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stories-and-chaos · 22 days

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Tarnished pt 22

[Helluva Boss AU where Blitzø’s childhood theft from Stolas’ palace is discovered and major consequences ensue for everyone involved.]

[Part 22/?? Word count: 1236 Cw: drug use, addiction, language]

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Barb sorted through Fizzarolli’s fan mail in her tiny office. Ostensibly, she was her friend’s bodyguard whenever he was in Greed; she was also acting as his assistant. Mammon didn't want anyone on his payroll wasting time. Technically, she worked for Fizz, which meant she could refuse the Sin. But doing administrative tasks when Fizz wasn’t surrounded by fans kept Mammon from grumbling at his brand face.

And he needed help with the mail. The Fizzies had launched in full two weeks before the fifth annual clown pageant. Fizzarolli had won that as well; his upgraded extendable limbs added to his already impressive act.

Barb had to give some credit to Mammon, he knew how to market people and products. Fizz’s second win in a row and his comeback story with the launch of Fizzy robots for every occasion, all of Hell knew the imp’s face. And they were willing to pay Mammon’s prices for merchandise.

All that exposure meant fans and fans meant all sorts of messages. Letters, forum messages, Sinstagram posts, fanart both wholesome and lewd. Mammon had a PR team for all the digital content, since that was public. The physical mail also went through the PR team before being sent to Fizz. There was still a massive amount needing replies, which Barb was helping with.

“Jesus H. Christ,” she muttered, sorting through the day's pile. There wasn’t anything dangerous in the envelopes, Mammon’s people saw to that. But the amount of requests for feet pics, pictures of Fizz without his prosthetics, offers for ‘a good time’ and straight up pornographic fanart was ridiculous. Barb felt like her eyes needed bleach some days, but she didn’t want her friend dealing with this nonsense alone. “I keep telling the assholes to not send the skeevy shit but do they listen? Noooooo, it’s ‘not their job to moderate content.’ Bullshit, you’re a PR team, it is your fucking job.”

The rejected pile steadily rose and the accepted pile gradually had a few letters added. Then she saw a name that made her want to scream. More than fan mail sorting usually did.

Blitzø.

Her fucking traitor twin. The scumbag who left- who abandoned his family and friends to be a royal pet. And now he was sending Fizzarolli fan mail?!

“What the fuck are you pulling Blitzo?” she hissed at the envelope in her claws. Nothing from him for years and once Fizz is successful and famous he tries to contact them? Not even ‘them,’ the envelope was addressed to Fizz.

Barb could tell from the feel of the envelope there were several pages in the letter. She wasn’t going to read it and she sure as shit wasn’t going to send it Fizz’s way. Most of the rejected mail was just shredded. She scrawled ‘RETURN TO SENDER’ in bold red marker. Hopefully the asshat would get the hint.

Later that day, as she and Fizz were finishing up the handful of responses to fans (mostly to kids) she debated on whether to tell him about the letter. Barb decided she’d better, in case the traitor tried to get in touch another way.

“You got another letter that went into the reject pile.” Fizz quirked an eyebrow. She usually didn’t mention the mail she filtered out unless it was important or particularly hilarious. “It was from Blitzo.”

Fizz gripped the pen he was using. His mechanical fingers twitched and the plastic tube snapped in half, creating a spray of ink. Ichor drained from his face, then his cheeks flushed again in anger. “The fuck does that asshole want?”

Barb shrugged. “Dunno. Didn’t read it, I just sent it back. Figured it can’t be that important, coming from a traitorous dickhead only when you’re famous.” He looked at her, anger at Blitzo warring with gratitude for her in his expression. “If he sends any more, I’ll send ‘em right back. Should probably tell the PR guys he might contact you another way though.”

He dumped the ruined gel pen in the trash bin and grabbed a tissue to clean his hand. “Fuck, Ozzie’s gonna be pissed if this gets in the joints. Thanks for looking out for me Barb.”

“Course Fizz. We look out for each other, right?” She decided to ignore his mention of Asmodeus. He’d been spending more time with the Sin of Lust, even now that the Fizzy robot development was done for the time being. What the fuck is it with royal demons and imp guys? she thought to herself.

Fizzarolli gave her a shaky smile and tossed the ink covered tissue into the trash. “Well I’m not up for answering more mail. Wanna call it a day and grab something terrible for us?”

Barb stood up and stretched, popping vertebrae down her spine and tail. “Thought you had a dinner meeting with Asmodeus.” She knew he did, she had to know his schedule. If he was going to be with a Deadly Sin, he really didn’t need her acting as bodyguard.

“Shit, I almost forgot. It’s not business though, if you wanna join u-“

“I’ll pass. Don’t wanna be a third wheel and all that shit.” She’d tagged along with Fizz and Ozzie once before and swore never again. Not unless she had her own date. No matter how much the two men denied it, she could see where things were headed.

Fizz stammered, “We-we’re not an item Barb! I keep telling you, it’s just business and the occasional fuck.”

“So if tonight isn’t business it’s the ‘occasional’ fuck.” She made air quotes as she walked out of the room with him. “Still don’t wanna be around for that Fizz. Have fun, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Fizz waved as she headed out the building; he had to text Ozzie to send a car up to Greed and wait for his ride.

Getting something terrible to eat sounded amazing though, so she got cheap Chinese food on the way home. The staff knew her usual order and she soon had a takeout bag in one hand and an extra egg roll to snack on as she walked.

Her studio apartment, decorated haphazardly in rock music paraphernalia, was unsurprisingly empty. She managed to keep most of her emotions at bay as she watched a hellanovella and devoured her fried rice. But there was an end to the episode and comfort food.

Anger and confusion and loneliness bubbled up. She chucked an empty takeout box at the wall and gripped the sides of her head. “Goddammit Blitzo! You’re not even here and you’re fucking up my life.” Just the reminder that he existed sent her spiraling into the worst memories.

Her brother abandoning them. Her mom covering bruises. Her dad’s rising anger towards her and Fizz. Straining to match Fizz as a partner. Fighting creeps and stalkers. The fire. Finding Fizz. Finding…her mom.

“FUCK!” she yelled, throwing a wooden chopstick after the box. She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to think about anything. Barb had promised herself she wouldn’t use again; she’d been clean the past four months. But Barb four months ago hadn’t expected Blitzo to resurface. So today’s Barb unblocked her dealer’s number to see if she could hook her up fast.

As it turned out, her dealer could. And she got a second ‘something terrible’ that let her not think about anything until the high wore off.

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<<First <Prev Next>

#helluva fanfiction #helluva blitzo #helluva boss #helluva au #helluva fizzarolli #fizzarolli #blitzø #blitzo #barbie wire #cw addiction #cw drugs

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mayzie-grobe · 8 months

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right before i started generation 3 of my family dynamics legacy, i realized i wanted to make some changes to the original challenge !!

so i divided my changes into two sections; partial reworks (4-7) and full reworks (8-10). some of these updates are to take advantage of new packs we've gotten since, or to play with aspects i've personally never touched. — all edits to the OG challenge in partial reworks will be in red — there's a repeated trait in gen9 (outgoing trait from gen1) so there's an option to use an alternative trait but it will make the challenge harder — reworks with a ⭐ next to them mean they're liable to change either because i'm not fully satisfied with them or because i want to see how the legacy plays out as i get to that point !

if anyone else wants to play with these reworks, go ahead ! but please tag me so i can see if you do !!

Partial Reworks

Generation Four: “Laugh away the pain”

Let’s be honest: you had a pretty good upbringing. Even though there were some rough patches, you know that your parent did the best they could to raise you alone. But, deep down, being alone is the very thing you fear more than anything. So, you cover it up with laughter,…both the laughter which bubbles from inside you and that which you try to create in others. You marry young in a desperate attempt to fill the emptiness that drives you, only to find later that your spouse has chosen another. Eventually, you have to face the fact that your family and the laughter are enough to hold you up.

Traits: Goofball, Loyal, Active

Aspiration: Joke Star

Career: Entertainer (Comedian branch)

Rules:

Master Music Production, Comedy and one instrument skill of your choice

Meet with a group of gym buddies once a week

Marry first significant other as a YA

Become a five star celebrity

Turn blind eye to spouse’s cheating

Eventually divorce spouse; never remarry

Generation Five: “Struggling in the city”

You come from a broken home. Growing up, you witnessed first-hand the havoc that infidelity can bring on a family. You determine from a young age that you will pour your soul into forging close relationships with your spouse and children. The city draws you, and it is there that you decide to make your home. However, despite your best efforts as a doctor later in life, tragedy claims one of your children long before their time. You wear a shroud of sadness from then on, but find that the love of your remaining child(ren) and your ability to express yourself through song might just pull you through in the end.

Traits: Gloomy, Genius, Music Lover

Aspiration: Super Parent

Career: Doctor

Rules:

Master singing and parenting skills

Reach level 5 of the logic skill

Have more than one child

Win at karaoke night at least once

Lose one child to death

Visit child’s grave at least once per week; leave their bedroom untouched

Generation Six: “Living with a broken heart”

You lost a sibling at a very young age and witnessed your parents’ grief while still trying to process it yourself. Rather than trying to pick up the pieces, you let the sadness consume you. You give into your darkest thoughts. Theft and criminal activity appeal to you, and eventually you give yourself over to that lifestyle. Even though you’re more at home in your contemplative solitude, you take comfort once in a one-night-stand. But there’s a surprising side to you; the raging in your heart is only calmed by the time you spend making things with your own hands.

Traits: Kleptomaniac, Loner, Maker

Aspiration: Public Enemy

Career: Criminal

Rules:

Run away from home as a teen & never speak to parents again

Do not “inherit” any money from parents

Make candles and juices as a coping method

Master mischief, fabrication, and juice fizzing skills

Steal at least 10 items over the course of generation

Have a one-night-stand with a coworker that results in pregnancy

⭐Generation Seven: “Here to make a difference”

There is only one word to describe your childhood: lonely. You knew from a young age that the parent you lived with took no pleasure in your company, and you’ve always felt that you were the “mistake” that resulted from a careless decision. As a result, you pour effort into building relationships with those who truly care about you, and even attempt to mend relationships with those who don’t. You have a core group of people who mean the world to you, and you spend as much time with them as you can. Becoming a teacher was an obvious choice, as it provides you with the tools you need to reach others. And while you’re a social creature by nature, you never turn down the opportunity to curl up with a good book.

Traits: Good, Insider, Bookworm

Aspiration: Friend of the World

Career: Education career (Professor branch)

Rules:

Attempt to mend relationships with estranged grandparents and parent

Maintain a club of 2-3 close friends from YA onwards

Move in with your club and live with them until death

Master the charisma, wellness, and writing skills

Marry a club member

Have at least two biological children and adopt at least one child

Volunteer with family once a week

Full Reworks

⭐Generation Eight: "Safe in my bubble"

You were born and raised in a really close-knit environment, always having someone to turn to when things got rough. Unfortunately, because of this you struggle to connect with people outside of your family. But that’s okay! You’re more interested in your job anyways. Wait, what do you mean you have to talk to people to work?

Traits: Socially Awkward, Ambitious, Creative

Aspiration: Painter Extraordinaire

Career: Painter (either branch) OR Freelance (Artist)

Rules:

Have only one (non-familial) close friend

Visit and paint from reference in 5 different worlds

Master the painting and logic skills

Gain the Workaholic lifestyle

Marry and have one child as an Adult

Generation Nine: "Lonely doesn't mean alone"

You wouldn’t necessarily consider yourself an orphan, but with your parents dying sooner than anyone else’s that you know, it feels a lot like you’ve been thrown into open waters to drown. But you have decided to take it in a stride and build your own bridges, and burn them as you see fit. Life is fleeting! It’s time to have some fun.

Traits: Non-committal, Outgoing OR Mean, Party Animal

Aspiration: Villainous Valentine

Career: Style influencer career (Stylist branch)

Rules:

Throw three gold house parties

Have a pristine reputation

Make over 10 sims

Have 5 million followers on social media

Have five children each with a different sim

Get married and divorced twice

Generation Ten: "Break the world for you"

Despite your unstable upbringing, you’re surprisingly well-adjusted! You dream of true love and, fortunately for you, you find it! But life is cruel and it's stolen away from you too soon. So, what else can you do besides find someone willing to teach you the ancient and unholy art of necromancy to bring them back! And if they come back wrong, that's okay with you. Because true love never stays dead.

Traits: Hot-Headed, Erratic, Romantic

Aspiration: Soulmate AND Spellcraft & Sorcery

Career: Unemployed

Rules:

Find true love at a young age, significant other dies prematurely

Befriend each Magic Sage, a werewolf, a vampire, and a ghost

Complete the spellcaster spellbook and make every potion

Successfully resurrect significant other and live together in immortality forever

#family dynamics legacy challenge #ts4 challenge #ts4 legacy challenge #family dynamics legacy #ts4 legacy #mayzie-speaks

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savage-radio-3way-fm · 12 days

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Episode 033 - Do The Pop Special

Do The Pop Music Festival is happening April 20th to 21st at the Port Campbell Hotel. Our aim tonight was to play all the bands playing and with the exception of Melt and Troubled Minds (who I couldn't find recordings of) we achieved that.

Tickets are available here https://events.humanitix.com/do-the-pop

Fun Things - Savage

Sick Fizz - There's A Sick Fizz (Inside Of You) Inked Factor - Holy Cow Good Sniff - Theft On Pig Street Arabella & The Heist - 1769

My Left Boot - Your Ancient Bones The Miffs - Flesh Rockafella - Devils Hand

Neptune Power Federation - Betrothed To The Serpent Maggie Pills - City Rats Willie J & The Bad Books - Sinner The Unknowns - Shot Down

Dr. Sure's Unusual Practice - Escalator Man Grindhouse - Peter Brock Built My Hotrod The Meanies - Just What You Need The Meanies - Cruelty's Fun

Blyss - Feel It All The Dive Bombs - Good Times Dole Manchild - Square One Convict Class - Convict Class

Sargent Baker - Quobba Station The Refuge - Linchpin Monaros - Bottleshop Grinding Eyes - Monochrome

Hot Machine - She's On The Money Step Mother - Fade Away Street Sweeper - Falling Outta Love With Myself Budd - Slice

Billiam & The Split Bills - ASD Dr Colossus - It's Still Good Bob Log III - Do That Thing You Think You Did That Thing To

ORB - Hazelwart

Listen here!

#punkradio #savage3wayfm #communityradio #DoThePopFestival

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aureatesvn · 4 years

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Economy//Jaebeom

Content: humour, fluff(?) if you squint

Model!Jaebeom has never been so confused.

Or,

An avid display of the frustrations of the rich (and supposedly famous).

People came and went like clockwork, each individual blurring into a mass flow of luggage and sweatpants and crying children, lord save him from the crying children. The airport was just a disaster waiting to happen, but he found an awkward kind of comfort in the timeless feel of the place. It was the same routine every time, arrive a few hours early, pass through security, don his trusty bucket hat and find somewhere to wait. With a book, preferably. This time was no different, aside from the… minor intrusion.

It had been less than an hour since he'd made himself comfortable in his isolated corner of the seating area, it was a nice spot and he was quite proud of himself for finding it, to be honest. He'd scoured almost a quarter of the airport (the quarter he was confined to), and it had taken exactly 38 minutes, but he'd eventually gravitated towards the large windows where the morning sunlight was streaming in from. A few moments later, he'd snagged the perfect spot. It was sort of a treasure-hunt type game to him, and he'd undeniable succeeded.

