More Than Amazing
Chapter 5 - What We Do
"…So that's it—I'm mutating, into what… I-I don't know." He was desperate as he looked towards the bald man centered in the room hopefully, "…Can you cure me?"
But he shook his head, "I'm sorry Spider-Man, my work is not to cure mutants… I've built this complex, this school, to train them. I help them accept who, and what they are."
"Accept it?! But, I don't want to be a freak!" He responded in disbelief, causing the others in the room to glare.
A man in a yellow and black suit marched up to him, pointing a finger into his chest, "Watch your mouth bub, being a mutant's a gift!"
He smacked the hand away, "Well, what if this gift turns me into some kind of eight-legged monster?"
They glared at each other with clenched fists.
The bald man spoke up, breaking the tension in the room, "I wish I had an answer for you… I am sorry for your pain."
What nonsense!
"Don't worry about my pain—worry about yours," He pointed at him menacingly, before he flipped to the window, "If I mutate into a dangerous creature, and you have to stop me!"
He opened the window, pausing on his way out, "It's always the same—I could save the world ten times over… but when I need help, I'm on my own."
He leapt out the window, "Thanks—for nothing."
…
"He's lost—and I don't mean just in the cosmos. I mean in his mind… are they all like this?" May spoke to him in a hushed tone while glancing at the man seated nearby.
He momentarily eyed the man in green and purple hastily stuffing bagels in his pocket with wariness, before turning to May with his reply.
"Yeah."
"Yeah?"
"…They all have their own mental or physical issues." He finished hesitantly.
May frowned at the man with concern before turning back to him, "Oh, well, he needs help… maybe they all do."
"What, you don't mean…? No, May, this isn't my problem." He retorted hastily, he already had enough on his plate.
She stared at him firmly, grabbing onto his shoulders as she rebuked him, "Peter, not your problem? Hmm?"
He felt a bit guilty, but still continued his earlier point, "May, their chance of getting help is way better back where they came from. Sending them home, that's the best thing we can do for them."
"For them? …Or for yourself?" She eyed him sadly, before gesturing to the room they were in—the kitchen of a homeless shelter, "Look around you, this is what we do…"
She stared into his eyes as she finished, "We help people."
…
"Cap, why aren't you defending yourself? The news is all over you, everyone thinks it was you!" He flipped over, leaping out of the web hanging himself upside down and joined to walk alongside the person he was speaking to.
Captain America.
"They say worse things about you." Captain America replied without breaking stride.
"Yeah—and, it's horrible! H-how could you be so—so not upset about this?" He knew what it was like to be called a menace, even when he constantly tried to do the right thing.
How demoralizing it was.
But Captain America seemed to not care for it at all, "I know who you are. I talked to the police, the firemen… the people that you helped, and I heard their stories about how you saved lives. How you never asked for recognition or reward, or even thanks."
They continued walking through the rat infested tunnels beneath the city as he continued, "It doesn't matter what the newspapers say or the politicians, or the whole world, they don't define who you are, you do… and not by words, but by your actions."
Captain America finally paused his steps, turning towards him with a smile on his lips, "The truth will come out, but until then, I'm going to keep fighting… just like you do."
They stared at each other in silence for a moment.
"…Can I be your sidekick?"
.
.
.
..
…
Peter sat at his kitchen table, absentmindedly finishing his homework for the weekend. He quickly jotted down answers beside his aunt, who took the time to tidy up the room.
"Peter, you should come over to the shelter today." May suddenly spoke up, bringing him out of his thoughts and pausing his writing.
"The shelter?" Peter replied, with his brows furrowing in confusion. He hadn't remembered her mentioning it before, and was left wondering where this had suddenly come from.
"Yes dear, the shelter I've been going to these past few weeks." May looked over at Peter with a slight glare, "You know? The one I've been telling you about."
He winced at her tone.
"…I don't know May, I've been busy lately."
He totally forgot, or maybe wasn't even listening in the first place. He has been having a truly busy time lately.
May huffed at his words, before she leaned over to him and ruffled his hair.
"Hey!" He cried out in protest, quickly shielding his head with his hands, as May smiled in response to his exaggerated tone.
"C'mon Peter, it's only for today… and it might be good to clear your head for a bit."
Peter looked up at her, and saw the slight concern in her eyes.
