#everyone’s giving you possum with two heads aren’t they.

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

random notes on naddpod c1 ep 46-69

another confused jumble of personal highlighs, shared here in lieu of chewing my very indifferent friends’ ears off irl. For whom it may concern.

spoiler warning! you will get no context but still

Okay they’re in the feywild and somehow the players manage to get even hornier. I guess I’m impressed?

That libertarian fairy tho. Why are little pixie jerks with trash politics always so funny

(Emily catches on to their opponent being a woman because Murph made a point of referring to the knight with they/them pronouns) “Interesting. My subtle sexism gave me away. I’m a bad guy.”

This lady spent a year with her frozen children in a chest in her living room?! Okay. Sure. Uh huh. Cool story bro 😬

Five Guys Burgers and... Flies

Ngl a little shocked at how decent Murph’s elf voice is

“I know a game! It’s called ‘don’t stab me!’ I give the gnome a knife.” “He magically produces some bread, spreads some butter on it, and casts produce flame. Look! Magical toast!” “NOBODY EAT THAT!!”

“You two haven’t seen each other in a while, and the kids are indisposed, so -“ “Okay. Jesus Christ. I was down for kind of a spicy joke there, but let’s not… the kids aren’t indisposed because they went bowling with their aunt, the kids are frozen with a curse.”

Murph, as a gnome, but barely keeping it together: “In actual recorded episodes, have you guys met any gnomes that are murderers? Really, did they murder someone? Like… what did they do and then what did you do to them…?”

"There's a war coming, and everyone needs to fight. Even old men who don't know how." First of all, this is a banger of a line

but also my degree has officially ruined me for stories because I was immediately and ominously reminded of the last months of WWII on the Axis side what with all the apocalypse rhetoric and poorly armed children and old men sent out to probably die in war. like this is 100 percent unintentional and I realise that but my reaction to this line was "holy shit" and then immediately "... has Alanis also gone fascist"

Murph usually: Oh you want something? You want something to help you out here? Okay how are you gonna pay for that? What are you gonna give up to get that? Murph with Emily: Oh you got attached to your purely decorative fictional earrings? … I would never take those away from you keep them :) have a magical gun on the house :)

“Cool it with the fucking drugs!” “Hardwon, you’re one to talk!!”

Love it when Murph sets up a high DC on something and they get it and all immediately vigorously come for his ass, there is truly nothing funnier than people pretending to take something so personally

Murph keeps saying “she shakes her head yes” which is either an established bit of world building or an odd Murphism they’ve all collectively decided to accept? Both are very endearing but also I was so confused the first five times he did it

Local catholic desperately trying to get his friends to have the biblically correct response to angels (fear)

“Twenty-three damage with an axe???!” in the squeakiest voice possible, and then in the same voice: “What lands first, his body or his head?” “His head!!!!”

Finally someone makes the “Janie’s got a gun” joke, I have no idea why but I’ve waited this entire fight for someone to do that! Thank you Caldwell!

“Can I do a dog whistle?” “You’re gonna say something racist and see if they follow it?”

“Brothers! The Goddess has blessed us! There is milk in this casket!”

Also somehow every joke gets 100 percent funnier once it has managed to break the DM

“I summon Pellor’s four Lieutenants, the Beach Boys.”

Pawpaw as the BOB's legal council is the gift that keeps on giving. I don't even remember how it started but every time Jake goes "a brilliant legal mind" in that reverent voice I lose my shit. Also I adore how at the beginning it was all 'oh it's funny because Hardwon thinks this possum is actually good at law stuff and meanwhile Pawpaw can't fucking read' and now Pawpaw is just. legitimately functioning as their lawyer.

“Balnor, what’s your favourite food?” *audible fuckfuckfuckfuck silence from Murph* “…Chicken.”

So anticlimactic. Holy shit. Murph literally rigging the game so none of the others would give it away only to have that immediately blow up in his face

“Oh, the Goblinity!”

Hardwon getting really into "Chasing Cars"

Murph's cultural knowledge is such a fucking enigma to me every time I'm like "oh that guy wouldn't know anything ab-" and then he just. knows the first song on Snow Patrol's "Eyes Open" off the top of his head. I spent a whole vacation listening exclusively to that CD as a teen and I had to look it up. He was right. He wasn’t even the one who started the Snow Patrol bit.

Anyway thank you everyone that song will be permanently stuck in my head for the next five to eight business days

“You deserve a little emo phase”

“Pawpaw is giving you a pedicure. Meanwhile the king is suffocating in the bag.” “Oh shit!”

“So one thing you know about me is that everything I love dies so, stay away, haha!”

“I have enough queens.”

There have been a bunch of uncomfortable descriptors in this campaign but “like an exotic sunkissed lover” is definitely the worst one so far. Murph. Sir. No.

-

Just Murph's weak "okay..." as Emily decides to sniff the two Hardwons' necks to suss out the doppelganger

The verve of Murph’s Moonshine impression compared to his barely-there attempt to do a Jake voice for Hardwon

That one incredibly dumb dude in Shadowfell. Oh my GOD. Like in so many stories there is a “dumb” character, you know, one who will be described with the one brain cell meme but this dude. This dude literally only has the one brain cell. Just enough to be standing, breathing and talking at the same time. Fucking incredible. Murph continues to be way too good at making characters so deeply pathetic

“Go drink too much cough syrup!” “I can’t!” “Why?” “‘cause it tastes bad, man!”

Brennan’s and Murph’s genuine excitement to reverse their usual dynamic veering off into “we’re 69-ing now but he’s been going at me for a long time and I haven’t given him anything.” in less than thirty seconds

Seriously tho you can hear both Brennan and Murph buzzing with delight at a frequency that could shatter glass

“Brennan, you can say ‘my’. You’re playing, dude, you can say ‘my’.” “My hand, me, I’m playing, I’m a person! I’m only one person!” “You’re playing!” “You’re doing it!”

“What about Melv? Remember Melv? He’s dead.”

Brennan has so much knowledge of like historical customs and everyday items and their names and uses but rarely uses it, and meanwhile Murph is trying his damndest to sprinkle stuff in for medieval flavour but has a shaky grasp on what these things actually ARE. Case in point, Brennan immediately knowing how to explain a wimple vs. Murph claiming the peasant was wearing “suspenders over a dirty tunic”. Suspenders?? My guy. What are they holding up? The hem of the tunic? Tunics go OVER the leg garment how would this work. Are you using this as a fancy word for shirt. Also suspenders weren’t a thing until the 19th century. Not saying you can’t mix and match cowboy and medieval peasant aesthetic but it’s gotta logistically work, Murph! It's gotta make sense!

“You hear a woman screaming-“ “No, Murph, we were going shopping 😩” “You never let us do anything fun!”

Brennan’s little love language of absorbing every last bit of his friends’ worlds’ lore like a sponge so he can weave his narrative and/or character into the world like a perfect medieval tapestry!!!!

Every time Emily goes out of her way to back up her every move with rules as written not for the DM but for some idiot in the audience, my heart breaks a bit. Back the fuck off indeed.

That said, Brennan being extra meticulous about HIS finite resources is hilarious and good

“I would say he didn’t have to worry about it but then he was doing sixty points of damage per attack so he does have to worry about it I decided”

#wherewasbalnor

"It's a... I don't want to use the word 'wimple' again"

"Deadeye and Hardwon, you guys just hear this cacophony of idiocy..."

"So my little sister in there and slim with the gift of Pellor, they good at staying on task?" "Um...."

A Kiwi dwarf, fantastic choice. No notes.

“We can crawl through the small false wall?” English is so broken

Pawpaw as Deadeye’s literal right hand! Delightful. Murph’s D20 TA energy come to life in the coolest way

“You bloodsucking bourgeoise pig, you keep your dirty fangs off my sister!”

“You’re the best part of me” Brennan 😭 Emily 😭 brb dissolving into a puddle on the floor for a second

He’s back in the Crick UGH 💔 ah fuck Brennan and Murph tag-teaming on the heartbreak never fails to get me

It's so fascinating how much they play to each other's strengths whenever they're really going for the jugular: on D20, Brennan will hit Murph with just the most quietly awful version of "here's your character's worst (perceived) failure you can never fully make right, and you're faced with an opportunity to try but we both know you won't take it" (cf. Kug's interactions with David or "you can go to the castle where the dogs are or you can go back to your frog pond"), and in return Murph took Deadeye back to the home that was forever lost to him and that he'd missed so much and let him become everything he ever wanted to be. Forgiven despite his shortcomings. They're beating each other at their own game, Murph's stories are so much about consequences and guilt and responsibility and Brennan's are so much about hope and grace and second chances, and that is so present in the stories they tell for each other?? I am upset this is beautiful

The Wimple Warriors

So Murph knew enough about Snow Patrol to not only sing the refrain of You’re All I Have but to know where it was on the album… but not enough to remember the title of Chasing Cars?? How are you the way that you are

JV!! God that *was* a beautiful scene though, such immediate quiet kindness, what a way to go <3

“I went to the Red Fenn and all I got was unceremoniously murdered.”

“He’s saying yes too much, we’re making some kind of mistake…”

Moonshine: "The rapport spores got hacked, everyone! Don't say anything you wouldn't tell the world right now!" Emily, not five minutes before this, on a very popular podcast: "Out of character, [unlike Moonshine] I got some very recently, but..."

The fact that this moment got no audible reaction and is as easily removable as an audio clip can get (no crosstalk, a brief pause before and after it, no impact on what was said afterwards) but it's still left in is so funny knowing who does the editing

Murph introducing a skeletal kitty for thinly veiled emotional manipulation purposes

*delivers upsetting news to Moonshine* "Would it make you feel better if you borrowed my cat?" "...Moonshine bursts into tears."

"Pawpaw looks hurt and betrayed for a second, like he's gonna turn away, but then he can't help it." "Should we go, too, or do you think she needs a familiar touch tonight? Something only Pawpaw can give..." I reiterate, funniest. self-insert. character. ever. Also as ever excellent punnage from Caldwell.

“You are a freak but you’re pretending not to be, which makes you the most boring kind of person.”

“Pawpaw is the only one who has complete plot armour. I will kick him from time to time, but I won’t kill him.” It's so unlike Murph to declare plot armour on anyone, and also so like him to have it be Pawpaw.

Hardwon and Moonshine's relationship, regardless of where it's going, is just lovely. Zero judgement, no expectations, just so much affection and support. They're so corny (affectionate)

#shoutout to brennan for joining in the tradition of making his character a little bit gross #petition for murph to stop making 'conventionally attractive' every npcs defining characteristic #literally my only gripe but it *bothers* me #looking at his own pcs in particular i DO NOT understand how he of all people keeps doing that! #my man you are so creative you do not need this #i promise you i will be as or actually much more invested in all of these people if they didn't come out of an underwear catalogue #carrie watches #(listen i have no tags for podcasts so) #naddpod c1 #naddpod #brian murphy #emily axford #caldwell tanner #jake hurwitz #brennan lee mulligan #long post

[vs-redemption]

Ahhh I just discovered your blog and I love it so much! Sorry to be angsty right off the bat, but can I request an Aizawa x reader where he has to assure them that the reader's interests have value or something along the lines? I get shut down so often when I accidentally gush about stuff I find cool (ladybugs) so I'm unfortunately more reserved now but yeah :)

From Cindy: It is now two hours past my usual bedtime and I don’t think I’m going to make it much longer. Before I sleep though, I am posting this as promised. I did reread it a couple times, but my tired brain isn’t up to full capacity. I hope it’s okay. Also, please don’t let people make you feel bad about the things you enjoy. Seriously, I hate when people do that. There’s enough negativity in the word without the good stuff being taken away on top of that. As long as you aren’t hurting anyone else, like what you like and never be ashamed of it! ♥

Ladybugs Aizawa x Reader

Everyone has those certain things they avoid revealing about themselves at the beginning of a relationship, romantic or otherwise, for fear of scaring the other person away. In some extreme cases, people might want to keep those parts of themselves hidden forever. For you, it was a particular hobby of yours being revealed too soon that made you a little cautious when meeting new people. You had a ready list of suitable answers stored in your brain for the inevitable moment someone asked you about your interests. It wasn’t like you were into something taboo or anything like that. It’s just that you’d been on the receiving end of enough judgmental looks to know it was better to keep that particular information to yourself.

When you first started to get to know Aizawa, you’d stuck to topics you knew he’d be able to relate to like music, movies, and books. It was easy enough to find common ground that way and you wouldn’t have to worry about him thinking you were some kind of weirdo. This strategy worked well for you and it wasn’t long before the amazing man was asking to be your boyfriend. Things between the two of you were really great, and on the random day when he called you up and asked if you wanted to get some ice cream and take a walk in the park, your secret pastime was the furthest thing from your mind. You were just looking forward to having a fun date with the guy you were slowly falling in love with.

“The weather is so nice today!” You sigh happily, walking hand in hand with Aizawa through the park he’d taken you to.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” he tilts his head toward you with a content smile, “I got lucky having today off.”

“You really do work way too hard, Shota,” you tell him seriously. “Between your classes and hero work it’s a wonder you have any free time at all.” He lets out a laugh and nods his head in agreement as a planter full of flowers on the side of the path you were walking on catches your eye. Aizawa notices the shift in your attention and slows down a little so you both could admire them.

“They plant new flowers in this park every couple months,” He mentions offhandedly. “It’s one of the reasons I enjoy coming here. Do you know what kind they are?”

“Geraniums,” you answer automatically as your eyes scan over the plant, a smile growing across your face as you spot a ladybug crawling over one of the leaves. You let go of Aizawa’s hand so you could crouch down and reach out to invite the insect into your palm. “Ladybugs are attracted to plants like this because there are plenty of smaller pests for them to feed on.” You turn to look over your shoulder at him as the ladybug crawls over your fingers. “Did you know they can play dead like possums do?”

Aizawa raises his eyebrows and before he has a chance to respond you realize what you’d said. You place the ladybug back onto the plant and stand up quickly, taking his hand into yours again and offering to continue your walk. Your boyfriend eyes you curiously as you lead him forward. Embarrassment washes over you and you internally berate yourself for being awkward. You try to go back to eating your ice cream normally, hoping to move past the moment quickly.

“I actually didn’t know that,” he replies after a pause. “I’m guessing they do that as a way to avoid getting eaten by predators?”

“Yeah,” you simply nod, knowing you could probably give an entire lecture on the topic but the thought of boring him to death held you back.

“That’s interesting,” Aizawa continues to watch you for a moment. “Are you really into gardening or something? You looked pretty excited for a minute. We can go back over there if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” You assure him with a smile. “I just… think ladybugs are kind of cool, but I know that’s a bit weird so…”

“I don’t think that’s weird,” Aizawa rubs his thumb over your knuckles.

“Maybe,” you say after a small glance up at him. “Still, I’ve been told that it’s annoying when I go off on tangents and I don’t want to bother you.”

“Hey,” Aizawa stops walking and gives you a serious look. “You’re allowed to talk about the things that make you happy, especially around me.” He lets out a laugh of embarrassment of his own while giving your hand a squeeze. “You’ve never met any of my students but you let me rant about them to you all the time. Is that annoying to you?”

“No! Of course not!” You assure him, a smile blooming on your face. “It’s nice that you’re so passionate about your job and I like seeing the joy on your face when you talk about them.” Aizawa returns your smile and nudges your arm playfully.

“I feel the same way about you,” he confesses. “I want to know all about the things you love. If something is important to you, it’s important to me. And if it brings a smile to your face, that’s even better.” You both continue on your walk as Aizawa hums thoughtfully. “And honestly, nobody should judge you or make you feel like you’re not allowed to talk about things that interest you anyway. Your hobbies make you who you are and if everyone liked the same stuff, life would be extremely boring.”

“Thanks Shota.” You could tell he was being genuine by the look on his face, and it felt nice to have a bit of validation. “It means a lot to hear you say that.”

“I’m not just saying it,” He assures you, “I truly mean it. And unfortunately, there are always going to be people who try to make you feel bad for being happy, but it’s usually because they’re unhappy themselves. It’s easier said than done, but we have to try not to let people like that get us down.” Aizawa leans in to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. “Just remember that you can always come to me to rant and rave about whatever you’d like.” The pep talk was short and sweet, but his words did give you a little more confidence. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to be a bit more open about your unique interests in the future.

“So,” Aizawa speaks up again a moment later, “when did you start getting into ladybugs?” You smile at his question, hesitating for just a second before launching into the full story.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha #mha #cindy's writing #aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa

[drabbles-of-writing]

If Love is Pain Then We’re Smitten

This is part of my Beta AU

AO3

Masterpost

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was no secret that Luz Noceda and Amity Blight didn’t get along.

Ever since the human transferred to Hexside, mostly on accident, mind you, there’d been trouble.

Now, fighting in Hexside wasn’t out of the ordinary. It’s Hexside. Everyone is basically a feral animal with sentience.

Their fighting, however, was constant.

Verbal or physical, the two simply couldn’t be in the same room together and not raise the tension. At first it was treated like trying to walk with an egg floating in an overfilled glass of water. After all, Amity used to be part of Boscha’s group. That alone commanded respect.

But over time, it became more...tolerable.

It was a regular spectacle to see what disaster Luz would find herself in each day. Sometimes they were as big as stopping a lava monster from burning the whole school to the ground, and other times it was a simple spat with the resident demon, King.

It had become a common occurrence to Luz and Amity as well. They barely batted an eye at their own barking anymore.

And yet….something felt different about this fight.

,

Luz was unconsciously aware that she was being lifted by the front of her shirt. Her head hurt, her eye, good lord, her eye hurt. She registered Amity getting in her face, fangs bared, pupils slitted. The mane she called hair had come undone and framed her face in a wild, mangled manor. She had a bruise on her cheek, and bits of blood running down her face.

Luz was too tired to find the source of it. She couldn’t pinpoint why, but all her fire from before had died in the blink of an eye.

“Are you even listening?” Amity snapped, bringing the human back to reality. “You look like you just died.” She huffed.

“Maybe I did,” Luz mumbled, limp in the witch’s grip. “You don’t know. Bet I possessed my own corpse just to torture you.”

“No, I’ve seen that happen. You’d actually look better if that was the case.” She said, stepping back, but still holding her up by her shirt.

“Thanks,” Luz muttered, rolling her eyes and wincing at the pain in her left eye.

She took this moment to look over the witch again. She had scrapes all along her arms, and she could see a bit of blood soaking through her pant leg. There was a long cut on her forehead, not a deep one, but enough that blood was still faintly trickling around her eyes.

And, Luz noticed with a hint of satisfaction, she was favoring her left arm, holding her up with more force with her other hand.

“You look like hell,” Luz said, her gaze drifting back to her face.

“You’re no model yourself,” Amity huffed, curling her lip in a sneer, flashing a slightly bloody fang.

Luz narrowed her eyes. If she found a bite mark on herself, then there would be war.

“Just put me down you melodramatic witch.” Luz muttered.

Amity shrugged and released Luz’s shirt. The human yelped before hitting the pavement, flinching as she felt fresh scrapes on her arms. She glared up at the girl, who only gave her a smug look in response and began to walk off.

She winced mid-step, pulling up her right leg with a hiss. Luz raised a brow and lifted herself onto her hands, straining with the effort.

“You alright there, Mittens?” Luz taunted.

Amity whirled her head around, giving a low growl as her ears flicked back. She straightened up and glanced away, a faint flush at the tips of her ears.

“Don’t call me that,” Amity said lowly.

“Whatever,” Luz shrugged, beginning to push herself to her feet. “Come on, let's head closer to the seven-eleven.”

“What?” Amity blinked, looking back at Luz incredulously.

“You're a mess, I’m a mess, I’d rather neither of us went walking off in the middle of the night looking like we lost a fight with a gang of raccoons.” Luz said, cringing as she got to her feet.

Amity still looked unconvinced, crossing her arms. Luz hobbled past her, unbothered as she made her way out of the parking lot and towards the side of the 7-11, a few meters away from the door, but far enough away neither of them would scare off late-night customers. Unless they were cowards, of course.

“C’mon,” Luz mumbled, waving her hand for the witch to follow.

She fully expected the witch to blow her off with a jab, but to her surprise, she didn’t. She instead heard the sound of Amity shuffling after her, grumbling something inaudible.

Luz turned so her back was leaning against the wall and slid down, knees bent as she leaned her head back, shutting her eyes with a pained groan.

“Aw, someone had too much for one night?” Amity jeered, slumping down next to Luz with her right leg stretched out and the other bent, which she lay her arm on.

“Shut your bloody mouth,” Luz growled, though it was nowhere near the level of Amity’s.

“Do you usually become British when you're beat up?” Amity chuckled.

“I meant that literally,” Luz cracked open an eye. “You have blood on your teeth.”

Amity paused, clearly not expecting that. She opened her mouth and poked her tongue around at her teeth. She pulled back and shut her mouth with an appalled look after only a few moments.

“Ew, I do.” She agreed. “It better not be yours,” She warned.

“Oh, yeah, like I want a massive bite-mark on me.” Luz rolled her eyes. “You're worse than a rabid possum, you know that?”

“Says the one who hangs out with the weird owl janitor,” Amity huffed. “If anyone has rabies, it’s her.”

Luz opened her mouth to argue before slowly shutting it again.

She muttered something under her breath before beginning to dig through her jean jackets pockets. Amity watched her curiously for a few moments until she pulled out a healing glyph with a gleeful expression.

“You have one of those?” Amity asked as Luz sat on her knees, turned towards the witch.

“Obviously, I’m fighting you all the time.” Luz scoffed. “And, well, I get into a lot of fights by this parking lot.” She said with a shrug.

“You what--”

Luz leaned forward, reaching for Amity’s left shoulder. The witch cut herself off and pulled back, giving Luz a mildly concerned look. Luz met her gaze with her own tired stare and the witch eventually let up.

She mumbled something about her ‘wasting a glyph,’ but Luz paid it no mind. The witch pulled the hem of her shirt to the side, revealing a nasty mark right where her shoulder connected to her body. Luz reached out and placed the healing glyph on it before tapping it.

The glyph glowed brightly for a moment before steadily beginning to dull back to normal. Amity grit her teeth at first, but quickly relaxed with a sigh, her ears relaxing to an almost normal position.

“I know, right?” Luz grinned. “Feels like a high.”

“I’m not gonna ask why you know what a high feels like,” Amity said, giving Luz a warning glare.

“It’s best you don’t,” Luz agreed, sitting back. “Anyway, I need ten bucks.”

“What?” Amity stared at Luz.

“Ten bucks, for supplies.” Luz said, pointing behind her towards the 7-11 doors. “We both look awful, and that was the only healing glyph I had on me.”

“Wh--and you used it on this?” Amity gaped, gesturing to her shoulder with her free hand.

“Yeah, so now you owe me ten bucks, that I will also proceed to use on your broken face.” Luz said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Your rich, aren’t you? Make it even.”

“That...that wouldn’t be….” Amity sighed and shook her head. “You’re an idiot,” She muttered, digging in her pocket and pulling out her wallet.

“You had that on you the whole time?” Luz blinked. “I thought you would’ve, like, kept in your purse in your car.”

“I was too busy getting ready to curb-stomp your face.” Amity replied simply, withdrawing two fives and placing them in Luz’s outstretched hand with more force than necessary.

“How sweet of you,” Luz rolled her eyes before pulling herself to her feet with a wince. “Wait here.”

“Do I have a choice?” Amity muttered.

“Eh, I could probably call a taxi with this.” Luz said, shoving the money in her pocket and hobbling towards the door.

Amity frowned, confused for a moment as Luz opened the store door.

“Wait...did you walk here?”

,

Seven minutes had never felt so long before.

Amity impatiently drummed her fingers on the ground beside her, constantly glancing back at the door, even when there was no indication it had opened.

She rolled up her pant leg, exposing the nasty gash on her knee. She recoiled at the sight and decided to leave it be and hope Luz kept her word.

Despite it being the middle of the night, there was the occasional weirdo or group of people wandering about. Amity would turn her head away and hide her face with her hand every time someone walked by and stared at her, or the one group who went inside the 7-11.

They probably thought she was a junkie or some hustler who had a bad day, she thought bitterly. After all, who in their right mind would be sitting alone in the middle of the night looking like they had a tussle with a wild dog?

She heard the door to the store open and glanced up, immediately turning when she saw it was Luz.

In her hands were bandages, a roll of gauzes, and antiseptic wipes. She nodded to Amity before sitting beside her again. She didn’t say anything, only set down the medical supplies and withdrew a small pack of twizzlers.

“...did you seriously buy that with my money?” Amity finally broke the silence.

“There was some left over, and that employee just wanted me out of his store.” Luz shrugged, pulling out a twizzler. “Also, this one was already open, so it cost less.”

“That employee probably thought you were involved in a gang fight or something,” Amity scoffed. “And is that black licorice?”

“Too bottom-of-the-barrel for your refined taste buds?” Luz taunted, holding a twizzler in her mouth while shaking the package in front of Amity.

“Licorice is revolting, that’s common knowledge.” Amity sneered, backing away.

“Cowards, all of you.” Luz huffed, setting the packet aside and biting off a piece of the twizzler in her mouth.

“You’re nature's greatest mistake,” Amity curled her lip, disgusted.

“I know,” Luz said cheekily, pulling the antiseptic wipes into her lap and beginning to try and open it.

And then Amity watched Luz struggle to open the plastic around the wipes for a good minute. Luz’s hands couldn’t get a good grip or tear in the covering, either due to how tired she was or because her hands were a bit bloody from fighting. It was hard to tell.

It didn’t take long for her to grow impatient and she let out a small growl. Luz glanced up, giving her an annoyed glare in return.

“Look, this thing is difficult to open--”

Amity snatched the antiseptic wipes out of Luz’s hands, too tired and riled up to wait any longer. She sank her fangs into the plastic, easily piercing it. In one easy movement, she tore the packaging, and some of the cardboard, clean off.

Amity spat out the plastic and cardboard and lifted up the small box to check it over. She’d pierced a few of the wipes inside, but there was still plenty left. The hole wasn’t clean and a bit small, but it was open.

“There,” Amity said, turning and holding the box out to Luz. “I opened it.”

Luz stared at her for a few moments, speechless. Amity raised a brow, wondering if Luz somehow went into shock. For a moment, Amity almost swore she saw a redness on her cheeks before Luz quickly grabbed the box out of her hands.

“Told you it was difficult,” Luz mumbled, digging through the box and pulling out the wipes and opening those with much more ease.

Amity rolled her eyes and licked at her fangs, trying to get the taste of cardboard off them. Luz pointedly looked away from her face and got onto her knees, reaching for Amity’s scraped knee.

“This is gonna hurt, by the way.”

That was all the warning Amity had before Luz pressed the antiseptic wipe to her wound. Amity hissed and jerked back, her ears lowering and snapping her teeth close to Luz’s face, causing her to draw back.

“What the hell?” Amity snarled, pulling her knee closer.

“This isn’t like the glyphs you use,” Luz explained, minorly annoyed. “It’s going to hurt, but it will help.”

“What kind of backwards logic is that?” Amity demanded.

“The human kind. Now either hold still or get an infected knee.” Luz said firmly. “I’m already bleeding to death as it is.”

“Then just help yourself,” Amity muttered under her breath.

But she listened and stretched out her leg again. She tensed and bit back a hiss as Luz cleaned the wound.

She suspected the human cleaned a bit longer than necessary for a bit of revenge.

Once the wound was clean she unrolled the gauzes and ripped off a strip before wrapping it around the witch’s leg. Amity watched her every move like a hawk, eyes narrowed.

“Alright, now for the face.” Luz said, pulling back and withdrawing another wipe.

“What?” Amity felt her face, wincing as she pressed the bruise on her cheek. “Ow,”

“Yeah, hold still.” Luz said, sitting up on her knees and leaning forward, pressing the wipe to her forehead injury.

Amity flicked her ears down as Luz concentrated on cleaning her wound. Due to the proximity, she was stuck taking in Luz’s face, as much as it annoyed her to do so.

Luz had a black eye, and there was a scrape on her nose. Her beanie was lopsided, but stubbornly stayed on her head. Her hair was frazzled and knotted, and she wondered how much conditioner she had to use to keep her hair as straight as it usually was. Amity herself had given up on conditioner a long time ago.

Luz pulled back from cleaning her wound, leaving Amity subconsciously wondered why she didn’t feel any pain this time, and pulled out a large bandaid.

“Is that going to cover all of it?” Amity raised a brow. “And that’s a genuine question,” She added when she saw Luz give her a deadpan look. “Because in case you forgot, I can’t exactly see the damage.”

“Poor you, unable to see your wrecked face.” Luz sneered, rolling her eyes and leaning forward again to place the bandaid on. “It’ll cover most of it. You’ll live.”

Amity grumbled, crossing her arms as Luz tried to cover as much of the wound as possible.

Once again, Amity caught herself staring. She could see that Luz had cuts on the palms of her hands, and bruises that stretched passed the sleeves of her jacket where she couldn’t see. She noticed that Luz was sticking her tongue out while concentrating. The edge of Amity’s lips curved into a smile at the sight.

Luz glanced down, catching Amity’s gaze.

Amity jerked back and sharply turned her head away, her face heating up.

“I know, I look dashing in blood,” Luz taunted, sitting back with a cocky smirk. “Simply an enchanting sight.”

“I’m going to break your spine over my knee and toss you into a woodchipper.” Amity spat, pulling her lips back in a snarl.

“That’s fair,” Luz nodded, unphased as she got another antiseptic wipe. “Hey, how bad is my eye?” She asked, gesturing to her left eye. “Like, could I play it off that I smacked into a pole?”

Amity gave Luz a disbelieving look. Even in the low lighting from the store, she could tell that unless Luz could brush off she was incredibly clumsy, there’s no way someone would think she just ‘hit a pole weird.’ Her eye wasn’t swelling shut, but the entire skin around it was a dark, angry purplish black. There was even a bruise forming around the edge of her right eye where Amity had just missed hitting the eye itself.

“Yeah, no, you’d do better putting makeup on that.” Amity shook her head. “The fact you didn’t get any ice for that is already a little concerning, and that’s coming from me.”

“Store clerk wouldn’t let me steal any,” Luz shrugged, dabbing an antiseptic wipe on her nose scrap and wincing. “Guess it’s another day of concealer.” She grumbled.

“Do you even know how to properly apply concealer?” Amity asked as Luz pulled out a small bandaid.

“I just gotta find one that matches my skin tone and brush over it, don’t I?” Luz said, hovering the bandaid over her nose and realizing too late she had no idea how to place it on properly.

Amity sighed and took the bandage from Luz, slapping her hand away when she fumbled and tried to grab it back.

“No, you moron. It’s a whole process.” Amity said, reaching out and placing the bandaid over the scrape, smoothing it down.

“You gotta apply green concealer, then one that matches your skin tone, then you do the same to your other eye so it looks natural, and then you want setting powder. Plus mascara if you want to divert less attention to your eye.” Amity listed off, grabbing another antiseptic wipe and taking Luz’s hand, turning it over so she could start cleaning it.

Luz stared at her for a few moments. She seemed confused as she looked from her face to her hand that Amity was cleaning but eventually just gave a sheepish smile.

“I’m, uh, going to need to write that down.”

Amity groaned and glared at the girl. She pressed the wipe harder onto Luz’s hand and the girl winced and almost drew her hand back if it weren’t for Amity’s death-grip on her wrist.

“I have makeup in my purse, I can just apply it tomorrow before school.” She said, tossing the wipe aside and grabbing the gauzes. “Since you obviously have no idea how makeup works.”

“Gus is better at it than me, he was a theater kid.” Luz shrugged. “Well, I was also a theater kid, but he was a makeup theater kid. I was an acting theater kid.”

“That explains a lot,” Amity said simply, checking Luz’s palm to make sure the gauzes covered her scrapes before seizing her other hand.

“Oh please, I swear nearly everyone in this school was, or is, a theater kid.” Luz muttered.

“You’re not wrong.” Amity said, only half-paying attention. “The makeup isn’t going to look very good tomorrow, but that’s because of the swelling. And adding more makeup is going to make the healing process slower, so pick your battles.”

“Do you get in fights often?” Luz raised a brow. “Or are you sneaking out and helping other girls with their concealer when I’m not around?” She teased.

“Please keep in mind I’m the one holding your hand right now,” She growled, gripping her wrist tighter and glaring at her face.

There was a momentary silence between the two.

“That kinda--”

“You know what I meant.”

,

“Can’t believe you actually drove to a fight at seven-eleven,” Luz whistled, leaning against the front of the black car. “And I’m willing to bet this is an expensive car too, huh?”

“It’s just an old dodge charger,” Amity shrugged, opening the passenger side door. “Get in.”

Luz blanked for a moment. She processed Amity’s words before jerking her head up to look at the witch.

“Huh?”

Amity exhaled like this was testing her will and gestured to the inside of the car.

“You said you walked here, didn’t you? And even bandaged up, you still clearly got in a fight. I’m not letting you walk around at one AM looking like that.” She said impatiently.

