his chest and a towel was draped around his neck. “Hardin,” Steve said softly and Layne looked back at him. She looked drained and she sighed heavily before shaking her head slightly at him. She couldn’t tell them about Daniel, she had done so much already and this just wasn’t something she had the strength for. Steve nodded in understanding, ignoring her family that was casting them curious glances. However, they wouldn’t be able to keep her involvement with the Avengers a secret for long Pepper had already been discussing with her when Layne would feel comfortable setting up a press conference. It would be better to tell her family what she was now then have them hear it on the news and fly back out here again.

“Tell them, Cap,” Layne requested softly, sounding defeated.

“Agent Hardin has been partnering with Sergeant Barnes in special missions where her gift is needed. She’s in safe hands with him and has been doing the world a great service. Primarily assisting us with our partnership with the CIA on a human trafficking ring that was taking place in the Twin Cities and Chicago,” Steve said, his Captain voice filling the room. Where Tony always tried his best to skirt around the truth to make whatever he was saying easier for everyone, Steve was always honest but held such well meaning and command in his voice that it was very rarely questioned.

“It’s not her safety I’m concerned about. We all figured Jordan would end up in a ditch first, but with him behind bars it was her next. She’s reckless and impulsive and I don’t like the idea of her running around the country doing her freak thing with some national traitor. You fight aliens and foreign god-knows-who, we don’t need that coming back on us,” June spoke up, Steve found her voice to be like nails on a chalk board.

Everyone that wasn’t a Hardin looked at June appalled, while Layne just looked down at her feet tears brimming in her eyes. Bucky reached out and pulled her away from her family and into his chest with a glare at her parents.

“Oh my god,” Michael laughed in disbelief. “They’re together.”

Jack looked Bucky and Layne up and down, a sneer on his face. “Well, she’s never had any common sense. Doesn’t surprise me she’d shame this family further by spreading her legs for a national traitor.”

“I think it’s best if you three take off,” Tony said quickly to Bucky, Layne, and Sue, while reaching out and putting a hand firmly on Steve’s chest when he stepped forward at Jack. “I have lawyers on the way up with non-disclosures and we have that other matter to discuss with them that you don’t need to be here for.”

“You do not get to take my daughter from me,” June argued.

Tony looked at her confused. “So do you, like, hate her or love her or what’s your deal because I’m starting to question if I actually have parent issues or not after dealing with you lot for five minutes.”

June’s cheeks flushed pink with anger and embarrassment and opened her mouth to speak, but this time it was Layne that cut her off.

“The last five years of my life have been the happiest I have ever had because you weren’t apart of them. I am not an object for you to own, I am not some doll to sit there and look pretty and be quiet. I have a job and I have pride in what I do and I do it along side the man I love and I don’t give a flying fuck what you have to think or say about it. So do me a favor and keep our future contact nonexistent,” Layne spat harshly. Whatever words her mother had sitting venomously on her tongue were sucked back down and the color blanched from her face.

Thor leaned against the opposite wall out in the hallway, he immediately slipped behind Layne and Susanna to stand next to Bucky and effectively block the Hardins from coming out of the door after them.

“If the three of you could please have a seat, there is something Tony and I would like to discuss with you before the lawyers get here.” Layne heard Steve say as Bucky closed the door behind them.

Layne sighed and let her feet lead her to the elevator and her hands to push the button to the kitchen. The trio followed Layne, casting each other worried glances but no one wanting to break the silence. In the kitchen Layne pulled open the fridge and grabbed a beer, cracking it open and taking a long swig before slamming it on the counter. The deep breath of air she let from her lungs felt like it was coming from her very soul.

“They’re the fucking worst,” Layne swore softly, shaking her head as she stared wide eyed out the window in front of her at the setting sun.

“I have met more pleasant people, that’s for certain,” Susanna agreed, pulling out three more beers and passing two to the boys.

The four stood around the breakfast island, sipping their beers in silence letting Layne contemplate her emotions. Bucky stood next to her, slowly rubbing circles on her back.

“Did you know that the whole reason Danny was even in Madison was because of Jordan, he thought that someone should be visiting him. Our parents had disowned Jordan, Michael couldn’t give two shits, and I was too busy trying to pretend that I didn’t have a family. But Danny actually cared, he was worried about Jordan and he used to email me after every visit about how Jordan was doing and what he was up to. Danny didn’t drink, he didn’t do drugs, he just tried to do what he could to survive. Like that’s the shit of it, is that out of the lot of us he was the best,” Layne stated.

“To Danny,” Thor said stoically holding up his beer.

Layne looked up at the god and smiled softly, raising her beer as well. Susanna and Bucky followed suit before they all finished their drinks and set the empty bottles on the counter top. Layne tapped the mouth of her beer and wracked her brain about what she wanted to do about Saturday. At the end of the day she knew that Ava List was at fault for this, Danny had always been sweet and fought for the people he believed in more than the cause. It made him easy to be manipulated and therefore an easy target. Coming to a conclusion she nodded to herself before reaching up on her tip toes to give Bucky a small kiss.

“I know we were going to do dinner but I need to go work something out in the lab. I’ll see you tonight?” She confirmed softly kissing him again.

Bucky frowned, but nodded. “Yeah, doll, whatever you need. I’m gonna take care of things with Steve, if you need me just have FRIDAY contact me okay?”

Layne nodded and kissed Sue on the cheek before taking off towards the elevators.