Maybe she thought he relapsed into his loner self? His face slowly softened at the thought, he really couldn't resist May's care for him.
He had been busy making the second webshooter of the pair and kept himself locked up in his room as of late. It was coming along nicely after he finished updating and refining the previous one.
But… he was still haunted by monetary need.
His one true nemesis.
Now he just needed to buy a few additions to his chemistry set, along with a couple of household cleaning chemicals and then he would be practically done.
While nowhere near as high quality as a lab made web formula, it was good enough for now. He hadn't even gotten his powers yet, so it was already more than necessary anyways.
He shook his head and cleared his thoughts as he responded to May, "Alright. I'll go."
Peter didn't feel too urgent about finishing his webshooters. He had time, and he might as well spend his remaining free time with May… helping people.
He smiled a bit at the thought.
"Oh, by the way… it won't just be us going."
Huh?
"I'm meeting with Anna at the shelter, she wanted to volunteer with me and get some steps in."
Then she looked at Peter with a conspiratory smile, "She said she would even bring her niece along."
Huh?!
"You know, the one that had you smiling and giggling all day? The pretty red haired girl you talked up at the—"
"—Ok, ok! I get it!" Peter shouted to interrupt, blushing at the suggestive description of his meeting with MJ. It's not like he could help it! In most timelines… she was his wife! He was still in middle school—and it was embarrassing just to think about!
May laughed aloud as Peter scrambled up the stairs, desperate to escape her teasing. "Make sure to dress nice!" She called out after him, far too amused for his liking.
"I know!"
Giggling?
He groaned inwardly as his feet reached the top of the steps.
He did not giggle.
…Okay, maybe he did.
Just a bit.
Upstairs, he brushed past his door and paced into his room, stepping around scattered notebooks, half-disassembled electronics, and the closed cardboard box that held the work-in-progress web-shooters.
He ignored them all, instead walking over to his closet before opening it. He got a good look at the assortment of clothes within.
Then he sighed.
Most of his clothes were… um, functional?
Oh, who was he kidding? It was more like the clearance section of a Goodwill.
He tugged out a cheap button-up shirt—blue and white striped, a little worn, but clean—and held it up in front of himself.
"…Too much?" he muttered.
He tossed it aside and grabbed a blue sweater instead.
"…Too little." Peter groaned and decided to somehow balance it out by wearing both.
Mary Jane Watson walked into the homeless shelter like she owned the place.
Her steps were confident, voice already warm as she greeted anyone who happened to glance her way. She smiled easily with her shoulders back, and chin lifted—confident, casual, like she belonged here just as much as anyone else.
On the outside, she looked effortless.
She was good at that part.
Her aunt Anna clapped her hands together once they were inside, "Alright! Let's see where we're needed."
MJ nodded along, already scanning the room with sharp, practiced awareness. People were everywhere—too many to keep track of. Some looked tired, some were guarded, while others avoided eye contact entirely.
They met up with some of the workers there and quickly got their volunteer status sorted out. Soon enough, she was out in the open ready to work, but not knowing where to start.
The people watched her with a mix of curiosity and quiet suspicion.
So, she did what she did best—read the room and blended in seamlessly. She laughed when Anna said something mildly funny. She volunteered first when someone asked for help handing out trays. She even cracked a joke as she put on a hairnet, earning a polite chuckle from another volunteer.
…But on the inside, she felt like she'd shown up to the wrong place, wearing the wrong skin.
It was a familiar feeling, but one exemplified here.
This wasn't school—she wasn't hanging around her clique with half-hearted joy and empty conversations. These were people who needed things.
Real things.
She wasn't good at those.
She was painfully aware of her clean clothes. Her uncalloused hands. Inside she was constantly questioning herself, was she supposed to make eye contact? Avoid it? Be cheerful? Serious? Neutral?
With those thoughts plaguing her mind, Mary Jane decided to step away and take a quick break. And from there she looked for her aunt Anna, but unfortunately, she seemed preoccupied.
Feeling a notification on her phone, she decided to take a look and promptly sighed as she saw the message.
Gayle: Why did you leave for the weekend?
Gayle: I wanted to spend time with you and Tim.
It was her older sister, Gayle. She loved her sister, she really did—Gayle was her one respite from their parent's constant fights. But they both craved normalcy in different ways.