“...you're going to willingly let me get into your car?” Luz said, pressing her hands together before flinching and remembering that was a bad idea. “And you're not trying to kidnap me?”

“I’m not asking again.”

“Just making sure,” Luz said, avoiding eye-contact as she walked over and scooted into the passenger seat.

Amity shut the door with a bit more force than necessary and walked around the car to the driver's seat. Luz took her time in looking around, checking out the interior of the car. She noticed an air freshener hanging over one of the air ducts. It was shaped like a staff from the Good Witch Azura series.

Luz leaned forward to sniff it and instantly recoiled. Partly because it had a disgusting blend of lavender and ash, and partly because Amity had gotten into the car.

“You read Azura books?” Luz asked as she turned to the girl.

Amity froze, stiff and still, both hands gripping the steering wheel. Luz scooted back slightly, preparing for a claw to come flying at her face.

Amity turned to glare at the human and pointed a finger, nails unsheathed into sharper claws and Luz instinctively raised her bandaged palms in innocence.

“You say anything about this and I will rip out your tongue and force-feed you your own eyes. Understand me?” She growled.

Luz nodded slowly and Amity pulled back, twisting her key in the ignition and starting up her car. Luz waited until they had left the parking lot and began driving before she drummed her hands on the armrest and casually tilted her head.

“So...which book’s your favorite?” She questioned. “Personally, I think book five was--”

“Shut your mouth before I do it for you,” Amity hissed. “But do that after you tell me your address.” She added right after.

“...ignoring the way you worded that first part,” Luz said, attempting to sound as indifferent as possible. “It’s just a few streets away from here. Do you have a GPS?”

“Punch it in,” Amity said, her voice sounding stained. She took one hand off the steering wheel and dug in a compartment between the two seats, pulling out a small black GPS.

Luz did so, casting a glance every now and again towards Amity, who had gotten a faint pink to her cheeks at her earlier threat. She had one elbow back on her seat, with the other hand on the steering wheel.

Luz sat back and let Amity continue the drive in near total silence. She pulled out another twizzler from the packet she’d taken and half-heartedly gnawed on one.

“Thanks,” She mumbled around the twizzler.

“Hm?” Amity hummed, glancing over for a moment before turning back to focusing on the GPS.

“For driving me,” Luz said, keeping her eyes on the window next to her. “Even after I messed up that pretty little face of yours.” She said with a hint of tease.

“Oh, so when I say something that could be taken the other way, it’s a big deal. But when you say it--”

“Shut up and drive,” Luz grumbled, slumping down in her seat and shoving the last of the twizzler in her mouth. “This is what I get for trying to be nice.”

Amity chuckled and shook her head. Luz pouted and glanced over at her. The witch was noticeably more relaxed than before, smiling ever so slightly.

Luz gave a small grin and pulled out another twizzler. She offered it to Amity, her grin growing as Amity gave the licorice twizzler the side-eye.

“I’m not eating that, Luz.” Amity growled. “Don’t taunt me while I’m driving.”

“Oh, so you can take a hit, but you can’t take licorice?” Luz taunted, still holding the twizzler by her face.

“What happened to Luz being thankful I spared her?” Amity grumbled.

“I was thankful because you were being nice, not because you spared me. Which, by the way, no you did not.” Luz huffed. “But both of those moments have ended because I still don’t like you.”

Amity growled and pressed her ears down. She sharply turned her head, and in the span of a few seconds, she snapped her jaws around two quarters of the twizzler, barely missing Luz’s fingers, and broke the candy cleanly.

And calmly, she went right back to driving.

Luz sat in shock for a moment, unmoving. She had the sight of Amity’s fangs in her mind for a few moments before quietly leaning back in her seat and looking over the small piece of licorice left in her hand.

She was having a lot of thoughts at the moment, and that was evident by the flush gathering in her face.

She was, however, distracted by the sound of Amity gagging.

The witch stuck out her tongue in disgust, revealing it was slightly forked at the end. Her face was scrunched up and she shuttered.

“That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever eaten,” She hissed, shaking her head.

Luz watched the sight for a moment before bursting out laughing. She tried to cover her mouth, but it didn’t do much. Amity glared over at her and looked ready to growl, but she didn’t. She only raked her gaze over Luz before deflating and rolling her eyes.

And then she slammed on the breaks.

Luz went flying forward, realizing too late she had neglected to put a seat belt on. She hit the dashboard and groaned at the impact. Amity, meanwhile, started laughing at her as Luz pulled herself up.

Luz grabbed the boxes of bandages she’d taken with her and chucked it at Amity’s head. The witch laughed harder, unbothered.

Luz scoffed and sat back, crossing her arms. Though she couldn’t help a smile herself, giving a giggle at the witches antics.

And for a brief moment, it was like they’d never fought at all.

“Alright, alright,” Amity wheezed, turning back to Luz. “Get outta my car you bruised idiot.”

“Huh?” Luz said, looking around and peering out the car window.

Sure enough, they had arrived at Luz’s house. Which made sense, why else would Amity stop? She had to get home. Why was she disappointed?

“Oh, yeah, right.” Luz nodded. “Er, thanks, again.”

“Don’t mention it. Ever. Because Boscha will never let me forget this.” Amity warned as Luz opened the car door and slipped out.

“Yeah, no, I’m not telling Boscha anything.” Luz agreed. “I’d rather swallow a tooth.”

“Pray that you do,” Amity taunted as Luz shut the door.

Amity rolled down her window and hung an arm outside of it as Luz stopped right next to her, shoving her antiseptic wipes, gauzes and packet of twizzlers into her pockets.

“Meet me outside the school tomorrow so I can fix your face,” Amity said. “If you're still awake by then.”

“I’m never fully awake,” Luz said simply. “My bags under my eyes are so deep that now they’ve just melted into my face.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Amity rolled her eyes. “See you later, Luz.”

Luz offered a smile in return and stepped back. Amity hesitated for a moment before pulling her arm back in and starting up the car once more.

Luz watched Amity leave, waiting until the old dodge charger was out of sight before she turned back to her house.

Her mother would leave for work before she got up, so she wasn’t worried about her seeing the injuries. She could probably get some makeup from Amity at the end of the day tomorrow, if she sucked up enough.

God, that was a weird thought. Actually getting help from Amity Blight.

Luz looked down at her bandaged hands as she walked to her house, turning them over like she was looking for flaws. She paused at the front door and raised her head, thinking.

Alright, maybe Amity wasn’t so bad.

But this absolutely, positively, did not mean she liked her.

Not in the slightest.

#beta au #the owl house #toh #my writing #writing #drabble post #lumity #amity blight #amity #luz noceda #luz #beta luz #beta amity #concept luz #concept amity #enemies to lovers #enemies to friends to lovers #crackheads #crack #fighting #tw blood #tw fighting #tw drug mention

[sadorangejuice]

Dead? [kit walker]

Summary/explanation: this very specific ik it’s kinda weird but basically one of my chickens just got killed. like today I found her body in the woods. and I remembered seeing chickens at Kit and almas house in like the first ep. and then I was like oh yeah Kit walker would definitely comfort me even tho it’s just a chicken and I need to chill. so that’s why this. sorry that was a lot I just felt like I should explain bc this is so specific okay. Basically I’m writing this to comfort myself.

Warnings: death of a chicken. that should be it I believe.

(Emotional comfort)

“Kit, I haven’t seen the chickens in a while. Do you think they’re okay?” You ask, looking out the window slightly worried. You had a few chickens purely just for fresh eggs, but you also just enjoyed having something to take care of.

“I wouldn’t worry about it doll, they probably just found a some worms to eat.” He tries to reassure you but after a while you insist on going to look around for them. You grab a handful of chicken feed to attract them and go outside. You shake the food and call out for them but only find two of them. You give them their treat and head back around to see if you could find the other two. You think it’s strange that they weren’t all together. It was unusual for them not to come when called, you knew something was wrong.

“Kit I only found the two, that’s not like them, somethings wrong.” You spit out breathlessly as you open the door to tell Kit.

“Hey calm down honey, it’s okay. It’s not even sun down yet, they’ll head home when it starts to get dark. They always do.” He rubs your shoulders in attempt to settle your nerves. You knew Kit was right. So you sat down in the chair on his lap and watched television with Kit while you wait. You almost fell asleep as he was brushing his hand over your hair. You suddenly noticed it was nearly dark outside and sat up, quickly putting on your outdoor shoes to go search for the missing chickens.

“Y/N, wait. Let me do that alright doll?” He offers.

“Yeah you can come with me.” You rebuttal, determined to find your chickens. The two of you decide to tread down to the woods behind your shared home. Thinking perhaps they were hiding from a predator in the brush.

“I’m gonna go look down here, I’ve seen them here before.” He says walking to the left, as you go to the right. You scan all around you looking for the familiar bright feathers of your favorite little hen.

“I found the black and white one!” Kit shouts.

“Is she hurt.”

“No but she seem pretty shook up, they’re probably hiding from a hawk or something.”

“Okay, go put her in the coop with the others I’ll keep looking.” He picks up the chicken, and she happily goes along with him back to the safety of her little coop. You tread through the dead leaves and pine needles before something brighter than the dull brown surrounding pops out in your vision. You’re skeptical at first, passing it off as a rag, or trash that’s somehow ended up here. But as you step closer you see feather surrounding the bigger mass of white under a tangle of briars. You feel relieved at first, but then quickly notice the lack of movement. You make it through the briars adrenaline pumping. You almost wanted to turn around. If you turned around it never happened. You dreaded having your worst fear in this situation being confirmed.

“Oh god” you whisper tears briming your eyes as you finally reach you beloved chicken. Her feathers torn from her body and her head laying at a crooked angle. You didn’t even notice the head at first you thought it had been ripped off.

“Kit!” You yell, your voice cracking.

“Yeah, you find her?” He shouts back.

“Yeah.” You manage.

“Is she hurt?” He yells, fighting his was through the sticks and briars, to get to where he hears your voice going from.

“Yeah” you say quieter this time.

“Dead?”

“Mhmm.” You manage as he finally reaches you.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry doll.” Kit knew you loved each of the chickens dearly, having raised them from chicks, and fed them, and kept them safe for this long.

“Can you uh, grab her foot, and pull her out for me, doll?” You were smaller than Kit, and could reach your hand through the mess of pointy briars above.

“Yeah.” You oblige. Somewhat reluctantly reaching out towards her foot. Pulling back, almost scared to grab it. You let out a sob when you touch it, noticing how stiff she is and realizing she’s been dead for a while. Kit rubs your back, comforting you as much as he could. You’re sobbing even harder when he takes her from you, as you notice her head dangling limply, not aligned with the rest of her body. Kit reaches out his free hand to hold yours, and help you step out of the patch of brush. You escape with only a few scratches on your hands and ankles. You walk back to the house hand in hand and hand in— well dead chicken foot.

“I’m gonna go bury her. Will you be alright here.” He asks looking up at you.

“Yeah, but can you let me know before you cover the dirt over her, I wanna say goodbye.” You sniffle. He nods and grabs the shovel. You say your goodbyes and head back in the house. It’s dark by now and you’ve still been crying on and off. Feeling bad that you couldn’t save her. And guilty. And angry at whatever did this to her.

“So what do you think killed her?” You ask your husband.

“Not sure. Maybe a hawk clawed her neck trying to pick her up. But I didn’t see any blood. It could’ve been a possum, I’ve heard of them doing that, drinking the blood and leaving everything else.” He ponders.

“Oh my god Kit! It was one of those vampire dogs from Mexico!” You realize.

“What the hell are you talking about, doll.” He laughs at your sudden burst.

“Chupacabra! That’s what they’re called! They drink the blood from chickens and goats. They’re animal vampires.” You remember seeing some cryptic special on television one night.

“Those aren’t real Y/N” he laughs. You sit in his lap in silence leaning your head on his chest. Your fine for a while. But then you remember her cold stiff body, and her feathers everywhere, how scared she must’ve been. You’re so deep in thought that you don’t even notice your tears before Kit is wiping them off your face with his thumb.

“I’m sorry I know they’re just chickens I don’t know why I’m so upset about it I’ll be fine in the morning I—” suddenly embarrassed at how emotional you are over livestock.

“Don’t apologize, Y/N. That’s what I love about you. You feel for everything and everyone, no matter how small. You’re just so kind. Don’t apologize for having feelings, doll. You don’t have to do that with me.” He reassures you. And by the end of his words your tearing up again.

“I love you Kit Walker.” You mumble burying your head in his shoulder as you hug him tightly.

“And I love you, Y/N Walker.” He presses a kiss on your head, embracing you back. He hold you like that until you fall asleep, only moving to get up and take you to bed with him.

This is so weird and specific so I apologize if it makes no sense. It’s hard being a cottage core bitch with chickens 😔.

#kit walker imagine #kit walker x reader #kit walker #ahs imagine #ahs asylum

[platypanthewriter]

Hook Possum 3/4

Art by @monsdasarah​ for Harringrove Big Bang!

PART ONE | TWO

The next morning, Steve did the First Aid class.  “Hook Possum here has offered to help—” he began.

“What?!” Hook Possum hissed, as the kids shoved him forward, laughing, and Steve paced around like a drill sergeant.  

He’d always liked teaching first aid.  “Attention up here, everybody!” he shouted, grinning.  “Who knows when to yell for help?  You?” he pointed to a wide-eyed kid who shook his head.  “We call ‘em the Big Bs,” Steve told the kids, crossing his arms.  “Bleeding, breathing, barf, burns, bones, and bites.”

“Barf,” giggled a little girl.

“If anything is happening like that—bleeding, anything wrong with someone’s breathing, you see barf—” Steve paused, gratified to see Hook Possum miming a gouting wound, gasping for air, and puking his guts up.  “—if anybody gets burned—” Hook Possum grasped his hooked paw, frowned at it, and yelled “My paw got burned off!”, and everybody laughed uproariously.  

“If anything happens to anyone’s bones—” Steve went on, and got to see Hook Possum clutching at his leg, “—or if anyone or anything’s teeth breath somebody's skin—” he ignored Hook Possum yelling about vampires, trying to keep a straight face.  “If any of the Big Bs happen, you need an adult, okay?  We’re gonna need to take a look at it, and maybe take that kid to the doctor.”

“Okaaaaay,” the kids chorused, most of them looking faintly rebellious.  

“A lot of it we can handle here, though,” Steve told them, and several brightened.  “Lemme show you all your way around a first aid kit.”  

Steve demonstrated how to bandage a possum, diagnose a possum with heatstroke, splint a possum’s tail, and he pretended to give him a shot with the new epi-pen, in case of bee allergies.  At the end, he let all the kids play with the gauze bandages he’d used, and a box of band-aids.

Hook Possum didn’t look any less uncanny with his face covered in Scooby Doo and Sesame Street band-aids.  It almost made him worse, somehow, because your eyes caught on the cartoony band-aids first, and then processed the mangy, vacant-eyed, toothy head.  

The possum did look hilarious all trussed up in bandages, and one little girl tried so hard to make a sling, she wrapped the bandage around his neck and pulled, and Hook Possum gagged, twitched, and slumped onto the picnic table Steve had been using for demonstrations.  

“If you can’t help them, you gotta at least hide the body,” Steve told everyone, his cheeks hurting with how wide he was grinning.  “What’s the campsite rule?”

“Leave it cleaner than you found it,” they chorused, watching Hook Possum’s twitching legs in the air.  

“We could tie some rocks to him and dump him in the lake,” a very small girl in pink ruffled overalls suggested, and the kids around her edged away.

“Now, hang on,” Steve told them.  “Remember a possum is actually unconscious if it’s ‘playing dead’.  It makes an awful smell, but if you leave it alone, sometimes they’ll wake up and wander off.  We should probably leave Hook Possum alone for a while.”

Around then, Robin called for lunch, and the kids started to wander off.

“Don’t you dare leave me tied up,” Hook Possum hissed, and Steve patted his shoulder, and told him to stay there.  While the kids were straggling into the mess tent, Steve ran and got the old camp camera, and took about five pictures of Hook Possum trussed like a turkey.  “You utter asshole,” he hissed flatly, but he was laughing, Steve could tell.

After lunch, there was a mud flats exploration party, and the kids all ran off with buckets.  Steve got Hook Possum some cool water, and closed his eyes politely as the mask was removed.  

“When you gonna let me look?” he asked, laughing.  “It’s not like I’m gonna tell anybody.  You gonna keep this up for weeks?”

“...I need the bonus,” Hook Possum muttered.

“Yeah, I know,” Steve told him, “—but you’ve got the mask off already, what difference does it make if I see you?  There’s nobody else around!”

“Leave it alone, Harrington,” Hook Possum growled, and Steve felt the picnic bench shift.  When he called out, and then dared open his eyes, several minutes later, Hook Possum was gone.

After that, Steve didn’t ask.  He encountered Hook Possum a few times in the showers—late in the Indiana night, when it felt like every breath was clingingly hot, and only the shower stalls were cool.  

“Don’t turn the light on,” Hook Possum always hissed, and Steve snorted a laugh, shaking his head.  

“I won’t, dude,” he always said, and they’d talk, some, in neighboring stalls, just letting the water wash away the sweaty heat of the night.  

Hook Possum was moving to the west coast, he said, and Steve felt a pang at that, the same as he’d seen in Max.  “It cools off at night there,” he said dryly, and Steve just bit his lips together, nodding.

“Hard to argue with,” he admitted.  “Uh, when...when are you leaving?”

“As soon as I pack after camp,” Hook Possum said, a little muffled, like he was washing his face.  “Why stick around Hawkins.”

“Oh,” Steve said, nodding again.  He couldn’t really think of anything to say, so he focused on scrubbing the sap off his toes from the conifer right by their cabin.  

 Every night, the Hook Possum stories got more in-depth.  “One full moon, a girl and her boyfriend drove out to this very campground and parked,” Robin began, as some of the kids said ‘why?’ and others said ‘ew!’.  “He was driving,” she said, leaning in, so the light of the campfire lit her face from underneath, “—and even though it was past midnight, and she asked and asked to go home, he wouldn’t start the car.”

Some of the kids looked unimpressed, but some of them were listening avidly.  

“He looked at her,” Robin said, “—and he smiled, and he said ‘Nobody knows I brought you here.’”

“He’s gonna sink her in the lake, with rocks,” said the tiny girl in the ruffled pink overalls.

Robin high-fived her, and then leaned in again.  “The boyfriend grabbed her arm and twisted it around, and whispered, ‘Nobody knows where you are’, and the girl screamed, because her arm felt like it would break.  ‘You know what I want,’ he said.”

Steve knew his cue, and he reached down behind the log he was sitting on to scrape the fire poker along the hatchet they’d used to cut kindling, making a long, metallic scrape.  A couple of kids shrieked, looking around.  

“Just then!” Robin shouted, standing up, and more kids yelled, “—the two heard a ripping, metallic noise on the roof of the car.  The boyfriend was so angry he shook the girl, and then yelled ‘What the hell is that?!’, but she didn’t know.” 

Steve scraped the poker on the hatchet again, angling it for a sharper, higher-pitched noise.  

“Something scraped along the door, and the girl screamed again, because she was already so afraid.  She’d been thinking of opening the door and running into the woods, but as something scraped the door again—”

Steve scraped them together as loud as he could, having practiced with Robin beforehand, and everyone yelped and winced.  Even Robin’s eye twitched at the awful noise.  

“—the girl begged her boyfriend not to get out of the car.”

“But he did,” whispered one of the kids, eyes wide.

“He did.  He left her there.  Once he got out, though, the noise didn’t come again, and she sat, listening, and crying.  She heard him scream, the way she had, when the bones of her arm creaked in his grip.”

The kids were rapt, and El met her cue with a branch-shuddering wind, making the whole clearing full of campers shriek.  

“Did she get out of the car?!” Pink Overalls asked, urgently, and Robin shook her head.  

“She heard branches break, and then, crashing through the underbrush.  It might have been more screams, or it might have been the wind.  The girl curled in her coat, staring at the blackness through the windows, and when she felt another thud against the car, and—” Steve scraped the hatchet with the poker again, long and grating, and a kid moaned.  Robin lowered her voice, and the kids leaned closer to hear.  “Heard another noise, like something scratching to get in, the girl locked the doors.”

Robin waited several beats, her face darker and more red as the fire burned down to coals.  “In the morning, the girl woke to find her boyfriend pinned to the driver’s side door with a massive hook through his hand.  He was whimpering, staring into the forest, and he didn’t respond to her voice.  His hair was white.”

“Hook Possum,” gasped Pink Overalls, and everyone turned to stare.

“Hey, he got what was coming,” Hook Possum said.

 That night, predictably, a bunch of kids came looking for Hook Possum.  “There are floating lights,” one squeaked, pointing, and Steve bit back a laugh, remembering seeing the marsh gas and fireflies as a kid.  “It’s Hook Possum,” he whispered, but the kid shook his head, pointing.  

“No, he’s right here.”

Steve considered.  “It’s weird telling stories about you when you’re around,” he told the furry bulk at his elbow, glaring.

“Well, sorry,” Hook Possum shot back.  “There aren’t a lot of jobs a possum can get, Harrington.”

“We always said the lights were Hook Possum,” Steve said, shrugging.  “Searching for the one who wronged him.  The reason he can’t move on.  He never sleeps.”

“Euuugh,” said one of the kids, shuddering.  “He does sleep, though!  I’ve seen his bunk.”

“Yeah, we know he’s really a...person,” said a small voice in the dark, shakily.  “In-in a costume.”

“Mostly a person,” said another little voice.

“Yeah, we know you’re mostly a person,” said another one.  “E-except at night.”

“Hang on, now,” Hook Possum hissed, but Steve elbowed him.  

“Hook Possum won’t let anything happen to you,” he told them.

 One evening when the sunset was particularly fine, and Steve was for once off dish duty, Hook Possum was down sitting on the dock, his legs splashing in the lake.  The back of the costume was untied—except for the neck, since it hadn’t fallen off—and through the long slit in the back, Steve could see skin.  In the golden light of sunset, Hook Possum didn’t even look too terrifying, from the back, his plastic fur shining 

Steve pressed down a nearly-overwhelming urge to slide his fingers between the folds of polyester fur and let his fingertips brush over Hook Possum’s shoulder blades.  

“You’re getting all wet,” Steve said, dropping to sit on his hands, and Hook Possum snorted.

“Possums dry,” he said, kicking his feet in the water, and Steve realized, seeing a pale flash, that he didn’t have shoes on, and stared down, his heart thumping at every flash of ankle.

“...hey,” Steve said, like a genius, leaning to thump their shoulders together, and Hook Possum laughed.  Off in the woods, there was another grinding noise, a mechanical roar, and a horrible high-pitched whinny that made Steve’s teeth clench.

“...sounds like somebody needs a new fan belt,” Hook Possum said, leaning against his side, and Steve stretched, yawning, and reached an arm around his shoulders, feeling Hook Possum laugh.  “...what’s over that way?” Hook Possum asked, letting himself slump a little into Steve’s side.

“What?” Steve breathed, thinking about the little line of Hook Possum’s back showing through the back, and how it would feel to slide his thumb in there, up and down, feeling the bumps along Hook Possum’s spine.

Hook Possum laughed.  He sounded a little breathless.  “Uh, I just—what—what’s over there, where the um, where the engine noises?  Are coming from?”

“Oh,” Steve said, blinking.  “Uh, nothing.”  He frowned, thinking about it.  “Nothing’s supposed to be that direction, there’s no road.  It’s prairie, y’know, park lands.”  

“How come I keep hearing shit from over there, then,” Hook Possum mumbled, without lifting his masked head from Steve’s shoulder.

“...dunno,” Steve sighed, giving in to temptation, and sliding his thumb inside the gap at the back of the Hook Possum costume.  Hook Possum shivered, tensing, and Steve just rubbed a slow circle with his thumb until Hook Possum relaxed with a sigh.  They sat, splashing their feet, until Steve sighed.  “...I should probably go check it out, huh.”

“...mmmn,” Hook Possum said.  “...probably.  Since you kinda...own the damn park.”  He pulled away, sitting up straight, and Steve let his arm fall away.  “Keep forgetting your dad owns the damn place,” Hook Possum muttered.

“I mean, it doesn’t really matter,” Steve told him, hoping it didn’t.

“Yeah, like you couldn’t talk to him and get us all fired,” Hook Possum laughed, touching his mask, and Steve grimaced.

“I wouldn’t get you fired,” he groaned.  “Why in the hell would I get you fired?”  

“How the hell should I know,” Hook Possum growled, clambering back up onto the dock.  

 The next day, Steve led friendship bracelet making.  He always did, because he’d been going to camp so long he was really, really good at friendship bracelets.  

“What color you want yours?” he called over to Hook Possum, as a matter of course, and Hook Possum stared at him, smoke swirling from his eyeholes.  “...you’re gonna set yourself on fire,” Steve told him, laying out the embroidery thread.  “Pick out some colors.”

“...you’re making me a friendship bracelet?” Hook Possum asked, warily.

“Well, yeah,” Steve told him, shrugging.  “What colors you want?”

“...uh,” Hook Possum said.  “Possum colors?”

“The hell are those,” Steve asked, snorting a laugh.  “I’m not stomping it in the dirt.”

Hook Possum swung a leg over the bench opposite Steve, and leaned his horrible mask in his hands to pore over the color selection.  “...how many should I pick?” he muttered, his voice deeper than his usual fake squeaky hiss, and Steve bit back a smile.  

“Probably, uh, three to like...five,” he said, shrugging.  He’d started a pink, green, and orange candy-striped one for Pink Overalls, and he pinned it to the knee of his jeans to work on while Hook Possum considered.  

Finally, he reached his plastic-clawed paw and pushed a grayish blue forward towards Steve, and then a darker blue, and then hesitated between the other colors, and pulled back.  

“...white?” Steve suggested.  “It’d still be a blue bracelet, but it’d show up.”

“White,” Hook Possum said, nodding.  “Possum colors,” he announced.

Steve found himself grinning, again, the way he always was lately.  His cheeks were tired and it was only eleven in the morning.  

He got distracted helping the kids with theirs—Pink Overalls wanted to make one for Bell Witch Mirror kid, and so on—so it wasn’t until after dinner, when he snuck back to their cabin with a tray of spaghetti, that he managed to work on it.  He slid the tray onto Hook Possum’s bunk, hitching up the flag curtain so the guy wouldn’t sit on it by accident, and then dropped into his bunk.  He looped the cut embroidery thread around his toe, frowning up intently at the ceiling of his bunk as he wove the strands.  

Hook Possum wandered in shortly after.  “Where’d you go?” he asked, leaning in.  “You okay?”  He stared for a long second, and then asked, “...is that my bracelet?”

“Yep,” Steve told him, his fingers dextrous after the long day of reminding himself of the patterns.  

“...it’s almost dark in here,” Hook Possum said, nearly a whisper, and Steve laughed.  

“I been making these so long I could do it in the dark,” he said.  “You better eat, if you’re gonna go sit around the fire.”

“I think I can miss a night of Hook Possum stories,” Hook Possum said.  “I’m gonna grab a shower first.”

Steve nodded, only half paying attention, because it was getting dark, and he had to keep up the rhythm or turn on the light to find it again.  

When Hook Possum returned, Steve was half done, carefully not looking over as the human who wore the possum suit sat just out of sight, leaning against Steve’s bunk, and ate the spaghetti Steve had brought him.  The dim battery lantern Steve had set behind his bunk lit them both yellowy from the back, so even if he’d looked over, he couldn’t have seen much of Hook Possum’s face.

“How are you even doing that,” Hook Possum asked, and the bunk creaked as he sat next to Steve, warm and damp from the shower, smelling of soap and the pine trail back to the cabin.  His curls—he had curls, Steve thought dazedly—tickled Steve’s shoulder, as he reached up to run his fingers over the dimly-lit, smooth-woven thread in Steve’s fingers.  

“...practice,” Steve said, his throat weirdly tight.

The head against his nodded, and Steve could feel stubble against his cheek.  Hook Possum’s body was heavy against his, his hairy legs a little itchy, and Steve wanted to roll over and explore, slide his fingers all over Hook Possum’s body.

“What do I do with it,” Hook Possum said, and Steve’s fingers paused.  “I just mean, uh,” the guy said quickly, “—there are rules, right?  Like I’m not supposed to...take it off?”

“...what, you’ve never had a friendship bracelet?” Steve asked, laughing, and felt the head against his shake.

“Nah,” he said, dryly.  “Never been to a summer camp before, either.  I was the kinda kid that’d get in trouble.”

“There’s always one every year and you think ‘I’m gonna have to pull that kid out of a toilet or something’,” Steve told him, sighing.  “We figure it out.  Haven’t lost a camper yet.”

“I wear it until it falls off?” Hook Possum asked, his voice rumbling against Steve’s shoulder.  Steve could barely move his right arm, but he didn’t ask Hook Possum to move.

“Yeah.  It’ll just wash with you in the shower,” Steve told him, grinning.  “Some kids take theirs off to make them last longer, though.”

“What about when it does fall off?” Hook Possum breathed in his ear.  “You gonna make me another one?”

Steve felt his face heat, because Hook Possum was being weird and intense about a friendship bracelet, of all things.  “...you saying I make a faulty product?”

“I’m asking if you’ll...work here next year,” Hook Possum muttered, sighing into Steve’s shoulder.  “If it falls off.”

“The hell do you care,” Steve laughed, his stomach twisting.  “You’re moving to Oregon or somewhere.”

“...California,” Hook Possum sighed.

“You saying you’ll give me your address?” Steve asked, nearly forgetting himself and sitting up to look over.  He shut his eyes tightly, his heart pounding.  “So—so I can mail you a friendship bracelet?”  Hook Possum was quiet, his fingers tight on Steve’s wrist.  “...you saying you’d...come back to see me?” Steve ventured, and Hook Possum snorted a laugh, so Steve tried to backtrack.  “Yeah, no, not for a friendship bracelet,” Steve laughed.  It felt forced.  “That’d be pretty dumb.”

Hook Possum’s hand ran slowly up Steve’s arm to his face, and Steve waited, his blood thudding through his veins, his eyes clenched so tight shut he saw lights, feeling Hook Possum’s fingers touch his cheek.  

Hook Possum’s thumb stroked over his jaw, and Steve trembled with the effort of holding still.  He wanted to yank Hook Possum closer, or—or roll on top of him, or something, and the gentle sensation of Hook Possum’s hesitant breath on his lips made him want to scream.

After endless seconds, Hook Possum shoved away, thudding to the floor of the cabin and stomping over to prop the little shuttered window open and lean out.  He gasped for air, taking ragged breaths, and Steve felt just the same, like he’d been running.  

He opened his eyes and stared up at his foot on the roof of the bunk, and the inches of bracelet dangling between his toes.  “You can tell Max when it falls to pieces,” he said, with a weird rasp in his voice.  “If you want another one.  I can—I can get you another one.”

“You’re gonna keep making me friendship bracelets,” Hook Possum said, half a groan, and Steve could just see the dark shapes of him leaning his head into his arms.

“Well, you seemed worried about it,” Steve told him, grinning.  “Don’t want my possum getting lonely.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Hook Possum muttered.

 Hook Possum actually tried not to smoke too much around the kids, but every night, he’d wander out and have a cigarette on the steps of the cabin when the air inside was hot and close.  Steve awakened vaguely to the sound of his voice talking to one of the kids, and then fell back asleep.  

When the pounding at the door started, he jerked awake with the other counselors, mumbling and smacking their heads on the wooden bunk frames.  The cabin door opened, and Steve recognized the voice of Pink Overalls.  “Hook Possum went off in the woods to see what the lights were,” she sobbed.  “He hasn’t come back.  It’s been four hours!”  

She thrust a glow-in-the-dark watch face into Steve’s face, and he blinked blearily at it.  It was a quarter after five in the morning.  

“Shit,” he muttered, rubbing his face.

“He could be in the lake,” she sobbed.  “With rocks.”

“I’ll go get him,” Steve told her, stumbling out of bed.

“We’ll all go get him,” Robin said, clicking something in the dark, then smacking it.  Her flashlight lit up the cabin.  “Wake up the other counselors, tell them they’re on breakfast duty.”

“Oh-okay,” Pink Overalls sniffled, and slammed out.  

Steve found another flashlight, and he and the other counselors tromped through the grasslands, squinting through the occasional tree cover until Steve was pretty sure they were in the right area.  His foot caught on a low patch of smooth mud and then grass, and he frowned down at what looked like tire tracks.

“Holy fuck,” Robin whispered, grabbing him, and waving her flashlight around.  “Jesus.”  

“Wait,” Steve said, holding his own flashlight still on the plants they’d been tromping through.  “Is—is that—”

“Marijuana,” Robin snickered.  “Somebody’s got a good crop back here.  I need to find some really big trash bags, stat.”