Unfortunately now he was feeling dozy, the warmth of the sun warming him, and the ebbing of people passing by allowing him some peace. It was the perfect setting for a nap, and he'd all but given up on trying to focus on his book. He needed a cold drink, which meant he had to go find a cold drink… He surveyed the area for any nearby cafés or bars, and was left with a single option he could make out if he squinted into the distance, that's where he'd have to go then.

With a resigned sigh, he started collecting his things, unwilling to part with his spot, when a brilliant idea struck him. Possibly the best idea he'd had in his entire life, really.

He returned the things to their original places, jacket across the back of the chair, bag (which he'd taken his phone and wallet out of) planted decisively on the seat. He considered leaving his hat as well, but eventually decided that was a step too far, and stepped back to assess his work.

Well, the seat was indisputably taken, and anyone who would argue otherwise was either blind (in which case he'd happily offer up the seat anyway), or specifically looking to cause trouble. He possibly could have worried a bit more about theft and such, but as it was, he took it as a test of the upstanding airport security and didn't think much more of it.

Happy with his spot secured, he smiled to himself and ambled his way to the café, peering back every so often to check no one was getting too close to his place. He had one or two stares at how he was forced to angle his head in a rather ostrich-esque way, but it was most definitely worth it. Eventually he was too far away to see, and focused on getting his drink and getting back as soon as possible.

He was halfway back with his lime soda when he saw it. Actually, he'd seen it a bit before then, but had been in denial about the rather horrible turn of events, and so hadn't quite believed his eyes. He most definitely believed them now. As he drew closer, the scene he was nearing didn't get any less horrifying. In fact, when he was close enough to feel the need to cautiously side-step his way to his belongings, it was decidedly more awful than he'd anticipated from a distance.

There was someone right there.

Not on his chair, his things were still perfectly in place, untouched, but at the uncomfortably close distance of the very-next-seat along, there was a person. And all their things.

He stood over his seat, trying to process the events that led up to this, not quite fully understanding how the obviously taken seat hadn't deterred this female (he thought she was female, at least) from making herself at home in the 2 seat radius surrounding the chair. Least of all, what had prompted her to sit right next-

'Is there a problem?'

Yes yes yes yes yes absolutely, please leave.

'Sorry?' was all he could choke out.

She was looking up at him, but somehow managed to be looking down her nose, and he had enough sense in him to recognise she felt rich. Or maybe it was her small(ish) collection of branded items. Fendi? Jackson would have a field day.

'I asked if there was a problem? I don't appreciate being ogled at.'

He was at a loss for words, he hadn't expected her to be so… brusque. Usually strangers at the airport interacted with a stilted politeness, lots of half-bows, please and thank yous, maybe she didn't get the memo? Taking a sip of his lime soda, he noted that Saint Laurent was also present within her collection. How ironic.

'Ah, no, I wasn't looking at you, these' he gestures to his bag, 'are my belongings…'

He's not quite sure what he was expecting, but whatever it was, it absolutely wasn't for her to look possibly more offended than she had been before he'd spoken. Maybe she'll move if I upset her enough?

As he half heartedly checks himself for thinking such a thing, she swivels her head back and forth between him and his things, the sunlight glinting off of her hair.

'They're,' she points at his seat, 'yours?'

She points at him, disbelief written across her face. They stay like that in silence for a few moments, at an impasse.

He coughs awkwardly and takes another sip.

'Yes…?'

At this point he's thinking it maybe wasn't worth it, and it would be easier for him to just find a different spot, without the oddly confrontational scenery.

'Are you sure?'

He chokes on his lime soda. Through spluttering and coughing and the highly unpleasant burning (fizzing) at the back of his throat, he resolutely decides he's not letting her chase him away from his spot. He got there first anyway.

Fighting mindset truly in place, he sets her with a condescending smile, and drawls out his question like he would to address a rather irritating child.

'You don't believe that the bag and jacket that I put on that chair, walked over to collect, and said were mine are… mine?'

He sees the realisation dawn on her, and fights the urge to laugh (not because he wanted to be polite, but because his throat was still tingling and he was sure he'd end up coughing again if he laughed at her). She pouts and waves a manicured hand between them, shaking her head.

'No, no, it's just people travelling... economy… tend to…y'know...have...'

People travelling eco- What?

He blinks at her, once again unsure what to say.

'WAIT- Not- Not that economy is a bad thing or anything, that's not what I meant-'

A part of him is relieved that there are obviously people out there who are far worse than him at meeting strangers. The other part of him is bitter that he had to meet one of them. He's certain the ice in his soda has melted at this point, and curses her for (if nothing else) leaving him with a diluted room-temperature drink.

'Look, I'll just take my things and-' he spots a relatively empty block across the seating area from them, and gestures to make sure she sees. She blinks up at him owlishly, as if waiting for him to go, and he sighs tiredly. The polite thing to do is to offer to move instead.

After approximately 15 seconds, he gives up, collects his jacket and bag, and trundles over to the less sunny, less quiet, and overall less comfortable seating block.

He spends the next two hours trying to lose himself in his book, checking the flight status and complaining to the guys about the awful encounter.

At roughly 11:45 he finally hears the boarding announcement,

Flight KE418 to Seoul will be boarding shortly, please proceed to gate 117.

And by some sheer luck, he finds himself at the very front of the queue when the man at the desk starts checking passports and boarding passes.

He practically skips his way down the corridor to the plane, buzzing with excitement. He's almost home. The flight attendant smiles at him, checks his pass and escorts him to an aisle seat, and when he takes off his hat to push back his hair, there's a barely noticeable twitch of her lip to show that she recognises him before she disappears to attend to another passenger.

He sinks into his seat, browsing movie options on the monitor, and is just about to put headphones on when he hears it.

'Oh, thank you, sorry, this seat? Thanks…'

That voice did not go with that meek tone at all.

He looks up to see her nervously shuffling down the right-hand aisle, and slowing down when the attendant does, one seat ahead. Please no, let me have my flight in peace, lord if you have any mercy…

'This is seat 04, if you have further requirements or any issues, just let us know.'

As it turns out, the lord didn't have any mercy free today.

He takes in her slight frame over the divider, made to look smaller by her hunched shoulders and clasped hands, before realising she's not yet sat down because she's been staring at him. Great, now all he had to do was figure out if she recognised him because she'd chased him away earlier, or because she'd seen his face in a magazine. Or both.

He decides to take initiative, and smile politely at her, bowing his head. She's already slowly turning a deep pink and, somewhere in the back of his head, he thinks she's quite cute when she's flustered.

With that thought, he decides he's in a good enough mood to tease her, and acknowledges that there's no way she won't have recognised his clothes (if not his face) from earlier.

'So, economy huh?'

#got7 hyung line #im jaeboem #got7 jaebeom #jaebeom imagines #got7 imagines #got7edit #got7 #jb imagines #got7 jb

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guessimjoiningthespidermanfandom · 3 years

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Blessing in Disguise

Peter Parker x bisexual!reader

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Peter Parker x black!reader

Peter Parker x villain!reader

Warnings: Hospitals, Explosions, depictions of pain, allusions to mania and depression, self harm/unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of death and the dead, gambling, potential underage drinking, theft, guns, gun violence, depictions of bullet wounds, and drunk people.

Word Count: 3.4k

Songs: All the kids are depressed- Jeremy Zucker, Everywhere- Chloe x Halle, Middle Child- J. Cole, She Knows- J. Cole, Breezeblocks- alt-J, Pussycat Doll-Flo Milli, It’s Been So Long- The Living Tombstone, Take me to Church- Hozier, Good Kid- Kendrick Lamar, Death of a Bachelor- Panic! At the Disco, Them Changes- Thundercat, Detention- Melanie Martinez, Recess- Melanie Martinez, Something for your M.I.N.D- Superorganism

A/N: I actually hate this chapter because I feel like the writing doesn’t flow. I feel like it’s to jampacked with things that don’t do anything to push the story forward. Anyway I hope you still read it anyways.

Series Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

I did the hand sign stating I’d stand. I knew I won for sure this time because I had a perfect hand of 21. The two other people playing against groaned as I was declared the winner yet again.

Swiping the chips for the 3rd time since I’d been at the casino. I decided to take my wins and make my way to the bar that our “target” was residing.

I had a hunch on where Carmen was but had no actual idea. I’d just text her. In the meantime I had this grown ass man to make a move on.

I was like 97% sure I had the right guy anyway. I looked much older than usual tonight due to Carmen being a makeup goddess and I gotta say flirting can get you a long way.

“Hey,” I spoke, sitting on the bar stool next to the man.

He looked up at me mumbling a quick hey.

“You expecting someone?”

“Nope,” He popped the ‘p’ “What about you?”

“Same as you,”

“Now I don’t believe someone as beautiful as you is here alone,” He moved his arm that much closer to mine. I pushed out a smile and giggled.

“I could say the same about you,” We made eye contact for a second “But no seriously, I’m just here with a girlfriend. It was my birthday yesterday but she wasn’t free so we came out today,” I lied.

“How old did you turn?”

“Twenty Two,” He nodded seemingly content with the answer.

“So you’re not around here are you?”

“Either you’re a genius or I’m just very bad at blending in, no I’m from New York,”

“Ah, I have some friends in New York, which part?”

“Harlem actually but I recently moved to Queens,” I lied again.

“Oh I don’t many from those cities,”

“If we're being honest I don’t know many people from Queens either my life’s been more hectic ever since I moved,”

“I hear you,” He informed me, leaning on the small backing the stools had.

We talked for about 15 more minutes, him explaining the switch between New York to Nevada. Then Carmen walked up to me and feigned drunkenness signaling she was done with her job. I made my way back. To the man who’s name I still hadn’t learned.

“As much fun as I was having talking to you, my friend is way too drunk to be out in public so we should probably head back to the hotel.” I sat back on the barstool turning my legs towards the man batting my eyes

“Could I possibly use your phone to call an Uber mine is dead?”

“Yeah of course you can…” His sentence fizzed off at the end in place of where my name would be.

“Ciara,” I filled in “And you are?”

“Jim” He started handing me the phone.

I used his phone for an entirely different reason than I’d claimed. The project Carmen had been working on was melting the wires together to fix the flash drive that works inside of phones. It hadn’t worked in years.

It took about a minute to duplicate the phone's data. I stuck the flash drive in my bra before going to give the phone back.

Just as I started moving a loud argument broke out, by the drunk accents I could tell it would soon get violent. Seeing as I had many experiences with an aggressive drunk. I wasn’t going to take my chances and began turning towards the main exit.

I heard the first shot echo followed by another. Soon everyone was shooting. Including Carmen who I think just wanted an excuse to shoot at people passing it off as “protecting her friends”.

She was closer to the exit than I was so she slid me the gun and I was able to ward off anyone shooting in our general direction. Not for long though. A bullet lightly grazed my dominant arm’s shoulder; it still dug in enough to do some sweet damage.

Fuck

What’s up with me? I haven’t been on my A game lately.

We were also out of bullets. Mostly because we weren’t actually expecting to have to fucking shoot at people. I ducked back down behind the bar trying not to get caught on the broken glassware.

“I think it would be a good time to do that thing?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes

“You know I hate doing it,”

“Well I’m literally bleeding out,” I dramatized pointing to my shoulder. “So if you want to get out of here not in body bags, do the thing,”

“Alright, just this one time,” She begrudgingly made her way out from behind the bar and away from me.

I covered my ears and closed my eyes as the glass around me rained down and the bar shook. I could slightly hear the cries from beneath my hands. Once she moved back over to me

“See that wasn’t so bad, birdy,” I scrambled up to my feet ignoring the pull in my shoulder.

I made my rounds grabbing Jim’s phone, cash, wallets, watches, and anything else that looked expensive from pockets and the ground.

I stood awkwardly staring at my feet as I slid from side to side with my butt planted on my skateboard.

“Hi,” I heard squinting my eyes looking up revealing a equally nervous looking Peter

“Hey,” I nodded at him.

The conversation wasn’t as awkward as I thought it’d be he’d apparently asked Liz to prom and he said yes. Which I was definitely super happy about because why wouldn’t I be?

Anyway who cares about that anyway. Props to Peter for not bringing up the whole ghosting everyone thing for like a week thing. Because if he didn’t bring it up I was going to act like it never happened.

We talked about everything and anything. From favorite candies or colors to our beliefs about life after death. I’d found out his favorite candy were skittles, favorite color: red and that he was Jewish but not necessarily religious and didn’t believe in heaven or hell but he believed in the eternity of a soul.

I’d told him that my favorite candy was F/C, my favorite color being pink and that I didn’t know what I believed in. I believed in a higher power but not that they were inherently good because of all the suffering on earth. I’d told him if they weren’t good and had abandoned us while alive. Why would they care or have any plan for us into the afterlife? I think that part is up to us, and what we believe. I’m trying not to think about death.

Then like clockwork he had to leave before 9 which is funny because it’s like he wasn’t even trying to hide his secret identity. He’d told me he lost the internship and normally his excuse to leave was the internship.

I just guess that means he no longer has Stark’s backup. He only had it for a while anyway he’d be fine without it again. Actually when I think about it, from his behavior he’d exhibited as Spiderman in the short few months I’d had the displeasure of knowing him as ‘Thorn’ he’d be weak. He was unconfident, relied on his tools far too much. Couldn’t see himself without the suit. So maybe he was really just going home. So he’d be fine.

I’d also be fine. No matter how much it didn’t look like it at the moment. I’d be fine. I was always fine. I was fine without my mom, without Rose, without my dad, without Olivia and any one else I’d ever been stupid enough to get attached to. I’d bounce back. I always did.

It’d taken Carmen much convincing to not sit around and babysit me 24/7 because of my shoulder. She was sure that I’d do something dumb and it would get infected.

I was sitting on MJ’s bed getting ready for homecoming. My neck jerked again as Bri attempted to detangle and braid my hair.

If I hadn’t spiraled into the Vulture, Kingpin and SHIELD, rabbit hole I probably would have taken better care of myself and my hair.

“Stop moving,” She tsked.

“Stop trying to rip my head off my neck,” I hissed back.

Bri did my nails back when we were still at her house waiting for MJ to pick us up. She actually did pretty good. I think she would do great at a cosmetology school. She's pretty much into everything: hair, nails, makeup the whole nine yards. She did all of that for me.

The make up was very simple, but I was still able to get my signature winged eyeliner. Winged eyeliner is something very dear to me mostly because Rose was the first to put me on it and I wore it everyday since. It kinda felt disrespectful to stop at this point.

The only thing left was the dress MJ had gifted me. Her mom bought her a dress but she still refused to wear dresses so she returned it for this one, she opted for a very nice pantsuit she already had. Then Bri's outfit of course matched her boyfriend’s.

I’ve never really liked school dances they’re always so overhyped, but I go to them all anyways, because then I get in on all the drama. It helped me build up my arsenal of knowledge about everyone.

I was sitting at one of the round tables near the entrance with MJ, Bri, and Olivia. We had a bottle of “Gatorade” open and out for anybody who wanted to drink it. I was about to drink from it when I saw Liz enter alone.

I made my way over to her.

“Where’s Peter? I thought he asked you?”

“I don’t even know he just ditched me,” She let out a deep breath.

“Aw I’m sorry,” I wrapped my good arm around her shoulder.

“Well don’t think about that asshole, you’re way out of his league anyway,” I assured her to which she let out a weak laugh.

“Come sit with me and my friends,”

A girl with knockers dancing all along her head came up to before speaking

“Why are you crying?”

I sniffed pulling my head from my arms.

“I miss my mom,”

“I miss my mom sometimes but I like my grandma too,”

“Where’s your mom?” I asked.

“I don’t know my grandma says she’s sick,” She shrugged. “Where’s your mom?”

“Well my grandma says she’s in a better place now but I know that just means dead,”

“Yeah my dad is dead too so I know what you mean, I’m Rose. What’s your name?”