“Are we still worried?” Bucky asked Sue, looking to the woman who knew his girlfriend much better than him.

Susanna watched Layne’s departure with knitted brows. “With her? You should never stop worrying.”

NEXT CHAPTER

[11-19-2021-seekeronhiatus]

is my current work aligned with my soul?

Dear long-legged beastie —

It sounds like you are having some doubts about your work situation as it stands now. While I am happy to read about what you are currently going through, I would also like to look at more options for you. The cards could suggest other avenues of fulfillment. Maybe they will suggest something for your current work or a new venture altogether.

So. How can you align your work with your soul?

That Tower card at the beginning of the spread looks like a horror shot. So let me emphasize: that Ten of Cups at the end is a happily ever after. It’s Disney-credit-roll perfection. But you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. And that’s what Key 16: The Tower is all about: getting cracked wide open. Tarot author Anthony Louis calls this the key of “Sudden Enlightenment.” Another of my favorite authors, Sasha Graham, says it “reflects ultimate freedom, which is terrifying to behold and evolutionary to embody.” In Llewellyn’s Complete Book of the RWS Tarot, she says (and I quote!), “The symbol of a circle (crown) knocked off a square (tower) by the lightning bolt is an eloquent reminder of the destruction of what never fit to begin with.” If the question is does my current work align with my soul? — the answer is a resounding no.

We can take that lightning bolt to be a sudden flash of divine revelation. What made you start questioning whether this work was a good fit for you? Make a list of the pros and cons of your work. Do any of those pros make your heart and soul sing? Are they deep reasons to be happy or more shallow ones? And more importantly: are you looking for something deeper right now?

The demon in the Ten of Wands holds out a wand to light her way in the darkness. The rest of her wands are finished, tucked in her pack. You have completed this cycle and situation; new opportunities will soon arrive. Waite, who wrote the guidebook for the RWS tarot, calls this card “The Lord of Oppression.” It can signal burnout and an overstressed state. Now is the time to realize you’ve done all you can. Can you accept this and disengage? Or do you feel like you’re an integral member of the team, unable to leave this situation? What rewards do you receive for working yourself to the bone? How can you begin the process of accepting you don’t need to take on the world?

Remember how I said the Ten of Cups card is a fairy-tale ending? Part of that means swimming deeply in your emotions. What brings you joy? It’s time to inject those people, places, and activities into your regular life. Sasha Graham says: “It is easier to swim in the direction of your true destiny when supported by generous emotions.” Filling your time with happy things brings a deeper sense of satisfaction. That, in turn, will light up the way to your soul’s purpose.

Having two tens in a reading indicates to me that a few areas of your life are reaching their natural endpoint. This can be frightening — we like what we’re used to! — but it’s an open space to let new experiences in. The reading also moves away from an active, fire-dominated space with the Tower and the Ten of Wands. The Ten of Cups brings a refreshing, receptive splash of water energy. This would tell me that you need time to focus on relationships — both emotional and spiritual.

May the Sun, Moon, and stars light your path. —Seeker

Free flash readings are currently open. Please include one tarot card significator. Use the birth card calculator, if you’re at a loss. You can also pick a court card that corresponds with their astrological sun sign.

[gripefroot]

Potato Potahto

Bucky can’t stop replaying last night's encounter in his head. 

It had been something magical. Skin and teeth and tongues and slick and hot and wet - he hadn’t felt satisfied for hours, trying to wring just one more out of you - as you teased and tormented him, pretending like you were so cool and nonchalant but each time you climaxed it was more more don’t stop Bucky, and he knows you’re as screwed as he is. 

The hazy look in your eyes, the dopey smile as you recline in a chair in the Tower common room, absently staring over Bucky’s shoulder (so as not to be obvious), confirms it. His lips twist into a smirk - your eyes flit to his, and his grins broadens. He can hear the little stutter in your heart beat. It’s cute.  

“What do you mean the book isn’t available online?” Stark’s voice cuts through Bucky’s daze, but he doesn’t look away from you. Everyone else is so distracted with whatever the issue is, that he probably won’t even be noticed.  

Probably.  

“It was published in freaking 1978. Go to the library if you’re so desperate,” Clint says. 

“I don’t have a library card,” Tony says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“I’d let you borrow mine,” Steve drawls from beside Bucky, glancing up from his phone. “But I think it expired.” 

The joke is appreciated - everyone chuckles along, and your smile brightens the room more than any sun. Bucky’s staring again.  

“Library cards can be renewed,” you tease Steve. “Unless you have outstanding fees you’re trying to avoid.” 

Steve grimaces. “I was never any good at paying fines.” 

“It’s true,” Bucky deadpans, glancing around the room but mostly speaking to you. “He’d pass by a bakery and use his fine money to buy a bun instead. The librarians stopped letting him borrow books - and he never even put on any muscle he wanted.” 

More laughter. Your eyes are sparkling, and a strange warmth steals over Bucky as he grins.  

“Can’t you just have some stooge downstairs get it for you and scan it into some system?” Clint asks. Tony brightens. 

“Of course! I’ll talk to Pepper right away.” And Stark winds around a coffee table a brisk pace, eager on his journey, as a silent exchange is passed through the room. Bucky bites his lip to keep from laughing, and even Natasha snorts.  

“Can’t even go to a library,” you sigh.  

“Can’t even go to a library,” Sam repeats with a snicker.  