Mary Jane wanted to just run away from all her troubles—act like they didn't exist. Gayle, on the other hand… she latched onto affection like an addict after a bout of withdrawal.
She had only been dating her boyfriend for a couple months and yet she already brought him over and gushed about their future marriage.
They were still in high school.
She was so excited about it, that she never noticed Tim's faint wince at her words.
But Mary Jane noticed.
She tried to warn Gayle, but it only made her angry—accusing her of jealousy and how she did not want her to be happy.
Sometimes she wondered whether Gayle really didn't notice, or if she was pretending not to? Were all relationships like this? Was this how her parents were when they were young?
It felt suffocating, being in the same room yet watching them both on such different wavelengths.
The stress got to her when Gayle invited her to spend time with them. So, she played the ditzy girl, and ran away from it all—like she always does.
Pretending it didn't matter if she couldn't see it.
Mary Jane typed a response as she tried to ignore her heavy thoughts.
MJ: Sorry!
MJ: It slipped my mind, I really wanted to stay with Aunt Anna. You know how lonely she gets!
MJ: I hope you and him have a great time!
With a sigh, she turned off her phone and slid it into her back pocket before walking through the doorway—and promptly crashing into someone else.
"Oh—!" Mary Jane yelped, stumbling back half a step.
She winced with momentary pain, before a pair of hands caught her by the elbows right before she fully lost her balance.
"Sorry—!" A familiar voice apologized before she could speak.
She looked up.
It was Peter Parker.
The boy she'd met that day on the steps, the one that made her laugh and cheered her up. It was a good memory. Probably, the only reason she had the courage to go home the day after.
They stared at each other for a moment in surprise.
"…Hey."
"Hey."
He looked… different from the boy she'd met on the steps. He felt less idealised than what she had in her head. Seeing him here, sleeves rolled up, sweater layered over a button-up, and with a pair of thick glasses… he seemed oddly present.
Real.
…And for someone who apparently wanted to be a superhero, he sure picked a good spot to start—even if he was just joking.
He chuckled softly at their shared words, then hesitated—like he wasn't sure whether to speak again or let her go.
"—You volunteering too?" She cut in, making the decision for him with a confident tone, even as her eyes looked over him again. "Or did my aunt recruit you first?"
Peter shook his head. "My aunt did. Aunt May." His eyes flicked over to her for a moment, "She's… very persuasive."
"Yeah," MJ nodded knowingly, "Anna's the same. You blink and suddenly you're wearing a hairnet and being told you're 'making a difference.'"
Peter smiled at that, softer now—eyeing the hairnet binding her wine red hair, "Sounds like she was right."
MJ scoffed lightly, hiding the sudden skip of her heartbeat and waving him off before he could see her blush, "Let's not get carried away. I'm pretty sure I've only managed to not spill soup on anyone so far."
"Hey," Peter said earnestly with a grin, "That's already a win, you're doing great."
She glanced at him, then away again, biting back a smile. Compliments usually slid right off her—but this one stuck. Maybe because it wasn't trying to be charming.
Maybe because he meant it.
"So," she said, folding her arms loosely, confidence reasserting itself, "What's your job here? Soup duty? Moral support?"
"Friendly neighborhood… volunteer?" Peter replied hesitantly, before he huffed a laugh. "Mostly carrying boxes and trying not to get in the way."
"…That last part sounds relatable."
They lingered for a second, the noise of the shelter flowing around them—MJ felt the familiar itch to do something, to fill the quiet with charm or wit before it turned awkward.
Instead, she hesitated.
That was new.
She glanced behind them, back toward the room. "I, uh… I took a break." She lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. "It's a lot."
Peter nodded immediately, "Yeah, it is. I honestly didn't know what to do when I got here. It's hectic but I like it… it's nice."
She studied him from the corner of her eye, before slowly loosening her shoulders as she inhaled, "I kinda feel like I'm faking it. Like I'm good at smiling and talking, but when it comes to… actually helping? I don't know. I keep worrying I'll mess it up."
The words slipped out before she could stop them, she almost immediately regretted it.
Almost.
"That doesn't sound like faking it," he said after a moment. His voice was quiet, "If you care enough to doubt yourself… then you probably care more than you think."
He looked at her with a smile, "Anyways, don't beat yourself up about it—you're helping people… and that is never something to doubt yourself about."
MJ stared at him.