“Hook Possum first,” Steve reminded her, shuddering at the thought that he’d stumbled into drug dealers out here.  The thought of their faces as Hook Possum lurched out of the darkness was hilarious, but they could have hit him with anything, Steve thought, walking along the tire tracks, and then jogging.  They might have had guns, even.

There was a loud crash and yelling ahead, and he ran.  

“He’s in the shed!” yelled one of the other counselors, brandishing her heavy flashlight at an unfamiliar guy in a t-shirt who looked stoned as hell, and Steve ran by, looking for a shed.  His flashlight slid over it, and he stumbled to a stop, trying to remember the place.  An old fire season ranger hut, he thought, yanking on the locked door, and then pressing his face to the glass.  

“Hook Possum!” he yelled, and got back an “I’m fine, jesus.”  Steve threw his shoulder against the door and it gave instantly, dropping him on his hands and knees inside.

“My hero,” Hook Possum said, as Steve scrambled to his feet, swinging the flashlight around until it caught on the furry shape.  His hands and feet were tied, then handcuffed to a rolling office chair.  

Steve yanked at the cuffs, tugging at the ropes around Hook Possum’s ankles, and being generally ineffective, when Robin stormed in.  “There’s a phone,” she panted.  “I’m calling the police.  Get him out of here, they’re trying to fight us, or something.  I had to brain one with my flashlight.”

The sound of a sputtering engine came up the road, and Robin yelled “Fuck, more of them?!” before running to the phone.  

Steve gave up on the cuffs and ropes, and rolled Billy out of the shed and along the muddy tire tracks in the office chair.  They trundled quickly away from the noise, and then the chair nearly overbalanced, and Steve nearly tripped over Hook Possum’s tail and took them both down, so he slowed.  His heart was pounding.  “Are you okay,” he panted.

“I’m fine,” Hook Possum grunted, squirming in the cuffs.

“Lemme get your mask off,” Steve said, stopping.  “Did they hit you?”

“I’m okay!” Hook Possum yelped, nearly overbalancing as he tried to duck away.  “Leave it on!”

“Look, if you need money that much, I can give you some, lemme check your head—” Steve offered, checking the mask for cracks.  “Did they—”

“They threw a goddamn tarp over me and I couldn’t find my way out in this thing,” Hook Possum said bitterly.  “I’m fine.”

“O-okay,” Steve said.  “...okay, okay, okay…”  He took a slow, shuddery breath, squeezing Hook Possum’s shoulders as he pushed him along in the chair.  It rattled across the uneven ground.  “What were you even doing?!  Wandering off alone in that thing?!”

“Had to see who was trespassing on your grounds, lord and master.”

“Fuck you,” Steve hissed.

“This might be the most undignified thing I’ve ever done,” Hook Possum growled.  “Trussed up in a rolling office chair.”  

“It’s handy,” Steve told him, catching the guy’s weight again as the ground tilted the chair.  

“We’re never talking about this again,” Hook Possum said.  “Ever.”

“I’m rescuing you,” Steve told him, grinning, as his heart rate started to slow.  “Like a princess.”

“Shut up,” Hook Possum growled.

“Princess Possum,” Steve sighed happily.  

“So you’re my Prince Charming?” Hook Possum snarled.  “You gonna kiss me and uncurse me, or what?!”

Steve opened his mouth, and then closed it.  “...uh,” he said.

“A real Prince Charming doesn’t just grab random possums,” said Hook Possum, his voice entertainingly uneven from the bouncing of the chair.  “Help!  Help!  I’m being oppressed!”

“Shut up,” Steve laughed, giggly with relief that his...his Hook Possum wasn’t bleeding out from a head wound, or tied to rocks, sinking in the lake.  “Just a little longer.  I’ll get you back safe.”

Pink Overalls threw her arms around Hook Possum when Steve pushed him back into camp, muddier even than usual.  She sobbed about ropes and murder victims, and Steve sawed at the ropes with the bread knife, until they frayed, and cut, and Hook Possum was free to stand—one paw still handcuffed to the office chair.  

When Robin got back, exhausted but elated, and carrying three mysterious trash bags, she got the hatchet.  Steve held the chair across from Hook Possum’s wrist over the wood chopping stump, and Robin smashed the chain between the two cuffs until one came loose, and the chair fell away.  “The police will have to talk to you,” Steve told him, sliding his finger inside the cuff, and along Hook Possum’s human wrist.  “They can take it off.”

“...yeah,” Hook Possum whispered, holding very still.

“I knew he’d save you,” said Pink Overalls, crying with relief. 

PART ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR

#harringrove big bang #harringrove #monsdasarah #Is amazing every time I see her art #YAY YAY YAY #A joy to work with!

[in-tua-deep]

Daemon AU? Yes PLEASE!

I will give u the pre-canon material exploring Five and his daemon’s relationship ;3c 

---

Pancha prefers small forms. Five never knows for certain why, and when he asks her she just tilts her head and shrugs at him because she doesn’t know what to say, either.

She likes being a hummingbird, flitting around Five’s head and hovering in front of his face before nesting in his hair. She likes being a mouse, scurrying up Five’s arm and tucking herself into the pocket on the front of his blazer.  She likes being a rabbit, feet thumping against the floor as she zoomed around the room at top speed.

Five never knows, or maybe just never vocalizes why the representation of his soul prefers to be small. 

But when Reginald Hargreeves gives him scathing performance reviews, his cane clicking against the floor in time with the soft clicking of Aryia’s claws as they look down their noses, as Five stands with his back straight and proud while - 

While Pancha curls up tight in his pocket, a mouse biting the end of her own tail so that she would not whimper aloud. They know then, even if they never voice it aloud. The reason that Pancha prefers to stay small.

---

The thing that people learn early is to watch daemons. Not directly, that would be rude, but to keep them in the corner of your eye and observe. Daemons are the representation of a person’s soul after all, and souls can’t lie. 

If someone is nervous, their daemon will shuffle anxiously. If someone is angry, their daemon will puff up in fury. When someone is scared, their daemon will cringe and cower. It’s easy to spot a liar in a world where the heart lays outside of the body.

Five’s very good at lying with his own body. He stands up straight and proud. He bares his teeth in furious smiles, licking blood from his lips and refusing to back down. He speaks loudly, with purpose, with challenge in his voice and in his words. Five is hard-headed. Five is disobedient. Five is an unruly little monster.

Pancha shifts into a hummingbird, because everyone knows hummingbirds flit around to keep aloft. It doesn’t look like nervous energy when it’s for a purpose. Pancha shifts into an australian tiger beetle, because they don’t have lips to draw back in wordless snarls. Pancha shifts into a gerbil and hides in Five’s pockets, because what you don’t see cannot betray you.

They call her adaptable, laugh when their siblings’ daemons begin to settle. They tolerate the speculation about who is going to settle next and what they will become.

They both dread the day Pancha will settle, even if they don’t say anything to one another. They don’t address the fact that she changes from one form to another, cycling through dozens within the space of a day even though their siblings stick to perhaps three. They don’t talk about the buzz under their skin that drives Pancha racing around their room at top speed until they crash on the bed panting together with something clawing desperately inside their soul. 

They don’t talk about a lot of things, but they don’t need to. They’re two halves of the same whole. 

---

Luther snaps at Five for cheating, for running ahead on a mission. They’re twelve, and Andromeda looks down on Pancha with something cold in her eyes and says, “Of course they can’t obey. They’re still unsettled.”

She says it like an insult, lip drawing back to show off too sharp teeth, says it like it’s something for Five to be ashamed of. Says it like what she’s really saying is that Five is a child. Like they aren’t all twelve-years-old and just settling into their own skins. 

She says it like it’s Five’s fault that Pancha can flit through forms like she can’t shed them fast enough. Even as Andromeda speaks, Pancha is a bat, is a wren, is landing on Five’s shoulder as a sugar glider, is curling around his neck as a ferret.

She says it like it’s his fault that he’s twelve-years-old and his daemon is unsettled. Like half the twelve-year-olds running around aren’t doing so with daemons just as unsettled as his. 

(Five read once, in a book, that trauma can make daemons settle earlier. There are so many cases of children as young as nine, seven, six with daemons tiny and scared and permanent.

The same book mentioned that abused children’s daemons often fell into one of two categories: large predators, to protect themselves and bare their teeth and intimidate any who try and hurt them. And the small ones, who are tiny and scared and do their best to be beneath notice.

Luther and Diego’s daemons are large, with teeth that can tear flesh and muscles beneath their skin.

Pancha likes to take small forms. Five doesn’t think about it too much.)

Five curls his lip and snarls back at Andromeda in a way that he never does when they’re in front of cameras, because etiquette says that people don’t talk to other people’s daemons, “If you weren’t so slow then maybe I wouldn’t have had to go in alone.”

Pancha shifts from a ferret to a squirrel to a kangaroo rat. The others are used to her rapid changes, but they also mean that they can’t pin down Five’s mood based on his daemon’s body language. She’s shifting too rapidly for that, clawing down his jacket as a hispid cotton mouse and settling into his arms as a pika, as a pygmy rabbit, as a stoat.

“Maybe I should hear a rumor about everyone calming down.” Allison threatens, her hands on her hips and tapping her foot impatiently. Amraphel is wrapped around her shoulders like a scarf, lazily flicking his tongue out.

(Allison has been of ill temper and short of patience ever since Raph settled a month ago. The whole house had heard her shouting about it, and none had dared to address it when they came down to dinner with Raph draped over the back of the chair instead of his customary place in Allison’s lap. 

Raph and Allison haven’t sat properly together since he settled, and no one talks about it.)

But Allison’s words settle Andromeda and Luther, both of them backing up in a way they wouldn’t for any other sibling. 

Pancha is a bush baby now, climbing up to Five’s shoulder and tugging lightly on the hair behind his ear. 

Five holds his hands behind his back and twists his fingers together to the point of pain.

“No need for that.” Pancha says, voice clear and level and almost haughty. “They’re only jealous they can’t be as adaptable as us.”

Luther snarls and lunges forward, only to be blocked by a bristling Andromeda. “They’re not worth it.” She growls, low and deep in her chest with flashes of white teeth. Luther and his daemon try so hard to be respectable, to be cool and aloof like their father and his daemon. It’s almost sad, really.

Pancha is a manipur bush rat, scurrying to Five’s other shoulder. Five untwists his hands from behind his back and reaches up to grab her when she shifts into a black jackrabbit. 

“Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Five says, with all his twelve-year-old wit, “Your face isn’t worth it.”

The black eye he sports for three weeks is, in fact, worth it.

---

Pancha is the last one left unsettled. It shouldn’t bother them, they don’t even really want Pancha to settle, but it does in some terrible inexplicable way.

Pancha flits between forms, and none of them feel right.

“We’re obviously going to be something that can jump properly.” Five muses, tapping a pencil against a little black notebook as he thinks. “You said the kangaroo mouse didn’t feel right?”

“Nothing will feel right until the moment we settle.” Pancha points out, flicking the tail of her current ginger-tabby-cat form back and forth, “Val was definitely a wolf a few times before she settled.”

“Yeah, well, I’m like 90% sure Val settled out of pure competitive spirit.” Five dismisses rolling his eyes. 

Valencia had settled two hours before Andromeda had, and has lorded it over the other daemon ever since. Diego still preens about how he was the first of the siblings to settle before even Luther.

(Five kind of wants to tell them both that Tamaya settled a week before Valencia and Andromeda both. No one noticed because Ben hadn’t brought it up, and Tamaya had always favored hiding to confrontation. Instead, Tamaya ‘officially’ settled around three days after their siblings.)

“I’m probably not going to be a big animal.” Pancha says, her claws pricking into his skin through his pajama top as she leans against his shoulder to peer at his list. “You can cross kangaroo off.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t be sure?” Five says, eyebrow raised.

Pancha just stares at him blankly. He stares back. Pancha shifts into a Florida king snake.

“Not having eyelids is cheating.” Five scowls, crossing his arms.

Pancha easily swaps into a possum, shaking out her fur. “It wasn’t cheating, it was adapting.” She tosses his words back in his face, “Besides. You thought I could be a kangaroo.”

Five grudgingly crosses an entry out. “Well why are you a possum now?”

Pancha shrugs as well as she can as a possum. “Dunno. It’s a marsupial or whatever, isn’t it? Besides, I’m sort of digging the fingerless gloves aesthetic.” She offers a foot out for Five to inspect.

“You look like you just climbed out of a trash can.” Five informs her.

“No, that was last night.” Pancha shoots back, shifting into a pine marten to crawl into Five’s lap and bat at his notebook. He just holds the notebook a little bit higher, making her huff in irritation. 

“Dad really needs to feed us more.”

Pancha nuzzles against Five’s stomach as comfortingly as she can, even though she can feel the slight pang of hunger gnawing at her belly as well as he can. Their power takes so much out of them sometimes, it’s difficult to justify taking more to a man who sees them as an experiment instead of a person.

“I could turn into a tiger and eat Aryia.” Pancha offers, shifting into an otter and making another grab for the notebook that Five easily avoids.

“You don’t like taking big forms.” Five dismisses easily, as though it’s nothing. As though it isn’t something they don’t discuss between them.

Pancha is silent for a few minutes, and even Five stops scribbling away as he waits for her response.

Finally she says, very carefully, “Just because I don’t like to, doesn’t mean I can’t.”

They both are silent after that, Five lowering his arms to curl around Pancha’s latest form in something just a little bit too loose to call a hug. 

“It’s safer.” Pancha whispers, breaking the silence between them, “I don’t know why, but it’s safer this way. Smaller daemons - they aren’t looked at as closely. When a tiger daemon bristles, people pay attention. When a mouse daemon bristles, no one even notices.”

“Is my soul really mouse shaped?” Five huffs a laugh, but they both know that he wouldn’t be disappointed in her being a mouse so much as he would her being trapped a mouse.

Pancha nudges at his chin with her broad muscular head, “Hey, don’t knock mice. They’re survivors. Practically anywhere you go, you’ll find mice. Inside, outside, they know how to get around.”

Five hums, dropping his notebook on the bed and bringing his hands up to run them through Pancha’s fur.

“Maybe we should be something with a beak.” Pancha whispers, knowing that Five will hear her no matter how softly she speaks. “No one bothers to look at bird daemon expressions, either.”

“Maybe you’ll be a swan, able to break someone’s arm and look pretty while doing it.” 

Pancha snorts, “Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you. Vicious representation of our soul, that.” 

Instead of saying anything more, Pancha shifts from an otter into a meerkat. She curls into a tight little ball in Five’s lap.

“Not this one either, then?” Five says with a smile.

“Shut up.” Is Pancha’s intelligent response. “Next time you ask, I’m going to bite you.”

---

The moment they figure out what they can, theoretically, do, the buzzing under their skins gets louder than ever.

“Ask dad again, please.” Pancha begs, shifting from a budgie to a canary to a superb fairy wren as she flits about close to the ceiling of their room.

“You ask Aryia!” Five shoots back, bouncing lightly on the top of his bed even though it’s sort of childish. If anyone comes in though, he’ll just say he was trying to catch Pancha and they’d probably believe it.

Pancha turns into a magpie and immediately tries to divebomb Five in irritation, who stands there unimpressed and she’s forced to veer back towards the ceiling or crash into him. “You know she’s a mythic bitch!”

“And you think dad isn’t?” Five asks incredulously, bouncing a little more frantically.

“You don’t get lectures on how you’re -” Pancha flies to the floor and shifts into an impressive rendition of a marble fox identical to their father’s daemon, “Still unsettled Pancha, honestly, I expected better of you. Why can’t you be like the others, you’re so unruly and disheveled and I have no idea why dear old Reggie didn’t do away with you long ago -”

Five is cackling, his bouncing having come to a stop so he could slap a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter at Pancha’s, frankly, spot on impression of their father’s daemon.

Pancha grins, shifting from a fox into a jack russell terrier and jumping on the bed with Five. “Spot on, wasn’t I?”

“Absolutely impeccable.” Five manages, sticking his nose haughtily in the air, “Why, I almost thought our dearest Aryia was in the room with us!”

Pancha nips at his heels, making him flop down onto the bed with her automatically. The shift in weight and position makes them both bounce a few times before they settle down. They’re still buzzing with energy though, even sitting still.

“I bet time travel would fix us.” Pancha says finally, voice strangely serious in the face of their previous jostling and cheer.

“We aren’t broken.” Five says equally seriously, watching as Pancha shifts into a grey collared chipmunk, then a harvest mouse, and then an antelope jackrabbit. She uses that form’s legs to launch herself from the bed to the desk across the room and back again. 

“There’s something wrong with us, Five.” Pancha corrects him fiercely, clawing up his arm as a pallid bat to his shoulder. “The others weren’t like this. We’re thirteen, now. Statistically, we should have settled by now. Or - or slowed down at least.”

Now she’s a margay, precariously balanced on his shoulder with her tail whipping into his face. Five brings up a hand to gently grasp at the twitching appendage, “The average is twelve to fourteen, technically.” He corrects her gently, “We practically just turned thirteen, we have time.”

Pancha hisses, hopping down off his shoulders in the form of a mongoose. “If we just - we have to try, Five. Can’t you feel it?”

Five bops her gently over the head, half scolding. “Of course I can, I’m you aren’t I?”

The buzz under their skin gets stronger by the day, and Pancha hasn’t been able to hold a form for longer than five or ten minutes in almost a year. It takes more effort not to jump than it does to actually jump, these days. Pancha shifts into a brush rabbit and levels him with an unimpressed look.

Five heaves a sigh, foot bouncing against the floorboards as though Pancha has transferred her nervous energy to him. “You know what dad’s gonna say, anyway.” He brings a hand to his chest and put on a nasally fancy tone, “Maybe we can revisit this topic when you’ve matured a bit, Number Five.”

Pancha gnashes her teeth together as a beaver. “You know what that’s code for.”

Five’s look is just as bitter as his daemon’s tone. He does know. Everyone knows. It’s a whole thing - people have weird ideas about what it means to settle. That it means, in some weird way, that it’s a transition into adulthood and responsibility.

How many hospital dramas and detective shows make it a point to draw attention to a child actor’s shifting daemon? How many true crime shows have grieving parents wailing about how the daughter or son wasn’t even settled yet, as though it might have been less of a tragedy if the kid’s daemon had been permanently stuck as a woodchuck. How many courtroom dramas have dismissed eyewitness testimony on the basis of the kid isn’t even settled yet.

Five and Pancha thinks it’s stupid, the emphasis put on settling. Thinks it’s dumb that he’s somehow considered less mature than a nine-year-old with a settled hedgehog daemon, even though he’s thirteen. But his age doesn’t matter. Just his daemon’s settled status. 

“What if time travel fixes us.” Pancha proposes again, fluttering over to the desk in the form of a cardinal. “What if it helps. What if it’s what we need to - ”

Settle, she doesn’t say. Because to settle is to know yourself, and they don’t even know they extent of their powers.

Five shakes his hands out, blue sparks flying down his wrists as he does so. Anything to try and get the buzz out from under his skin. 

“I’ll ask dad again tomorrow.” Five says finally, “And if he says no - ”

“Then we do it anyway.” Pancha is a coyote, lips pulled back in a wordless snarl before blue lightning runs down her form and she’s suddenly pressed against Five’s side.

“Then we do it anyway.” Five confirms, grim.

---

Time travel does not fix them.

Time travel breaks them.

They stand in the rubble of the end of the world, howling for their family with something that tastes like desperation on their lips, and no one answers. Dust swirls across the ground, glittering and gruesome as the smoke chokes the air from their lungs.

They claw through ruin until they find what they’re looking for, until Five shoves a piece of debris off of a face that belongs to a wrist with a black umbrella inked upon it, dark and final.

He finds Luther. He finds Allison, finds Diego, finds Klaus. He does not find their daemons.

Pancha is a falcon, is a racoon, is a wolf howling desperately into the crackling air, hoping, praying for an answer. But the only thing they hear are the quiet roar and crackles of the fires and their own footfalls.

It’s eerily quiet, at the end of the world. There’s no movie soundtrack, or screams, or howling winds. It’s just the pops of distant fires and the sound of rock across rock as their feet dislodge pieces of the wreckage.

“We can fix this.” Five says feverishly, “We have to go back.”

“It’s not working.” Pancha grits her teeth, pushing and pushing and pushing against the wall of their powers. It’s about as useful as trying to break down a brick wall with her shoulder.

“We’ll make it work.” Five vows, “We’ll go back. We’ll save them all.”

Pancha nods, equally grim and equally serious. 

“What we need,” Pancha says slowly, sounding out each word. She has Five’s full attention on her, “Is an equation.”

Math isn’t something they technically need anymore. It’s a crutch from their younger days, something that soothes them and calms them and helps them focus. They can jump without it, their brain doing most equations automatically.

But when they’d first been figuring out their limits on distance, when they’d first figured out the differences between jumping in water and jumping in air - they’d used math. When they were figuring out time travel was possible, they’d looked at the math.

“Okay.” Five says, breathy and small and scared, “Okay.”

---

They don’t figure out until a week in that the buzzing under their skin is - not gone, but lesser somehow. 

In their defense, they have a lot bigger things to worry about.

Five is scooping cold spaghetti-o’s directly into his mouth with a spoon he’d buffed against his shirt when he finally looks at Pancha and realizes that she’s been a barbary macaque for… hours now. She has a box of children’s sidewalk chalk by her side and is concentrating fiercely on writing while Five takes a break.

“Pancha - ” Five starts, and then finds himself at a loss for words when she looks up at him. 

“Hmm?” She asks absently, little monkey face still scrunched up in concentration. Five can’t help but wonder when the last time Pancha stayed in one form long enough for him to pick up proper expressions from her face.

“...Never mind.” Five says, and watches Pancha turn back to her work. 

They have more important things to worry about now anyway.

---

“This is a bad idea.” Pancha informs him, tongue lolling out the side of her mouth as she pants in the scorching heat. She’s a dingo today, has started experimenting with bigger and bigger forms.

(Five is seventeen-years-old. She still hasn’t settled.)

“We’re literally starving to death, Pan.” Five says dryly gripping bright packaging between thumb and forefinger like he would prefer not to be touching it himself, thanks. “Look, I definitely remember something about these things never going off.”

“That doesn’t sound right.” Pancha frowns, “But then again, I don’t know enough about twinkies to dispute it.”

They both look at the innocent little treat that Five has managed to unearth from inside of what looks like it used to be a child’s backpack. They don’t think about the child the backpack might have belonged to.

“Don’t those things have like, cream in them or something?” Pancha asks doubtfully, leaning forward to sniff the treat suspiciously, “Pretty sure anything with dairy in it went off like, years ago.”

“They’re like, 90% preservatives probably.” Five says, bringing it closer to his face so he can sniff it as well. “What do you think?”

“I think this is a terrible idea.” Pancha shrugs, which looks strange with a Dingo’s shoulders, “But then again, we are starving to death. Not sure we can afford to be picky.”

“We also can’t really afford to be sick.” Five points out sensibly. 

They both take another pause to consider the twinkie. 

“We’re so going to regret this.” Pancha sighs, laying down and putting her head on her paws. “But hey, if we die, we die.”

“We’re not going to die.” Five scolds her, peeling open the twinkie finally and giving it a distrustful look, “We totally aren’t going to regret this. Power of positive thinking, right?”

They absolutely regret it.

They don’t die, though.

---

The bright side of Pancha being unsettled is that she’s actually very useful in the apocalypse. She can take on the form of an elephant, acting as a one-daemon construction crew to clear out debris when they need a place to stay. She can run through the rubble as a mouse, squeezing through cracks in search of anything useful.

She takes the form of a chameleon, snagging insects from the air and offering them to Five when his skin starts looks paper thin and his ribs stick out prominently. 

Pancha lays in the body of a tiger, curled around her human to protect him from the cold nip of the night air. The weather is turning, and soon enough there will probably be snow on the ground.

“We’re twenty-one this year.” Pancha says quietly.

Five hums, fingers twisted into her fur. “Five more years and then we’ll have officially been here longer than we were there.” 

“Doesn’t matter how long it takes us.” Pancha says, squeezing her paws around his shoulders in warning, “We’re going to get back to them.”

Neither of them are sure they really believe it anymore, but oh how they want to.

They let the silence sit for a while between them before Five speaks up with a snort, “Not this one then?”

The question is almost an old joke at this point. Thirteen was a late bloomer. Sixteen was maybe-we-should-get-you-checked-out territory. Twenty-one was practically unheard of.

Pancha gives him a punishing lick with her sandpaper tongue over his forehead, making Five squawk with outrage. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to, idiot.”

“You know, calling me an idiot is really only calling yourself an idiot.” Five bites back, but they both know he’s not really offended. If he was, he wouldn’t still be cuddled into Pancha’s fur. Even their arguments are performative these days. 

“I can call you scruffy without offending myself, I suppose.” Pancha says dryly, “What is wrong with your face.”

“If you can find a good razor kit in the apocalypse then be my guest.” Five says grumpily, but he ruins it by nuzzling his face into Pancha’s chest fur making her huff with laughter.

Pancha squishes him closer, mindful of her big paws and powerful muscles. But even in this form - her hip bones are too prominent and her ribs can easily be felt through her fur. They’ll go out scavenging again tomorrow, but for tonight they can just… lay here. Bask in one another’s company. 

“Stop thinking so much.” Five draws his head back a little to sleepily scold his daemon, “You’re going to keep us both up.”

“Shut up then.” Pancha shoots back.

“Night, Pancha.” Five’s words are muffled against her fur, but she hears him loud and clear.

“Night, Five.” Pancha says softly.

---

Pancha hops tentatively through the first snow of the season, her white fur blending in well. “Five,” She says, not sure how she’s planning on following up.

“I know.” Five says quietly, reaching down to pick her up. She rubs her face under his chin comfortingly, feeling the scratch of his beard across her fur. “Happy birthday to us, I guess.”

“Twenty-six.” Pancha whispers.

“It was - it was 2019, right?” Five asks suddenly, “When the apocalypse happened?”

“April 1st, 2019.” Pancha confirms solemnly.

Five hums. “They’d have been, what, thirty?”

“It was still April.” Pancha corrects, shaking her head gently, “Our birthday is in October. They’d have still been twenty-nine.”

Five is very quiet for a long time, and Pancha keeps her own silence as they trudge through the wasteland. They’ve been doing a little better food-wise recently. They’ve discovered that while Five doesn’t get much out of Pancha eating, they get something out of it. She’s taken to wearing herbivorous forms and munching on grass and other plantlife where she can. The coming winter may make that trickier, though.

“If we go back before we hit thirty, we’d be about the same age.” Five says finally.

Pancha hums in agreement.

“But - ” Five hesitates, “We have to go back to, to before Ben dies, right?”

“They were what, sixteen?” Pancha taps at Five’s chest in a request to be put down, which he readily complies with. “Maybe we could get them out. Be the responsible adult.”

Five snorts, “Adopt our siblings?”

Pancha grins, “Hey, don’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy the hell out of bossing Luther and Andromeda around.”

“We’ll see who’s the kid then.” Five chuckles before they both fall silent.

After all, Luther’s entire thing about Five being a brat was because - well. Pancha silently shifts into a husky with thick fur, coming over to nudge at Five’s leg as they walk side by side.

“We never really talked about what we’d do about - about me once we get back.” Pancha says carefully, warily.

They don’t need to change like they used to. Don’t shift between forms with the blink of an eye. They’re more solid now, Pancha tends to take a form for hours or entire days now unless she finds another form more useful to their current situation.

But they aren’t settled.

Five offers her a strained smile, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“Maybe if we get back, it’ll fix us.” Pancha offers, but her voice is soft and a little bit wistful. She doesn’t believe what she’s saying any more than Five does. They already travelled down that road before, and look where it got them.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Five repeats firmly, before his face softens a little bit, “Happy birthday, Pancha.”

“Happy birthday, Five.”

---

“Do you remember how old we are now?” Five whispers, his hair and his beard have gotten streaked with grey. Pancha’s not exactly a spring chicken herself anymore, allowing Five to card his fingers through the feathers in her wing and straighten them out.

“Too old.” Pancha complains, “What’s the point in keeping track anyway? It’s not like we know what day it is.”

“We should probably keep track in general.” Five sounds amused, “Gotta remember how far to go back after all.”

“Fuck it.” Pancha declares, nipping at Five’s fingers when he’s a tad rough with a tender spot, “Just overshoot. Either we’ll pop out when the family are babies, and we can just steal everyone, or we don’t and bam we’re right on track.”

“You’re suddenly finding a motherly bone in your body, somewhere?” Five removes his hands from her wings to brush them off on his pants. Pancha gives them an experimental flap or two. “I, for one, could not be paid enough to deal with a baby Diego. Can you imagine?”

“He’d have fantastic aim when he’d throw his toys at you.” Pancha snickers.

“Can you imagine baby Allison?” Five demands, and they look at each other for a heartbeat before they both break down into laughter.

“Oh my god,” Pancha gasps, burying her face into her own wing, “Can you imagine what she’d rumor? Everyday would be Disney world day and she would be the prettiest princess of all.”

“Ruling the world with an iron fist and a sparkly tiara.” Five manages to get out, his own face buried in his hands as he wheezes.

“Klaus would be right next to her, tiara and all.”

“Fuck you’re right.” Five laughs, a deep belly laugh they neither of them hear very much these days, “There would be so much glitter.”

That statement makes Pancha dissolve into giggles again where she was just getting control of herself. 

“If we ever get back, I’m going to buy both of them the sparkliest tiaras available. No, wait. Gonna buy the whole family a bunch of those little kid birthday tiaras, and never explain why.” Five declares, grinning, “They’d be so confused.”

“When.” Pancha corrects, and the mood suddenly turns serious. “When we get back.”

Five doesn’t apologize, doesn’t sputter or claim it was just an error of speech. He just inclines his head a little bit and says, “Right. When we get back.”

---

They’re old and broken and creaky and tired when their endless days of bouncing math off of each other and testing at the boundary of the blue that stays frustratingly solid to them changes.

Five’s hair is entirely grey now, and his beard is long and scraggly where he hasn’t taken a knife to it in a while. 

Pancha is a european hare and she’s the one that first senses danger.

The thing about living in the apocalypse, is that it’s quiet. There’s no hum of electric lights. There’s no brawls between stray cats or dogs. There’s no squirrels or rats or mice scurrying around. 

So when Pancha’s sensitive ears pick up the sound of footsteps she feels such an intense sense of - of something that it makes Five drop his chalk and swing around to look at her with alarm.

She’s glad her form today is swift, because she’s across their little ‘camp’ in seconds and in his arms, clawing her way up to his shoulder to press her mouth to his ear, “There’s something out there.” She whispers, somehow terrified and she doesn’t know why.

To his credit, Five doesn’t even hesitate despite the impossibility of her words. He scoops her under one arm and turns and picks up the gun (they don’t talk about why they have a gun) with the other. He turns around and points it at - 

A woman. They both freeze like deer in headlights.

“Hello!” The woman calls, picking her way down the debris in high heeled shoes.

“Five.” Pancha swallows, making her human look at her, “Five, where’s her daemon.”

Five’s head whips back around, and they both stare. It’s entirely possible that the woman’s daemon is just small, just out of sight and out of mind. It’s even possible that she’s a witch, and her daemon is off gallivanting about.

But Pancha can feel a scream trapped behind her teeth, feel her ears go back as she fights the urge to run run run away from this terrifying woman who tastes of empty empty empty. Something is wrong. 

She can see the way Five’s fingers tremble as the sense of wrong wrong wrong reverberates through their bond. 

“Who the hell are you!” Five snarls out, and Pancha takes the opportunity to squirm and wriggle so that she’s balanced precariously on Five’s shoulder, freeing up his other hand to steady the gun.

“I’m here to help.” The woman says brightly, still picking her way towards them.

“Five.” Pancha whimpers, and as she feels her paws tremble she watches his hands go still and steady.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t just put a bullet through your head right now.” Five raises the gun further, but the woman doesn’t even hesitate. 

“Because,” The woman says, smiling a carefree smile as she adjusts her hat and pulls her sunglasses from her face. “Then you wouldn’t hear the offer I’m about to make you.”

Five and Pancha are more tense than they’ve ever been before in their lives, and considering some of their childhood missions - that’s saying a lot.

“Which would be rather tragic given your…” The woman looks around and even though she doesn’t look disgusted the implication is there anyway which makes them both bristle, “...Current circumstances. I work for an organization called the Commission. We are tasked with the preservation of the time continuum through manipulation and removals. 

“Why are you telling us this.” Five manages to grit out, never letting his gun drop.

The woman just looks at him like he’s a child and she’s disappointed he asked such an obvious question.

“I’ve come to offer you a job, Number Five.” She says simply. 

They don’t miss the way she only offered the job to him, not to Pancha. 

There’s a lot after that. The woman explains that she wants to hire him - them - to, to eliminate threats to time caused by humanity’s free will. She tells him that her organization has had their eye on him. That he has potential. That Five can retire with a pension plan for the low low price of his soul.

Well, he’s paraphrasing. 