Conversation turns to something Bucky doesn’t find interesting. He goes back to watching you, when no one’s looking, and even sending you a wink when he’s feeling bold. Hearing the quickening of your heart, sensing your temperature rising - he likes that very much. Unconsciously (mostly) he drags his tongue across his bottom lip - drawing your immediate gaze, and your eyes widen ever-so-slightly. You uncross your legs, and cross them again, and Bucky’s pants are getting tight. Had you done that on purpose? 

“I’m back!” Stark announces, and Bucky’s gaze is drawn away. “Okay folks, while that’s getting taken care of - ” 

“By an intern,” Nat mumbles. 

“ - let’s get back to our previous topic. Mission. Toronto. Tomorrow. Got it?” 

Startled, Bucky can’t help blurting out, “What?” Now everyone’s looking at him, and his face turns hot. He slouches, hoping to disguise the situation still going on in his pants.  

“Come on, weren’t you listening?” Clint complains.  

“Nah, he was daydreaming,” Sam teases. “That girl you were with last night got you all worked up, huh Barnes?” 

“Uh - ” Bucky blanks. Completely. 

“What?” Natasha says, now sitting up straight, her eyes alight with interest.  

“Can we get back to discussing the mission?” Tony tries, but Natasha cuts him off, her beady stare directly on Bucky and making him supremely uncomfortable. At least his boner’s going down.  

“Tell us more,” Nat urges, a little smirk on her lips.  

“I’ll tell you,” Sam says quickly. “Last night Steve and Barnes and I went out for burgers - fifteen minutes in, Barnes gets a text and goes all red in the face, and he high-tails it out of there. I don’t even think he said goodbye!” 

Steve comes to Bucky’s rescue, thankfully - calm as ever. “Oh, sure he did. And it could’ve been anything, Sam. Put away the tinfoil hat.” 

“Nah, it was a girl,” Clint says, leaning back in his chair. His hands are behind his head, and he’s grinning. That doesn’t bode well. “I saw a hickey on Bucky’s shoulder in the gym shower this morning.” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Sam exults, as the room breaks into surprised chatter. Tony is pinching the bridge of his nose - Bucky wants to die - but otherwise this causes the stir Clint was undoubtedly intending. Even Steve is eyeing Bucky with interest, and Sam is bouncing on the edge of the couch. Only you are cool, as ever. Typical.  

“Well?” Natasha demands. “Aren’t you going to tell us?” 

“Tell you what?” Bucky says coolly. “Seems like you’ve already decided what’s going on in my life.”

“Well, it’s not like you tell us,” you say with a grin. “Someone’s got to fill in the cracks.” 

Oh, he’s gonna get you for that.  

“Yeah, 28’s right,” Clint says over general snickering at Bucky’s expense. “Tell us more about yourself and then we won’t have to speculate.” 

Bucky glares around - at everyone in turn, and at you. You smirk in return, and his bad humor isn’t quite as bad as it should be. “I don’t like to be questioned,” he says at last. 

“Glad we can get that out of the way,” Stark snaps, and Natasha sighs, sitting back down in defeat. Steve is shaking his head. “Alright, remember, folks? Mission tomorrow? Yeah? Anyone planning on showing up for that?” 

“Yes, Tony, we’re coming,” you tell him, eyes dancing. “Except maybe Bucky, who apparently is too busy with his love life to bother with the rest of us.” 

Yep. You’re in real trouble. And you know it, too - as everyone cackles at your joke, you shoot him a wink. Bucky narrows his eyes. He’s already formulating a plan… 

...Which he puts into practice sometime around midnight, to great success in the privacy of your bedroom, until you’re finally dotted with enough love bites to satisfy him. For now.  

“Serves you right,” you say stoutly, tracing a finger over a particularly dark hickey above your breast, as Bucky watches with interest. He’s sitting against the headboard, a little exhausted, and you’re laying opposite to him with your feet propped up by his head. He can still see the sparkle in your eyes from this angle, at least, and he quirks a brow.  

“Serves me right for what? Loving you so good?” 

“For running out on Steve and Sam like that,” you tease. “Not very assassin-y of you to be so obvious.” 

“Well if you hadn’t sent that text - ” 

You cut him off with a laugh. “Don’t even try it, Buck! I don’t regret it one bit.” 

“You might regret it if someone hacks into my phone and sees it.” 

“Oh, please. No one’s gonna hack into your phone.” 

Bucky lifts a brow. “And you know that, how?”

“Because they all think you’ll snap their necks if they take that liberty with you.” The smile curling your lips draws Bucky’s attention, before his eyes flicker back up to meet your gaze.  

“And you?” he asks.  

“I’m not scared to take liberties.” With that husky declaration, you swing your feet down and prop yourself onto all fours, drawing close to Bucky as he tries to swallow the sudden dryness in his throat. In the dim light, he can see how deep your eyes are, and how utterly enchanting.  

“Yeah, you’re probably gonna get away with it,” Bucky admits softly, admiring how swollen your lips are.  

“Mmm. I’m just glad that text was from me, and not another girl.” 

He chuckles, tangling his fingers in your hair as your lips draw close to his. He can feel your breath, and he sucks in the familiar taste as his blood starts to rush again. “You think I’d dare do that, babe? Everyone’s scared of me - but I think that if I crossed you my head would end up on a spike.” 