“Y/N,”

“Y/N, that's a pretty name,” She smiled. “You wanna come sit with me and my friends Y/N?”

“Y/N!”

I jumped a bit at the voice before matching it to MJ

“What?” I asked in a harsher tone then necessary.

“Jeez sorry,” She reeled back “Someone is asking for you named Carmen. They said it’s important,” She waved her phone around.

My face dropped and I hoped no one caught it.

I grabbed the phone exiting the auditorium.

“Okay what’s up?”

“You know Liz’s dad whatever her name is but yeah, He’s gonna rob that plane that’s moving everything from the Avengers tower,” She rushed

“What!?”

Holy shit

That must be where Peter’s went. So he figured it out too. Kid’s smarter than I give him credit for.

“I’ll send you the location on your phone,”

“Why didn’t you just call me from there?”

“Because you never answer it,”

“True,”

“Y/N?” She whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Be careful,”

“Always,” I smiled.

I rushed out of the building not thinking about how I could get caught. Near the buses there was the new Shocker lying unconscious.

I took the webshooter I found next to him. Then made a run for it. Stopping to hot wire the nearest car, I sped to one of the locations that I knew Vulture’s team kept their weapons at. I was throwing everything in the same pile. Getting ready to destroy them.

Then the door creaked open.

I felt the bed dip as my brother sat next to me.

“Are you coming?”

I pulled the cover off my face

“Why should I?”

“Because you’ll regret it if you don’t,”

“No I won’t leave me alone,” I pulled the cover back over my head.

“You gotta eat something,”

“No I don’t leave me alone,”

“Y/N…”

I knew what he was going to say and I didn’t wanna hear it.

“She would want you to eat something,”

“Fuck you! How would you ever know what she would've wanted? No one here knew her and now one will ever get the chance to again so just leave me alone,”

“Y/N-“

“Don’t Y/N me, get the fuck out of my room,” He sat there for a second, stunned “NOW!”

As soon as the door closed and I flipped back over

I was shaken back into the present only to find that I was pinned under the man who’d entered the room before I zoned out. He reached for the nearest weapon. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was. Which is rare. I have a whole weapons catalog in my brain. Unfortunately for him he couldn’t grab it without giving me leeway to get from underneath them.

Unfortunately for me I put too much pressure on my arm in the seconds I took to grip my shoulder recuperating myself. The man had fired the weapon he had at the pile of weapons that I stumbled back towards.

The weapons then emitted purple light before exploding leaving me caught under some wood and concrete as the ringing in my ears only got louder and louder.

The fire around me crackled loudly and I bit my lip.

The smoke was only getting more plentiful.

I started coughing which only got more and more painful.

When I came to myself, I wasn’t choking anymore and the fire around me had died down. I was able to push myself from underneath the rubble holding me down. Not without lots of pain though.

The dress I was wearing was torn completely, holes big enough to see what I was wearing underneath it already.

So I just took it off.

It wasn’t like I was completely naked I was wearing boxers. Not like I haven’t left the house in a bra and shorts before. Also who gives a fuck I just almost died.

It was like 35° but I wasn’t cold in the slightest. I was actually kind of hot.

If my phone was accurate the plane had already made it near the edge of Queens and Staten Island. Rushing there I was seconds late as I saw the plane crash after I saw two figures fighting along it.

There was fire everywhere but I wasn’t thinking. I was just running because I couldn’t make out Peter’s shape and if he was dead-

I swear to fucking God if he was dead. Not again. I couldn’t handle another death.

Peter was saying something. No, pleading as the Vulture stood tall with his wings still intact. He was talking about how it was a nice try and he doesn’t know what he’s messing with.

Peter might not but I knew what this was. I also knew I wasn’t letting him get away with it.

The wings started producing visible waves of heat. Then it hit me, what Peter was trying to say. The wings were gonna blow. I got a head start and lunged towards the man. The element of surprise was on my side. That was until he used the wings to lift himself off the ground.

Now I was fine with parkour and other activities, but being lifted off the ground by someone else, someone who’d never interacted with me ever, is where I draw the line. Then Peter was shooting a web at the wings. To which Vulture dropped me to go after him.

Oh hell no.

“Give it up Peter,” He continued to get closer and closer as the webs were continuously cut through.

You know how people say they see in red when they get angry? Well the opposite of that happens to me I just see black. Remembering very little to nothing.

Last thing I remembered was fire just fire. From my fingertips, arms, head. It destroyed the wings in seconds, before they had a chance to blow up on their own.

Peter webbed up the man before moving out of my sight.

How the fuck do you get fire coming from your body.

Literally what the actual fuck.

I couldn’t breathe.

That’s what it was, I was dying, I was probably in some coma and this was a weird hallucination my brain pushed out in its final moments.

Okay this is it. I was dying suffocating in some coma.

Or even worse this wasn’t a coma and I was going to die with my body lit on fire literally.

“Oh my God,” I gasped trying to get air into my lungs.

I closed my eyes and when I opened them Peter was in front of me in a torn up ripoff suit.

“Y/N,” He moved trying to catch my eye.

“Y/N, Y/N breathe…”

I couldn’t really process his words. My mind was clouded with fear, fear and anger.

Before I knew it I was hitting my head so I wouldn’t hit anyone or anything else. It’d been a coping mechanism I used ever since I was 3.

Peter reached for my arms reeling back after his hands came into contact with my boiling skin.

“Y/N you have to calm down,” He moved in front of me.

I stopped moving my hands but it was still difficult to breathe.

The monitors beeped all around me and if I closed my eyes and concentrated hard enough. I could convince myself they were birds.

I could tell from the patter of the knock on the door that it was Rose.

“Come in!” I called out.

She picked up the clipboard examining it. As she did every time she visited. Luckily for everyone there was no nurse she could bombard with questions and criticism.

“How are you feeling?” She asked.

“Itchy, like my guts are on fire,”

To which she replied by singing the chorus to Girl on Fire.

“Anyway,” she brought us back after our laughter. “I got you pizza today since I’m sure you’re tired of McDonald’s,”

“I don’t mind McDonald’s actually, anything is better than hospital food. Well actually, their chicken strips aren’t that bad,”

She placed the box down on my lap. I lifted up the lid and was hit with the smell of the many herbs. I pat by my legs signaling she could sit down. She wiggled into the spot that the bar of the bed allowed.

“What are we watching today?”

“Uh…” I clicked on the TV “Vampire Diaries?,”

“That show is still going?

“Yeah, I don’t think it’ll ever end,”

Somehow the show turned into us dancing around the cramped hospital room.

We spun like the ballerinas in the broken jewelry box I got from my mom. Arms flailing around. The air conditioner made a rattling noise and a half eaten pizza on the bed. The situation was probably extremely weird or unpleasant from any other perspective, but because it was her it was perfect.

It was like the moment in rom coms where the camera zooms into the main characters dancing as the rest of the characters are put out of focus and they stare into each other’s eyes. I closed my eyes.

When I opened them I saw Peter’s eyes above mine.

His hands were immediately on my face making my look straight at him.

“Are you okay?” He breathed out.

I sat up feeling a pounding in my head and a pull in my lungs. I was met with the fact that I was definitely not on the ground. I was actually very far from the ground on some ride on the pier. My mouth was dry so it took me a minute to get the words out and when I did it hurt my throat.

“Yeah ’m okay jus’ tired,”

“Okay, well don’t go back to sleep because I think you have a concussion,”

“You’re acting like I died or something, how long was I out dang,” I joked I always hated when things got too serious.

“Uh probably...30 minutes? I don’t know I don’t have a watch,” He sniffed and that's when I realized he’d be crying.

“Were you crying? I knew you cared about me,” I smiled “It was only a matter of time before you fell in love with me, I’m irresistible”

He laughed weakly wiping his eyes “This isn’t funny,”

I looked up at him and started uncontrollably giggling. Soon Peter was laughing too.

The moment was interrupted by a squad of police cars pulling up. I absolutely did not want to get down but my tired muscles betrayed me. I was extremely exhausted. I literally could not move. I just had to go wherever Peter decided to take me. I honestly think I might have a few broken ribs. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before though. We stood off to the side watching as Vulture was stuffed into the back of one of the cars.

“So Spiderman?” I smirked.

“Uh.. no?” He said as if he’s questioning himself.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone I’ve known for a while now,” I twisted my body to face him hissing as a sharp sting shot through my body “You're not very good at hiding it,”

“Hey!” He cried out “But seriously you can’t tell anyone,”

“I already said I wouldn’t, but if it makes you feel better I’ll pinky promise you, and everyone knows you can’t break a pinky promise,”

“Alright,” He sighed.

I tried to move closer again and was stopped by the pain in my sides.

“Okay well, the offer still stands, you’re just gonna have to come over here,”

Taglist:

@tomdiddlyumptious

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always-a-knight · 3 years

Text

Shameless Self-Insert Fan-Fic

One of the earliest headcanons I had for Ramon’s time in Hell involved him as a background character in Helluva Boss Ep 2, meeting Octavia twice---once as a child and then as a teen. Seeing the episode the first time melted my heart with cute and my parental instincts kicked-in HARD. It’d never happen with any Octavia player and was pretty Gary Stu-ish of me, but it was really nice fluff

As we saw in a promo before the episode came out and very briefly during it, child Octavia’s being shoved by a mob of children into Robo-Fizz’s tent and attending his show. We watched through big, horrified eyes as a creepy robot glitched and sparked as it smiled daggers at a child who probably very rarely left her father’s side. I imagined she’d run-off somewhere to escape all the lights and noise, get lost in some dark backstage area or shutdown attraction, then break-down and cry

Enter the knight. He’s also lost in the darkness, hearing these wracking sobs and cautiously moving to investigate. When he spots Octavia kneeling on the floor under a small beam of light, he suspects a trap and draws his sword (because preying on someone’s good intentions by fake-crying and then ambushing the soft-hearted sinner sounds like something that’d happen in Hell). For some very tense minutes, he’s looking for the ambushers while creeping as silently as he can---keeping an eye on Octavia and circling around her

Eventually, he gets tired of tip-toeing in the dark and decides to ambush his would-be attackers. He ignites his palm, throwing a small flame into the air above Octavia, it then bursts and flies overhead to illuminate the whole area. But there’s no one else there, just him and this crying demon in the middle of the room. So he thinks this demon’s just working alone and walks-up behind her

Now comes the moment of truth: he has his sword ready to plunge through her chest, reaches out with a free hand and grabs Octavia by the shoulder---pulling her to face him. Suddenly those large, purple, tear-filled eyes open and stare right at the knight’s helmet. There’s a long pause between them, both confused by what they’re looking at. Octavia manages to speak-up and says she only wants to find her Dad and go home

Well this just breaks the old crusader’s dusty heart. Combine that with the immediate guilt that he was about to shank a little baby, he commits to helping her. With a flick of his wrist, he calls the spinning fireball back to his hand and holds it out for her to take. She’d carry the light in one hand while he took the other, keeping his sword out in case something jumps out at them. It takes some time for them to navigate, but they find their way outside and he extinguishes the flame

The knight is still suspicious of demons and won’t drag his new charge out into the mob. He’s peeking around corners, running behind tents and booths along their way to the front gate. Once they get there, he’s looking around and unsure of what to do next: wait for Dad? Search the parking lot? Does he take her back the way they came---going out where he entered the park and taking her to his shelter? Is he going to have to cross Hell and back trying to find her house by her guidance alone?

Fortunately for everyone involved, Stolas spotted them and called-out to Octavia. She let go of the crusader’s hand and ran to jump into her father’s arms. He was worried when he didn’t see her leave Robo-Fizz’s tent, he was looking everywhere for her, she recounts how scared she was and got herself lost. Both their attentions turn towards the knight

Holding Octavia with his left arm, Stolas approached and shook the hand of the “park employee” who found his beloved starfire. He doesn’t say a word and just goes along with this. But before they leave, Stolas wants a picture and completely confused by the prospect, he just stares at the camera---unwittingly posing for a family photo. Once it was taken, Stolas tucked a dollar bill down the knight’s tabard and left with Octavia. She waved and said thanks to him

Unfortunately, people saw Stolas take a picture with a man dressed as a medieval knight and also believed he was someone working at the park. Cue a montage of imps and other hellborn posing with the good samaritan. Pretty soon, there’s a good amount of cash stuffed down his “shirt”

However many years it takes for a goetia child to become a teenager, the episode continues as normal... Until Blitzo starts a fight with Robo-Fizz, sets fire to most of the park and at some point, Moxxie mounted a dragon. Hearing screams, seeing fire and a dragon, the knight does what knights do and comes charging towards the front gate

The gallant crusader nearly runs right into Stolas and a grown Octavia. There’s mutual confusion for a moment until she actually recognizes him from all those years ago. Stolas is amused, removes the photo from his wallet to reminisce, but says it’s probably not the same “employee”

“I am he,” the knight corrects him---speaking to them both for the very first time. However, all three of the IMPs fall out of the sky and interrupt what would be a very heartfelt reunion. Naturally, the little hellions are injured and need to be loaded into the van. But now, there’s a problem: who’s going to drive? Stolas is too tall for a van made for imps, Octavia’s probably never learned to drive at this point and still pretty tall herself. All eyes fall on the knight

Skipping what has to be either the worst Grand Theft Auto play-through or the slowest of grandma driving, they all arrive back at Stolas’ mansion. The IMPs are still out cold and get carried-off to some guest room on the far end of the mansion to get patched-up. Now returning to the entry foyer, the knight explains and introduces himself to Stolas and Octavia

No, he is not an employee at Looloo Land. Yes, he is the same person who found and escorted the little darling back to her loving father (neglecting to mention the part where he was about to shank her). Yes, he is an actual knight from medieval times whose name is Ramon. And no, he was not visiting the amusement park in either scenario. On both occasions, he was wandering the wastelands outside of the civilized regions of Hell and came across the same owl demonette. But Ramon still remembered the look in Octavia’s eyes and for the first time in many centuries, he felt like he really was the knight he’s supposed to be

Cutting that tender moment short however was a still-furious Stella---who had no idea her husband and daughter left, such was her rage. She noticed his theme park clothes and was about to grill his ass, but then noticed who else was standing in the room. Thankfully for Ramon, the aristocratic woman did not automatically assume he was another of her husband’s lovers and actually bothered to ask who he was

How it went from there, I never really got to plotting-out. One possibility was for Octavia to lie and claim Ramon was a friend, using his black tabard and cloak as proof that he was “goth”. Another idea was that Ramon would formally introduce himself in a courtly fashion, using high society etiquette to make her compose herself (with some mild flattery to lure her away and save Stolas’ feathered ass). There was also the notion of Stolas claiming he was a prospective servant and was right about to pass him off to Stella for final approval

There was also a very crack joke idea that Stella would just grab Ramon by the collar, assert that she was going to dishonor her husband just as he had dishonored her and fly-off with the helpless knight for some petty revenge cheating (which probably wouldn’t actually happen and she’d just interrogate Ramon by herself in private, only wanting to spite Stolas with the notion alone)

#Ramon character stuff

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jack-and-pax · 4 years

Text

Tales From Mouth Othrys

Pax: Magical Daycare II

In Luke’s enraged exit, he didn’t notice Axel on the other side of the hallway.

He did almost run into Mercedes and Pax. For a moment, his eyes widened with fury. Then, they relaxed. “Hey! Jack’s boy. And… Sadie?”

“Mercedes,” she supplied.

“Like the car?” Most of Luke’s fury faded to confusion.

“Like in Call of the Wild,” she said blankly.

“Huh,” Luke said. “You haven’t been questioned by Flynn yet.” The last part was a cross between a statement and a question.