"This is what we do." He gestured his head over to the large advertisements and banners above the shelter, all labeled with aid services.
…And just below, dozens of volunteers helping bring food, medicine, and donations to those in need. She paused on the smiles on the volunteers faces, along with the relief in the eyes of those who came.
She swallowed, then forced her mouth to work again.
"Okay," she said, voice brightening on instinct, "Wow. That was… aggressively wholesome."
Peter blinked, thrown off and surprised at her wording, "Aggressively?"
"Yeah," She continued, waving a hand vaguely as if explaining the weather. "Like if you keep talking like that, people are gonna start assuming you really are a superhero."
He blushed a bit as he noticed the glint in her eye.
"Well, I just hope it won't give away my secret identity." He quipped back sarcastically as he looked away from her.
She just giggled in response.
The day passed quickly as they worked together, with both their aunts occasionally teasing them from the side.
They fell into an easy rhythm, with MJ handling the 'people' side of things—smiles, jokes, small talk that made the room feel lighter—while Peter quietly handled everything else, moving through the shelter like a helpful ghost who dropped an occasional comment.
When MJ hesitated, he was there to intervene without making her feel stupid. When Peter started to retreat into the background, MJ tugged him forward with a comment, nudge, or a grin that pulled him back in.
It was nice, and little by little, it stopped feeling like two strangers volunteering in the same room.
It started feeling like a team.
"Okay," MJ declared at one point, "…From my 'expert' opinion of a couple of hour's experience—I've decided this shelter runs on two things."
Peter glanced over with amusement, "Food and people?"
"No," she said seriously, "Soup and emotional drama."
Peter blinked, "…So, food and people?"
She swatted his side playfully with a glare, "…Well if you want to be no fun."
He smiled as he rolled his eyes in reply, "Right, right—I meant soup and emotional drama."
She ignored his antics and started waving her ladle like a microphone, "Everyone's got a tragic backstory. I think it makes people feel a little more at home, or welcome… if they, y'know, have someone to relate with, or at least—vent to," she leaned her head to the side as she finished, "You only need to unlock it."
"Unlock it?"
"Yep, like Mr. Jacob in the back—he burnt through all his savings paying for medical bills, left him bankrupt and in debt. But he also told me old war stories from his grandfather that he remembered fondly."
"…War stories?"
She nodded excitedly, "Yeah, and get this—his grandpa once fought with Captain America!"
Peter's eyes widened momentarily in surprise.
Captain America.
The future leader of Earth's Mightiest Heroes.
A noble figure appeared in his mind's eye, with a mighty red, white, and blue shield. He could already imagine him leading them off into a hopeless battle with an impossible kind of courage.
He smiled at the thought…
He couldn't wait to meet him.
"…Captain America. Man, it must have been awesome to fight with that guy on your side." Peter eventually replied.
MJ glanced over at him, "You a fan?"
Peter grinned in response, "I think we all are."
MJ rolled her eyes, "…I guess that's true. He was telling me how his grandpa once watched him block a full on tank shell with his shield—apparently it didn't even get a dent."
Peter stocked up some supplies as he listened, "Well, yeah… that's cause it's unbreakable."
"Unbreakable? Wasn't that just… I don't know—propaganda?"
"No, it's true." Peter affirmed, flexing some of his out of context knowledge, "It's made of some special Vibranium-Adamantium Alloy, the only one of its kind. Unreplicable."
Proto-Adamantium.
To call it a divine miracle wouldn't be an exaggeration. Even its creator dozed off in exhaustion during its creation, missing the event, and killing the secret of its conception at its very birth.
"Vibranium… and, Adamantium?" MJ spoke the words hesitantly.
Peter nodded, "Vibranium is probably the most valuable metal in the world—it costs over 10,000 dollars for just a single gram. It can absorb kinetic energy due to an unusually tight molecular crystal lattice array in the form of a compound helix. It can even sap the energy that binds particles together causing matter to disintegrate!"
His voice became tinged with excitement as he continued, "As for Adamantium… it's the highest form of man-made steel alloy—even its exact chemical composition is classified at the highest levels of government! Its molecular integrity is a thousand times harder than diamond! It could even survive multiple nuclear blasts."
"—Now imagine these together, perfectly integrated into a single alloy! It would survive untouched for billions of years—until the day the sun turned into a red giant and swallowed the Earth whole!" Peter finished with fervor.