Your laugh warms his soul - it really does - and Bucky feels a growing warmth in his chest as you swing a leg over his hips, cupping his face in your hands as you brush your lips against his. And then pull away. Bucky groans, his hands on your waist trying to pull you back.  

“If I put your head on a spike, I wouldn’t be able to kiss you anymore,” you murmur into his mouth.  

“Er - yeah, that would be a shame.” Bucky is rewarded with a longer kiss, but this time he pulls away curiously, meeting your hooded eyes. “If you’re glad I’m not texting other girls, that means you’re keeping me around, right?” 

Your brow quirks. “Are you keeping me around?”

“Have I...indicated that I’m not?” 

“No. Have I?” 

“Guess not.” 

“Glad we could work this out,” you say, laughing a little, and then there’s more kissing and more love bites - this time on Bucky, too. To his chagrin.  

The next morning all evidence of lovemaking is hidden beneath layers of tac gear. You’d made extra sure of that, as you’d dressed that morning. It was worth teasing Bucky - but the hassle of concealing every last hickey is not ideal. Worth it, though.  

Toronto’s warehouse district is empty, peeling rust and gusting cold northern wind. Two-person teams are paired off by Tony and sent to each entrance. When he announces that Bucky and you are assigned to the south exit, it takes some self-control not to cackle to yourself - but why not save it for later? Creeping along the south wall, you keep one eye on the door and one on Bucky slightly ahead of you, his rifle on his shoulder. And his bum.  

A knock on the door yields nothing, and after some quick work with a gadget from his metal hand, Bucky ducks into the warehouse. You step in behind, fingers tracing the knife at your thigh.   

It’s a large, dark space - you blink for a moment, intent on any signs of activity. Bad guys with guns, traces of smuggled vibranium - that sort of thing. But nothing yet - only a few shafts of light through broken windows several feet up, and a distant red exit sign to the left.  

Suddenly Bucky turns. “Two from the east,” he says shortly.  

“No guns yet, Barnes,” comes Stark’s voice over the coms. “We don’t want them to know we’re here. You too, Wilson.” 

“Aw, man,” Sam complains. 

“I got ‘em,” you tell Bucky. You can hear the footsteps now, too - and striding forward, you sling out your knife as two, darkly-clad men come into view from the shadows.  

They have handguns - no qualms about being found out, clearly - but a quick kick dislodges the first guard’s gun, and before the other can pull the trigger you grasp his wrist, jabbing down. The second gun drops to the concrete ground with a clatter, and you twist his arm back as he gives a howl. A shove from your knee in his back and he’s limp on the ground - the first guard is approaching with a knife of his own now, eyes glittering eerily in the dim light. Swipe, dodge, duck, jab - you stab under his arm. Dodge, swerve, uppercut, stab - a punch to the face with your opposite hand and a second wound in his shoulder drops him, too. 

The second man is moaning now. You strike a foot out, connecting your heavy boot with his face, and the nose cracks - but he doesn’t move anymore. Mumbles from the first guard - an identical kick to the face, and then all is quiet again. Bending over, you wipe the blood of your knife onto one of their uniforms before sheathing it back into its place at your waist, and standing to return to Bucky.  

“Wow,” he says softly, his eyes wide. “I’d be lyin’ if I didn’t say that was pretty hot.”

“Then don’t lie,” you tease. “A girl appreciates honesty.” 

Bucky chortles, reaching down to swipe one of the guards’ guns. “Spoils?” he asks, quirking a grin at you.  

“No, thanks. I’m packing enough.” 

The gun soars through a broken window, and the second follows.  

“South exit is clear,” you announce on the coms. “Any 20 on more perps?” 

“Ground floor sweep is complete,” Steve reports back. “Nothing. Upstairs?”

“We’re on it,” Bucky says, nodding towards you.  

“Clint and I are scoping out the basement,” Natasha reports. “There’s some wiring down here Stark might like to see.”

“Ooo, I do love wiring,” Tony says.  

You cast Bucky a wink - he smiles in return - and leading the way you tromp off towards where the guards had come from. There’s a door there which leads to the upper level, but no further guards. Not very well stationed, this warehouse. Considering it’s supposed to be hiding vibranium. At the top of the stairs, you shoulder through a rusty door.  

No rooms, just an enormous space - dozens of windows line the walls of the warehouse, most broken. It’s empty. Well - some overturned furniture, outdated tech and servers, some chairs and a mini fridge.  

“Bust,” Bucky mutters. “Unless they can make stolen goods invisible.” 

“Or they got it out before we got here,” you suggest. 

“Yours seems more likely, I’ll admit.” He slants a smile towards you, and you chortle.  

“I’m picking up something on their com station,” Natasha says suddenly. “Be careful, you guys.” 

“How very suspicious,” Tony says. “How about we leave?”

“Good idea.” 

“We’ll be out in a minute,” you say, heading towards where most of the furniture is toppled over. Some of the tech is still blinking, and Bucky pushes some random buttons on a router with a little frown on his face. You nudge aside some magazines with the toe of your boot, but...it all looks harmless. Which makes it both more and less suspicious.  

“The guards are saying something about a bomb,” Natasha’s voice cuts in, jerking your head up in surprise. She sounds like she’s out of breath - leaving the building, probably. Smart. “28? Can you get to it?” 

“I could, if I knew where it was,” you say, a little crossly. “But there’s - ” Your eyes, drifting forward, fall on a little sliver visible behind the fridge. “Oh…” you breathe out, and step forward to fall to your knees. “Those idiots. They made a bomb out of a potato.” 