The dark circles under Luke’s eyes made Pax wonder if Luke had slept since the donut shop blew up. Pax had heard rumors of nightmares. That could make anyone cranky.

“Shall I tell her that I take priority over her sleep?” Mercedes asked. “I’m quite flattered. She seems important to the camp.”

Luke released a shuddered breath, exhaling the last bit of his anger. “She and Jack have a strict morning schedule to get their voices as powerful as possible for the day. I’m sorry. It’s been a long morning. I’m just very impressed by your involvement in capturing Julian.” Luke set a hand on her shoulder.

Mercedes stiffened.

Axel paled at the mention of his first kill. Fortunately, the medals didn’t make any noise when he touched them.

Mercedes artfully kept her eyes off Axel and firmly on Luke’s hand. Pax got the feeling she didn’t appreciate being touched. Pax would bet that she was running through several ways to break Luke’s hand.

She cleared her throat. Her mouth opened, as though to speak, but no sound came out.

Then Luke walked past. He gave them one last charming smile as he waved a hand. “I’ll see the two of you later during sword practice. We’ll have to see how skilled you are with a blade.”

He was gone, having never seen Axel on the other side of the door. He also didn’t seem to realize they had been eavesdropping. Or that the hand he’d put on Mercedes shoulder was discolored from whomever he hit.

For a breath, Mercedes clutched her shoulder like Luke’s touch had been poisonous.

Pax took her hand. Belated, he wondered if she hated being touched in general. “You okay?” he asked.

Mercedes stared at him in a way that said few had dared to touch her hand. She glanced down at the contact. “I appear to have attracted a parasite.”

“At least it’s a cute one,” Pax tried to comfort, wondering if he should let go. Her fingers shook.

Mercedes watched Luke disappear at a bend in the hall. Hollowly, she said, “Earlier this week, I thought there were only Romans in the world and demigods didn’t have a choice: either death by monsters outside or forced servitude in the walls of New Rome. Now, I find out my half-brother on the Greek side is trying to form an army to stop a force as unstoppable as New Rome’s and he is clearly unprepared. Seeing the Greeks exist, feeling them, gives me the creeps.” She sighed. “There is so much work to do. And it starts with getting rid of this parasite.”

Pax almost didn’t catch the last part. She snatched her hand back to shove him into the room.

Axel, who had been listening warily, scrambled to catch up to them.

Pax almost flopped onto his face when he saw the interior of the room.

This room did not belong on a cruise ship. It belonged on a Frankenstein movie set.

There were rows of shelves on one side of the room, containing—Pax blinked in surprise—spice bottles and vials. Others had scrolls and ancient-looking tomes. On several neatly spaced tables, there was laboratory equipment set up for some kind of experiment. In the center was a full fire pit, with a massive, humming suction duct above it. Pax had no idea how it was catching all the smoke—it should have been spilling all over the place. But, Pax didn’t care. What he cared about was the archaic, cast-iron pot above the fire, bubbling with a strange liquid.

Just behind the fire stood the looming statue of three women—or a woman with three heads?—holding lit torches, swords, and other ominous items.

Other tables had skeletons or jars for dissection.

A black cat napped peacefully on the ribs of a massive skeleton. It lazily opened one eye to see the three of them approach.

They passed two metal rods with sparks flying between them. Tesla coils?

By the science equipment stood three other people. One was the chubby, sun-burned boy who had ruined their camouflage. “Come onnnnnnn, Al!”

“Don’t call me that,” another boy said.

The other occupants in the room were clearly siblings. One was a girl, maybe Pax’s age, with curly black hair tied into a ponytail. She was short, maybe only five feet tall. Her skin had a healthy Mediterranean glow to it. Her face was tinted pink, like she’d been crying, and she rubbed furiously at her eyes.

The other was a boy. He was awkwardly tall, maybe close to six feet. Freckles spackled his pale features, ones that hadn’t caught up to the maturity of his height. He must have been older, at least fourteen?, but Pax couldn’t decide how much older. He leaned over a Bunsen burner, using a match to light the bottom. There was a bruise forming under one eye, a product of Luke’s temper.

He and his sister wore burned and stained lab jackets.

Pax’s breath caught at the most startling feature: their eyes were emerald green. For Pax, this made them unfairly hot and obviously witches.

The plump, shorter boy tapped his fingertips together like an evil henchman. From the way his eyes seemed to glitter with ideas, Pax knew he was more an evil mastermind. “But, Al—”

“Alabaster,” the green-eyed boy corrected again. With routine ease, he set a beaker of clear liquid above the Bunsen burner and sprinkled something into it. The liquid twisted dark and ominous.

“Think about it like a lovely tit for tat. You know my pranks drive Luke nuts,” the blond boy said.

The younger sister nodded her head feverously. Her eyes blazed with rage. “Matthias is right. We can get back at him!”

Alabaster scowled, sniffing the contents of his beaker. He pinched something out of a vial on the table and dusted it into the boiling container. His eyes focused on the experiment intensely like he feared acknowledging their words or what had happened. Pax wondered if the boy had ever been hit before. Pax wondered what that would be like—to remember the first time you’d ever been hit.

Alabaster’s shoulders slumped. “If anything is used from this laboratory, he’ll know where you got it. I will seek revenge upon Luke on my own time, in my own way. Put the ingredients away, Hanson.”

Matthias Hanson stopped tapping his fingers together. A deep sigh bellowed from him as he slunk a step towards an ingredients shelf. With another prolonged sigh, he set a vial into an empty slot. “Chris bet ten drachma that no one could get it from you.”

When Alabaster refused to acknowledge his pouting, Matthias took a back step towards the exit, where Mercedes, Axel, and Pax had stalled.

The green-eyed girl folded her arms and glanced up to the ceiling. Any hint of previous tears vanished as a smirk lit up her face. “But… we can’t be held accountable if someone were to steal things from the laboratory.”

Alabaster didn’t look at her, though his lip did twitch. “True. But, you don’t have the talent for theft or silence, Hanson. Idiotic, loud distractions? Yes. Not theft. Now, unless you want to try something—”

“I don’t like being a guinea pig, Potter!” Matthias said, putting his hands up defensively. He backed the rest of the way out the door. He snapped his fingers and made finger guns at Mercedes, Axel, and Pax as he moonwalked past them. A loud thump sounded when he stumbled into the door.

Mercedes glanced at a watch on her wrist and shoved the Pax brothers further forward.

The green-eyed girl focused on them, her eyes going wide. She tugged on Alabaster’s sleeve.

If Pax had to guess, that blush had something to do with seeing Axel’s bed head. His ruggedness often had that effect on women and the right kind of boys.

“What are these?” Alabaster asked, not looking up. As he poured some of the beaker’s continents into a vial, he asked his sister, “Lelly, is your Mustela vial ready for trial?”

She snatched something from a drawer and shoved it at him, still smiling shyly at the three of them.

Alabaster set his beaker down, so he could take her vial. Its continent was green and fizzed slightly.

Mercedes snorted and gestured towards the Pax brothers. Axel opened his mouth to answer Alabaster’s question. Mercedes beat him, her response locking the Pax brother’s and Witch Boy’s futures together.

“New guinea pigs, apparently,” she said.

“Ah, what fortuitous timing,” Alabaster said. He straightened and walked up to them. He extended a vial to either Pax brother; Axel, the ominous dark brew; Pax, the fuzzy green one. Reflexively, they took them. “Here, drink this.”

“Ajax,” Axel said, sounding more annoyed than worried.

Pax would show Axel not to worry about him doing something awesome. He popped the cork topper off his vial. When a witch tells you to drink a mysterious brew—

“Don’t!” Axel shouted this time. His free hand reached for Pax’s face, but he was too slow.

Pax tossed the contents into his mouth, excited for some magical goodness.

***

Thank you for reading! This short is quite a bit lighter than the other ones, and I hope you’re still enjoying! See what Pax turns into next week in Magical Daycare Part III.

#PJO #HOO #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #Fanfiction #TFMO #Luke #Alabaster #Lou Ellen #Pax #Axel #Matthias #Why you shouldn't accept potions from strangers #I don't know... it worked out okay for me.....#But I liked being a newt...

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meteor-writes · 4 years

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Death Threats For An Astronomer

A short story about two cousins venturing along country lanes to solve the mystery behind the death of a Victorian gentlemen a century earlier.

Rating: Teen Wordcount: 4446 Buzzwords: Exploration, Mystery, Cousins, Country Lanes, Abandoned Houses

Please enjoy!

In the countryside, roads ran into field as easily as concrete ran into carparks. Walking in tire tracks, you could be sure to land somewhere, but whether it be amongst yellowing bales of hay or meandering mooing cows was less obvious. All Zoe could see below the crystal blue sky was towering grass banks. For all she knew, this path she walked was a crop circle and her cousin Callum was actually an alien about to abduct her. It wasn’t like they looked that similar, her skin brown like the woods, his an olive tone, her hair falling in pencil-tight ringlets, his the windswept mess of a seasoned surfer. Could she really trust anything this boy declared?

Then again, her Auntie never failed to mention the curiosity in their cat’s eye at every single childhood scolding and she pinched their cheeks with equal success so there was evidence to suggest some sort of relation. Plus, a vague idea of a house could be observed if you focussed past the garden growing with neglect and remembered that by all logic ivy had to be attached to walls. Still, Zoe would have liked a road sign too, just to be safe. But then who would sign post an abandoned mansion nestled between even more abandoned fields?

If you were a foreigner to Buckfield you could be forgiven for assuming that this place was just another area left to go wild. A last outpost of human-nature solidarity. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Had there been a less gruesome tale attached to this house, Zoe was sure it would be in the hands of a plucky young couple with jobs in the city and heads in the clouds. But Zoe wouldn’t be visiting if that were the case.

“Zoe, horse shit.”

The squelch sounded before Zoe could react. Beneath her, a huge pile of dung splattered the grass like cannonballs, and Zoe realised with disgust, her boot was lopped centre of attention. She grimaced.

“Coulda told me sooner.” She muttered, easing her foot out and gagging as the smell released like a bomb.

Callum shrugged. “M’not your keeper.”

Then, instead of stopping to offer help, Callum continued lumbering up the path as if nothing had occurred, picking grass off the bank and casually scattering the seeds like a gremlin reaping mischief.

Zoe fought against a growl.

Callum wasn’t just irritating. He was insufferable. There was always an excuse. Always a way out. The perfect thing to say that would take responsibility cleanly off his shoulders and slam it down on Zoe’s. Because, no, he was not her keeper, and no, it was not his fault she stepped in horse excrement on the daily, and yes, he did say something, but by God couldn’t he have said it a little sooner!? Wasn’t there some sort of cousin code!? A common decency between relatives! Zoe was sure in all Callum’s laidback, child of the woods, we’ll get there when we get there attitudes, there was a little weasel waiting to get out, and it just so happened to make a break for freedom every time Zoe was about.

The rest of the trek was made in simmering silence. Zoe kept her eyes pinned to the earth, making sure to stamp around any dung piles present. It seemed this path, whilst barely being a path, was a frequent haunt for horses. Maybe even cows if the smell was anything to go by. Or perhaps that UFO from before hadn’t come down to probe humans and instead simply used Earth as its personal toilet. Zoe shuddered at the thought. At least the extra traffic meant the hedges were relatively kempt. Callum couldn’t flick her in the face with stray brambles.

“We’re here.” Callum announced.

Where the boy stopped was in no shape or form a house.

Zoe folded her arms, stepping up suspiciously to the roadside, where Callum stood, hands on hips, staring at a hedge. She toed at the brambles with her boot. There was some sort of rusted metal pole poking through the undergrowth. Zoe determined it to be hiding tetanus.

“Expand.” She said, pressing her weight into the pole and finding more than a little give.

“We’re here.” Callum repeated. Zoe was not amused. But after a brief cold war of blank stares, the boy sighed. Pulling the sleeve of his waterproof over his hand, he crouched down and stuck his hand into the nettles, forcing a clump aside like a curtain. Zoe leaned closer. There seemed to be a large headstone sitting in the undergrowth. It was a little moss covered, but she could just about make out letters carved into the lump of grey.

“orho, ar?”

Zoe’s tongue knotted just trying to form the words.

“Manorhouse farm.” Callum said easily, dropping the weeds. And before Zoe could ask how he knew, there was a loud clang and the boy threw himself over the hedge.

“Wha- Cal! What are you doing!?”

A puff of brown hair popped over the greenery. “Going to the house?”

Zoe squeezed her nails into her palm. Don’t rise to it, she told herself breathing deeply through her nose, it’s just what he does.

“Just grab onto the gate and climb over.” He said, already heading off.

Zoe wanted to yell. Of all the cousins in the world, why did hers have to be Callum? Just once, she’d like to explore as a team. Instead she was left tearing ivy out a hedgerow, trying to find a hidden gate just so she can jump over it without getting dismembered. Obviously, Callum didn’t have to since the weasel was protecting him.

Zoe dropped onto the other side and a sharp pain shot up her shins. It seemed Callum had forgotten to mention the path this side was nestled into a ditch. How kind. She kicked the nearest fern.

“This really the way?” Zoe yelled, wrinkling her nose at the smell of earth mixed with cat pee.

“To the murder house?” Callum asked, swinging around with his hands in his pockets. His mouth twitched with mischief. “Yep!”

Murder house was not it’s given name. That was Manorhouse farm – not too far off really, but far enough for the last innocent dwellers never to have suspected a thing. Of course, the house itself was not murderous. Neither was the setting. Buckfield saw its fair share of petty theft, sure, and the strange incident of ’06 where a man claimed to receive death threats from Mars, but cases of serious crime were few and far between. Murder certainly was not to be expected. Especially not involving this particular family who resided in Manorhouse farm circa 1893.

The Winter family were a respectable family of three, one daughter, two parents and a domestic servant who was paid kindly. They visited the village every Saturday, sparing change for root vegetables and home-brewed mead. Their farm was kept by local hands, all of whom spoke fondly of the landowners. That was until the 23rd night of November 1893.

It had been an evening sitting just the wrong side of bonfire night for sparkle and fizz. A chill permeated the air and the maid pulled on her gloves as she set out to gather firewood from the garden. Cornelius Winter entered the orangery. A keen astronomer he simply could not resist peaking at the stars on a clear night. His daughter, Mary, held a disdain towards the hobby a “mere woman” could not understand. She remained in the drawing room, practicing her scales on the grand piano, as her mother listened on, wishing that for once in his life, her husband would listen too.

Then there was a crash.

The women came hurrying. But it was too late.

At eighteen minutes past nine on a normal Thursday evening, Cornelius Winter dropped dead.

Zoe hadn’t found her Uncle’s ghost story of much interest when she was twelve. The Coroner reported an impact to the head. The police suggested a faulty roof tile. The family left and never returned. In her eyes it was a case closed. Worse happened on a Friday night in the city. Fortunately, her Uncle held a grudge. And on Zoe’s thirteenth birthday gifted her the age-appropriate book: ‘murder, mystery and malice, what the history books won’t tell you about Buckfield’. Here the story became far more interesting.

Because the roof tile was never found.

And a quick flick through the Buckfield Press returned a less than picturesque story of the Winter family. Accounts of a father over-indulging in ale, a maid but skin and bone and a daughter screaming bloody murder whenever she was told to act like a “proper woman”. Bitterness. Strife. Resent. It was all brewing under the thin veil of class at Manorhouse farm. Eventually, it had to break.

But by who? And how?

Zoe had to know.

Which brought her to her own investigation numerous years later. And a begrudging partnership with Callum.