Then he noticed her staring at him blankly.
"I—uh," he started, then gave up and exhaled. "Sorry. I didn't mean to…"
"To what?" MJ snorted, with an exaggerated expression, "To be the biggest nerd I've ever met?"
He winced a bit at her words, "Did the inch-thick glasses not clue you in?"
She laughed at his response, "Maybe just a little."
.
.
.
By the time the sun began to dip, the shelter quieted.
The dinner trays were stacked, counters wiped down, and the floors swept. People drifted out gradually—some with full bellies, some with leftovers tucked away, and hopefully—some with a little more warmth in their eyes than they'd come in with.
Their aunts called out goodbyes from across the room—Anna bustling around with May, both offering tired smiles and gentle thanks to the remaining volunteers.
It was then that MJ realized she still had her hairnet in place.
She quickly found herself wandering towards the back hallway, her feet pulling her to the kitchen in order to return it.
MJ slipped the hairnet off with a little shudder, the elastic had messed up her hair. She then stuffed it into the bin with a huff.
"Okay," she muttered under her breath, "…I have served my sentence."
The back hallway was dimmer than the main room—quieter, too. The silence was probably the only reason she heard the soft rustle reach her ears.
The faint, frantic crinkle of someone trying to be silent while opening plastic and failing.
MJ slowed.
At the end of the corridor, the storage door wasn't fully shut. A thin slice of light cut across the floor.
She leaned in and peeked through.
There she spotted a small figure rummaging through the last scraps of food. They couldn't have been older than ten—too small for the oversized hoodie hanging off their shoulders. Their thin form tightly clutched a torn backpack as they shoved rolls and wrapped sandwiches inside with shaking hands.
And they were… pale.
Not a sickly pale, but a paper pale.
Their skin had a washed-out, almost translucent look that made the fluorescent light bounce off him wrong.
MJ's stomach tightened.
…A mutant.
Even she had heard of them. People born with powers and strange abilities. She'd seen the low-resolution leaked videos of people lifting cars with their mind or blasting fire beams from their body.
And… she'd seen the fear. Preachers spouting about their wickedness, analysts speaking of the dangers they bring around them—describing them as bombs just waiting to go off.
But she had long learned not to believe things based on words alone. Mary Jane trusted her eyes more than anything, and looking up close, all she saw was just… a kid stealing food.
Then she flinched as she felt a hand placed on her shoulder.
She whipped her head around, only to see Peter standing behind her, putting a finger to his lips.
"I got this. Let me handle it." He spoke reassuringly.
She felt her inner anxiety melt away at his words. But she still couldn't help but grab his sleeve and whisper back at him, "…Good luck."
She thought she would be hesitant about it, unsure if he was someone who bought into all the mutant hate… but after all the time she spent with him…
The doubt that he would help never crossed her mind.
He shot her a wink and suddenly ruffled her frizzy hair as he walked past her and stepped in.
She pouted in response, before leaning her head out the doorway to watch.
Peter stepped into the storage room slowly like he was just a tired volunteer.
He never thought he would encounter a mutant so soon, never mind one that was so young. His mind immediately leaped to the mutants his other selves most often interacted with.
The X-Men.
A team of uncanny mutant heroes.
He had mixed feelings towards the X-Men, sometimes they were great friends, to the point of letting him visit their school at any time or even inviting him out to crazy galas.
Hell, he was often on-call for any scientific help Beast needed, and once was the only person Logan invited to his birthday.
…But other times, they were huge assholes who just ruined his day and let him down.
He winced a bit at the harsh thought.
They really embodied both the best and worst of traits, but deep down he admired them—they always tried their best, regardless if he agreed with them.
…Not to mention all their crazy drama! They could even out do himself—him! Crazy.
The kid froze the instant he saw him.
His shoulders snapped up, and his backpack was quickly clutched tight against his ribs, eyes wide and wild as they immediately darted for an exit.
Peter stopped short of him and crouched a little—the boy was only a few years younger than himself.
"Hey," Peter said gently. "It's okay."
Peter's gaze flicked once to the backpack, then back to the kid's face.
"You're not in trouble," Peter said, calm and steady. "I'm not gonna grab you. I'm not gonna yell."
The kid didn't answer, nor did he even blink his beady gem-like eyes.
Peter slipped past him without hesitation, as if he was just some regular kid—and not some alien looking humanoid.