“A what?” Sam says, aghast.  

“A potato,” Steve clarifies.  

“Oh, I used to make those when I was a kid,” Tony remarks. “They’re not hard to disarm, 28. You got this. I mean, as our resident bomb expert…” You roll your eyes to yourself as Bucky crouches beside you, one hand still on his gun.  

“You got this?” he asks in a murmur. Much more polite than the others, but his expression is definitely more alert now, as if to prepare for a blast.  

“It’s a potato bomb,” you tell him dryly. “I’ve disarmed better.” 

There are several wires poking through the potato, and you study it carefully - some appear to be attached to the battery flickering sparks and a countdown, and some seem to just be tangled. Clumsy, inelegant work. You could do better with your eyes closed. If you ever cared to make a crummy potato bomb. But you have standards.  

Pulling out a pair of wire cutters from your boot (always handy to have on hand - er, foot), you wet your lips as you give the tangled wires another once-over. And choose a yellow one to snip.  

Nothing happens.  

“Can we just take it off the battery?” Bucky asks in a hushed voice. 

“Sure, if you want it to go boom in our faces. Craving mashed potatoes, are ya?”

“Er - no.”

This time - a blue wire gets snipped. The countdown pauses - and you start to give a sigh of relief before it starts again, double-time.  

“Oops,” you say.  

“Is everyone out?” Bucky asks briskly into his com.  

“We’re all on the jet except you two hooligans,” Clint says. “Can’t you just leave and let the bomb go?” 

“There could be people near enough to be affected,” you snap back.  

“Then hurry,” Stark says.  

“Then stop talking,” you retort.  

Ah, blessed silence again. Bucky shifts his weight awkwardly, and you can feel the burn of his eyes on your face.  

“Forty seconds,” he says.  

“I know!” Impulsively you snip another wire - wrong move. This time the clock changes to 00:00, and the beeping turns furious. Bucky swears.  

“Aw, come on!” you shout, as sparks begin to fly. Before you can even kick the dumb potato in frustration (not that it will help), Bucky has stood, and grasping you around the waist starts to pull you away as the battery is engulfed in flames, and a whoosh of heat sucks the air from your lungs. There’s chattering in your ear from the coms, but the roar of violent fire ripping through the empty room makes your ears thud - a few long, striding steps from Bucky, and you cling to his shoulders, burying your face in his neck for protection from the heat - and then a distant crash! 

The blessed relief of cooler air - and nothing else. You’re falling - your eyes pop back open, to see above an inferno busting through the windows with shards of glass spilling everywhere - and drifting further away. Suddenly there’s a thud, an oof from Bucky, and you’re rolling, still tight in his embrace, across the parking lot.  

Then everything is still.  

“Ow,” you whimper. Some residual thrumming in your ears begins to fade, and your head lolls.  

“Ow?” comes Bucky’s cross voice. “Excuse me. Who landed with all your weight on their arm, again? Was it you? Because I’m pretty sure that was me.” 

Peeking open an eye, you glare at him - he’s about five feet away on the concrete, wincing as he props himself on his flesh arm. The metal appendage opposite - ah, doesn’t look so good. The bicep is caved in from the impact. and the wrist and fingers are all twisted in unnatural shapes and directions.  

“I think you’re gonna need a cast,” you murmur.  

“Ha, ha.” But the glare Bucky gives you isn’t angry - it’s long-suffering, a tad affectionate, and just plain weary.  

“You guys got out,” comes Steve’s voice, too loud in your ear. You rip out your com, hoisting yourself into a sitting position to take deep breaths of clean air. The warehouse is still on fire, through not as violently as before. Metal poles and rafters cave in, and ash spills into the air. You sigh.  

“I’m never gonna live this down.” 

“Probably not,” Bucky agrees.  

There are running footsteps, and you peer over your shoulder to see Nat and Steve, slightly panicked, slightly relieved.  

“Thought you two were goners,” Steve says raggedly. “Maybe you could report next time if you need help? Someone to catch you if you’re falling? Sam would’ve done it.” 

“Sam would have complained about it, but yes,” Natasha says. “Next time we should split up Impulsive One and No-Self-Preservation Two.” 

“Aw, that’s cute, Nat,” you say, taking her hand to stand. “You have nicknames for us. Am I Impulsive One?” 

“No, that’s Barnes.”

Your lips twitch with laughter. “Oh. I see.” Glancing over at Bucky, you memorize the sight of his raised eyebrows, the overall offence as he glares at Natasha. But then his eyes meet yours, and you wink. “Well, come on then, Impulsive One,” you tease him. “We’d better get cleaned up.”

[purple-seekers]

Lisianthus || Chapter 2: Puzzle

Chapter List

1 - 2 - 3 (coming soon)

     It was a bright afternoon, although not quite as bright on Add’s side of the world. His work space, doubled as his room, was for the most part, a basement. No windows for light to seep through and no lights to illuminate the room. His holograms were the only sources of light he needed in his laboratory. Having pulled another all-nighter, Add was laying on his desk, his face planted into the holographic keyboard, and his hand still gripping a half-empty - now cold - cup of coffee.

     After the agreement with Aisha, he was beyond exhausted and irritated. Even though his plans were to continue with his research, he lasted only a few minutes before falling asleep right on his workspace. It was… quiet--

     “Rise and shine, nerd!”