The two waded their way up the path, dodging overbearing ferns and nettles that grew high enough to sting Zoe through the rip in her jeans. She wondered whether this path really would lead them to the house. And whether it was visible from space. Between the large mounds of earth and megafauna sprouted on top, Zoe hadn’t even seen a chimney spire in the last half an hour. And when Callum disappeared around the corner, Zoe was convinced she had entered a labyrinth. But then, she followed.

Around the corner, the path immediately opened up. Gorse spread in sheets and brambles crept out from underneath, thin branches interlocking like barbed wire. And what it protected was the dilapidated mansion itself; Manorhouse farm. The building sat like a single brick thrown out a Giant’s castle, lumped onto the landscape with only its two tiny antennae keeping it the right way up. Any exposed brickwork was moth bitten and water stained, rust dripping down the walls like blood from a wound. Vampiric ivy clung to the masonry, winding around the arches of the porch before spilling across the front door where broken bay windows sat miserably either side. Through them, Zoe could just about make out the ceiling collapsing under hefty beams. She pressed closer, rising on her toes, but the spikes were unforgiving.

She fell back, clicking her tongue.

“How exactly are we supposed to get through that?”

Her cousin was nowhere to be seen.

“Callum?”

The house was far more overbearing when it stared at just one. Zoe edged back towards the path, the quiet disconcerting. She peaked back around the corner but there was only grass waving back at her. Tugging on the strings of her hoodie, Zoe began toeing at the gorse, the unhelpful image of a pair of rotting feet slowly manifesting in her mind.

“Here!”

Zoe had to catch her heart when it sprang out her chest. Callum’s face had popped out from nowhere, right in the thick of the brambles.

“What are you doing over there!?”

Callum disappeared again. Zoe could feel the wind on her neck like the breath of a stalker. Then, like a Jack in the box, Callum jumped out again right on the edge of the thicket. He nodded back towards it.

“Path.”

“Right.”

Zoe’s heart had trouble sitting still.

“Come on.”

Zoe frowned. Was this going to be another shin-splitting tetanus gate? Because seeing the house was enough really. Callum could go ahead, how important was evidence to a century old crime? Being amongst nature, that was the real treat. All the fresh air, the peace, the emptiness, the feeling of being watched when no eyes were visible except that of the ghosts trapped inside a murder scene. Zoe miraculously found her feet.

Hurrying up to the boy, Zoe discovered some sort of path, or more accurately, a semi-traversable gap between the gorse. It curved towards the rear of the house and was mined entirely with thistles and thorns. At least none reached past Zoe’s knees. It was not ideal. But equally, it far surpassed the other option of getting shredded to pieces hiking through spiky gorse. Or being left alone. Zoe shuddered. Zipping up her hoodie, she tucked her trouser cuffs firmly into her socks, and proceeded to stamp on any thickets that tried to get in her way.

As it turned out, the back of the house had fared no better against time than the front, ironic for all the dandelion clocks. Overgrown butterfly bushes sprawled higher than the first floor and knotweed was the only lifeform to launch counterattack, leaving behind countless twigging trees that appeared like zombies dragging themselves out the grave. Past the foliage, or lack thereof, Zoe’s eyes were drawn to the shiny shards sticking out the side of the house. Although the glass was cracking, and the wood rotting, Zoe gasped as if witnessing Venus herself. The orangery. The exact scene of the crime. It was there at the end of this golden path.

Zoe stumbled up to the white door. The paint peeled in thin lines and the metal handle was rusted red, but Zoe pulled the sleeve of her hoodie over her hand and attempted to turn it.

“It’s locked.” Said Callum helpfully. Zoe tried forcing it with her shoulder.

“You’ll have to come up here.” He added. Zoe glared at the door. She doubted Fort Knox had better security.

Stamping around the side of the conservatory, Zoe found the weasel in control once again. Callum was balancing on the very tips of his toes on the thin lip of brick that acted like a windowsill. He wasn’t standing still either. The boy eased his way along, poking at each waxy window until one gave with a mighty shriek.

“This one.” He said, sending Zoe a mightily pleased grin. “Just step up here and-”

The boy slipped inside with the ease of a slinky.

Zoe stared at the space he left. Those instructions were… less than par. But she had no choice but to follow them.

Shoving a foot onto the barely-there ledge, Zoe launched herself upwards, catching the open window and immediately losing her footing. Slipping towards the ground, panic struck her like a shot, and she kicked off the sill swinging wide. It was brief respite before she noticed the gleaming of the glass and let out a screech, squeezing her eyes shut just in time to crash through the window like a battering ram.

“Shit!” Callum yelped. Zoe winced at how loud and unblocked his voice was. “Guess that’s one way to do it.”

Zoe tentatively opened her eyes. The entire table was covered in tiny diamonds.

“You okay?”

“Uhh…”

Zoe looked back at the window smirking with its new bite. Those teeth. They were sharp. She curled her toes, rolling her ankles. No pain - luckily. She shuffled around onto her knees, pulling at the frayed fabric of her hoodie to check for cuts. Nothing more than hairline.

“Yes.” She said finally, sitting up straight.

Now, the heat hit Zoe. Like the blast of air expelled from a bag of crisps left out in the sun. It smelt the same too; stale and vaguely reminiscent of potatoes. Though, looking around, Zoe doubted any vegetables were ever grown here as underneath the doming windows and vines dropping through like a jungle canopy there was a telescope. Complete with tableside reading and a dusty velvet stool, it stood proud at the centre of the hexagonal room, painted with gold trim and delicate cursive font. Cornelius Winter’s true love. The cause of his undoing.

Taking Callum’s hand, Zoe picked her way across the bench, avoiding the insect carcasses and dead leaves that lay scattered like blossom of the underworld. Falling more than jumping onto the floor, she hissed out a thanks and let Callum go to poke around the old telescope. What must it have been like? Observing the sky. Cornelius alone, in his study, under the watch of the moon and the stars and the murderer waiting in the dark.

Zoe tugged her sleeves over her hands. In all the fuss getting here, she’d forgotten about the murder. Now, the splotch of blood on the concrete had her immediately wanting to forget. Maybe there was an argument for letting nature take over? Free this place of all its ghosts.

Sufficiently unnerved, Zoe went back to inspecting the room itself. There was something growing– aside from the mould – in the back corner, a fuschia bush, thriving under the abundance of light and water dribbling out a broken pipe. It was almost a comfort to Zoe. As if the incident all those years ago had a bright side. It returned the land back to nature. Set it free from human hands. That was, until Zoe noticed the mattress propped up against the far wall and the bleached magazines stuffed down the back of it.

“Oh nice!”

Zoe jumped. Having almost forgotten Callum was exploring with her, it was a surprise to find the boy, butt in the air, scraping for something on the floor next to the rusted door.

“What!? What’s nice? What’s going on?”

“This.” Callum flipped something shiny into the air and span around. “A coke bottle top. From the 90s.”

“The 90s!?”

Had people really been exploring Manorhouse Farm for that long? Nature didn’t stand a chance.

“Are you sure?”

Callum hummed in affirmation and Zoe moved closer. The red cap was severely rusted, but the swirly logo was unmissable. It was certainly cola, but not quite the same as usual. A bunch of ingredients were printed below and although the stamped-on production number was severely scratched, Zoe could see at least one of the characters being a nine. All the evidence, it pointed somewhere. Zoe took the cap and turned it between her fingers. Some teenager, some twenty years ago, had held this cap too. Had used this place as a hideaway. Or a hangout. Or an exciting adventure they could reminisce about on this future day. Zoe’s stomach went warm.

“Add it to the collection.” She said firmly, placing it back in his hand. Callum’s eyes sparked. He grinned widely, stuffing it into his pocket.

“I’m gonna look for more.”

With that, Callum hurried back to his corner. Zoe watched him a moment, bobbing about the greenhouse making little hisses and whoops as he picked at the seams. She thought of the collection, sitting on the wonky shelf in Callum’s bedroom. It was something to behold. Gnarly old beer tops, outdated sweet wrappers, questionable magazine ads, even an unsteady Homepride man kitted out in black bowler hat and suit found at the back of their gran’s shed. Every time Zoe visited, a little bit more space was taken up. And every time it felt a little less like Zoe’s. Granted, the shelf was in Callum’s room, in his house, but still… when was the last time she’d added to it?

Zoe turned around. There was no use in watching. Callum was far beyond her in terms of collecting. So, she had to find something worthy. Analysing the gaps between the weeds where the stone met the walls, Zoe felt like a hawk stalking it’s prey. A bottle top? But they already had plenty. A dead beetle? She didn’t fancy picking it up. An old crisp packet? It didn’t hold enough presence. She wanted something grabby. A show piece. Something with drama. Perhaps, a vintage murder weapon? The idea hit Zoe like the slap of a recoiling branch. The roof tile. It had to be here.

Zipping about the orangery, Zoe dived under the benches and rifled through vines. She whisked about the telescope and hauled aside the mattress. Nothing but mould and debris. Zoe threw it back with a huff. Then she made a beeline for the fuchsia bush. There was no way a roof tile could have fallen in at this angle, but, given the right throw, a weapon could almost certainly be hidden in the growth.

Zoe dived in.

Immediately she was met with the smell of soil, followed by a sudden hit of memory. It was of the afternoon she spent planting sunflowers with her cousin in her Auntie’s back garden. Dripping with sweat, Zoe had been desperate to finish and watch cartoons. The problem was Callum had been digging for hours. With a spoon. Finally, she’d had enough and waltzed over to yell. But she didn’t even finish the first word as, when she looked over the boys shoulder, Zoe found Callum holding an old Roman coin. Bastard. He had been one-upping her from the start. With renewed vigour, Zoe ploughed forward, snapping twigs and crushing leaves.

The greenery was surprisingly thick. Even squinting didn’t aid Zoe’s view as she buried herself deeper. So, shifting onto her side, Zoe tugged a miniature torch out her jeans pocket. Her uncle had gifted it her before they left with a very strict: ‘don’t come back without a ghost’ and a rather less strict: ruffle of the hair. With a click there was light, and Zoe grinned at the circle, crawling further in at a more leisurely pace. She took time to peek inside a pile of ripped tires, finding criss-crossing spider webs and unfortunate flies. She ran her light along the lines of pebbles. And the gravel that got stuck to her palms. None of it seemed particularly sinister. But, in the back corner, there was something bigger.

“D’you think they were looking at Mars?”

“What?” Zoe flipped around and winced as her hair tangled with the branches. Callum was sitting at the telescope, flicking through the little book on the table beside. He lifted it up to her, pointing to a page she assumed was describing Mars.

“I don’t know, look?” She suggested, leaning back to uncurl her hair from the bush’s spindly grip.

“Oh!” Callum’s face popped with idea before melding into a grin. Dropping the book, he swivelled around, lowering his eye to the lens. Zoe rolled hers, opting to break the branch rather than her hair.

Then, she resumed her investigation.

The ground grew muddier as she crept closer, and she did not enjoy the way the slime slithered between her fingers. But, in the yellow light, the mound was taking form. A tantalising lump of something. Zoe licked her lips.

“Mmm.” Callum’s hum was like an echo in Zoe’s head. “Yeah. That’s totally Mars. Has to be. No doubt. Zoe? You think it’s Mars?”

“I dunno!” Zoe called, dragging herself closer to the dirt pile. There seemed to be something hiding underneath. “Is it red? Wait.”

She stopped and grabbed a handful of leave, ripping her head around to face Callum.

“It’s daytime! There’s no way you can see Mars!”

“Oh shit yeah.” Callum laughed to himself. “Must have been a cloud.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. Stupid Callum, asking inane questions. She had important business to attend to. Namely, playing archaeologist as Zoe had just landed on top of the mud pile and there was definitely something hiding.

Zoe brushed away the dirt.

Underneath was a rock.

It was the colour of charcoal, but the consistency was smooth and undulating. Like someone had smelted it with their thumb. She brought her torch closer, missing how the magnet on its end swayed until it snapped suddenly, attaching itself to the rock. Zoe peeled the magnetic back, testing the field. It was magnetic. So not a rock at all. Zoe grabbed it now. It was cool to touch. Picking up another stone, she tested the weights. The magnetic one was far heavier. Like a lump of metal.

“Hey, Callum?” She called. The bushes rustled. Then a slash of light slapped Zoe in the eyes.

“Yeah?”

Zoe growled. “You trying to blind me?”

Callum had the decency to look sheepish. He offered Zoe a hand and she hauled herself up, fuchsia flowers spilling onto the floor around her.

“Look at this.”

Callum leaned in close enough for his lashes to brush the stone. “What is it, a rock?”

“I think…” Zoe said carefully, a warmth bubbling in her veins. “I think, it might be meteorite.”

Callum’s eyes blew wide. “Whoa!”

She hadn’t really believed it before, but after seeing Callum’s reaction, Zoe’s chest began to ripple with her racing heart. She turned the rock over in the light, observing how the nooks caught against her thumb. A stone from space. That was pretty cool - a decent substitute for a murder weapon. Callum seemed to agree too, if the way his knees were bouncing was anything to go by. Zoe was getting giddy. Deciding it was too much not to share, she went to hand over the rock when she stopped.

There was something stuck to it. Like the remnant of a label on the back of an ornament. Ignoring a crestfallen Callum, Zoe brought the meteorite closer to her face. Scratching at the strange overhanging, Zoe was relieved to find it was not stuck to the rock but rather more suspicious when she realised it was something buried inside. Taking the scrap between her nails she tugged. The remnant became a piece and it grew larger as she pulled, until she was able to catch it between her thumb and forefinger and pull it all the way out. Shifting the stone into the crook of her elbow, she unrolled the scroll, breath hitching as she realised a curling script had been drawn over the paper, all in a bright aqua.

It read: ‘Quit watching us, human.’

Zoe read it again. And again. And a third time as an unease crept into her stomach. She looked over to the corner where the meteorite was hiding. Followed the line back, past the telescope, up to the hole in the roof and beyond to the sky. Mars. That’s what Callum had said. And if this were a meteorite…

“Oh my god.” Zoe breathed, hearing every puzzle piece snap into place. “It was a murder.”

“What!?” Callum jumped back like the thing was a bomb about to go off.

“Manslaughter at the very least.” Zoe muttered, shoving the note and the meteorite into Callum’s un-awaiting hands.

“Cornelius Winter was looking at Mars,” she continued, walking over to the table and sliding the book towards herself. On the open page was a diagram of the planet, instructions for spotting it highlighted and indecipherable scrawl surrounding every line. What was the headline in ’06? Death threats for an astronomer? Zoe felt the eyes watching her again, the breath tickling the hairs on her neck. She didn’t dare look up as she finished her sentence.

“And Mars was looking back.”

#writeblr #short story #original writing #countryside #abandoned house #storytime #story 37

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whispered-villainy · 6 years

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Everything Burns

OPENING: VILLAIN VIDEO LOG - WEEK 5....

VIDEO CORRUPTED....AUDIO AVAILABLE

“Play audio log”

GATHERING DATA....PLAYING

ISAC I wish you would stop informing me that I haven't done my weekly log. So we pushed up through a JTF outpost near DZ01 to our assigned mission and what an experience that was. The Rikers had taken hostages and my team was tasked with recovery and securing said hostages. That's how it would of gone if it wasn't for my seeker mine malfunctioning although if I take it back to base I think I can modify the mines to construct a launch and cause an airburst in the surrounding area but anyway back to the hostages. The Rikers had 5 hostages and there were over 8 contacts. We set up a perimeter, Whisper in a crows nest and wizard pushing to breach with me, we waited for the right moment. We were there for an hour before we had confirmation to engage and JTF support hot on our heels. “villain to whisper respond”

“go for whisper”

“sorry girl but we are taking first action we have too good of an opportunity to miss but if you can take the grenadier on my mark it would be a huge help dear”

“don't have an angle but I can take his bag”

I took a peek around to see if any hostages were near thankfully they were locked in a back room.