She at least allows him a moment of privacy to discuss things with his daemon, telling him that she will be back in an hour to pick him up and that he should take the time to gather what possessions he wishes to take with him. She seems awfully confident he will take her deal.

“She doesn’t have a daemon.” Pancha shudders against him, “She’s so empty inside. She scares me, Five.”

“I know.” Five says, smoothing his hands over her fur comfortingly, “But - Pan, the chance to get out. If they know how to properly time travel - ”

“Then we can finally get out of here.” Pancha says softly, longingly. “It’s been so long, Five.”

“I know.” He whispers. 

“She wants us to kill for her.” Pancha tells him, “Removing the problems - she just wants us to become an assassin. She wants us to be a weapon.”

“Would we kill to get our siblings back?” Five asks, but it’s a rhetorical question. They both know that they’d probably let the world burn all over again if only it meant saving the people most important to them. 

“We’d have food.” Pancha offers finally, “If it’s a job, we’ll have money. No more scavenging. We could focus more time on, on - you know.”

Five nods solemnly, “So, do we take the job?”

A shudder ripples through Pancha’s body, “What about me, Five?”

“What about you?” Five asks, brow furrowing.

“I’m not normal.” Pancha states tightly, watching Five’s face light up in comprehension. It’s been a long time since they discussed Pancha’s ability to shift. After so many years, it almost seems normal. “She’s already seen me as a hare. So do I just - pretend to be a hare?”

Five bites his lip, “Just until we figure out how to get back.”

They both know that’s not a real answer. They both have no idea what they’re going to do when they show up, old and decrepit and still unsettled. 

“She can’t know.” Five says, because at least that much is certain. “She doesn’t have a daemon. She can’t know.”

Pancha sighs, but they both already know what their choice is going to be. “Okay. Okay let’s become assassins.”

---

They’re in a hotel room, and Pancha shifts a few times just to prove she can. She likes being a hare, but sometimes it just gets itchy. Wrong. Sometimes she needs wings, or fangs, or something. 

She feels like she needs fangs a lot around the Handler. Or like she needs to be something small, like a mouse and curl up in Five’s pockets again to hide away. Usually she just hides behind Five and lets him deal with the woman, which is perhaps unfair of her but Five hasn’t protested yet.

(Actually, Pancha doesn’t speak to anybody. Not after the doctor and his capuchin daemon looked entirely scandalized when she addressed him instead of his daemon. Apparently missing out on socialization for an estimated forty-five years led to… some not so great manners.)

Five methodically cleans his gun as Pancha shifts from a lion to a gazelle to a pallas cat and back into a hare to jump onto the bed with him. 

“Today?” She asks him.

He looks up at her and frowns, his hands pausing.

“Something feels different. More right.”

Five tilts his head a little bit in though and then nods. He’s been quiet, since they got back. When they’re alone together at least. The opposite of Pancha. Sometimes she wonders if they’re just switching off, the way they do when it comes to shows of emotion sometimes. 

Pancha crawls into his lap, nudging at his hands until they put the gun aside and bury themselves in her fur. 

“We’re going to save the world, Five.” She says, projecting as much confidence as she can into her voice, as much confidence as she can into him. “We’re going to save them all.”

Five’s hands tremble in her fur, and they both politely pretend that they don’t.

“You aren’t going to do this alone, because you have me. We’re a team.” She cranes her head back so she can offer him a smile, “Team Adaptable, right?”

“Right.” Five rasps out, touching the silver patches in her fur. 

And then they get up, and move out. They’re on a mission now.

#daemon au #yeAH #long post #far tua long #i started writing it and then got super busy oops #but this probably would have been the first chapter #just establishing five and pancha as the main characters #and their whole relationship #and what it means that pancha is unsettled and why she hides it #there's a level of shame involved in a world that treats settled as matured #i'm 100% sure there are parties thrown when a kids daemon settles #like it's a BIG deal in this au #and they don't want to settle because they're so adaptable #but they also desperately want to fit in rip #the handler does not have a daemon and pancha is terrified of her #dolores is not super necessary in this au bc they have each other #i only have like six and a half more google doc pages written tbh #and they're not great bc writing the coming back was awkward #me: i struggle with juggling a lot of characters in a scene #daemon au: oh? double the amount of characters you said? #Anonymous

[soldierallen]

Grief.

Summary: y/n’s grieving the lost of her mom and knowing her best friend watched her mother die, she was going through a lot until he came back.

Warnings ⛔️: DEATH, a lot of grief, pain, anger, hurt, anxiety, BLOOD, wounds, Afterlife. If you can’t deal with grief or death please do not read this! you’re reading at your own risk of being sad or feelings of anxiety

Friend!Bucky x Reader

Evil!Steve x Reader

Based off this quote

“and it wasn’t until i looked around and saw everyone with someone that i realized i never had anyone”

and you were good to me by Jeremy Zucker, Chelsea Cutler

I look around this room, at all these people... grieving for my mother at the wake we buried her earlier it was an attack that the avengers should’ve stopped it was suppose to end she got in a line of fire I watched her die in the middle of the street she worked for shield for years the avengers were suppose to prevent this. She sat next to her brother and her father greeting the guests as they gave their condolences, and she seen Steve Rogers walk in, her rage filling her whole body she kissed her teenage brother’s forehead he just lost his mother she felt so sorry for him

“Get out” she walked up to him quietly to not make a scene “y/n I knew your mother” he said “you could’ve fucking stopped it and I don’t want you here Steve leave!” she said in a whisper “just know that I love you like a sister and I wish this would’ve never happened okay” she walked away and steve felt defeated leaving she hugged her brother very tightly “why don’t you go to bed I’ll take care of everything” “I don’t wanna leave you alone” he said she let go of him hugging her again “I’m really sorry” she said crying a little “me and dad we’ll be okay, I wanna see you some days though maybe stay the night if it’s okay with you”

“I think she’ll budge” a very familiar voice was heard, she turned around “bucky” her breath skipping to see how was there she hugged him so tightly “hey buttercup” he smiled smelling her hair and engulfing himself in her “you’re back?” she said he shook his head yes “I heard what happened, I wasn’t gonna stay in wakanda while you two were grieving” he pulled her brother into a hug “hey buddy” he squeezed the younger boy almost as tall as him just a few inches shorter than bucky, time passed as bucky stood by her as she walked people out and he smiled at her every once & awhile or touched her hand to tell her he was there for her, and when the day came to an end her father sent her brother to bed and her father went to bed as well, She and Bucky cleaned the house in silence with a few words here and there

“buttercup” her eyes perked up as she cleaned the last of the dishes and he wiped the tables down “let’s go somewhere” he put the towel on the handle of oven just like her mother did, she shook her head at the moment “where?” “a place where you can scream” she laughed for the first time in a week “you think I need to scream” she asked and he nodded yes “I know you want to scream I’m watching it on your face” he laughed leaning on the counter she finished washing the dishes and held onto him “you know buck I’m glad you’re here...” shook his head like “I know” he hugged her tight kissing her hair, he put his leather jacket on and grabbed her hand they walked out

“I wonder what it like to be loved” she saw a man and women holding hands at night passing by a car with two men one kissing the other as they stopped at a red light

“but I love you?” he says she shakes her head no, he gives her a confused look “not like that, you love nat.. you’ve always loved nat” he understood what she meant “I looked around a room today filled with people who were married, engaged, who had someone they loved next to them I never had anyone like that buck I feel like I never will and it kills me” she said swallowing the ball in her throat she fixed her long boots trying to stop her from crying

“You will find someone who loves you, I promise” he said putting his hand on her thigh squeezing it for a second “I wonder if anyone’s ever looked at me and said I love her I wish I could be with her” , it was like a sign from her mom she heard a song on the radio and both her and Bucky looked at each other... “you did this you put it on!” She yelled at bucky “I didn’t look change the station” and she did...bucky didn’t do it it was an actual sign from her mother.. her mother loved Stevie Wonder the song isn’t she lovely played so loudly in the car she felt like crying “she always thought you were wonderful buttercup” he smiled rubbing her cheek. Tears fell from her eyes his sympathetic look as he kissed the back of her hand “come on sing, she would’ve wanted this” and finally rage filled her again knowing she didn’t have to die if it wasn’t for the avengers, if they fucking did their job she stopped talking looking out the window as the song played it was already twilight “we’re in mountain territory” he said, “mount marcy?” she was a bit suspicious..

they walked up, “okay do it” he said “like right now”

“yeah” he put his sunglasses on rubbing his hands together, he screamed so loudly it echoed it literally took everything in him not to cry, and she joined in with him crying.. she broke down falling down and he held onto her as she broke, the grief the guilt everything finally hitting her at once the crying felt like it wouldn’t stop. “It’s okay buttercup” she was hiccuping at point tears streaming down her face she couldn’t stop she was so tired. “I hate him I fucking hate him” she cried out “he watched her, Steve watched the light go out of her eyes and knew it was over and he walked away HE LEFT ME ALONE WITH HER” she cried into his arms a few tears falling from his eyes “I’ll never talk to him again.” Her mouth becoming so dry her face was red bloodshot eyes and drippy nose it wasn’t just she’s dead it was that Steve left, he didn’t even try to help her he just got up and left.

“I don’t think I can go-go on, knowing the things Steve did to me-me... my family it’s like I saw something in his eyes that changed-changed he-he had a switch that was turned-d off... he wasn’t human” he cradled her in his arms, listening to her word vomit everything she’s had in her head for the past week.

“It’s okay, we’re gonna figure it out.” He kissed her head. after another hour of silence they sat on the mountain top crying with each other and they got in the car it was comfortable silence but it was silent... “your place or home?” “home” he nodded taking her back, he got out the car and opening her car door she hugged him “thank you for tonight, go back to her and love her until your heart gives out bucky” he smiled “I love you too.” She walked up to her door walking in, she did love bucky but never like that. when she walked into the home a single light was on someone sitting on the couch

“dad?” “not even close” ... “steve” she was taken aback “why are you here” “she got in my way” she couldn’t believe the words she was hearing “excuse me?” her anger radiating off of her “you and your family always get in my way” he was angry “Steve whatever this is we can fix this” she started to get scared.. “you killed your mother, because you came with her you aren’t suppose to come with her you were suppose to come alone” she was getting waves of anxiety she felt sick “Steve, please don’t do this”

“it was suppose to be you” he grabbed her swiftly by the throat her breathing wavering as he choked her “Steve” she breathed out gasping for air “you always get in the way and make me look like the bad guy, well it’s over for you” there was a knocking at the door “it’s Bucky” she said gasping “answer the fucking door and make him go away” he let her go she fell to the floor not being able to breathe, “it’s Bucky? You left your sweater in the car” she tried getting up she looked at Steve with a devilish look “you even think about alerting him I’ll fucking kill you” what did she have to lose at this point she thought...her brother her father.

“hey” she smiled rubbing her neck “you okay?” He asked she nodded he handed her the sweater “I’ll call you tomorrow okay?” “yeah, uh and James can you do me favor close the lid for the trash the possums keep getting in” she laughed, he gave her a look, he knew something was wrong. “Yeah I’ll do it now, see you y/n” he said her name instead of buttercup he knew and he gave her a signal. she closed the door and just as she closed the door she pushed back up against the wall “open your eyes I wanna watch the light go out just like your mother” “Steve what happened to you” she choked as her body was shoved up against the wall “wouldn’t you like to know? Ha” he laughed devilishly “this isn’t you” she cried “it’s me don’t worry” and at that moment she felt herself passing out she blacked out when she heard a lot noise break the door alerting her brother and father she woke up a little watching Bucky and Steve start fighting each other “go” she screamed at her father and her brother to leave the house “go now” Bucky’s mouth was bleeding and Steve picked up y/n off the floor “Stevie this isn’t you” bucky screamed

“It’s always been me, I’ve always been a monster” and just then he stabs her in the stomach “fuck” Bucky’s whole body goes into shock watching Steve stab her he grabs him and punches him until he knocks out “help is on the way” he took off his flannel putting pressure on the big wound he left the knife sticking out he didn’t remove it of course “I called Tony and he’s calling the police we’ll be okay come on, stay awake” he yelled holding her body “you were so good to me, you’ve always been so good to me” she coughed “all these years I wanted someone to love me for there to be someone in a room who truly loved me and it was you, all this time” she touched his face and he leaned into “you’re okay you’re gonna make it through this don’t say shit like that to me” Tony bursted in the door with shield swat and an ambulance “TONY SHE HAS TO GET TO A HOSPITAL NOW FLY HER THERE” “bucky” “PLEASE TONY” Tony nodded his head carrying her “hey buttercup let’s get you out of here” she smiled at him “hi tony” tears escaped her eyes he walked out the house and flew up into the air taking her to the nearest hospital, “doctor cho it’s y/n” as they got to the front doors she nodded as they got her on a gurney sending her in the back he called shield swat “what the fuck happened” he said “mr Rogers killed Martha Nelson and tried to kill y/n tonight” he said, he rubbed his face in annoyance “why how when?”

“Hey y/n ” he smiled at her “bucky...where am I” she asked “ICU” “this doesn’t seem right” “I knew you were gonna question it” he laughed “what?” “you’re dead y/n” he got up “so am dead? you’re dead too?” She started to worry “Bucky’s fine, he doesn’t even know you’re dead yet, do you wanna stay” the man who looked like Bucky but wasn’t Bucky sat down on a chair “I..I can’t go back I need to know if my families okay” “that won’t be necessary” he crossed his legs “what?” “you’re brother dies in” he looks at his watch “12 hours? And you’re father dies of a heart attack in...3 days” her eyes open wide “what” she was panicked and in shock “if you let yourself go right now, that’s the outcome. If you go back your brother lives and so does your father” she couldn’t let them die not because of her, I have to go home even tho I’m grieving I can’t lose them too. “Wake me up get me out of here” she said her eyes opened Bucky on her left side and her father and brother on the right.. “you’re all okay?” She said as the first words of her waking up they nodded their heads crying all hugging her “I can’t believe you died and you’re asking everyone if their okay?, you’re not allowed to die” Her brother said crying “I’m not going anywhere bud, I am not.” She cried holding onto him.

She never felt loved in a relationship but she surely was loved by bucky her brother and her father, that’s all she needed.

#friend!bucky #bucky barnes reader #bucky barnes imagine #steve rogers #imagine #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x friendship #Bucky #Barnes #evil Steve! #captain hydra

[brooklynislandgirl]

"I would marry you if I had the chance." He isn't joking, of course, but he's said it in a softly playful manner all the same. {I don't know, Beth, he was probably Inspired, I'm sorry.}

If I would, could you? ||-

Sheer gauzy curtains waft in the breeze coming in through the window, paired with moonlight bright enough to silver many of the furnishings of the room. There's no hint of rain that she can taste but the air is redolent with the flowers from the garden down below, and the heat of the day and the heavy humidity have given way to a now familiar coolness that doesn't make their proximity an onerous burden.

She doesn't stir from where she lays on her side, knees slightly drawn up, one arm bent beneath her pillow, the other at the inward slope of her waist entangled with his so that their fingers are braided together in loose enough a fashion that if he needed to get up it would be easier than extricating the leg of his caught between both of hers, or the one under her almost completely. It isn't often that Anakin chooses or simply becomes the 'big spoon' as it were and maybe she is enjoying being wrapped up in him. The only real pity to the situation is that she can't, without turning her head, see his face, limned in the soft light coming from the window and back lit by her lighthouse nightlight.

She doesn't turn because she also expects that maybe he's softly talking to her because he thinks she's asleep. Normally around this time in the early mornings if he's still in bed ~ a fairly recent development between them where propriety takes a backseat to comfort and their almost always more than mutual proclivity of finding closeness and solace through touch~ Anakin is tossing and turning, sometimes accompanied by soft, usually wordless murmurs that she can't quite find shape and function in but knows it's dreams that aren't any more pleasant for him than her own night terrors are for herself just loud enough to rest on the edges of her perceptions.

She almost wants to ask if he's actually slept yet or if he's kept a vigil over her for the past few hours when exhaustion finally managed to sink into her. Insomnia is another one of their commonalities. Neither one seems willing to risk closing their eyes until they have no choice in the matter. She doesn't even really remember getting up the stairs and into bed in the first place. At the same time, the idea of Anakin making sure she didn't curl up on the stairs, or falling asleep in the tub isn't an awful one. Neither would it be the end of the world if he'd helped her slip out of her scrubs ~a last minute after hours emergency~ and into the thin and a little baggy, little overlong tee-shirt that she knows for a fact didn't come from her closet. The material of it is worn to the point of being almost gossamer. Embedded with all the smells she associates in very good ways with him. The kind of thing she'd be inclined to steal borrow for herself if he weren't around to give her permission. Just so she could feel more closely connected.

But speaking would ruin the moment if he does think she's insensible to the world. It would ruin the moment to answer him, even if his tone might otherwise suggest that he knows what she's thinking. And that might very well be the case because Beth suspects that he has an affinity with Uhane'hana, the sphere of Mind. Not that she knows for certain, she herself is inept at it, never quite able to harness that art though her brother...s....were quite talented.

Speaking would also mean she'd inadvertently hurt his feelings. Not because she would say something cruel or spiteful to him. She can't imagine ever being so harsh, so angry with Anakin that she would want to savage him to verbal pieces and do more damage than she could ever do to his physical body, which to be honest would be easier on him and far more devastating that she can actually say. It wouldn't be the first time that someone he cared about harmed him, and unfortunately, she doesn't think it will be the last. But no, she'd rather not do any of that, not in any way. The hurt would stem from the fact that Beth isn't nearly as enchanted with herself as Anakin seems to be. As if he can't see the flaws and the disappointments that make up her central being. That he can't see the terrible failures that she cannot begin to make up for. That she isn't as perfect as she wishes she could be and that he really does deserve someone better, younger, less problematic in the long run. It would hurt because his heart is still pure enough not to see those things, to have a counter-argument for every single fault she could lay at his feet, and to be honest Beth knows she can never really measure up to his generosity of opinion. Just like she knows she really wants to be the person he sees when he looks at her, all quiet and troubled eyes, fidgeting fingers and so almost timid of voice.

That's always endeared her, that wonderfully creative and often time broken vocabulary at his, like poetry spoken out of the side-mouth of a sailor. The revelation of a voracious intellect that was never nurtured as it ought to have been, and the ghosts he carries in it from his past, still too painful to really brush with any sort of clarity. She would do anything, literally, to keep him safe, to nurture every aspect of his being that is within her capability. Even from herself, if need be. And in admitting that, she knows being dishonest, pretending to be sleeping and not having heard those few words... spoken in such a way that it could be brushed off as him knowing she was playing possum and was just trying to get a rise out of her...is not something he deserved.

Achingly slow and careful she lifts his hand ~the left one~ to her lips and brushes a fleeting kiss across his knuckles. Allows every ounce of her to be felt in that rather subdued fashion in place of the words she is having trouble finding. She decides that the only way forward is to try and mimic the same blithe tone he manages seemingly without any difficulty, though her own voice is far more languid than his. "But where we get us a' Elvis impersonator, at almos' four in da mornin' ke kōnane? Besides, I t'ink Bug's tuxedo still at da dry cleaner." The cat in question's ear twitches at the sound of his name but curled up in an almost complete circle at the end of the bed ~which even if Anakin were to stretch out to his fullest would still leave a good foot or more of unclaimed mattress~ in his very own pile of luxuriously soft blankets, he doesn't seem to really care what Beth and Anakin are discussing. It takes a little bit of doing, of shifting here and there that is an excuse for Beth to not have to be serious for the handful or two of seconds before she's turning. Before she takes even more time to once again have parts of him wedged between her knees, to wrap an arm around his waist, and to lift her face so that the bridge of her nose nuzzles along his jawline, her breath a warm sensation across his throat.

"Is...dat some kine...ya migh' be interest in, some day? I mean...not t' me specifically, but in general?" Beth had officiated dozens of marriages. To stuffed animals and dolls. To other kids in the same play groups. To shells and flowers and even trees. She would tell anyone and everyone who listened that some day she would grow up and marry her brother, before she was corrected in her grammar. Before she understood her mother and the Admiral's relationship. Before she realised that maybe that wasn't exactly something she could really have, not like the endings of fairy tales, not in movies and t.v. shows. Before the Admiral explained that she was defective in every way that really mattered. And now she has to wonder why Anakin would even want that. Want her, like that. Maybe he is only making a joke, maybe he really is just trying to get a rise out of her. Maybe is a hell of a word. She squeezes her eyes shut against the stinging prickle at their backs. Keeps her breath even and steady despite the fact that some latent kind of panic is beginning to set in, telling her she ought to have pretended to be asleep after all. She bites back the urge to ask what a chance would look like for him. She bites back on asking why he would say such a thing in the first place. Those little pieces of indigestible fear seem to pile up in her throat, forcing her to clear it and the sound is painfully loud.

"I mean... is only natural, an ya know how much us Verbena really like dat, right? Every kine...well, I should say mos' kine...wanna seek out a mate. Usually f' procreation but I no can help but t'ink it's f' company an' stuff, mutual survival an' all." Oh. God. Shut up. Just. Stop. Talking. Elizabeth. "Big ceremony or lil kine? I bet ya got a t'eme an' a venue an' everyt'ing pick out. Mebbe reception, too. I use t' wanna get marry on a beach back home. Sunset. Small-small. An' really surprisin'? Not a lot of blood. Maybe none, even."

#mynameisanakin #Like A Sad Hallucination|Anakin Skywalker #Like a Memory in Motion|Anibeth #The Trunk You Kept Your Life In|Mage The Ascension #Strange Days|New Orleans #Reborn on the Bayou|Louisiana #Hell or High Water|Nolakin AU

[thebestestboyo]

Because I am stressed and my friend requested a prompt, we're gonna do one

Prompt #3: Drunk/Sloppy Kisses

Why Not?

Tw: Alcohol/Swearing/Mention of puking

Originally, Janus didn't mean to end up drunk at some stupid house party. At first, he was hoping on having a quiet Saturday night in for once. Get Chinese food from that nice restaurant down the street, watch documentaries about the social plannies of the world, and curl up with his snake Diana. He was not planning to end up shitfaced on the couch while chaos reigned around him, and he felt as if he was going to puke if he got up to leave.

But unfortunately for him, his stupid cousin Remy decided that he needed to get out more, and dragged him along to this stupid party so that he'd be able to 'socialize for once.'

Please, Janus socialized plenty! He had friends! Two close ones, to be precise. Virgil Timore and Logan Crofter, who he had known for several years and talked to daily. Hell, Wednesday he and Virgil bingewatched conspiracy theories together and got lunch afterwards. Janus was perfectly fine with his two friends thank you very much.

He had showed up to this party, which he was told would be small, and was disappointed, but not surprised to find that it was practically filled to the brim with drunk college kids. He couldn't go two steps without running into someone, let alone get to anywhere quieter in the house without someone probably trying to frisk him.

So he had to settle for the couch. For now. He was at least somewhat away from the action, well, as much as someone could be in this frat house crammed with people. Nursing a ginger ale he found in a cooler (unopened, he didn't trust any of the punch on the table. Was punch supposed to be green?), Janus was ready to stick it out sober. He didn't know any of these people, so why should he trust his drunk self with them?

...which is what he thought, until he saw him.

The absolute gremlin of the fucking year, Remus Whitby.

This little prick not only was in half his classes, but also managed to have a seat near him in every single one. He was absolutely infuriating, and if Janus didn't think better, he could have sworn that guy chose to sit next to him just so he'd have someone to piss off.

And to top it off, he wasn't even half bad looking! True he dressed like a walking fashion disaster, but it was at least a hot sort of fashion disaster. Somehow his smug little self managed to make floral and bright yellow work, while still wearing the most outlandish pair of cowboy boots to class, as if a dad and a gay cowboy had designed his outfit.

Not to mention he was always trying to get Janus to talk with him! All he had to do, was scoot his chair close to him in the lecture hall, spout some new bullshit of the day, and wait. Their most recent debate was about the reasoning why you shouldn't try to befriend wild possums with preprocessed cheese.

He was crude, he was a terrible dresser, he was smart but in a way that infuriated you, he ate weird concoctions in class that probably weren't compatible flavor palates, and Janus was utterly in love with him.

Now this was something Janus would normally take to his grave and never speak of to anyone, but he was bored, fed up, and altogether too headstrong to care right now.

So making what would probably be a bad decision for his future self, he grabbed a nearby bottle of whiskey, chugged half of it, and strode over to Remus in what he hoped looked confident, but more likely looked as if he was drowning in the crowd due to his shorter stature.

Remus perked up immediately at Jan's arrival, a smirk spreading across his face.

"Why hello, if it isn't the non-believer of making friends with garbage critters! And what might the distinguished Janus Milton be doing here?" His front tooth was slightly crooked, Janus noticed. It was cute, in a dork sort of way.

"I could ask you the same thing. Don't you have seagulls to train or something?"

"Usually I would, but unfortunately most seagulls aren't around during the day. I was trying to teach some of the frogs by the swamp to sing Never Gonna Give You Up though!"

"Of course you would." Was it just the overwhelming amount of people milling around them, or did Remus get a little closer to him?

"They all have names! My brother wanted to help but he was going to name them something too cute."

"Let me guess. Horror authors?"

"Close! Serial killers! I got Jack the Ribber, Dalmer..."

"Wait hold up. Jack the Ribber?" Okay he had to admit, it was a good name.

"Of course! It seemed to fit him. But that doesn't answer my earlier question cornsnake. What are you doing here? Doesn't seem like your thing."

"Normally it wouldn't be. But my cousin decided it would be good for me to get out." He didn't add the part about Remy thinking he was a shut in, that wasn't important. "But I'm not a cornsnake. Why would you even think I was a snake?"

"You do lie a lot, my slippery serpent."

"I most certainly do not."

"Ah, but you do! You even do that thing with your s's and c's when you are."

"I have no idea what you mean." Janus took that moment to take another swig of his whiskey, throat burning with the taste.

"Whatever you say Janny! You wanna go in the pool in the backyard? Beats being crushed by everyone here."

"Is there people skinny-dipping?"

"Not yet! Wanna be the first?" Was Remus...wiggling his eyebrows at him? No, it was probably the alcohol. He wasn't exactly known for having a high tolerance for it.

"I'm only going down to my pants."

"Aw you're no fun!"

_________________________________________

Since Janus hadn't fully undressed, Remus only went down to his boxers. By that time, Janus probably wouldn't have even noticed nor cared anyways, because he was already more than a little tipsy.

He was straight up (or gay up) drunk.

The two had already climbed out of the pool and stumbled to the front yard of the house (probably the least crowded place), Janus leaning into Remus for most of his balance.

"You certainly don't hold your liquor well do you cornsnake?"

"Shut, shut up Remus. I hold everything. Bags. Phones. Car keys. Six inch subs."

"Uh huh sure. Do you still have your phone?"

"Most certainly!"

Laughing, Remus held up what looked like...Janus's phone! How'd he get that?

"Hey! Give it back!" He attempted to reach for it, but due to his lack of dexterity while hammered, only managed to throw himself into Remus's lap. It was even more annoying that when he grumbed his discontent, Remus just laughed harder.

"I took the liberty of holding it for you. You left it in the backyard and I don't exactly know if anyone else is sober enough to keep track of both of you."

Before he could do more than open his mouth, Remus's hand began to card through his hair, smoothing out the still damp strands. While normally, the only people he'd ever let touch his hair was his friends, it felt utterly sublime, so he was in no mood to stop it.

"Hey Re? Heh, re."

Remus jolted a little at the sound of his voice, but answered anyways. "Yeah cornsnake?"

"Come ere' I need to tell you a secret."

"What? Why would you-"

"Shshshshshsh no! I need to tell you the secret!"

"Well okay?"

It took quite a bit of effort, but through Janus grabbing at Re's arms for leverage, he managed to sit upright in Remus's lap, leaned into his chest. "You can't tell anyone okay?"

"You needed to sit in my lap for this secret?" His voice sounded like he was teasing, but for some reason his face was just getting redder. Maybe it was Jan's imagination?

"Yes! It's important."

Waiting for dramatic effect (even drunk he was still a drama queen), Janus tilted his head up and kissed him, smiling afterwards. "I love you!"

Was his face always that red? Janus didn't know, but he really wanted to kiss him again. Maybe not at the moment though, right now his stomach was feeling a little sick-

Thankfully for Remus's clothes (and Janus's dignity, whatever was left of it) once Remus saw that look on Jan's face, he wrapped his arms around his middle and turned him to face the other way.

"...I think we ought to get you out of here cornsnake."

Wait was he disappointed? Did he not like Janus back? What was that tone in his voice?

He didn't know, so his drunk self elected to cry. Great.

"Nononononono it's okay! It's alright, fuck, I never expected you to be a sad drunk, it's okay." The arms around Janus's middle moved to cradle him, as Remus lifted him up and away from where they were sitting.

"I just-" He couldn't get through a sentence without hiccuping through the tears. "-You sound- so dissapointed."

"Janus I'm not dissapointed! I'm just, god am I...worried?"

"Re reeeeeee."

"Sorry, just thinking out loud. Look, I don't know where your dorm room is, so I'll take you back to mine okay? I'm not disappointed, you're all good, let's get some water in you and get you to bed."

_________________________________________

It was most certainly against road laws to have someone sitting on your lap as you drove, so Remus had to transfer a teary-eyed Janus to the passenger seat. For some reason, the only thing calming him down was if Remus would hold his hand (which, he did, that was nice).

It was strange, Remus driving while Janus sat in the passenger seat, playing with the fingers of Re's hand, but it was oddly nice. Beats having him stay at the party where he'd probably hurt himself.

Or tell more of his secrets. Like how he got that scar over his face. He seemed to hold that one pretty close to his chest, so it was unfair to learn it through his drunkenness.

He was actively ignoring the secret he was told, about how Janus loved him. If he thought about it right now, he'd probably end up crashing out of excitement of the fact that he himself had been pinning after him for a solid half of the school year to find that his feelings were reciprocated.

Maybe being drunkenly confessed to wasn't the best way to find out, but hey! He'd prefer it to the sappy romance novel way that his brother was always droning on about.

Once they pulled up to the dorms, Remus went around to Janus's side (not trusting that he'd be able to walk by himself) and lifting him up again, much to the delight of Janny.

"Look I'm your princess!"

"Mmhm, right now this princess has to drink some water, and maybe take a nap."

"Heh Sleeping Beauty took a nap for a long time."

"You wouldn't be sleeping beauty I think, you'd be little red riding hood. Because I'm the wolf, and I've stolen you off!" Tickling at his sides a bit, he pushed open his door as his face was already starting to tinge red. He never expected Janus to be a giggly drunk, then again, he never expected Janus to let himself get drunk. Musta been a tough party experience.

His roommate, Patton, was already asleep, so he didn't have to worry about him asking questions, at least till morning. A quick water break, and a successful attempt at getting Jan's shoes off later, Remus had tucked him up into his bed, planning on sleeping on the chair nearby in case he woke up.

"Re re waiiiiit!"

"Hm?"

"Can I have a goodnight kiss?"

He hoped that Janus wouldn't remember this in the morning, he had already shown so much of his softer side, that if he did, his reputation would be ruined. Part of him hoped he did remember anyways, as he lightly kissed Jan's forehead, going off to sleep.

_________________________________________

When Janus woke up, it was certainly jarring to be in a completely different bed than his own. In a different room, with a splitting headache. And...Remus was sleeping on a chair?

Wait....

Was this Remus's room???

Oh lord. He must have blacked out. It was stupid to drink that much, he always knew he was a lightweight, he probably made a fool of himself in front of Remus.

"You ok cornsnake?"

OH GOD HE WAS AWAKE.

"Considering my head feels as if someone is knocking a wrecking ball through it, I'm as good as I can be at the moment. What am I-"

"I uh, didn't think you'd be okay if you stayed at that place while you were drunk. You got pretty emotional."

Oh no.

"So I decided that, since your phone was locked and you had the dexterity of a clownfish stuck in a riptide, I'd let you chill here...?"

"Please tell me I didn't say anything that embarrassing."

Remus was making that face. He knew that face, that face was the same look a dog made when it had been caught digging in the trash.

"What was it."

"It was really, well, uh-"

"Remus please I'm hungover and tired."

"Yousortaconfessedyoulovedme."

"..."

...

Fuck.

"I mean! It was probably a fluke right? Drunk people always go confessing their love for random people, I know I have!" Remus looked...nervous? The world was too painful to look at for the moment to tell. But he was throwing him a line, so that they'd be able to forget it happened.

Well you know what? Janus was tired in two ways. Tired because he ran around a bunch last night and got drunk, and tired of pretending. So why not come out and say it.

"Actually, it wasn't a fluke."

"I- what."

This certainly wasn't the way he intended to go about this confession if it ever happened, but it would have to do.

"Due to your insistence on talking with me during classes, I've grown...fond of you. One might even say I love you."

Before Remus could get anything else out, Jan continued, knowing he was prolonging his inevitable rejection, but powering through anyways.