     Aisha barged in, slamming the door open and startling the restless man. He flailed his hands in surprise, causing the coffee cup to spill over a pile of blank papers. Add quickly turned and glared with eyes wide open, his vision fixed on the excited magician.

     “What?!” He yelled, standing up from his chair as soon as he could.

     Aisha walked towards him, slowly making her way through his room. “Our deal, remember? We’re starting today!” She smiled, adding further irritation to the restless young man.

     “We’re actually going to do this?” He questioned her, looking at her with a face of disbelief.

     “A deal is a deal, Add.” The girl gave him a concerned look. “ Otherwise, you’ll just keep having those panic attacks of yours.”

     Add let out an exhausted sigh, crossing his arms firmly. “Alright then, genius. What do you suggest we do?” He said, massaging both of his tired eyes.

     “Let’s go outside to refresh your memory!” She jumped excitedly, clasping her hands together.

     “No way.” The response was instantaneous.

     “Excuse me?!” Aisha protested, puffing her cheeks.

     “Listen here, you shut-in!” She quickly grabbed his arm, but stopped as soon as she felt a short shock surge through her body.

     “Hm..?” Add looked at her, confused. “What’s wro--”

     She started squishing his arm repeatedly, inspecting it, making sure her senses weren’t failing her.

     “Y-Your arm…” Aisha mumbled, her hand trembling lighty as she grabbed his arm with both her hands to get a better understanding of the current situation.

     He squinted, staring at her in confusion.

     “What… About my arm…?” Add frowned, unable to comprehend any move the magician would make next.

     A small tear formed on her eyes. Aisha sniffled, her voice cracking with each passing second.

     “Y-You’re so thin--!” Suddenly, a burst of tears sprouted from her eyes, unable to fathom Add’s physical health. “Have you eaten anything!? How long has it been since you actually ate something? No wait-- DO YOU EVEN EAT ANYTHING BESIDES COFFEE AND CHOCOLATE?”

     “Ah.” Add’s eyes widened, glancing left and right, instantly realizing he hasn’t eaten anything proper for quite some time.

     “Hm.. It’s been awhile, but I don’t think that’s something you’re supposed to worry about. I have work to do and this is completely unnecessary.”

     “Add,” She paused, taking a closer look at him. “Are you dense?”

     “What?” Add was dumbfounded. Of all people Add had met in his entire life, the mage was the only one who was straightforward enough to tell him his flaws without even the slightest feeling of dread.

     “Any genius should know that lack of food, is complete lack of knowledge.” Aisha proclaimed, placing both her hands on her hips.

     “And where did you hear that?” Add said with one eyebrow raised.

     “Common sense, genius.”

     She held his face, squishing his cheeks and stretching them. “No food means lack of energy, lack of energy means, you’ll be unable to think straight, and being unable to think straight would lead to faulty results, unmoderated research and unjustified reasoning.”

     She then pat his cheeks. “The great minds of the world didn’t just lock themselves up in a room waiting for a miracle, they knew how to take care of themselves. Had they not done so, they would have died before their hard work and effort could have seen the light of day.” She stopped petting his cheek and left her statement off with one final pat on his head.

     Add frowned. Aisha did have a point, and that’s what bothered him most. For him, the thoughts of what he did always come to mind, but they didn’t affect him as much as they had recently.

     “You talk too much for an airhead…” He mumbled. She had won the argument, and Add hated nothing more than losing.

     She sighed.

     “Now!” She grabbed his arm again. “Let’s get you some food and we’ll start talking about that friend of yours!”

     The worried magician began dragging him out of his office, having Add pull and complain along the way. He tried to escape her grasp, but she held him tightly, calmly walking towards the main door.

     “I said it’s unnecessary! Gods, you’re such a brute!”

     “Hah! Yeah, a brute saving a very scrawny little prince, locking himself up in the tower instead of trying to escape!” She replied mockingly, quickly opening the entrance door as light flooded the hall and filled Add’s irritated eyes.

     “Aggh!”

     He whined and hissed, putting his hand over his eyes,.

     “Huh…?” Aisha halted in her tracks “Add… Tell me exactly, how long has it been since you’ve even felt the sun?”

     “Why would you need to know that?”

     “Because it’s already afternoon and you’re somehow blinded by something everyone sees everyday.” Aisha retorted, crossing her arms and sighing. “Whatever, let’s just go eat.” She grabbed his arm and dragged him across the village, looking for a place to have lunch.

     The two eventually found a small restaurant. Aisha let go of Add as soon as they reached its front doors. The restaurant was small, but there was enough space for the both of them. Above the door was wooden sign that had the word “Serendipity” carved nicely on it.

     “Hm. Small place, seems nice though. So what do you think?” She smiled, looking back at Add.

     “I don’t particularly care.”

     “Figures.” Aisha looked at him, irritated. “Do you even care about what goes through your system? I could take you to a shady looking restaurant and I doubt you’d care.”

     “If it’s sufficient enough for me to stay up and do my research, then yes, you are correct. I would not care.” Add crossed his arms and made a small grin.

     “You’re such a masterpiece sometimes aren’t you?” She sighed. “Well whatever, let’s just get inside shall we?” Aisha grabbed Add by his sleeve as she entered with him by her side.

     Why does she care…? Add looked at her from the back. Why did she always care..? His thoughts raced, his memories recalling times where the magician would pester him about his daily activities while the rest of the party did their own work.