“go ahead no marks will be affected”

“wizard can you deploy a flash on this point”

he just gave a nod and waited for his HUD assist to kick in. I turned to see if we had any visitors watching and to warn civilians to leave the area and by the time I looked back his flash charge was in place.

“ok the light show begins in 5...4...3...2...1...detonate charge”

a piercing noise rocked the store front and a dust cloud clinged onto everyone in the store.

“take shots whisper and we will slip in when the detonation happens”

as soon as I said take shots rounds were flying towards the grenade bag we breached and fired upon anyone in the store taking cover in one of the service desks. I threw my seeker mine out but it just started spinning and launched itself into the air and the recovery charge fizzed and the mine lay lifeless as it hit the ground. “mine is a dud kick it away and keep pushing” I vaulted the desk and took shots at the final target. He survived but was badly wounded. I asked politely where the key was and he just handed it over. The JTF task force turned up to escort hostages back to base. I picked up the wounded gang member and applied some healing and zip tied his hands behind his back after searching him and we started to walk him back to base for processing

“so what's your name”

“its Jeb...look I don't get why you are being friendly you killed all my friends”

“look jeb they were not you friends they were companions of circumstance. Now if any of them were your friends say your last goodbyes because they are going to be burnt its standard procedure because they have come into contact with the virus” I left him for a few minutes and he walked over to one of the bodies and apologised, he began weeping and asked if he could take something before we burnt it. I nodded and untied him. He reached into his friends pocket and took a picture and stashed it away.

“right wizard set up a flame perimeter and we will leave it to burn” as we left a turret sparked into life and thermite charges detonated as the bodies began burning. We walked away talking to our new escort mission. He seemed genuinely sorry about what he did and was disheartened to know that his friend wouldn't be there with him.

“how long have you known him” I asked

“about 5 years he was my cellmate in the doghouse I loved him like a brother and now he is gone” he started sobbing again “how am I going to tell his husband”

“don't worry you won't have to I'll do it. It comes with the job you just mourn and think about how you can help us”

after an awkward walk back we passed through the virus checkpoint and we had to lock him up. I asked CPT Benitez to look up what his crime was. It turns out he was in for minor theft. I asked him about it and it was just to feed his baby son after his wife had passed and while in prison his son had passed away due to poor care in the system. Its like some people just can not catch a break. Villain signing off

END OF VIDEO LOG...PROCESSING....

OPENING: VILLAIN VIDEO LOG - WEEK 5 FINAL REPORT

So we have released Jeb from custody and his previous trade was working in a big bank coding there algorithms so we sent him to Paul Rhodes and he seems to be fitting in you know i’m glad some stories don't have a horrible ending. File report report for week 5 of activation. Villain signing off.

END OF VIDEO LOG...PROCESSING....

FILED REPORT FOR WEEK 5....

LOGGING OFF...

#villain #Everything Burns #Stories from the Abandoned #tom clancy the division

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stories-and-chaos · 12 days

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Tarnished pt 26

[Helluva Boss AU where Blitzø’s childhood theft from Stolas’ palace is discovered and major consequences ensue for everyone involved.]

[Part 26/?? Word count: 1575 Cw: language, mention of drug abuse]

—————

There was an extended silence as Blitzø absorbed this information. “Ohshitohshitohshit, what the fuck do I do, are you girls sure, holy fucking shit I wasn’t even sure she was alive.” Blitzø dropped his burger and grabbed the sides of his head. His eyes went huge as he stared into nothing. “You’re absolutely sure it’s her?”

Dina nodded. “Pretty sure. If it weren’t for the horns I’d have thought you snuck into my group.”

“She sounds like you too. Never thought I’d hear someone else cuss like that, besides you,” Loona added. “I heard her checking in, said her name’s ‘Barb Buckzo.’”

Blitzø stood up, still not really seeing anything. “Fucknuggets, that’s gotta be her. I haven’t seen her in decades. She might not even remember me now, we were just kids…” He gripped the back of his chair, claws making scrapes in the finish. “Wait… if she’s in your group therapy Dina…”

Dina took a sip of drink before answering. “Yeah. Sounds like she’s been through some shit. And um,” she hesitated before continuing what she wanted to say, “she mentioned her brother during the session. But…it wasn’t anything good Dad.”

He took a deep breath. “I think I can handle it.” Whatever Barb had said about him couldn’t be worse than the other crap that had happened in his life, right?

“She said her twin was a ‘traitorous royal cocksucker’ and that he ‘abandoned his family to be a rich boy’s pet as soon as he could.’” Seeing Blitzø stiffen as if he’d been struck made her wish she hadn’t said anything.

Hearing what Barb thought of him, it made the bottom drop out of his world. He hadn’t expected her to be thrilled with him, but this level of animosity wasn’t expected. What in the Seven Rings had Cash told everyone? Was that why Fizz never responded to his mail?

Did his mom hate him too?

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything-“ Dina started desperately apologizing. The imp cut her off.

“Not your fault Di. You warned me too.” He shook his head harshly. “I- I gotta get out for a bit. I’ll be back later girls.” He scooped up his phone and keys as he dashed out the door.

Loona opened a window to yell at him, “No driving the accident-mobile Dad!” He’d been about to hop in the van; instead he slammed the door shut. “Goddammit Loonie, FINE!” He jammed his hands into his coat pockets and walked off into the darkening night.

Dina, still at the table, was hunched down with her ears laid back. “Loona? Is everything gonna be okay? Feels like we shouldn’t have said anything.”

Her sister plopped back into her seat. “Nah, Blitzø is always kind of a mess. He thinks he’s a hot mess. He’ll be back.” She ran her hand through her hair and tossed a fry into her mouth. “I know I wouldn’t have been able to keep quiet about all this shit. And he’s such a busybody that he’d keep prying until we blew up at him.” Dina sighed and they finished the meal in silence.

Loona cleaned up the dishes while Dina put away the leftovers. They each took a side of the couch but left the television off. Instead they chatted about a web novel Dina had started reading while at rehab. Loona was catching up on it now and the sisters enjoyed discussing the plot and characters.

Neither of them wanted to head to bed until Blitzø got back. Dina mentioned that she almost felt like the parent right now, waiting for their kid to come home. The hours crept by with no sign of the imp. Just in case, Loona sent a text to Stolas. She didn’t go into details but let the prince know Blitzø had left the apartment upset.

Stolas replied that Blitzø wasn’t with him and not to worry unless he wasn’t back by morning. That wasn’t terribly reassuring for the Hellhounds.

Both girls ended up falling asleep on the couch before Blitzø stumbled back in around two in the morning. He was drunk and had gotten into some sort of fight. The lights were mostly off so he didn’t see the pair on the couch. Neither hound woke up; not even when he flopped on top of them.

Dimly, Blitzø realized the couch was both lumpier and fuzzier than normal. Those facts didn’t really stick with him as he passed out.

—————

In Sloth, Barb got back to her dormitory. She was staying at a sober living facility for now. She didn’t really have any place else to be or anyone to be with. Most of her friends were addicts and none were trying to get clean. Barb knew if she spent any time with her current circle of acquaintances, she’d be right back to square one.

The imp didn’t know who was footing the bill for her rehab. When she’d gotten sober enough to question the money situation, she was politely informed that an anonymous donor was taking care of it. While that was suspicious, she wasn’t in a position to question it. And what would she do otherwise? If she insisted on paying herself, she’d be neck deep in debt or kicked out.

Barb was suspicious, but not stupid. If this demon wanted to pay for her recovery, let ‘em. If they came looking to collect later, she’d deal with it then. At least she’d be sober for whatever came her way.

She had been thinking about who it could be. Not Mammon, that was for damn sure. Maybe Fizz? But she was pretty sure he hated her guts now. Cash wouldn’t be; she hadn’t been able to find out if her father survived the fire. If he had, he’d disappeared. Not likely he’d be paying for her medical bills if he was alive.

Her mom… Barb gripped the choker that she wore, that had been Tilly’s. Her mom would have.

Maybe one or more of the hospital staff she’d interacted with during Fizz’s recovery all those years ago? That was a long shot.

Blitzo? She snorted to herself at the thought. The jackass and his douche prince would have the money, but her twin had shown how much he cared decades ago. He didn’t even know she was still kicking, from what she remembered of the mail he sent Fizz.

There were other demons she’d encountered over the years. She’d worked odd jobs to fund her habit, with the legality of said jobs being questionable. She didn’t think she had made a good enough impression on anyone to warrant this however.

It gave her a headache to keep thinking about it and without more information, she didn’t have enough to figure it out. Scrolling her phone, she pulled up the pics she’d sneakily taken earlier. The Hellhounds she’d encountered at group therapy.

Barb had snapped at the first girl for staring. At the moment she’d brushed the girl looking at her so intently as listening in to her rant. Then she saw the other young Hound woman in the meeting room. Dina, as she learned at the introduction round, tried to hide looking at Barb. But the imp kept feeling her glancing over during the session.

After they broke apart for the day, Dina trotted up to the Hound in the waiting area. Seeing them side by side, it was obvious they were siblings and maybe even littermates. The only difference between them was height and hair length. The pair was very much trying to not look at Barb. The imp’s spines were raised and she glared at them before heading towards the dorms.

But she doubled back once she was sure the girls weren’t following her. She caught glimpses of them as they walked away. Then the girls slipped into a space between two buildings and Barb saw colored lights glow from the gap. She ran to the spot as the glow faded.

No sign of either Hellhound. A portal? For a couple Hounds? Most magick wielding demons were royalty or working for royalty. Imps, Hellhounds, and Hellborn in general didn’t have much to do with magick. Succubi on assignment to Earth used portals and illusions.

Whoever these girls were, they likely had a connection with blue bloods. And they were interested in her. Barb doubted they were connected with who was funding her therapy. Both Hounds seemed like they didn’t expect to see her. Like they couldn’t believe their eyes.

She scribbled down her thoughts in a notebook she kept in her room. Maybe because of the years of drug abuse, but she had difficulty keeping track of things. She was getting in the habit of writing down whatever was on her mind, since her notebook had a better memory than she did. During the day, Barb typed stuff into a notepad app on her phone, then reviewed it at night.

She was not up for any fancy journaling. No decorated grids, stickers, different color pens and fancy tape between entries. The words were lucky if she followed the lines on the page. Anything particularly important got circled or highlighted so she could find it easily as she flipped through the pages.

The Hellhound girls were an odd enough occurrence that she circled and highlighted her bullet list about them. If Dina was still in her group next time, she could try to find out more.

—————

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#helluva fanfiction #helluva blitzo #helluva boss #helluva au #blitzø #blitzo #helluva loona #barbie wire

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latetovarricsparty · 7 years

Text

The Day They Fought the Arishok

Jerrika Hawke (Purple Rogue)

About 3800 words

“That one shall not rise again,” Fenris mumbled to himself as he cut down the last Ashaad. It had all come down to this. Hawke had tried to use reason, but the Arishok would not hear it. The Qunari, well aware that if anyone was capable of finding the relic it was Hawke, had used the theft as a convenient excuse.

Hawke! Fenris whirled around, somehow he had lost track of her. How had they become separated? The tide of the battle had pulled her from him. They were unbeatable when they stayed together. Engaging an enemy side by side, Hawke would slip behind the target and backstab while Fenris attacked head on. Varric and Merrill stayed at the periphery, raining down arrows and fire. While Fenris did not care for the little witch, he could not deny her efficiency.

He looked over the railing and saw the Arishok on his back on the stairs, bleeding profusely from a wound in his side, Jerrika standing over him. No surprise really, except that she was holding only one dagger. Her offhand weapon was lying on the stairs nearby. Hawke couldn’t have simply dropped it. She had either been dead-armed or the blade had been forced from her grasp. Fenris ran along the railing headed for the stairs, never taking his eyes from them. Hawke’s braid was disheveled and she was bleeding, most notably from a small cut on her right temple. The blood pasted white hair to the side of her face. Her skin pale against the facial tattoos. The Arishok was reaching for the discarded dagger. “We will return,” he rumbled.

“And I will still be here,” Hawke responded. It was the voice of bravado. With Jerrika, only Fenris and Varric could tell the difference between courage and anxiety. This was the latter, even though it seemed that she stood victorious. Fenris reached the stairs. He glanced at his feet for half a heart beat, so as not to fall, and almost missed the whole thing. As Hawke stepped forward to deal the killing blow, the Arishok managed to get his hand around the blade of the weapon on the stairs. He gripped it tightly, thumb against the hilt, blood oozing between his fingers, and bent his arm to stab Hawke with the point as she moved forward. In the close quarters and the odd angle the dagger tip raked diagonally across her left breast, slicing leather and flesh. As Hawke plunged her knife into the Arishok’s neck the tip of the weapon he held slipped between her last two ribs. Blood gouted from the Qunari’s neck. Quickly she pushed a knee against the Arishok's chest and rolled away rather than falling on the blade.

Fenris fell to his knees next to her. Her leathers were torn on the left side of her chest. Fenris couldn’t tell how much of the blood covering Hawke was hers and how much belonged to the Arishok. A slash had opened from the soft spot below her left shoulder in a diagonal toward her core. It wasn’t deep. He pressed his left hand as hard as he dared against the worse of the wound, the puncture just below her breast, and started frantically biting at the knot on the scarf around his right wrist. He needed something to staunch the blood. The knot wouldn’t loosen and he felt himself starting to panic, then Varric was there with a bandage. Vaguely he heard Merrill say that Aveline had gone to find Anders when she realized the Qunari were not going to see reason. “I told her I would go,” Merrill said as she packed the wound as well as she could, “but she said I’d be more use here.”

“I don’t want Anders near her!” Fenris snapped.

“Easy, Prickles, he might be a loose cannon but he’s the best healer in Kirkwall, and he knows Hawke.” Varric was holding Jerrika’s hand tightly.

Hawke’s eyes fluttered open, She was breathing shallowly, “Shit” she said, taking a small gulp of air, “did I just let that bastard kill me with my own blade?” That bravado again. Fenris stole a quick glance at Varric and read the same thing in his eyes. Hawke was very scared.

“You are not going to die,” Fenris stated flatly. He was sick to his stomach. Blood had never bothered him. Except this was Hawke’s blood. He felt like it was pouring from his own chest.

“That’s good,” Jerrika smiled weakly, “who would look after the lot of you?” she took a little of the potion Merrill was trying to get her to drink, ”Can we go home now?”

“Soon, Hawke,” said Merrill, “First drink the rest of this. It will help, I promise”

“We need to move her,” Varric said. A mob of people had started pouring through the doors, “Now. The viscount’s quarters are closest.”

Fenris leaned over and spoke quietly to Hawke, “I’m going to pick you up and carry you.” She nodded vaguely, “It’s going to hurt.” Jerrika nodded again. With the help of Varric and Merrill, Fenris got to his feet with Hawke in his arms. Hawke gritted her teeth, but didn’t make a sound.

Varric lead the way out of the throne room. The people parted before them. Fenris heard them whispering. He felt uncomfortable, on display. He didn’t want them to see Hawke so vulnerable. The fact that he was still a fugitive was secondary. Fenris held his head high and looked straight ahead to the doors of the viscount’s rooms. “Tell Anders,” Hawke murmured. Fenris wasn’t sure he had heard right. She was thinking of Anders? Now? “The blade,” Jerrika took a labored breath, “poisoned.” A cold sweat broke over Fenris. “Varric knows,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Anders and Aveline came running through the door of the viscount’s bedchamber just as Fenris laid Hawke down on the bed. Merrill removed the soaked bandage and replaced it quickly with a clean one. “Varric,” Fenris said, “poison - on the blade.”