"And I while I doubt you hold these same feelings, I'd just like to clarify that I was not lying when I confessed to you drunk. So if you wish, we can both go about our seperate-"

"You dumbass! How can you be so smart and yet so dumb?? I've been in love with you ever since you talked to me about crabs!"

"Wait that's oddly specific-"

"It's true! And I'm gonna prove it."

Taking Jan's head in his hands, Remus looked for a nod of confirmation, before kissing him deeply before pulling away to breathe.

"So how bout it cornsnake?"

Hands looped around Remus, he only had one answer.

"Why not?"

#ts demus #remus sanders #ts remus #ts deceit #janus sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #216: “... To Avenge the Avengers!”

February, 1982

"Avenge us, Tigra! The Molecule Man must die!”

Eesh, the Avengers plus Silver Surfer have gone full Hamlet’s Dad on Tigra and she’s gonna cat Molecule Man and his plush himself to death. But he’s ready for it.

But why? Well...

Last time: Silver Surfer inadvertently gave Molecule Man the idea to eat Earth. The Avengers and the Surfer teamed up to stop him but he just Molecule Manned their sweet gear into nothing, captured them all, and then stomped them under a giant boot-o-matic crusher! Except Tigra who he kept around because he wanted someone to talk at and because Tigra had claimed that she liked him!

This time: “Tigra... the Last Avenger!”

Nice touch that the book name inside the book has been changed to match even if the cover hasn’t.

That is a tough hat to wear. Did you know its only been a little over a week since she joined the team?

And in that time she got thrown into space by an Elf-Queen, watched a founding Avenger have an emotional breakdown and try to kill his friends to make them like him again, had her soul set on fire, been repeatedly harassed in public, and watched the whole team be killed with her life only being spared because she begged for her life!

Is this the worst week and change in Avengers history? IT MIGHT WELL BE!

“She was spared. The fear of death has drained away now, leaving only emptiness behind. She has never felt so alone.”

This narration set in the same panel where Molecule Man is all but slapping the giant boot and going ‘this bad boy can crush so many fucking Avengers in it.’

Well really, its more like

Molecule Man: “Well, cat-lady, they’re dead! Captain America, Iron Man, Thor, and that Silver Surfer guy -- squished flat by my giant boot-o-matic crusher! You know, I made this thing out of molecules from a scrapyard! Yessir, I believe in recycling!”

But that’s about the same level of dissonance between jolly goofus villain rambling and hollow despair.

Anyway, Molecule Man calls her out on being such a bummer because she’s moping over there when he’s feeling good about killing the Avengers and really Tigra try to consider how he feels geez.

So she shakes off the despair and asks hey what exactly is Molecule Man going to do with her?

Tigra: “Am I going to be your mate or...”

Molecule Man: “What? Nah! I never got along with girls! I mean, you know... that way! Yessir, mom always warned me about... that! And she was right! You can be my friend! No! Make that -- my pet! Here, kitty, kitty!”

Wow.

That. That dodged a bullet in a cool Matrix bullet time way right into another bullet.

Let’s please not get too creepy with this, huh? You listening to me, comic published nearly forty years ago? Let’s not get creepy!

Molecule Man decides to be a responsible pet owner and feed his pet. He can control molecules so obviously it should be no trouble to just rearrange them into any configuration he--

Okay, its apparently really hard to make food! Way too complicated!

He’s going to be an irresponsible pet owner and not feed Tigra. And meanwhile he’s going to chow down on some undifferentiated mush or possibly a pile of dust. Its all molecules so its all the same to him.

Tigra didn’t even want food but asks him where the bathroom is.

Molecule Man: “Bathroom? Hmm... well, I really don’t understand how plumbing works, so I couldn’t make a bathroom! If you want, though, I could sort of fake it...”

Tigra: “No, I’ll be all right! i just feel a little sick...”

Molecule Man: “So go be sick for a while! I’ve got to get started on my little project anyway! If I’m going to eat this stupid planet -- I’ve got to prepare by clearing away all the living things from a few square miles of land.”

And he gets started! A giant ridge of land just peels up from the ground, like Molecule Man is skinning a fruit before eating. Also a volcano erupts. Pretty sure there weren’t any volcanoes in New Jersey before now.

Fairly sure.

Outside the dome, thankfully the army has been evacuating everyone in a fifty-mile radius or else a lot of people would be dead. VOLCANO.

Then the Fantastic Four arrive.

Yayyyyy! Oh whoa whoa, Fantastic Fourrr!

They’ve got the best Molecule Man mashing record so they’re here to do what they do do.

Which in this context is fail like champs.

Ben Grimm the Thing tries to shatter the dome with a punch and no dice. Then Human Torch cranks up to nova flame and applies the heat of a sun on one little spot on the dome.

Johnny about wears himself out doing it and still no result.

Guess Iron Man, Thor, and Silver Surfer > a pinpoint miniature sun.

Meanwhile inside, Molecule Man tells Tigra hey get a load of this. And then he levitates a couple billion gallons of water from the Delaware River and dumps it on the Fantastic Four, plus the army, washing them away.

Invisible Woman: “Reed, it -- it doesn’t seem possible!”

Mr. Fantastic: “Everything is made of molecules, Sue! Anything is possible for the Molecule Man!”

Molecule Man far too hax.

But meanwhile, gasp, the Avengers weren’t actually all killed in a book with their name on it! This is unprecedented!

And Silver Surfer is ready to explain their unlikely survival of giant crushing boot.

See, Silver Surfer wasn’t quite as knocked unconscious as the three Avengers so he played possum. When Molecule Man put the Avengers plus Silver Surfer in the crushing boot and when it was just about to crush, Silver Surfer used the Power Cosmic to disintegrate the bottom part of the boot so that the Avengers and him fell to a lower floor. Completely uncrushed!

So that’s good.

The bad is that Silver Surfer has to report that Tigra is still in Molecule Man’s clutches.

The awkward is that Iron Man and Thor lost their armor and hammer respectively so Cap is like ‘wait, what are Tony Stark and Perfectly Normal Dr. Donald Blake doing here??’

So Tony and Don come clean about his secret ID.

Tony Stark, Actually Iron Man: “I feel a little foolish about keeping that secret from you till now! I’m sure Don feels the same way...”

Donald Blake, Dr. Thor: “Right, Tony...”

So now Cap is in on the secret which previously bound Tony and Don together as the Best Friends Avengers Who Aren’t Beast and Wonder Man.

Remember when they discovered each other’s secret IDs? Good times. Well, weird times. That was the issue when that hates-robots group suicide bombed Vision for dating a meat woman.

Also, Tony was only wearing underwear under the Iron Man armor so Don gave him his suit jacket to wear as a loincloth. Mighty nice of him.

Silver Surfer has just been standing on the sides not caring about all this secret ID nonsense or personal drama so he chimes in to point out that Molecule Man is going to eat the planet unless they stop him.

Cap decides that he and the Surfer have to strike before Molecule Man realizes they’re alive. Tony and Don have the important mission to hide somewhere safe.

Tony and Don object to being sidelined. Strongly.

Tony: “You think Iron Man is just a suit of armor, Cap? Is that what you’re saying?”

Don: “I found this rod to use as a makeshift cane! It won’t change me into a thunder god, but it’ll help me get around -- if only to draw fire!”

Tony: “Like it or not, we’re with you!”

Don: “The Avengers stand assembled, Captain America! Now, lead us!”

Cap: “All right! I get the message! I should have known better than to think you’d -- I mean, you two are the best...”

Tony: “Save it, Cap! We’ve got work to do!”

Aww.

This is everything I could have hoped for out of secret ID reveal. Cap starts thinking of them as civilians now that they have real person names but ultimately it brings them closer as teammates.

I love it. Granted, I love it because my favorite form of Avengers is a group of friends and set of interpersonal dramas roughly shaped like a superhero team.

Later, in the nighttime and in the room that Molecule Man made for Tigra.

... Wow, Molecule Man.

Wow.

So we’ve got a giant cat shaped bed. A giant, terrifying cat head on the wall. And a giant ball of yarn. But not giant sized cat tree? Fie and shame.

Anyway, Tigra is sitting on bed lamenting and decrying the Fantastic Four’s failure. Especially as it pertains to her situation.

Tigra: “I -- I just can’t believe the Fantastic Four failed! How could they let me -- and the world down like that? How could they? Right now, Reed Richards is probably locked in his lab trying to invent a gizmo that’ll pierce the dome! Hmf! Who knows how long that might take? The Molecule Man plans to eat the Earth tomorrow morning!”

Nothing like a nice filling breakfast, I guess.

She grants that Reed doesn’t know there’s an everyone’s-deadline so instead Tigra bemoans that it’s all up to her.

Tigra: “I should have tried to jump him today! I can’t believe I didn’t! I was standing right next to him a couple of times! I’m cat-quick! Why didn’t I lunge at him and claw him to shreds before he could move? Could it be because my muscles felt like jelly -- ? I was trembling -- ? In shock -- ? Afraid of him? Hey, shouldn’t I be? I mean, I saw him crush my friends to a bloody smear! And I had a spooky feeling that he was somehow, secretly ready for an attack -- and hoping I’d give him an excuse to dice me into furry cubes!”

And because this is a Tigra character beat page, she also thinks about how easy the hero gig used to seem when it was for smaller stakes. But with the actual literal fate of the world at stake... “I never thought that when the big test came I’d be a scaredy cat!”

But she remembers what Cap said during the Ghost Rider story that its not wrong to be frightened if you don’t let fear dictate your actions.

So she creeps out into the night to Molecule Man’s bedroom.

Oh, that’s a neat touch.

Her shadow on the wall looks a lot like a tiger because her hair curls at the end like a tail.

Neat.

So anyway, she doesn’t understand how Molecule Man can be so confident that he’s just sleeping with his door wide open and with no defenses and wonders if there’s a trap or whether he’s just counting on her to think that there’s a trap.

She’s about five seconds from a full-blown I know you know that I know that you know episode.

The only way to find out is just go for it so she creeps into the room. The garish room.

This is even more wow than Tigra’s room.

But as she creeps into the room and up to the enormous, ridiculous bed, she realizes that she has to kill him. If she attacks and doesn’t kill him with the first strike, what he could do is too horrible for her to imagine.

But what she doesn’t realize is that Molecule Man isn’t sleeping soundly and isn’t unprepared. 

He’s stretched monomolecular filaments across the room, too thin for even Tigra to spot.

Now usually monomolecular filaments is one of those ‘oops I’ve been cut to pieces by invisible wires’ thing. You’ve probably seen it in a couple of anime. But this is more like a bunch of cans on a string.

Tigra breaks one of the filaments while she creeps forward. Something that she couldn’t possibly know but which instantly alerts him.

And his response is a “Oh, ho! Just wait’ll she tries it! This’ll be fun!”

Because Tigra’s instinct was correct. Molecule Man was keeping her around just to kill when she finally tried anything. Its been a game. See how far he can push Tigra and how messily he can deal with her when she loses.

This is pretty tense stuff! Well, it lasts a page so it doesn’t overfocus on this specific tense scenario but still!

Tigra: “I’m in range! All I’ve got to do is spring and... and kill him! He murdered my friends! He’s going to destroy the whole world! I’ve got to kill him! Come on, lady! Do it! What’s wrong? He deserves it! He’s a murderer -- ! A rotten little wimp! He calls you ‘kitty’! Kill him! I hate him! I hate him! but... i just can’t kill him!”

And apologizing to Cap for not being able to go through with it, she slinks out of the room trying to think of another way.

Inside the room, Molecule Man sits up disgruntled, just not understanding at all why she didn’t go through with it. There’s no way she could have known that he was ready for her so why wouldn’t she try to do a murder!

And then as Tigra is wishing she had someone to talk to, someone grabs her and pulls her around a corner.

Boom, a comedy after all that one page of tension.

And it’s Cap because there’s like four people it could have been.

Tigra is elated that the Cap is alive, that she’s not alone anymore! And she tries to confess that she attempted to kill Molecule Man to avenge the Avengers. That maybe she should have because now she might lose them again!

Tony: “You did fine, Tigra! Relax!”

But she doesn’t feel like she did fine so she tries to explain that she let the Avengers down by giving into cowardice. She told Molecule Man she liked him to stay alive.

Cap: “Good strategy, Tigra -- preserving your life so you’d be able to carry on the battle!”

She tries to explain it wasn’t strategy so much as being terrified but she gets distracted because she’s just realized that in this group of Cap and Silver Guy there’s two people she doesn’t know.

Cap: “Dr. Don Blake, who’s secretly Thor and Tony Stark who is Iron Man’s alter ego!”

Her mood immediately flips.

Tigra: “You guys are really Thor and Iron Man? Really? And it’s okay for me to know? Really?”

Tony Stark: “Why not? Somehow those secrets seem pretty trivial, what with the world on the verge of being the Molecule Man’s breakfast!”

He says that but he still looks pretty annoyed at Cap just blurting it out.

And geez, Cap, you gotta let people reveal their own secret identities. Or make up some dumb excuse that everyone instantly believes.

Its the done thing.

In terms of Avengers drama though this is pretty good. Thor, Cap, and Iron Man have been working together for a really long time. Even though Cap didn’t form the Avengers he’s basically been there so long they consider him an honorary founder.

Cap learning Iron Man and Thor’s secret identities can be a ‘we should have told you sooner!’ thing.

Tigra just joined the team! Like a week ago!

They need to work together now and there’s probably no smooth lie that could paper over where Iron Man and Thor went and why these two are here now but its probably still a little galling that Cap just blurts it out to the newest person on the team.

Its great. I’d love to see the repercussions of this.

Anyway, time is short so Tony gets to explaining the plan.

He found his broken armor and managed to scavenge enough bits and pieces to make a little device he’s calling a screamer. It’ll emit a high-pitched noise that should disorient Molecule Man.

And then the device just poofs into smoke in Tony’s hand.

Whoops, Molecule Man overheard their plan to beat up Molecule Man and also heard Tony call him names.

So he pulls together all the loose dust in the room and uses it to strangle Tony.

Wow, they’ve gone from having a “layered assault” to watching someone literally choke on Molecule Man’s dust. That’s got to be the quickest turnaround from hope to nope.

Tigra goes wild, rushing at Molecule Man and screaming that she shoulda killed him before and she’s damn well going to scratch his face off now!

But Molecule Man asks her to talk to the hand. Zing.

Puns.

Although “Don’t scream at me, Kitty! ‘Cause I’ll slap you down!”

Sure. That’s good wordplay too.

Having just been comedically (although seriously) WHAP!’d across the room, Tigra has her own words to say.

Tigra: “You -- you weak, slimy excuse for a human being! How could I have stooped so low as to humble myself to garbage like you? So you’ve got power! Big deal! You were a nerd before -- you’re still a nerd! You were a mistake! You shouldn’t even have been born! You crybaby! All you do is blame the world for your own inedequacy! Go on, kill me, nerd! I despise living in the same world with you!”

Wow. She really took all those personal details he shared and slapped him upside the head with them.

Goes to show. Don’t try to destroy the world. People will have rude things to say.

Meanwhile, Cap and Silver Surfer are trying to save Tony but can’t clear the super condense dust faster than Molecule Man gathers it.

Cap tells Tigra to get Molecule Man because that’s their only chance but Tigra is too hurt from being slapped by a giant hand.

Molecule Man: “I’ve got to hand it to you guys, it must’ve taken some doing to escape my crusher! This time, I’m going to make sure you’re dead! Hmm... someone’s missing! But who?”

And he’s done process of elimination and realized that the guy Thor turned into is missing and figures he ran away when Entirely Normal But Furious Dr. Donald Blake tells Molecule Man to grit his teeth.

And then Molecule Man runs off yelling because Dr. Donald Blake can throw down. He possibly broke Molecule Man’s nose with that one punch.

Good job, Dr. Donald Blake.

With Molecule Man not focusing on the dust thing, Tony is free of the dust thing but unconscious. Dr. Donald Blake tells the others that he’ll take care of Tony and that they should go chase Molecule Man since they can run better than he can.

So Cap, Tigra, and Silver Surfer go off in pursuit of Molecule Man.

Silver Surfer reminds that he can track Molecule Man’s unique energies. Cap helpfully points out that they can also just track the trail of blood drips from Molecule Man’s nose. And Tigra goes ‘also I can smell him’ because its good to have three different ways to find a guy.

They find him in some sort of throne room (curled up in pain on the throne) and charge at him. But he’s not in the mood for their shenanigans.

So he sends a tidal wave of molecules at them.

Cap shouts for Silver Surfer to do something and he does do something indeed.

The Surfer blasts the wave of matter with the power cosmic so hard that it transmutes into raw energy and just explodes through the top of the palace in a beautiful pyrotechnic display.

It also completely exhausts the Surfer and he just kind of plops down for a nap right there on the ground.

Cap tells Tigra to watch the Surfer and then goes to take the Molecule Man on alone.

This isn’t a great plan but also their already small roster has kind of dwindled to this point.

And maybe Cap sort of doesn’t want to throw Tigra at Molecule Man when she’s already been hurt and was voicing all those doubts earlier. Can’t say for sure. She’s about to offer for help but Cap is like ‘WHOOPS NOW OR NEVER!’

Molecule Man must be in a whimsical mood, I mean more so than usual have you seen what he’s been getting up to? Because he converts some of the furnishings into a bunch of stars to shoot at Cap.

Its funny because Cap wears a star. It’d be ironic if he got smacked in the face with one, probably.

But Molecule Man activated Cap’s speechifying and that buffs him because nobody likes hearing Cap talk about freedom and justice and doing right more than Cap probably.

What I’m saying is that he leaps and gambols between the stars and I feel its because he has Stuff To Say that he’s doing so well.

Cap: “You make me sick, mister! They say power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely,  and you’re living proof of it! You might kill me! After all, I’m just an ordinary man -- but men like me have always found a way to bring high-and-mighty tyrants like you to their knees! There’s never enough power to save madmen like you -- from ultimate, bitter defeat!”

WAK!

And perhaps it wasn’t just his agility that was improved by inspirational speeching himself. Because he knocks Molecule Man down with that one punch and he doesn’t get back up.

Or maybe Molecule Man just has a glass jaw.

Don Blake and Tony Stark show up and Silver Surfer wakes up but he runs in with the rest anyway for some reason. Tony tells Tigra to watch Molecule Man while he has an Important Debate with Cap.

See, Tony has realized something. Knocking down Molecule Man is just the first step. If Molecule Man gets back up, he might start eating the Earth again and the Avengers might not be able to stop him.

So he asks Don Blake if there’s a medical way to just sort of keep Molecule Man knocked out.

Don Blake: “How? We can’t just keep hitting him on the head -- this isn’t a T.V. show! I mean, how hard do you hit him? How many times can you do that before causing serious brain damage... or death?”

Realism? In a comic book? What are YOU doing here??

Anyway, Tony doesn’t see any other option but to kill Molecule Man.

Cap protests that Molecule Man is a human being with rights to due process and a trial by jury of his peers!

But Tony is convincing the others. As an Actual Doctor, Don Blake doesn’t like to hear this. He wants to save lives. But he can’t refute Tony.

And Silver Surfer also seems on Team Tony.

Silver Surfer: “I understand what it is to sacrifice one life so that a multitude, a world might live! It seems clear that this Molecule Man cannot be imprisoned or held in check! He... must die to save the Earth... though I could never bring myself to slay him!”

Don’t you have the power cosmic? Surely there’s a power cosmic option available?

To be fair though his the power cosmic might be exhausted at the moment.

Still. Geez, Silver Surfer. ‘He gotta die but 1-2-3-not-it’ is really how you’re playing this??

Meanwhile, Tigra has decided that being asked to watch Molecule Man implies a certain duty perhaps even responsibility to tell him how much he sucks. Which is a lot.

And recall that she’s already told him how much he sucks earlier in the fight. So she has found a second wind in telling him how much he sucks.

Tigra: “You little jerk! Don’t you see? Cap was wrong! Power very seldom corrupts! It usually doesn’t change anything! It just magnifies what’s already there, whether it’s good and noble or evil and petty!”

“You were a nerd before... now you’re a powerful nerd! Big deal! Dummy! The shame of it is that with your power you can build... you can contribute! You don’t have to be a loser anymore!”

“Why are you such a fool? Why can’t you see that killing a planetful of people doesn’t make you even -- it just make you lonelier than ever!”

Wow. It feels like Tigra could hypothetically be talking about all different kinds of entitled nerds who then become the jerks as adults!

Anyway.

Tony and Cap are still arguing.

Tony, at least, isn’t going to ask someone to do something he wouldn’t do himself. I.e., he’s going to kill Molecule Man himself and save four billion people.

Cap: “Tony... please! I can’t let you do this!”

Tony: “You can take me in for murder afterward, Cap, but for now, stand aside! I’m warning you...”

Cap: “You’ll have to go through me, Tony...”

You’re warning him, Tony? You don’t have armor. You don’t even have pants. What are you going to do to supersoldier Captain America?

Logic aside, what strikes me is how much this foreshadows.

Before Civil War contrived that superhero registration, the big hot button superhero debate issue is whether superheroes should kill in extreme circumstances.

Spoilers for the NINETIES but the Regular and West Coast Avengers will come to schism and Cap and Iron Man will basically break up over whether or not to kill the Kree Supreme Intelligence after it engineered a war that killed 90% of the Kree people on purpose.

Shooter is long gone by that point but I guess someone is going to pick up the thread.

Because the debate doesn’t get settled here or rather does, sorta, in favor of Cap but not in a way he expects.

Interrupting the sad fist fight between Cap and a nearly naked man, Molecule Man pops up and tells everyone that Tigra has convinced him to turn his life around.

Tigra: “Guys, Mr. Owen Reece and I have talked, and, well, I convinced him to give himself up!”

Mr. Owen Reece: “Yes, I want to start seeing a therapist!”

Cap: “huh?”

Mr. Owen Reece: “I know I’ll have to go to jail... but that’s okay! It’ll give me time to think things out! I’ll make an opening in the dome now so you can call the authorities!”

Don Blake: “s-sure!”

God, that is just great. I love this as a resolution so much. This is a resolution that Squirrel Girl would bring us, although we’d get more of the actual convincing.

Still very, very good. Good to be optimistic in comics sometimes. Sometimes villains can seek redemption if only a cat yells at them long enough.

Although I think the best part is how baffled everyone is by the plot twist.

So with but a “Soon...” caption, the police have come to pick up Mr. Owen Reece and brought Miss Hanrahan who is going to be his therapist.

Holy crap, a therapist in Marvel who isn’t Doc Sampson but will work with superpowered nonsense!

Can we bring Miss Hanrahan back??

A couple things I like here.

One is that Mr. Owen Reece has changed off-panel into a suit instead of his supervillain costume. Now that’s him making an honest effort.

Two is Very Annoyed Tony Stark in the back of the pack of Avengers. He’s wearing a handkerchief as a mask because someone might recognize him as Tony Stark and then wonder ‘hey why is Tony Stark here.’

Three is the proud smile from Tigra when seeing Mr. Owen Reece meet his therapist.

Melts my heart a little.

Before he goes away to jail, Mr. Owen Reece takes a quick sidebar with the Avengers.

He retroactively feels just awful about ruining their various gadgets so he decides to make right.

He reintegrates Mjolnir, Toomie the surfboard, and Cap’s shield exactly as they were. Original molecules and all! They were so weird that he remembered where they all went.

As for Iron Man’s Iron Man armor.... look, he did his best.

Mr. Owen Reece: “But your armor, with all those complicated electronic gadgets is just too tricky for me to reassemble! You needed something more proper to wear till you get home, though -- so I whipped up some red and gold cloth and made you an Iron Man leisure suit! I hope it’s okay!”

Amazing. Simply incredible.

Although I think my favorite part was Mr. Owen Reece realizing ‘hey Iron Man should be wearing pants!’

Anyway, he also takes apart his Molecule Man Doom Fortress and puts those molecules back where he found them. More or less. He tries.

And, yes, he does rebuild the entire town of Netcong, New Jersey. Except the plumbing.

In a funny call back to Reece admitting he doesn’t really understand plumbing, none of the plumbing in the rebuilt town works.

Later, back at Avengers Mansion, Silver Surfer is offered a spot on the team but turns it down.

FOR THE PATHS OF DESTINY DO BECKON HIM DOWN A LONELY ROAD THAT MUST BE TRAVELED ALONE

Its the only who he has ever known. Except for all the time he spend with Galactus. Or the Defenders. Or later on when he has a companion to take on space nonsense.

Tigra also takes this time to say farewell.

Tigra: “I’m just not in the same league as you guys! I mean, sure I’ve got lots of super-ability, and, usually, I'm even pretty heroic -- but not up to your standard! I mean two of you, without your powers, no less, really showed me what it’s all about back there! And let’s face it, you guys mess with some heavy-duty opposition! I think I’ll quit while I’m ahead!”

=C

Noooooooooo

But but but Tigraaa you were a source of joy and fuuuuuuuun

You only joined at the end of #211! It’s only been about a week in-universe!

Darn.

The three other Avengers all say their goodbyes.

Thor reminds her that she was the one who turned around Mr. Owen Reece but Tigra says she got lucky.

Iron Man gives her one of Tony Stark’s cards and tells her to call Tony Stark who is definitely not him anytime she needs anything.

Jarvis even tears up at her leaving, although he denies it because a good butler never dies on duty and then blames his allergies.

And then Tigra is off. Damn. If I didn’t know who might be joining the Avengers soon I’d be completely inconsolable instead of just very.

So now the Avengers are down to just three members. That’s not a team. That’s a crossover. Probably why Jarvis wonders if a membership drive is in order.

NEXT: The return of... Yellowjacket, the Wasp, and Egghead!

I’m game for Wasp coming back! Don’t think it likely that Yellowjacket is just going to come back to the team just like that! And Egghead? The villain who blew up a city with a killsat and killed Hawkeye’s brother? Unlikely recruit!

(No I know that’s not what the NEXT means)

Hey, follow @essential-avengers​ because the Hank Pym just keeps happening. Like and reblog too please. Be sad with me that Tigra is gone.

#Avengers #Molecule Man #Tigra #Captain America #Iron Man #Thor #Silver Surfer #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging #Tigra the Last Avenger #would be a good name for a book #Molecule Man is bad at bathrooms and being nice #never before has a flimsier plan so immediately fallen apart #the Fantastic Four have a brief cameo and they don't enjoy it

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 108

And we are somewhat caught up!  My queue has run out at least, and I’m astoundingly glad it has, because now I get to thank a bunch of people who have just detonated my inbox with love, and kept me going.

Before I get into the gratitude: If, at any point, a comment a character makes does not make sense, please let me know. Send an ask, even on anon, because I am well aware that everything in my brain does not get a chance to make it in the story (example: Charly’s triangle comment here, and the fact that Noah’s dialogue in the beginning has an actual translation…)

First, shoutouts to @charlylimph-blog​, @baelpenrose​, and @quantumizedinsanity​ for the characters in this chapter and for being very, VERY dear friends to me.  A global pandemic and nationwide protests, along with a job change and a major move, have done nothing to hurt friendships that are already cross-country from each other.

Annnnd to everyone who has been blowing up my notes with likes and reblogs: @dierotenixe(hang in there! i PROMISE!), @iamverypotato​,@itscryptifssil, @steadynightninja​, @thepalemarcher, @feral-possums-in-the-bog​, @26fancyraptors​(MISSED YOU!), @werewolf2578​ (we don’t talk enough, how are you!?), @experimentalspades​, @odd-dream-worlds​, @duchess-katala03​, @pineapplewitchboi​, @dark-choclat-cupcake, @littleshydragon​, and all the others. 

I held my breath, bracing for what I knew was coming. Nothing came after several minutes, to my surprise.  I slowly lifted my head and opened my eyes, focusing on drawing deep, even breaths. Maybe he got bored and wandered off.  Maybe he had mercy on me….

Yeah. And maybe Grey is making genetically modified fish that fly.

Slowly, carefully, I grabbed my fork and lifted a bite of pie to my mouth.  A glance at Charly showed a serious expression, nothing given away. Damnit. I knew she could see Arthur behind me, I was hoping for a telltale giggle, or a warning glance, something.  Right when a traitorous voice of reason spoke up belatedly to point out that Charly was never serious…

“You really will adopt anyone, won’t you?” Arthur asked as he came around to take the chair Jokul had just vacated.

Fuuuuuck…. Busted. “I didn’t adopt him!” I tried to argue. “I actually made a very concerted effort to avoid that!”

Unceremoniously, he snagged Charly’s pot pie, only to have his hand held at fork-point until he let go.  Without even acknowledging the lunch-standoff, he leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. “You tried to ‘avoid’ it by foisting him off on Zach Khan, your… nephew, thing, and his girlfriend. Still adoption-adjacent.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to interact with him.”

“Uh huh. And how will you explain to poor Hannah that dear Ivan’s partner isn’t invited to Insert Winter Holiday dinner, hmmm?”

“I hate you.”

“Lies and deceit,” he rebutted calmly. “You adopted me first. Before anyyyyone on this ship. I daresay you’re quite fond of me.”

I scowled at him, shoving my remaining lunch in his direction. “Here, before you start poaching this direction.”

An eyebrow arched in the general direction of my fish pie. “That looks suspiciously like dairy.  You wound me.” Grabbing my fork, he poked at the lumps of meat. “I would have thought you would be at least a little subtle in any assassination attempts. Have I taught you nothing?”

“Of course you taught me something,” I cooed, jokingly, while I patted his arm. “The fastest way to a man’s heart is six inches of steel through the ribs, slight upward angle.  Cyanide smells like bitter almonds, so always use shortbread cookies to administer it. Three pounds of pressure will tear off a human ear, and even a three year old can bite through fingers,” I recited. “Also, the pie is dairy-free, surprisingly. The ‘cream’ is silken tofu and aquafaba, turns out.”

Charly was choking with laughter, while Arthur finally smiled at me. “See, I told you that you love me,” he gloated before scooping up a scallop and some crust. As soon as he started chewing, his expression changed from one of amusement to something strikingly similar to Mac when I flick water in his face.

“Scallops,” I explained. “I had the same reaction.”

“Heathens,” he managed around the mouthful.  After he swallowed it, he gave the dish a considering look. “Not bad per se, but… There is no fish in this fish pie. What is aquafaba?”

“Chicpea juice.  Usually it’s used as an egg substitute.  I guess they used it for consistency here.”

Charly leaned forward, narrowly avoiding landing an elbow in her lunch. “And how can you tell that’s what’s in there?”

Glancing over at his student, Arthur shrugged. “She has a point. This,” he poked at the sauce, “looks like heavy cream.”

“Tastes kind of nutty, though,” I explained. “Anyway, enough about food. What brings you down here?”

“Galactic Core Curriculum,” he explained. “That’s the excuse anyway. Alistair - Cthulu damn his soul - told me you were eating lunch here after fifteen minutes of questioning. Tyche told me Charly was with you, so I figured lunch with you, lunch with one of my favorite students, plus I can kill two errands with one meal.” Charly stared at him like he had lost his mind, but he ignored her. “When I arrived - lo! What to my wondering eyes should appear, than a certain former cult leader harassing said friend and student! What person could resist such a temptation.” Deflating dramatically, he scowled at me. “Imagine my delight to hear you giving him relationship advice,” he intoned flatly.

“I got him to go away,” I pointed out.

“Before I managed even one strike in a highly one-sided battle of wits.“

“Mr. Farro,” Charly cut off, glaring for all she was worth. “Jokull came in peace, he leaves in peace.”

“Oh, he would have left in pieces. His ego anyway.”

“Fucking triangles, I swear,” Charly muttered, attacking her lunch with renewed violence.

“Anyway,” I forged ahead. “Jokul was here for fifteen, twenty minutes. You had your chance.”

He glanced away with a cough. “I… may have been resisting the urge to vomit.”

“Arthur.”

“Relationship advice is… not in my skillset,” he admitted. “Tell you your partner is abusive? Can spot a mile a way.  Great for getting people out of bad relationships, with concierge crowbar service if necessary. Not great for saving them.”

“Crowbar? Really?”

“You know, for prying people out of bad situations?” He genuinely looked confused, so I left that one alone.

“For what it’s worth, Jokull wanted to talk to you about what he’s going through right now,” Charly added.

“Why in any galaxy…”

I had to laugh at that one. “Everyone treats him poorly,” I shrugged before giving Arthur a pointed look. “He’s having a rough time right now, feels like he has no one to talk to except Ivan, and thought you would have some insight into that kind of thing.”

“What part of this,” he gestured to himself with a fork, “implies anything remotely close to wanting people to like me and therefore actually knowing how to accomplish that.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer,” I muttered. 

Giving me a hard, thoughtful look, Arthur’s entire demeanor changed. “Ah… On a more serious note, though… yeah.  I don’t get why people not liking you is a problem, but you’ve told me before it’s something that bothers you, so it’s feasible it bothers other people.  I’ll make a point not to make it worse.”

Clearing my throat, I pushed the conversation on to the next topic. “You mentioned two errands earlier. One for me, one for Charly?”