     The restaurant was nearly full, only a few tables were left. After asking for one, Aisha walked towards it - Add in tow - and they both took a seat. While Aisha was already checking out the menu card, Add was staring blankly at the place. He needed to continue his research, and for that he needed to be able to endure a “stable” turn in his life, as told by Aisha. Even though she’s the one that’s been keeping me from continuing my research… Add thought. As much as I hate to admit it, she does have a point. So, for my sake… He closed his eyes, thinking of his mother. No.. For her sake, I’ll tolerate this a bit longer.

     “Hey, Add!” Aisha waved her hand in front of his blank face, startling him. She placed the menu card on his side of the table, smiling lightly. “What do you want to eat?” She asked, patiently waiting for an answer.

     “I’ll just take whatever you order.” He sighed, sliding the menu card back to her as he rested his arms and head on the table.

     Aisha pouted, looking at Add with a displeased expression.

     “Alright then, blueberry risotto it is.” She took the menu, called for a waiter and ordered their food.

     “So tell me about this friend of yours.” Aisha asked, resting her head on both her hands.

     “Hm?” Add was dozing off. I didn’t think this through… Will I have to do this everyday now? He thought, realizing an error in his plans.

     “Your friend.” Aisha repeated herself, hoping it would get his attention.

     Add sighed and reluctantly sat back up.

     “Where do you want me to start?”

     “Do you remember what she looked like?”

     “No.”

     “Her voice?”

     “Irritating.”

     Aisha squinted her eyes.

     “Are you sure you two were friends?”

     “Hmm…” Add gave it a thought, trying to recall his memory.

     Edwaard! Her voice echoed through his head, remembering the sounds of small footsteps running towards him and a bouquet of flowers being held together by small hands.

     “...” Add sat in silence. When did that happen? He pondered. No.. Did that ever happen? He began doubting his memories, but a part of him began feeling lighter. The words unconsciously left his mouth: “In... a way.”

     “For you to admit something like that?” Aisha let out a small chuckle. “Must have been close, huh?” She sat right back up, noticing their order coming their way. “Ah thank you.” She thanked the waiter, picking up the spoon.

     Add was staring off into space, seemingly unaware of his surroundings.

     Aisha was about to take in a spoonful of her food, but then she stopped, looking at Add dozing off.

     “Hey, mister shut in!”

     “What?” He looked at her, then his food. “Right.” Add dug in, staring blankly at the spoon before taking a small bite of the risotto. The moment he tasted it, Add’s eyes widened, giving the dish a quick glance before digging faster into his food.

     Aisha paused, amazed at the sight of Add, who’s only “delish delicacies” were bars of chocolate - occasionally bread - , and coffee.

     “D-Do you…” She let out a quiet giggle. “... Like it?” Her eyes sparkled as she rested her arms on the table, leaned her chin on her hand, and stared at Add with delight. Her smile grew bigger each second, as she swayed happily from side to side. “I knew you’d like it. I have such good taste!”

     Add noticed the satisfied magician clapping her hands in joy, realizing that he had lost his composure. Ashamed, he dug the spoon back into what was left of the blueberry risotto, and straightened himself, staring at Aisha nervously.

     “What is it?” He protested, raising his voice a little.

     “See? Wasn’t so hard, right? Ohohoho!~”

     …

     Huh…? What’s.. His vision blurred, his surroundings dimmed out, leaving him and the magician under a single spotlight. Everything began to dim around them; bit by bit, everything was being engulfed in darkness. Aisha’s laughter faded until he could no longer hear her. The little light they had left suddenly shut close. Not a sound was left.

     Add looked behind him. The scenery had changed. It was… His home. Everything beyond his space was fading into small bubbles of light, slowly dissipating to the empty space.

     “I knew you’d like it, Edward!” A child’s voice squealed. Add turned his line of sight back to where it originally was, only to find a young girl sitting in front of him, excitedly clapping her hands. He couldn’t make out her image - everything around him was faint and unclear, including the young girl in front of him.

     “Uhm... Yes.” He nodded. “Mm...” He looked down, his hands were smaller, his height was shorter, and his voice was higher.

     What Aisha said…

     “Say, Edward…” The girl stopped laughing, but kept a gentle smile as she held her hands together. “Are you...”

     “OKAY!?”

     His sight shifted back to normal. Aisha was quickly waving her hand in front of Add’s face, waiting for any kind of response.

     It’s actually working?

     “Add!” Aisha called out again, noticing his eyes were finally begin to focus.

     “Ah… Sorry.” He mumbled. The mage stopped - her eyes wide open and her mouth half open in disbelief.

     “Y-You… Apologized...?”

     “We should… Go now.” Add quickly answered, brushing off Aisha’s comment. “I’ll wait for you to finish your food… We’ll leave right after.”

     “Ah.” Aisha straightened herself, darting her eyes away. “Right...”

     They paid the bill and left the restaurant, Add walking briskly as Aisha tried to keep up with him.

     “Hey, Add.” She looked up at him, concerned. “What happened back there? Are you alright?”

     He didn’t answer. Instead, he increased his pace, leaving Aisha farther behind with each step.

     “A-Add, wait up!”

     She tried to catch up to him, her worries growing bigger. “What about the deal--”

     Add paused his steps, but he didn’t look back.

     “Aisha.” His tone was lower than usual. “Is it okay if we… Leave this for tomorrow?” He resumed - walking even faster than before - without waiting for a response.