“Andraste’s ass-cheeks, she learned that from Isabela,” said Varric, one hand wrapped protectively around Hawke’s ankle. He turned to Anders, “I told her not to use that shit. It won’t kill her outright but it will make the wounds harder to close.”

“I understand,” Anders said, “Fenris, wait outside.” It was an order.

Fenris didn’t bother hiding his distaste for the mage, “No, I’m not leaving her,” he was clutching her hand.

“Fenris,” Hawke said, barely audible. More shallow breaths, “it’s all right. I’ll be all right.” Her face was so pale. She looked fragile. It was the last word he would ever use to describe Hawke.

Fenris leaned over and kissed her forehead, the alchemy of his lips against her skin fizzed along his markings, “I-” am so scared, please can we go back, I promise I’ll be there in time, “am yours,” he said softly in her ear.

There was a commotion all around him. Servants, summoned from Maker knew where, came in with clean linens and warm water. Anders gave swift instructions to Merrill, handed her a blue bottle. Aveline took Fenris by the shoulders and moved him to the door. “Come on then, let Anders take care of her.” Fenris held Hawke’s gaze until the door closed between them.

Out in the viscount’s sitting room Varric, Aveline and Fenris were at a momentary loss. They heard the door lock behind them. Fenris turned and tried the handle, when the door didn’t open, he leaned his forehead against the wood. They heard a groan of pain and hushed voices through the door. Fenris turned his back to the sounds and slid down to sit on the threshold legs bent, his wrists on his knees. He was spattered face and chest, gauntlets gory, with blood. Qunari, Hawke’s, his own - he didn’t even know. Fenris closed his eyes. He was afraid to lose control in front of the others. Aveline, ever practical, turned to Varric, “Keep an eye on Fenris. I’ll go find someone to help clean him up and I’ll retrieve the discarded weapons from the throne room.”

Varric flagged down a servant and asked for some wine, then fell into a chair by the fire. He wanted something stronger, but was afraid that once he and Prickles got going, they wouldn’t be able to stop. “She going to be fine,” Varric said, as much to convince himself as to reassure Fenris, “Anders knows what he’s doing.”

Fenris said nothing. He knew as well as Varric did that Hawke didn’t wholly trust the mage. Hawke had been horribly shaken by a recent incident when Vengeance had taken over Anders and he had killed a young mage named Ella. Fenris had counselled her to disassociate herself from Anders completely. But Varric, with his uncanny ability to get along with everyone, had suggested it would be easier to keep an eye on the healer if he remained part of the group. Hawke had taken Varric’s advice.

Fenris didn’t take it personally. Despite her sarcasm, her hard edges, no one could deny she had a big heart. She had tried to be understanding of Anders and his demon right from the start. Either way, Anders was a gifted healer and that was the most important thing now.

Two servants entered the room. One set down a tray of goblets and a bottle of wine. “We are going to need at least one more of these,” Varric said, taking the bottle. The other servant had a small stack of linens and a washbowl. She saw Fenris sitting on the floor, covered in blood, and found herself at a loss. The elf needed a bath and a change of clothes.

Just then Sebastian came into the room. “I came as soon as I heard,” he said, “I was praying the Arishok would be reasonable. Now I see I should have been at Hawke’s side in case he was not.” Fenris found himself oddly grateful for Starkhaven’s presence. Sebastian treated everyone as an equal. Everyone. An admirable trait in a prince. ”How is she?” Sebastian asked.

“Alive,” said Varric over the glass in his hand, “Anders and Merrill are in there with her now. They threw us out….Care for a drink?”

Sebastian bade the servant to wait. Then knelt next to Fenris. “My friend, is any of this blood your own?”

Fenris shook his head wearily, “I don't know.”

“We must get you cleaned up, in case you are injured. May I start with your gauntlets?” Fenris instinctively pulled away, but Sebastian gently placed a hand on his wrist. “Look at yourself a moment, Fenris. If you go to Hawke like this, you will frighten her.” He paused, caught Fenris’ gaze with keen blue eyes, “I will not touch you.” Sebastian’s voice was low and calming.

Fenris looked at his hands. A drop of blood fell to the carpet. His breast plate wasn’t much better. Fenris allowed Sebastian to remove the red scarf. “This token is important to the two of you, I know,” Sebastian said. Then he took the gauntlets and handed them to the servant, “Take these and get them as clean as you can as quick as you can. My friend is uncomfortable without them,” Sebastian took a towel and dipped it in the washbowl, “and if you could bring us more water, we would much appreciate it.”

Sebastian knelt beside Fenris again and handed him the cloth. It came away from Fenris’ face and neck smeared pink, but he felt marginally better. “Can you stand?” Sebastian asked. It was not a jibe. Just honest concern. “I would like to assure myself that you are not injured.”

Fenris allowed Sebastian to take charge. Before he knew it, he found himself passably clean, gauntlets shining, a bandage around his right tricep, and sitting on a couch near the fire with a bottle of wine in his hand. He refused a goblet. Fenris allowed his focus to drift in and out, picking up only the most important pieces of conversation. Hawke was being referred to as Champion of Kirkwall. The viscount’s staff had readied rooms in the Keep for all the Champion’s companions to stay close to her as she recovered. There was talk of making Jerrika Hawke viscount. Food was provided in the dining room, if they wanted to eat. He didn’t. He just wanted to see Hawke.

Varric and Aveline left Sebastian and Fenris alone in search of food. Sebastian sat quietly, giving Fenris his space but unwilling to leave him alone.

“I don't know what I will do,” Fenris’ voice was just above a whisper, “if I lose her.”

“You must have faith, my friend. Hawke will live.” Sebastian replied.

“I don’t think I have that much faith.”

“Perhaps I have enough for us both.”

Sebastian was about to say more but just then the door opened. With almost supernatural speed Fenris moved from his spot by the fire and met Anders on the threshold. “Is she alright?” Fenris asked desperately, trying to look into the room..

“She will pull through, I think. But she will be permanently scarred.” Anders put a hand on Fenris’ chest to block him from entering the bedchamber, “She’s asleep now. Magical sleep. Hawke doesn’t need you.”

“Remove your hand, Mage.” Fenris said between gritted teeth, “You survive in Kirkwall only under Hawke’s protection. If she dies-”

“Let me guess,” Anders was smug, trying to provoke Fenris as he so loved to do, “You’ll rip my heart out.”

Instead of allowing Anders to get under his skin, Fenris changed tack. “I will bring the Templars to your lair,” Fenris said evenly, “and I will find some way to ensure that you are made Tranquil.” Real fear flickered behind Anders’ eyes.

“Gentlemen,” said Sebastian, “this does nothing to help Hawke.” Sebastian gripped Anders arm firmly and guided him towards the outer door. “Anders, you must be tired. Hungry perhaps? The others are in the dining room.” Fenris slipped into the bedchamber.

Hawke lay in the center of the huge bed, bare arms and shoulders outside the blankets. Her left hand was bandaged as was the cut on her forehead. All the healing energy had gone into saving her. There was a shimmer around her, a silvery light. Merrill rose from the chair next to Hawke and stopped Fenris from coming any closer. “Fenris,” she said, “you must listen to me.” she looked up at him but he was staring at Hawke, “She is in a state of magical Stasis. The damage was very bad. The knife made a little hole in her lung and the poison made it difficult to close. Anders and I could only do so much without resting.” Merrill knew he was hearing her, but was he listening? “This way she can start to heal. Fenris. The scars. They are bad. Her left breast….she’ll never look the same again.”

“I don’t care about that,” Fenris was confused, “As long as she’s alive. The scars are not important.”

“She might disagree.” Merrill said in that odd, knowing way that she had. But Fenris started to move past her to get to Hawke. “Wait!” Merrill nearly shouted. Fenris stopped. “You can’t touch her,” quieter now, “you’ll break the spell. It might kill her.”

“Can she hear me?’ Fenris asked, plaintively.

“I don’t know. But if you want to stay with her, I’ll go rest a bit.”

Fenris nodded his head and Merrill stepped toward the door, “Merrill,” Fenris said, “Thank you.”

“For saving Hawke? That had nothing to do with you. Or Anders. I love her too,” said Merrill, closing the door behind her.

Fenris locked the door behind her. He knew that someone out there would eventually find a key, but for now Fenris could stay with Jerrika, watch her breathe. Assure himself that she was going to wake up. Instead of sitting in the chair, he very carefully lay down on the edge of the bed on his side, facing her. He wanted to hold her hand, but knew he couldn’t. Fenris could feel the magical field that protected Hawke crackling against his markings, heightening the dull ache, and he wondered if it was the lyrium in his skin that posed the danger to her.

“I’m here, Hawke. I don’t know if you can hear me. But I am here.” Fenris felt himself tearing up. If she could hear him, there was no reason to make matters worse. Fenris took a deep breath. “I am sorry I wasn’t there in time. It will never happen again.” There was no indication that she knew he was there. “Can you imagine the story Varric is going to make out of this? He’ll be telling everyone that you won Kirkwall’s freedom by challenging the Arishok to single combat. He knows I speak the Qun. Perhaps he will cast me in the role of negotiator.” He chuckled. “We will laugh about this later. I promise.”

He was exhausted, and as he watched her slowly breathing, he started to doze. He didn’t want to waste this time with her. Anders would have him leave as soon as the others would allow.

Jerrika had told him, That Night, how much she loved the sound of his voice. So he started to talk. “I keep going over the battle, Hawke. I keep trying to find the moment when I let my guard down. When I let you down. How did we get separated? It is no use. You are nothing if not your own woman. And you are a more than capable fighter. You just saw an opportunity and decided to take the Arishok on your own. I’m supposed to have your back. I failed. Now you hold onto your life by the grace of a madman and a blood mage. And I feel helpless.”

Fenris watched her for a little while. There were things he wanted to tell her. So many things. He owed Hawke an explanation. Leaving her had been so hard. As his thoughts meandered, it occurred to Fenris that Sebastian and Merrill seemed to simply accept as fact the idea that he and Hawke would work things out and be together again. Sebastian had treated Hawke’s relationship to Fenris with unquestioning respect and Merrill had warned him of Hawke’s new scars. “I will be a lucky man if you care enough and are patient enough to wait for me to rid myself of this anger, this hate, I feel for Danarius.” Fenris was hesitant to continue. What if she could hear him? “I am yours. Always. But until I resolve my feelings about the things that were done to me and value myself. I cannot ask you to value me.”

And yet she already did. Hawke did value him. The mere thought filled him with a suffocating mix of joy and anxiety. He did not know what he could have ever done to make her care for him. He was afraid he might never be enough for her. That he would let her down again. He showed her everyday in the only ways he knew how that she was important to him. That he - it was hard to admit even in the privacy of his own thoughts - couldn’t stand the thought of being without her. Wasn’t that in itself a weakness? He’d never allowed himself to be weak.

Fenris’ thoughts were attacking him, “I’m doing the best that I can,” he whispered. Then Fenris did what he always did when his heart felt squeezed and his mind was tangled. He gripped the scarf around his wrist and let himself fall asleep.

#Fenris #Hawke #femhawke #fanfiction #sebastian

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suckitsurveys · 7 years

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1. Have you ever seen two movies at the theater in a row? I think so.

2. If you were to go to Starbucks right this second, what do you think you’d order? A venti green tea latte.

3. Do you own any dice? I do. I have purple polyhedral dice from my brief stint in D&D life. I hung onto them because I think they are pretty neat just to have, but now the are just sitting in a drawer somewhere. I literally haven’t touched them in 7 years. 4. Do you like to wear cardigans? Sure.

5. If I were to ask you nicely, would you please consider making a survey for me and everyone else? I’ve done it before. Maybe @tapiooocasurveys and I could collaborate and come up with a good one.

6. What is the worst thing a child has ever done to you while you were babysitting? I mean, nothing too crazy, but my niece drew on the walls when I was babysitting her once. That’s really the worst thing I could think of besides like, vomit and poop stories, which aren’t really their fault.

7. If you wear contacts, do they tend to get really dry after only wearing them for just a couple hours? Yeah, which is why I don’t wear them often.

8. Have you ever watched any British television shows? Fawlty Towers comes to mind.

9. Do you own a nightgown? Nope. GAH this question reminds me of this girl who used to take surveys in the LiveJournal community who was stuck in the 1950′s with her shitty world view and was like openly racist. Almost every time a survey asked what she was wearing she would answer with “a nightgown” which always made me think of her in like this long cottony grandma nightgown because I’m pretty sure she was actually an 80 year old woman and now I can’t get it out of my head GAH.

10. If you could get any pet right now, what would you? More kitties please.

11. Have you played Grand Theft Auto: IV? If so, what do you think of it? I haven’t.

12. How often does your internet disconnect? WAY TOO MUCH.

13. Have you ever actually been stuffed into a locker? I’ve voluntarily gotten into one before.

14. Do you / did you decorate the inside of your locker at school with stuff? I did! I always had pictures and stuff in there.

15. How many teenagers do you know who have babies? None currently.

16. Is there a fan in the room you’re in right now? Yes, there are a few.

17. Do you believe that chivalry is really dead? Whatever, just fucking be nice to everyone.

18. If you have one, what’s your favorite novel by Chuck Palahniuk? I’ve never read anything by Chuck Palahniuk.

19. Do you get your surveys from your subscriptions page or do you actually go to specific sites and search for them? I mostly get them from Kayla since she seems to find them before I do, which makes me a little upset because I want her to comment on my answers like I do with hers sometimes! Haha.

20. How much is your cell phone bill each month? I have no idea oops.

21. And why the heck is Cingular now AT&T? Wow this is old.

22. Have you ever made a house out of a giant cardboard box? Yes.

23. Have you ever made a tent out of sheets in your bedroom? Yup.

24. What’s the coolest thing you’ve made with Legos? I have no idea.

25. When you make a survey, do you answer your own questions? Of course.

26. If you could keep your parents or trade them for other parents, which would you pick? Nope.

27. Do kiwis make you think of testicles or is it just me? Sure.

28. Do you think it’s cool how peroxide gets all fizzy when you put it on a cut? It’s kind of neat, sure. Apparently the fizz means it’s killing germs and that appeals to me.

29. Is there a piggy bank in the room you’re in? Nope.

30. If I had to power to give you one thing right now, what would it be? Money.

31. Do you want to get pregnant right now? I want to get pregnant NEVER thank you.

32. Do you know anyone who doesn’t like the internet? I don’t know.

33. Do your grandparents know how to operate a cell phone? Good lord no. She has one but definitely cannot use it without help which kind of defeats the purpose of her having one.

34. Have you ever housed a friend for a long period of time because they had no place to live? I haven’t.

35. If you have a favorite comedian, have they ever been in a movie? Yeah, he’s been in a few.

36. How many sets of twins do you know? I know one set on a personal level; my cousin who does my hair and her sister. There’s another set in my family that we never see, and I know a set I went to school with. I wish I knew more tbh!

37. Has anyone ever made fun of you for using proper grammar? No.

38. Do you own any hemp jewelry? I do.

39. Have you ever cut carpet with a carpet cutter? What.

40. Are there any books you want to read? I want to read the book Kayla got me whose name is escaping me right now. I also would love to re-read all the Ramona Quimby books for fun.

41. Is it before of after 3 pm? Before.

42. If you have younger siblings, are you very protective of them? --

43. If you have older siblings, are they very protective of you? Ugh, my sister is very protective of me and I dislike it A LOT. She tries to protect me from too much and she like, thinks she has to be my mom since our passed. I don’t like it. It’s a weird feeling because when I was younger I looked up to her SO MUCH and wanted her advice on everything and trusted her judgement but ever since she got together with that fucking asshole, I have started to realize she’s not always right about everything and it’s kind of upsetting because that’s my sister and I love her but she needs to not try to be my mother.