“Right.” The relief to be changing topics was palpable. “For you, Councillor, Galactic Core is almost finished. Eino is already considering other ongoing-education programs, and you’re going to need to start scouting educators again.  That late-twentieth through contemporary Terran history course? Big support-base, turns out.”

“You wouldn’t tell me this without a reason,” I pointed out. “And you’re a History teacher. Volunteering?”

“I want it done right,” he admitted. “The idea being bounced around isn’t for a requirement that everyone take the course. Not at the same time, anyway.  History-focused educators only, approved curriculum.”

“Approved?” I asked. “By whom?”

“A committee,” he shrugged. “Eino, obviously. Xiomara, with her background - which, by the way, is ridiculous - “

“We know, we know,” Charly and I groaned.

After glancing between us for a moment, Arthur continued. “And me.”

“Why you?” I asked. “No offense, just trying to understand.”

“No offense taken, I’ll explain that part later, but I promise it’s for a legitimate reason. The point is, Eino and his committee approve the curriculum and number of slots. You and Tyche make the decisions for who is allotted where.”

“Fair point,” I conceded.

“Fine. The area of history I focused on for my Master’s degree has an important component that ties a lot together and makes revisionism harder - wait. What?” I could almost hear the gears squealing as they ground to a halt. “Did you just say yes?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“That was… disturbingly easy,” he gave me a skeptical look.  When all I did was grin, he slowly turned to Charly. “As for you, I wanted to talk to you about the assignment that’s due next Friday.”

“I already turned it in,” she pointed out.

“Which is what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s a week and a half early.”

“Right….” she nodded slowly. “And I made sure it met all the criteria on the syllabus.  Plus I had three different people proofread it.”

“All of which is admirable, and it would be considered a very well-done assignment,” he admitted. “If you didn’t have an extra week and a half left to make it even better.”

“Mr. Farro….”

“You aren’t in trouble, in any way shape or form,” he reassured her. “But I know you are capable of doing better than the assignment you already gave me.  I wanted to offer you a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” Charly asked suspiciously. “This isn’t illegal, is it?”

“What? No…” he sputtered. “Illegal!?”

“Gotta be sure,” she nodded sincerely.  I was reasonably certain she was giving him a hard time, but it was still hilarious to watch.

Shaking his head, Arthur did his best to recover. “The deal is this: if you stick with the assignment you already sent me, I’ll grade it as it stands. But. If you re-do it and hand it in on the original due date, you’ll be eligible for extra credit for your extra effort.”

“But I still get the grade on the one you already have, either way?” she asked skeptically.

“I’ve already graded it, and you won’t get a worse grade if you re-do it,” he promised. 

“I’ll think about it,” she hedged carefully. “That paper was a lot of work.”

“That’s fair,” he nodded. “What if you sent me an audio recording, instead? No extra writing.”

“I can do that,” she agreed, sticking out her hand. After Arthur shook it, she glanced at the time. “Shit. I gotta go. Sophia, don’t be late back to work, okay? Tyche won’t care, but Alistair may stop letting me have extra marshmallows in my cocoa when I come by your office.”

After she left, I gave Arthur a very serious look.  He tried to ignore it, but after about five solid minutes of The Squint, he caved. “For the love of… She’s smart, okay? You know, I know it. The paper she handed in a week and a half early was much more insightful than anyone else in the class.  They were assigned a research paper on the underlying causes of the breakdown in relations between the Ekomari and Shalt-kri’i.  Everyone focused on political ideologies, trade resources, navigational route control.  Standard causes for war, from a Terran perspective. Do you know what Charly Harper wrote her paper about?”

“Food?” I asked, going out on a limb.

“So close! Cultural differences, plain and simple. Ekomari are vaguely mammalian, and their diet consists of native arthropods. Guess what Shalt-kri’i look like?”

“You’re kidding me…”

“Not even slightly.  And! To add insult to injury, in a very close to literal sense, Shalt-kri’i greet each other as friends by spreading their appendages, a lot like a hug.  Whereas Ekomari show aggression by… standing up on their hindmost appendages and spreading the rest to look bigger.”

“And no one caught this before?”

“Not on the Ark, no.” He spread his arms wide. “No one even considered it.  Sure, the rest are good points, and they did make everything worse, more than likely, but the start?  She nailed it.”

“Then why have her re-write the assignment?” I was honestly confused at this point.

“The way she wrote it, I could tell she wasn’t confident about the answer at all.” He looked about as frustrated as I had ever seen him. “You get her talking about engineering, or pranks, she knows she knows what she is talking about. I want her to know that she is just as right about this as she was about that.”

Hard to believe that this was the same man whose office I had marched into, out for a pound of flesh and the blood besides, because the same woman we were discussing left his class in tears and begged me not to make her go back.  However…

“Honestly?” I ventured. “I want to hear this recording when she hands it in. I’m really curious about this.”

“You think she’ll write it?”

“Pfft,” I scoffed. “I know she will. You gave her a challenge where she can’t lose, but stands a lot to gain. I just hope you’re ready for that sound file.”

“I honestly can’t wait,” he smirked.

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#the miys #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #found family #aspec #science fiction #original science fiction #earth is space australia #humans are space fae #hfy #fiction #original fiction #my writing #apocalypse #aliens #post-apocalypse

[currentfandomkick]

Bio! Dad Strange Part 9

Jason returns, may be a 2 parter to cover tim getting kidnapped and the aftermath. Will let you know at the end. We are getting to Marinette dealing with Ladybugging soon.

Marinette wasnt sure what to think this year. She met The Barry Allen last year. She also figured out 2 heroes pre-flash revelation and two more after—in her defense Hero Stalker’s old theory on The first Robin did Batman in. it is not her fault 5 founding members have the multiple-persona game of a booger.

She was also Tetch (Mad Hatter. Doesnt deserve the name) and Mr. J’s, Jerimah’s, last victim before they died. Then some idiots revived Jerimah. She hates his cult a lot, okay.

Everyone was on high alert and trying to keep her inside. The thing is, she hates being inside. She’s inside for designing, sure. Research? She’ll live.

But 24/7 inside time?

Never a good combo with her.

Rose’s plants may be snitches, but they seemed to agree on the over coddling. She’s ten, can break phones by tapping them, and is defiantely more off her stickers than on at the moment.

The one on her was uring her into some alleyway. If she was reading the movement pattern right, a gang fight.

Lovely, she usually did these with some sort of supervision but they were all being rude and she needed time outside.

She checked her belt, a few pairs of ball weights tied together with one chain each to make bolas clipped to back. She has a taser in hand, and a few rubber bullet loaded gun on one hip and a stun gun her size in the other. She had a packet of zipties and rope up each sleeve. Easy to giftwrap and humiliate bad people, like Batman does.

She blinked once when she saw—new player? In a bright red full face helmet that looks horrible. And he’s holding that gun make all wrong to max out usage. Ugh, amatuers.

Some part of her groaned about a potential run-in with Batman and his new Robin—she was pissed about Tim not telling her still—and decided this was as good an anger management as any. New vigilante, maybe the sirens would help him find a team.

She snuck up behind a few members, quick to grab the guns and move them out of reach. No need to give anyone playing possum an easy out, right—she saw a mix of her people in with the gang. She needed to teip this guy up before he hurt the RKC street kids and honoraries tangled up in this.

“Hey helmet, if you’re gonna shoot them you’re holding the gun wrong.”

Helmet turned to see her. She didnt grab her usual harley-knock off outfit for helping today. She wanted to be Pixie Pop for a bit. And if the Rogues forgot that she’s Pixie well, better for her, right? Pixie just wore her hair like Tinkerbell and wore a bit of green.

The guy he was aiming at made to run.

Marinette grabbed a makeshift bolas and threw it at his knees. She recognized him from one of the RKC hit lists—human trafficker. He fell with them wrapped around tight and defiantely injured bith his knees with how the weights hit him.

“I, Pixie Pop?” Weird, no one had seen her as Pixie in two years. How’d he know it was her?

“Yeah. Havent been around much lately.” She threw another bola at another guy. “You new?”

“Talk after i kill these guys.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, because really?

She threw a knife to screw his aim into non-lethal on one guy. “Kick their ass first, some RKC are in here.”

Helmet oddly did as she said, switching from guns to—is that. A. Sword?

She twisted to punch the guy sneaking up on her. Helmet threw a sword and landed it in his shoulder.

“Thanks!”

“Holy shot you’re really here this time.”

“Did you get hit with feargas as a baby or something?” Her partner being prone to dellusions and good with weapons was a bad thing.

“Just came back from the dead is all.”

marinette hit the guy going for helmet with her stun gun.

“That’ll do it!”

Helmet turned to one of the guys, gun at the ready. She had a feeling Helmet needed a lot of help, or else one of Rose’s agents would be down.

“If you know about pixies, you should know she got an upgrade to having some trust dust.”

Marinette walked over to the guy, letting her tracker plant take a look. The flower bloomed and he got a face full of ‘filter-less pollen’ that’s as close to a truth serum as Rose could make. After all, people can turn sides.

“Truth pollen?” Helmet was staring at her closely.

“Yep.” Marinette turned to her victim. “Are you helping the traffickers?”

“Does infiltration and killing them count as helping?”

Helmet stared at them then.

“Which team?”

“HKT ma’am. How did you get rose to give you one of those?”

“Think for a minute who she gives these to.”

“Comanding officers of the the RKC reconn and interigation but there’s only 15 and i met them all when i joined in the fall.”

“Im the summer help when theyre not puppy gaurding. Now, i have to do zipties on the traffickers, think you can help?”

“I lost coordination from the pollen.”

“Of course you did.”

Marinette turned to see Helmet staring at her. Like she should be dead, not the new revival guy.

“Good enough.”

“I thought only Poison Ivy could do things like that.”

“I have a badass team, well, when they aren’t going overboard. One week kidnapped and suddenly im made of glass.”

“Pixie you are what, ten?”

“So? Two of my best friends went missing becuase no one stepped up, one of them resurfaced as an idiot a year later but still.”

Helmet stopped then. “Two?”

“Hero stalker went after our big brother vanished.. he came back as an idiot.”

Helmet paused. “Hey, you check the others and i’ll help you drop off the good ones at a doctor or something.”

“Zipties are at the ready. Mind doing your share?”

Helmet did as she asked, working with her until all was squared away.

“Okay, my tracker gave off a signal to the RKC to gather our guys here, and—why are bleeding?”

Helmet looked up at her then. “I am?”

“... you’re coming with me since i dont know if you need a transfusion, but i know a guy who can help.”

“I’m driving.”

“On what?”

“Motorcycle.”

Marinette let him walk her to it, and she got on first. He ‘drove’ them while the plant told her when to turn. They ended up at her dad’s clinic as ‘Mr. Smith’. He was so grounding her.

“Smith, i need help,” she tried.

Her dad came out and paled when he saw her carrying Helmet. Before he passed out he let her take it off. “Red hoodie... oh god he said he was revived.”

Her father worked out the blood bags while she checked the wound, bullet still in there. She got it out with tweezers. No major damage to the muscles and shit. How many scars did he have? Pre or post revival?

When he came to she turned to her father and said one thing.

“So this is my new brother. Dont try to get out of it, he kept me alive when i was comstantly pixie, and you said if he was in a bad place then you’d take him in, no questions asked.”

Strange sighed, nodded, and went back to fixing Helmet up.

The next day he was forced moved into an extra room by hers. Somehow there was already clothes his size and style in it.

“Pixie...”

“Im determined and my honorary aunt is a cat burglar.”

Helmet hugged her.

“So for the documents, what do you want to go by?”

Helmet said he didnt want it to be obvious, given who he was before.

“Its not like you were robin.”

“I was.”

“.... i know two robins now, pre-robining. What is my life?”

“ you are ten, calm down. And you knew dick?”

“Met him as Nightwing, not very friendly. But uh, remember hero stalker?”

“The idiot who followed me and B?”

“Yeah, so funny thing, it was a thing that he wanted to be Robin when you went off from Gotham, and then he somehow managed to convince bats to take him on.”

“That Child is Robin.”

“Will be another hero soon if he knows what’s good for him—he’s too easy to make.”

“Wait, you know who he is-is or—”

“I know 5 secret identities and want to lodge a formal complaint about heroes having no secret identity game.”

“Youre ten. I refuse to let you deal with legal things.”

“But illegal is still on the table?”

“I am a vigilante, of course it is.”

“Good, so can we tlak about how dumb Supes secret id is? I photoshoped glasses on as a joke and looked at my file and knew.”

“Wait have they found you yet?”

“No? I dont think so. Not the mom and step dad or father one yet.”

“But its.”

“I know, but i can keep multiple secret identities. They cant handle one. What is this bull they drop in my lap? No masks for two of them, and the three with cant even manage a basic gait switch?”

“I am so glad you noticed too.”

“Also we need to intervene with Hero Stalker.”

“Does your father know-know or...”

“Knows i know, but knows im not telling even in death.”

“Fair. So, heads up i am going to yell at the JL after killing B for impact.”

“How about beating him up instead and kidnapping Hero Stalker? Bats is fine just needs an adult working with him.”

“Maybe. If my mind wasnt so fucked i’d send the Dick a text or something about this, but i think he hates me so that probably wouldnt work.”

“We have planning time, that’s what my house arrest is good for. Now name.”

“... i want to go by Jay.”

“James work?”

“Sure.”

“James “Jay” Smith then. And we are fixing your vilagante outfit.”

“What’s wrong with it.”

“Your helmet has a nose. And the who this is shit for discreet armour. I’ll get a rant in fifteen on armor history from a fashion obsessed friend and make something for you using that, ok?”

“Do i have a choice?”

“I am your little sister offically. resistance is futile.”

—

So the long awaited return of Red Hoodie/Red Hood/Jason Todd.

For refrence (as age is weird here) Jason looks 14/15 here, but due to dead years is technically 18

Tim is 12

Marinette is 10

Dick is 20something.

Bruce is 30something

Heads up, this will be a two parter for this summer. As i love the next part but need sleep.

@ilovefluffbutsmutisalsogreat @emeraldpuffguide @dast218 @weird-pale-blonde-person @mystery-5-5

#maribat #maribat au #ml au #my au #my idea #marinette strange dupain cheng #marinette strange dupain cheng part 9 #bio! dad au #bio!dad strange #bio!dad au #this was so long guys #jason is back though #next one is chaos and tag-teaming and so much #its a ride and then we get ladybugging after

[pandawritesmanythings]

The Kid

Summary: There’s someone in the house, and the septics are trying to find out who it is.

Word Count: 2505

Warnings: Suggestions to abusive households (Not Explicit). Did I sensor curse words? I’m pretty sure I did. sorryitsjustidontfeelcomfortableswearingbutiknowitsjacksthigsoooooo…

A/N: Got some support on the Septic/Ipliers turn into dads idea, so eh, what the heck. I had fun writing this, so here we go!

Chase woke up with a start. He had heard something, he was sure of it.

Ever since his eldest was born, he had very light sleep. Having a kid will do that to you.

However, his kids were staying with Stacey during the week and he knew that Marvin, despite being a little messy with his magic, respected everyone’s bedtime.

Bedtime. Oh god he really spent a lot of time surrounded by children, didn’t he?

Slipping out of his bed he walked out of his room. Barefoot, he stepped as quietly as he could towards Marvin’s room.

He knocked twice and the magician opened before he could finish.

“You heard it too?” The man whispered with an air of urgency. Chase only nodded.

“So it wasn’t you?”

“No. I’ve been reading this new book. Can’t dare to experiment with ball-of-sunshine over there.” He scowled and pointed towards Henrik’s room.

“You know if anyone else is awake?”

“I am.” Said a third voice behind them.

Silently, both flinched and turned towards the voice.

“JACKIE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.” Chase whisper-yelled towards the hooded man.

“What are ya whisperin’ about?” He mockingly whispered.

“We heard something downstairs.” Marvin answered sighing and pinching his nose in annoyance.

Jackie might have been one of the first egos, but he was incredibly childish sometimes.

“I just got here, there was nothing strange going on.” He pointed downstairs.

The other two stared at him, still unsure.

“Are you sure?” Asked Chase, still keeping his voice low. Even if no one got into the house, there were two people who lived in the house that they would rather not wake up.

“Yeah. I’m sure-”

CLANG!

The three men turned slowly towards the stairs that led to the first floor.

“JJ is not downstairs. Is he?”

Sounds of rummaging sounded throughout the house.

“Yeah. No.” Jackie admitted before speedwalking quietly towards the stairs.

The other two followed quietly behind him. Luckily for them, Anti was the hardest one to wake up. It was Henrik they were a little concerned about.

At the bottom of the stairs, they stopped to look around the house. Jackie hovered above the ground thanks to his superpowers, Marvin wand in hand in case he had to make a quick spell, and Chase… Was ready to help out.

The rummaging continued for a little bit, and for a moment they were almost sure it was a small animal, like a raccoon or a possum. But when a small head carrying an apple and a banana in their little hands came into view the three of them stopped dead in their tracks.

Jackie cursed softly under his breath, alerting the small child that had gotten into their home.

The girl turned and with wide scared eyes dropped the fruit and ran towards the living room.

“Go get ‘er!” Chase whisper-yelled to the other two and taking each a separate way they ran towards the living room to try and corner the girl.

The girl climbed over the couch and jumped off of it as Jackie tried to catch her. She turned around a corner that led towards the garage and Marvin tried to corner her, but she slid back under his legs and ran back towards the living room.

The girl yelped when she saw Jackie, and scrambling to turn around she ran into the kitchen, not counting on the fact that Chase was there and caught her in his arms wrapping them around her trying to lock her in some type of weird hug.

“Ok-Ok. H-Hey, lass. It’s okay- it’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt ya-” Chase tried to explain, but she started screaming while trying to wiggle out of his embrace.

Marvin and Jackie were standing on the kitchen door looking at Chase and the girl’s struggle. They approached and kneeled close to them, ready to lend a hand if needed.

“Shhh, it’s okay. It’s okay. Look, I’m not gonna hurt ya.” She seemed to calm down a little, but he didn’t lose grip on her. 

Once she seemed to calm down she turned around to look at her Chase noticed her bright blue eyes.

Just to then receive a ball of spit right in his face.

“Auhg… Yep. Didn’t expect that.”

The girl found the wiggle room and scrambled off to hide on an open cabinet where plastic Tupperware and bowls were kept. She pushed them outside and hid in there.

The three men stared at the slightly ajar cabinet door and almost simultaneously sighed

“What in the f*ck is going on here?” A voice with a German accent was heard on the stairs.

The trio on the floor whipped to look at the doctor with expressions of terror on their faces.

“W-We-…” But before he could finish the four men heard sobbing coming from the cabinet.

With a confused expression, Henrik approached the group. “Who’s in there?" 

"A girl. Don’t know how she got in the house.” Jackie offered quickly.

“How old?”

“Can’t be older than 6.” Chase said this time.

“Was she hurt?”

“Not from what I could tell.” Chase finished letting out a huff of air and resting his back against the electric oven and finishing cleaning his face.

Henrik approached them and looked at the space where the girl was hiding in. 

“I heard the screaming. You guys are so lucky it was me and not Anti.”

“Hah! He would have carved her on sight.” Jackie laughed. 

The sobbing became louder and everyone turned to glare at him.

“Sorry, shouldn’t have said that.” He muttered embarrassed, hiding his face with his hoodie.

Henrik approached the cabinet and kneeled right next to it, opening the door just a little bit more.

“Hey, lass. Ya don’t have to be afraid. Wanna come out? We aren’t going to hurt you.” He tried to beckon her out, but the girl hid her face even deeper into her knees and shook her head.

Henrik sighed. “Well, we gotta keep guard then. No one moves until she comes out.”

“But I want my beeeeeeeeeeeed!” Jackie pouted. 

Another set of glares was thrown in his direction. “Okay. Okay. I get it. I’m being an *ss”

A whimper was heard.

“Isn’t it a general rule not to curse around children?” Marvin asked.

“That’s what I do with my kids,” Chase answered, shifting in his place. “But not everyone does.”

“Me too. I’d rather they be better than me and not curse like a sailor.” Henrik agreed.

“Then. General rule. Minimal cursing around the kid. M'kay got it.” Jackie summarized.

A couple of hours went by. The small talk going on was on a low volume, and thirty minutes into it the sobbing went away.

“What should we do about her?” Chase leaned towards Henrik to whisper.

“We wait until she comes out and we’ll call child services. They’ll take care of her.” Henrik responded, not taking his eyes off the cabinet.

“Child Services? Come on, Henrik. You really think they will put her anywhere but with a foster family? You know the horror stories that come out of those places.”

“Maybe.” Henrik looked at Chase very seriously. “But you don’t have a better plan, do you?”

Chase was left speechless. What was he going to say? Let’s keep her? No. He knew better than anyone that the least qualified people to care for a child was them.

Yeah. There was a chance that she would be given to a bad foster family, but she could also end up in a very caring and loving family. She was just a kid, he couldn’t deprive her of that, just as he would never deprive his own kids of a happy home.

“Alright. We’ll call tomorrow.”

“Hey, guys!” Marvin whispered to call their attention.

The door creaked open and the girl slowly and very timidly crawled out of the cabinet, stopping right before completely exiting, looking into the eyes of the four guys that were looking back at her.

“Hey… You ready to come out?” Chase asked, kneeling in front of her.“

She shook her head, hugging herself.

"Alright, we won’t touch you if you don’t want us to.” Chase tried to calm her down.

Her little stomach grumbled and she whimpered.

“You were looking for food, right?” Chase looked at Marvin, “ Marv, give me the saltines." 

Marvin stood slowly to grab them from the closet and then handed them to Chase who extended them towards the girl.

Shyly she looked at the older man and took the salty cookies like they were the most valuable treasure anyone had ever given her.

"Thanks.” She rasped before tearing the packet open and starting munching on them. In her little head, she never had had such a grand feast.

“Are you tired?” Henrik asked kneeling next to Chase.

The girl nodded.

“We can let you borrow a bed. Come with me?”

The girl shied a little but nodded hesitantly.

The four men and the girl stood up, their adrenaline and caution growing as the girl was led towards the hallway on the first floor where the spare room was.

They opened the door and the girl rushed, saltines still in hand, and jumped onto the bed. Almost immediately, she draped herself in the blanket that covered the bed.

Chase kneeled next to her. “My name’s Chase. This is Henrik, Jackie, and Marvin.” He pointed at the others. “Our other two… brothers… are upstairs.” Chase said, trying to come up with something rational so the kid wouldn’t be super put off by six faces that looked almost identical.

“I’m Emma.” She rasped again. Her voice seemed to be either misused, worn out or she must be sick because that was not normal.

“Well, Emma. Sleep now. We’re going to find where you came from tomorrow, okay?”

There was fear in her eyes. But she only nodded. “Okay.”

Chase felt his heart shatter. Her little “okay” had been so scared, so broken and most of all, so defeated.

Looking a little closer at the girl he noticed the forming bruise under her eye, the red bloodshot eyes and scar on her cheek. It didn’t seem very deep, but it definitely wasn’t an old scar.

“Well. We’re just gonna let you rest. If you need anything you just need to call, okay?”

The girl nodded and turned herself into a burrito very quickly.

The egos filed out of the room and closed the door.

“Should we put a chair in front of it? Or lock it? You know, so she doesn’t run out.” Jackie suggested and he got a third row of glares

“No, idiot. We need to earn her trust, not shatter it at the first chance we get!” Henrik slapped his shoulder softly, calling him out on his imprudence.

“Okay! Okay! Sorry, I’m just not that great with kids." 

"I think the best, for now, is to let her rest, we’ll see what to do tomorrow.” Marvin said, dismissing Jackie’s comment.

“Yeah. I’m beat. Let’s hope JJ and Anti didn’t wake up.” Chase finished rubbing his eyes, his sleepiness starting to bleed through.

 The troop started heading upstairs. But Henrik noticed the way Marvin was deep in thought. His brow furrowed.

“Marv. What’s itching you?” The German man asked.

“I don’t know. There’s just something about the kid…” He looked back at the door. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

Henrik had to admit that there was something incredibly weird about the whole situation. And thanks to his medical training he noticed some things about the girl that were just… Concerning. Especially in her behavior.

“Yes, I agree. But, let’s go to sleep, we can talk about it tomorrow.”

Henrik kept walking but Marvin didn’t follow. His eyes were trained on the spare bedroom door.

“Marv?”

“I think… I’m going to keep guard. It’s not like I could fall asleep anyway.”

Henrik frowned. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Marvin assured him, pulling a chair to sit next to the door. “I’ll be okay.”

With a tight-lipped smile, Henrik climbed the stairs and disappeared into the second floor.

Marvin, now alone, conjured his spellbook and began to read in silence.

In the morning they would figure this whole thing out. But he just wanted to finish his book for now.

“What are you reading?" 

"Ahg-!”

The little voice scared Marvin out of his mind. Two bright blue eyes looked up at him, wild and long brown hair falling down her back. 

“A book.” He answered dryly. He had to admit that talking to children also wasn’t his forte, like Jackie. But in his case, it was because he didn’t know what to say. Jackie just didn’t know how to shut up.

“About what?” She asked lolling her head to the side.

“Magic…” He confessed.

Her already big eyes widened. “You are a real magician!” She almost shouted.

Marvin hushed her and then answered reluctantly with a simple. “Yeah.”

“Can you do a trick for me?” She bounced on her feet.

The man with long hair hesitated. This was a child, no older than seven. What if he hurt her?

“Okay. A quick one.”

He kneeled by her side. “Alright. See here?” He extended his palm. “What do I have?”

“Nothing?”

“Ah, but that’s where you are wrong.” With a flick of his wrist, sparkles appeared and a small yellow flower materialized in his hand.

The girl laughed in amazement and took the flower delicately between her forefinger and her thumb.

“You. Are. So. Cool.” She squealed, gaze fixed in the flower. “Can you do another one?”

“Not for now.”

“Aw! Why?” She pouted.

“Because Henrik said we had to sleep. So you… Go back to your bed.”

She frowned with a mildly confused expression. “Which one is Henrik?”

“The one with tired eyes and a funny German accent.” He answered, imitating terribly Henrik’s accent in the last part.

The girl giggled but was interrupted by a yawn. “I guess this Henry is always right, yeah?”

Marvin chuckled and led her into the room. “More or less.”

She snuggled in her bed and her eyes slowly fluttered. “I guess I have to listen to what he says then–” another yawn–“ He seems to be really smart after all…”

And then she dozed off.

Marvin just stared at the girl. She looked like a small bundle in the bed, which looked enormous compared to her size.

Remembering a simple spell, he approached her and gently touched her forehead. In his mind, he saw flashes of her memories, only the ones on the surface.

With a soft gasp, he retreated. A pang of guilt for looking through her memories was overridden by the pain that he felt when he saw parts of her life. He had to leave the room quickly, he couldn’t look at the innocent child.

Now standing outside the door, Marvin found himself in a dilemma.

What would happen to the girl once they returned her to her home? And could he give her up willingly after what he saw?

#jacksepticye #jse chase #chase bro average #chase brody #marvin the magnificent #jameson jackson #jj #jse egos #jacksepticeye egos #jackieboyman #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticeye fanfic #antisepticeye #henrik #henrik von schneeplestein #dr schneeplestein #dr scheeplestein

[longitudinalwaveme]

Fortuna Inversis

Kaon. It’s an open, festering wound on the otherwise generally peaceful and prosperous planet of Cybertron; a city-state prostrate under the heel of the tyrannical Lord Straxus. Everyone knows this, and no one knows it more than the inhabitants of its closest neighbor, the city-state of Vos. Kaon is a place of energy deprivation, filth, poverty, and misery; in short, it is a place Vosians go out of their way to avoid. So how did a well-bred Vosian noblemech like me end up in one of Kaon’s hovels? That, I am afraid, is a rather complicated story, and for you to fully understand it, I need to start at the beginning. My name is Succendam Off de domo Domini Cael (or, for those of you who do not speak Vosian, Blast Off of the House of Space), the creation and only heir of Dominus Spatium and Domine Astrum.

My creators were extremely wealthy, arguably even wealthier than the royal family, and they were a regular presence in the court of Rex Ventus, the King of Vos; however, they were also spacefaring explorers, and, as such, they were killed in a particularly unpleasant spaceship explosion when I was four stellar cycles away from the age of legal majority. It was a tragedy, of course, but as they had been away from home frequently for most of my life prior to that point, it did not affect me as much as it might have, and upon their deaths, I became the master of the Cael estate and its workers. Not long afterwards, I hired a mech from Kaon to serve as my clerk. He was quiet and efficient, and generally did good work, but he was always filthy and clearly half-starved, not to mention a war-frame, and that did not fit in with the image I wanted my staff to project. Thus, I fired him; which proved to be stressful for both of us. When I informed him that he was being let go, he started creating quite a scene, begging me to keep him on for the sake of his family and generally acting horribly undignified. In the end, I grew tired of trying to reason with him and had my guards remove him from my estate. After a few days, I forgot about him altogether, little imagining that we would encounter each other again, and my life progressed quite smoothly for the next two stellar cycles. I even arranged a sponsalia (that is, an engagement) for myself with Illusion of the Furtim Line, a female from the Towers District. But my happiness proved to be transient. Just a few solar cycles after I reached sedecim (sixteen) stellar cycles of age, I was baselessly arrested for treason. Sure, I may have made a few….inopportune….statements about Rex Ventus’ ability to rule, but I had never plotted to overthrow him, and everyone knew it. As he soon made clear, his real interest was not whether or not I had betrayed him but rather to see if he could get his filthy hands on my land and holdings….and irritatingly, because he was the king and thus the head of the judiciary system of Vos, it soon became apparent that he could do just that. On the pretext of incredibly flimsy evidence (even the king’s young creation, Princeps Stella Clamor- Prince Starscream- remarked on the flimsiness of it), I was found guilty of treason, and stripped of my title, my lands, and my holdings. Ventus made a show of mercy, claiming that he would spare me from execution because of my youth. Then he banished me to the slums of Kaon with no servants, no Shanix, and no energon….which, had fate not intervened, would have been nothing more than a prolonged death sentence. So much for his mercy. Not long after I was abandoned in Kaon, I was approached by a mech whom, I would soon learn, was one of Lord Straxus’ Enforcers.

“What are you doing out at night, Empty?” he spat. While I could understand Neocybex fairly well, my ability to speak it was rather limited. Most nobles (and their servants) could speak Vosian, after all, so there had been little need for me to practice speaking the language. Thus, my response to his question was less than elegant.

“I do wrong?” I stammered in broken Neocybex.

“What’s the matter, Empty? Can’t you speak?” the Enforcer mocked

“Empty?” I echoed, utterly confused. I knew the word-in Vosian, it was vaccus -but he seemed to be using it as a noun rather than an adjective.

“Yeah, an Empty. That’s what you are…a worthless piece of gutter trash. Although if you’re too stupid to know what that means, then maybe you’re also too stupid to know that no one is allowed out after curfew. If you don’t get inside in the next ten minutes, I’m taking you to prison. You got that, Empty?”

“Yes,” I replied. With that, I bolted away from the mech and started searching for some way to get inside before I got thrown into a Kaonite prison, which I was certain would make the one I had been locked up in in Vos seem like my palatial estate by comparison. After a few minutes, I stumbled upon a small building-a hovel, really-and, in desperation, banged on the door.

“ Fac me introire! Ergot placet mihi! ” (Let me in! Please, let me in!) I was in such a panic that I didn’t even stop to consider the fact that whoever was inside probably didn’t speak Vosian. After a few seconds, the door was opened by an exhausted-looking war-frame, one who was startlingly familiar.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” he barked in Neocybex.

“Need roof...help,” I replied, now desperately wishing that I was more fluent in the language.

“ Vosiane loqui possum. Quod requires? ” (I can speak Vosian. What do you need?) the other mech asked, surprising me. His rough, thickly accented voice was also familiar, but I still couldn’t place him.

“ Et opus tectumque . Quaeso! ” (I need shelter. Please!) I replied. The war-build examined me, and then glared at me coldly.

“Et nota videtur. Quod nomen tibi est? ” (You seem familiar. What is your name?)

“ Succendam Off de domo Domini Cael ,” I replied….and just as I said this, I realized why the war-build seemed so familiar. He was the same one whom I had fired from his position as my clerk two stellar cycles previously. A sense of dread washed over my spark. This was not good.

“Quid si ego auxiliatus sum tui? Et accensus sunt me, cum scires haec non erat familiaris. ” (Why should I help you? You fired me unjustly, even though you knew I had a family.) the war-build said coldly.

“ Paenitet! Paenitet-” (I’m sorry! I’m sorry…) I exclaimed, stopping short when  I realized that I had never bothered to learn his name.

“ Impetus. Impetus sit nomen meum. Cum tibi, ne quidem sciunt nomine meo: ego auxiliatus sum tibi, non. Exite!” ( Onslaught . Onslaught is my name. Since you do not even know my name, I will not help you. Go away.) In complete panic, I fell to my knees.