Then he grabbed another roll from the storage fridge before handing it over to the boy.
"Hungry?" he asked softly.
The kid's mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He placed the roll next to the boy, before taking out another, unwrapping it and then taking a bite himself.
"My name's Peter," he said. "What's yours?"
The boy didn't reply, but he did slowly unwrap the roll Peter handed over to him.
"…It must be hard," Peter said quietly. "Listen, you didn't have to sneak in and steal. But I'm not mad that you did—I get why you didn't just ask."
Peter's voice stayed gentle.
"Because if I was you, and I was hungry, and I didn't think anyone would help me… I'd do the same thing."
The kid finally spoke—barely above a whisper, and with a tremble from his throat, "…T-they don't help monsters like me."
Peter shook his head at the boy's words, before staring at his subtle tears with soft eyes, "You aren't a monster. They chose not to help you, that's on them—not you. And just because they did, doesn't make it your fault."
The kid glanced at him for a moment before looking away, rapidly blinking faint tears from his beady eyes, before eventually taking a slow bite of his roll.
Peter moved closer with a gentle expression, and deliberately slow movements.
"Don't let people decide you're worth… before they even know your name. Your choices, your actions, that's what makes you who you are. Take it from me especially, you are who you chose to be—those people don't define you." Peter slowly brought a finger to the boy's chest as he spoke, before gently tapping it, "Only you do."
The boy looked up at him with stunned, wide eyes, "…I didn't choose this," he whispered.
Peter nodded immediately.
"I know."
His voice rose a pitch, becoming raw and desperate, "I didn't want to be like this. I didn't want everyone—my family, my friends—my mom and dad to call me a monster! I didn't want this!"
He broke down into tears, "I-I didn't want to be… all alone."
"Yeah," Peter said softly. "That part isn't fair. You can't control what happens in life… and you can't stop pain when it comes, but you can control how you respond to it."
"You can choose to keep being a good kid," Peter continued, "You can choose to prove them all wrong—keep proving that you aren't a monster."
Peter leaned forward and gave the kid a small hug as he cried, in disbelief that a normal person actually touched someone like him, "That you're human, just like me."
The boy clung tightly to Peter's side as tears continued falling freely from his eyes. A few minutes later, when the tears started to dry, he backed away while the boy rubbed his eyes, and asked with concern, "So, where are you headed after this?"
The boy eyed him warily for a moment… before eventually relenting, "The sewers… I hide down there with the others."
The others? Sewers?
Peter's eyes narrowed at his words, "Okay."
The boy's eyes widened, fear returning, "…You're gonna tell someone?"
Peter shook his head immediately.
"No." He replied without a thought. "I'm gonna help you… well, more like we're going to help you." Peter grinned a bit, before calling out to MJ outside the room.
"MJ, come here!"
Peter almost laughed as he heard her yelp behind the doorway. The boy stared at her with fear as she stumbled in with messy hair and a sheepish smile.
"H-hey!" She immediately spoke reassuringly while waving her arms in the air, "Don't worry—I'm friendly!"
The boy could only nod hesitantly as Peter shook his head with amusement.
MJ glared at him.
"Here's what we're gonna do," Peter said. "You take whatever you need from here—within reason," he added quickly, unable to help himself from feeling a bit guilty, "Then we go out together, and sneak you away. Alright?"
The boy's fingers tightened around the backpack strap, "You're really… not scared of me?" he asked, voice tiny.
Peter's mouth twitched, even the worst horror movies in the world couldn't make him flinch. He'd seen even their most eerie concepts firsthand through his visions.
The Last Man on Earth, World War Z, Independence Day?
Buddy, he had memories of living through it all—and worse.
"I'm scared of lots of things," he admitted, "…But, a skinny little kid like you?" Peter grinned at his stunned eyes, "Not in a million years."
"…W-why are you being so nice to me?" He choked out as he asked in sheer disbelief.
MJ cut in with her fiery hair swinging behind her as she shot Peter a cheeky grin and familiar wink, before looking back at the boy with a charismatic flair.
"Because… it's what we do."
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Author's Notes
Sudden Update! ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ
Super tired, and headed straight to bed. Will check all replies and messages later. Fate Defiance may take a while as I recently bought most of the Greek mythology books and decided to study through them to get more familiar with the setting.
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