44. What are your plans for New Year’s Eve? Mark and I were in Holland, MI.

45. Would you like a beer? Sure.

#surveys

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jorgemiroslavjarasalas · 5 years

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Jorge Miroslav Jara Salas: Wine News: What I’m Reading the Week of 9/23/18

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09.25.2018

Welcome to my weekly roundup of the wine stories that I find of interest on the web. I post them to my magazine on on Flipboard, but for those of you who aren’t Flipboard inclined, here’s everything I’ve strained out of the wine-related muck for the week.

The Wine Industry Doesn’t Have An Education Problem, We Have An Engagement Problem Paul has interesting thoughts, as always.

The other Sadies Quality runs in the family, says Jancis.

New Rioja Classification ‘Isn’t Strict Enough’ Progress, but not enough for some.

In Italy, debate over copper fungicide grows increasingly ugly Sparks flying, says Jeremy Parzen.

Large Wineries Are Rejecting Smoke Exposed Lake and Mendocino County Grapes A class action lawsuit waiting to happen, some say.

Running the Numbers on Rudy’s Fake Wines Lots and lots and lots, but maybe not as much as some say.

Napa is Luring French Winemakers to Leave the Old World Sara Schneider makes a partial inventory.

Red Mountain’s Wine of the Future Blake Gray dishes on an interesting project.

Tasting Room Encounters Gone Horribly Wrong The horror. The horror.

Argentina’s White Wine Revolution When was the last time you had an Argentinian Riesling?

The Prestige of Pre-Phylloxera Vines Treasures you can taste.

Japan’s Oldest Winemaker Readies for European Grape Onslaught Ready for the rise of Koshu?

Sicily – A Wine Region That’s An Island Apart Tom Hyland reports.

Welcome to Paris’s Delicious, Wine-Soaked, Never-Ending Block Party Sounds like fun!

Never Heard of Bolivian Wine? That May Be About to Change Definitely on the bucket list.

Oregon moves to protect wine from false out-of-state labels Now the politicians are involved.

Is the Term “Natural Wine” Still Useful? Never was.

The Science Behind Decanting Wine Rémy Charest lets the ideas swirl.

Female Winemakers are Making Waves Michelle Williams talks with winemakers at TexSom

Felton Road: Biodynamics Takes Seven Years to be Reflected in Vineyard Anything good is worth waiting for.

The scent of money Robert Joseph has a point of view, as always.

American Saké Takes Flight But it doesn’t need a diacritical to do so.

Wine grapes become alternative crop in dry conditions Wine, not cotton!

Wine heads further north This conference brought to you by…climate change.

Creating an international language of wine A very interesting article.

Tracing the Origin Story of Grower Champagne David White digs into the history of Farmer Fizz.

The Art of Winemaking on the Cheap John Lockwood gets some well deserved press.

At Petaluma Gap, California’s newest American Viticultural Area, wind defines the wine Linda Murphy reports.

The Secret World of Hollywood Wine Clubs Famous friends getting together for wine.

How Hollywood’s Top Real Estate Agents Lure Buyers With Wine Throw in a bottle of DRC.

Turning Wastewater into Wine in Valle de Guadalupe Matt Kettman reports.

A wine blend: Washington state vineyard to aid Montgomery County’s Firefly after theft Kindness across the continent.

The Contents of Your Wine Glass Reconsidered Pour yourself some story.

Did winemaker Joe Wagner misrepresent where his Oregon Pinot Noirs came from? Ah the wild world of wine marketing.

The truth about animal-free wines Jancis educates on vegan wines.

A Wine Poured from Napa’s Longest-Growing Region Sara Schneider on Mayacamas.

The Two Unsung Grapes Putting Virginia Wine on the Map An interesting duo.

Father-Son Duo Turns Ruined Grapes Into Tasty Aid For Napa Fire Victims Brilliant idea.

American Wine Importers That Changed the Game: Part 1 Kelli White does some digging in history.

The Mondavi and McCrea families continue the legacies in California wine Bill Ward shares some history.

Elevating Expectations in Washington State Sean Sullivan watches the elevation.

To learn about wine, drink it — but there are other ways, too But drinking is the most fun.

A Beginner’s Guide to Natural Wine All over the place

Why Wines of Bulgaria, Romania and Moldova Are A Hot Topic Eminently affordable if you can find them.

Beware: Wine Fraud is More Common Than You Think T&C Profiles Maureen Downey.

There’s a Line Forming for La Pelle, Napa’s Newest Label Sara Schneider introduces a new addition.

Cyprus toasts harvest of the ‘wine of gods’ The famous Commandaria.

Posted by: Alder on September 25, 2018 6:57 PM

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stories-and-chaos · 19 days

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Tarnished pt 24

[Helluva Boss AU where Blitzø’s childhood theft from Stolas’ palace is discovered and major consequences ensue for everyone involved.]

[Part 24/?? Word count: 2128]

[Cw: drug use, addiction, overdose, gaslighting]

—————

Fizzarolli was in process of moving his things to Lust. Ozzie was letting him stay in his palace until he got his own place. But the Sin made it clear he was welcome to be a long term resident. Fizz hadn’t decided yet, but the advantages were hard to ignore.

Not to mention, being in Asmodeus’ presence was…amazing. He told himself it was because the sex was so fucking good. While it was true the size of the boat didn’t matter as much as the motion of the ocean, having access to a luxury mega-yacht was just fucking fun. But regular bang sessions didn’t mean compatibility living together. Best to see how things went for a few weeks first.

Before that, he wanted to talk to Barb again. He’d been so busy, running around for Mammon. It had been over a week since that disastrous talk. Fizz belatedly realized she’d probably been high at the time. Likely she’d misunderstood what he’d tried to say and he needed to set things straight before it was too late.

But when he went to her studio apartment, she wasn’t there. Instead a quartet of imps that barely came up to his knees were. The studio wasn’t large by any means but for demons this small, it was probably palatial. They’d set it up as a sort of dormitory within the week since he’d been here last. And none of them had any clue about the previous tenant.

Now he was worried. Unfortunately, he didn’t know any of her current haunts. He had no clue of who she was getting her drug supply from either. Fizz had steered clear of the criminal side of Greed as much as possible; thinking back, Barb had encouraged that. Maybe to protect him, maybe to keep him away from her vices.

If she’d shown up to work at Mammon’s office building… even though it was his day off, he went over. But the office that Barb used was a repeat of her apartment. An unfamiliar imp was at the desk, sorting through the stacks of fan mail. “Oh, Mr. Fizzarolli! We weren’t expecting you in today.”

“Who the fuck are you? Where’s Barb?”

The male imp didn’t even flinch at Fizz’s hostility. “I’m Alphonse, you’re new assistant. Call me Alph. As for your former assistant, I’ll let Lord Mammon explain.” He dialed a number to inform the Sin and directed Fizz to the boss’s office.

“Fizzy my boy! Didn’t think you were coming today. Ya lookin’ pretty worked up, what’s got your balls in a twist?” Mammon looked as jovial as ever, with a scheming glint in his eyes.

“Where’s Barb? What the hell is going on?” Fizz demanded, his tone still hostile due to fear and frustration. “Did you do something to her?” he remembered Mammon’s disapproval with friend at his contest win.

“Whoa ho ho! Relax Fizzy, I ain’t done nothing!” He held up all his hands in an attempt to placate the imp. “Here, lemme show ya.” Mammon spun his computer monitor around and pulled up a clip of security footage. It was the main doors of the building and Barb was standing in front. Even through the grainy footage, he could see the angry tension in her body.

Then he watched as she picked up rocks and flung them with scary accuracy at the doors. He knew rocks wouldn’t break them, but her screamed curses and the sharp cracks of stone hitting reinforced glass made him jerk in fear. His tail wound around his legs as one rock bounced back and hit her face.

Despite his fear and the fact that he was watching footage from days ago, Fizz reached out to his friend with a cry. She was stunned for a moment, then “Fine. FINE, YOU HEAR ME! YOU CAN GO FUCK YOURSELVES! HAVE FUN BEING A PAMPERED WHORE FIZZ! YOU’RE JUST LIKE THAT TRAITOR BLITZO!” His ichor slowed to a crawl in his veins. Was that what she thought of him? The clip continued, showing her giving the building the middle finger as she walked out of sight.

“One of your new security guards talked to her about missing so many days and she went nuclear. She hasn’t been here since, so I sent some of my guys lookin for her. Mailed her a severance package, the check got cashed so she musta gotten it.” He looked and sounded sympathetic; that scheming glint was still in his eyes though. Barb would have picked up on it, but Fizz was too distraught to notice.

Instead, he trusted in Mammon’s concerned tone. “Sorry Fizzy, but at least you didn’t get mixed up in her shit. Or get hurt when she fucked off.” He squished Fizz’s cheeks between two hands and switched to a sing-song tone. “Can’t have my brand baby’s face getting all fucked up again, right?” He let go of the imp clown abruptly, leaving Fizz off balance. “You know what’ll get your mind off all this? Getting some clown practice with me! Then we can knock out some of those photoshoots we need, whaddya say?”

Fizz shook his head to clear it. “Uh…yeah, sounds good Mammon, sir.” The photoshoot would be exhausting but the clown practice would be a nice change of pace before that. Mammon strived for perfection in his act and from his employees. Fizz was always up for practicing with his idol.

He worked hard enough that thoughts of his former(?) friend hovered just out of reach. He didn’t think about Barb’s situation until he was back in Lust, in Ozzie’s palace. “So how’d things go Froggie?” Oz asked as he prepared dinner for the two of them.

The hurt and anger came rushing back. “Oh, you know, terrible. Guess y’all were right about Barb. She’s ghosted now though, no point worrying about her!” He forced levity into his voice, trying to keep the worst at bay.

“Wait, what? What happened?” Ozzie set down the knife he’d been using to chop vegetables and came over to Fizz.

Fizz shrugged and wouldn't look Asmodeus in the eye. “Guess she hates me now. They had security footage from a few days back. She tried to attack Mammon’s building with rocks and started yelling about me being a whore traitor like Blitzo.” He couldn’t stop the tears welling up at the loss of the last person from his childhood. “No one’s seen her in days. Her apartment already has new tenants.”

Ozzie shrunk himself down to be closer to Fizz’s eye level. He had millennia of experience dealing with the other Deadly Sins. This all sounded sketchy and precisely in Mammon’s wheelhouse. “You sure that’s how everything went down Fizz? It’s just Mam’s word-“

“I saw the tape Ozzie! I heard what she said. She told me to fuck off.”

“Look, I can send some of my people out to find her. Make sure she’s safe at least.”

“You said it yourself, Asmodeus.” Fizz’s voice cracked as he continued. “She’s gotta make her own choices and she made hers pretty fucking clear. She doesn’t want me around and she doesn’t want my help.”

“Mmmm,” Ozzie hummed noncommittally. “If you insist, Fizzarolli.” He went back to the cutting board as Fizz started ranting about Barb and this Blitzo guy. Privately, the Sin was considering his options regarding Barb. He was somewhat limited in what he could do, since Greed wasn’t his Ring. But he could have his employees locate her at the very least. Just without Fizz’s knowledge.

Because Fizz’s words said he didn’t want anything to do with Barb or Blitzo. But his tone and body language told a different story. Ozzie knew all of Fizzarolli’s history by now; he could see the imp woman’s disappearance was hitting Fizz hard.

For tonight though, he could provide food and activities that would distract his partner. Being the embodiment of Lust was useful for distraction.

The next day he did ask his employees that were used to Greed to look for Fizz’s friend. It took a few months but they did find her. The succubi that located the imp reported she wasn’t doing well, but didn’t seem in immediate danger. Ozzie wasn’t going back on his policy of personal choice; he kept tabs on Barb for years, just in case.

Almost a decade later, he was glad he did. Ozzie’s employee that was checking on Barb had struck up a casual friendship with her. But the succubus rushed back one day in a panic. The imp had OD’d. While the ER team had pumped her stomach and stabilized her, she was in bad shape. Ozzie arranged for her immediate care and to get her checked into rehab through his employee. He hoped this would get Fizz’s old friend on the path to recovery, but again, it was up to her to follow through.

Asmodeus didn’t tell Fizz what happened. His partner’s animosity toward Barb hadn’t abated yet. It was just as strong as his disdain towards Barb’s long lost twin Blitzo. Ozzie had seen that firsthand years ago.

It had been a semi-formal meeting of Hell’s royalty. Lucifer Morningstar, the Deadly Sins, and the major players of Ars Goetia as well as other high ranking families were in attendance. Many guests brought along plus ones, with Ozzie bringing Fizz. A large number of Hell's upper echelons wanted to meet the imp, get autographs or selfies.

There were also many lower ranked demons following in their master’s wakes. Especially the Goetia; almost all of them had an imp or two, carrying items and fetching refreshments. One of the strongest Goetia, Prince Stolas, had his bound attendant at his side for the majority of the evening.

Ozzie had noticed the scarred imp by the owl demon lock his eyes onto Fizzarolli. Fizz; entertaining a small group with some sleight of hand, didn’t notice the attention. The other imp’s expression started shocked, then changed to hurt, then banked fury all in a few seconds. But he didn’t approach the clown or leave Stolas’s side. Most likely he couldn’t, considering the sigil mark Asmodeus could see on his neck.

Fizz had eventually felt hostile eyes on him. He spotted the imp glaring at him next to the Goetia. He looked confused, not sure why this stranger was so angry. Ozzie could almost see realization click into place, as if Fizz was matching his memory to the man staring him down. “Blitzo?” he said under his breath.

Then, as Blitzo had continued to glare across the crowded room, Fizz’s expression hardened into similar anger. His eyes flicked over his childhood friend and he sneered.

Even when Ozzie was introducing his business partner to others, that anger didn’t entirely fade. He put on a good show. He always did. But Asmodeus could tell the difference in his companion.

Eventually they crossed paths with Stolas. “Stolas!” Ozzie said cheerfully. “Haven’t seen you in awhile, how you been? Have you met my business partner Fizzarolli yet?”

“Always a pleasure to see you, my Lord Asmodeus. And I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Fizzarolli. I am Prince Stolas of Ars Goetia.” He tilted his head slightly towards Fizz, in a slight show of respect. He did not introduce the imp next to him, but that wasn’t unusual with an attendant.

Ozzie made a show of looking around. “All by your lonesome tonight birdie babe?”

Stolas gave a hooting laugh. “Oh, you know Stella; there’s too much business and not enough gossip at functions like these. Besides, Blitzø is plenty of company for me.”

Meanwhile, the two imps continued to glare silently. Fizz caught sight of Blitzo’s forehead up close and if anything he seemed angrier. Ozzie could see them both seething, not able to do anything with all the royals around. He and Stolas chatted a bit longer before Ozzie made the excuse of “Fizzarolli and I have a lot of his fans to meet still, we’ll catch up later Stolas.”

Stolas for his part, nodded and replied “It seems my presence is requested by my father. Another time Asmodeus. Come along Blitzø.” There was a faint glow at the imp’s neck as the pair made their way through the crowd. Throughout the night, the two imps continued to send furious looks at each other, beneath the noses of demonic royalty.

When Ozzie asked Fizz about the other imp later, a naked Fizzarolli launched into a familiar tirade as he paced around their rumpled bed. Ozzie let him vent everything out, the image of patience. He artfully draped a silken sheet over himself. When Fizz had finally ran out of words, the Sin’s pinup style pose had the desired effect. But afterwards, Asmodeus resolved to have that follow up with Stolas.

—————

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