“ Amabo, noli me manere. Faciam quod vis facere! ” (Please, let me stay! I’ll do anything you want!) I pleaded.

“ Quidquid ?” ( Anything ?) Onslaught asked.

“ Ita, quod, ” (Yes, anything.) I replied. Onslaught seemed to ponder this for a few seconds, then pulled me to my feet.

“‘Ut maneat in domo in tribus conditionalibus. Primo, vos mos reperio a officium, mercedem tuam super me, et convertam. Habeo tres alere velis nobiscum sic oportet operam. Secundam, maneat, si tu non es membrum de familia. Et erit servum, et sic potest haberi. Tertius, et sic loquetur ad me, domine . Mecum adhuc volo?” (You may stay in my home, on three conditions. First, you will find a job and turn over your wages to me. I have three brothers to support, so if you wish to stay with us, you must contribute financially. Second, if you stay, you are not a member of the family. You will be a servant and be treated as such. Third, you will address me as “sir.” Do you still wish to stay with me?) he asked. Naturally, I was horrified by the conditions that he had set, but because the alternative was even worse, I was forced to swallow my pride and accept them.

“ Ita domine. Habeo alia optio, ” (Yes, sir. I have no other choice.) I said. Onslaught nodded.

“In that case, you can come in. You will speak Neocybex from now on.”

“I...try, sir,” I replied. Onslaught nodded, and mercifully did not comment on my broken Neocybex. Then he led me inside the shack of a building he called his home, and I was shocked by the squalor inside. There was a table, three recharging centers, and four chairs, crammed into a space that was smaller than the storage closets on my estate. Other than that, there was no furniture-no washracks, no energon dispenser, nothing! In place of those essentials were a third grown mech who clearly transformed into a tank, a grey youngling whose rotors marked him as a helicopter, and the tiniest sparkling I had ever seen. He was bright yellow and had enormous purple optics, and he appeared to turn into a ground-based vehicle of some sort, though I wasn’t sure of what type.

“These are my brothers, Brawl, Vortex, and Swindle,” Onslaught said, as he pointed to the tank, the youngling, and the sparkling in turn.

“Who’s that, Onslaught?” the tank, Brawl, asked. He was exceedingly loud, and I could tell right from the beginning that he was going to be a major irritant.

“This is Blast Off of the House of Cael,” Onslaught replied.

“The rich jerk who fired you? What’s he doing here?”

“I’m not entirely certain of that, Brawl, but given the fact that he, a very wealthy, very arrogant mech, begged me to allow him to take shelter in what he probably thinks is a shack, I’d guess that he has run into a disaster of some kind,” Onslaught replied. When he said this, I realized for the first time just what I had done. I had agreed to work as an unpaid servant in exchange for being allowed to take shelter in a hovel !  

“We can barely keep ourselves fueled; why’re we givin’ some of our energy and our home to a rich, spoiled jerk?” Brawl asked.

“We aren’t “giving” Blast Off anything. This is probably a foreign concept to him, but rest assured-from now on, he’s going to have to earn every drop of energon we give him,” Onslaught replied. Although he was ostensibly speaking to his brother, it was clear that Onslaught was telling me something as well: namely, that if I didn’t please him, I would not get to refuel.

“Where’s he gonna recharge?” This question came from Vortex. The question being something that I, too, was interested in, I turned to Onslaught for the answer.

“There isn’t enough space for him to recharge on the floor, at least not without us tripping over him on a constant basis, the recharging center you share with Swindle is far too small for another sparkling, let alone a shuttle of his size, and my recharging center barely fits me. Thus, he will have to share Brawl’s recharging center,” Onslaught replied.

“ What ?” Brawl and I exclaimed simultaneously. Vortex giggled.

“Now you know how I feel having to share a recharger with Swindle,” he said to his older brother. Brawl growled, and I backed away from him, but the small helicopter just giggled again.

“Vortex, go back to recharge,” Onslaught said.

“But I’m not tired! And Swindle kicks really hard in recharge,” Vortex whined, gesturing at the unconscious sparkling. How that sparkling managed to stay in recharge with Brawl and Vortex shouting around him, I did not and do not understand.

“I know that sharing a recharger is unpleasant, Vortex, but we don’t have enough Shanix or enough space to get you your own. If you don’t recharge properly, you’ll be at risk for developing a virus that we wouldn’t  be able to afford to treat. Please at least make an effort,” Onslaught said gently. Vortex pouted, but he climbed onto the tiny recharging center regardless. Evidently, he had been lying about not being tired, as, only a few minutes later, he was clearly in recharge. Once he was assured that the youngling was resting, Onslaught turned back to Brawl and me.

“It’s very late, so it would be wise for the three of us to get some rest, too. I’ll see you both in the morning,” he said. With that, he went to his own recharging chamber and was almost immediately dead to the world, leaving my-shudder-new companion and me staring awkwardly at each other.

“Just my luck, havin’ to share a recharger with a prissy little snob,” Brawl muttered.

“I...not like….either,” I replied, mortified by how poor my spoken Neocybex was. Brawl shot me an odd look.

“Why’re you talkin’ funny, Prissy?” he asked. I scowled at him, as I did not at all appreciate him calling me “prissy”. It was hardly my fault that I had been bred to be disgusted by the squalor that these brothers lived in!

“I speak Vosian. I...not good...speaking...Neocybex,” I explained, inwardly fuming at how unfair it was that I was expected to adjust to the language used by these plebeians.

“Oh. Okay then. Which side of the recharger do you want? I ain’t gonna like it regardless, so it don’t matter none to me,” Brawl asked. I idly wondered why he insisted on butchering his own language before replying.

“Left,” I replied. I had no desire to be trapped in between the tank and a wall.

“Fine. Just so you know, Prissy, I snore. Hope you don’t mind,” Brawl said as he got onto his recharging center. I very much did mind, but, under the circumstances, there was nothing I could do but wish fervently that I was anywhere but in the slums of Kaon and follow him to the recharging center. I gingerly joined the tank on the center, glad that the lighting was too poor for me to see how filthy they both probably were, and struggled to enter recharge. It seemed as though every time I was about to do so, Brawl’s engines decided to rumble noisily, and then, as though that wasn’t unpleasant enough, he eventually rolled over in such a way that he pinned my arm to the recharging center’s slab. This was, as one might imagine, quite painful, and I cried out, but no one reacted. Evidently, they were accustomed to recharging through a racket. After what seemed like an eternity of discomfort, exhaustion eventually took over and I fell into recharge.

“Wake up! You have work to do!” I checked my chronometer, and was startled to find that it was only 4:30 in the morning.

“ Suss etiam mane, ” (It’s too early.) I protested. I was not fully awake, and, as such, my CPU had not yet fully registered that I was no longer at home. Then my optics focused, I saw Onslaught, and the events of the previous night rushed back to me. I groaned in a mixture of exhaustion and disgust, and then quickly got to my feet. A quick perusal of the room (my processor simply refused to accept it as a building) revealed that Onslaught, Brawl, and Vortex were already awake. The tiny sparkling was still asleep, but then, he wasn’t even out of his first frame. Clearly, then, and much to my distaste, I was going to have to become an early riser.

“I had better not have to wake you up again, Blast Off. As one of my employers told me, it’s ‘not my job to coddle the hired help’,” Onslaught snapped. The fact that I had been the employer in question made the whole situation even more mortifying.

“Yes, sir,” I replied weakly. I knew that protesting would likely only make my-*shudder*- employer angrier.

“Good. Now, your alternate mode is a shuttle- if a small one- correct?” Onslaught asked.

“Yes, sir. Quare -er,why?” I asked, wondering what my alternate mode had to do with the work that he would expect me to do (whatever that proved to be).

“You have no work experience, and you can barely speak Neocybex. Due to those handicaps, the quickest way for you to get a job is to get you employed as transport of some kind, since, as a shuttle, your alt mode meets the main requirement for that position. Here are the instructions to the transport center; download them to your CPU,”  Onslaught replied as he handed me a small chip. I stared at him, mildly appalled. A noblemech working as transport? It was beneath my dignity!

“Hey, Onslaught, I don’t think Prissy likes that idea,” Brawl observed, sounding mildly amused. Vortex snickered.

“Can I call him Prissy, too?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Sure, kid,” Brawl replied.

“You’re in no position to complain about what they call you, Blast Off; or, for that matter, the job I want you to get…..unless, of course, you’d prefer to find energon and shelter on your own,” Onslaught said coldly. I sighed weakly. Any ludicrous hope I had had that I would be able to maintain a semblance of dignity as the-ugh-unpaid servant of a pauper was effectively dashed by what Onslaught had just told me.

“I….be good, sir.” Onslaught nodded.

“In that case, get going. Brawl and I have our own jobs to get to,” he snapped.

“Energon?” I asked. Surely, they didn’t expect me to go job-hunting on an empty fuel tank! Brawl and Vortex laughed.

“Wow, you’re even dumber than Brawl if you expect energon now! We never get to refuel at this time of the solar cycle!” Vortex exclaimed.

“Dumber than Brawl? I’ll show you dumb, tiny!” Brawl bellowed.

“You always do, bro,” Vortex replied, giggling as he ducked to avoid the punch Brawl threw at him. Such barbarism!

“Enough! Blast Off, not everyone is able to refuel whenever they feel like it. This unit is lucky if we get to refuel once a solar cycle, and at present, I have gone without refueling for three solar cycles. Do you understand?” Onslaught asked. I stared at him in shock, wondering vaguely if this was some sort of joke, before realizing that he was serious. If the unit couldn’t even fuel itself properly, no wonder Onslaught needed my labor! Grimly resigning myself to hunger, I nodded.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“Then, for the last time, I will tell you to go find a job. I don’t have time to explain everything to you. Brawl and I have work to get to,” Onslaught said. I nodded and quickly left the hovel, then downloaded the directions to the transport station into my CPU, transformed into my alternate mode, and took off. Roughly forty minutes later, I arrived at my destination, which, although not quite as disgusting as the hovel I was currently living in, was still quite filthy. I transformed, landed, and walked inside the building. The inside was just as filthy as the outside. I reluctantly walked over to the window that was marked as “Employment”. Much to my surprise, I was the only one there, so I winced, swallowed my pride for the millionth time in less than 24 hours, and walked closer to the window. The mech on the other side looked at me with very little interest.

“You a shuttle?” he asked. He had a very strange, slightly echo-y voice.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“You’re awful small for a shuttle,” the mech said. In response, I transformed into my alternate mode, which, although much sleeker than the shuttles typically used for-ugh- transport, was still most definitely a shuttle. Once I was confident that the other mech was convinced that I was, indeed, a shuttle, I returned to my robot mode.

“All right, all right, you’ve made your point. Though why a delicate thing like you is applying to work as a garbage shuttle, I couldn’t begin to guess,” the other mech said. It was at this point that I realized just how much of a grudge Onslaught held against me. It was one thing to expect me to work, but this? This was an entirely different level of humiliating.

“Job,” I replied weakly.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” he asked.

“Vosian. Not good at Neocybex,” I replied. His optics brightened in apparent understanding.

“You can’t speak Neocybex? That explains it, then. Garbage transports don’t have to talk much-and given how lithe you are, I think I’ve got a good job for you. You see, the Towers District has been requesting more garbage transports, but they say they think our regular employees look too bulky. A sleek shuttle like you would be the perfect fit, and I can finally get my boss off my back about that. What do you say?” he said. My first instinct was to say “absolutely not”, but then I remembered that my life was very dependent on my getting a job.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, trying not to sound absolutely horrified.

“Great! You’re hired! Follow me!” he exclaimed. I complied, and he led me to what appeared to be a hanger of some sort. A few other shuttles, all much larger than me, were milling about. They were all filthy and covered in grime, and I shuddered. My beautiful, clean plating….

“Can you transform for me?” a different mech asked. I did so, and then he started gathering cans of paint.

“What...you doing?” The new mech laughed .

“Repainting you. All garbage transports have a specific color, and you don’t match it yet. That being said, this will probably take awhile, so if you want to take a nap, you can. I’ll wake you up when I’m done,” he said. More out of a desire to escape my situation than anything else, I decided to take his advice. I was reawoken about forty-five minutes later.

“All right, I’m done. You can go ahead and transform back into robot mode now,” the second mech said. I complied, and had to hold back a nervous breakdown. My beautiful purple-and-white coloration had been replaced with a hideous shade of brown, and my family crest had been painted over and replaced with Neocybex lettering that read “Garbage Disposal”. Once I had calmed down from panic to mild disgust, I turned to the second mech.

“Thank you,” I said. I didn’t feel thankful at all, but it seemed prudent not to let him know that. The mech smiled.

“No problem,” he replied. He walked off, and the mech who had hired me walked up and took his place, then handed me a chip similar to the one Onslaught had given me earlier.

“Here’s your schedule. Your shift starts at 6 and ends at 5. You make 12 Shanix per day; if you’re late to any of the pickups, it comes out of your pay. Any extra Shanix you earn will come from tips. Any questions?” he said rapidly.

“I...start now?” I asked.

“No, you start tomorrow. That way, you have some time to go over the schedule, though I guess you’ll have to find someone to read it for you if you don’t understand Neocybex very well,” he replied. I didn’t bother to tell the mech that I could read Neocybex just fine; there didn’t seem to be much point.

“I...go home?” I asked. I felt very relieved that I was not going to be immediately thrust into a humiliating, unfamiliar work environment.

“Yeah, you can go home now. But if you aren’t back here by 6 AM sharp tomorrow, you’re fired. Got it?” the mech replied.

“Yes, sir,” I replied. With that, I left the transport station, transformed into my vehicle mode, pulled up the directions that I had used to get to the station, and then simply reversed the directions in order to get back to Onslaught’s hovel. (One of the benefits of being a shuttle is the fact that we all possess a natural skill for navigation.) Upon my arrival, I returned to robot mode and knocked on the door, which was opened by none other than the tiny sparkling.

“Hi,” he said. He seemed a bit bemused, but not particularly frightened. A few seconds later, Vortex joined him at the door.

“That’s the shuttle I told you about, Stumpy, the one who showed up last night when you were in recharge. His name is Blast Off, but Brawl and I call him Prissy because he used to be Onslaught’s boss, back when you were even littler than you are now. He used to be really rich, and he still thinks he’s better than us, but something bad happened to him and now Onslaught says he’s the “hired help”, and that means he has to do what we say. Ain’t that right, Prissy?”

“Yes,” I replied, still a bit shell-shocked by the fact that I-the wealthiest noblemech of Vos-now had to take orders from two filthy little brats.

“Onslaught must think you’ll make a lot of Shanix.” Unbelievably, this particular comment came out of the mouth of the tiny sparkling.

“What?” I asked.

“If you’re living with us, we’ll have to buy energon for you, which will increase our expenses. If Onslaught’s letting you stay anyway, it must be because you’ll bring in enough energy to cover the difference-and also make a net profit,” the little sparkling replied. I stared at him in utter bewilderment. What sort of sparkling had that level of understanding of economics?

“Onslaught says that Stumpy’s an “economics prodigy”,” Vortex explained, as though sensing my confusion.

“I see,” I replied. It was rather unfortunate for Onslaught, then-but quite fortunate for me, conditions being what they were-that the sparkling was far too young to be employed full-time (even in a cesspool like Kaon).

“What are you doing back here so early, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be getting a job?” Vortex demanded.

“I...got job. Job starts tomorrow,” I explained quickly.

“Oh. Okay. See you later, Prissy. Stumpy and I have stuff to do,” Vortex exclaimed. He grabbed his younger brother by the hand and proceeded to pull him outside.

“You go to school?” I asked.

“School?” Vortex and “Stumpy” echoed, apparently perplexed, which in turn puzzled me. Surely a youngling and a prodigy knew what a school was.

“Learning place,” I explained. Vortex frowned.

“We know what school is, dummy. We just don’t know why you think we go to school,” Vortex replied.

“Schools cost money, and Onslaught can’t afford to send us,” the sparkling added. This shocked me. Apparently, my assumption that public education was available across the entirety of Cybertron was mistaken.

“Where going?” I asked.

“Out,” Vortex replied. Before I could ask any more questions, both the youngling and the sparkling scampered away and disappeared. After a few seconds of worry that Onslaught would be upset that I had not kept an optic on them, I quickly realized that, since Brawl and Onslaught both worked, and I hadn’t lived with them until very recently, they were accustomed to Vortex and Swindle taking care of themselves in spite of their youth...and in truth, they were both probably more street savvy than I could ever hope to be. Unfortunately, with their departure, I was left alone in the tiny, filthy hovel, with little to do except reflect on my thoroughly unpleasant situation. Starting the following day, I-a noblemech of Vos!-would be working 11 hours every day as a garbage transport, all so I could pay my former employee for the “privilege” of living in a hovel and sharing a recharging center with a loudly-snoring, filthy tank. How had I been reduced to this? Overwhelmed by the blatant unfairness of it all, I started to weep. Why me? After I finished wallowing in (very deserved) self-pity, I finally downloaded the schedule that I had been given at the transport station, which promptly created yet another cause for self-pity. Because the universe apparently has it out for me, the last stop on the schedule was Amabilia Manor, the estate of my sponsa (betrothed), Illusion of the Furtim Line. In other words, there was a very real chance that Illusion, whom I was still quite fond of, would see me working on her estate as a garbage shuttle ! What had I done to deserve that? A few hours of alternatively wallowing some more in self-pity, vaguely wondering if I was supposed to be responsible for cleaning the interior of the hovel, and trying to ignore my ever-lowering fuel levels later, Vortex and the little yellow sparkling returned with a handful of Shanix and one (very small) energon cube.

“How... you get that?” I asked.

“Stumpy. I dirty him up a little, set him in full view of passersby, have him make his sad face, and bam! Instant Shanix. Nobody can resist helping out a poor, starving orphan, after all. It’s great!” Vortex explained. Wonderful. I was living with a pair of miniature con artists.

“I hate it. Why don’t you ever have to be the orphan?” the tiny sparkling said.

“Because I’m a warbuild, and thus, not small or cute enough to get sympathy. For some reason, you were the only one of us our creator didn’t design as a warbuild, so you have to do the cutesy stuff. Besides, you’re a better actor than I am,” Vortex replied.

“But I have to do all the work!”

“No, you don’t! When your cute face doesn’t bring in enough Shanix, I make up the difference by raiding their subspace containers while they’re distracted. How do you think we got the energon cube today, magic?” Vortex replied. Oh, terrific. One of them was a thief as well. However, much to my surprise, rather than keeping the Shanix for themselves, the pair instead deposited it in a container located under Onslaught’s recharger. The box was largely empty and lined only with a thin layer of Shanix, which puzzled me. Even considering the fact that neither Onslaught nor Brawl was likely to have a particularly well-paying job, it seemed like they should have more Shanix than that. With two grown mechs (soon, I reflected sadly, to be three) working full-time, why were their savings so limited, and why did they have to ration energon so strictly? The answer to that question arrived a few minutes later, when a large red-and-white mech stormed into the hovel, prompting shrieks of fear from Vortex and the sparkling, who both  promptly ran to hide behind me.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“An Enforcer. Do whatever he says,” Vortex explained, clearly ill at ease. Given how confident he had been previously, this was rather alarming.

“All right, Empties. Pay up!” the Enforcer exclaimed aggressively. In response, Vortex ran over to the Shanix container, handed it to me, and instructed me to hand it to the Enforcer, which I did. The sparkling started crying into my leg, and for the first time, I actually felt a pang of sympathy for the two of them. If I was terrified, it had to be even worse for a youngling and a sparkling. The Enforcer emptied the container into what appeared to be his personal subspace compartment and then scowled.

“Is that all the Shanix you have?” he demanded. I looked at Vortex, who nodded. In response, the Enforcer proceeded to upend the hovel, apparently in search of any hidden Shanix, and totally destroying one of the chairs. My fuel pump felt like it was beating out of my chest, and my spark constricted in terror. After what seemed like an eternity, but, according to my chronometer, was actually only five minutes, he stopped tearing the hovel apart, now apparently having determined that Vortex had told the truth. Then he stomped over to me.

“Tell Onslaught that if he doesn’t have at least fifty shanix waiting for me next time, I’ll take your two youngest brothers as payment instead. There’s a titanium mine that would pay hundreds of shanix for a couple of slaves who are small enough to fit in those hard-to-reach crevices,” he said threateningly. With that, he grabbed the energon cube, downed it in one gulp, dropped it back onto the floor, and stormed out of the hovel. As soon as he was gone, I found myself awkwardly attempting to comfort a sobbing sparkling while also trying to work out what, exactly, had just happened. After a few seconds, I gave up and decided to just ask Vortex.

“What happened?”

“I told you that guy was an enforcer, right? Well, all of the Enforcers work for Lord Straxus and make sure he gets to stay the boss. Because of that, they can do whatever they want-short of trying to overthrow him, that is-and almost all of them eventually set up this thingy they call a “patrol fee”, which is a fancy way of saying that they can come into your home and take as much of your Shanix as they like, and you can’t do anything to stop them...unless you wanna get thrown in prison. And if you can’t meet the fee they want for whatever reason, they’ll throw you into debtor’s prison or sell you into slavery,” Vortex explained. This, as one might imagine, was less than comforting news. While it certainly explained the desperate poverty of Onslaught’s unit, the revelation that most of my earnings wouldn’t benefit me even remotely was even more disgusting and unpleasant than the fact that I was expected to work as garbage transport in order to earn them in the first place. Once the sparkling finally stopped sobbing, I reorganized the hovel to the best of my (very limited) ability, as Vortex watched with very irritating amusement. I was trying my best! It was not as though I had ever personally had to reorganize a room before! As soon as he was convinced that his home was (more or less) back in order, Vortex started heading for the exit again, dragging his younger brother behind him.

“No! I’m n-not going out again! The Enforcer might still be around, and if he catches us begging, he might put us in jail!” the sparkling said, clearly terrified. His huge optics somehow seemed even wider than usual. Vortex laughed.

“C’mon, Stumpy. They’ve never caught us before,” he said, remarkably boldly, I thought, for a youngling who had been hiding behind my leg, in apparent fear of an Enforcer, not thirty minutes before.

“‘“M not going. Enforcers are scary,” the sparkling replied, suddenly sounding a lot more like what I had expected a sparkling still in his first frame to sound than a business mech.

“Only if they’re close enough to hurt you. If they don’t know where we are or what we’re doing- which they won’t-they’re no threat,” Vortex replied. In response, the sparkling latched onto my leg again, much to my mild disgust. Although I pitied the pair, I had no desire for them to be putting their filthy hands on me on a regular basis.

“You can’t make me. The Enforcer is too close! And if you do, I’m gonna tell Onslaught,” the sparkling said. Vortex scowled.

“Fine! Stupid sparkling,” he exclaimed. With that, he pouted and sat down on his recharging center. It was at this point that I realized that I had not yet learned the sparkling’s name (or, for that matter, how old he was). Onslaught had told it to me the previous night, but I had subsequently totally forgotten it.

“Name? How old?” I asked the sparkling.

“Swindle. I’m five stellar cycles old,” he replied. “Swindle” seemed like an odd name for a sparkling, but then again, “Onslaught” and “Brawl” weren’t exactly names that I would have imagined a creator giving to their creations either. Perhaps it had something to do with what their creators were like. Since three out of the four brothers were war-builds, it seemed likely that at least one, if not both, of them were also war-builds, amongst whom such names might be common. My curiosity having been aroused, I decided to continue questioning the sparkling to see if I could obtain any further information about Onslaught’s unit.

“Creators?” I asked. Much to my surprise, it was Vortex who answered. I had assumed that he was too street-savvy to trust me with such information, but evidently I had either overestimated him, or he did not think that the information was important.

“Our male creator was named Dragline and our female creator was named Highwall. They were miners and they died in a cave-in two solar cycles after Stumpy was brought online. He doesn’t remember them at all, and I was only three stellar cycles old, so I only remember little bits and pieces. Brawl was eleven stellar cycles when the cave-in happened, and Onslaught was thirteen, so they remember more,” he explained.

“Other members of house?” I asked.

“Well, there was Dragline’s brother, Onslaught. He was a soldier, but he was offlined in battle a long time ago, I think before Brawl came online. Our Onslaught’s named after him,” Vortex replied. Stunned, I started performing some mental calculations. If Onslaught the elder was the only member of their house besides their creators, and he and their creators had all gone offline by the time Onslaught had reached the age of thirteen stellar cycles, that meant two things. First, Onslaught had been raising his three younger brothers, alone, since he was thirteen, and second, if he had been thirteen when Swindle had just come online, and Swindle was five stellar cycles old now, that meant that he was currently only eighteen stellar cycles old, barely any older than me. I had thought he was at least thirty-five stellar cycles!

“I see,” I replied at last. The next several hours passed largely uneventfully (especially in comparison to the shocks that the morning had provided), and, around 7:00 in the evening, Brawl returned to the hovel. (His approach was so loud that I heard him coming several minutes before he actually arrived.) Upon his arrival, he immediately collapsed into one of the chairs, looking absolutely exhausted.

“Hey, Brawl, how was work?” Vortex asked.

“Long. Did Prissy get a job?” Brawl replied.

“Yep. He starts work tomorrow,” Vortex said.

“You stay out of trouble, Tiny?” Brawl asked. Vortex smirked.

“Of course, bro. Stumpy and I would never do anything that would get us in trouble.” Brawl snorted. Clearly, he knew better than to believe his brothers.

“And what really happened?”

 “We got ten Shanix and an energon cube from our usual methods, but then the Enforcer broke in and took all of it, so now we’ve got nothin’ again. I hope you picked up some extra shanix today, ‘cause if not, none of us are gonna get to refuel, and I’m hungry,” Vortex explained.

‘Lousy no-good Enforcers. Ain’t like we got any Shanix worth stealin’,” Brawl muttered.

“How much Shanix did you earn, Brawl? I’m hungry too,” Swindle asked. In response, Brawl actually gave what passed for a smile; which was much more terrifying than his scowls.

“10, plus 6 extra I spent on energon,” he said. Vortex and Swindle cheered, and even I felt a sense of relief. Admittedly, it was disgraceful that I- a noblemech!-felt relief at the prospect of something so basic as being able to consume fuel, but it was still better than dying of fuel deprivation. Vortex started pawing at his older brother, likely in search of the energon.

“None of that, tiny. Nobody’s refuelin’ till Onslaught gets back,” Brawl said. Vortex pouted, but didn’t argue, instead choosing to kick me in the shin to relieve his frustration.

“Ouch!” I exclaimed. Vortex giggled, and I glared at him. Why had I felt sympathy for the filthy little youngling, again? I elected to ignore him and turned my attention to Brawl instead.

“Where...work?” I asked.

“Construction. Ain’t many jobs for a stupid tank like me, but I can lift stuff pretty good. So long as I can do that, my boss don’t care that I’m not so bright and don’t have no ed-you-cay-shun,” Brawl replied tersely. (I am not exaggerating his pronunciation of the word “education”, by the way. That’s exactly the way that he said the word.)

“No...school?” I asked.

“Not really. Our creators worked real hard to make sure that they could send Onslaught and me, but I only went for a stellar cycle. Teachers said I was too stupid to learn anything, and so my creators took me out ‘cause it was too expensive to spend Shanix on school for me if I wasn’t gonna be learnin’ nothin’. My female creator tried to teach me some after that, but she was always real busy, so I never did learn much before our creators died. Onslaught’s real ed-you-cated, though. His teachers said he was the brightest student in his level, and he always made real high scores. Our creators were so proud of him. He was ‘posed to be our ticket outta bein’ poor, seein’ as he was so smart and all. His teachers even said he could probably get a scholarship to Kaon’s Military Academy, but a stellar cycle before that could happen, our creators were killed, and he had to drop out to provide for Vortex and Swindle and me. Don’t bring that up around him, though. Makes him mad,” Brawl explained. I had a feeling that this was the longest that I would hear Brawl speak for a very long time. He didn’t seem particularly chatty by nature. The fact that he didn’t say another word until Onslaught arrived at the hovel about an hour later, even as his younger brothers chatted nonstop around him about a variety of inane topics, proved my suspicion correct. Upon Onslaught’s arrival, he took one look at the room and then glared at me.

“What happened here?” he demanded.

“I...sorry, sir! Not...clean...before,” I apologized. Onslaught didn’t look appeased.

“It wasn’t really Prissy’s fault, Onslaught. An enforcer showed up and tore the place apart looking for Shanix other than the ones in our container. Prissy was just too stupid to know how to put things back right,” Vortex said. Normally, I would have glared at him, but I was too relieved that he was defending me to really care whether or not he was calling me an idiot (which, for the record, I am most certainly not.)

“An enforcer? Are you two all right?” Onslaught asked.

“Yeah, we’re fine, but the Enforcer said that if we didn’t have at least fifty shanix when he came next time, he’d take me and Stumpy as payment instead,” Vortex replied. In response, Onslaught sat down on his recharging center (remember, there wasn’t-and, sadly, isn’t- that much room in the filthy hovel) and buried his faceplates in his hands, clearly quite upset.

“He said WHAT?” Brawl exclaimed as he jumped out of his seat, so loudly that I am surprised my audio receptors weren’t burnt out. Vortex repeated his explanation, and Brawl collapsed back into his chair, his anger evidently spent. Onslaught, for his part, turned to me.

“Did you get the job?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, trying not to think about how horrible the job was.

“Good,” Onslaught said, sounding utterly exhausted. Then the little sparkling walked over to him, huge optics filled with worry.

“If we don’t give him enough Shanix to pay his “patrol fee”, the Enforcer’s gonna take us away! You won’t let that happen, will you, Onslaught? I don’t wanna be taken away by an Enforcer. They scare me,” Swindle asked.

“I most certainly will not allow that to happen, even if it means working even more shifts than I currently do. Nothing is going to pull this unit apart,” Onslaught replied firmly. At this, Swindle seemed to relax. I, on the other hand, still felt nervous. No matter how hard Brawl, Onslaught, and- *sigh* -I worked, I did not see how it was possible for us to be able to purchase energon and consistently maintain at least fifty shanix for the enforcer on our meager salaries.

“Now can we refuel? I’m hungry,” Vortex asked.

“Yes,” Onslaught replied. With that, he, Vortex, and Swindle joined Brawl at the table (which was, like the rest of the furniture, rather worse for wear), and Brawl retrieved four energon cubes from his storage compartment. One was split between Swindle and Vortex, one was taken by Onslaught, and one was taken by Brawl. Assuming that the last one was mine, I reached for it...only to have my hand slapped by Onslaught.

“You are the hired help, remember? You fuel after we are finished,” he snapped. My circuits heated up with embarrassment, but I retreated back to “my” recharging center and sat down on it to wait anyway. While it was humiliating for me-a noblemech!-to be treated like a servant by my own ex-employee-a desperately poor pauper, no less-I could not afford to raise a fuss. Luckily, Onslaught’s unit refueled remarkably quickly, so I was able to refuel myself less than thirty minutes later….only to immediately gag. The taste was disgusting!

“Energon...bad,” I choked out. Onslaught gave out a harsh laugh.

“I would advise you to get used to it. It may not taste like the delicacies you’re used to, but it’ll keep you alive, and it’s all we can afford,” he said sharply. Although I hated to admit it, he made a good point, and so I forced myself to consume the fuel despite its taste. After all, for all I knew, it might be solar cycles before I could refuel again. Not long after I finished, Onslaught sent Swindle and Vortex to recharge. Both complained extensively, but eventually gave in, and were in recharge in only a few minutes. This being accomplished, Onslaught collapsed onto his own recharging center and was immediately offline to the world, and Brawl followed suit. Clearly, both of them had been absolutely exhausted, and that did not bode well for the career that I would be starting the next day. It was only 8:45 in the evening! Was I going to be that exhausted from work every solar cycle for the rest of my life? However, I still joined Brawl on the recharging center a few minutes later. If I was going to have to wake myself up at 4:30 in the morning, I needed as much rest as I could get. I set an internal alarm to ensure that I wouldn’t oversleep and anger Onslaught again, and tried to ignore Brawl’s loud snoring. I fell into recharge after what felt like an hour (but likely wasn’t). Luckily, the alarm worked, and I was woken promptly at 4:30, then left Onslaught’s hovel to head to my first solar cycle on the job (shudder). I arrived at the transport station at 5:10, and sat around awkwardly for twenty minutes, then departed for the first stop on my schedule. (I definitely did not want to have my pay docked for showing up late, so I felt that it was wise to depart early.) I arrived at the first of the manors of the Towers District at 5:50 and sat around awkwardly once again. At about 5:56, a mech whom I assumed was one of the manor’s servants arrived with a garbage container. I winced, tried not to think about what I had been reduced to, and then opened the door to my cargo bay. The servant then deposited the garbage into my interior, and I shuddered. It was so unfair! I hadn’t been built for work like this! Once he finished emptying the container (into my interior!), he pulled out a few Shanix.