     She was perplexed, standing still as she watched him disappear into the crowd. She hunched her back forward and sighed.

     “When I said you should call me by my name I didn’t mean it like that.” Aisha followed his direction, walking back to base.

     A small memory played out, one from not too long ago.

     “Idiot! Why won’t you just leave me alone!?” Add tried to turn his back, one of his eyes was already covered by an eye patch, but the other.. Was being covered by a newly trained battle magician, standing behind him.

     “Hmm?~” Aisha mused. “How about calling me by my name instead of ‘idiot’ like you always do? Have a little respect will ya?” She let out a short snicker, mocking the time tracer.

     Add pushed her away, making her step back.

     “Leave me alone, you’re just a nuisance.”

     His voice was sharp and his anger was clear. Aisha remained silent, unable to grasp the situation.

     “It’s--” She puffs her chest. “Aisha! A-I-S-H-A!” She yelled, hoping he’d listen to her plea.

     Add remained silent, fumbling with his dynamos and looking for a way to adjust them. Understanding that he won’t listen to her, Aisha decided to quietly watch him do his work. She sat down on a crate of scrap metal and gazed at the young, troubled boy.

[raattlebones]

A little Blaze and Karic battle since I didn’t draw anything today.

Blaze and Karic walked into the cave. They saw him. They saw the lion magician that had been suppressing the Zafarian Resistance.

“So, you’ve come to end my goals,” he said. The lion snapped his fingers and several elephant shamans appeared out of the dark, guarding him against an unexpected attack.

“But what do you think will happen if you stop me? The Zafarian Resistance is anti-wizard. They’re fools. Even the man who stopped the destruction of the Spiral is an enemy to them. Zarona, show them,” he commanded. A lady elephant walked into the center and activated runes in the center of the room. A projection flew up into the air and glowed. It showed the Zafarian Resistance conspiring against Blaze and helping Morganthe. Karic laughed.

“How stupid do you think we are, lion? That projection isn’t real. That’s obviously an ancient Polarian Vision Rune,” Karic giggled. Blaze smiled.

“And Zarona? That isn’t even a Zafarian name. ‘Zarona’ over here isn’t even powerful enough to conjure visions unless they are false. You wanna know what the Zafarian Resistance really is?” he continued. Blaze waved his sword in the air and bright purple electricity spewed out into the air showing the Zafarian Resistance fighting the Umbra Legion and aiding Blaze. “Not everyone has a bad memory,” he finished. Blaze straightened his back and the vision morphed into a giant purple hammer crushing the magician lion’s guards, sparing Zarona. The lion magician spread his cape and adjusted his bowtie. A green light flashed and poison poured out of portals.

“This poison is spilling fast. Me and Zarona are immune to it. Can you defeat us before you die?” the lion asked. Karic looked around nervously. The entrance to the cave was gone. He acted quickly. Karic reached into his deck and pulled out Pixie. He waved his staff until green light shot out and formed into a large group of Pixies. They waved their little wands at the portals and at the poison until the portals were closed and the poison was water. Blaze gingerly picked out Feint from his deck and cast it. He shot his sword at the lion magician, guiding it with storm magic. The lion magician was severely wounded. 

“You are less merciful than people make you out to be!” the lion magician yelled. he threw his hand into the air and punched. A satyr appeared and played his flute for the lion. The wound became less severe. Karic took another card from his deck. A jubilant blue formed by his staff and Blaze was protected by a Tower Shield, Karic then took another card and assigned a Fairy to continuously heal Blaze. 

“Predictable,” the lion magician scoffed. He threw a card into the air and caught it, piercing Blaze’s shield and wounding him severely. Karic giggled for a second at the thought of this lion magician forgetting that he had just used a Fairy and watched as the Fairy healed Blaze. Blaze stood up straight and changed his breathing. Slowly, as Karic guarded him, he took out a special card from his deck. His sword turned completely black. He pointed it towards himself and stabbed. Rather than dying and bleeding to death, Blaze transformed into a Shrike. He ran at Zarona and the lion magician. He stabbed Zarona several times with his fingers and then tightened his fist. Behind him, a giant portal opened and water flooded the room. A leviathan swam out and bit the lion magician to the point of no healing. Blaze took a step back and focused.

Who am I?

Who do I know?

Who do I love?

Before he knew it, he was Blaze Stormforge again. The shadow wasn’t done with him yet though. He felt his soul being punched and scar. Blood spat out of his mouth as Karic ran over to help him. The Fairy flew over to Karic.

“You can feel it, can’t you? His soul,” the Fairy Started, “heal it.”

Karic opened his eyes. He was in a blank void. He looked around and focused his eyes. There it was. Bright and burning a hot pink, he floated over to it. It was cracked by shadow. He felt for his deck but it wasn’t there. He wondered what to do. It was then that a thought invaded Karic’s mind. A lesson his professor had taught him once. A simple, common saying.

“Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire,” his professor had said. Karic realized what he had to do. He felt his own soul darken. He transformed into a Shadow Seraph. He waved his chevron staff at Blaze’s soul and a deep black spilled out. Although this shadow drove away the darkness of Blaze’s soul. When all the darkness was gone, he morphed back into himself. Blaze’s bright soul transformed into, well, Blaze. They touched hands and were both free of darkness. Karic opened his eyes. As he grasped reality, he realized him and Blaze had kissed.