“Hey, you! Transform so I can give you your tip,” he said. I complied with an intense feeling of humiliation. Why me?

“T-thank you,” I stammered, hoping my mortification wasn’t too obvious. The servant handed me the Shanix, and I put it into my subspace compartment. (Shuttles actually have two, one which stores the cargo they can carry in alternate mode, and one which is for personal use.)

“No problem. My boss really appreciates your streamlined design, so he decided to reward it. He says it’s much more “aesthetically pleasing” than the other shuttles he sees,” the servant replied. I nodded, reverted to my shuttle mode, and then took off for my next stop. For the next eleven stops, nothing particularly interesting happened, though my beautiful plating quickly became covered in filth and grime. I did receive tips at all eleven of these stops, evidently because of the sleekness of my alternate mode. I had no idea if this would be a regular occurrence or not, but I wasn’t about to complain about it. The more Shanix I made, the more reason Onslaught would have to keep me around. While it was still humiliating to be tipped like a servant, it was preferable to the alternatives, so I planned to keep my mouth firmly shut on the matter. However, the thirteenth and last stop was not so uneventful (sadly). The flight between the twelfth stop and the manor of Illusion was shorter than the flights between most of the other estates, which meant that I arrived early. Although one of the servants was ready with the garbage (and my tip) when I got there, this meant that I had a full hour before I was expected to deposit the garbage at the dump. As such, I found myself standing around awkwardly on the grounds of the estate, listening to the servant talk about various things.

“Sure, they’re a bit stuck-up, but they’re not that bad, all things considered. And in speaking of not bad, the Lord’s daughter is a beaut...and whaddaya know, she’s come out on the grounds with some of her friends now. Aren’t they lovely? Of course, they’re way out of our league, but a mech can dream,” he said. My circuits heated up in humiliation. I had been betrothed to Illusion less than five solar cycles ago, and now she was “out of my league”?

“Yes,” I said quietly. He grinned.

“Well, I gotta run. Have fun watching the lifestyles of the rich and famous,” he said. With that, he left me and went back inside the manor, and I turned my attention to the conversation Illusion was having with her friends.

“Is your betrothal off then, Illusion?” one of the friends asked (I believe her name is Argenti.) Illusion sighed.

“I don’t know. Blast Off hasn’t so much as called me in three solar cycles, and the King of Vos says he hasn’t seen him for awhile, That doesn’t seem like him,” she replied. I sighed. It was official. The Universe hated me.

“Well, if this is his way of calling off your engagement, then I’d say you dodged a laser blast,” Aurum, another of her friends said.

“No kidding. If he doesn’t appreciate someone like you, he’s crazy,” Argenti added.

“But I know him, Argenti. He’s a bit arrogant, but he’s not inconsiderate of me. He likes me! He would never just fail to call me for three solar cycles. Something must be wrong,” Illusion replied. As you might imagine, I was more than a little relieved that Illusion, at least, didn’t think that I was some sort of irresponsible cad.

“I’ll say something’s wrong. Your conjunx-to-be is a creep,” Aurum said. Suddenly, a blue-and-white mech appeared out of nowhere, prompting shrieks from the females. I recognized him as Mirage, Illusion’s cousin. I had met him once or twice at dinner parties.

“Mirage! How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?” Illusion exclaimed. Mirage laughed .

“Is that any way to talk to your favorite cousin?” he asked.

“Mirage, you’re my only cousin,” she replied.

“Technicalities. And I have to say, I agree with Aurum. If Blast Off doesn’t appreciate how beautiful you are, he doesn’t deserve you,” Mirage said.

“Me? Beautiful? That’s why suitors have been beating down my door, I suppose,” Illusion replied dryly.

“They don’t know you’re available again yet, cousin dear,” Mirage said.

“And they won’t be the only ones chasing you. I think that garbage mech is sweet on you, Illusion! He hasn’t taken his optics off of you since Tersus left,” Argenti exclaimed.

“And no wonder! You’re probably the first clean, beautiful thing he’s seen in a stellar cycle,” Aurum added. She, Argenti, and Mirage laughed.

“He would certainly make for an interesting story, at least...and you could use the smell to scare off all the other suitors!” Argenti said. This conversation, as you might imagine, was mortifying, and I decided to make myself scarce. I headed for the edge of the estate, hoping that I would no longer be able to overhear the conversation. Much to my surprise, however, Illusion actually followed me to the edge of the estate.

“I’m so sorry for what my friends said about you. You weren’t causing any harm, and….Blast Off?” she exclaimed. Apparently, being covered in grime and wearing hideous brown paint was not sufficient to prevent my sponsalia from recognizing me.

“ Ita ,” (Yes.) I replied quietly.

“ Quid tibi accessit? Ubi eras?’ (What happened to you? Where have you been?)

“ Me expulso rege fictis maiestatis criminibus. Et comprehenderunt omnia mia. Ego autem in Kaon cum pristini ... servum suum servo suo ut nihil minus. Qui autem pauperrimus, et sicut tale, et iussit ut reperio a officium ad terminos occursum. Est nimis ignominia.” (The king banished me on false charges of treason. He seized everything I own. Now I am living in Kaon with my former servant…as his servant, no less. He is very poor, and as such, he ordered me to find a job to make ends meet. It’s very humiliating.) I explained.

“ O, non! Quod sonos terribilis! Quid facere possum?” (Oh, no! That sounds terrible! What can I do?)

“ Proelio nostros dicere videmur. Non possum non enutriet, et non aliquid incorruptelam possidebit.” (I think we should call off our engagement. I can no longer support you, and you will not inherit anything,) I replied. Because Illusion had an elder sister, Apparition, she would inherit very little from her creators. As the younger child, her fortunes were dependent on picking a suitable Conjunx Endura. I, sadly, no longer fit the criteria.

“ Non curo illud! Te amo,” (I don’t care about that! I love you.) she exclaimed

“ Ego autem en uno-locus, magno cum quattuor aliss. Opus mihi quotidie horas undecim. Ibi sus ‘nunquam satis cibum. Illic est non satis manducare. Non possum facere vobis.” (I am living in a one-room hovel with four other mechs. I have to work eleven hours every solar cycle. There’s never enough energon. If you become my conjunx endura, you’ll have to slave away just to stay alive, too. I can’t do that to you.) I said. As horrible as it felt to call off my engagement, I couldn’t drag Illusion into the desperate poverty that I had somehow found myself in. It wouldn’t be fair to her, and living with a Conjunx Endura that I was unable to support would have been unbearably humiliating. Illusion frowned, but then nodded, apparently having realized the full costs of becoming my Conjunx Endura.

“ Saltem accipe pecuniam,” (At least let me give you some money) she said. Then she handed me a pile worth about 500 Shanix. Part of me wanted to reject it, but knowledge of my dire situation won out.

“ Optime. Gratias tibi,” (Very well. Thank you.) I replied.

“ Gratias. Bona fortuna,” (You’re welcome. Good luck.) she said. I deposited the Shanix in my subspace compartment, bid Illusion farwell, and then transformed into my alternate mode and departed from her estate. I dropped off the garbage at the dump, flew back to the transport station, where I received my (pitiful) wages, and then returned to Onslaught’s slum. Swindle and Vortex were waiting there for me.

“How many Shanix did you earn?” Swindle asked.

“Twelve. Thirteen...tips. 500...female,” I replied.

“500? We’re rich!” Vortex exclaimed. I deposited the Shanix in the container, as Swindle and Vortex enthusiastically speculated about what they would do with it all. About an hour later, Brawl returned home, deposited his earnings in the same container....and then stared at his younger brothers and me in shock.

“Where’d we get so much Shanix?” he asked loudly.

“Apparently, a girl gave Prissy a bunch of Shanix for some reason, and now we’re rich!” Vortex replied.

“That true?” Brawl asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

‘Huh. Maybe you ain’t as bad as I thought, Prissy,’ Brawl said. Coming from him, this was high praise indeed. Onslaught, upon his return to the hovel, was just as surprised.

“How did you manage to get this much Shanix?” he asked.

“Can’t explain...Neocybex. Don’t speak well,” I replied. Onslaught shrugged.

“I suppose that it doesn’t matter where we got it so long as we have it,” he said. That was all he said on the matter, and for most of the evening he treated me with the same hostility of the previous two nights. However, after his brothers had entered recharge, he walked over to me and actually gave me a look of what seemed to be respect.

“You’ve worked all day without a single complaint, and you managed to bring more than 500 shanix to my home with you...more than enough to keep Swindle and Vortex safe from the Enforcers the next time they come by. For that, I suppose I should thank you. I still don’t like you, but you’ve proven that you can earn your keep. You’re still our servant, but you’re now a member of the unit, which means that I’m not kicking you out. You do good work,” he said. With that, he went to his own recharging center and was quickly dead to the world, leaving me to my thoughts. As much as I hated the life I was now stuck in, at least I was no longer utterly hated by the mech whom I depended on for shelter. That, at least, was a positive development, and it is one that has stuck. The past six lunar cycles have been dreadfully humiliating, but at least there is one glimmer of hope. If I could win over Onslaught and his unit, then maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance that all of us might be able to escape the festering wound that is Kaon.

#transformers g1 #blast off transformers #onslaught transformers #brawl transformers #swindle transformers #vortex transformers #silly robot families #fanfic #poverty #combaticons

[platypanthewriter]

Hook Possum 2/4

Art by @monsdasarah​ for Harringrove Big Bang!

CHAPTER ONE

After dinner, Jonathan Byers got out his guitar, and started teaching them camp songs.  Steve resigned himself to weeks of Kum-ba-ya stuck in his head, but they heard a weird grinding, crunching noise in the distance, and Robin whispered “I think that came from the cemetery,” just to freak everyone out.

“The cemetery?!” a boy yelped, and Jonathan started playing The Bell Witch, because he was just as awful as Robin was.

 “Little Betsy, the age of 12/Living in a dream, the first one to scream,” he sang, and Steve groaned into his hands.

“Invisible hands/Leaving their mark in the dark

Night after night/The Bell Witch attacked and attacked

Torturing Betsy/Until a circle was held in candle light.”

 The littlest kids started climbing right up on Hook Possum.  The air filled with stories of the Bell Witch, and how she could travel, she could be anywhere, and how the bathrooms at Camp Butternut Springs were always cold.  

“They’re haunted,” Robin said, and Steve elbowed her, growling.

The bathrooms were always cold, because they were poured cement set in the hill, and the cabins warmer, because they were up the hill where they got some sun, and built of wood.  Steve tried to explain it every year, but every year the kids all started running around and shrieking about the goddamn Bell Witch.  The littlest kids asked Hook Possum to go with them to the toilets as it got dark.

Even Robin ‘Oh, that’s haunted’ Buckley took mercy, and didn’t tell them the local ghost stories.  Yet, anyway, Steve thought.  A small mercy. 

When Steve found a kid crying outside the bathrooms after playing the mirror game—they stared in and said I hate the Bell Witch, over and over, watching until their faces looked creepy and distorted in the low, flickering light—Steve sat down on the ground and patted his little sobbing shoulder, and sighed.

“Look,” he said, “—there’s only one ghost around here, Hook Possum.  Hook Possum is the ghost of possums who get hit by reckless drivers.  The Bell Witch isn’t here, because of Hook Possum, okay?”

“I s-saw s-something,” the kid wailed, clinging to Steve’s arm, and Steve pulled his sobbing hanger-on back to the fire.

“Hook Possum’s our local cryptid,” Dustin was saying, and then he had to explain to the younger kids what a cryptid was.  “Like Bigfoot,” he said, “—or the Loch Ness Monster.  Or the Pope Lick Goat Man.”

“...the what?!” Hook Possum asked, startled, and Dustin’s chest swelled with excitement as his grin widened.  

“The Pope Lick Goat Man,” Dustin breathed, “—was originally a farmer, who sacrificed his goats and who knows what else to Satan.”

“Dustin,” Steve sighed, as the story brought more kids around the fire.  

“He was reborn as a twisted goat man,” Dustin said over him, because Dustin wouldn’t have any frantic children banging on the door of his cabin at two am.  Dustin continued with relish.  “He lives under the train trestles of Pope Lick Creek, mimicking the voices of dead loved ones to lure people into the path of the train.  There have been so many deaths it’s illegal to go near there,” Dustin whispered, to his rapt audience of a bunch of children who were definitely gonna be too scared to go to the toilets that night, and they’d probably wet their beds.

“Dustin, come on,” Steve groaned.

“The trestle is over 750 feet long, and it’s a 90 foot drop,” Will Byers added, and Steve smacked his face into his hands, because he hadn’t expected that epic betrayal.  

“When the train comes, there’s nowhere to go,” Dustin continued, with relish.  “It’s said he’s so terrifying people leap to their deaths at the sight of him, even if there’s no oncoming train.  Ninety feet down into Pope Lick Creek.  That’s like jumping off an eight-story building.”

The kids gasped, and Steve pinched the bridge of his nose as Robin stepped in, grinning evilly.

“He’s been known to jump down from the trestle himself, to attack cars underneath with an axe,” she said.

“Augh!” squeaked one little boy, and the kid Steve had rescued from the Bell Witch mirror game clung tighter to Hook Possum, sniffling.

“Hook Possum has a hook,” Robin told the squeaking kid, once Steve elbowed her hard in the gut, again.  The kid did not look reassured.  “—and the Goat Man lives in Kentucky, over a hundred miles away.”

“Hook Possum jumps on cars too,” Dustin said cheerfully, and Hook Possum said “Wait, what,” again, as Dustin climbed up on one of the logs around the fire, holding his finger like a hook.

“Hook Possum is the vengeful spirit of possums killed by reckless drivers,” Robin explained—far from helping—and started telling tales of drivers stopping to pick up hitchhikers that turned into massive, man-sized hissing possums in the passenger seat of their car.

“One account is weirder, because the guy was super drunk,” she whispered, leaning in, and the kids listened, riveted.  “He picked up a hitchhiker, but when he looked in the backseat, it was just a coat around a fleet of possums,” she said with relish.  “They climbed all over him, scratching and biting—”

“I’m a ghost story?” asked Hook Possum, and Steve spun in place to see him half-shadowed in the light of the fire, the flames glinting off his molded teeth, his empty mesh eyes skull-like.

“Uh,” he said, giving an involuntary shudder.  “Yeah.  Didn’t you know?”

“Don’t let anything get me,” the kid Steve had rescued from the bathroom sobbed, throwing both arms around Hook Possum, and Hook Possum patted their hair.  

“I want real ghost stories,” said one of the kids around the fire, and Hook Possum breathed “You don’t think I’m real, kid?” with a little possum-y hiss in his voice, his silvery plastic hook reflecting the firelight, and the kid yelped.  “I’m scarier than anything else out there,” he growled, and Steve, in all honesty, had to agree.  The kid blinked huge eyes, and Hook Possum patted their head again, clumsily, nearly poking them in the eye as they giggled.  

Steve groaned, smiling, and wondered if Hook Possum knew what he was letting himself in for.  

That night, he patrolled by a cabin of boys talking about two travellers whose car was attacked by metallic thumps, and sure enough, the kids who’d been playing the mirror game and scaring the shit out of themselves all came and banged on the counsellor cabin door shrieking that they’d seen red lights in the woods, and demanded Hook Possum, who ended up costuming back up in the dark.  

Steve helped tie the costume at the back of his neck, and Hook Possum lurched by him to listen to them wail.  Steve could hear his confused growling from inside, and wandered out after a while to help.  

They spent a weird three-quarters of an hour standing in the humid night heat, making up stories about Hook Possum, and Steve maybe, sleepily, told everyone his limited stock of possum facts three or four times.  They eat ticks, the kids started reciting along with him.  Their body temperature is too high to carry fleas.  Steve could feel Hook Possum laughing against his shoulder.  

“Can you sleep hanging from your tail?” one asked, and Hook Possum shook his creepy paper-mache head, shoulders slumped like maybe he really wanted to.  

Steve patted his back.  “Possums can’t actually do that,” he said, grateful to be reminded of a possum fact he’d forgotten.  “They can use it to climb, though.”

“You are not helping,” Hook Possum hissed, as the kids started clamoring for him to climb a tree.  

“Sorry,” Steve whispered back, thinking fast.  “Uh, possums carry their young on their backs—” he started, and stopped, because that was obviously the wrong thing to say, and Hook Possum yelled as he got dog-piled to the ground.  

“Harrington,” he hissed from the ground, and for a second it sounded so familiar Steve paused, frowning vaguely at the lake, until Hook Possum’s yells threatened to wake the whole camp, and Steve had to pick up the top-most flailing child and threaten to throw them all in the water.  

“Go back to bed, all of you,” Hook Possum growled, and one of them hugged him.  

“Will you walk me to the cabin?” she asked softly, and he sighed, staring—maybe—at Steve.  

“Come on, might as well,” Steve told him, and Hook Possum snarled, but let the little girl grab his hook.  He then stumbled off the step edge of the boardwalk around the cabin, flailing his arms, and Steve grabbed him by one gross fursuited paw, clicking his flashlight on.  Since the little girl had the other one, and the whole horde of them trotted along surrounding Hook Possum, which made it slightly less weird to hold hands with him.

On the way back, Hook Possum was still unsteady, even without a kid yanking on him.  Steve tried to keep the flashlight pointed squarely where the guy could see it, but he kept tripping over stuff he couldn’t see in the mask, so Steve kept holding his hand, leaning close to whisper ‘there’s a root in the path,’ and ‘step up here,’ and feeling like he was escorting a drunk date home from a party.  

“...didn’t know you were into possums, Harrington,” Hook Possum muttered, laughing a little, and Steve snickered, thinking of the lines he and Robin had decided on if any kids wanted to talk about—about awkward things, like girls kissing girls.  He hoped they didn’t—he hoped they all talked to Robin, who seemed much more qualified, but he’d practiced saying ‘I’m honored you trusted me’ in the mirror.

“I’m trusting you with my secret possum...thing,” he said, snorting a laugh.  “Aren’t you honored.”

“More nervous,” Hook Possum whispered back, stumbling again.  “Don’t take advantage of me out here, Harrington.  I’ll play dead, I swear to god.  I’ll hiss and bite you.”

“I’d treat you right,” Steve told him, grinning.  “Get you ticks to eat or whatever.  And carrion.”

“Oh, okay then.  Gee.  Thanks, man,” Hook Possum laughed, making a gagging noise.

“Eat your ticks, they’re good for you,” Steve commanded, and felt Hook Possum laughing harder.

When they got back to the cabin—finally—everybody else was trying to sleep, so Steve turned Hook Possum around by the shoulders in the dark, taking the hook, and feeling along under the awful mask to untie the suit.  He helped lift the creepy mask—the face of it felt warm and damp with breath, and Steve shuddered—and then he tugged on the paws as Hook Possum struggled to extricate himself.

“...you don’t have to help,” he said, but he sounded tired, and Steve squeezed his warm naked shoulder.  

“I don’t mind,” he said, and one of the other guys hucked a pillow at them, groaning.

“Get a room,” he mumbled sleepily.

“G’night, Possum,” Steve whispered, snickering again, and Hook Possum shoved him, but Steve was sure he heard a muffled laugh.

 The next morning, everybody was kinda subdued, as usual—the kids that weren’t scared were more homesick than they’d realized, the excited kids hadn’t gotten very much sleep, and the kids that believed in ghosts hadn’t gotten any sleep at all, which was about three-quarters of the camp, thanks to Steve’s best friend Robin “That toilet seat is also haunted” Buckley.  

It was the first really hot day of the summer, so Robin and Steve took everyone canoeing, and the shallows filled with splashing, giggling, and shrieks. Steve trailed his hands in the water, climbing in and out of the canoe at every opportunity to pick kids up so they wouldn’t overturn the boat.  In the middle of the chaos that afternoon, when the kids were mostly too exhausted to row and too full of lunch to swim, but it was too damn hot to want to get out of the water, Hook Possum stalked by, wading straight into the lake, twenty, thirty feet out up to his chin, and just stood there, staring, smoke wafting from his mesh eyes.  

After a few minutes of watching the floating, smoking possum head, Steve stuck his paddle in the water to bring himself to a splashing halt—the kids in the canoe yelped and squealed—and then he shouted paddling orders until they came up alongside the creepy apparition sticking out of the water like a malevolent buoy.

“Ho there,” Steve said, responsibly, “—non-invasive, helpful local wildlife!  Are you in need of assistance?”

Hook Possum coughed, choking, and then growled, shaking his long papier-mache snout.  “Temporary insanity,” he groaned.  “Jesus.  Even the water is warm.”

“Better than sitting in your own sweat,” Steve said cheerfully, having worn the damn thing.  He remembered feeling like a dripping-wet half-rotten kitchen sponge, sitting in a sauna.  

“Kill me,” Hook Possum muttered, sighing, and one of the kids leaned out of the boat and put a baseball cap on him.  

“The shade helps,” she reported, and he sighed, looking even more ridiculous as a bedraggled, haunted possum head, smoke wafting from its empty eye sockets, with a baseball hat over one ear.

“...thanks,” he said, and she nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear, and digging out a tube of sunscreen.  She proceeded to rub it on her ears, nose, and all over the boy next to her, who sighed.

“Uh, just...wave if you...start to drown,” Steve told Hook Possum, wanting to be encouraging, but uncertain how to help someone dying of heatstroke in a horrible old possum mascot costume who was presently up to their neck in a lake.  He couldn’t see any expression on Hook Possum’s face, but he was pretty sure it was the face of someone with nothing to live for.  “Uh.  S’mores tonight?  I think?”

“...I can’t eat in this thing,” Hook Possum groaned, with a plume of eye smoke.

“We can hide in one of the cabins,” Steve told him.  “You can, um, transform.  In there.”

“...like Cinderella?” Hook Possum asked, snorting a laugh, and Steve grimaced.  

“I was thinking more like a werewolf at the full moon,” he said, and Hook Possum’s mask shook with laughter.  “Don’t drown,” Steve told him.  “I mean, if you die, you won’t get the money anyway, so you might as well take the damn thing off.  And I’ll bring you s’mores.  With extra chocolate.  Chocolate is worth it, right?  How d’you like your marshmallows?”

The creepy, lumpy mask turned to him, its mesh eye holes more alarming than ever with the way the sun hit the smoke.  “...you giving me something to live for, Harrington?”

“Don’t die in a possum suit, man, you don’t want that on your gravestone,” Steve said fervently.  “And think about the funeral.  Everybody trying to say nice things and you in that thing.  Have a heart—”

“I think the funeral parlor would probably take it off my body,” said Hook Possum, genuinely laughing, and Steve blinked.

“Oh.  Oh, yeah, they probably would,” he said, nodding.

“Anyway, nobody’d come to my funeral,” Hook Possum said, snickering, and Steve leaned over and smacked his snout.  The water around the canoe splashed a little, and the kids yelped, watching them in exhausted, overheated fascination.

“You’re not a possum,” Steve reminded the guy, who turned his head towards Steve again, probably to stare.  Steve grabbed his painted snout, holding his attention.  “You’re not a real possum.  People would come.  Max would come, and me—”

“...you think?” Hook Possum laughed, and Steve glared.  “Okay, okay, sorry,” he said, sounding like he was grinning.  “I won’t drown.  Hook Possum says no drowning, kids.”

“I used to think Smokey the Bear did that,” said the boy dripping with sunscreen.  “You know, just walked up to you and said ‘don’t start forest fires,’ like that.  This huge bear.  I was terrified.”

“I could just walk up to boaters and say ‘don’t drown,’” Hook Possum snickered.  “Alongside the boats.  Hiss at them.”

“Holy shit,” Steve cackled, letting go of the mask.  “You should.  Do it.  Do it to Robin—her, look, over there—��

Hook Possum turned to look, and then moved silently through the water, his head floating along the surface like a duck gone wrong.  Steve and the kids floated in the water, holding their breaths, until the other boat erupted in shrieks and overturned.

“Oh, he is so getting s’mores,” Steve wheezed, laughing until he could hardly breathe.

 When the kids started to wander towards dinner, Steve found Hook Possum again, hanging onto the dock.  

“You okay, man?” he asked, and Hook Possum nodded silently, so Steve crouched down to have a look.  “You coming in?  It’s cooled off some,” he said, and Hook Possum nodded again, but didn’t move.  “...you need help?” Steve asked, and Hook Possum paused for a second before shaking his head.  

Steve waited, and finally, Hook Possum cleared his throat.  “Fuck off, I can do it, I’m fine.”

He obviously wasn’t.  “You feel sick?” Steve asked, used to the first aid questions after so many summers helping around camp.  “Tired?  Shaky?”

“...just getting...cooled off,” Hook Possum muttered, but he didn’t move.  The lake water was pretty warm, too, and Steve considered it, wondering whether it was even helping.  

“Don’t be an asshole.  You need a shower, some water, and a nap,” he told the stubborn six-foot tall possum clinging to the dock, and it hissed like it was born in the woods.  

“...don’t need a nap,” Hook Possum growled, and Steve laughed.  

“Well, lie down, at least.  You’ve got heatstroke, dude.”

Hook Possum shook his head, so finally Steve jumped in the water next to him, put an arm around him, and pulled him towards shore.  

“What are you doing,” he mumbled, but when he tried to push away he almost fell, so Steve grabbed him tighter.  

“I told you,” Steve sighed.  Hook Possum was staggering, leaning heavily against Steve’s shoulder, and vibrating with tension.  “You’re gonna die in that thing.  You can’t do this all summer.”

“Fuck you,” Hook Possum muttered, tripping as soon as they hit dry ground.

“I’ve got you,” Steve told him, grimacing, because it was probably ungodly humid in the wet fur suit, and he was pretty sure Hook Possum hadn’t taken his mask off to drink any water.  The chatter and occasional yells from the food tent washed over them as Steve took him through camp to the showers.

As soon as they were inside, Hook Possum’s head jerked up.  “Oh fuck no,” he mumbled, pulling away, but Steve held on.  

“You need to get cleaned up and cooled off, and rest up,” he told the scary possum mask.  “Seriously.  You can’t mess with this shit.”

“‘M’fine,” Hook Possum slurred, and Steve shoved him around to untie the suit.  

“I won’t look, jesus, I promise, I’ll close my eyes, okay?  Just lemme help you get this off, and get in the damn shower.”

“...fuck you,” Hook Possum muttered, his shoulders wet and shivery against Steve’s hands.  

With his eyes closed, Steve couldn’t tell whether Hook Possum had the grayish pallor, but he grabbed the moron by the back of the neck and held a hand to his forehead, which was feverishly hot.  

“Get off me,” Hook Possum squeaked, staggering back, and Steve stepped back too, listening to the sounds of sodden fur paws stumbling around.  

“You need me to stay with you?” Steve asked, knowing what the answer would be, but also wary of leaving someone who’d obviously never had heat stroke before.

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter,” Hook Possum snarled, in a deeper register than usual, and it pinged Steve’s brain.  He frowned, standing there trying to think of anyone he knew who was awkward and grouchy but good with kids, and called him Harrington.  “Get out,” Hook Possum said, sounding exhausted.

“I’ll get you some water,” Steve told him.  “Gimme the Hook Possum stuff, I’ll wash it.”

“...it can go in the wash?”  Hook Possum asked, sounding aggrieved, and Steve snorted a laugh.  

“It can go in the washtub,” he said.  “I’ll throw it in and let it dry overnight.”

“Oh,” Hook Possum said weakly, then rallied.  “Thought you were holding out on me.  Secret washing machine in your bunk.  ‘Cause you’re the owner’s son.”

“Yep, just me and the washer, holding each other close,” Steve agreed, rolling his eyes under their lids.  

“You’re into some kinky shit, Harrington,” Hook Possum told him, and Steve felt the gross muddy Hook Possum costume shoved against his arms.  

“Eugh,” he sighed, gathering up the paws and hook.  “You know it.”

“That’s not gonna be dry by tomorrow, is it,” Hook Possum said, woodenly, and Steve wanted to shake him.  

“Look, I can write you an excuse.  Take a sick day.  You can’t get right back in this thing.  It’s fine.”

“...I’ll make it up,” Hook Possum said, in a rush, after a long pause.  “And I’ll find something I can do, so I’m not fucking everybody over wearing this thing—”

“Dude,” Steve sighed.  It felt weird not knowing the guy’s name, but equally weird calling him Hook Possum.  “Relax.  Take a chill pill.  Nobody’s on your ass about this.”  He turned to leave, but Hook Possum started talking again.

“...they make you do all the first aid, or what?” Hook Possum asked, and Steve snorted a laugh at his wariness.

“They teach us all basic first aid,” he said patiently.  “You sure you don’t want me to stay?  Because you sure don’t seem like you want me to leave.”

“Fuck you!” Hook Possum growled, again, rattling at the door of the shower stall like he’d stumbled into it.  

“I’m going, don’t make me explain to Max how you fell and broke your face after I left you in here,” Steve called, heading out, gross stinking wet fur suit in hand.  He dumped the whole thing—except the mask, which he thought might melt, even though it was tempting—into the big wash basin where the kids washed their own clothes, added a ton of soap, and poked it a few times to get the water through the fur.  He found some apples and grapes in the fridge, added some cheese and crackers, and got a plastic cup of water.  He sat it all in his bunk—in case Hook Possum just collapsed in his own—and grabbed the bathrobe he always brought just in case, and Hook Possum’s towel.  

When he knocked at the showers, Hook Possum was silent, so Steve leaned in.  It was dark, but the shower was still running.  “...you alive in there?” he called, and heard Hook Possum laugh.  

“Told you I was fine,” he muttered, burbling with the water hitting his face, and Steve went to lean against the stall door.  

“Oh, sorry, should I put you back in the suit and dump you in the lake?” he asked.  “Or just leave you here to get back to your bunk naked?”  

In the darkness, Hook Possum was just a vague shape, but Steve squinted, trying to make out a face, or something.  “Fuck you,” he said, laughing.  “The hell are you gonna do, carry me in your arms?”

“I could,” Steve told him, always ready for a challenge.  

“Oh, fuck you,” Hook Possum said, laughing harder, and Steve grinned, a little confused.  

“I am the first aid officer, actually,” he bragged, having put himself on the schedule earlier.  “You need me to sweep you across the threshold, I guess that’s what I gotta do.”  There was a muffled grunt and a splashing thud in the stall, and before Steve could think, he had kicked the bottom of the door and jiggled the latch so it popped open, the way he had a zillion times before, when kids crawled under locked stall doors as a prank.  He crouched next to the dark shape in the dim stall as Hook Possum scrambled back.  “You okay?”

“Jesus fuck,” Hook Possum panted in a high voice.  “What in the goddamn are you doing in here.”

“You fell, dipshit,” Steve told him, rolling his eyes.  “Are you okay?”

“Yes!  I am okay!” Hook Possum hissed, wedged in the corner.  “Get the hell out of my shower!”

“Jesus, sorry, didn’t know you were a blushing maiden possum,” Steve told him, holding out a hand to help the guy up, but Hook Possum just groaned into his hands, so Steve shrugged, and left.  The door slammed shut after him and latched.

“Go away,” Hook Possum growled, and Steve snickered.  

“I brought you a towel, and my robe,” he said, and Hook Possum sighed.  “And some water.”

“I’m fine, christ,” Hook Possum muttered.  

“And I got you some grapes and stuff,” Steve told him, halfway out the door.  “In the cabin.  Lot of water in grapes.”

“...I’m okay,” Hook Possum said, after a pause so quiet Steve was wondering if he’d passed out in there.  “Jesus.  I’m not one of your...second graders.”

“No, because then you wouldn’t’ve been wearing that thing, or going without water,” Steve said crisply.  “And I would carry you to your bunk, like a goddamn bride.”

Hook Possum choked on the shower water, somehow, coughing.  

“You’re getting off easy,” Steve told him, his vindication lessened by Hook Possum choking like he was about to die.

“Holy crap,” he panted.

“You’re welcome,” Steve told him.  “I guess.  I hung your gross fur bag out to dry where it’ll get sun.”

“...didn’t even get the full service,” Hook Possum muttered.  It sounded like he was still laughing, exhaustedly.

“What, you want the bridal carry?  Because I’ll do it,” Steve threatened, and Hook Possum said something muffled, like he had his face in his hands.  “I’ll just wait right here, ready to cradle you to my chest,” Steve told him, and Hook Possum groaned, laughing harder.  It was hard to stay mad at him, because he was kind of giggling, in the tired way kids did when they couldn’t stop.  

 He wandered back into the cabin as everybody was singing camp songs, to see a big bony foot sticking out from under the flag covering Hook Possum’s bunk.  It withdrew.

“You awake in there?” Steve asked, grinning.

“...no,” Hook Possum groaned.  “What are you doing here?”

“Brought you some more water,” Steve told him, and after a minute, Hook Possum said “...just set it on the floor.  I’ll drink it, I promise, jesus.”

Steve nodded, and wandered back to the fire. 

PART ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR

#harringrove big bang #Harringrove #monsdasarah #Fabulous goofy possum XD #YAY ART

[reveriealis]

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